Dragon Cycle

Dragon Cycle – Pt 12 – Control and Release







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 I give thanks to my fabulous beta, Iron Dog.





• • • • • • • • • • • • •





Crawford headed for the kitchen, still incensed that he’d allowed his emotions to get the better of him. Lust and anger could be a good mix, if utilized correctly. He’d made use of that mix in the past with pleasing results – from his point of view, at least. But on those occasions, the anger had been the familiar, ice-cold emotion he knew how to control. What he’d experienced in the bathroom was not at all familiar. It wasn’t a bad thing. It had felt remarkably good actually. The anger that flared had burned with the intensity of a furnace fire, turning his reasoning to ash and causing him to lose control of his temper. The anger had felt cleansing in a way and for that, he had no easy, comfortable explanation. That was not how Brad Crawford reacted to situations, no matter how angry he became.



Granted, Schuldig had been in the room with him and that man could make a saint homicidal. But, Crawford had known him a long time. He knew what an irritating bastard Schuldig could be, yet he’d allowed himself to be goaded into reacting. Although, he thought, the look on Schuldig’s face when he was pinned to the tiles was close to priceless. For a moment or two, Crawford’s annoyance with himself gave way to wry amusement.



Passing through the doorway and into the kitchen, he was pleased to find the room empty. He didn’t want to be around anyone at the moment. His recent behavior disturbed him greatly and he was beginning to wonder where the cool and in-control Brad Crawford had gone. It had to be more than the worry of losing his Talent that was making him behave the way he was.



Whatever the cause, he wanted to be the Crawford he had been. He needed to be that Brad Crawford again. To that end, he really needed to get control of himself. These past few days he’d let too much slip his grasp. He despised himself for that, and decided it was time to take stock and regain control. If things were allowed to slide any further, they might unravel to the point where there was no hope of retrieval.



Once he was sitting at the table with a mug of hot coffee in front of him, he let his troubling thoughts slip away and just enjoyed the rare silence. With eight people in the house, there was always someone on the move, always someone talking or laughing, even if it was only on the television. Jerry and Verena had become very fond of the television since they’d arrived, much to Crawford’s annoyance.



Because there were no bedrooms left, Stärke had more or less claimed the living room as their home. Sometimes Crawford would sit with them, watching whatever program they’d tuned in to and ignoring Stein’s less-than-subtle glances. The precog had made it plain to Stein that he wasn’t interested in him in any way, shape or form outside of having to deal with him as a colleague. Instead of being put off by this rebuff, it seemed to have only encouraged Stein to try harder. Crawford stoically ignored him.



But for now, Stein was absent. Everyone was absent. It wasn’t quite eight o’clock but Crawford knew that, before long, his solitude would end. That was a shame because he was enjoying these rare moments of peace and quiet. It was nice to be up before everyone else. It also ensured that his activities in the bathroom had gone unnoticed. Perhaps that had been his subconscious reason for dragging Schuldig out of bed and insisting he shower when he had. Given the way he’d allowed Schuldig to goad him into reacting, the way that just seeing that bite on the German’s throat had angered him, and the way he’d lost his temper more than once, maybe it would’ve been better to have left Schuldig in bed. After all, he hadn’t gone into the bathroom with the intention of fucking the telepath. That thought had come later and he’d simply given in to it.



He had no concerns the others would learn about the morning’s events. No one could get past his shields and Schuldig would know it the moment anyone tried to poke around in his head. Add to that the fact his appearance was atypical “casual Crawford” and his hair was dry. Nothing to indicate he’d been anywhere near a shower in the last half-hour.



Of course, he was well aware that trying to keep secrets in a household that contained one telepath was a fool’s dream, in a household that included two telepaths it was nearly an impossibility. Clara could have plucked certain information from the heads of Nagi and Farfarello days ago. Crawford wouldn’t be surprised if she already had and reported that fact to Stein. Not that it mattered.



Perhaps that explains Stein’s increased efforts at seduction, Crawford mused. Maybe Clara discovered that Schuldig and I fuck occasionally, and divulged this information to her leader. Maybe Stein thought that with Schuldig out of the way, he’d have a chance at something he’d missed out on years ago. Why Stein was still pursuing him, Crawford didn’t know. He had never given Stein the barest hint that he was interested in a relationship or even a random encounter with the man. Maybe it was just a case of wanting what you couldn’t have.



Crawford let that train of thought derail, deciding it really didn’t matter what Stein thought or wanted. Whatever Clara had learned by snooping around in the minds of Nagi and Farfarello couldn’t be helped. What had happened in the bathroom was something only he and Schuldig knew about and was going to remain that way. The only person Schuldig might open his big mouth and blab to was Farfarello, and Crawford knew it would be a very long time before Clara willingly went back into the Irishman’s mind.



The sound of dragging footsteps drew his attention. Verena shuffled into the kitchen looking rumpled and half-awake.



“It’s a bitch having only one bathroom,” she complained, “especially when the toilet’s in there.”



“Schuldig should be out soon,” Crawford said, resigned to the fact his peace and quiet was over.



Verena slumped onto a chair and propped her elbows on the table, resting her head in her hands. “I’ll be glad when this is over and I get a bed to sleep in again,” she moaned. “I’m getting too old to be sleeping on couches.” She raised her head, giving the American a bleary look. “Clara was muttering most of the night, too. I think your Irishman has given her the heebie-jeebies.”



“She wouldn’t be the first,” Crawford replied dryly.



“Nor the last, I’ll warrant,” Verena added. She sighed heavily. “Come on, Schuldig.”



“Go and hurry him up,” Crawford suggested.



She gave him a sardonic look. “You’re kidding, right? I saw what he was like last night. I’m not going to antagonize him.” Her look softened and waved her hand in a vague gesture. “Ah well, he did look like hell, and he was as sick as a dog, so I guess he can be excused for being less than gracious.”



He’s rarely gracious, even when he’s feeling on top of the world, Crawford thought to himself. I think he makes a special effort to be an asshole extraordinaire, actually. That thought made a smirk pass over Crawford’s lips that he hid by taking a sip from his coffee.



More footsteps drew their attention and soon Nagi wandered into the room. He looked as rumpled as Verena but more awake.



“How long’s Schuldig been in the bathroom?” he wanted to know.



“Half an hour or so,” Crawford replied.



Nagi turned and left the room. Verena watched him go then looked back at Crawford.



“He’s so cute. Can I adopt him?”



Crawford gave her one of his rarely-seen sincere smiles. “Sorry, he already has a family,” he replied.



“Which includes a bathroom-hog,” Verena added as she shifted impatiently in her chair.



“He’s been in bed four days and he’s still not feeling well,” Crawford reminded her.



“Yeah,” she sighed. “I know. But tell it to my bladder.”



“If you’re really desperate, there are the floors above us,” Crawford offered. “Of course, I can’t vouch for the condition of the bathrooms there. The floors have been deserted for a couple of years.”



“I might take you up on your offer if I can’t get into this bathroom in the next five minutes,” Verena replied.



Two of those five minutes had passed in silence when Nagi returned and headed for a cupboard.



Verena looked at him suspiciously. “Did you use the bathroom?” she asked, sounding as though the boy had wronged her somehow.



“You probably could, too,” Nagi said as he took a bowl from a shelf. “He won’t notice. He’s too busy feeling sorry for himself.”



“Is he still in the shower?”



“Yes.”



Verena considered her options for a moment then stood up. “Okay,” she said, “I’m goin’ in. If I’m not back in five minutes, send reinforcements.”



After she’d gone, the only sounds came from Nagi as he fixed himself some breakfast. Crawford continued to sip at his coffee, appreciating that Nagi wasn’t the talkative type.



A few minutes later, Verena stopped at the kitchen doorway. There was a flush of color in her cheeks.



“You were wrong,” she told Nagi. “He did notice. Now he’s grumbling about the lack of privacy.” She chuckled and moved away. Not a second later, she was back. “Oh, and dibs on the next shower.”



After she’d gone, Nagi looked at Crawford. “How long before we can go home?”



“I don’t see any reason to stay here,” Crawford replied.



“They’ll come with us, won’t they?” Nagi sounded far from pleased with the idea.



Crawford shook his head. “Not to our house. There’s not enough room for them. They’ll be around - at least until we know what’s happened, why it happened, and who caused it to happen. But they’ll have to take accommodation elsewhere. They can stay here for all I care.”



Nagi made a soft sound of disdain. “They don’t know much more than they’ve already told us,” he said, his tone conveying contempt.



“I think they’re hoping Schuldig might be able to provide some clues.”



“I just want this to be over,” Nagi muttered as he picked up his bowl and headed for the door.



With the boy’s departure, Crawford‘s world grew quiet again. He was only allowed to enjoy the silence for a short time before Verena was back in the kitchen. She dumped some clothes on a chair then bustled about getting coffee and looking for something to eat.



“You want a top up?” she asked Crawford.



He looked into his almost empty mug before holding it out to her. “Thanks,” he said perfunctorily.



“Breakfast?” she asked next.



“No. Thanks.”



After she’d placed Crawford’s refill in front of him, she rattled about making herself some toast. While she was doing this, Clara dragged herself into the kitchen. Verena turned, saw who it was and went back to watching her bread toast.



“How are you feeling?” she asked her team mate.



Given Clara’s pallor and the sick look she wore, that question probably didn’t need asking. The telepath looked like sleep was a dream populated with nightmare images. Considering that she had been in Farfarello’s head with no preparation of what awaited her there, her dreams probably did have horrifying images courtesy of the Irishman.



“Felt better,” the telepath replied in a low voice.



“I guess you have,” Verena replied.



Clara looked at the other woman, resentment in her gaze. Then the look was gone and Clara gave a barely-discernible shrug. “My own fault,” she murmured and headed for the coffee pot.



She didn’t hang around. Once she had her coffee, she left. Crawford hoped Verena might do the same, but his hopes were dashed minutes later when she took the seat opposite him at the table. The smell of the toast lingered in the air, making Crawford feel hungry. For several minutes, he debated with himself as to whether or not he was hungry enough to get up and fix himself something to eat. He’d just decided he was too comfortable where he was, when Schuldig limped into the kitchen. The telepath was dressed in the black pants and green button-up shirt – unbuttoned – that Crawford had supplied.



“Oh, you’re out!” Verena exclaimed before anyone else had a chance to speak.



“Of course I’m out,” Schuldig grumbled as he limped to a chair and sank down on it. “It was turning into a fucking peepshow in there. Let me know next time and I’ll sell tickets.”



“It was only Nagi and me – and I don’t think Nagi peeped,” Verena said easily, and took another bite of her toast.



“A man’s entitled to some privacy when he’s having a shower,” Schuldig griped.



“Oh, you wouldn’t even have known I was there if you hadn’t opened the door,” Verena replied.



“I opened the door because I wanted my toothbrush. I wasn’t expecting to find a strange woman at the basin,” Schuldig complained.



Verena locked gazes with the man whose mind she had Shielded. When she spoke, her voice had taken on a sultry tone. “I’m sure you’ve stepped out to bigger surprises; a good-looking guy like you.”



Schuldig wasn’t about to be mollified by her words, especially when it was clear she was teasing him. “Yeah, well, I prefer my surprises a bit younger,” he snapped back.



Verena gave him a look of amusement. “I’m sure you do, sugar,” she replied. “And, as much as I’d love to stay and chat some more,” she stood up, “I’m next in line to use the shower.” She bent and scooped up the clothes she’d stashed on a chair earlier. Reaching the door, she turned. “By the way, Schuldig,” she said. Then she winked at him and gave him a thumbs-up before disappearing down the hallway.



Schuldig gave a short laugh. “Can’t argue with that,” he preened. He looked at Crawford. “What’s with this team? Stein is lusting after you, and she’s hitting on me.”



“She’s not hitting on you, Schuldig,” Crawford said with a sigh. He’d seemed to have forgotten in the space of four days just how easily Schuldig could wear on a person’s nerves.



The German shrugged. “Looked like she was hitting on me from my point of view. Maybe my radar is just a little fogged from recent events,” he said with a heated look at Brad. “I’ll take your word that she wasn’t, you being the expert on Stärke lust, and all.”



Having already decided to regain control on himself, Crawford reacted the only way left to him. He met the telepath’s gaze and gave a humorless little smile. “Jealous, Schuldig?” he asked.



“Hah!” Schuldig scoffed. “As if. I’ve got a full dance card… as I’m sure you know.”



Crawford looked down into his mug, still wearing that smile he knew infuriated the German. He would not let the telepath goad him into another display of temper. After a few moments of silence, Schuldig spoke up, his tone advising he was not happy.



“You do know I don’t have any shoes,” he said, getting straight to the point of his current annoyance.



Remembering the savaged boot in the living room, Crawford realized he’d slipped up. “I was in a hurry, I didn’t think about shoes,” he admitted.



The telepath propped his elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand, looking at his leader through half-lidded eyes. “So,” he said in a low voice, “you want to wrap my ankle?”



Crawford glanced across at him. “No.”



Schuldig sighed, slumping. “Will you, at least, get me a cup of coffee? My ankle still hurts like a bitch.”



Without a word, Crawford rose to his feet. It was better than letting the telepath get his own coffee and having to listen to his whining the whole time.



Schuldig was uncharacteristically silent for two heartbeats then he asked, “Is that the right time?”



Without turning, Crawford answered in the affirmative, knowing the kitchen clock was correct. He heard the groan and, when he turned, coffee in hand, he found Schuldig glaring at him.



“You only got me up this early so you could have your sadistic way with me,” the telepath accused.



Crawford quirked an eyebrow at him. “Are you channeling a heroine from a bad romance novel?” he enquired, as he moved to the table and set the mug down.



Schuldig snorted. “As if I’d know what one of those sounded like.” By the time Crawford sat down again, Schuldig seemed to have warmed to the topic, if only as a way to be annoying. “Obviously you do, though,” he went on. He leaned closer across the table, mischief obvious in his blue eyes. “So, tell me, Brad. If I were to sneak into your room and look under your bed, would I find a stack of bodice-rippers?”



“If you were to sneak into my room, Schuldig, you’d be made to pay for the transgression.” Seeing the leer that came to the German’s face, Crawford added, “and not in any way that you’d find pleasant.”



“Spoilsport,” Schuldig pouted and flopped back in his chair.



Before the telepath could find some other source of annoyance, Crawford said, “We’ll be having a meeting later, to discuss what’s happened and what can be done about it.”



“I know what happened,” Schuldig said, his manner changing from playful to serious. He looked at the American. “I know what to do about it. Just point me in the right direction.”



“What do you remember?”



Schuldig turned a little in his seat and leaned over, pulling another chair closer and propping his injured foot on it. Sitting back, he hooked an arm over the back of his chair. This action caused his unbuttoned shirt to slide open a little more. Finding his gaze drawn to the German’s chest, Crawford reminded himself there was a time and place for everything. Now was not the time or the place. No matter how tempting it might be to act on the mental images of his hands and mouth on that pale skin. A flash of desire shot straight to Brad’s groin as he remembered with aching clarity how good it had felt to be buried in Schuldig and the taste of his skin on his tongue. Crawford shifted in his seat and deliberately returned his gaze to the telepath’s face.



Schuldig was gazing into space, his eyes narrowed as he thought about the night of the attack. “I remember something coming through the links,” he said eventually. “I remember feeling the sensation and not knowing what it was for a moment. As soon as I realized what was happening, I broke off the links.” He blinked and looked at Crawford. “I don’t remember much more after that. I knew my shields were gone and I knew why; I knew what I had to do and I did it. But four days...” He let it trail, giving his head a small shake.



“You felt something through the links? You’re sure of that?” Crawford wanted to know.



“Yeah,” Schuldig replied with a nod.



Crawford kept the frown from his face, but what the German had said was at odds with what they’d deduced previously. If the attack had come via the links, then how the hell did the loss of his Talent fit in with that? It was obvious his precognition had failed prior to the actual attack and that had to be more than coincidence. Psionic powers didn’t just disappear for no reason. The loss of his Talent had to be connected to the attack – nothing else made any sense. All they had to do was figure out how they were connected.



Looking back at Schuldig he asked, “How much did you learn from Stein?”



“Guess there’s no point in denying I was in his head,” Schuldig replied with an easy smile. “But the truth is I didn’t learn much. I was just taking a general look around and…” he gave a lazy shrug, “I got distracted by his personal thoughts.”



Suppressing a sigh, Crawford held the blue gaze. “Then let me fill you in,” he offered. “You may have been in stasis for four days but you – and we, as a team – were luckier than others. Stein tells us that, so far, six teams have been attacked, and only one has survived.”



Schuldig’s eyes widened momentarily. “The other teams all died?”



Crawford nodded. “No one seems to be entirely sure how these attacks were carried out, except that they focused on the team’s telepath.”



Schuldig looked like he was about to say something then was distracted. “Oh,” he said, “sounds like the rest of Stärke are awake. Shit, Stein’s in an even worse mood than you are.”



“Do not use your telepathy,” Crawford instructed, enough command in his voice to ensure even the German would take him seriously. “I mean it, Schuldig. You’re at risk - the whole team may be at risk - when you do. Until we know more about what’s happening, please refrain from poking around in anyone’s head.”



“I’m not poking anything anywhere,” Schuldig replied, all innocence – or his best approximation of it, at least. “I just happened to hear them, the same as I hear other voices.”



“I’m warning you to be careful,” Crawford said. “If you value your life, you’ll do just that.”



As he finished speaking, he saw the shift in Schuldig’s eyes and realized the telepath was focused on his own mind. Now Schuldig gave a malicious chuckle and directed his full attention back at his leader.



“Clara was trying to go where she shouldn’t. How naughty,” he explained.



Crawford sat with his gaze fixed on the German, but his thoughts were elsewhere. If Schuldig wasn’t supposed to use his telepathy, why was Stein allowing Clara to use hers? Something wasn’t right here. Was Clara doing it without Stein’s knowledge or had Stein given her the go-ahead to try and poke around in Schuldig’s head?



“So, what was that you were saying about not using my telepathy?” Schuldig enquired sardonically.



Crawford found the fact that he and his telepath were thinking along similar lines unnerving.



“Until we know how the attack was implemented, do as I say,” he ordered. “If Stein is prepared to risk his telepath, that’s his business. I’m not willing to risk mine.”



Schuldig’s expression changed, becoming seductive. “Oh, Brad,” he said huskily, “does that mean you care about me?” As he’d spoken he’d run his fingertips slowly up his bare chest. Now he flattened the hand over his heart. “I’m touched, really.”



The sound of footsteps thumping down the hallway ended the discussion. Schuldig’s hand slipped away from his chest, but his and Crawford’s gazes remained locked.



“Morning,” Stein muttered as he entered the room.



Schuldig looked away from Crawford, turning his attention to the leader of Stärke. “Stein, long time, no see,” he greeted the man. The way he spoke made it clear he took no pleasure in this meeting.



Stein stopped at the table and looked down at the telepath. “Schuldig. A long time, indeed,” he agreed, his tone conveying that this meeting was no more pleasing to him than it was to the German. Stein gave one of his cold smiles. “You’re looking well.”



“I look like shit. Don’t try to butter me up,” Schuldig replied, in a matter-of-fact tone.



“Can’t con a telepath, huh?” Stein said, his smile dying. He looked at Crawford. “How are you this morning?” he asked, his voice containing all the warmth it had lacked when he spoke to Schuldig.



“Well enough,” Crawford replied. If Stein thought he could rile Schuldig with this ruse, he was way off course.



Opposite him, Schuldig stood up. “I’m going to grab a nap,” he said. “I was up way too early.”



Once he’d hobbled from the room, Stein turned his attention back to Crawford. “Did I offend him?” he asked hopefully.



“I doubt it very much,” the American replied.



“Hmm. You’re probably right. As I recall he wasn’t easy to offend. Where are you going?” This was directed at Crawford, who’d risen to his feet.



“I have a report to make.”



“I was hoping you’d keep me company while I had breakfast,” Stein said, not caring to hide his disappointment.



Setting his empty mug in the sink, Crawford turned. “Stein, I thought I’d made my position in regards to you very clear. In case I haven’t, stop wasting your time. I have absolutely no interest in sleeping with you. Not then. Not now. Not ever,” he said bluntly.



“You know,” Stein began slowly, his tone becoming caustic, “I’d never realized before what poor taste you have. I wouldn’t have picked you as the slumming type. It’s surprising to me but it does explain so much.”



“Your opinion on anything other than the attacks on Eszett’s teams is unimportant to me,” Crawford replied. He moved away from the sink. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”



He was surprised – and relieved – when he was allowed to leave the kitchen unimpeded. He knew this would not be the end of the matter. Stein was nothing if not tenacious. He’d continue to try to sway Crawford into giving in to him despite Brad’s rather blunt words that it was not going to happen. Had it been anyone else, the American may have been tempted. But Stein had become the make of man he’d always shown promise of becoming, and Crawford felt nothing for him but contempt.



The exchange in the kitchen had decided Crawford to act on leaving sooner rather than later. He’d had enough of being cooped up at such close quarters with Stärke, and Stein in particular. He understood they were here for a reason but, in his opinion, they could just as easily carry out their task at arm’s length. The only reason Schwarz was here in the first place was because of Schuldig. Now he was up and functioning, there was no reason at all to stay at the safe house. Crawford wanted to put some distance between himself and Stein, between Schwarz and Stärke. Mostly, he wanted his home and he wanted his privacy.



Once in the hallway, he knew it was pointless to go to Schuldig’s room. He didn’t need his Talent to know what he’d find – the room would be empty. He’d given the German a specific order; leave Farfarello alone. That had been his mistake. Schuldig loved direct orders because they were so easy to disobey.



Crawford understood that being under the same roof as those two while they fucked was going to become a way of life. But not this time. Schuldig was not going to get away with disobeying orders this time. If the episode in the bathroom this morning hadn’t taught Schuldig that now was not the time to irritate his leader, then Crawford would just have to reinforce the lesson



As he headed for the Irishman’s room, Crawford heard voices from the front room. One of those voices belonged to Schuldig. Crawford stopped, a strange sense of disappointment washing through him. How very like Schuldig to be doing the exact opposite to what was expected from him, he thought with a sigh. He took a few more steps, trying to catch what was being said.



“…if you don’t, it will go all the worse for you,” Schuldig was saying.



“You don’t give me orders,” Clara snapped.



“Suit yourself, but I’ve warned you,” Schuldig replied.



Sensing the conversation was over, Crawford waited. Before too long, Schuldig limped into the hallway. Seeing Crawford, he stopped, giving him a querulous look.



“Did you want me?” he asked.



It was the kind of question that could convey different meanings, depending on how it was asked, or who had asked it. In this instance, it had sounded innocuous enough even though it was Schuldig asking. Just in case there was inference in that question, Crawford decided to play the same game.



“Yes,” he answered. He allowed two heartbeats before adding. “Pack up, we’re going home.”



Schuldig looked a little surprised. “I was going to have a nap,” he said.



“You can do that at home,” Crawford replied and turned away.



Reaching the bedroom that had been his for the duration of their stay; Crawford closed the door and immediately set about the task of packing.









• • • • • • • • • • • • •









He opened his eye slowly, aware of his situation and the events that had led to it. The memories of last night’s long-overdue bloodbath were enough to bring a slow, rapturous smile to his face. He’d been very disciplined all the while Schuldig had slept but eventually his nature had overwhelmed him – and he’d reaped wonderful rewards. Flesh, opened and hemorrhaging; bones, exposed and broken; bodies, damaged and defiled…all accompanied by a litany of screams and cries. Those who’d prayed had died harder; those who’d whispered that they forgave him had died hardest of all. He didn’t need their self-righteous pity. He just needed them to die. And so they had – every last one of them. It had been glorious.



He’d entered that convent and, one by one, he’d offered them the choice of truth or death. Faced with a man who was obviously suffering a severe form of psychosis, hearing what he was asking them, those deluded brides had still tried to convince him to their way of thinking. It was unbelievable. Yet it happened almost all the time. Those with a religious vocation seemed completely incapable of understanding and answering a simple question. They always had to sermonize, offering up trite platitudes which only served to anger him more. When the tired old clichés didn’t work, they took another tack, turning to their God for succor and safety – none of which were ever forthcoming.



Their God had no interest in the fact his children were being ripped apart right under his omnipresent gaze. He displayed no chagrin at the sight of an Unbeliever baptizing His brides again, this time in their own blood. He didn’t intervene. He didn’t deal out divine retribution as punishment for the Unbeliever’s mortal sins.



He never did. He never would. He didn’t exist.



Farfarello was extremely pleased with his night’s work. It had turned out as well as he’d hoped it would. The outcome may have been different if Crawford hadn’t been forced to rely on another telepath. He smiled again, this time at how easy it had been to fool her. Just assault her with vivid imagery she didn’t particularly care to see, which led her to believe he was already at the church when, in fact, he was simply procuring a vehicle and disposing of the driver. That had gained him valuable time – time enough to complete his self-appointed mission.



The result of it all being that he now found himself restrained. This wasn’t the punishment for his indiscretion. Crawford would have something else in mind, even though they both knew it would be a waste of time. No amount of punishment – no matter how severe – could prevent the psychosis from returning nor prevent Farfarello following where it led. The later punishment was part of the entire ritual. Farfarello had grown to even like it on occasion. The various punishments Crawford came up with often made his next lapse even sweeter.



Then, all thought stopped as he found a pair of blue eyes watching him.



“Schu?” he croaked.



“You stole my limelight,” the German accused softly, without rancor. He leaned over Farfarello. “I was almost killed, spent four days in a coma and, when I finally drag myself back to consciousness, there’s no one here to witness my magnificent return to the living except Nagi and a stranger. Why? Because everyone else is out chasing you down.”



“Then your timing is fucked,” Farfarello told him.



Schuldig gave a low laugh that Farfarello felt to his nerve ends. The German looked tired and pale, but he was obviously suffering no major ill-effects from his four-day ordeal. Farfarello was acutely aware of a different set of restraints; the ones that hadn’t allowed him to touch a hand to the German for too long. He tested the restraints on the jacket.



“Uh-uh,” the telepath chided as he straightened. “Crawford hasn’t said you can be released yet.”



“Fuck Crawford,” Farfarello replied lowly.



Russet colored brows rose a notch in query. “What makes you think I haven’t?” the telepath taunted.



“Or he’s fucked you, at least,” Farfarello said.



“Well,” Schuldig drawled, “it’s not my fault. I hadn’t had sex for almost a week and you weren’t here when I woke up…” He let the sentence trail, clearly placing the blame for his indiscretion firmly at the Irishman’s feet.



“I’m here now. Let me free, Schu,” Farfarello asked again. It was a courtesy, nothing more, but one he was willing to extend if it gained him the pleasure of feeling those hands unbuckle and unstrap him.



“I told you, Crawford hasn’t okayed it yet.”



“Since when did that stop you from doing anything?”



“Ah,” Schuldig sighed as he moved away. Farfarello lost sight of him for a moment before feeling the bed move. He turned so he was facing the German who was now lying alongside him. Schuldig made himself comfortable, lying on his back, his hands behind his head, his gaze directed at the ceiling. “When someone goes through the sort of trauma I did, who’s to say how it affects them.”



“Let me free,” Farfarello persisted.



Schuldig turned his head and looked at him. “What do you think of our new house mates?” he asked. Farfarello’s lip curled in a snarl. Schuldig laughed lowly. “Me, too,” he agreed, returning his attention to the ceiling.



Farfarello knew he was being deliberately teased. Why else would Schuldig refuse to release him and then lie beside him on the bed? The telepath’s idea of a little fun, no doubt.



“I remember Stein from Rosenkreuz,” Schuldig said.



“Another German?” Farfarello asked.



“Austrian.”



Stein was tall, blond and blue-eyed. He should have been German.



Schuldig looked back at Farfarello and gave a slow smile. Bastard – he knew how sensual that smile was. He really was playing with fire and he was going to get severely burned if he wasn’t careful. “We’re not all blond and blue-eyed, you know.”



“That Austrian isn’t to be trusted,” Farfarello said quietly.



Schuldig have a short laugh. “You don’t know the half of it,” he agreed.



“Don’t want to,” Farfarello replied. “Let me free, Schu.”



The German laughed again before breaching the distance between them and kissing the Irishman on the mouth. It wasn’t a lingering kiss – just done to tease. Drawing back, Schuldig gave him an amused look. “You don’t need my help to get out of that contraption,” he said. He sat up. “But since we’re supposed to be leaving for home soon, I suppose I can help out.”



“We’re finally going home,” Farfarello said, sounding satisfied.



He kicked back the covers that had been thoughtfully placed over him once he’d been put to bed, and sat up, turning his back to Schuldig.



“You’ve really pissed the mighty Mr. Crawford off,” Schuldig said as he set about unbuckling and unstrapping the straightjacket. “He’s in a foul mood this morning.”



“He’s been like that for days,” Farfarello replied, feeling the restraints begin to loosen.



Schuldig stopped working and leaned against Farfarello’s back. The Irishman felt the effects of that contact all the way down to his toes.



“Ah,” Schuldig breathed into his ear. “You think he was worried about me?”



Farfarello gave a snort. “He’s worried about his Talent,” he said.



He felt Schuldig grow still. “His Talent?” the telepath echoed.



“Aye. Seems he’s misplaced it,” Farfarello said with glee in his voice.



“Well,” Schuldig said after a moment, “that explains a lot. What happened?”



The Irishman shrugged. “It’s to do with the attack on you. We don’t know any more than that. The Austrian is keeping what he knows to himself.”



“How helpful of him,” Schuldig sneered. He leaned back and returned to the task of releasing his team mate from the straight jacket.



It was already loose enough that he could have freed his arms if he’d wanted to, but Farfarello waited. Seconds later he felt hands slide inside the heavy garment and onto his shoulders. He straightened his arms as those hands moved along them. He could feel Schuldig’s shirt-covered chest pressing against his bare back again.



“Not exactly a snug fit, is it?” the German remarked.



Farfarello leaned back against Schuldig, letting his head rest on the telepath’s shoulder. It was all he wanted for now – just basic contact.



“You smell nice,” he remarked, closing his eye.



He felt and heard the small laugh. “I shouldn’t smell like anything,” Schuldig pointed out.



“Clean – you smell clean.”



“You can thank Crawford for that. The fucker dragged me out of bed at the crack of dawn and made me take a shower.”



As he spoke, the German’s fingers were idly tracing abstract patterns on the backs of Farfarello’s hands and on his wrists. The Irishman found it strangely relaxing to be sitting there like this. He was taking pleasure in the fact he was allowed to touch and be touched by the telepath. He’d wanted the straightjacket off because he’d thought he wanted to hold Schuldig and kiss him. Now he was free, he found that he was content with the contact they had. Later, he’d want more but for now, and after too many days of restraint, this was enough.



“Are you falling asleep there?” Schuldig whispered into his ear.



The sensation made Farfarello shiver. “No,” he replied lazily.



“Good,” Schuldig said in his normal tone of voice. He began to withdraw his arms from the straightjacket. “You have to get packed. Crawford wants to leave as soon as possible. Sit up, Far.” Schuldig was having trouble freeing himself with the Irishman still leaning against him.



With a sigh, Farfarello sat up straight and, employing his knees, dragged the straightjacket off. Now he looked over his shoulder at Schuldig. “I thought Crawford hadn’t given the okay to release me,” he queried.



“He hasn’t,” Schuldig replied. “But we’re going home soon and I doubt he intends for you to travel in that thing.”



Crawford had done stranger things when it suited him, but Farfarello let it slide as Schuldig became his whole focus. Looking at him sitting there on the bed, finally awake and somewhat alert, the Irishman felt desire spark into life. ‘Later’ had become ‘now’ and the brief, innocent contact of minutes ago was no longer enough.



Having obviously missed the shift in his team mate’s mood, Schuldig turned in preparation for getting off the bed. Farfarello moved like lightning, wrapping his arms around the telepath and locking them across his chest. He buried his face in the thick, orange hair, and took a deep breath. He’d been right when he’d said the German smelled clean, yet beneath it was a faint scent that was pure Schuldig – and that scent excited his lust.



When Farfarello’s arms had closed around him, Schuldig had started slightly - assassins not being big fans of people coming up behind them. Now he relaxed.



“I didn’t know being in the straight jacket was a turn-on for you,” he said, his tone low and lazy. “Better make sure Crawford never finds that out. I don’t think you’re his very favorite person right now.”



Farfarello tightened his grip. “You know it’s not the straight jacket,” he replied as he raised his head and leaned around to claim a kiss.



From the involuntary sound the German had made, it seemed that he may be hugging him too tightly, but he didn’t loosen his hold. If Schuldig had any further protests, he didn’t voice them. Instead, he turned his head, meeting the Irishman’s lips with his own.



Farfarello groaned as he felt the effects of that kiss in his groin. It was far too long since he’d been able to hold that lean body in his arms, too long since he’d been allowed to kiss the soft lips and invade the hot mouth. He’d been given one night of bliss then the telepath had been taken away, denying him the chance to repeat that night. Now the time for restraint was over and he was allowed access once more. Farfarello was more than ready to prove what an astute student he was.



Holding Schuldig had stirred lust, and kissing him had made Farfarello hard.



He drew back from the telepath’s mouth and raised his left hand, drawing the long hair out of the way so he could place his lips against the pale throat. Schuldig sighed with pleasure, letting his head fall back on the Irishman’s shoulder.



As he slowly kissed his way down the warm throat, Farfarello’s right hand went to the top button on the telepath’s shirt. A split second later, he had it undone and was moving on to the next button. Schuldig raised a hand and cupped the back of Farfarello’s head, murmuring soft words in appreciation of the gentle kisses he was receiving.



With three buttons undone, Farfarello slid his hand inside the shirt, running it over the German’s prominent ribs. Schuldig was lean and, to Farfarello, the feel of a body’s bones under a thin layer of flesh was extremely sensual. He let his hand play over the ribs for a moment or two and then moved it upwards as he kissed his way back up the German’s throat.



His fingers found a nipple and pinched it at the exact same time that his teeth nipped the flesh just below Schuldig’s ear. The telepath drew a sharp breath, his back arching in surprise, his fingers tensing against Farfarello’s scalp. He relaxed again with a small sigh, as the Irishman continued to pinch and roll the hardened nub and tease at it with his nail.



Schuldig turned his face towards the Irishman, searching out his lips. Farfarello obliged him, always willing to exchange deep, hot kisses with the German. The rise and fall of Schuldig’s chest was quickening as his breathing became more rapid. These were all good signs to Farfarello, whose hard cock was aching for some serious attention. It would have to wait until Schuldig’s cock was in a similar state.



As they continued to kiss, Farfarello moved his left hand to the final button on Schuldig’s shirt. As soon as it was undone, Farfarello flipped the shirt aside, running his hand over the German’s hard, flat stomach. It was a rare thing for the Irishman to lay hands on such vulnerable flesh and not feel the urge to tear into it. Perhaps, if this encounter had taken place twenty-four hours ago, Schuldig may have been at risk. As it was, Farfarello felt nothing more than the urge to stroke and caress the German’s cool flesh.



Schuldig broke the kiss as Farfarello’s hand traveled over his ribs and up to the nipple that had been neglected so far. The German’s breathing was hard now as he let out a small sound of pleasure and his free hand gripped hard at Farfarello’s thigh. The Irishman smiled and returned to kissing the pale throat. He released the nipple he’d been toying with the longest and ran his hand slowly down Schuldig’s chest and stomach, arriving at the waistband of his pants. A little dexterity was all that was required to get the button open and the fly unzipped – and Farfarello was extremely dexterous.



Sliding his hand inside the opened pants, he found the German was almost as hard as he was. He stroked the erection, causing Schuldig to writhe and give a shuddering moan. As Schuldig tried to push upwards with his hips, Farfarello withdrew his hand. The telepath gave a low growl of disapproval that was cut short when Farfarello wrapped a strong arm around his chest, moved to one side and hauled him backwards onto the bed. Even as the telepath was hitting the mattress, Farfarello was at his hips, dragging his pants down over his thighs.



With the German’s erection freed, Farfarello wasted no time. He ran his tongue along its length from root to tip, eliciting a long, low moan from the telepath. He wondered briefly if Schuldig knew just how sensual his moans sounded and how they inflamed an already aching cock? But this was hardly the time for deep contemplation. Farfarello was almost dizzy with his own need. He wanted to suck Schuldig off quickly so he could then claim the pleasure of fucking him.



When he took the German’s length into his mouth, he was rewarded with more sensual moaning and panted words of encouragement. Since Farfarello had never had a problem with his gag-reflex, he was able to deep-throat easily. Schuldig almost arched up off the bed. As he relaxed, he offered breathless praise in a mixture of German and Japanese. Farfarello was never one to seek approval from anybody, but Schuldig’s reaction and his complimentary words had given the Irishman a rare glimpse at what it felt like to want to please someone and succeed in doing so. He decided he liked how it felt to please Schuldig.



But now Schuldig was turning onto his side. Farfarello moved to accommodate him, stretching out the length of the German’s body, and never faltering in his teasing and sucking of the cock in his mouth. He felt warm hands on his hips before his boxers were slowly lowered. The brush of material against his sensitive erection caused him to take a sharp breath which, in turn, made Schuldig shudder and groan. When Farfarello felt wet warmth at the base of his cock and a hand on his balls, it was his turn to groan and shudder in pleasure.



Schuldig’s tongue made its way up Farfarello’s erection, as his hand rolled and squeezed the Irishman’s balls. Being quick on the uptake, Farfarello returned the favor and felt the pleasing sensation of Schuldig’s breath hissing over his cock. Then moist heat engulfed him and once again he experienced the delicious sensation of melting into the mattress. He rumbled deep in his throat to express his pleasure, causing Schuldig to reciprocate with an equally deep groan which Farfarello felt to his nerve ends.



Through the sensations swamping him, he could hear his own harsh breathing. He tried to remember to be careful with his mouth and his teeth, but it was hard to concentrate when Schuldig was sucking and teasing him so expertly. If this continued, one of them was going to injure the other. He wasn’t concerned for himself, but he did hold fears for the telepath. He didn’t want the German damaged. After all, who else but Schuldig would allow a psychopath’s mouth around his most vulnerable of body parts? Even for a telepath it was a risky move.



Farfarello was reminded then that he hadn’t heard or felt Schuldig in his head.



Are you there? he enquired silently.



Where else? came the smug reply and Schuldig chuckled, once again sending delightful vibrations along Farfarello’s sensitive cock and making him groan and squirm.



Fuck! Teeth… Schuldig’s mental voice was laced with pain.



Farfarello drew back. “I knew that was going to happen,” he panted.



“You need more practice,” Schuldig informed him breathlessly. “We don’t have time for that now, so let’s improvise. You want to go first?”



Farfarello placed a hand on the German’s hip and pushed him over onto his back. It was all the answer he gave before lowering his head once more. He may not have been as experienced as the German, but he’d picked up some clues as to what Schuldig liked. He took all of Schuldig’s cock into his mouth, hearing the telepath hiss and tense up. Farfarello raised his head until only the head of the penis was in his mouth. He teased at the slit with his tongue before swallowing the whole length once more. From the sounds Schuldig was making, the way he was moving, and the rapid pace of his breathing, Farfarello knew he was fast approaching release. To encourage him, the Irishman worked his throat muscles, dragging a small, sharp cry of pleasure from Schuldig and, bare minutes later, bringing him to climax.



As Schuldig recovered, Farfarello laid his head on his hip and rested. His own erection was pressed into the bed covers, still demanding attention. But the Irishman’s thoughts were elsewhere; focused on the pleasure he’d given. When he’d been recruited to Schwarz, the promise of sanctioned murder had been more than enough to satisfy him. Now he’d learned there was more to pleasure than blood and screams. There was the decadence that Schuldig had shown him was possible by worshiping a body without harm.



The feel of a hand caressing his back brought him back to the present. He made a small sound as he raised his head and looked around at the sated telepath.



“Ready?” Schuldig enquired.



“More than,” Farfarello answered and rolled onto his back.



“Good, because I’m exhausted,” the German said.



Schuldig may not have been able to deep throat the way Farfarello could but, as the Irishman had learned, he was gifted with a talented tongue and mouth. Those were put to use on sensitive flesh now, quickly raising the tempo of Farfarello’s breathing and drawing small groans and grunts from him. Schuldig didn’t neglect the Irishman’s balls or perineum, using his hand to heighten the pleasure as his mouth continued to edge Farfarello closer to release. The noises of pleasure that escaped the German as he played his mouth over Farfarello’s cock added to the pleasure rushing through the Irishman’s system.



With his heart pounding, his breath rasping out of him, and the tension within him winding tighter, Farfarello he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out for much longer against the attention being lavished on him. He reached down, placing a hand on Schuldig’s head. He didn’t exert any pressure; he just wanted to touch him.



The tension continued to build and he couldn’t hold still any longer. He began to thrust his hips, craving release now. He felt his balls draw tight just before he climaxed. White lights burst behind his eyelid and a low groan escaped his lips as his seed pumped out of him.



After the heat of Schuldig’s mouth was removed, Farfarello lay still and silent. Neither of them moved nor spoke for several minutes, as they regained their composure and strength. Eventually, Farfarello raised his head and braced himself on his elbows. Schuldig lay there with his head still close to Farfarello’s groin and his eyes closed. A satisfied smile played on his lips.



“Oi, Schu, you awake?”



“Barely.”



Farfarello moved so he was lying alongside the German. “That wasn’t what I had in mind,” he said softly.



“It was all I was offering,” Schuldig replied his eyes still closed.



“So maybe later we can do things my way,” Farfarello suggested as he wrapped an arm around the telepath.



Now the blue eyes opened a little and Schuldig gave a weary smile. “I don’t see why not,” he agreed.



Farfarello smiled in turn, before breaching the small distance between them and kissing Schuldig. It was a kiss that spoke of weariness and sated lust, but was still passionate. Farfarello found that he liked the taste of Schuldig’s lips mixed with his essence. Sex with Schuldig was great, but Farfarello really liked kissing him, too. In fact, Farfarello thought as his hand slid under the German’s shirt and onto smooth flesh, there was nothing about Schuldig he didn’t like.



When they drew apart, Schuldig looked at him and smiled. “That’s some oral technique you’ve got,” he complimented.



“Yeah, but like you said, we need to work on mutuality,” Farfarello replied with a grin.



Schuldig laughed lowly before sighing. “We’d better get moving,” he said.



Farfarello sat up and slid off the bed. Pulling his boxers up, he went to his backpack, checking inside it for clean clothes and finding them. Dragging them out, he turned, seeing Schuldig still lying on the bed.



“You all right, Schu?” he asked.



“Yeah. But when you’re dressed, can you help me to my room?”



Farfarello returned to the bed and looked down at the telepath. “Help you?”



Schuldig met his gaze. “My ankle,” he reminded him.



“You did that five days ago,” Farfarello pointed out.



“Yeah, and four of those days I spent in stasis. My body shuts down when that happens. If it didn’t, I would’ve pissed the bed – and worse – but my ankle didn’t heal, either.” The German shrugged. “Win some, lose some.”



“Ah,” the Irishman said and began to get dressed.



When he was done, he gathered what few belongings were lying about and stuffed them into the backpack. He left the straight jacket on the bed. That was someone else’s responsibility. Returning to the bed, he helped Schuldig up and held him steady while the German tidied his clothing.



In the room that had become Schuldig’s, he let the telepath down on the bed then checked around for anything that needed to be packed. He was just closing the backpack when Crawford appeared in the doorway. He gave Farfarello a hard look before directing that same gaze at the telepath.



“It’s time to go,” he said.





• • • • • • • • • • • • •



A/N: I know you're not supposed to be able to post new chapters, but where there's a will...

Hopefully the Review function isn't affected *not-so-subtle-hint* ^_^