Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Spiel mit mir (Play with me) or Schuldig's Wonderful Day ❯ Chapter 1

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Spiel mit mir
(Play with me)
Or,
Schuldig's wonderful day.
 
By
JustKat
August 2004
 
*
Type: One-shot romantic comedy
Pairings: Schuldig+Aya
Description: Schuldig stakes out Weiß and gets more than he bargained for.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None
Warnings: male/male sex, lime, strong language, profanity, humour, masturbation, pwp, groaning noises, nice Schuldig, absolutely NOT a song-fic.
Keywords: Aya, Schuldig, masturbation, yaoi, red boxers
Disclaimers: Neither Rammstein nor Weiß Kreuz are mine. Damn. Life is so unfair.
Archive: http://www.mediaminer.org
 
 
Part 1 of the Rammstein Red Boxers Arc
 
 
*
Spiel mit mir by Rammstein
Translation © 2003 Jeremy Williams, www.herzeleid.com
 
Spiel ein Spiel mit mir (Play a game with me)
gib mir deine Hand und (give me your hand and)
spiel mit mir (play with me)
ein spiel (a game)
spiel mit mir (play with me)
ein spiel (a game)
spiel mit mir (play with me)
weil wir alleine sind (because we are alone)
spiel mit mir (play with me)
ein spiel (a game)
 
* * * * *
 
 
 
Schuldig was skulking. To a casual observer it might have looked like loitering, but Schuldig was never that straightforward. And any casual observers had all just spilled coffee on themselves, or smelt dinner burning, or dropped their shopping. Except for one, who was being bitten by his pekinese. That was Schuldig's favourite. Damn he was good.
Stupid idiots anyway, with their nice, safe lives and their nice, warm beds and their guaranteed three-meals-a-day. And their nasty, little, sluggish thoughts that seethed like sludge beneath their nice, wholesome exteriors.
He took one last, deep drag on his cigarette, then flicked it sideways, to hiss into a puddle left by the evening's earlier rain shower, and ducked quickly into the laneway behind the row of terraced houses, counting the buildings from the end. In German, because, hell, he was German, even if he had ricocheted all around the world, and been stuck in Japan for a small eternity.
Einszweidrei… Drei. That one. Hideous pink render. He slipped through the missing panel in the corrugated iron fence, ghosting towards the back of the house, rubbing rust like old blood off his hands.
Damned muddy puddles…the bottoms of his pants were getting dirty.
Tussocks of rank grass brushed his shins wetly.
Another quick scan of the thoughts nearby, to make sure that he wasn't overlooked, and that the pekinese was doing it's job properly, and then he was up the fire escape and inside the broken, first floor window, with a shameless display of super-speed. He dusted off his white slacks carefully, frowning at the muddy splashes, and pushed his sunglasses up on top of his yellow headband, peering smugly into the shadows. Empty.
But he already knew that.
Abruptly, a shadow broke away from the wall and lunged towards him.
Schuldig skittered backwards in shock, crashing into the window frame, but before he could yank his gun from it's shoulder holster, the shadow had turned into a skinny, grey cat, that darted past his shoulder and out of the window, with a screech like claws on glass.
“Scheiße!”
Not quite empty then.
Schuldig sagged bonelessly against the window frame, heart racing, as he rubbed a bruised elbow. He did not just scream like a girl. Lucky Schwartz weren't here, to hear him not scream. His eyes spat green daggers after the cat, promising it a pekinese in its immediate future.
After several moments of fuming and rubbing, he pushed himself away from the window and drifted silently through the shadowy, abandoned rooms; a red-haired, green-eyed predator, prowling upwards until he found what he was looking for, high on the third floor. He peered out of the window at the building across the narrow street, smiling a self-satisfied smile.
Ah ha! The Koneko no Sume Ie flower shop
Just as he'd thought. This room overlooked it perfectly. And from this height he could also see the entrance into the underground garage. Just the vantage point for a little bit of snooping.
He couldn't actually see into the shop, because of the awning, but he had a birds-eye view of the street below, and the tubs of flowers on the pavement, and even the bottom of the glass door. Certainly a good enough view to see anyone entering or leaving the shop. He also had a peeping-tom's-eye view into the bedrooms above the shop, especially the one on the second floor. He could see right down into it, neatly-made bed and everything. He smirked, wondering if it was Yohji Kudoh's. If it was, Schuldig could be in for a very interesting evening.
Satisfied that the terrace house would do, Schuldig scoured the empty rooms until he found an abandoned chair, dusted it off and dragged it back up to his third floor eyrie.
He fished his cigarettes and lighter out of his jacket pocket and arranged them on the broad window ledge, then emptied his backpack out beside them: bottle of water, thermos of coffee, three liverwurst sandwiches… squashed …damn…bag of jelly snakes, apple, salami, emergency second packet of cigarettes, newspaper, book, cell phone, binoculars in case something exciting happened… Hah! As if.
He flopped down onto the wobbly chair and stretched out, tipping the chair back and plonking his feet onto the windowsill, narrowly missing the snakes. This was going to be so boring. A simple surveillance, so that Schwartz could find out if the four young men living over the flower shop really were Weiß, Kritiker's baby assassins.
And number-one thorn in Schwartz's side.
Schuldig smirked. Koneko no Sume Ie; Kitten in the House. Strange name for a florist's. Or a den of assassins. Must be a Japanese thing. But, if it was Weiß's base, then at least those pussycat codenames finally made sense.
When Brad had told him the name of the shop, he'd thought it must be a pet store. Which would be perfect for Weiß actually. Especially Siberian. That boy was feral. All bared teeth and growls and snarls, and claws even, if you got close enough to look. He should live in a zoo, not a pet shop. Schuldig grinned, entranced by a sudden vision of Ken Hidaka rattling his cage with berserk fury, swiping through the bars with those vicious, bladed gloves of his. An assassin zoo. Maybe Schwartz could get a cage next to Hidaka's and stick Farfarello in it. Right next to the tigers and the grizzlies. Please don't feed the assassins.
Abyssinian on the other hand… The Ice Prince… Well…snow leopards. Definitely. And arctic foxes and polar bears and other cold, dangerous animals. And call it the Koneko no ReizÅko. Kitten in the Refrigerator. Ha! Schuldig snickered, enjoying his fantasy. Bombay would have to go in the baby animal exhibit. Or maybe with those little, furry things with the big, pleading eyes…bushbabies…that was them! But Kudoh… ooh…that was hard. No bars or brothels in a zoo. Hmmm…
Schuldig snickered again, then pouted.
It was so unfair. Brad had said no touching. And it would have been fun to tease the Weiß kitties. Normally when Weiß crossed paths with Schwartz, they were too busy trying to kill and maim each other to play games. And now Schuldig had the purr-fect way to while away a boring evening, but the kitties weren't supposed to know that Schwartz had found them, so absolutely no using his telepathy to make them drop things, or fall over, or cut themselves on bright, shiny objects. Well…maybe a teensy bit of touching wouldn't hurt. So long as Braddiekins didn't find out.
But of course Brad would find out. And Schuldig obviously wasn't going to be naughty anyway, because, if he were, then Bradley would have already known about it. Damn, sneaky psychic would have had a naughty vision of Schuldig's naughty future and chastised naughty Schuldig accordingly. And if there was one thing that pissed Schuldig off, it was being chastised to within an inch of his life for something that he hadn't even thought of yet, let alone had the chance to enjoy doing.
So.
No friendly little telepath-to-assassin games with Weiß.
Rats.
Schuldig lit a disgruntled cigarette and flipped the packet back onto the windowsill, where it skidded into a small, muddy puddle of drips from the leaky window, because Schuldig's life was like that. Scheiße.
Cigarettes slid out like cylindrical lemmings in search of a really big adventure and suicided in a pile of muddy, grungy fluff.
Double Scheiße.
Schuldig would just love to ruffle Abyssinian's fur. He was so… untouchable. And that made Schuldig want to touch in the worst possible way. Abyssinian was just begging for someone…Schuldig…to fiddle with that glacial self-control of his. The man was like an icicle. He wouldn't know a good time if it bit him on his putatively perfect butt-cheek.
Sure he looked okay, at least, as much of him as you could see under that leather coat, but that glare of his could flatten beer. Such a waste. Beneath that frosty exterior burned a frosty interior, sure as God made little green Apfel. Made him a good leader no doubt. But good leadership was not much fun to cuddle up to in the middle of the night.
Now Yohji Kudoh on the other hand…good time was probably his middle name. Definitely Schuldig's kind of guy. Sexy as all hell with that golden skin and that lazy smile…not to mention those clothes.
Just like…
that.
Speak of the Devil. Looked like Brad Baby was right.
Schuldig's chair rocked forward with a thump, his feet firmly back on the floor, cigarette abandoned in the grime on the window ledge. That was definitely Kudoh walking out of the shop; Schuldig would know him anywhere. The man truly looked good enough to eat. Even if you were vegetarian, which Schuldig was definitely not. He leaned his elbows on the window ledge, chin cupped comfortably in his hands, and resigned himself to enjoying his stakeout.
Yohji was obviously heading out dancing for the evening, to some club or other, and dressed accordingly.
Schuldig's eyes were drawn irresistibly to the long, lickable slope of Kudoh's belly, come out to play between the low-slung, black jeans and the deliciously clingy, high-slung black top. Kudoh was such a tart. Schuldig's favourite food group.
Kudoh's long coat, made of some sort of light, silky stuff, swirled invitingly around his calves as he moved, alternatively revealing and concealing, its color drifting from a deep cobalt blue, through sea-green, to silver and back. Schuldig was no stranger to clubs himself. Under strobe lighting that coat would flare like molten silver. Schuldig's gaze meandered back up to Kudoh's pretty face, framed by heavy drifts of blonde shoulder-length hair, maple syrup drizzled with breakfast honey, the bulk of it pulled back into a short ponytail. Mmm hmm
Shit…it should be illegal for someone to look that good. At least Schuldig had made good use of his binoculars.
Kudoh was carrying a rose. Awww...how sweet. Such a gentleman. Schuldig liked that in his dates. Chivalry was underrated. Body heat was good too.
Schuldig frowned thoughtfully, pondering the rose. The Koneko was a flower shop. Maybe Yohji had just dropped in to buy a flower for his date. Brad The Anal Person would probably want more evidence that the four assassins really were living there. Schuldig sighed, and lit another cigarette.
Kudoh was propping up a lamppost, spot-lit in a warm pool of golden light, hip cocked, twiddling his rose. A gust of breeze lifted his coat in a sea-green swirl, giving a glimpse of the wide, silver-studded belt that wrapped those slim hips like a birthday present. Schuldig didn't exactly remember when his birthday was, but, if Yohji asked politely, he would happily make it today.
For a moment, Schuldig wondered whether Brad's orders could be extended to following Kudoh, to whichever bar, bedroom or alley he was frequenting tonight, and asking him very politely for wild, gratuitous sex. Reluctantly he decided that that could probably be construed as touching. Maybe if he wore gloves… Damn Bradley anyway.
Schuldig's quickly-constructed fantasy, involving himself, Yohji, that coat and a possible misuse of telepathic powers, was rudely interrupted, as a girl in a red convertible pulled up at the curb and waved happily at Yohji, blushing madly.
Schuldig glared jealously at the girl, then grinned reluctantly. The man had good taste. Even if Schuldig didn't usually go for shorthaired, brunette girls. Unfortunate really, in Japan.
Kudoh definitely did. Schuldig had seen him out and about before.
Yohji opened the car door and, with a flourish, laughingly presented his rose, then slid his long legs under the dash. The car pulled away and he was gone, in a swirl of green coat, blond hair and, probably, very expensive cologne.
The street was empty.
Schuldig uncoiled from his chair with a snap and stretched his arms over his head with restless energy.
Damn! He really needed a…
The door of the Koneko opened again and a blonde teenager stepped onto the footpath, closing the door carefully behind him.
Tsukiyono.
Well, well. Looked like Braddiekins was right. Damn. Schuldig hated that!
But it was definitely Bombay. He'd recognise that cap of blonde hair anywhere, and if he didn't, well, those bare legs would give it away. Omi Tsukiyono; dimpled knees with a backpack. Heading off to study probably, like a good little boy. Bad as Nagi. Those two ought to get together. Didn't they realise that being a teenager was supposed to be fun? They should be making the most of things. They could be stuck living out of dumpsters, washing their clothes in public toilets and sleeping in abandoned cars. They didn't know how lucky they were; being teenage assassins, with a steady income and a nice, warm house full of team mates to come home to. Even if it was Farfarello and Crawford. Or, in Omi's case; Abyssinian. Now there was a scary thought.
Morosely, Schuldig ripped open the bag of jelly snakes, and ate a red one, getting the taste of dumpsters out of his mouth.
But that was all in the past now. Now, Schuldig was with Schwartz, all one big happy, abnormal, paranormal family, and he was the one doing the tormenting. Nobody told him what to do any more. Except possibly Bradley. Bastard.
Schuldig chose two more jelly snakes from the bag and made them fight each other across his knee. The green one was Brad. The red one was a new guy, Crusher. Crusher wrapped itself around and around Brad-the-snake, in a red jelly stranglehold and slowly choked the life out of it, with lots of realistic hisses and gasps for mercy.
Schuldig ate the loser, which was a bit mangled and missing its head. Sorry Brad. Then he ate the head, and then the winner, just to be fair. Tough luck Crusher. The sweet taste of victory.
Schuldig was halfway through the bag of brightly coloured snakes, tapping his foot manically against the window ledge, and practising the guitar intro from Chop Suey on his binoculars, when a light snapped on in the second floor window, and a slim, red-haired figure moved into the room, holding a mug.
Ah ha!
Abyssinian.
Aya Fujimiya in the flesh.
Which left one kitty unaccounted for.
Schuldig hadn't seen Hidaka yet, which meant that he really couldn't leave. Just because the other three little Weiß mice were at the Koneko, didn't necessarily mean that Hidaka was.
Across the road, Fujimiya toed off his slippers, curled up in a large armchair near the window, and put on a pair of reading glasses.
The thinking man's assassin.
He opened his book.
He sipped his drink.
His little finger was elegantly extended. His pointing finger marked his place.
Gaah!
This was gonna be as exciting as watching grass grow.
 
*
 
Schuldig yawned and stretched. No sign of Hidaka. No skiving off early for good little Schuldig.
Shit this was boring.
This room stank of dust and cats' piss. That cat deserved a whole shipload of pekinese. He jiggled the window, loosening the frame, then slid the casement up a little. Enough to let fresh air into the room, but not enough to be visible from the road. He buried his nose in the empty snake bag, breathing in fruity, sugary, jelly smells, then blew the bag up, and popped it, ducking down beneath the window sill guiltily. Oops. But Abyssinian was oblivious. Must be a good book. Schuldig dropped the crumpled plastic on the floor.
He fiddled around with the focus on the binoculars for a while, zooming in on Abyssinian's pitiful excuse for a bedroom. He couldn't have asked for a better view if he'd been a Peeping Tom, hidden away especially to spy on Fujimiya. As if.
Lucky he wasn't a Peeping Tom, because he would have been doomed to disappointment. Nothing but books. Books, books and more books. Shelves of them. He panned along the spines, tilting his head sideways. Japanese, some English; German, he noted with surprise. He zoomed in on the German titles, just to see if he could read them, but he couldn't quite make them out. Schuldig's cinnammon eyebrows, that had inched up beneath shaggy, auburn bangs, snapped darkly together. Siddhartha in the original, he'd bet his last mark. Wanky smartass.
More books.
And not much else. Scarey Japanese sword in a dinky stand on the dresser. Bed, yeah, yeah. No sybaritic comfort there. Chair. Assassin in chair.
He zoomed in on the parting in Abyssinian's ridiculous red hair. No tasteful orange, just bright red. As if Fujimiya was a traffic light, stuck permanently on Red for Stop. As in…Stop that this minute Schuldig. Figured.
Hmm. No lice.
Fujimiya looked up, seeming to stare straight at him and Schuldig blinked in surprise, freezing momentarily before reminding himself that there was no way Abyssinian could see him. Damn these were good binoculars. Abyssinian had the weirdest colour eyes. Sort of… pale… not blue… purple? Violet. Weird. Almost…pretty.
Schuldig reversed the binoculars and turned Abyssinian into a little, teeny-weeny, red-haired, violet-eyed assassin, waiting for him at the end of a long, long tunnel, then put the binoculars down.
He sighed.
 
*
 
Schuldig crossed his feet on the window ledge, and then crossed them back the other way. One pack of ciggies down. Should he open the new packet or save it for a treat? He jiggled. Decisions…decisions…
The crumpled cellophane from the new packet landed somewhere on the carpet behind him. Schuldig wasn't much good at saving. Or patience, or waiting. Schuldig was good at other things. Which Kudoh might find out if he would only get his philandering ass back here. He lit a cigarette and sucked heavily. He was gonna get lung cancer and it was all Bradley's fault.
He checked his watch. Shit. Only 9pm.
Abyssinian was still reading.
Schuldig blew smoke at him.
And jiggled.
He thought about putting his gun back together. It was in pieces on the window ledge, with his other gun, his book, his cell phone, which was beeping Mario Bros at him, his mp3 player and the newspaper, folded at the crossword. All the photographs in the paper had moustaches and little horns, even the cars. Shit…he'd got gun oil on his book. Damn. Abyssinian's fault for being so boring.
He really should put his gun back together, in case he needed it to put himself out of his misery. Or Abyssinian.
Where was the firing pin? Crap.
 
*
 
Schuldig was hungry again. Rich aromas of cooking drifted through the open window. Somewhere, somebody was cooking soup. Proper, European-style soup, not seaweed sludge.
Schuldig sniffed appreciatively, and ate his last, squashy sandwich, suddenly adrift in memory. Home made soup… His brow furrowed. Somewhere… someone… had once made soup like that… long ago… beans and colourful vegetables and chunks of meat suspended in sparkly broth. Lookstars in the soup… There had been crusty bread… golden butter in a little flowery china dish with a cut-glass lid…and honey…thick like amber…the spoon stood straight up and you could drizzle your initials on the bread…R K…or was it S…maybe… The smell of the baking bread had drifted warmly all through the house… under the door…someone crying
Schuldig shied away from murky thoughts, slamming abruptly back to the present.
To Tokyo. And Fujimiya who'd done nothing except read and drink tea all evening. Somebody needed to get a life. Didn't he have a sword to sharpen or something?
As if he'd heard Schuldig, Fujimiya uncoiled from the chair and stretched luxuriously, arms high over his head, back arched.
If that had been Kudoh over there, revealed in all his glory in his bedroom window, Schuldig would have just been treated to another enticing view of navel. Seeing as it was Fujimiya, Schuldig was treated to a prophylactic view of orange jumper, and more orange jumper.
Again as if he'd heard Schuldig, Fujimiya finished stretching, yawned widely, hand politely over his mouth like his Mutti had taught him, and, crossing his hands over, reached for the bottom of the jumper, pulling it over his head in one graceful, economical movement.
He wasn't wearing anything under the jumper.
Schuldig's boots hit the floor with a thump as he sat up in his chair. Ash from his cigarette splattered unregarded onto his white trousers and important bits of gun fell into his coffee.
 
*
 
Fujimiya was folding his jumper.
Neatly. Carefully. Laying it flat on the bed and bringing both sides into the middle, then folding the arms flat down the centre, and lastly folding the whole thing in half. Just like they did in clothes shops. It always pissed Schuldig off no end. The jumpers all came out of the shelf in a heap and then there was nowhere to fold them properly and they always ended up the wrong shape and you had to just jam them back into the shelf anyway in a big, lumpy mess. Or leave them on the floor.
But obviously not Fujimiya. The lumpy, orange jumper was now a neat, orange rectangle. Maybe Fujimiya was moonlighting in a jeans store when he wasn't killing and maiming for Weiß
Schuldig could live with that. Just so long as he could keep looking at Fujimiya's chest for a few more years.
God-damn. Could anything be more perfect?
How had he not noticed that Aya was so tall, and slim, and…
Nearly as tall as him, now that he came to think of it. Broad shoulders…must be all that katana…but slim overall …smooth, rounded pects…narrow waist…flat belly, with that little, shadowed dip that was his navel, where somebody's tongue would just fit, all secret and salty and…oh yum
And his skin
Just edible.
A delectable, kissable, chewable, tastable, suckable banquet of smooth, white skin; pale but not too pale; a moonlight, night time, midnight feast of skin that made Schuldig think of cream, and velvety, white chocolate buttons, and buttermilk ice cream; pale, delicious things that he'd like to wrap his tongue around. Starting with those delectable milk chocolate nipples, pale and secretive on that sculptured chest.
Schuldig rested his elbows attentively on the windowsill and concentrated hard on not dribbling onto the remains of his gun.
He smirked.
Damn!
Not only was that the sweetest thing he'd seen since… sometime… but, that was Abyssinian, Mr. Privacy Personified, over there. The only thing hotter than watching Abyssinian strip, would have to be watching Abyssinian strip without Abyssinian knowing that Schuldig was watching Abyssinian strip. Schuldig just couldn't wait to tell him all about it. How Schuldig had got one over him. Very next mission. In detail.
The orange jumper safely tucked away in a drawer, Aya moved back to the centre of the room and his hands moved to his belt, undoing the buckle quickly and efficiently.
Schuldig was suddenly galvanised out of his smirk, eyes on the prize, groping blindly for his binoculars, his questing hand groping its uncertain way along the window ledge and down the wall, sweeping away everything in its path. Where were the frigging binoculars? Schuldig slowly sank down onto his hands and knees searching backwards across the floor, whilst craning his neck, so that his eyes stayed fixed on Aya's hands, the belt buckle and all things south. Shit…shit...damn… Ah…there they were. Under the chair. He swept the binoculars up and focussed furiously…one eye first and then both...or was it the other way around or…
The phone rang.
Schuldig could hear it right across the street, and Aya frowned and turned his head towards his bedroom door, then took his hands from his belt and stomped from the room, his shoulders stiff, obviously annoyed. Although not as annoyed as Schuldig.
“Scheiße!”
Schuldig paced and chewed his nails.
Now in a perfect world, at least for Schuldig, Schuldig would have just used his telepathic super-powers to make Aya forget the damned phone, turn right around, march over to the window and remove every stitch of clothing that he was wearing. Wait…scratch that…to march downstairs, unlock the door, and then march over to the bed, etcetera. And more etcetera, with Schuldig helping. But this was not a perfect world, and Crawford, the dirty, rotten scumbag, had said no touching. And in Schuldig's, admittedly vast, experience, that sort of scenario would almost certainly lead to touching of the most prejudicial kind. And Brad would sic Nagi onto him, and Schuldig would end up dangling, painfully, upside down from something high, probably missing delicate parts of his anatomy, and suspended by his underwear. Or, possibly, missing his underwear, and suspended by delicate parts of his anatomy. At the very least.
One of the downsides of living with a little telekinetic ratbag, without a forgiving bone in his body.
So, no telepathic super-powers, no naked Aya, and absolutely no touching.
“Scheiße!”
Schuldig paced and chewed and contented himself with praying.
Oh God oh God oh GodPlease let Aya come back and I promise I will only use my powers for goodmy goodhe heand not tease Nagi any morewhere people can seeandanduhnever say God any more...or Goddamnor for Chrissakes or Christ Allfriggingmighty or Christ on Crutches or even Jesus H Tap Dancing Christ or
Schuldig had a sudden horrifying thought and changed his plea slightly. Oh shit…
…oh God please let Aya come back and not have decided to shower and change in the bathroom and please let him not wear pyjamas and please don't let him close the curtains and…
Schuldig knew that this sort of thing was the reason why his life was shit. Even in a major crisis he just couldn't be serious. He was wasting his time joking around, when what he should be doing was using his telepathic powers to coerce God. Farfie could have told him that. And why did Aya have to answer the goddamn…oops…phone anyway? It would only be somebody who wanted something.
Well Schuldig wanted Aya back and he wanted him now and…
Aya was back.
Schuldig spat out bits of fingernail and propelled himself back into his chair, sitting up nice and straight.
Aya arranged a small stack of papers on the tall chest of drawers, almost certainly aligned neatly with the edges of the dresser, then turned and undid his belt buckle again. Hands hovering over his fly, he glanced towards the window and frowned, looking straight at Schuldig.
Schuldig froze, unblinking, like a frightened rabbit, or an extremely guilty rabbit, and focussed on breathing.
Slowly through his nose, and not hyperventilating, and thinking good wholesome thoughts. …raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…bright copper kettles and…Nagikin's underwear…oops again…shit…
Aya blinked and shook his head slightly, just a silken flicker of flame-bright hair, then looked back down at his hands.
Schuldig held his breath.
Aya undid his fly, and Schuldig leapt from his chair and made cheering motions, involving wild arm movements and a vaguely obscene gyration of his hips, but silently, so that Aya wouldn't hear him, and without taking his eyes from the window, so that his head stayed in one spot while the rest of his body applauded enthusiastically below.
He stopped in mid-thrust, his mouth hanging open in its silent cheer.
What was that hanging out of Aya's fly?
…something…
red
 
*
 
Aya stepped out of his jeans with unconscious grace, while Schuldig's busy eyebrows quirked upwards with conscious devilry, and he smirked.
Red boxers?
He zoomed in for a closer look. Aya Fujimiya wore red boxers? Whatever happened to tight, white briefs, like good boys wore? And Nagi. Sneaky little kitty.
Aya was folding his trousers along the creases and draping them over the back of his chair.
Schuldig crab-walked back around to the front of his own chair and dropped down into it, resting his elbows on the window ledge for greater stability, and zooming in unrepentantly on the front of the boxers, to record the sight for future generations, only to be doomed to disappointment.
Boxers didn't give a lot away.
There was something to be said for tight, stretchy, form-fitting, white underwear after all. Apart from the fact that you could use it for a slingshot, if you were ever shipwrecked on a desert island, or confronted by an eight foot tall Philistine.
Aya's thumbs hooked into the waistband of the boxers, and Schuldig gulped a huge, expectant breath.
Red…
Same color as his hair…almost exactly…red silk…and more red silk…
Schuldig was tense with anticipation. Parts of him were actually throbbing and twitching with anticipation, but his hands were tense, and getting slippery on the binoculars. He wiped them on his trousers, smudging and creasing obliviously, one at a time, so that he didn't have to lower the key to visual heaven.
Aya's thumbs hooked into the waistband of the boxers, and he slid them around inside the band once or twice, easing the elastic, then turned to the bed and switched on the bedside lamp. He collected the papers from the dresser, and switched off the overhead light, then climbed unceremoniously into bed, leaning back against the headboard, paper in hand. A glorious expanse of bare, white skin was carefully covered with a tedious expanse of boring, white sheet.
Schuldig's breath exploded from him in a whoosh, and he slumped into his chair, binoculars falling from his disgusted hand and landing on his foot with the dull sound of a toenail blackening.
More reading. He was just going to lie there, and not take his boxers off, and read? More? Damn…damn…damn! All that sweating and praying for nothing.
Damn God anyway. When had he ever helped Schuldig? God probably thought that this was funny. Schuldig didn't think that it was funny; Schuldig thought that it was tragic. Schuldig was stuck here in on a rainy night in this dirty, smelly, dusty, cold, dark room, with the hard-on from hell, and across the road, in that nice, warm bedroom, stupid Fujimiya was just calmly folding his stupid pillow in half as if he didn't have a care in the world and jamming it behind him then sitting back against the stupid headboard with his stupid report in his stupid lap and his stupid finger marking the stupid spot and his stupid other hand reaching down and sliding gently beneath those stupid sheets and…
sliding gently
…and…
touching
Somehow the binoculars were back glued to Schuldig's face and he was holding his breath again.
Crap! The sheet was in the way!
But it was moving. It was definitely moving. Somewhere in the vicinity of those red boxers.
Aya was…he was…
oh God
 
*
 
Watching those lazy, private, intimate movements, Schuldig felt an answering surge of heat and whimpered softly, squirming in his hard, wooden chair, his buttocks tightening.
Oh God oh God oh God. He focussed and re-focussed the binoculars, one-handed, scrabbling urgently for his zip with the other, but he still couldn't see beneath the sheet. Just that same, hypnotic, bunching and rippling of white cotton; like small waves building before a storm. Back and forth and…
oh God
he had to know
Why couldn't he have had x-ray vision instead of crappy, useless…
telepathy
Schuldig's cock sprang insistently into his hand and he gasped as he pushed slowly into Aya's mind, sliding into his awareness until he could feel the slow-burning pleasure uncoiling beneath Aya's stroking fingers, feel it wrapping him around and tightening in his own groin, hot and demanding.
cool fingers sliding over hot, silken flesh
Oh God.
Stuff Crawford. And Nagi, Schwartz, Esset and the whole damn world.
Schuldig was doing this and he was doing it now.
It wasn't his fault. Much.
It was either fuck with Fujimiya or faint from frustration. Or maybe from oxygen starvation to the brain, due to sudden diversion of blood to the groin.
Schuldig screwed up his face so tightly his brain hurt, and sent the gentlest, teeniest, tiniest, little surge of suggestion wafting across the road and into Aya's room. No words, just…
<…take off the sheet. It's heiß…scheiße…Japanese…Japanese…umm 230;hot. It's hot. Take it off …>
That wasn't really touching. It was just asking him politely to share. And very quietly. More a hint than an actual command.
And while Schuldig hinted until his eyes watered, Aya's foot slid up the mattress, catching the sheet with his toes and crumpling it slowly down to the foot of the bed with his heel, a snowy drift of pure, white cotton.
Schuldig forgot to breathe, suddenly suffused with heat, sweat prickling in his armpits. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips slowly, his eyes darkening from verdant to voracious beneath heavy lids, as they devoured Aya.
Aya's hips lifting gently upwards as the boxers slid off and puddled on the floor, a pool of red silk. Red silk hair washing over his face as he turned to place report and glasses on the bedside table. Hair like sacrificial wine spilling across the white pillow as he slid down into the bed.
Schuldig drew an intoxicated breath, heart hammering.
Aya Fujimiya.
Abyssinian.
Gloriously naked.
And completely, innocently, unaware.
Aya, relaxed on the white sheets, knee comfortably bent, one hand caught behind his head, the other hand playing gently between his legs.
Schuldig, hunched in his seat, elbow braced on the windowsill, one hand fisted on the binoculars, his other hand ministering to his twitching flesh. Aya's languid movements sending small shocks of electric pleasure rippling through him, from his secret lair in Aya's mind.
He slid further into the chair, breath growing hoarse and ragged, and gave himself up to just feel, letting Aya do all the work. Soon, very soon, he would take control of that taste-temptation of a body, but just for now…
Aya's head fell back and his palm slid warmly across his chest, cupping the firm muscle, and rolled a hard nipple between his fingers. A pinching, squeezing pinpoint of gentle torment, and Schuldig hissed softly between clenched teeth, arching up into the bright sensation. Maybe now was the time
His lips parted in a predatory grin and he stroked his thumb wetly over smooth, sensitive skin, slick with clear fluid now and twitching for the right touch, and Aya's mouth opened in an unheard gasp. His lips formed words, which Schuldig strained irrationally to hear, but the only sound was his own panting breaths, growing louder in the dark room.
Aya's hand firmed hotly around his cock, sliding and stroking, and Schuldig abruptly lost concentration, shuddering at his touch, lured into an urgent rhythm, loose silken skin moving firmly over the throbbing flesh beneath, his hand following Aya's.
Pleasure coiling tighter with each phantom touch.
more
He slid deeper into Aya's mind, entangling them inextricably together, unconsciously rocking closer to the window, trying to bridge the gulf between them.
All at once he was having trouble seeing. For a surrealistic moment he thought that, because he hadn't stopped it, he really was going blind, but he realised almost straightaway that that was just silly, then wasted several more precious seconds rubbing his eyes and focussing and re-focussing the binoculars one-handed, before realising that the window was fogging up.
Scheiße!
He dithered frantically, torn between using the hand down his pants or the one holding the binoculars, before abandoning his throbbing cock and swiping quickly at the cold window with his sleeve. He could admire his dick any time, but Aya might only be planning on jerking off once this century. Hell…Schuldig would have bet that he never masturbated at all. Although he was damn good at it…
<…ohhyesjust there…>
And at that point Schuldig stopped thinking, unable to coordinate whimpering and groaning and masturbating and using the binoculars and thinking all at the same time. Aya, on the other hand, obviously had no coordination problems at all and his flexibility wasn't something to be sneezed at either.
Schuldig shuddered with frantic, fumbling need, stroking with guilty fervour, desperately wanting to use both hands, but be damned if he'd drop the binoculars.
He wanted to see Aya.
Fallen like a vision from the most sensual dream that Schuldig had ever had.
Trapped in the lens with startling clarity, as if Schuldig had never really seen him before.
His eyes drifting shut, dark lashes curling softly onto his pale cheek. His head flung back artlessly against the pillows, innocently exposing a tender curve of throat, as if inviting the attentions of mouth and tongue. Schuldig's mouth. Schuldig's tongue, and Schuldig's teeth, making Schuldig's mark right about there. Lots of marks. The pink tip of a kittenish tongue pressed to the sensual bow of his upper lip. Hand tangled in the sheets, muscles rippling, sweat gleaming on the sculptured planes of his chest and gilding the pure line of his collarbone as it tickled down Schuldig's ribs.
Aya's free hand escaped from the sheets to slide down between his legs, gently fondling taut flesh in an aching counterpoint to the major rhythm, and Schuldig moaned and pressed up needfully into that demanding touch, his own hand following moments later, as he slid down in the chair, head hunching forward and eyes closing at last, binoculars thumping unregarded to the floor, consumed by overwhelming need to touch that velvety skin.
Blindly. Helplessly. Abandoning himself to just feel, aching pleasure doubled and redoubled. And redoubled.
Ohhh…oh God…so close…and Aya was just playing with…
… him…
…erratic teasing little touches… hands moving everywhere now in tiny butterfly touches…stroking…just one finger sliding hotly up the thick, pulsing vein in his aching shaft to circle slickly in the fluid on the oh-so-sensitive tip … round and round… until his whole body was shivering with need…hips seeking frantically upwards… back curved tight as a bow aching for release…then the hand ghosting back down his desperate cock… touching but not quite enough… tormenting… commanding… making Schuldig shudder and gasp and need
Ohhhohohhhhh
He couldn't move. He couldn't stop moving. Couldn't breathe or think or do anything except feel, so intimately joined to Aya. Trapped. Embraced. Caressed and soothed and then whipped into a mindless frenzy of helpless need.
His hips jerked involuntarily at each tormenting touch. Shuddered spasmodically to the rhythm of Aya's hand, as he whimpered and groaned. Small cries and desperate little animal noises, lost beneath the throbbing drumbeat in his ears.
<…ahhh…oh God… more…>… he wanted… <…Aya…>…please…something... he needed… Aya… <ohhhmore…>
He gritted his teeth and groaned, wrestling the sliding warmth of his hand to stillness. This was not how it was supposed to be. He was the one in charge here. Not… ahhoh God… Aya Fujimiya. He was supposed to hold Aya down and make him squirm and writhe and cry out helplessly for him
He opened his eyes and looked wildly around the room for something, anything… Water bottle? Ugh…gross. And too bulgy. He sucked a finger hurriedly, salty slick, then scrunched down in the chair, one hand tight on his cock, the other, slippery with saliva, reaching down beneath him, as he squirmed and wriggled, straining to reach…ahh…there…ohhhh… his cock surged hotly in his hand and he moaned…
<…there…just there…ohhhmore…Aya…you… >
Aya's fingers were in his mouth and now they reached down tentatively to circle dark, puckered flesh. He could sense Aya's uncertainty and he pushed gently, finally back in control…
<…ohh…yes…there…it's good…inside…>
…and obediently the finger slipped wetly inside, probing and searching…
ohhh
Aya …obedient …submissive… Schuldig's…and that heady knowledge almost tipped Schuldig over the edge but he gritted his teeth, shuddering and gasping, clenching his entire body with iron control, more than he'd ever had in his life …
…be damned if he was going to be first…he was doing this to Aya…not…he wanted…
… and then the finger curled in that tight, warm heat and…
ohhhhoh god…<…thereyesss…> …ahh… <Ayaagainagain…> ahhhhhh
And they were lost in sensation, moving together…so close…he couldn't hold on …just…he wanted…oh God please
<…come for me Ayanow baby
ohhhhoh yesssss! Aya…>
Schuldig moaned and whimpered, holding himself rigidly still, as Aya came first in endless, hot spurts. Felt a surge of triumph, and then aching relief, as he finally shattered, arching into his hand, still holding Aya close, dragging him with him. Aya's back curved off the bed and he came again, mouth open in a soundless cry.
 
*
 
He he. Schuldig slumped guiltily into his chair, a limp rag, scrubbing his hand carelessly on his once-white trousers. Looked like the whole neighbourhood was having interesting dreams tonight.
Across the street, Aya was licking his fingers, lapping delicately with pointed, kitten tongue, each long, slim, white finger disappearing in turn into that perfect mouth, then sliding out slowly. Schuldig watched, mesmerised, feeling himself growing hard again.
Scheiße.
That tongue…
The Kätzchen was just too sexy for words.
Aya was still licking his fingers, staring thoughtfully at the window. He leaned down and retrieved his boxers from the side of the bed, a graceful sweep of well-muscled arm and silky hair, and dangled them from his forefinger for a moment, still looking at the window, then sat on the bed and stepped into them.
And turned his head, looking straight at Schuldig.
Schuldig re-visited his rabbit impersonation, as Aya prowled towards the window, eyes still fixed on Schuldig's window. And then relaxed, as Aya looked away, peering thoughtfully right and left along the street.
Empty.
Somewhere, not too far distant, was the hiss of car tyres on damp road, but the street below was quiet. The puddles lay like pools of mercury in the hazy streetlight. A small, grey cat drifted like mist from the dark alley beside the Koneko and settled on the rain-washed pavement, licking a paw with single-minded intensity.
Schuldig smiled at the cat and breathed deeply. The new-rinsed air smelt fresh and clean through the slightly open window. The same air that Aya was breathing, just heartbeats away across the gulf of street.
Aya threw open the casement and stood, tall and slim and bare-chested, framed in the window, raking his fingers through his hair, lifting it up to catch the fitful air and letting it drift back down. The warm glow of the streetlights gilded the pale contours of his face and gleamed on sweat-dampened skin, rippling over sharply-defined muscle as his fingers lifted languidly. He dropped his hands to the window ledge, and leaned, straight-armed, out over the street, closing his eyes and lifting his face to the night, his hair a ragged, messy halo of red silk and black shadow.
Schuldig's busy, mischievous, malicious thoughts skidded to a stop.
Damn.
How had he never noticed how beautiful Aya Fujimiya was?
 
*
 
Hidaka finally turned up at about 11 pm, soccer boots over his shoulder, followed, eventually, by Kudoh, at some godawful hour of the morning. At least, Schuldig thought that it was probably Kudoh. He didn't move to look, but he heard off-key singing and doors slamming. Thoughtless bastard. People were sleeping upstairs. Didn't wake anyone though. Schuldig checked.
So. Brad was right. As usual. The flower shop was Weiß's headquarters. Crap that man was annoying.
Mission accomplished.
Schuldig was free to go.
But, after all, there was no great hurry. It was relaxing here. Peaceful. His boots were crossed on the window ledge again and he was slumped comfortably into his chair, alternating between scrolling through the new photographs on his cell phone camera, and contemplating the dark windows opposite.
He took a belated mouthful of stone-cold coffee, and almost choked on his firing pin. He smiled.
What a wonderful day.
 
* Ende *
 
German Glossary
 
Apfel apples
eins zwei drei one two three
ende end
heiß (heiss) hot
Kätzchen kitten
Mutti mother
scheiße (scheisse) shit
weiß (weiss) white