Dragon Cycle

Dragon Cycle – Pt 21 – So Near, So Far


Disclaimer: Weiß Kreuz does not belong to me nor do any of the characters that appear in the series - but we continue to have fun together. I write for pleasure not profit.

Author's Notes: All thanks go to Iron Dog once again for her invaluable betaing.

Thanks again to everyone who reads my story and to those who also review.

Sheeris Jemima: Hey there! I’m really happy when people take the time to review, but I honestly don’t expect it of people to review every chapter. (You can if you want to, of course ^_^ )

draco: Here’s some more – sorry it’s not longer.

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Farfarello was wide awake. The weak light that seeped into his room around the edges of the drapes told him it was either very early in the morning or nearly dusk. A quick glance at the digital clock on the dresser confirmed the early morning hour. He should have still been soundly asleep; the drugs Crawford administered ought to have made certain of that. But somehow he was awake. Maybe it was the excitement of the mission they’d completed earlier. Maybe it was the residue of his half-sated bloodlust. Or maybe it was another lust – this one completely unsated – that had dragged him back to consciousness. He didn’t know which it was and really didn’t give a flying fuck. He was awake and the need that had gone neglected for too long was now demanding attention.

With very little effort, he removed the straightjacket and rolled out of bed. Instinct took him to his discarded vest, where he withdrew the first knife his hand touched. Some sixth sense ensured it was his best and sharpest knife. He stroked the flat of the blade across his cheek and closed his eye in contentment. His knives were his security blanket.

He crossed to his door, listened intently for any noise of activity before opening it and stepping silently into the hallway. He didn’t notice the chill of the early morning air or feel the cold wooden floor beneath his bare feet. If there’d been a convention of yodelers taking place in the hallway, he wouldn’t have noticed that, either. His whole focus since waking was a door about twelve feet away on the opposite side of the hallway.

Making no more noise than a shadow, he went to the door and slipped through it into the room beyond. Inside, he paused momentarily, standing still and silent as he looked to the bed. The soft breathing he could hear told him Schuldig was asleep. Farfarello could see well enough in the feeble light to discern that the telepath was alone in the bed. A satisfied smile came and went quickly on the Irishman’s face.

Just how pissed off was Crawford that he was still keeping Schuldig at bay, Farfarello wondered idly before mentally shrugging the thought away. Not his business, after all. If Crawford wanted to let his pride rule and deny himself the pleasure that was Schuldig, it was no skin off Irishman’s nose. Farfarello still thought Crawford was an idiot for not taking advantage of having Schuldig all to himself for a night.

Farfarello moved now, making his way across the floor, taking care to avoid the boots and clothes haphazardly discarded by Schuldig. As he advanced, his gaze never left the sleeping German. He could see Schuldig’s face, pale in the weak, early morning light and surrounded by fiery hair that spilled over the covers and pillow. Just the sight of him excited the Irishman’s lust.

Reaching the bed, Farfarello stopped, his gaze still riveted on the German while his thoughts tumbled over each other. Schuldig once told him that familiar minds were always the easiest to find and always the easiest to hear. Farfarello knew his was a familiar mind and, right now, his mind was racing and he couldn’t rein it in. He intentionally directed his thoughts at the telepath, knowing that would be enough to disturb his sleep.

I’ve been patient, Schuldig – more than patient, in fact, but I’m out of patience now. You’re a man; you understand…you do, don’t you? You understand the lust and need that drives a man. So why do you let me hold you and kiss you but never let it go any further? You’re not a blushing virgin, after all. You know well enough what sex is all about and you taught me how to enjoy it – taught me too well, perhaps. I want, Schuldig. I need, Schuldig. I want Schuldig. I need Schuldig. Can you hear me in your sleep? Do you understand? I want…I need…you. You should know it, mind reader. You shouldn’t need me to spell it out for you. So maybe you’ve lost interest already. Is that it? Is that what you’re trying to tell me with your evasiveness? Are you lost to me before I ever really had you?

Farfarello felt his fingers twitch spasmodically as his gaze roamed over the telepath’s face and hair; all of him that was visible in the bed. He remembered the last time…the first time…they’d shared a bed. The feelings and sensations were as raw now as they had been that night. His memories were as fresh as if it had happened only minutes ago. It was all too easy to remember how Schuldig felt and looked and tasted and sounded on that night. But Farfarello wanted more than memories.

Another image came to the Irishman’s mind. Schuldig standing in a dimly lit warehouse, the gun in his hand aimed between the eyes of the man kneeling before him, the cold smile on the German’s face never wavering, not even as he pulled the trigger. Looking at him now it was hard to believe he’d hurt anyone but Farfarello knew better. The recent memory of Schuldig ruthlessly murdering the men in the warehouse made the Irishman hard. Farfarello dragged the back of his hand across his mouth as he felt saliva pool from the thoughts of blood and death and sex that the German fired to life in his head. He moved forward onto the bed without thinking and crawled towards Schuldig, who stirred before resettling.

Wake up, telepath, and stop me if you can, Farfarello invited.

Blue eyes fluttered open and a sleepy gaze rested on the Irishman.

Why would I want to stop you?

Despite his appearance, Schuldig didn’t sound the least bit groggy from sleep and Farfarello guessed he’d actually been awake for a short while before opening his eyes.

“You always have lately,” Farfarello reminded him, coming to a halt beside the German and sitting back on his heels.

Schuldig’s lazy gaze moved to the visible erection in the Irishman’s pants. “Doesn’t seem to have discouraged you,” he remarked, a smile in his tone.

“Is that what you wanted – to discourage me?” Farfarello asked bluntly.

Schuldig moved a little on his side, blinking up at the Irishman. “What time is it?”

Farfarello shrugged his shoulders as he stared at the slice of pale, naked chest revealed when Schuldig moved. His eye focused on the dusky pink nipple just peaking over the edge of the comforter. Lust pushed hard at the little bit of restraint Farfarello had.

The German turned his head enough to glimpse the window before looking back at Farfarello and sighing wearily. “It’s barely dawn, Far. You know I’m not a morning person so why are you trying to have a conversation with me? People have died for less.”

“Because I’m tired of wondering, and tired of playing second fiddle to Crawford. I want answers.”

Schuldig pointedly eyed the knife clenched in the fist that rested on Farfarello’s right thigh. He looked back at the Irishman.

“And if you don’t like the answers?” he queried cautiously.

“Doesn’t matter if I like them or not,” Farfarello replied with a sharp shake of his head. “At least I’ll have the truth from you.”

Now the German moved onto his back, his gaze not leaving his early-morning visitor. “If I say it’s over?” he asked.

Farfarello, unable to read the telepath’s expression, met his gaze steadily. “There’s nothing I can do to change your mind,” he replied with a shrug, keeping his tone level. “But I’ll want to know the reasons why.”

Schuldig lay there for a few seconds, his gaze resting on Farfarello, who returned the look and waited placidly. It was plain to the Irishman that the telepath wasn’t prying into his thoughts, but was simply thinking. Eventually, Schuldig gave a small smile and there was movement under the covers on the other side of the bed just before they were thrown back.

“Get in,” Schuldig ordered. “Just looking at you is making me feel cold…and give me the knife.”

Farfarello had forgotten about the knife but, reminded of it now, handed it over without protest. Schuldig leaned away, sliding the weapon under the bed and out of harm’s way and the Irishman’s reach. Farfarello climbed between the covers – not because he needed the warmth but because it was where Schuldig was. As soon as he was beside the German, Farfarello’s restraint broke and he was all over Schuldig. Gripping the telepath firmly by the shoulders, he forced him onto his back, going after him and kissing him hard.

Schuldig made a small sound of surprise, but quickly relaxed under Farfarello’s hands. As the kiss continued, something woke in the Irishman’s mind, and he became fully aware of the soft, warm flesh beneath his hands…of the hard bones beneath that flesh. If he tore the flesh open, he’d be able to see the bones, awash with blood and all properly arranged, ready for him to disarrange. His fingers curled almost without his having to think about it; pure instinct directing their movements.

He felt hands against his shoulders, trying to force him away, and he could hear muffled sounds of anger. He wriggled himself fully on top of the body beneath him…heard the smothered curses as the body bucked and twisted in an effort to remove him.

His prey was struggling. It knew that excited him. It wanted this. It wanted him to submit to the instincts that raged inside his head. Farfarello dragged his mouth away from the slightly bloodied lips he’d been enjoying and touched his mouth to the bared throat and the pulse that jumped madly under the thin layer of skin. If he concentrated just a little, he’d be able to hear the blood in his prey’s veins calling him to set it free. To let it flow like a river and scent the air with a coppery tang.

“Farfarello!”

That caught him by surprise. Usually they didn’t know his name. But it hardly mattered. He became aware of a strange prickling sensation in his head. But that didn’t matter either. He opened his mouth, baring his teeth and pressing them against soft, yielding flesh. So close to the surface, he could feel the heat of the blood against his tongue.

“Fuck! Fuck! Farfarello!” The prickling in his head intensified to a degree the Irishman guessed other people would find painful. At the same time, hands grappled with his head, trying to force him away from the throat he was intent on savaging… although not so much as to damage the vocal chords, because he did love the sound of his victim’s screams…

*Farfarello!*

His name resounded in his head and he sensed something very familiar about the voice that had spoken into his mind. He paused, trying to sort through the chaos of his thoughts and recall why that voice seemed so familiar.

*If you want to get within touching distance of me ever again, get your fucking teeth away from my throat – now!* There was that voice in his head again, cutting through the maelstrom of his mind right down to where some rational thought lurked, forcing him to recognize it and its owner.

Schuldig; German telepath, team mate, colleague, lust object, and focus of his unsated desire for too long.

The Irishman moved his head just a little, and pressed a gentle kiss to Schuldig’s throat. But, it wasn’t enough to appease the German who pushed Farfarello away roughly and hurriedly sat up. He glared down at his team mate.

“Just what the fuck do you think you were doing?” he demanded. Schuldig’s breath was still coming hard but it was impossible to tell if it was anger, exertion or fright that caused it.

“You’ve been keeping me at arm’s length,” Farfarello muttered, reaching out a hand to touch his fingertips against the warm flesh of the German’s stomach.

Schuldig made a sharp sound of disbelief. “So... what? You complain that we don’t fuck enough, and when you get the chance, you try to kill me! That doesn’t engender a desire within me to have you in my bed.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to do that,” Farfarello answered, watching his finger trace random patterns on the pale flesh of his bed mate. “Lie down, Schuldig,” he urged quietly. “Lie down with me.”

“So you can try to tear out my throat again? I don’t fucking think so, thanks all the same.”

“I won’t hurt you…”

“Go back to your bed, Far. Come and see me again when you’re not so… excitable,” Schuldig ordered.

Farfarello reached out, closing a hand around one of the German’s thin wrists. He raised his gaze, looking up into Schuldig’s blue eyes. “Let me stay. I said I won’t hurt you.”

“Are you saying you came in here with the intention of hurting me?” the telepath queried.

Farfarello let his eye close. He knew where Schuldig was going with this. “You know I didn’t,” he replied, willingly leading where the German wanted to go.

“Then you know damned well what I’m going to say next,” Schuldig snapped.

“That it wasn’t my intention but it happened,” Farfarello conceded.

“Exactly.”

“Why couldn’t you stop me?” Farfarello asked, looking back at Schuldig.

“Because you had me pushed down on the bed and…”

“That’s not what I mean,” Farfarello interrupted.

“I was exhausted from the mission,” Schuldig answered.

“You let your guard down,” Farfarello said, pleased that Schuldig had trusted him even if that trust had been a little misplaced at the time.

“No, I was exhausted – I already said so, didn’t I?” Schuldig looked at Farfarello, his gaze deadly serious. “All the same, you were about one thought away from having your brain fried. Now,” he reached down and pushed the Irishman’s hand away, “leave me alone. Go back to your bed and let me go back to sleep.”

“I want to fuck you,” Farfarello said bluntly, knowing damned well that it wasn’t going to happen – again.

“Another time, Far. I’m not risking you losing it again - not when I’m too tired to haul your crazy ass back in line before you tear my throat out.”

“You mean it?” Seeing Schuldig’s frown, Farfarello clarified. “Another time.”

“Of course. I’m not keeping you at arm’s length, Far, not on purpose, anyhow. But I’m not risking my life just to get a fuck. Another time, for sure. Just not now.”

Drawing a deep breath, Farfarello let it out slowly. “Fine,” he agreed. He had no choice, really. “So long as I don’t have to wait weeks again,” he added.

“Not weeks, I promise,” Schuldig soothed. After a short silence, he prodded the Irishman. “Go back to bed, Far.”

“I’m in bed,” Farfarello pointed out.

“Yeah, my bed. Go back to your own, I want to sleep.”

“I’m not moving,” Farfarello said with an air of finality. He made himself more comfortable. “If you won’t let me fuck you, let me sleep with you.”

“If I do that, we might as well fuck,” Schuldig pointed out.

“Suits me,” Farfarello said with a small grin.

“Yeah, well, it’s not the sex that’s the problem. It’s you and me being at such close quarters when your state of mind is even less stable than usual. If I’m not letting you close when I’m awake, I’m sure as hell not trusting you when I’m asleep,” the telepath reasoned.

Farfarello didn’t care for his reasoning even if it was logical. If Schuldig didn’t trust him enough to fuck or sleep with, that was his problem. He said he wasn’t going to hurt the telepath. He wasn’t moving. Schuldig stared at Farfarello for several long seconds before he sighed heavily then pushed the covers back.

“I need to piss,” he said as he got up from the bed.

Farfarello didn’t watch him leave, knowing already he wasn’t coming back. He didn’t care. If Schuldig was going to deny him - yet again - he’d be damned if he’d be moved from the bed which contained the telepath’s scent and warmth. It wasn’t much but Farfarello wasn’t in a position to be picky. He’d take the little bit of the German that he was allowed… for now.


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A/N: Another short chapter! Sorry about that. But once again, the time between posting was becoming too long, so I thought it better to keep things moving along, even if it meant a shorter chapter.