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Payback (or Return of the Flashlight)Acid Rain |
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They had a job that needed doing. Get in to the recording studio on the top floor, grab out a tape that was a bad bad thing for their client, and get back out. Who knew that the music-news industry was into blackmail? Easy as pie - except they had a few heavy operatives of their own and Crawford didn't like the feeling he got from the idea of just going in sneaky and popping a cap in anyone who got in the way. Something gangish about them - too many guns, too many chances for one of them to get badly hurt. Who knew the music industry had attraction as a cover for a group of ruthless criminals? Farfarello could not pass as anyone's secretary. Maybe Dr.Frankenstein's. Nagi was too young. Crawford was just on the edge of too old and couldn't pull off the outfit. He just looked embarrassed and pissed off in tight pants and that gold lame shirt. And his soft, deceptively submissive demeanor would just attract attention. Just the suggestion that Schuldig had made, that Crawford shake his ass for the people and try looking flirtatious had gotten Farfarello laughing so hard he nearly choked on the jawbreaker he'd been sucking on all day. Schuldig loved the outfit. He looked sleek and dangerous and bad. And the haircut wasn't bad either - a minor trim, really - Crawford definatly liked the look, and Schuldig admitted - reluctantly - that it was ... very flattering. And would grow out in less than a couple of months into its former wild mane, which is the only reason he was not whining like a child with an earache about it. But he hated being anyone's servant, even a secretary or receptionist. It touched too much on things he'd rather not think about... the imaginary but some how very real collar he could feel in his sleep sometimes when he was not feeling all powerful, when the Three Prunes’ hands on his leash felt especially heavy. So it took a little while for Crawford to convince him to do it. Crawford, oddly, didn't just say 'you'll do it or else'. He turned on his charm, rarely seen by his own teammates when it was used on *them*. He tended to save it for their clients or targets. Schuldig got a flicker of earnestness through Crawford's shields - he really did mean that Schuldig could have a week off after the mission; they all could, as a reward for saving their client's reputation. The real leverage came when Nagi and Farfarello both looked at him with those tiny flickers of hope - that they'd all be left alone for an entire week to do their own thing, no fucking client to worry about wanting some stupidity. He was about to harden his heart again and refuse - who were they to pin all their hopes on him when *they* couldn't do it? - And turned back to Crawford to see a tiny, tiny flicker of the same thing hiding behind those glasses before the icy exterior was back as if it had never been gone. Were they all just as tired as he was? Not that he *needed* a vacation. But he hadn't gotten a lick of real rest for... how old was he now...? Never mind. He wasn’t going to do it for them; he was going to do it for the vacation time. All he had to do was pretend to be manageable for ... just a little while. Suck it up. Pretend to be a stupid, pretty plaything for a little while who was only good for surfing porn on the front computer all day while waiting for his boss's clients to show up. Easy peasy. And if they wanted to smooch, he'd let them imagine a smooch that would make them dreaming of him for as long as it took Schwartz to get back from Vacation and take them all out one at a time, away from their heavily guarded up town gang flop. When Schuldig got in the building with his slinky, sexy clothes and his styled hair and cute little kicky boots (fuck, someone kill me... no, not you, Farf...) he caught sight of himself in a mirror on the way in to the building and nearly did a double take. Seeing himself checking his costume on the way out the door was one thing. Seeing himself moving in that fluid looking metallic gold muscle shirt with the thin silk leopard print shirt casually pulled on over it, the black leather coat and pointy heeled matching girly looking boots, and natural colored linen baggy yet clingy trousers that made it obvious he was not wearing whitey tighty underoos - anyone who looked close could see the fucking silky off white thong right through them. Gah, butt floss!! Argh, he was ready to yank that irritating string of silk out of his crack and shoot it like a rubber band at the first person that smirked. He made it through the first interview without so much as a second glance at him. He was clearly the best of the assembled hopefuls. Nerd boy who might clean up nice if he didn’t' have the sweats so bad he looked like he was wearing a thin coating of Vaseline all over him and dressed like he was coming to a funeral - his thoughts were dry and cold on the surface but roiled with self doubt and loathing - he would not even last through the interview, Schuldig was sure, before he just got up and left. A plastic aging Barbie girl who was, as far as Schuldig could tell, entirely artificial except for her somewhat turkey wattled neck which showed her true age under a quarter inch of too dark foundation, and who's thoughts were like dried cheese left on the counter - nothing there Schuldig wanted to taste, all old and stale. A fresh little plump school girl who would probably have been a sexy little thing if not for the fact she tried desperately to fit into clothes that were just too tight for her and made her look about as comfortable as any other creature squeezed in a vice. Too bad he didn’t have time to play - she might have been fun to corrupt and show the underbelly and loins of life, a little twist and she'd go from fresh and shy to acutely aware that she was shaped like a woman, noticing every man's eyes seeing her curves and soft skin. The little vulnerable rabbit of her thoughts would be nice to pet and strangle a little... and then let go to always know the hand that could pet could strangle as well. Really - a service to her, it would be, a lesson. And Last and Definatly Least - the chain-smoking fashion fag who hadn't heeded the 'no smoking' sign and didn't even get in for an interview, no matter that he looked fuckable - he stank and he couldn't follow a simple office regulation. Loser. You should at least wait to stink of ciggies until the end of the day, not the start. The interview was superficially like any other; though the questions slanted ... he picked the answers they wanted to hear out of the interviewer's mind. Mmm. Looking for someone who was easy and would let a client manhandle him. Well, I let that fucker Tinker Toy beat me with a golf club. I can let someone manhandle me a bit and then make him think he's doing anything else he wants. He also picked up a LOT of violence. A couple of minds that would make Farfarello feel in good company. Too violent and vicious for Schwartz - even Farf was controllable and quiet 99% of the time. It was that 1% you had to watch out for. And there were a lot of them. Schuldig was a little puzzled. This was the sort of thing they should be stepping in and taking over, killing off the ones that were too much trouble and too uncontrollable, subjugate the rest. Why had Crawford decided to do things *this* way? As it was, this was going to take a couple of days, he was pretty sure. The new guy they were hiring the secretary for was due in today though and he had to be here to look pretty and give the impression he was ready to work. The flicker of thought that he got from the exec he was *currently* talking to, however, gave him pause. The new exec was not just some record label consultant or a talent agent or sales dweeb. **freshmeatkeepthenewkillerhappybetweenjobsdeathbloodniceasstoobadhe'staken** What??? What the fuck does a recording company need with an assassin? He started
checking. Seriously scanning the place more than cursorily to get the job done,
intense scouting of the psyches that ran rampant over the place. Using psionic stealth he’d developed from years of having his trainers catch him peeking at their thoughts, he wormed around a little more. He hadn’t been caught…yet. But it was not a great idea to just whip his powers around like he was used to doing. “Ah, this job just went to sucky.” He muttered. “What was that?” The Psycho with the Leather Tie and Purple Suede pants stared at him. “I was just saying I hope I get this job but I don’t feel lucky.” Schuldig flashed an empty headed smile at him. “Maybe not. But we need you right away, can you start right now?” He was looking at his computer screen - message that Schuldig couldn’t see from where he was but could pick up from the guy’s mind just fine - ‘get the meat in here to distract the guy - he’s insisting on talking to the Boss and he’s busy!’ “Sure, really?” Schuldig tried to look thrilled, but he was dismayed. He couldn’t reach the others with that sensitive up there - a big broadcast would get his attention, pronto, more than likely. No wonder Crawford had felt uneasy about the job. If he was careful, he could get in and out and they could make a plan for tomorrow. But … urk! He might not be able to push this guy hard enough without alerting the other sensitive! “Alright. You go in there where the exec we’re courting to do some work with us is. He’s a very important man and you do anything he wants … and we’ll make it worth your while.” The man’s eyes regarded him with a curious light. Would he do it? “… Sure, if it gets me the job, definatly.” He tossed his hair, flaunting it and preening a bit. Every inch the opportunistic gold digger ready to do whatever he had to in order to make the big bucks. Urk, Urk, URK! Okay, don’t panic. If he wants more than a quick hand job, I can risk a little mind touch to get him to believe we did whatever. The guy can’t be that sensitive, right? ---------------------- The Killer was facing away from him when he got in, but turned around as they entered. Lean hips were sheathed in black suede so fine and form fitting that you could see his pulse in his thigh when he turned. Boots - much heavier leather than the pants, obviously not meant for style, meant to kick the shit out of people, with some matte black buckles and fixtures ... they looked like some kind of high fashion combat boots. One had a chain with a tiny pentacle on it. He had a belty thingey around one thigh and a strange belt that crossed his hips, it looked vaguely gunslinger-ish. His shirt was black with dark gray pinstripes, and it had a strip from about his nipples down to his waist on each side that laced up and fitted the shirt to him snugly, showing off a very lean form and subtly muscled chest. He had a chain around his neck that could restrain a rotweiller, with a cross on it - a simple silver cross - that could club a baby seal into a fur coat. It pointed down his belly straight to his sleek tightly packed bulge. Not a jawbreaker, but nothing to sneeze at. Okay, Schuldig, up, look up from the crotch, its not cocked, hehe. Up up up... into those hard mirrored shades and that smooth ivory face. The Killer took off those shades and stared at him with his murderer's flat, cold gaze. Perfect... heart shaped face framed by that dark dark red hair and those... Violet... eyes...??!! Before Schuldig could do more than stand there with his jaw hanging open, Aya smirked very faintly and ran his eyes up and down the other man. Schuldig felt *scorched* by the look. Holy shit... where did he learn to do that? “He'll do.” The man's cold voice was almost a whisper. “He knows what he's to do?” Aya asked the interviewer guy, not addressing Schuldig. It made Schuldig feel ... like some kind of livery animal. Not even a whore, but a rental beast. And a little light headed. That was Abyssinian? THAT? That couldn't be. It was ugly sweaters or slick killing clothes. This person had ... almost a fashion statement about him. Too tasteful for Balinese to have picked out his clothes - Balinese's taste was alllllllllll in his mouth. He dressed like he'd fallen in a thrift store's 'teen girl' bin in the 70's. Maybe their chibi helped him. The flicker of their thoughts was muted up here. They must have some kind of shielding - I didn’t' even feel him up here! Crap... the Sensitive's going to be able to feel me if I stretch to try to receive. What's Weiss doing here? Fuck fuck fuck! And he missed whatever else they said. The interviewer person smacked Schuldig on the ass hard enough to rock him up on his toes. He reeled in his explosive temper just in time to keep from killing the guy by beating him about the head and shoulders with the handily nearby lamp. “Keep the guest entertained, Red. There will be a nice bonus for you.” He winked. That brief touch gave Schuldig the impression from the Interviewer that he expected Schuldig to be very cowed and eager to please by the time Abyssinian got done with him. And Mr. Interviewer expected sloppy seconds. Fucker. The Moment the door closed, Schuldig started to hiss at Aya but before he even got out one complete word, Aya had him by the hair and was pulling him into his arms and kissing him, and Schuldig was so utterly surprised when he felt that intent ripping through Aya's skin to his mind that he just let it happen. Aya tasted like juicy fruit chewing gum. “Put your hands behind your neck.” Aya whispered. **Can you hear me?** The deliberate mental contact shook Schuldig out of his shock somewhat. **... Yes... what... who...??!** “Do as I tell you.” SMACK! The slap to Schuldig's ass was another shock. Old instincts, survival from the Institute where he'd been trained to be an Eszet war dog rumbled up and he obeyed, Blinking and startled. He hadn't felt Aya about to do that. The frelling shields... and Aya's tendency to act without thinking, smooth impulses reacted upon rather than any sort of thought out plan... were bollixing up his ability to read Aya's intent. Which meant he could not anticipate anything the swordsman was going to do. Which made him very dangerous indeed. The violently purple eyes drilled into Schuldig's green ones. **Listen to me carefully. This room is wired and there is at least one camera. We have to put on a good show or they'll figure out I'm not who I say. The person we replaced was a control freak with a thing for pretty, sassy men. When I am ready, you get what you're after while I get what i'm after and we go our separate ways. In the mean time, we play our parts and wait for the signal. Agreed? Because if you do not agree, I will kill you right now and claim I didn’t like your looks.** **What is this, pay back for the Flashlight?** Schuldig grinned a very snarky grin at Aya, who just yanked him close, staring into his eyes.... And the *thoughts*! Aya flooded him with erotic fantasies - - a fist in the golden red mane, forcing Schuldig's smart nasty mouth down on a waiting cock, Aya's cock, - - Schuldig handcuffed to a brass bed looking over his shoulder with all that red hair falling into his eyes and down his back and shoulders, narrow little white ass waiting to be penetrated - -Schuldig was kneeling astride a reclining Aya, again handcuffed, this time behind his back, as Aya forced him slowly down on the Abyssinian’s hard, throbbing length - and kissed him again, roughly raping his mouth with tongue and teeth and leaving marks that wouldn't fade for a few days. The ferocity of it made Schuldig's pulse quicken and his head swim. And get hard enough for that thong he was wearing to threaten to sproing off his ass on its own. Ohhhshitoshitoshit...**Weiss!!! What in the HELL are you doing?!** **I thought it was pretty obvious. Am I doing it incorrectly?** Aya’s amusement was sly and there was a smug air about him that indicated he knew good and well that he was doing it juuuuuuust fine. His expression was cold, predatory, faintly disinterested. Except for those intense, vibrantly violet eyes, like burning amethyst. **You said put on a good show! Not.... ** he sputtered a bit in an effort to form the words in his mind, as images flickered - that kiss, his hardness, Aya’s thigh between his legs...when did that happen? How did he, Schuldig, lose control of what was going on? **What? You can't take it? If I can do it, you can do it. Play the part. It won't be for long.** **That's what i'm afraid of ...** he cut that thought off but Aya had already caught it and gave him a vicious hunter's smile and kissed him again, pushing him back on the desk and off his feet. **Don't worry. We have plenty of time.** More amusement. And a weird dominant self-assurance that made Schuldig a little weak in the knees. Aya thumbed one of Schuldig's nipples through that silky gold shirt. “Undo your pants. Don't make me do it or I’ll take a belt to your ass.” He said in a low, soft purr. Schuldig got another goading set of flashes of what Aya wanted to do to him. He wanted Schuldig to disobey, so he could do just that - see the telepath's firm, narrow ass twitch and bounce under the lash of the Weiss's belt...hear him gasp and make noises of not-quite pain . . . A moan brought him out of his daze and he realized it was his own voice. Aya was pulling at Schuldig’s trousers and getting them down so fast it felt… practiced… how many times had Aya done this, anyway? How many times had he taken another man? Schuldig was buffeted by more harsh, lust-raddled thoughts as Aya slipped a belt around his wrists. Fuck, he’s tying me up with my own damned belt! The surge of humiliation was almost enough to break the spell of heated need that had come over Schuldig…almost. When Aya turned and bent him right over the desk, and slapped his ass hard, making it sting more without the protection of those thin pants, he bucked and squirmed. Abyssinian cut the thong with a small but wicked little knife, and Schuldig was just even more turned on - he didn’t know when or from where the assassin had pulled the knife but his full, tumescent length was practically shouting for joy and relief to be out of the confines of that horrid thing. No more buttfloss, whee! Aya was still projecting. Schuldig wasn’t sure how Aya learned to do it, but he was playing out what he wanted and Schuldig was having a hell of a time doing anything else. Aya’s thoughts of him lifting his ass and clawing at the slate desktop with his bound hands happened as if scripted. When he heard Aya unfasten his own pants he could not stop himself from gasping and tossing his head, and squirming. He could see it through Aya’s eyes, watch that redgold hair slide silken off his shoulders, and feel Aya’s driving need to hold him down and penetrate him, claim him… and…and… He’d stopped. Schuldig was being pulled up off the desk. “What the fuck? Why are you stopping?” Schuldig gasped and writhed for him. “Abyssinian!” “Power’s out. That’s the signal.” Schuldig blinked. He hadn’t even noticed the lights going down. He was so hot he was able to feel it like little waves rising off of him, and his cock was hard enough to use to drive nails. “But..!” “No buts. Time to move.” Dazed and off balance, Schuldig's pants were back up and fastened - minus the belt - and he was being dragged along swiftly. The guard looked up in the darkness in time to catch that katana in the throat. The only sound was his body hitting the ground and Aya didn't pause, just stepped over him and hoisted Schuldig along. Without even realizing he was doing it, Schuldig mindspoke. **Gunman, coming from your left, around the corner. Heard the body hit.** Clockwork. Tick. Tock. Aya walked to the corner, the man walked into the sword. His head rolled past. Aya had not yet had to let go of Schuldig and had kept himself and Schuldig from being sprayed with any blood. He neatly wiped his blade on one of the men's pants. Far, far away, Schuldig heard gunfire. He looked up. “The rest of my team. They’re the distraction.” Aya said calmly, and headed up the emergency stairs, dragging Schuldig behind him. “How are you blocking the sensitive?” Schuldig asked, curiosity pestering him. “He's doing that for us. He’s so afraid of other people like himself - like you - that he's shielded himself a little too well. Otherwise, he'd have made me right away. And like your kind is wont to do, he's forgotten that fancy powers don't kill.” He tried a door. Not this one. Up another floor. “People do.” “You can't get up the stairs to the penthouse without explosives and the elevator takes a special key.” Schuldig said irritably. “We've worked out that I need to get in and push some buttons on the right people to get in.” “We do our homework, too, Schwartz.” Aya slung him around and pushed him up against the wall, surprising him again. Schuldig was getting very tired of that, and was about to say so when Aya put his hand on Schuldig's throat and then behind his head in his hair and pulled him in for another hot, penetrating kiss, all the while sending flashes of Schuldig squirming submissively in his lap and writhing, impaled on Aya's hardness... Then the lights came back on. “Time to go.” Aya almost smirked at Schuldig's whimper of need and dismay. **God Damn It!! Quit doing that!** Aya did not reply - but the next door he tried opened. Aya bent Schuldig over and with his hand in that long red mop, hauled him along. Schuldig was working at getting his wrists untied but wasn't having a lot of luck so far. The hallway was clear. Most of the goons had been summoned up to the higher floors to get rid of the madman with the claws who was just killing everyone in sight and unbeknownst to the defenders, his wire flicking partner who was snagging the defenders from behind as they focused on the visible threat. Aya stalked for the Elevator. Two guards. Not unexpected. Aya just walked right up to them, dragging poor Schuldig, and giving a yank to his hair that brought stinging tears to his eyes. “You fucker! OW!!!” Schuldig shrieked as Aya gave him the katana smartly across his ass with a nice 'SMEK!' sound. The guards relaxed somewhat, smirking, when they saw it was just the new hired killer dragging the fluff along. “Hot looking bitch, killer.” One of them snickered. “Get your mind back on work.” Aya said coldly. “What's the situation? I didn't expect to have to work this quickly.” “Some nut bar came in from the roof. Cameras went out, but should be back up now.” “Yes. They should.” Aya agreed. Schuldig noticed that Aya was not looking directly at the men and followed his line of sight as best he could. The reflective elevator door... and the reflection of the security camera pointed at that door, redlight flashing... and then out, bink! The camera was dead. And so were the two men, just like that. Tick Tock. One of them even managed to pull his gun but not actually to any purpose. “You were a little slow on that set.” Schuldig observed as he shook his hair out. Ow, that had huuuuuuuuuurt! “Don't bother searching them, neither one has the key to the penthouse express elevator.” Aya ignored him and wiped his blade, then took the heavy cross from around his neck “That's okay.” He smashed the heavy thing against the wall twice until the chrome broke free and slide the false end off, revealing the little circuit card. “I do.” He slid the end in. Ping! The elevator opened. “In.” Schuldig hesitated but went in obediently. As the elevator doors closed, he finally spoke again. “How… Last time you were barely aware of your sexuality…” “You fixed that, didn’t you? Unhappy with your work? You think I didn’t figure out what happened once we were apart and I didn’t have you stroking me off in my mind?” “I didn’t do all that. You were meant to be bottoms, boy!” Schuldig snorted. Aya was on him like a ferret on a meatball. “You know. That’s funny. That’s exactly what Yohji said.” Aya forced him back against the wall, knotting his free hand in Schuldig’s hair to force his face up and expose his throat. He ran that blade down Schuldig’s exposed flesh, making him shiver with a mixture of need and a flicker of fear… and then sheathed the blade. “Let me show you what I taught him, after he tried to teach me to be his bitch.” “Abyssinian…” Schuldig started but choked into a moan as Aya kissed him roughly and demandingly and then started flooding his mind with memories of Yohji’s hands and mouth, his hardness pressing inside… and then his ass pressed up against his – no the Swordsman’s hips as Aya held the playboy down and gave him a taste of his own medicine. And the memories of Yohji’s gasps and cries.. Aya had undone the telepath’s trousers again and had him pinned against the wall writhing, eyes glassy with unslaked lust, all these tastes of spiced honey but no filling of his very real physical need. “Talk to me, Schuldig. I want to hear it. Out loud.” He stroked the telepath’s mind with visions of Aya bending him over to be taken while he palmed and squeezed Schuldig’s hardness. “God… Abysinnian… please…” “Please what? Say it… You know what you want. You want to be penetrated. You want me inside of you. Say it.” “…Please…” Schuldig’s eyes rolled back in his head and he arched and thrust into Aya’s hard, firm hand, panting. “Please, anything, just don’t stop!” Aya listened for a second. Camera was out. They had time before Omi got the elevator power up fully… “Good boy.” He bit down Schuldig’s neck, leaving little faint pink welts, and nipped one of the telepath’s nipples through his slinky gold shirt. Schuldig almost screamed with the sensation, squirming in Aya’s grip. Aya covered Schuldig’s mouth with his other hand and kept nibbling and sucking right through the thin shirt, and Schuldig moaned helplessly and licked and sucked at aya’s fingers, wanting them inside of him or around him or touching him…anything. “Fuck me! Please, please god I need it please!” Schuldig was clutching at what he could with his bound hands, rubbing against Aya mindlessly and almost sobbing with the need for release. Aya shoved something into his hand – Schuldig half hoped it was the swordsman’s cock but no - … a …tube? “I don’t want my hands slippery. Put it on me. Or you’re going to be fucked dry.” Aya said flatly. Right now, being fucked any old way sounded good to Schuldig. But so did getting his hands on aya’s cock. He was annoyed with how his bound hands shook as he tried to get the cap off and aya finally showed him it was the flip up kind, much easier. Aya hissed a little as Schuldig slathered the handlotion on. Schuldig got his smirk back and was about to comment when he sniffed and blinked… “Oh, no… no no no that’s going to STING!” “Suffer then. We don’t have to do this. Make up your mind and beg if you change your mind.” Aya started to take a step back. “No! Nonononono! Please please don’t do this to me, Aaaaaya!” Schuldig clutched at him. “Then beg for it.” “… please…” He wanted to slap him, shoot him… no one did this to him! … but his belly crawled with pleasure and need and the idea of Aya making him beg for it just… fired him up more. He felt as if he were going to burst, and not in any pleasant way, if he didn’t get someone touching him and soon. “Please… fuck me, please. I want you.” He whispered. Aya pulled him close and kissed him with another of those hard, invasive kisses, tongue forcing in and making Schuldig moan into his mouth, squirming helplessly. He wasn’t’ even sure how Aya did it … just strong hands forcing him back against the wall of the elevator and his legs up so his spine was curved and his smooth naked ass against aya’s belly… the scent of that pepperment hand lotion was making his head swim in the closeness of the elevator, mixing with Aya’s and his own male scent and the scent of leather and blood and steel… and a faint hint of roses… Suddenly
that hardness, slick with the peppermint scented lotion, rubbed up his crack,
making Schuldig grind. He wanted everything at once, he wanted that IN him right
now. No, five minutes ago. Aya got schuldig’s bound hands behind his neck
so Schuldig was effectively hugging/clinging to the swordsman and holding on.
Then…he pressed into Schuldig, slowly, the European man’s voice rising
dramatically in panting, gasping cries. Which is just how Aya liked it. Aya let the waves of pleasure ripple from Schuldig to him and then sent them back again, and started slowly, methodically pumping into the man pinned to the wall, eyes nearly closed as he watched Schuldig gasp and shiver and cry out through his eyelashes. Schuldig wasn’t even seeing the elevator around them or anything else but the violet eyed swordsman thrusting into him and claiming him like some kind of mare… he’d seen that once, a stallion mounting a mare… and the memory sent him into spasms, grasping at Aya and grinding down on him, begging and whining for release until Aya silenced him with a hard, biting kiss and a hard, penetrating thrust that about sent Schuldig right into orgasm. But …not…quite… Then… Aya sent images again. Schuldig as his. Wearing his collar. Jewelry, piercings he’d get fired for if he worked in a conservative office when someone found out, that Aya put in him and locked in place. Sleeping chained in his bed, kneeling at his feet eating out of his hand like a pet… **You’re mine now. Mine. I own you. I’m claiming you, that is me you feel inside of you and that means you belong to me…** Schuldig fought those thoughts, for how long, he did not know – a few seconds, a few minutes, a few thousand years… and then on the next thrust Aya gripped the other man’s swollen, painfully hard length and squeezed and rubbed his thumb over the head quickly and roughly. And Schuldig came. Everything grayed out like an over exposed photograph and he felt that prickly core of resistance against what Aya was trying to do to him melt in waves of blistering pleasure. “Yes yours yours yours fuck me fuck me yes fuck me I’m yours…” he whimpered and clutched at Aya desperately. Aya’s eyes closed and he growled faintly and thrust hard and pinned him there, panting, Schuldig feeling it through Aya’s skin as the swordsman filled him with his hot liquid passion and it was the dominance, the triumph of hearing Schuldig’s submission that got him off so forcefully. Then all Schuldig could do was ride out the pleasure, whispering faintly he was not quite sure what, and feeling very, very owned. And wanted. “Aya…” He started, faintly, as the shuddery aftershocks of desire began to bleed away … and then the elevator started. Aya kissed him roughly and pulled out a little more carefully than he went in. “Show time.” Schuldig couldn’t help but spasm a little as Aya pulled out of him. God. He felt …empty. He wanted him back, he wanted… **Later, Schuldig. Get it together, there’s a man I have to kill.** The flicker of sympathy and just a tiny shadow of affection got Schuldig’s attention. And filled the void, just a little. …when did that happen? When did he decide he likes me…? Aya had, of all things, moist towellets in that coat of many pockets and they were tidied up and Schuldig was back in his pants and the belt from around his wrists before the elevator opened. Schuldig was starting to think Aya had a small minivan under there for their escape later. “He’s waiting for you.” “I know.” Aya smiled at Schuldig, surprising him. It was a sweet smile. Schuldig saw the plan in Aya’s mind as the door opened into the sanctum to which the Sensitive fled once ken and Yohji had slaughtered most of the Sensitives gunmen. The Sensitive stalked forward and focused on Aya. Schuldig started forward, almost involuntarily, when Aya buckled to his knees with a cry of pain. He could feel it, the man grabbing Aya’s mind and starting to peel away his humanity and make him another of the ruthless thugs that served him. But Aya looked up and smirked. Holy shit, that’s my smirk. He copied that from me, dammit! Aya was not buckling as fast as the man wanted. And he was trying to retreat back into the elevator, slipping out of the man’s effective range… The Sensitive took a step forward… and there was a faint crash. An arrow stuck out of the man’s head, his eyes bulging out with the force of the shot that had made a tiny but rapidly growing hole in the glass. And in his head. “Good shot, Bombay. The Beast is down. Mission over, get Weiss out and I’ll take the elevator down. They won’t stop me. I’m supposed to be here.” Schuldig looked up at Aya, feeling just a little lost and uncertain. He still couldn’t’ read Aya very well. Aya pointed his sword at the television. “Your prize.” He said quietly. Schuldig moved over to get the tape. Aya moved up behind him and breathed in his ear. “Remember. I got that for you. And you’re mine.” Schuldig just…shivered and leaned back into him. “Yours.” “Here is what we will do…”
Schuldig had
seemed sort of dreamy and out of it. Smiled more than he could remember him doing
since they were kids. Sometimes…oddly knowing smiles. That made him think about the weird dream he’d had about Aya and … a dog collar… which made him snort in amusement. That could not *possibly be a vision. C’mon. Aya? Abyssinian would no sooner play bondage games than …than Schuldig would beg to be bitch in that kind of relationship. That almost made him laugh aloud. He pushed his glasses up his nose. Yeah, Crawford, right. You can’t even get him to call you ‘sir’ in appropriate situations. But I can still think about it. Just for a laugh. mmm. Aya in leather. |