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Survivor: Schwartz	By : sefiru Category: Weiß Kreuz > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1783 -:- 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.

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Survivor: Schwartz

By Sefiru

Hi, I’m Sefiru. You may remember
me from such exciting fanfiction as “Pure Evil 3:
Return of Pure Evil” and “Hot Mazoku Action.” If
you’ve never heard of me, here’s what you can expect: short chapters, wacky
humor, and hot kinky mansex. And this time I have
psychic powers to mess with! Enjoy. Updates every second
Friday.

Warnings: NC-17, M/M, oral, anal, D/s (as usual), evil.

Pairings: C/S, N/F

Disclaimer: I do not own Schwartz, Weiss Kreuz,
Survivor, Gilligan’s Island, Lost or Hulk Hogan.

Summary: four psychic assassins on a desert island. Hijinks ensue.

***

Chapter 1

***

     Bright light
drove spikes into Schuldig’s eyes, rousing him to
consciousness; the accompanying headache immediately made him wish he’d stayed
asleep. Okay, how much did I drink last
night? He groped muzzily for his blankets and
flung them over himself. Then out of nowhere he felt something like pebbles
rain down on him. That wasn’t right; he snapped instantly to full alertness,
trying to figure out what was happening.

     Something big, apparently. For one thing, he was not lying
in his or any other bed, but on a sandy beach. Instead of blankets he had
grabbed a handful of sand and thrown it over himself –
it only felt like pebbles because of his stupendous hangover. Another more
disturbing fact was that he could sense no human minds apart from those of his
teammates. Not a soul to be found in all his considerable range. Now what have we landed
ourselves in? He groaned and heaved himself upright. Crawford was
already up; he had taken off his shoes and socks and was shaking the sand out
of his suit jacket. “Good morning, Schuldig.”

     “Screw you. What
the fuck is going on?”

     “I presume this
is our former employers’ response to our disrupting their plans.” He tied his
jacket around his shoulders and went on to rolling up his shirtsleeves.

     Schuldig flopped
back onto the sand, shading his eyes with his forearm. “Great. Fuckers must
have drugged us, too.” Marooned on a desert island – yes, complete with
coconuts – with three people he couldn’t stand and couldn’t use his powers on.
“Just shoot me now.”

      “I don’t have my
weapons. They seem to have left us only our clothes.”

      Well, it wasn’t
as if the likes of them had to worry about valid ID – “Shit! My
smokes!” Schuldig shot upright again, frantically patting his pockets.
Sure enough, both his lighter and cigarettes were gone. And Crawford was
looking at him with that so-superior expression on his face. “If you’ve ever
thought about quitting, Schuldig, this would be the time.”

      “Whatever. Have
you found any wild coffee trees here, then?”

      Crawford’s face
turned sour. “I deserved that. It seems we’ll both go through the joys of
withdrawal together.”

      That was assuming
Schuldig didn’t wring his smug little neck first. The telepath stared out at
the sea and resolved to ignore his team leader for as long as possible. About
half an hour later Farf came around; he mumbled
something to himself and started digging a hole in the sand. Schuldig ignored
him as well. Crawford went on to drawing on the beach with a pointed stick. The
tide was going out; Schuldig found a pair of fiddler crabs in the mud and
prodded their miniscule minds into fighting each other. It was the most entertainment
he was going to get around here. Soon after that Nagi
finally woke up.

     “What happened?”
he mumbled.

     “What does it
look like? We’ve been dumped on Gilligan’s Island
with no liquor.”

     “No knives,” Farf added, looking into his hole as if he’d expected to
find them there.

     “No smokes.”

     “No computers.”

     “No churches.” Farf again.

     “No electricity.”

     “No showers.”

     Crawford clapped
his hands for attention. “If you are finished expressing your dissatisfaction, could
we start doing something about it? Nagi, come check
my numbers, please.” He waved at his sand drawings, which now that Schuldig
looked, were a set of equations. Nagi went over to
study them; Schuldig rolled his eyes. Only Crawford would think of doing math
at a time like this.

     “Have you had any
grand visions, Oracle?”

     “Only vague ones,
as the drugs are still affecting me. However, I have Seen
that by the end of the day, one of us will make a decision that will affect our
entire future.”

     “Oh, the drama.”
Of course, Schuldig rather liked drama, but only if he was the one causing it.
He went back to watching his crabs. Behind him Farf
was rocking back and forth, mumbling, “no knives, no
knives,” over and over. Uh-oh. He was building up to a
full-blown psychotic outburst, and their usual cure of pointing him at a target
and standing back wasn’t going to work here. As Schuldig pondered what to do,
Crawford walked over and tapped the Irishman’s shoulder.

      “Farfarello. If you want a knife
here you must make your own.” Farf didn’t seem to
hear him, but a little while later he stood up and wandered into the forest.
With any luck he’d be eaten by a polar bear. Meanwhile Crawford was talking to Nagi about numbers.

      “Your
calculations look solid,” the boy said. “But I can’t figure out what they’re
for.”

      “Using the
movement of the sun I’ve estimated our latitude. Once I look at the stars
tonight, I should be able to determine our longitude as well.”

      “I’m just
impressed you can do trig functions in your head,” Nagi
added.

      “I merely have a
good memory. Prodigy, I’m afraid you’re in charge of dinner today.”

      “It’ll be
sashimi.”

      “That’s fine.
Come along, Schuldig, we’re going beachcombing.”

      “What? But Hulk
Hogan was winning.”

      “Your pets will
keep. Come on.” Schuldig grumbled and climbed to his feet. He kicked at the
sand as he followed Crawford down the shoreline. “You know, now that Eszet has ditched us, you can’t order me around anymore.”

      “I’m aware of
that. Why did you obey me?”

      “Bastard.” Schuldig glowered at the beach. A mark caught his
eye; a footprint that looked like a cat’s, except that it was the size of a
dinner plate. That wasn’t one of their little Weiss kitties! A quick mind scan,
though, showed nothing that big in the area. Maybe he was hallucinating; after
being drugged to the gills for however long it took to get here, he wouldn’t be
surprised. He shrugged and trudged on.

       They were now
out of sight and earshot of Nagi, around the bend of
the shore, and Crawford turned around to face him. “Schuldig, the one to make
the important decision is you. And the question is, will you accept me as your
leader, or fight me?”

      “Are you
serious?” Schuldig gave him a sideways look. “This is where you try to
blackmail me, right?”

      “Not at all. That would be cheating, and besides, I didn’t
see which choice will lead to the better outcome.”

      Schuldig
sprawled out on the sand. “Do my ears deceive me? I thought I just heard Bradley
Crawford admit that he’s not all that and a case of beer.”

      “Not all of us
are walking aggregations of ego.” Crawford sat on the beach beside him. “So,
ask. What do you want to know to make an informed decision about me?”

      Holy crap with a cherry on top. If this wasn’t a perfect
opportunity he’d never see one again. There was one thing he’d wanted to do
since the day he met the American, and had never been able to do. “Let me in
your mind, Crawford. Let me see who you really are.” Eat that, you stuck-up tosser.

      Crawford just
nodded. “Very well, Schuldig. You may come in whenever you like.”

      Great, now he
was being sarcastic. Well, Schuldig would show him what he thought of that. He
wound up to deliver a resounding whack to Crawford’s shields
–

       – and slid straight into his head, with flailing startlement.

***

Schuldig wasn’t hallucinating.

Next chapter: a journey into Crawford’s mind, and a lemonette.
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Survivor: Schwartz