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Needs and Wants	By : katami Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 1365 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Needs and Wants
- 1
Author's Notes: This is for KD, who is the absolute best and was patient enough to put up me writing it. Thanks, Fearless Leader

*****
He ran away from home at least once a year and usually more like three or four times. It had even become a bit of a game for Schuldig, a nice little vacation from his teammates while he waited to see how long it would take Brad to track him down. The record was currently 96 hours - a record Brad contested since he had not known Schuldig was gone for the first twenty hours.

He had only really tried to leave twice and both those attempts were long ago, before he had understood Crawford's vision for them, back when he had assumed Schwarz was to be nothing more than a collection of talents ruled by a pre-cog with a whip. Back when he had thought Brad nothing but the Elders’ tight-assed golden boy.

He knew better now; it was why he no longer really tried to leave. He ran away from time to time but not for real - not to leave. Not since that second time all those years ago.

They had only been in Tokyo for a few weeks, but the strain had been horrible. He had never been in such a densely populated area and while his shields were okay, no one could shield against that level of influx 24/7. He had been going slowly mad, unable to eat, unable to sleep and no way to silence the voices.

The first time he had left had been to get away from the city and all the voices; he had stumbled out of the apartment and ridden the train as far as it would go. He couldn’t exactly remember where he had ended up, but Brad had come for him two days later, finding him drunk off his ass and high as a kite in some crappy little hotel room. Brad had beat the shit out of him, although whether it was for the running or the drugs he couldn’t say, and had dragged him home. He shivered at the memory of the rage in Brad’s eyes and took another swig of champagne, glancing around the current hotel room - a penthouse suite on Brad's credit card - or at least it would be when the bill came in. That made him smile because he knew it would drive Brad nuts. Brad hated it when Schuldig’s little adventures showed up on his credit card.

The second time he’d tried to leave had been ten days after the first. He had been slinking around the apartment, his control eroding second by second, but too scared of Brad’s reaction to tell him. Scared Brad would decide he wasn’t worth the effort and would send him back to Rosenkreuz. He had grown more jumpy and drunk more each day - flaying anyone who came near him. When Brad had hauled him aside and told him to get his shit together or he was calling a doctor it had been the breaking point. He knew what any Esset doctor would say, they would say his telepathy was finally overwhelming him and just put in a request for a new telepath for Schwarz, sending him back to Rosenkreuz to be studied until he blew his brains out.

So he had run. Even knowing Brad would come for him, that he couldn’t get away - because running was better than tamely accepting Rosenkreuz. It always had been for him.

He hadn’t even made it out of Tokyo proper that time. Brad had found him huddled in an alley three days later rocking and mumbling about the voices. He remembered screaming and babbling when he saw Brad but could never remember what he had said and Brad never told him. Whatever it was Brad hadn’t yelled at him or hit him or shot him - the things Schuldig would have normally expected him to do. Instead Brad had taken him out of the city, cleaned him up and put him back together. He had come back to himself, clean, fed and curled up against Brad in a big bed - and he had come back to a world of silence. That had been when realized he needed Bradley Crawford.

Schuldig hated to admit it, even to himself, but he needed. Not just wanted. Needed. There was a difference and anyone who thought otherwise was a twit and should probably have been shot. There were times when he had to do something. Anything. When if he didn’t hurt someone, or fuck someone, or do something… the chaos swirling in his head would have swallowed him whole. And that was the one thing that scared him more than needing, because Schuldig wasn’t sure he would be coming back if the maelstrom in his brain ever truly took him.

He needed. And he fucking hated it. Because needing was a weakness. And he hated being weak. Especially in front of Brad.

Brad Crawford didn’t need anything. There was nothing in his life that Brad couldn’t shoot in the head and walk away from. There was nothing he needed. Brad liked his creature comforts, his suits, the BMW, the 600 count Egyptian cotton sheets, but he could do without. Had done without before and could again if he ever had to. He didn’t need anything or anyone.

Schuldig envied him that as he took another pull on the champagne, because he, Schuldig, needed Bradley Crawford.

Wanting Brad was easy, he had wanted Brad from the moment he’d laid eyes on him. That coolly untouchable attitude was hot as hell. Add that to the fact that Brad was already good looking and wanting him became nearly like breathing. But it wasn’t just that Brad was hot. Brad was good to him, took care of him and put up with his shit - very few people had ever been able to put up with his damage and Schuldig knew it. Hell, most days he reveled in it. But Brad put up with him and protected him and…and Schuldig didn’t just want him - he needed him, the way he needed to breath.

And needing Brad was as hard as wanting him was easy.

A knock on the door dragged him from his reverie with an annoyed sigh. That would be room service with his lobster fettuccini, some chocolate mousse, and another bottle of champagne. He had wanted beer but the hotel only had Japanese stuff, horse piss in his opinion, or even worse American beer. That was another reason to like Brad - Brad made sure he had good German beer to drink. Sometimes Brad would even drink it with him - an event that always made him smile because it usually led Brad taking off his glasses and that was always something to see. Of course the few times it had led to sex on the kitchen table or on the couch had been great too.

He opened the door, only partially surprised when a hand shot out and trapped his throat in a vice-like grip. "Thirty-four hours. What kept you?" he asked, giving Brad his most obnoxious smirk.

"Don't you ever get tired of these little games," growled the American with annoyance, backing them into the room and closing the door.

Schuldig just smirked. He had learned over the years that nothing pissed Brad off like silence. Brad hated to feel like he was being ignored, much like Schuldig himself. The fingers around his throat tightened menacingly and Schuldig felt a small burst of excitement. He love it when Brad got all dark and dangerous on him.

"You're the one with the Sight, you tell me. Will I ever get tired of them?" he teased the other man, unable to help himself. Baiting Brad was always fun because of the element of danger involved in it. Brad was one of the few people around he couldn't read, one the few who could have gotten the drop on him - could have killed him. Strong fingers tightened around his neck, dangerously close to choking him. The tiny jolt of fear, the hint that Brad might actually do it - even when they both knew he wouldn’t - made him hard. Brad was always sexy as hell but the added air of danger made Brad even hotter.

"If you wanted to play, you could have just said so," murmured Brad, his voice an amused purr. The grip on his throat relaxed, going from menacing to merely secure, and Schuldig groaned as he felt Brad's thumb caress his carotid. Brad's lips twisted into a smirk of his own at the soft sound. His thumb pressed against the artery hard for a moment, making Schuldig’s head swim, before resuming it's gentle stroking.

A cell phone rang and Schuldig frowned, he didn't like anything that took attention away from him - especially Brad's attention. And especially when there was a chance he was going to get fucked - which was a distinct possibility since Brad only got all dominant with him when he wanted sex.

"Yes Nagi, I've found him. We will be back by Monday." They would? That was news to Schuldig - especially since it was Friday and the last time Brad had taken a vacation Clinton had still been in the White House. Usually when Brad came to drag him home Brad simply grabbed him and off they went - kicking and screaming optional depending on how much fun he had been having.

"Watch Farf. If he starts reciting any traditional Catholic Masses sedate him and keep him locked up until we get back. No, the King James version is fine; just no Latin. We'll be back by noon Monday," said Brad, re-pocketing his phone.

"Now, where were we?" mused Brad, his attention shifting smoothly back to the German, his voice a low purr that always made Schuldig think of killing. "Ah yes, I remember; we were right about here," whispered Brad jerking him forward and sealing their mouths together in a hungry kiss.

Schuldig moaned approvingly and returned the kiss enthusiastically, his tongue dueling with Brad's for dominance. He felt Brad’s hand leave his throat and tangle in his hair, holding him for the American’s pleasure. Schuldig grinned and nipped playful at Brad’s tongue and was rewarded by a tightening of the hand in his hair and Brad’s teeth scraping lightly over his tongue in warning. He moaned and pressed his body more firmly to Brad’s, savoring the pre-cog’s soft groan at the contact.

Brad’s mouth left his to fasten to his throat, he felt the American nip at his jugular before soothing the small pain with his tongue. Schuldig groaned and slid his fingers into Brad’s hair to hold him there. Brad chuckled against his neck and slowly began to kiss his way down the pale column. He would pause every now and again to lick or suck at some particularly sensitive spot, making Schuldig moan and squirm.

Brad’s fingers left his hair and back and Schuldig whined a protest even as those fingers attacked the buttons of his shirt. He reluctantly dragged his own hands from Brad’s hair and began working on his tie. He got the strip of fabric loose and was about to toss it away when Brad stopped him. Tossing Brad’s ties was another little game of his - the goal of this one was to land the tie somewhere the Oracle couldn’t find it, or barring that, somewhere that required him on his hands and knees to get it.

“Lose this one and you’ll pay for it,” warned Brad. It seemed Brad was getting wise to his game - a shame since it was one of his favorites and one of the easiest to play.

“Besides, I have plans for that,” Brad told him with a smirk, draping the tie around Schuldig’s neck. Schuldig frowned slightly at that, bondage wasn’t big in their repertoire - at least not with each other - if Rosenkreuz didn’t kill the urge to be bound, nothing could.

“Forget about them,” he told Brad firmly before smirking at him. “We’re on vacation.“ He chuckled as Brad frowned at the V word and decided he’d better distract Brad before the pre-cog remembered that he didn‘t take vacations. Catching his tie on the overhead light fixture seemed to work. As Brad opened his mouth to protest the treatment of his tie Schuldig slipped his tongue inside, plastering himself to the other man.

Strong hands pulled him still closer, caressed him even through the layer of cloth. He loved Brad’s hands, so firm and strong - able to kill a man - and yet still able to ghost over his skin with the softness of silk.

He shoved at Brad’s jacket, wanting it gone, wanting the barriers between them gone, wanting to touch warm skin. He moaned at the loss of Brad’s hands but figured it was worth it as Brad’s jacket fell to the floor in a heap. And miracle of miracles, Brad left it there, made no attempt to pick it up, didn’t even care that it would wrinkle. Schuldig groaned and kissed Brad fiercely - Brad in control was exciting, but Brad letting that control slip was damn near mind blowing.

“Fuck. Now,” demanded Schuldig breathlessly as warm hands slid over his chest. Clever fingers brushed his nipples and gently tickled his sides, making him laugh, which in turn made him frown at Brad. Don’t tickle me, warned Schuldig petulantly, sending a wash of annoyance at the other man. The American just smirked at him and pulled him close again, wrapping him in his arms, and attacking his neck. Schuldig frowned, sensing his displeasure was not being taken seriously, and tugged Brad’s shirt from his pants, considering the possibility of getting some of his own back. He wasn‘t the only one who was ticklish.

Even think about it and you won’t live to see twenty-three, thought Brad, sucking on his neck hard enough to leave a mark and draw a groan from him. He weighed the possibility of death versus the amusement of seeing the Oracle anything but all together; then remembered that Brad in a snit was not conductive to his sex life. The choice was easy after that. Sex. Definitely sex.

“A wise choice,” murmured Brad, rewarding him by sucking on one of his nipples. And then Brad did something truly frightening. Brad Crawford, the Oracle, leader of Schwarz, American bad-ass and all around anal control freak dropped to his knees.

Schuldig knew Hell was freezing over and somewhere back at Rosenkreuz Herr Kiedel was pulling on ice skates because Brad Crawford didn’t do things like that. Brad never ceded control, he didn’t even cede the appearance of control. And yet there was Brad Crawford, on his knees in front of him. Schuldig trembled as warm fingers opened his pants, unsure how to take this. Before Brad he’d never really gone in for oral sex much. Giving it back at Rosenkreuz had been about giving up control and he didn’t like that; and receiving really was giving up control and there wasn’t anyone he trusted enough to do that - not without owning them.

But this was Brad and he trusted Brad. He watched as long fingers gently pushed his pants off, felt Brad’s amusement at his boxers - the ones that said ‘I can kill you with my mind.’ Brad petted him softly him through the thin cotton of his boxers making him moan and thrust his hips in tiny circles, wanting more but unsure what was allowed. Slowly Brad slid his hands over his hips and dragged the boxers down, pausing to trace his hipbone with his tongue, there were sharp nips and long, sucking kisses to his inner thighs the made him whimper and toss his head. He moaned as Brad's cheek grazed his cock and then rubbed against it playfully before continuing on. Dark hair caressed him, feeling like silk despite the product Brad insisted on using to keep it neat. He wanted to shove his hands into that hair, but knew that would end things before they even really began - and would likely get him shot as well.

Brad smirked up at him smugly and breathed gently over his over his cock making it twitch and causing him to bite his fist to keep from crying out. Brad chuckled darkly and he was suddenly sure the other man was going to tease him mercilessly, make him cry out and beg before giving him release. But a second later his boxers hit the floor and Brad was taking the tip of his erection into his mouth and drawing on it like a cigarette. The sudden wet heat and suction made him scream and he couldn't stop himself from trying to thrust into that heavenly mouth. A firm grip on his hips stopped him and promised to leave bruises. Brad’s eyes caught his and Schuldig moaned at the heat in those amber eyes.

Brad smiled at him and circled the tip of his erection with his tongue, teasing the slit before slowly swallowing his length. He tried to watch as more of his cock was engulfed in that burning mouth but had to close his eyes as Brad's nose grazed his pubic hair. It was too much, Brad Crawford sucking his cock, deep throating him. He dug his nails into his palms hard enough to draw blood, wanting to reach out and bury his fingers in that dark hair and fuck that incredible mouth but knowing that would likely get him bit. Brad still had the knife wound on his left thigh from the first time he had tried to hold Schuldig’s head in place and fuck his mouth.

Lube slick fingers teased his opening before being shoved in quick and hard. He groaned at the near pain as it blended with the hot pleasure of Brad's mouth on his cock. Brad worked him fast and hard, fingers moving inside him in a rough counter-point to his mouth, brushing his prostate with each thrust and making him cry out. Brad took him deep in his throat as his fingers stabbed deep inside him hard and his outer layer of shields dropped to allow Schuldig into his mind.

He screamed, his control shattering as pleasure assaulted him from all sides, his own, Brad's, and the joyous relief of not having to shield himself. He grabbed that dark hair and began fucking that glorious mouth, needing to come, needing relief, and completely unable to help himself.

He thrust in one last time, coming hard and nearly sobbing at the joy of it. Brad drank him down - another first and another totally unexpected gift - then Brad was surging up him, kissing him hard and letting him taste himself. He whimpered and groaned when that hot mouth was taken away and he was flipped around and shoved up against the wall hard.

Brad's hands dug into his hips, holding him in place, when he tried to turn, tried to protest the loss of that wonderful mouth on his and that body searing his with its heat. Then Brad was sliding into him in one, long, gloriously earth-shattering stroke. Schuldig whined softly as Brad started to slid out, wanting nothing more than that hot hard cock inside him. Brad...Oh Gott! he sobbed as Brad shoved back in fast, hitting his prostate and making his cock twitch. Brad dragged him off the wall, a hand at the small of his back forced him to over to brace himself against the wall, as another hand began roughly working his cock back to hardness. And then Brad was moving again, thrusting into him again and again in a fast punishing rhythm that left them both gasping.

He was fully hard again, unable to hold out against the stimulus of Brad's hand on his cock, Brad filling him, and the blissful euphoria of sharing Brad's mind and pleasure. He came screaming, his come painting the wall, his last coherent thought that Brad was going to hate having to pay the fees for the cleaning of the room.

Brad slammed into him one last time, groaning as his orgasm took him, and then sagging against his back. Schuldig murmured indistinctly as strong arms encircled him, keeping him up as gravity and lethargy tried to drag him to the floor. He gave a soft whine of protest as Brad slipped from his body but then sighed as Brad brushed aside his hair to kiss the back of his neck softly. Then Brad was lifting him and carrying him to bed, just letting him bask.

It was in moments like those that needing Brad wasn’t so bad. Because he couldn’t help but think that while Brad didn’t need him, he did want him. And Schuldig liked to think that just maybe…someday…he could turn that want into a need.
- 1
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Needs and Wants