Dragon Cycle

Dragon Cycle – Pt 11 – Liquid Friction

Disclaimer: Of course the WK and Schwarz boys don't belong to me, we just have fun together. I write this stuff for pleasure not profit.

Author's Notes: As always thanks go to my fabulous beta, Iron Dog.

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Schuldig hated Crawford. He was a tool of the Devil - heavy on the tool part.

He decided this as he leaned on the American’s shoulder and limped towards the bathroom muttering and cursing in German.

Four days. Crawford had said he’d been unconscious for four fucking days. That had been an unpleasant surprise. It was true that, while in stasis, he lost track of time, but he wouldn’t have guessed he’d been out of it for that long. It hadn’t seemed like fours days. No wonder he felt like shit…no, worse than shit – much, much worse. He knew the repercussions of backlash well enough; knew how fucked over the aftermath of that made him feel and this was a least a hundred times worse. Even the smallest of movements was an effort.

His mistake had been to let Crawford know he was awake when the American had come in to check on him. Despite telling his exulted leader how ill he was and explaining that he’d prefer to stay in bed and continue to sleep off the psionic hangover, the cold-hearted prick had still insisted he get up and shower. No amount of pleading had softened the bastard’s resolve and, eventually, Schuldig had given in to the inevitable. It didn’t mean he had to be gracious about it.

At first he’d honestly believed even the mundane task of sitting up was beyond him. But, with some help, he’d managed to accomplish it. Stiff, unused muscles and limbs screamed in protest at the forced movement. Crawford had helped him into a robe – clearly a concession to their guests. Schuldig remembered they weren’t alone in the house. He vaguely recalled Nagi telling him something about another team, but that had been last night. This morning he couldn’t place all the details and his head hurt too much for him to want to try. It wasn’t important anyway. Surviving the death march to the bathroom was top priority at the moment.

When he’d stood up, his ankle had sent a sharp spike of pain up his leg. Four days of immobility should have made it begin to heal, but no; he wasn’t to be that lucky. Schuldig had cursed loudly, causing his head to thump more forcefully and his stomach to roil to the point he was sure he was going to be physically ill. He clasped his arms across his middle, bent forward and felt dizzy as he fought back the nausea. Right then, he would have welcomed a quick death. Instead, Crawford had caught hold of him across the shoulders and steadied him, holding him still until he felt able to straighten. Then the bastard had steered him towards the bedroom door. Each limped step jolted through him, aggravating the pounding in his head and the queasiness in his stomach.

Schuldig hated Crawford – with a passion. If his head hadn’t hurt so much already, he would have shared the special pain of the psychic hangover with his fearless leader. That thought made a death’s head grin appear briefly on Schuldig’s face before the next jarring step erased it.

In the bathroom, Crawford lowered Schuldig down on the closed lid of the toilet before going back to shut the door. Schuldig sat gingerly, not sure he wouldn’t have to take up a different position in regards to the toilet bowl very soon now. Crawford came back to the vanity unit. When he turned from it he held out a glass of water and two white pills. Schuldig accepted them, swallowing them down immediately, desperate for the relief those pills promised.

After he’d placed the glass back on the vanity unit, Crawford went down on one knee in front of Schuldig. He caught hold of telepath’s leg and lifted it, resting it on his own raised knee as he began to unwrap the damaged ankle. Schuldig wished he was feeling better so he could fully enjoy the sight of the stiff and formal American kneeling before him. As it was, all he could manage was a small smirk that went unnoticed and completely unappreciated.

With the bandaging removed, Schuldig was helped back to his feet and out of his robe.

Schuldig may have been suffering the backlash from Hell, but he didn’t fail to notice how the American’s hands trailed over his skin. Crawford better have been just copping a feel. Throwing up on your lover was guaranteed to put a dampener on any erotic activity; but that would be the result if Crawford tried to do anything more than touch right now.

Hands gently gripped his upper arms and he felt warmth at his back just before lips touched his neck. Normally, he’d be all for this – but not now; not feeling the way he did. Crawford had to know that, so what was he thinking?

“Brad,” he said softly letting his pain colour the word.

Crawford drew back. “I know,” he sighed.

Schuldig felt him move away and gave a sly smile. Being unconscious for a few days had its upside. Crawford was eager – very, very eager. All he had to do was recover enough to take advantage of that eagerness. That thought perked up Schuldig’s mood considerably.

The sound of water running in the shower turned his thoughts in another direction, reminding him how full his bladder was. While he took care of that, Crawford opened a black toiletries pack and began to set out the items it contained.

“How do you feel today?” he asked as he worked. It was the first time he’d asked, previously being too intent on getting the German out of bed.

“How d’you think? Like shit,” Schuldig replied, bracing one arm against the wall. “You could’ve let me stay in bed another day.”

“No, I could not,” Crawford said firmly. “The sooner you start to move about, the better. You know that, Schuldig, yet every time we have this same conversation. You also needed a shower.”

If Schuldig hadn’t been feeling so damned bad, he would’ve wagged his head in time with Crawford’s mini-lecture. But any rapid movement would have seen him on his knees before the toilet bowl, retching and throwing up – if there was anything left to throw up after yesterday – and Schuldig hated being physically sick. So, out of deference to his current, delicate condition, he held back on the impulse to mock his leader.

“After your shower, you’ll have some food,” Crawford said, matter-of-factly. “You’ll feel better then.”

“Your bedside manner needs work,” Schuldig advised as he straightened.

He hobbled to the shower cubicle, and carefully stepped inside and under the heavy spray. He let out a deep sigh and, taking his weight on one leg, he braced his arms against the tiles, bowed his head and closed his eyes. The almost too hot water felt good on his stiff muscles and began to loosen them up so they didn’t ache quite so badly.

For a long time he didn’t move. He just let the water wash over him and tried hoping the pills started to take effect very soon. His head was pounding, his stomach was queasy, his limbs ached, he couldn’t put his full weight on his ankle and the water was making the bite on his neck sting. Thank God his shields were in place. He wouldn’t have been able to cope with other peoples’ thoughts today. Oh, he could hear them, even through the shields, but they were nothing more than soft whispers; a faded background noise that hardly even caught his attention.

He was well aware of the events that had left him in this condition. He hadn’t spent his whole time in stasis re-building his shields. He’d also spent a good deal of time retrieving memories and ensuring his scoured mind was whole again. His repair work had been so good he could remember everything up until the time he’d gone into stasis. Some memories he could’ve lived without. Like the feel of his shields shattering. Even now, that memory made him even sicker to the stomach than he already felt and he shied away from those thoughts. He remembered the sheer panic he’d experienced when he’d realized those crucial shields were gone…and then, the shields were back - except they hadn’t been his shields.

Time spent at Rosenkreuz had taught him what it felt like to be Shielded. Even back then, the implications of needing such a service had made his skin crawl. Shielding was a Talent that telepaths were grateful existed, but one they hoped they never, ever, had cause to call upon.

Despite his ingrained abhorrence of having someone else in his mind, Schuldig was grateful for the intervention of the Shield. Of course, he’d evicted them as soon as he possibly could and he’d spent his remaining time in stasis looking for anything they may have left behind. He wasn’t paranoid – he had simply spent too long within the bitter embrace of Rosenkreuz to easily trust anything or anyone associated with them.

With his mind back in order and under his control, it had been easy to figure out what had happened to him. Someone had tried to destroy his mind – and had almost succeeded. No wonder he felt completely wiped out. The only questions that remained were who and why.

“Are you all right in there?” Crawford asked over the sound of the running water.

Schuldig turned his head, wondering why the American was asking about something he could see for himself. He saw the cubicle door was closed. He hadn’t closed it so he assumed Crawford had. Probably didn’t want any water splashing on his Armani loafers, or whatever the fuck he wore on his feet.

“Yeah,” he replied to Crawford’s subtle attempt to hurry him up. No matter that he was feeling more dead than alive; no matter that he could barely stand up straight without assistance – just…hurry up. “You don’t have to wait around like an anxious mother, you know,” he told the American.

“I don’t mind,” Crawford said.

“Then don’t fucking rush me,” Schuldig warned testily.


Crawford sighed lightly and didn’t respond. For the next day or two, Schuldig’s mood was going to be all over the place; happy one minute, sullen the next. It wasn’t anything the American hadn’t witnessed before. He decided it was best to just shut his mouth and wait out Schuldig’s extended shower.

His purpose was to get the German functioning again. Left to himself, Schuldig would stay in bed for as long as he could, expecting to be waited on hand and foot, whining the whole time about how sick he was. Crawford didn’t doubt he felt ill, but past experience had taught him that letting the telepath remain in bed was probably the worst thing he could do. Better to put up with the complaints and get him up and moving as soon as possible. It was yet another of the thankless tasks he had to perform as leader.

And with the German up and about again, it was time to address the matter of the attacks. Stein had continued to play his cards close to his chest but now, with Schwarz whole again, the time had arrived for him to spill whatever he knew. Which, if Crawford was correct, wasn’t much at all. Of course, that wouldn’t happen until Farfarello woke up – probably some time in the afternoon – but it would allow Schuldig time to recover a little more.

What really troubled Crawford was the continuing loss of his Talent. Schuldig had been the hardest hit of them all, yet he was awake now and, given that he’d lent aid in the search for Farfarello, his Talent seemed to be intact. The implications made Crawford very uneasy indeed. He refused to think on the consequences should his Talent be irrevocably damaged.

In order to distract himself, he listened in on Schuldig. From the sounds of it, the German was actually washing something – either body or hair. Since there was no point in letting himself dwell on that imagery – for the moment, at least – Crawford turned his thoughts to a subject guaranteed to ice down his libido: Takatori’s up-coming vacation. In three days, they’d be heading for his luxury guesthouse. Unless Stein had something of worth to tell them, it seemed the holiday-from-hell was about to become even more hellish.

It would have been bad enough undertaking a two-week stay in the mountains with his Talent intact but, unless there were some dramatic developments in the next couple of days, Crawford would be going in, blind to any approaching trouble. He felt icy anger uncoiling within him and drew a deep breath to calm himself. Maybe his Talent would return before then. And maybe pigs would fly on rainbow wings out of his ass. Even if his Talent did return, there was still retribution due to the bastard, or bastards, who had deprived him of it in the first place.

And, he thought, I’m back to brooding on my lost Talent.

He drew another deep breath and let it out slowly. Maybe he ought to join Schuldig in the shower and get his mind on something other than bleak thoughts, even if only for a short time. Of course, doing so would necessitate ignoring the German’s whining about how ill he was. Well, everything had its price and being allowed to forget about his absent Talent would more than compensate for a whiny German.

“Are you going to be much longer?” he asked.

“Yes,” Schuldig snapped back. “Yes I’m going to be a lot fucking longer. You know why? Because I’ve got one leg to stand on, I feel like I want to puke every time I move, and my head feels ready to split open. All of which is why I didn’t want to take a fucking shower in the first place!”

“Do you want me to come in there?” Crawford enquired calmly.

“No!” Schuldig shouted and then groaned sharply as the word echoed and bounced around the shower stall.

Crawford’s lips quirked in a mean little smile. He went to the bathroom door and locked it. Turning back he began to unbutton his shirt. Schuldig never learned. With everyone else still asleep, Crawford felt free to react to this provocation. After all, his shields were impenetrable and no one could slip into Schuldig’s head without the telepath being aware of it. So, whatever happened between them now would remain between them. Crawford was feeling horny and aggressive from the enforced celibacy and the knowledge that Schuldig had been with Farfarello when the incident had happened. That whole idea just didn’t sit well with the American although he’d never let the telepath know that.

It took no time at all to toe off his shoes and finish undressing. He placed his shoes by the vanity unit and his neatly folded clothes on the toilet lid, putting his glasses on top of the pile. He slid the shower door open carefully. Without the benefit of his glasses his eyesight was fuzzy, but he could see well enough to admire the view of Schuldig’s wet and naked form under the spray of water.

Just the promise of what was to come was enough to send the blood rushing to his groin, causing his cock to stir. He stood there for long seconds, feeling himself become hard as his gaze roamed over Schuldig’s body - and what a fine damned body it was, too. When he was dressed, the German looked pretty much like any other tall, skinny guy. But under the clothes was a leanly muscled and surprisingly strong body.

Crawford’s blurry gaze took in the long, slender legs, the firm butt, the narrow waist, the strong back and shoulders, the lean arms, the water-darkened hair, the tilt of Schuldig’s neck as he rinsed out his hair…and the bite on his throat.

Crawford felt irrational anger boil up within him at the sight of that mark. Schuldig had no right to fuck around with someone else and then wear their mark as though it was a badge of honor. He had no right to flout his other lover like that. That bite was a constant reminder of the Irishman. No matter how intimate the moment between Crawford and Schuldig, Farfarello was always intruding; always present in the form of that bite.

Aware that anger was making his heart pound faster and was causing his hands to shake, Crawford made a mighty effort to calm himself. The Irishman wasn’t here now. That was the fact of it. The only people here were himself and Schuldig. That was the only thing that mattered – that and taking care of the now raging ache between his legs.

Crawford quietly closed the cubicle door.

Because he was rinsing his hair, Schuldig had his head tipped back and his eyes closed, which meant he was unaware he had company until Crawford stepped up to him and placed his hands on his waist. Schuldig started, but recovered quickly.

“I said I didn’t want you to come in,” he reminded the American testily.

Crawford smiled and ran his hands up over Schuldig’s ribs. “You don’t have to do anything but relax.” His caress became an embrace. “See, I’ll even help hold you up.”

“Fine, if you don’t mind me throwing up on you sometime soon,” the German said tersely.

Crawford touched his lips to Schuldig’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to the warm, wet flesh. “You won’t do that,” he said confidently as he raised his head. Gripping the telepath by the shoulders he turned him so they were face-to-face. “But just in case you decide to be contrary.” He kissed Schuldig on the mouth, his tongue demanding entrance as his hands flattened against the other man’s shoulder blades and pressed him closer. Schuldig gave way, opening his lips to Crawford and giving a small moan as the American’s tongue entered his mouth. Crawford managed not to smile at this easy capitulation.

He let his hands slide down the water-slick skin until they were around Schuldig’s waist. Keeping one arm hooked around the telepath to hold him close, he let his other hand move down Schuldig’s forearm. When his fingers encountered the shower hose, he closed his hand around it and gently urged it out of the German’s grasp.

Crawford broke the kiss, leaving Schuldig panting. God, he was so easy. Even as the telepath was still opening his eyes, Crawford grasped him by the shoulder and turned him to face away. Schuldig wobbled and hopped, making a sharp sound of pain as he slapped at the tiles in an effort to regain his balance. Crawford caught him in one arm and held him close, steadying him.

“I won’t let you fall,” he said softly into Schuldig’s ear.

“You…ah!” The complaint was cut short as Crawford rubbed his erect cock between the cheeks of Schuldig’s ass.

The German had arched his back, but now he was relaxing again which, to Crawford’s mind, was the perfect time to pinch one of his nipples. Schuldig’s back arched again, and his head tipped back as he panted out small moans. Crawford used the shower hose to wash the long hair away from Schuldig’s neck, freeing it up for his lips. He pressed lingering kisses to the pale throat as he leisurely rolled the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Giving it a final, sharp pinch he moved his hand to the other nipple and began to tease it, at the same time directing the spray from the shower hose over the telepath’s groin.

Schuldig gave a shuddering moan and pressed his ass back hard against Crawford. He rubbed himself against the precog’s arousal, reaching around with one hand and placing it on Crawford’s ass, trying to press him closer. Crawford knew where the other hand was – and he couldn’t allow that.

He stopped toying with the German’s nipple and reached for Schuldig’s cock, moving the telepath’s hand away and replacing it with his own. He pumped him firmly a few times, enjoying the feel of Schuldig’s hands caressing his butt cheeks, and the feel of Schuldig’s ass rubbing against his cock. But a man could take only so much and he’d been waiting too long for this to allow things to move at a leisurely pace.

He released his hold on the telepath, drawing a low growl of annoyance. He hung the shower hose up so the spray was directed away from them and reached for the hair conditioner. This was the all-natural, non-scented one Schuldig always used when he was recovering from backlash. Nothing in it to aggravate a pounding head and queasy stomach. Crawford knew from experience that it was safe to use as lube – hell, any more natural and it would’ve still been growing in the ground.

He flicked the cap open and squeezed a generous amount into his hand. After coating his erection, he squeezed more conditioner onto his fingers. His cock was aching for some serious friction so Schuldig wasn’t going to get the deluxe edition preparation. He was lucky he was getting any at all. Crawford set the conditioner back on the rack.

“Hurry up,” Schuldig urged him, breathlessly.

Whatever you say, Crawford thought with grim amusement. Seems he wasn’t the only one anxious for a little relief.

Although it was highly unlikely, there was still the slightest chance that someone else might be awake by now. So, because Schuldig could be a mouthy bitch sometimes and because Crawford didn’t want any attention drawn to their activities, he clapped a hand over the telepath’s mouth, and pulled his head back hard onto his shoulder. Schuldig’s sound of surprise was muffled but, of course, gagging a telepath only worked on one level.

What are you doing? Schuldig demanded as he struggled awkwardly and tried to pull the precog’s hand away from his face. Brad?

Ignoring him, Crawford maneuvered himself a little so he had room to work. When he inserted two fingers into his lover, Schuldig stopped struggling and went rigid, one hand clamping around the American’s forearm as he groaned, long and loud, against the hand over his mouth.

Jesus! Fuck! That hurts! Schuldig’s protest was loud and angry in Crawford’s head.

“Don’t mind speak,” the American said in a low voice.

He didn’t allow Schuldig time to recover before withdrawing his fingers and adding the third. Schuldig’s reaction to this repeated invasion was the same as the first time, except his groan contained more pain, and his mental cursing was more prolonged and colorful. Working quickly, Crawford made do with a cursory stretching before withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his cock, giving a deep groan of pleasure as he pushed into the heat of the other man’s body and stilled. Schuldig squeezed his eyes shut and his protesting groan was less vehement this time.

Reaching around with his slicked hand, Crawford closed it around Schuldig’s erection and began to pump in hard, fast strokes. From the feel of the death-grip Schuldig still had on his forearm, it seemed the telepath wasn’t completely enjoying the attention he was receiving. But Crawford had been made to wait too long for this and there was no time for a slow and gentle pace. Besides, he’d fucked Schuldig often enough to know the German enjoyed a little pain in the sex mix and he knew just how much pain was enough. This wasn’t beyond the red-head’s threshold and once he was warmed up, he’d enjoy it every bit as much as Crawford.

From the sound of his breathing, Schuldig needed more air than he was getting, so Crawford took his hand away from the telepath’s mouth and slid it down his throat. Schuldig took a loud gasp of air before panting out several words in German, none of them complimentary.

“There’s no need for that sort of language,” the precog chided, lust making his voice low and husky.

“No need to be so fucking rough, either,” Schuldig countered breathlessly. “You know I already feel like shit.”

“This is supposed to make you feel better,” Crawford soothed.

Under the heel of his hand, which was resting in the dip between the red-head’s sharp collarbones, he could feel Schuldig’s pulse; strong and rapid. Under the smallest of his fingers, which were splayed on one side of the telepath’s throat, he could feel the broken skin left behind by the mouth of another lover.

For a split second, his fingers tightened. He consciously relaxed them. It didn’t matter; it couldn’t matter. What Schuldig and Farfarello chose to do in their free time was of no concern to him. So long as it didn’t interfere with team business, and so long as Schuldig was ready and willing when he was required to be, Crawford didn’t care what they did. At least that’s what he told himself. Crawford couldn’t afford to believe otherwise.

All the same, he moved his hand away, sliding it down to Schuldig’s shoulder and taking a firm grip. He was just about to begin thrusting when Schuldig pushed back hard against him.

“Move,” the German demanded with a wriggle of his hips.

Gladly. Crawford withdrew almost to the head of his penis before shoving back into the telepath. Schuldig’s fingers dug into the flesh of Crawford’s forearm as he gasped loudly and exhaled a shuddering groan. Crawford repeated the action, and Schuldig moved to meet the thrust.

“Oh…oh…God,” Schuldig breathed, as his fingers dug into the American’s forearm again.

“Tell me,” Crawford breathed into his ear. “How do you get around that particular problem with your Irish lover? I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate you gasping out the name of his great enemy in the throes of passion.”

Crawford stopped dead. He’d spoken before he’d even realized he was thinking of speaking, and he was mortified by what he’d said. It was beyond careless. It was the height of sheer stupidity. He might as well have just come out and said that the telepath’s dalliance with Farfarello irritated him. Schuldig had opened his eyes and turned his head, catching Crawford’s gaze. The smug knowledge contained in those blue eyes almost made the precog flinch. No one to blame but myself, he thought. He knew from the look he’d received that Schuldig was going to make his life hell over this.

Now the telepath gave a slow, sensual smile. “I grit my teeth and groan a lot,” he replied.

The next stroke from Crawford was harder than it needed to be, and it made Schuldig close his eyes and moan, more with pain than pleasure. The American was angry with himself for slipping up like that, and he was angry with Schuldig’s glib answer.

Ease up!

Schuldig’s gasped demand made Crawford realize that he’d continued his rough stroking. Knowing that his actions were a clear display of his agitated state of mind – and knowing that Schuldig would also be aware of this – he eased up on his grip and slowed his pace a little. Christ, if he wasn’t so damned horny, he’d have happily stepped out of the cubicle and let Schuldig finish up by himself. But that wasn’t an option now. His body wasn’t going to let him leave until it had the release it craved, no matter how much of a debacle his mind thought this encounter was turning into.

Under his arm, he could feel Schuldig’s chest heaving and his heart pounding. The German was moaning on almost every breath as he jerked his hips to match Crawford’s pumping. Deciding he may as well get as much enjoyment out of this as he could, Crawford began to thrust in earnest, matching Schuldig’s rhythm.

He could feel the tension building in the telepath, felt it when he stiffened, and felt it when he came. None of it a moment too soon. The feel of Schuldig’s muscles clenching him and the sound of his shuddered groan all edged Crawford to the point of release. Letting go of the German’s cock, he wrapped his arm around the slender waist as the tension in his own body began to crest. He pressed his face into the crook of Schuldig’s shoulder, muffling the small strangled sound of pleasure his climax dragged from him.

Then there were no sounds except those of heavy breathing and of water splashing onto tiles. Crawford could feel Schuldig’s hammering pulse beginning to slow and he knew that Schuldig would be able to feel his heartbeat as it regulated back to its normal steady pace. The other thing he was aware of was how weak his legs felt. Schuldig was beginning to sag in his arms and Crawford wouldn’t be able to continue holding them both upright.

“If you don’t take your own weight, we’re both going to end up on the floor,” he warned.

“I’m going to end up there, anyway,” Schuldig replied lazily. “It’s only fair you do, too.”

“Stand up,” Crawford urged, moving his hands to the telepath’s shoulders.

Schuldig lifted his head from the American’s shoulder, giving a pained groan as he did so. Once he was standing under his own volition, Crawford withdrew from him and reached for the shower hose. As he washed himself down, Schuldig turned and rested his back against the tiles. He looked pale and only half-awake. The fact he didn’t have anything to say spoke volumes about how tired he was. Not unusual when he was recovering from backlash.

If circumstances had been different, Crawford would have been happy to let the telepath lounge around in bed for another day – especially given the severity of the attack. But he’d waited long enough for answers from Stein as it was. He wanted to know exactly how much the leader of Stärke knew and he wanted to begin making plans to bring down the bastard or bastards who’d dared take on Schwarz.

A short laugh from Schuldig drew his attention. He looked across at the telepath who met his gaze, feigning disappointment.

“I thought you couldn’t wait to fuck because it was me,” Schuldig said, his sulky tone as sincere as his expression.

Crawford stared at him a moment before realizing what he meant. He stepped closer.

“Stay out of his head! In fact, stay out of everyone’s head,” he ordered.

Schuldig grinned, amused. “But it’s fun.”

“You’re not to use your telepathy,” Crawford told him. “Not until we’ve all talked with Stärke.”

“Is that who these guys are?”

“Yes.”

“More of Eszett’s finest,” Schuldig mocked.

“Be careful,” Crawford warned in a low voice.

Schuldig met his gaze evenly. “I can find out what you want to know…”

“No!” Crawford hissed. “Just leave it for now.” Until they had a better idea what they were up against, he did not want Schuldig using his Talent. He pushed the shower hose at the German. “Finish showering.”

His long association with Schuldig had taught him that the bastard enjoyed being annoying just for the sake of it and could never leave well enough alone. The telepathic prick seemed to gain some sadistic satisfaction from pushing Crawford past the limits of his well-established self control and dragging a raw reaction from him. Most times he failed, Crawford’s control being what it was, but sometimes he succeeded.

“He’s really got the hots for you, you know. And the things he wants to do. I didn’t think some of that was even possible. We’ll have to try it out some time.”

Maybe it was the smug way it was said; maybe it was the fact that Schuldig knew something Crawford preferred he didn’t know, or maybe it was simply the final straw in too many stressful days. Whatever it was, Crawford reacted before he’d had time to think and before Schuldig had time to move. Which meant the telepath found himself pressed hard against the tiles, with a very pissed precog’s forearm across his throat.

Whatever Schuldig had hoped to achieve by his remark, it seemed this wasn’t it. The look on his face was clear evidence that the reaction he’d provoked had caught him by surprise.

“Leave it alone,” Crawford hissed.

“Fuck… ease up,” Schuldig growled, trying to force the American’s arm away.

“I will if you will,” Crawford bargained.

Schuldig looked into his eyes. “I could agree, but we both know I’d be lying,” he said bluntly.

By now, Crawford’s temper had cooled again and he felt completely disgusted with himself and the way he’d allowed Schuldig to push his buttons. Christ, there was so much to regret about this whole encounter. He straightened, removing his arm from the telepath’s throat. Schuldig clapped a hand to his throat and took a dramatic breath – most of it show.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snapped. It seemed the removal of the threat of imminent death had allowed his temper to flare. “Not content with everything else that’s wrong with me, first you try to smother me then you almost crush my windpipe. Not to mention the fact that, thanks to you, I won’t be able to sit down for a fucking week!”

Crawford wasn’t going to play the game anymore. He refused to be baited into losing his temper again.

“At least you forgot about how bad you were feeling for a while,” he replied.

Schuldig glared at him. “No, I didn’t. In fact, you’re lucky I didn’t throw up when you decided the foreplay was over and shoved your fingers up my ass!”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” Crawford said.

“Oh, so you Saw this whole thing happening, did you?”

Crawford was reminded that Schuldig didn’t know about the loss of his Talent. “No,” he replied calmly. “I knew because you always exaggerate.” He turned and slid the door back, stepping out of the cubicle.

As he dried himself off, he could hear the telepath muttering to himself. He ignored him.

Once he was dressed again, and with his hair neatly combed, he went back to the cubicle door and slid it open a little. “By the way, Farfarello’s under punishment, so leave him alone,” he ordered. He shut the door and left the bathroom before Schuldig could protest.


In the cubicle, Schuldig grinned to himself. “Yeah, right, boss,” he said under his breath.

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A/N: A reminder that reviews and feedback are always welcome!