Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Yes Master ❯ Chapter 1

Title: Yes, Master
Author: Kitsune Spirit
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Farferello/Crawford
Type: Lemon, kink, blood play, S/M
Warning: Involved blood play, cutting, Dom/Sub relationship, knife play. ALL consensual
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, just the plot and a hentai mind. Thanks to Saiai for listening to me go on about the idea, and helping me with the plot.
Summary: Farferello has been watching Crawford and the others around him. Only now he notices a secret that Crawford is hiding, and forming a plan… can't help but give the American what he truly wants though Crawford tries to deny that part of him.

Yes, Master

Farferello's POV

Part 1

I was sat in the kitchen, on the kitchen table to be precise, sharpening one of my many knives. It's usually a calming task for me, running it along my newly purchased sharpening stone, making the blade sharp and strong for it's next victim, so it slides in easily when piercing through their flesh. I didn't think that any of my teammates truly understood what I see in them when it comes to my knives. A brief perversion perhaps of my sick mind. Maybe it was partly true but to me it went deeper.

A knife or a blade, a piece of broken glass even, called to me. Anything that could be taken and used to violently mutilate a body was something of beauty, and maybe in my `sickness', they captivated me. It fascinated me, how sunlight glinted off the blade, reflecting a variety of rainbow shades as it gleamed, picking up the light, an almost rainbow of death. How the soft slicing motion of training with it sounded, or the metallic, bitter taste whenever I ran my tongue across it, or combining it with the taste of my own blood, or that of my victims. Sometimes my teammates watched in morbid curiosity as I drew it across my own flesh, how drops of crimson dripped from the silver blade when a wound was freshly cut. But no matter what they thought, they could never know what it was like to see a knife how I do. How captivated I am when I touch them, the shiver running that runs through me as I draw it across my own skin or plunge it into others'. Even through my demented ramblings, I still look at my knife as a child would to a fly caught in spiders' web. The struggle of the fly, capturing the child's attention, the want to ruin the web and free the fly on one side, but the desire to watch the spider capture it's pray and bind it in it's silky thread overpowering, un-resistible. This is how I feel, the desire to touch and be near my knives to overwhelming to dare deny, and until this day as I sit, sharpening the knife, running it smoothly back and forth over the stone did I ever think that someone could share my passion.

~~

As the other members of the household sit down for their breakfast, placing their bowls of cereal, or plates of toast, and cups of coffee down near them to miss me on the table do I realize, that yet again I am being stared at.

The stare wasn't a new thing, I often feel like an exhibit in a zoo, a bug under a glass, or part of a freak show that people could amuse themselves with as I keep rage barely leashed inside, but this time, the stare wavered, almost shy and strangely innocent. It was a stare that was almost hidden, repressed to not draw attention, though it still caught my gaze, the feel of eyes crawling over my skin, watching me. Looking up, I wasn't that startled to see Crawford staring at me, though the look was somewhat different from his usual scowling glare. It wasn't a stare of anger, that I was sitting on his very expensive coffee table, or sharpening my knife at breakfast, no, this stare was different. It felt invading, almost stealing something precious to me. Catching Crawford's gaze, I smirked as the other went back to reading his paper. When I think about it, the other three seem to let their guard down around me, not when I have a knife in my hand. No, not physically. They are well aware of the damage I can do, with or without one, but mentally…

The others don't think of me as an intellectual threat. I mostly keep quiet, conservative, despite my odd occasions and fits, but no one's perfect. My posture and gaze are only a few things that tell people to keep their distance; one look at my face makes most people run for cover, some stare, and master's look for a pet. I think it's my usual quietness though which is often taken for stupidity, or a small grasp on reality and the world around me, but my eyes, figuratively speaking, are wide open. I'm not off in a fantasyland, killing bunny rabbits and cute kittens to make god suffer. I am watching. Watching the others like rats in a maze, doing the only thing they know to please the organ grinder, whoever he may be. They think they're rebellious but we are all bound to something holding us down.

I'm more intelligent than any of them know, or would want to believe. People often fear what they don't know or understand and fear is a heavy emotion, tasting bitter sweet.

It makes me happy to know that I can so easily manipulate them into thinking that I am stupid. A walking, fighting zombie with only half a brain cell to keep my heart pumping. I sometimes think that if they believed there was a method to my ways, a plan to my thoughts, they would truly fear me. I let them think that though, I don't mind if they take my occasional rants and killing sprees as stupidity, or a losing grip on what sanity I have left. It's an outlet for all the passion and hate I have, all the feelings that people think is dead because physically, I feel no pain. It gives me time to think however, time to plan and observe the people around me.

They are the bugs not I.

Now for instance, Schuldig is eating his breakfast, laughing at some comedic strip in the paper as Nagi pouts over his breakfast, being the ever growing, tantrum-throwing teenager he is. But Crawford is my favorite to observe.

As usual, Crawford's demeanor is cool and lofty, totally unapproachable, much like me, but there is something about him that I mentioned before, something dark inside that I have begun to notice, catching his ever-growing stares towards me. Under the hard glare and harsh words, the cool planning and arrogant, anal-retentive aura that follows him lay something else. Something that intrigues me.

It had taken me a long time and many deliberate, yet fun experiments to figure it out… I just have to put my theory into a plan, and the annoying human qualities of the other two will help me, without even knowing it.