Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ It's All Relative ❯ Chapter 6 ( Chapter 6 )

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

Aya felt the presence at his back and whirled, bringing his katana down in a furious slice. Crawford slapped his hands together hard in front of his face, catching the metal blade mere inches from cleaving his head in half. Panting and shaking with adrenaline, Aya stepped back and let the tip of his blade rest on the ground before sheathing it in a smooth motion. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared angrily at Crawford.

"I hate when you do that. I hate that you are so sure I'll never cut you."

"Would it make any difference if I told you that I'm never sure until the very last moment?"

"No. The outcome is still the same. You will still know how it will end and I'll still be a step behind and at a disadvantage."

Crawford absently rubbed the blood from his hand onto his dark workout pants. The edge of the blade had stung his left hand.

"It's second nature to me to use my gifts and whatever else is available to me to get the job done."

Aya turned his back to Crawford to hide his face and went very still. He was silent for so long Crawford almost left him to brood and finish his own workout in the gym. While he watched, Aya took a few deep breaths and squared his shoulders. When he turned around his face was blank and unreadable.

"I guess you do what you have to." Aya said softly. "I'll have to remember that."

"I get the feeling we aren't talking about sparring anymore."

"We're not and I'm not up for more discussion. If we're done here I'm going to shower."

"Aya, about the other night..."

"It was a job." Aya cut him off mid-sentence. "I understand."

He returned to the house. Schuldig sat indolently crosswise in one of the terrace chairs with one leg draped over the back, nibbling pastries. Even distracted and upset Aya had to shake his head at the telepath. He knew for a fact Schuldig wasn't color blind, but anyone else would think so. Brilliant purple silk drawstring pants hung low on his hips and were topped by an electric green robe left untied over his bare chest. Most frightening of all were the fuzzy pink bunny slippers the telepath wore with as much panache as a pair of Ferragamo loafers. The worst case of bed hair imaginable was barely being contained by the yellow headband. Fiery orange strands stuck out at all angles giving the impression of a badly stuffed scarecrow. Even with a jumbo mug of coffee grafted to his right hand, eyes puffy from too little sleep, and pastry crumbs dotting his lips, Schuldig still oozed sexuality. Aya just didn't get it.

"Hey, not everyone can be me."

"Not everyone would want to, and stop peeking in my head." Aya retorted.

"Can't help it. I'm too tired and you were very loudly denigrating my fashion sense again." Schuldig shrugged his shoulders. "For someone who doesn't talk much, you think loud and clear, in stereo and technicolor. You're dreams are even more interesting."

"Shut up!" Aya vibrated with fury.

"Pull your claws in, kitty. It's just free cable for me. I won't tell, but take some advice from an experienced lover."

"Experienced slut, you mean."

"Whatever. Think what you like. I'm more discriminating than you want to believe. I've never paid for a damned thing, nor have I ever sold my body, so keep your judgments to yourself." There was real hurt in Schuldig's voice. "I've only ever sold my skills on the job, same as you. If that makes me a whore, it makes you one, too."

Apologies never came easy to Aya and they still didn't. He just gripped Schuldig's shoulder and let the telepath pick it from his mind. After a moment Schuldig shook himself free and laughed brightly.

"You can be eloquent as long as you don't have to speak. Gods, you're an odd one, Aya. But as I was saying, take my advice. If you want, then take."

Aya selected a croissant to take in the house with him. He didn't even bother to pretend ignorance of what Schuldig was talking about. What was the point when dealing with a telepath?

"It's not that easy for me. I'm not an open person." Aya moved on into the house for his shower.

"And if that isn't the understatement of the year." Schuldig muttered into his coffee and dismissed the matter from his mind to bask in the sun beaming through the glass enclosed terrace.

Let Aya and Crawford work out outdoors. Schuldig didn't care if the snow had melted and February approaching. It was still winter in New York and he dreamed of warmer places. Mmmm, maybe their next job could take them to the Bahamas or something. Schuldig dozed in the heat with visions of toned bodies in thongs dancing in his head.

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Crawford watched the redhead walk steadily to the back terrace without looking back. He stared down at his creased palm and clenched his fist. A vision swept through his consciousness with the force of a hurricane. Disjointed images of Aya, his lips twisted in a rictus of pain, burned behind his eyes and frantic calls in Schuldig's voice urging him to 'hurry, hurry.' Before the last of the vision faded Crawford heard Aya's voice snarling at some unseen attacker that he would die first.

Crawford shakily regained his feet from where he had fallen to his knees and hurried to the house. He wished once again that his visions came with a time and date stamp in the corner. Crawford had no clue when the sordid details would come to pass or how to stop them. Fuck and double fuck! The sound of Crawford barreling through the door jolted Schuldig from his pleasant dreams.

"Where's Aya?" Crawford demanded.

"What? No 'Good Morning', snuggle bear?"

"Schuldig!"

"Gott, you're no fun. He's in the shower. Why don't you join him and you can both drown your sorrows. Better yet, pin him to the tiles. I know you want to."

Schuldig gave an inarticulate yell as Crawford dumped the remains of his coffee in his silk covered lap.

"I'm only trying to help! Where's the love?!" Schuldig yelled at his retreating back. "Stubborn, pig headed idiots."

In his hurry to find Aya safe in the house, Crawford discarded any pretenses of decorum and politeness and simply barged through Aya's bedroom door. The man in question stood in the middle of the room wearing only his pants and holding his shirt. He lifted one finely arched brow in question.

Using his unnatural speed Crawford grabbed Aya by the shoulders and spun him around to pin him against the wall. He cupped the fine-boned jaw in one hand and wrapped the other arm tightly around the slender waist. Aya dropped the shirt and laced both hands in Crawford's silver hair. Their lips crashed together in hungry passion, teeth clicking against each other almost painfully. Aya writhed between the unyielding surface of the wall and the equally hard body rubbing him in all the best places. After several long minutes he tugged at Crawford's hair to pull him away.

"Why?" Aya gasped.

"Tell you later." Crawford groaned and pushed the redhead toward the neatly made bed. "But this has nothing to do with a job."

Down in the kitchen a certain voyeuristic telepath lost all semblance of sleepiness and, humming a porn flick soundtrack, exchanged his coffee for popcorn and a large coke and lounged on the chaise in the living room with a huge smile.

"Scene One, Take One." Schuldig snickered.