Sharing is Caring

"Don't worry. Your sister is safe, for now."

He wouldn't check, Schuldig knew. He would believe the threat. The crimson redhead knew what they were capable of, and wouldn't take the time or energy to question such truths. Schuldig sat on the window sill, rubbing his thumb back and forth along the tinkling circles of metal he'd brought. When he pulled himself onto his feet, they jingled delicately in his grasp. Aya's eyes, which had previously been trained with deadly accuracy on the telepath's face, now slid down to the twin objects. Schuldig held them up to give the man a better view. He could see the muscles in Fujimiya's jaw twitching, thoughts spilling from his mind like dewdrops, filling the telepath with perverse pleasure.

"And if you do exactly as I say, we'll happily release her in the morning," Schuldig finished.

"Liar," Aya hissed, his violet eyes darkly reflecting the street lights glaring through his open window.

True, Schuldig chuckled to himself, and sneered, "What other choice do you have?"

"I could kill you and-"

"She would be dead before your fingers found your katana," Schuldig interrupted, tapping his own head to remind the Weiss of his abilities. "Just one hint of a word to Farfarello, and-"

"Farfarello?!" Aya cried, and Schuldig lifted a finger to his lips, sending out a mental shockwave to calm anyone who might've overheard. Voice thankfully lowered, Abyssinian growled, "How dare you leave my sister with that... thing!"

"All the more reason we finish quickly," Schuldig purred, his chest thumping as he played over exactly what he wanted. He'd have it all, before the night was over. "On the bed, if you please," he ordered softly. There was a pause as uncertainty flickered across Aya's eyes, then the twin orbs turned to steel. He'd decided. The telepath wet his lips as he watched him walk over to the bed, movements stiff and awkward, yet somehow maddeningly graceful. His pants felt tight, but he still had a ways to go.

"Hands above your head," he instructed, not bothering to keep the amusement out of his voice. Aya bristled, but did as he was told, and Schuldig snapped the cuffs into place, tugging them each in turn to make sure they held fast. He didn't want the sweet kitten slipping away. When he moved to the man's feet, pulling two lengths of leather rope from his coat, a flood of guilty ideas slipped into the air, which Schuldig plucked up like candy, sucking gleefully on each one as he bound the kitten spread-eagled to the metal bedposts. Creative, this one. He would have to remember some of those ideas for next time, if everyone survived the night. He pulled the last knot tight, stepping back to admire the clothed form nestled in dark folds of fabric.

"Finally," rasped a soft, familiar voice, and Aya's head snapped to the side, eyes wide with surprise and rage as Farfarello lowered himself into the window sill. Farfarello returned the look eagerly, his breath catching as his eyes roamed across Schuldig's handiwork.

"Don't worry. Your sister is safe," Schuldig stepped around and murmured into Aya's ear, running his hand down the front of the man's shirt. "She always was. What do you think we are? Monsters?"

The two Schwarz chuckled in unison, watching as he struggled vainly with his bindings. Schuldig, being the closer one, started first, dragging his hand down to play against the crotch of Aya's paper-thin pajamas. This simple action sent a surprising jolt of pleasure through both the kitten and himself, and Schuldig froze.

"He's already half-hard," he breathed, and Farfarello crawled onto the bed to see for himself, an inquisitive smile revealing his pearly-white canines underneath. Aya snarled, but forced himself into stillness as a single misplaced buck send pleasure raging across his skin.

"What… what did you do to me?" he ground out, turning his face to the wall when he realized his cheeks were flushed pink. Farfarello dropped to mouth him through the fabric, and he gasped through his teeth at the moist warmth, muscles clenched tightly.

"Nothing," Schuldig purred honestly, mind racing as his fingers, replaced by the Irishman's delicate mouth, disappeared under the Weiss's shirt, pinching at the first nipple he found there. Farfarello moaned around his mouthful, the redhead writhing in spite of himself. The berserker pulled back, cheeks flushed, digging his palm roughly into Aya's bulge. This wrought a throaty moan from all three before Schuldig swatted him away, but the psychopath was already grinning like a child, and the telepath knew he was already losing control.

"He's sensitive," Farfarello whispered, eye glittering with malicious excitement. Aya would rather daggers had pierced his flesh as he sank under his shame, but there was no reprieve. The Irishman leaned forward, something glittering in his hand.

"None of that," Schuldig reproached, brow furrowing. He didn't want to waste Abyssinian's supple flesh on the psychopath's sadistic whims, but Farfarello was already attacking the man's pajamas with his blade, the fabric coming off in ribbons that floated gently to the floor, and if he wanted to keep going, there was nothing Schuldig could say to stop him.

Well, nothing except, I'll cut you off, but he definitely wasn't suicidal.

Thankfully, once Farfarello had yanked off the last barrier between himself and his desires, he sank his knife into the mattress, attacking the pale flesh with teeth and tongue and lips instead. Schuldig sat back to enjoy the pleasure washing across from their joined connections, rubbing himself through his slacks as he watched. Aya's hatred pounded almost as hard as his aching member, towering neglected above a sea of dark curls. Farfarello didn't bother with his knife anymore, shredding the redhead's shirt with his fingers to gain access to the pleasure underneath, which was racking him more than any. Every butterfly kiss he planted or soft spot he grazed echoed dully in his own deprived body, driving him wild.

As he worked his way up to Aya's collarbone, his denim-covered hip brushed the tip of the kitten's cock, and they all cried out softly, Schuldig unzipping his pants and pulling himself out, leaning his head back and pleasuring himself as he sank into the other two.

"J- Just do it already," Aya coughed out, self-loathing filling his senses as his body let itself be ravaged, enjoying every lick and nip and kiss and, oh gods, that..

Farfarello buried his face in Aya's neck, lowering his thigh so that Aya's length and sack were pressed fully against it. He moved so slowly, the stiff fabric of his pants rubbing painfully against sore flesh, and Aya realized with a jolt that the Irishman's crotch was pushed up against his own leg. He hadn't noticed before, because-

Nothing. No hard-on. Not even a hint at one. His flesh was as heated as any, and the breaths shooting across Aya's neck were hot and gut-driven, but he simply wasn't aroused in the standard sense.

"Hurry up, I can't take it much longer," Schuldig moaned, and Aya felt a hand encircle his cock, pulling down his foreskin as a thumb played across his head. His thighs squeezed together as he bucked, the leather whining against the bead posts.

"You do it," Farfarello rasped, his chest heaving as he pressed down against the form below. Aya had only a moment to consider this, and then he was gone.

Pleasure splintered like firecrackers across ever fiber of his being, a cry tearing at his throat even as he heard a pained moan crack against his ear, the fingers tugging and rubbing at his cock, the flesh pressed against his, the aching of the bite marks littering his body... He arched into it all, feeling his pleasure disappear and echo in the forms around him before bouncing soundlessly back to rejoin itself, multiplying in him until all he could see and feel and hear was white.

When he regained himself, the cuffs were already removed, and a streak of red was disappearing out his window. Aya made a poor attempt to leap after it, but his ankles were still tied to the bed and his desire-abused body was numb. There was a loud knock at his door as he fumbled with the knots, his hands shaking.

The knife. He fumbled around and pulled it from the mattress, sawing through the leather with a minute amount of difficulty and pulling on a robe as he rushed to the door and pulled it open.

"Are you ok?" Yohji asked breathlessly, eyes wide with confusion and hooded from having been suddenly woken.

Aya glared, but he knew his face was still horribly flushed, making it lose most of its desired effect, "I'm fine."

Yohji's eyes trailed down to his feet, where the leather bindings dragged the floor, and then back to where his pajamas lay in tatters across the carpet. He blinked, eyes growing wide as his mind began reasoning through all the possibilities, "Are you sur-?"

The redhead cut him off by simply clicking the door back into place. Not now. He'd dealt with enough eccentricities for one night. Tomorrow. He would deal with everything tomorrow.