Waiting

Fandom: Weiss Kreuz
Disclaimer: not mine
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: CrawfordxFarfarello
Warning: none
This should be read after \"Waiting\"


He doesn’t know it, but he needs me

By Sophia Moon


I watch him waiting for the redhead. Their redhead, that is. The real one.

Farfarello sits there. He forgets to drink his beer. He’s like a dog.
Begging. Easy to kick. His one golden eye staring at a man who doesn’t even
acknowledge his existence. Not much to be done there. Even I can’t blame a
man for being faithful to his beloved. If it’d been Yohji he is lusting
after, it would have been easier. Yohji is a little slut. Yohji loves
playing games. At least there is a chance of winning when someone plays a
game. Aya doesn’t play. Ever. He’s too much like me.

So there is nothing left for the madman then to sit and wait. And after the
waiting to finish his drink and follow me home. Every week we repeat this
useless ritual. Watching him waiting, watching him watching. Wanting.

He doesn’t care if I’m there with him or not. He knows I’m there, sometimes
he even looks at me, but I slip in and out of his thoughts without leaving a
trace. Not that it matters, mind you. I’m just here to make sure he doesn’t
get into trouble. After al’m t’m the one who knows when it’s time for his
medicines, when it is safe for him to play with his blender for stress
relief and when it is necessary for him to be restricted in his movements.
He is part of my job. And I always take my job serious.

He is without hope. Still he can’t stop himself. He sits. He waits. He
thinks. Knives, God, Aya. You don’t have to be a world famous psychologist
to realize what these three words can do in a mind like Farfarello’s. Not
that I care what happens to that Weiss boy. Hell, I don’t even care what
happens to Farf. But then, no one ever accused me of being a caring person.

So I take him home. One more time I kept him out of trouble. The other two
of our team can do whatever they like with their little kittens. They won’t
try to kill them outside work. Whatever they want to do in bed is none of my
business. I’m nobody’s mother, thank you. Not even his.

We are going home to fuck. No need to pretend that it’s going to be anything
else. He needs it. I want it. It’s a perfect deal. And thankfully one of the
least complicated aspects of our lives as members of Schwarz.

Still, there’s always that short moment of hesitation, of almost not knowing
what to do. We’re no strangers and we are certainly not lovers. I almost
envy Schu and that Weiss boy, Yohji. Simply screwing each other into
oblivion. Yohji is in for a treat. Top or bottom, it’s hard to find a better
lay than our Schu. Yeah, so I bottomed once. Only once, mind you.

I take a quick shower. I smell of cigarettes, alcohol and the sweaty bodies
of men who brushed against me in the bar. I don’t like that when I’m about
to have sex. Out of habit I put on a boxer short, while I wait for Farf to
take his shower. I watch him from the corner of my eyes while I search for
the lube. Schuldich… couldn’t he just buy his own. No, this isn’t right,
Schu prefers a different brand. But who… Nagi?

I hear Farfarello snigger. “Our baby is going to hurt God tonight. He’s
going to take the little Weiss kitten. We are all going to hurt God tonight.
All of Weiss and all of Schwarz.” He cocks his head. “Maybe we shouldn’t
shower first. I think it hurts God a lot more if we’re not squeaky clean.”

I shudder at the thought. “It would hurt me. And you want to hurt God, not
me. Now, get out of the shower. I’ll use some cream as lube. You won’t need
it anyway.” I look at the jar and I shake my head in disbelieve. Nagi?
Well, let’s be realistic, it was going to happen sooner or later.

“I bet he’s also going to do it.” Farf says almost cheerfully.

I’m not asking who’s the he Farf is talking about. He hardly ever mentioned
the redhead before in all these months. He won’t do it now, because I push
him against a wall and kiss him. It’s not a nice kiss. I’m almost angry and
the utter uselessness of that anger makes me, for some reason, want to kiss
him hard enough to taste blood. I realize that the mental image of Aya,
pounding into his loved-one, is going to be almost like a white elephant. I
try not to think of him. It’s about as useless as trying to get him out of
Farfarello’s head.

I’m kissing you, fucked-up madman, not that katana swinging so called
hunter. He doesn’t feel the swelling of your cock. I do. It isn’t his hand
grabbing your ass. It’s mine.

Of course I don’t say the words out loud. It’s obvious to him that I’m not
Aya of Weiss. He looks at me with his strange almost doglike eye as if he’s
trying to see something that simply isn’t there. And I want to take him,
there and then, just fuck him against the tiled wall of the bathroom. But
I’m not. I’ll take him to my bed. We’ll do it proper this time. And by the
time I’m done with him, every cell in his body will know me for the rest of
eternity.

On the bed he kneels down and offers his back to me. To be honest, it is
more than tempting to lube my cock and simply glide home. But he’s not
getting away with it this time. He won’t for one moment get the chance to
pretend it’s Aya moving inside him. The red one is fucking someone else,
Farfie. Get used to it.

So he lies flat on his back and he looks at me. And of course I look at him.
We’re not touching. Just looking. I can’t figure out what he sees when he’s
looking at me. His leader? A regular guy in a business suit? The one who
keeps him from his deepest wish: a bloody meeting between vulnerable skin
and beautiful knife? The man who’s bedding him?

I’m not even sure what I see in him. One thing is sure though, he isn’t of
regular attraction. The paleness, the scars, the one golden eye… I see
people stare at him with horrid fascination. I see masters look at their
potential slave. Stupid, ignorant bastards. Fake men. Playing with ropes and
whips that are useless for any serious job. They wouldn’t know how to take
real control, to inflict real pain if it was to safe their very life. They
have no business with Farfarello.

No, the real attraction is in the touch. The first time I touched him, I was
sure he would be cold, almost slippery like a snake. He wasn’t. His skin was
soft like some extremely expensive material. And still, every time I lay my
hands on him, I marvel at the perfection that they meet. Don’t get me wrong,
he is no innocent child, he knows how to break any man to pieces beyond
recognition. But to feel his skin under your hands is being as close to
paradise as one can imagine. This shouldn’t surprise anyone who knows me
even superficial. Silk boxer shorts. Suits made of the finest materials.
Shoes made of soft leather. I appreciate things that are great to the
touch.

“Crawford?” he asks, because I’m just sitting there, not doing anything.
“You don’t want to bring tears to God’s eyes?

I answer him by taking his left nipple between my thumb and forefinger and
give the rosy nub a pinch. Nothing too hard, because what’s the use if it
doesn’t hurt him. Still, he feels it and he loves it. Strange, if you come
to think of it. He’s all but immune to pain, but still he’s as sensitive as
any man. He moans with pleasure and anticipation when I at the same time
pinch his nipple and wrap my other hand around his cock. He’s almost in full
erection. A truly obscene sight to behold. His white skin, the light pink of
his nipples, the light red of his cock.

What else can I do but to bow my head and gently engulf this ugly, beautiful
thing with my mouth? Of course he tries to move and of course I try to keep
him as still as possible. I’ve never really mastered the skill of
deepthroating someone, despite Schuldich’s patience and I must admit useful
lessons. But I’m good enough to make Farf buck against me like a young colt
on the first warm day of spring. I wouldn’t mind if he came in my mouth, but
it’s simply not what I was planning for this night. So I release his cock.
He sighs with disappointment, though he seems to accept I’m master here.

After I lose the boxer shorts, I kneel between his spread thighs and lift
his lower body until it rests on my lap. When I place his legs over my
shoulders and bow my head some more, I’m in a perfect position to do what I
suddenly have in mind. “Let’s give the Great Maker really something to cry
about,” I smirk. And without waiting for Farfarello’s response, I trace the
crack of his ass with my tongue. This is not like me, but still I’m doing
it. This is as dirty as anything I’d rather not think about. And still I
love the scent of him, the rich and yet somehow clean maleness of him.

I can only imagine what this is doing to Farf. I, Bradley Crawford, the prim
and proper stick up the ass twice a day shower man is seriously trying to
find out how far one can stuck ones tongue in somebody’s anus.

He won’t do that for you, my insane little devil. Don’t misunderstand me, I
think he’s a dirty one, maybe even more than their Yohji or our Schu. But
he’s faithful. And I don’t just mean monogamous. For whatever reason, he has
chosen boy next door Kenken as his life mate. So you have to look somewhere
else. But why should you? You were never good at giving up on your
obsessions. You have the makings of a true believer.

He mewls and begs and tries to fist his own cock. I slap his hand away. I
break the contact between his body and my tongue. He’s almost panicking with
frustration. For a moment I contemplate the use of handcuffs, but decide
against them. I’m not going to help him. I take the jar of cream and lube my
cock just enough to make things go smoothly. He may not need it, but I do.

I simply lean back on my heels as if I’m waiting for something to happen.
Then, without any warning I push his legs wider and enter him. No, I’m not
taking my time. He’s totally relaxed because of the fact that he doesn’t
anticipate pain and because of what I did with my tongue. Still he makes a
sound of surprise. And then of pleasure, for I start to move almost the
moment I’m inside him.

Almost out. Al the way in. Almost out. All the way in. Almost Out…

I want to go deeper. I need to go deeper. He doesn’t understand it. He
doesn’t understand any of it. He wouldn’t be bloody well alive if it wasn’t
for me. He offered his throat to the hunter. He fucking wanted his artery to
be sliced as if he was the Lamb of God. Like he was fucking bloody Christ
himself.

All the way in. Almost out. Al the way in. Almost out. Al the way in…

Deeper still. And yet not deep enough. He tried to get killed. bec because
he wanted to die, but because it was the only way to be noticed by him. If
it wasn’t for my intervention he would have died there and then. I couldn’t
let that happen. Impossible to let his dead happen. Impossible to live
without…

With an angry snap I trust my hips faster against his. I growl while I slam
into him. Fast movements executed with pure aggression.

I change the position of his legs, his body, somewhat so I can get deeper.
But it’s still not deep enough. I will never come deep enough to touch his
heart. For his heart is not mine to take. Maybe it’s not even his to give.

His body suddenly shudders and he tenses up, but his orgasm is almost
silent. He becomes all but boneless while I trust a few more times inside
his still slowly pulsating body. I fall on top of him and stay there for a few
seconds. But as soon as I catch my breath, I need some distance between us.

Farfarello lies on his side, away from me. He’s curled up like a fetus, his
breathing slow and even as if he’s already asleep. But he can’t sleep in my
bed. Fucking is one thing. Sleeping together is for lovers. And I don’t love
him. That must be clear to anyone by now.

I look at him while I clean my chest and belly with a towel. I should take a
shower. I should kick him out of my bed. But I’m simply too tired to be
bothered. And when I turn my back to him, he turns and spoons against me.

He’s very warm and very soft.