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December 2006

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hemmungslos in aegis_weiss

Schuldig's apartment: Night again

WARNING: Yet again, Omi has failed to keep his paws off of me. Therefore, this post is rated NC-17 for a return to the naughty.

(That and bad language, etc, etc.)

Cold. When did it get so cold?

It was all the walking, he supposed, as far as he could stand from that fucking hotel in Yokohama until he finally gave in and climbed onto the subway, finding a corner in the back where he could curl up facing the doors and not be bothered. Acutely aware of the people around him, that there weren't any shuriken up his sleeves, in his shoes, like usual. Too eager, after all. Too much in a hurry when he left his apartment last night to worry about weapons, protection. Too much Aya.

*Aya will never want you.*

I know. I know, I knew that before, so why does it hurt so much now?

Got off the subway randomly after the word 'Shinjuku' filtered through his thoughts, walked and walked and hugged the coat to his chest, ignored the coat entirely. Passed the apartment five times before finally walking up the stairs and hovering, just there. Just---

*You really did come back here, didn't you? Just can't stay away, can you, want attention so bad you'll take it from anyone. Going to go knock on the door, Omi? Going to let that bastard lick the angst off of you like chocolate just so you don't have to think anymore?*


He slid the jacket off his shoulders, fingers not cooperating with the action and clutching at the soft lining. No. It was... pointless, all of it. Best to just go home. Go home and lock the door and curl up on the floor and listen to the way the room echoes around you, so huge and empty despite everything, despite choosing that apartment because it was tiny and filling it with all the things you could just so it wouldn't feel so empty---

But it still does. Always will. Always.

Better to do that, still, than knock on this door and be used. Yeah, it felt good, yeah, it was nice to have someone just give a flying fuck for ten seconds even if it was for his own selfish purposes. It was nice. But sooner or later it would end, and wouldn't that be worse than just leaving now?

*Aya will never want you. Neither will anyone else. Not your family, not your friends, not the bastard behind the door. No one.*

Chest constricting, throat constricting. Hung the coat on the doorknob. Best to just go home. Better that way. Better to just deal with it.

Somewhere in the back of Schuldig's mind, the kitten's thoughts had been mumbling along the whole day--lost under the headache that persisted for longer than Schuldig would have liked. (Should eat then--been almost two days now, you dumbass.) His skin had that nasty 'flayed off with a broken seashell' feel to it and even laying on the couch in his worn out clothes hurt enough to keep him fully conscious for the worst the headache. When it finally broke--late, after six maybe, he couldn't judge--he shoved as many of the voices out of his mind as he could.

Felt sick to his stomach.

Went to his bedroom and made the bed (because he was capable of cleanliness when it served his purpose) and changed out of his worn clothes. Nothing fancy, old clothes still. Pulled the old pillowcase out from under the mattress and went back to the couch. Flopped onto it and pulled the damn thing over his head--intent on sleeping now that the pain had stopped, since his kitten hadn't even made it to Aya yet.

Woke up to the sound of Omi's mind.

Very close.

Blinked his eyes against the blackness under the pillowcase and dragged it down off his face. Felt his eyebrows drawing down, mind pulling through the deluge of very near despair in Omi's mind.

(Thought of him, his kitten did? Thought of him when Omi was standing in front of his hero?)

But the kitten was leaving, drawing way, huddling back up inside of himself trying to nurse his wounded little heart. (~let that bastard lick the angst off of you like chocolate~)

(Let him go. Its just a game.) Schuldig sat up, felt the pillowcase drop down against his lap and absently stuffed it between the cushions on the couch. Was up on his feet and at the door (eager like his kitten now--no, this was his game and he didn't want to lose it to Aya.)

Pulled the door open as Omi was turning away, heard the coat hit the floor as it fell off the knob and reached his hand out, curled his fingers around Omi's wrist and held him there. "I don't give my attention that indiscrimanently, kitten," he said. "And its not that easy to walk away from me." But not a threat, something else, softer to it, something like the tone that Omi wanted maybe. It was harder to tell as close as he was (and there, all of Omi's thoughts storming in his again, memories and thoughts and that *unbelievable* want.)

Don't... don't touch me, don't... say those words, like that... don't...

It was like crumbling, like a building imploding in on itself, supernova star, the way he was breaking now. Trembling, weak as the twisted nickname Schuldig called him. "Don't... you don't care. Just... leave me alone." That voice, it was too cracked, too close to tears. Don't let him see you like this, don't let him pull you inside. He can't put you back together.

Omi jerked his hand away, stumbled on legs that were shaking too much to balance properly. Caught the railing to the stairs---just walk away. Just go, don't look back, go find a dark hole to fall apart in.

He doesn't care. He can't fix you. Doesn't want to.

He'll never love you. Never.

Schuldig let him go, half on purpose, half lost under the onslaught of that pain. Felt it too close to his own mind and it wasn't a good taste that way. (Let him go. He's lost this game. Had his ass already, this doesn't matter.)

No. It did.

It mattered because Omi was his now and this nonsense here on the stairs drowning under this despair. Because of his fucking precious hero. (There were moments, like this, (when Aya failed to be amusing) when he half wished he had killed Aya, let Nagi crush him underfoot like the useless bug that he was. Ask Crawford to flip him over and use his own damn katana to gut him--or Farf. Farf would have had fun with it.)

Schuldig moved after him. Had to stop him first, had to keep Omi here and then he could sort through that nonsense in his head. He caught him on the stairs, curled his arm around Omi's shoulders (dampening the urge to pull away, not so much it would be noticed, just enough that his arm could be accepted as comfort) and held him there. Felt the trembling of his whole body and his mind.

"Come inside," he said. Soft, pulled backward just a little, a nudge. "Please?"


But it was warm, and... so unexpected, so... Could have collapsed right there, right at his feet in a heap and cried. Cried the way he used to, before, all those emotions curling into a ball and exploding into tears in front of God and everyone. Not like now, stifled and heavy in a corner where no one would see. Not like now.

*He'll never love you.* Didn't even know who he was thinking about anymore. Didn't want to ask why, travel further down that winding road of thoughts. Insanity at the end. Insanity and an eternity alone.

So warm. Warm in his arms and warm beyond the door. We could pretend, just a little, couldn't we? Would that be so bad, just to pretend?

Let Schuldig draw him inside. Felt something die.

(Cry? Disappointing, kitten.) Schuldig closed the door behind them and stood there--too much like last night. (Only then, this was just a game and it was actually *fun.* Should never have let Omi take him.) He pulled Omi around, turned him so he was facing him and hugged him, one arm around his back, one hand lacing through his hair, almost like petting. Rested his cheek against Omi's soft (damp) hair.

(No, that won't work--not for long. He's hurt but he's not completely broke and when he's done sniffling he'll remember-- The game was never played this way.)

This way, just like this, just a bit longer. Just until the kitten wasn't so (pathetic) hurt.

...oh, but that was too close to what he wanted. way too close. Too real and not real enough. But... his fingers curled in Schuldig's shirt, clinging just a little, relaxing just a little, eyes squeezing shut. Let go, just for a moment, and maybe...

What do you want? *You*.

Maybe he could let himself believe that. Might be easier, might be better than all this pain. Might not last, might be false, but even just for now...

Choked. All this need, all this... pathetic. "...so pathetic." Whisper against fabric.

Must be better than nothing at all. Must be.

"I'm wounded," Schuldig said into his hair, at first, lifting his head back but keeping his arm and his hands where they were. "That you doubt me. I was being honest, Omi. I *do* want you." Slipped his hand up Omi's back and over his shoulder, up to his cheek and tilted his face up to look at him.

(Not the way you want me to.)

Kissed Omi, softly, nothing hungry, nothing demanding. Kissed him the way Omi had back before he left. Left the control of it up to the kitten.

*He knows you. Everything, knows your little heart's desire, knows just how to play you. How to reel you in. How to make you want him, want to let him use you.*

Don't care. Not now, not with his mouth like this... fingers in his hair and close, soft---

Omi's fingers slid up, over shoulders and into hair, just there at the base of his skull where the strands were warmest, kneading and drawing closer, closer---lips parted with a whimper, tiny, not like before just---please, just give a damn. Just for a minute longer. Pretend you care, pretend you're kissing a lover and not a pathetic little boy---

Schuldig gave, just for a breath longer. Made some noise in his throat when the hands slid into his hair; and when the kiss broke he rubbed his nose against Omi's, eyes closed, breath close.

Pulled back then, enough to look at him, to see him clearly. "If I wanted to use you, Omi I wouldn't have begged you to fuck me back." (Or let him see the nosebleed? Like he had controlled that.) "But I don't blame your skepticism."

Something, something--something else to say, something to do. He couldn't think quite straight. (Hungry? Been two days, fucking idiot.) "I need to eat--order in? We can eat together right? Talk maybe--get some of these thoughts in your head straight."

"Yeah, okay." Still a bit heady from that kiss, but... Omi didn't expect that. Wasn't entirely sure what to make of it, the normality of ordering food and talking. Wasn't sure what he thought he expected from Schuldig---head games, maybe? More sex? Though that probably wouldn't have been the best idea. Food?

Sounded nice.

He pulled back a little, let his hands slide down Schuldig's arms.

When did he stop shaking? Really looked, finally, and... "Christ, Schuldig, you look like crap. What happened?"

Schuldig felt that stupid acknowledging 'yeah I did that' grin on his face. "Headache," he said. (No, tell him about the pillowcase. Had that since Rosenkreuz. Fought Crawford for it once.) "What do you want to eat? I'm not picky--anything fast."

"Pizza." The word was out of his mouth so fast---hadn't eaten since... when? "Whatever you want on top is fine." Backed away a little bit to give Schuldig room to get to the phone, so relaxed now...

How the hell had he done that?

"Does that apply to *who*ever I want on top too?" Schuldig asked. Felt his almost smirk across his face. Naughty little expression there too, felt good after five years of nothing but his damn couch (and Farf, but Farf was never like this.) "And however I want it?"

Omi almost laughed---almost, caught himself and turned it into an exasperated sigh. It felt good, though, that teasing. Joking. Almost familiar. "No. You'd have to buy me more than pizza for that." Nudged Schuldig pointedly towards the phone, but his mouth was turning up. Smiling just a little.

Schuldig cocked an eyebrow up in response to that, but left it alone in favor of actually ordering the food. (Had to concentrate to remember his own damn address instead of Omi's--needed to finish cleaning that shit out of his head.) Once it was done, and they were standing in the silence, waiting for the food--

Omi back to an approximate of the boy he'd been before.

(Ask him about Aya. It would be so good. Ask him about how he thought of you when he was standing there.)

Schuldig nodded toward the kitchen, walked to the table there and sat down in one of the only two chairs he owned. Motioned toward the other one and let Omi decide if he wanted to sit down.

"Pretty nasty little thoughts you've been having."

Omi slid into the offered chair, folded his arms on the table, frowning to himself. Had to bring that up, didn't he. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, didn't want to say it but... "You were right."

Thought of Aya, all cold and unmoved by his presence. "About everything. He..." He didn't want me, just like you said. Didn't want to come back for me. "He is coming back, though. I'm glad at least you were right about that." Not so glad about the rest.

(Predictable Aya. Almost nice to see that he hadn't changed--almost depressing.)

"Its not difficult to be right about *him.* He makes it so easy." Not much of a comfort there. Leaned forward, licked his fingers and rubbed them against that makeup on Omi's neck, watched it smear away from the mark--felt the kitten react when he felt the fingers on his neck because he hadn't seen Schuldig move until he was close like that. Spared a short (as apologetic as he could ever be) smile for Omi. "I like them better this way."

"Well, at least you're happy." Omi's voice didn't bite as much as he wanted it to. Didn't want to start a fight with Schuldig while he was actually being nice---well, nice for Schuldig, anyway.

He hissed a little when those fingers pressed a bit too hard against the bruises, drew back a little when he realized how close Schuldig was, suddenly. Turned his head with as much embarassment as he could muster. "Don't tell him. Just... don't hint at it or anything. I don't want him to know, yet."

Especially don't want Aya to know that this twisted... what the hell was it, anyway? Had anything to do with him; or had started that way, anyhow.

"Yes sir," he said, but without harrassment, amusement maybe. (Can't be nice for long. Never could--Crawford hated that sometimes. Always picking.) So he gave a little, flashed a little of his own insecure underbelly in return. "Don't tell Farf." He sat back in his seat, hooked his arm over the back of it and let his hand splay across the table.

"I won't." Omi rubbed his hand over his neck, absently wiping away more of the makeup, revealing some of the smaller little spots and bite-marks, nearly invisible in the dark, but he had been paranoid at the time. Tugged at the edges of what he wanted to say. "It's not like... I mean, I'll tell him. Aya. Eventually, but... You know, don't get the wrong idea. Um..."

That wasn't coming out right. His eyes traveled over Schuldig, sprawled as he was in the chair. Caught himself liking the view. Somehow... Omi stood up abruptly, leaned over with his hands on the backrest of Schuldig's chair, found a rest for his knee and foot, not quite in his lap. Crouching over him. "I'm not ashamed of you." Probably should be, by all rights... He couldn't figure out how to finish. Hovered there, hesitant, maybe a little foolish for all of this.

"I'm selfish enough to want to keep you to myself," he said back. Working the advantage of the moment, fighting back the smirk of arrogance that was right behind the sincere look on his face. (MY kitten.) Brought his hand up off the table, slipped his fingers up around Omi's neck. Tugged him down--softly enough that it could be resisted--but Omi moved with him. Wet his lip before their mouths touched. Let his other arm fall off the back of the chair, down between them, reaching up and cupping against Omi's hip, nudging him down.

Broke the kiss with a curse. "Shit," he said, looked across the kitchen in the direction of the door. Turned back to look at Omi. "Pizza's here."

And then the knock on the door to confirm it.

Warmer, this time, mouth hot and promising more, fingers urging him closer, hands sliding down Schuldig's back---and he would have, another moment of those lips and he would have slid down and crushed his body against Schuldig, let whatever happened after that go on...

Interrupted. Yet again.

He drew back apologetically, one last soft peck on the lips and stroke over his hair. Stood up and backed to his chair, stretching before he sat down. "Get our food. I'm starving." Maybe more, later.

(Later--yeah.) Food. Required money. "Can't imagine why," he said with a smirk back at Omi and left him sitting in the kitchen with that thought (and the so slight mental nudge back past Aya's display of eternal pissiness to this morning.)

Went back to his bedroom first, pulled the drawer of the nightstand out again and plucked the yen out of the mess of so-called personal items he'd kept. (Bandana, sunglasses, lube, another thing of concealer for nastier bruises and other less noticeable junk.) Slid the drawer shut and left the room, back through the empty living room to the front door. He pulled it open--ignored the greeting of the man delivering the pizza and handed over the money with a noncommittal scowl on his face. Took the food (oh, yes, that smelled--) and closed the door. (Farf would smack him upside the head--or just shake his own head in resignation--for this display of bad manners. Always trying to get him to change that little bit.)

Back in the kitchen, he dropped the pizzas on the table and slid Omi's at him; flipped open the lid of his own and started to eat.

(Two days--idiot.)

Omi munched on his pizza idly, working his way through two slices before he felt his hunger was sated enough to resume conversation. Balked at that a little, watching Schuldig. Half a dozen questions racing through his mind before he settled on one. Burning, ever since the other day, in that alley.

"Why do you want to find Crawford so bad, anyway?"

(So bad? That obvious even the kitty's getting it.) Schuldig finished chewing up the pizza in his mouth, more for the sake of keeping his mouth too busy to snap out some response than any pretense of table manners. Licked the inside of his mouth and then leaned back in his chair, arm slipping back over it.

What was that saying about curiousity and cats? (Gonna get honest with him now?)

"Crawford--" No. Think this one through. "We've known each other since we were kids." (Hate that american pig-fucker.) There was more; curiousity was still there in Omi's eyes, like that answer was so obviously half a truth. (Need him, maybe, going to spill that here?) "Farf says Estet is coming. If he's right--" (Oh, he's right. You know it, feel it.) "Crawford would be--" (Necessary, because those Estet bastards were going to eat Weiss alive.) "Beneficial. To everyone involved."

I am totally not buying that line of crap.

Thought it, loud enough for Schuldig to hear. But, Omi amended, taking another slice out of the box, I'll let it go for now. Chewed thoughtfully for a few minutes, finally settling on the discussion of Farfarello and Esset as a safer, but still serious, topic. "I need you to help me," swallow, cast around a bit for a napkin, "get Farfarello down to HQ. Please. I haven't had a chance the last few days to sit down with him and archive his hard data." Gave Schuldig a pointed look. "Or you, for that matter. What you know about Esset."

No, that was going too serious, now. "Not today, though." Today, what was left of it, was for eating pizza and sleep. No particular order there, either, as he was starting to feel full and there was plenty left for breakfast.

Thought about the cold walk back to his apartment---it hadn't been far, after all. No sense spending more money on cab fare, not after that enormous payout in Yokohama. Even assassins had budgets.

(Fuck you, little boy. You don't have to buy it.) Wondered if he could see it, probably not, nothing that far down in Schuldig's head ever showed on his face. Probably the only truly hidden talent he had; wealth of rage. (What would it prove? What good would it do?) Nothing, nothing at all, not like this. Except maybe prove Omi right, or Crawford--or even Farfarello with his 'let it go--move *on.*' So he let it slip, made it slip, back down.

Cracked a grin. "Wouldn't that bring my side of the favors up to three?" Playful. (Yeah. Playful.) Then a nod. "He's got all his stuff in files, wouldn't be a problem to transfer it to you."

"Whatever he would prefer is fine." Omi smirked, just a little, closing his box and walking to the sink to wash the grease off his fingers. Paused on the way back to lean on Schuldig's chair. "How long are you planning on keeping score? Really." Slid his hand down Schuldig's cheek to tilt his head up and drop a kiss on his lips. Soft, teasing, tongue worrying the part of his lips---tasted like pizza now. Pulled back, fingertips still on his chin.

"I'm gonna head home." Cold walk, yeah, but maybe I can borrow that coat again...

Keep the score? "As long as it amuses me," Schuldig said. Licked his lips for the taste, pizza and Omi. He stood up, watched Omi watching him. (Doesn't really want to go home, does he?) "I think the coat's still outside the door, if you want it."

"Yeah. Thanks." Thought of adding 'I'll call you,' but how cheesy was that? Omi shrugged a little, stretched his arms over his head as he turned to the door. Hot shower, comfy bed. Wouldn't take too long to get there. "See you."

Schuldig kept his distance, not a great one, maybe an arm's distance away. Waited for Omi's hand on the door, for it to pull open--for Omi to think to himself, to really think, that he was headed home in the dark with Schuldig's coat on. Mind all trying to make itself happy with just that.

Pressed his hand on the door, above Omi's, pushed it closed, leaning with his whole body weight, so his chest was just right *there,* close enough Omi could feel the heat from his skin, and his hair (because the kid loved that too.) Bent his head down, brushed his cheek against Omi's hair and turned so his lips were brushing his ear. Low toned, breathy.


Warm... so warm and close and hair against his cheek and that breath in his ear. Omi shivered, leaned into it on instinct, let his hand drop from the doorknob. *Stay.*


Turned, just slightly, just enough to reach back with his hand to find Schuldig's hair and brush his mouth, eyes slipping closed, short breath escaping---

Fingertips against Schuldig lips, he ducked his head, sucked the fingers into his mouth. Dragged his hand down the door and dropped it away. One of his hand on Omi's, fingers across the palm of the hand in his mouth. The other down, low, across Omi's belly, slowly turning him around. Pressed him back agianst the door and gave those fingers in his mouth a final lick, let them go, held Omi's hand in his still and nuzzled his palm.

Omi watched, eyelids growing heavy and mouth dropping open, shivering, lips and tongue---oh, closer. Against mine.

Slid his palm over Schuldig's cheek, into his hair, pulling him close and down, pausing just where their breaths mingled---so hot there---free hand fisting in his shirt and then---

Soft but firm, this time, deep---fingers clutching at the nape of Schuldig's neck and arching up into it, lost in his mouth and urging his tongue in, deeper, slower, closer, more. Soft whimper escaping him, gasping momentarily but not long enough to stop kissing.

Schuldig slipped his arm up, around the arch of Omi's back, hugging him closer, one of his legs pressing between Omi's. He tightened his hold and pulled him up just so slightly higher.

(Mine. All mine.)

Stayed there, in that kiss, with the heat and the urgency of Omi's mind until his hips rocked forward, against the contact of the warm body, and then he broke it, dropped his face a little, moaned a hot breath. Drew air back in across his teeth.

Air. He paused a moment, gasping, letting Schuldig hold him up and shuddering just so at the press of his hips. So hot already and so much promise in that moan, so much need rushing through him, fingers fumbling down the front of Schuldig's shirt.

Not so fast. Not so fast, but...

Slid his palm under, just a bit, caressed the plane of his stomach. Slid his leg around Schuldig's hip and rolled upwards, inviting, mouth seeking and sliding along his jawline. Voice stumbling over a low, mewling noise so the words only made it, stumbling, to the back of his throat and the front of his mind.

Take me to bed.

(Take him to bed.)

Schuldig felt his lip curl up, some half grimace of pain that the kitten hopefully wouldn't see or feel. (Thoughts a little loud? Head a little sensitive?) Too much of Omi in his head again, drowning out all the other voices, drowning out his voice a bit too. (Love those nosebleeds.) He leaned his head to the side, let Omi's mouth press against its skin where it wanted, felt the flex of hips agianst his, the leg around him, heard the urgent thought, the imperative.

(Take him to bed.)

Not yet, not like this--Not again. Not without *something* to dampen those damn thoughts. Didn't need another lifetime of heartbreaking memories layering his head with angst.

(Take him to bed.)

Schuldig turned his head, pressed another short kiss to Omi's mouth, just long enough to get his attention back there, long enough to slip his hand down and pull those pants open--again--push the zipper down. Long enough to gather up his own thoughts, memories (lessons? remember how to build shields on *someone* else? Haven't used that lesson in a while.) Then dropped down, his other hand around Omi's neck, his mouth sliding down, biting through the fabric of his shirt, down down until he was on his knees, and Omi's hand was in his hair.

Bent his head down--felt Omi's mind roll over, completely defenseless, completely distracted. Worked fast to build a shield around Omi's thoughts because (you need to take him to bed) his kitten (pathetic though his most recent display might have been) wasn't ignorant. Would recognize the strange fuzz of his thoughts if it persisted too long--wouldn't attribute it to Schuldig's skills for too long.

Besides, the shield he was building only had to last for a little while. He could teach the kitten to make his own tomorrow--maybe, maybe later, but soon sometime.

It was a stray thought, why Schuldig had opted to go for his pants, first, no real meaning to it until he started moving *down*, and that was---oh---god---fuck yes---and his fingers were wrapped in Schuldig's hair and his back was arching off the cool metal of the door and the world was blurring out of focus---wait. Wait. Not so fast. Not yet. Still want---but oh---oh yes---couldn't form a single coherent word on his lips, moaning bits of Schuldig's name and halves of other things.

Bed. Stop. Don't stop. wait. More.


Schuldig pulled back, pulled himself back up to his feet with fistfuls of Omi's clothes, pulled that body forward agianst his own and grinned at him, breathless. "Yeah. Bed." Kissed Omi again, felt the murmuring quiet of his thoughts now and wrapped both his arms around him, felt his elbows hit the door as he leaned them back agianst that again.

Less intense now, but still---taste of himself on Schuldig's tongue, salt and still a bit like pizza, deep and invading---too wrapped up in it now, tugging at Schuldig's shirt, crushed too tight against him to get it off. Too many clothes, too much hard door against his back and not enough soft mattress.

Want you.

He wriggled, rubbing and practically climbing up Schuldig's body, so hot against him, hair getting caught in his fingers. Slid up enough to hook his knees around Schuldig's hips, wrap his legs around and squeeze, grinding and hands keeping his mouth tight and gasping against his.

Want you.

High enough now to slide one hand down the back of Schuldig's shirt, warm skin beneath his palm, grasping fabric impatiently and tugging upwards. Off. Want you. Now.

No less intense, that broiling *want.* Went straight through him, no need for thoughts, just that would do. Felt his hands tighten on Omi's clothes and then release--had to, or this would go on forever--and he pulled back a little, enough that Omi had to drop his legs back down or he'd fall. (Didn't want to let go.) Couldn't even muster a smile, just this breathless expression on his face, wrapped a hand around Omi's. Didn't even have to pull him because his kitten was moving in the same direction.

(Take him to bed.)

Through the empty space, back through the door and back into the bedroom. Stopped next to the bed and pulled his own shirt off, tossed it over his shoulder (thought it might have landed on the bed) and tore at his pants, fumbling a little. Got sick of that, looked up, saw Omi pulling his own shirt off and pulled him down on the bed.

Rolled him under him, tugged Omi until he was all the way on the bed and then kissed him again, hands on bare skin now, down the sweat-slicked chest and down to the hot belly, back up, back down--circles maybe. Something. Just touching. Wanted to touch because he could feel it all now, all sensation. (And *want.*) Not so many of those thoughts. (But that *want.*)


Heat and weight pressing him down, touching---mmm, feels good---keep doing that. Slid his palms from Schuldig's shoulders, down his back, around his sides and between them, fingers stumbling over buttons---still too many clothes, too much in the way. Still kissing. Still breaking apart to gasp for a bare second and continuing. Still rubbing because his body wouldn't stop.

Could only gasp out the first part of Schuldig's name between kisses, because somewhere between the beginning and the middle he forgot the rest.

Hair. Working its sweaty way across Schuldig's face, into the kisses. He hooked a finger around it and pulled it back, tucked it behind his ear. Omi gasping his name now, the open zipper of his pants (why was he still wearing pants?) was rubbing against Schuldig's belly, scratching him, making it raw.

(Too few thoughts perhaps? Losing your focus?)

No. His name. Moaning his name. Hands on his back, fingers on the damn buttons of his damn pants. Legs open around his, thighs tightening against his.

Leaned back enough to pull Omi's pants, dragged them down his legs, scooting down the bed until the kitten decided to help and yanked himself free. And those pants got tossed back on the floor. (Good place for them, there.) Ran his palms up his kitten's legs, traced the flickering tightening of muscles, up and up, slipping along the inside of Omi's thighs, up to his hips, one hand lingering, open-palm rubbing and the other kept going up. Over the belly, over the panting chest, up to Omi's neck, over the bruises, and up to weave through his wet hair, turn his face toward him

Mouth there now, back into that kiss.

Hands, everywhere---shudder---pressing back against that touch and whimpering---more---until the kiss started again and then---

Writhing, fingers exploring Schuldig's chest, absently---thumb across a nipple, lower, tracing abs and scars and whatever he could reach. Legs tangling, sliding, so hot, sweat everywhere, hair everywhere, hot under Schuldig's hands and in his mouth---more---

Broke the kiss just long enough to moan, deep and shaking and needing, clawing at Schuldig's waist and lower, pulling him closer, closer---

Schuldig felt his hips rocking, pressing down and realized with an aggravated groan that there was still clothes in the way--his clothes. "Pants," he breathed against Omi's neck and pulled away from the hands and legs and heat and *want.* Rolled onto his back and tugged at the buttons until they gave, pushed them down, lifted his hips up to get them down and then kicked them off. Rolled on his side and grabbed for that damn drawer again.

Cold air on his skin, unpleasant; he shifted up on his elbow by the time Schuldig was rummaging through his drawer, tossing random items from it in irritation.

Too far away.

He waited, shifting a bit and rubbing his sweaty bangs off his face, waited just until Schuldig had his hand wrapped around the object of his search before he leaned forward. Grabbed the shoulder in front of him and pushed Schuldig onto his back, crawled over him, knees around his waist. Hands sliding, through hair, over skin, mouth trailing over his ear and down, nibbling at his collarbone, caressing his stomach. Tasting. Sliding back and rolling his hips, shuddering and biting down, not too hard, gasping against skin.

Yes. (So predictable, you are. Like to be on your back.) Schuldig licked his lips, gasped, one hand still holding that tube, the other on Omi's back, fingers just pressing against the damp skin. Felt his belly fluttering under Omi's hand and pressed his hips back up against the roll of his kitten's.

Tipped his head to the side and let his eyes close. Teeth bared.

Slipped that hand off Omi's shoulder, down his arm, wrapped around his wrist and pulled. Felt a smile tugging at his lips--maybe, hard to tell with those hips rolling down against him. Pressed the tube out of his hand, into the kitten's and opened his eyes.

Unspoken, half-projected thought, maybe Omi could hear it--you decide.

Cold plastic against his palm, suggestive grin on Schuldig's face, but he already knew what he wanted. Already had Schuldig's fingers half-guided there, fumbled with the tube---too self-conscious to do it himself, too intent on tasting skin---and there---shivered, wrapped his mouth around Schuldig's nipple and sucked.

Pressed back and down and tried to control it, just a bit longer, just a little bit longer or he'd drown.

Awkward as fuck, this thing they had contorted themselves into. His arm between them, Omi's mouth on his chest, fingers--Didn't matter. Only necessary long enough to--Omi, shivering, hips shifting, pressing back, body clenching down--fucking done.

Groaned Omi's name, tugged on his hip. (Who's needy now?)

Rubbed his palms up Schuldig's chest, back down, pushed himself up. Bangs dangling back into his eyes, not bothering to push them away. Let Schuldig grab his hips---might bruise there, doesn't matter. One hand between them and *down*---

*Who was it that used to tell you how good you looked like this?*

Fuck that unwanted voice in his head---drowned it in the feeling---god, yes---felt his head tilt back, muscles flinching under his hands and Schuldig still pushing deeper---

Schuldig watched him, through barely open eyes, felt his own teeth gritting as Omi sank down on him, one hand on his hip, the other on a bent knee--something to hold.

But watching him. Head tipped back, skin flushed and wet, and his lip caught between his white teeth for a moment, and then--

Schuldig rolled his hips up, panted hard and sharp. (Like to watch? Always liked to watch, listen--) Kept his eyes open, just a little, just enough that Omi would see him watching if he looked. Rolled his face to the side, hair across his skin again, in his mouth--didn't care, panted against the pressure and the heat of Omi's body around his.

Oh---fuck---forgot how good it felt, forgot how---sensation shuddering up his spine, arching, all the way to his mouth, stuttered moan---god---found a rhythm, strain in his thighs that matched his pulse, almost, looked down and---

Watching you, watching you writhe on top of him, hair everywhere and panting---

Leaned forward just enough to brush Schuldig's hair away from his eyes, fingers lingering, feathering back down over him---felt him deep, hot and---oh fuck yes, *there*---

(Oh, fuck yes--) Shield was shuddering, but that was fine, didn't matter. Only the recent memories were drifting through and Omi's sex-drenched thoughts.


Felt the fingers pulling the hair back out of his face and turned his mouth toward them, barely did more than press the tip of his tongue against them, taste the salt there.

Dragged his hands up Omi's sides, loved the flex of his muscle as he moved. Watched it, watched all of him moving, his face--face like his mind, everything showed there like this.

(Bit too easy, isn't it?) No--yes, didn't matter at the moment. Not as close as Omi was. (Yes it does.) No. (Easy wins are cheap and cheap wins don't count.)

Shut up.

Schuldig sat up, hands sliding behind Omi's back, one hand curling on his shoulder, and kissed him. Kissed him because like that the thoughts were closer--foreheads almost touching--and his needy little thoughts were louder.

Want it. Want it like *this.*

Mouth---yes, body hot against him, moaned against Schuldig's lips, raked nails down his shoulder, still moving, rubbing against him while he moved, shuddering---felt his body start to flex around that heat inside him---no, not yet---

Slowed down a bit, awkward this way anyhow, pressed close and kissing deep, fingers in hair and clawing over skin. Pulled back just slightly, just for a moment, panting hot into that fraction of space. Murmured the first (coherent) phrase since telling Schuldig he was going home.

"I'll stay every night, if you want."

Whore. (Your fault. You dumbass.) Stupid little kitten whore. This was the reason Schuldig hadn't bothered Weiss. Not because of some plan Schwarz had, but because they weren't even worth it. (Except Aya--and that boy's coming back.) Too easy, too giving, too wrapped up in their need for guilt.

(Your fingers, there, dear, a touch too tight, maybe.)

Schuldig wanted to roll him over, shove his face in the pillow and mind fuck the boy until he remembered the person he was shamelessly promising every night to had stood there and *laughed* when his precious cousin died. Had taken Aya-chan and Sakura and mindfucked his hero on more than a few occassions.


No. No--that wouldn't do it. (Break the kitty, wouldn't that be fun. Right now, while he thinks everything is good. Wouldn't take much. Push him away. Prove him right--call him a slut right to his face.) NO. (Yes. Aya would love it. Laugh in that bastard's face and tell him maybe next time he ought to give half a shit about someone else.)

(Bruising the boy, he might start to notice right about--)

No. No because this was what he wanted. Part of the plan. (Plan?)


"Oh," Schuldig breathed, felt a smile tugging at his lips and kept it smug, arrogant, *pleased.* "Shouldn't of said that." Rolled them over, pressed in, and kissed Omi. All want and hunger and need.

*Probably shouldn't have. Too willing, like every other time.*

But... shift of position, warm weight pressing him into the mattress and---oh yes---slid his legs up Schuldig's sides, wrapped around, arms wrapped around and fingers scratching, arching up, shivering moan escaping into the kiss and god---

Make me feel like this, and fuck yes I'll come back every night.

*Huh. So they were right, then, what they called you?*

No. Moved harder against Schuldig, to drown out that stupid voice, to make him move back---need you, need to come soon---shuddered and felt everything else drop away---

Schuldig slipped back into Omi's mind, (just don't say anything else--just don't) around the shield, just deep enough to get to that addictive part, the abandon. If his kitten did nothing else quite as right--he wholeheartedly enjoyed what felt good. So very responsive to being touched. (And you touch him so nicely too.) Schuldig pressed against that, latched onto it as he moved.

Faster now, fingers digging into Omi's thigh against him. Soft sounds falling out of his mouth.

(Keeping up the show. How cute. You could always just--)

There, felt it tipping out of control, the loss of rhythm, the deepening throb of Omi's thoughts, and the tightening of his body--everywhere. Schuldig's fingers slipped away from the grip he had on Omi's thigh. Too slick now, movement too urgent.

Gritted his teeth, turned his face a little, felt his eyes closing, felt Omi's mind swelling up--almost there--

Faster now, squrming against him---yes---deep and panting against his lips, fingers twisted in hair---yes---all of it disappearing into the spread of heat, starting to shake---yes---burning knot seething in his belly and tightening, hands digging into skin---Schu---

Back arching up so hard he might snap, breath on his neck and---YES---white vision and hot, hot, mouth open and maybe---

Schuldig drown himself in Omi's thoughts (cheater) deep enough to gasp Omi's name almost in unison. (How romantic.) Rode it out with Omi's mind in his, relishing it, leaning against Omi.

Had the impulse to kiss his kitten and did, brief, slow. Almost lazily. (So very romantic.) Leaned back to the side, on his back on the bed, with all that sweat cooling on his skin and the pleasant buzz still fuzzing out the other people's thoughts in his head.

(Is he really that good?)

Drifted there until the sweat on his skin was sticky again and hated that feeling. Leaned over and kissed Omi again (like a lover?) and then climbed over him to get back to the other side of the bed. "Gonna take a shower," he said.

Slow coming back. Sounds first, Schuldig panting, himself panting, soft kiss---mmm---then gone. Completely gone, sudden and aching.

Dammit, he always just *leaves*.

Let that stew while he finished finding the rest of himself, rubbing his eyes---still seeing spots. Stretching a bit. Catching his breath.

Omi was aware enough to appreciate the second kiss, aware enough to grab Schuldig's hand when he tried to get up and pulled him back down, rolled onto his side to face him.

"Stay still for more than five seconds, will you?"

(How about now? 'I don't cuddle with whores'? Nice ring to it. Kitten would appreciate it.)

Schuldig looked down at the hand on him, felt his face shifting into the look of annoyance. Then back up at Omi; felt the words coming out of his mouth before he could think them through. Tugged his hand away from Omi's, not too roughly, just enough to free himself.

"I was still for closer to twenty, consider that an all time record." (And If you ever find him, you can ask the american bastard and verify.)

"I'll take that as a compliment. Whatever." Omi muttered, pushed himself into a sitting position, muscles abruptly aware of how sore they were. His vision wavered momentarily, snapped back into focus; he frowned and rubbed his eyes. Headache, maybe?

"Whatever," he repeated, more convincing himself that he didn't care than anyone (or someone, in particular) else. "Go take your shower. Don't use all the hot water." Spotted a towel on the floor, that would do for now. Leaned over, ignoring Schuldig, to grab it and paused because---

Because. He didn't know why, really, except that the world had gone fuzzy and watery for a few seconds. What...

His attention traveled to Schuldig without even needing to make the connection. Petulant telepath. Something funky up with my head. Does one and one equal two?

"Stop pouting," Schuldig said. Let the look of annoyance ease on his face. "I hate this sticky shit on my skin. You wouldn't like me any better if I stuck around and bitched at you about it." Watched Omi, watched him pause, felt the shield he'd put over his mind waver, blinking in and out of where it was supposed to be. Making the kitten aware of its dying presence.

And Omi's eyes sliding over to him, that look on his face like he'd just figured something out. Didn't smirk, but it took all the self control left in him to hold it back. (Yeah, I fucked with your head. Go ahead, call me on it.)

Omi wasn't mad. Not really. Just... irritated? Disappointed? Annoyed that Schuldig hadn't even bothered to ask? Of course, all that was dependant on just what it was making his brain go deaf at odd intervals.

Giving Schuldig the benefit of the doubt, for the moment, at least, he spoke calmly. "What did you do to my head?" Felt that wavering again, the telepath's face swimming out of focus.

Felt the smirk across his face, didn't restrain it now because Omi had said it first--no point in trying to hide it now. Licked his lips. "Temporary sheild. Keeps your head in your head. Later I'll teach you to make your own."

Later, huh? Omi rubbed his eyes again, figured it wouldn't do any good but it felt slightly better to have them closed. "Fair enough. You could have asked, or at least warned me, but fair enough." Blinked a little once the world was back in focus and asked the more pertinent, obvious question. "How do you make it stop?"

"When it fades away the sensory sickness will stop. Takes a while. Just be thankful its not a big shield or you'd be puking." With that Schuldig turned and walked out of the room. Smirking on his way to the shower.

Omi had intended to go after him. Chase him down and demand that he remove whatever the fuck he had built manually, or however he did it. If you can put it up, you can damn well take it down. Intended to say just that.

He started to stand up and lost focus, that fuzzy underwater feeling in his head dragging him back down to the mattress. Punched the blanket ineffectually and decided it was safer to stay there for now. And that nagging voice back in his head---

*You're the one who agreed to this, Mr. I'll-stay-every-night-if-you-want.*

(You should be ashamed.) Sudden thought, that. Slightly feminine voice to that thought, thick German accent. (Can't even put up a fucking sheild without getting caught. Stupid boy.) No, because the shield had served its purpose and was serving another one now. If he needed to he could put it up and rip it out and Omi would never have noticed.

(That and pigs can fly.)

Schuldig glared at the mirror in the bathroom. Glared at his reflection at the cat-bites on his neck and his collar bone, the mess of his hair, the darkness around his eyes. Grim fucking look that. And a scowl.

(Not everything's for your entertainment. Somethings have to be serious.)

Schuldig stabbed that thought, and all the thoughts that were bubbling up out of the past like arrogant blond phantoms. Brushed his hair ruthlessly until it was flat again and turned the shower on. Felt the kitten's thoughts, flickering in and out of perfectly clarity. Shield was still strong, just knocked loose, would probably last most of the night and when it died, it would leave behind a nasty headache.

(Fair's fair--)

There was a rhythm to the way his head was fading in and out. Omi caught it, managed to get out of bed and, keeping close to the wall, make it to the kitchen. Took the towel with him, ran some hot water from the sink and cleaned himself up, rubbing the dried sweat from his face. Went back to the room the same way and collapsed on the mattress, tugging the blanket up around himself.

Listening to the shower run.

Something had gone wrong. Not horribly wrong, like the last time, and that hadn't even been his fault. This time, though, he got the feeling it was. and fuck if he knew what he'd done.

Schuldig turned the water off. Stood there, wet, skin prickling with the sudden coolness of the air, hair dripping down his back. Teeth gritted, bared, hands on the faucets like fists. Felt the wideness of his eyes and the ripping annoyance that was clawing its way out of his chest, spreading, spreading until it was everywhere.

(Not playing your game the way you thought he would?)

Forced his eyes closed. Forced them. (Gotta play this through now. Can't pull out now because he'd gotten in too deep. Too much of Omi in his head, too much playing on this moment.) Bit back the annoyance, forced it back down, grinding his teeth until he could pass a civil breath.

Got out of the shower, dried himself off enough that the air wouldn't be so very cold on his skin. Went back to the bedroom, fighting back the urge to run in the room and grab that boy by the back of the damn collar and haul him up--teach him how the game was really played. (Aya knows.) Stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at Omi under the blankets, feeling his mind and the way it was playing through reasons for this change in behavior.

(How about now? You caused this, Omi because nobody wants you. I was *pretending,* but now I'm bored.)

"Get up," is what he said, not nearly as bitingly as it was in his head. Not even annoyance anymore, just a little bit of tired. "These blankets are nasty. I'll change them you go sit over there." And he did grab the kitten but with hands that weren't hurtful. Touched him like he had touched him before, reassuringly.

This was... no, something was supremely fucked up about all of this. The whole situation. Dammit---shouldn't be here, should never have come back here, should never have walked in the door. Should have just gone home, or somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Would have done something *really* fucking stupid then.

Omi grabbed his pants off the floor and pulled them on---how much abuse they'd been through in the past 24 hours, honestly. The shirt was more difficult, it had been tossed off into a corner. Grabbed that, figured it would take about half an hour to get home. Snag a piece of pizza on the way out, bum a cigarette off of someone he passed because god knows he could really use one right now. It'd be cold without a coat but the rain should've let up by now... his head was still fuzzy, but he could probably manage. Probably.

God. Damned. BOY.

Schuldig had him grabbed, hard--*fast* before Omi even managed to get his pants zipped. Pushed him against the wall hard enough the sound of it echoed through the apartment. (No, remember the plan.) Fuck the plan. "Whore," he breathed against Omi's face, fingers moving up to grab him by the chin and forcing him to look at him. "That what you want? So you can go home and be alone and feel all safe?" Moved his other hand off Omi and put it on the wall. "Would that make you feel better? Too bad, not going to happen. I already told you and I'm not repeating it again--I don't give my attention that indiscrimanently." Pushed himself off the wall. "But by all means--try walking home with that thing in your head." And he gave it a tug, felt the sheild rip, enough that it would spike pain in Omi's head but not enough to distract him. Enough that the point was made.

Omi sank back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut against the pain in his head. Rotten fucking day. Slept too late, barely got to Yokohama on time, Aya didn't love him and neither did this asshole, but at least he was there, right? And now, now there was some stupid *thing* in his head screwing with his perception and giving him a migraine.

That was just *it*.

Fist was already chambered at his side, right about the moment the word "whore" slipped out of Schuldig's mouth. Took a moment to feel anything through the burst of pain in his head, but after that, Omi's fist flew, right to the most direct target, the gut right in front of it. Stayed there a moment.

"That fucking hurt, you bastard."

Oh. Motherfucking shiteating sonofabitch.

Had to suck in a breath through grimace of pain, because it had been a very long time since he'd been hit; time enough that his tolerance seemed to have slipped a little. Spent too long feeling the pain of it, but Omi spent too long with his hand too close.

Took Omi's hand by the wrist and looked up at him, felt the chaotic spill of his hair across his face and saw the boy's face haze of his red hair. "Good," he spat. (Isn't this what you wanted?) "Stop being such a pussy about it." Straightened up the rest of the way, grimaced again. "And stop fucking comparing me to your stupid hero. Its insulting."

"It fucking well better be insulting." Omi jerked his wrist out of Schuldig's grip, hissing a bit through clenched teeth. At least the asshole was actually feeling some pain, this time. "Now, get this piece of shit shield out of my head. And next time you feel the need to build one without asking my permission, at least do it *right*."

I did do it right, kitten. That's why it hurts now. (Liar. You fucked up. He's right. Stupid boy.) Shut up.

Schuldig felt the smirk spread across his face, couldn't hide it, didn't even try. Little kitten was playing by the rules again. Chuckled breathily.

(But he's right. You fucked this one up.) Shut. Up.

"Insulted by the comparison? No." Rubbed his hand across the welt on his belly. Hurt like a bitch already.

(He's right, he's right.) Shut. UP.

Ripped the shield a little bit more, just enough that it hurt fresh again but not enough that Omi would even think to attribute it to him, to the moving around maybe, the anger--not him. Just to see what he could make the kitten do.

"Flattered," he said as he licked his lips. "You thought of me--right there in front of your precious one and you thought of me."

More pain---god dammit, knock it off. Omi thought it loud enough for Schuldig to hear. "You think I care that you're flattered when you're giving me a fucking migraine?" He rubbed his forehead, pushing Schuldig aside to go sit on the bed. Too dizzy to stand much longer.

"You must really enjoy being second-rate, if you're flattered by something like that. So get your fucking second-rate shield out of my head. Now."

Yes, you care. Schuldig left it alone for a minute. (Biting your lip are you? Second rate? Heard that before--stupid boy.) Went to his closet and pulled out flannel pants--hadn't worn them in long enough that he had to pull the drawstring almost an inch and half tighter around his waist.

"It did what it was supposed to, don't insult the shield because your orgasm knocked it loose," he objected finally. Letting the argument slip, because when this was over, Omi still had to want to come back. He crawled on the bed, over to Omi. Stayed up on his knees like that, kneeling in the middle of the bed. "Sit up."

Omi glared over his shoulder for a minute---strange, the way Schuldig's mood would change, annoying, sometimes. He really wanted to be mad at him. Stay that way, for a while, stop having silly thoughts about whatever was going on with the two of them. He scooted back on the mattress a bit, pulled his knees up to fold his legs on the bed. Sat up, but kept a sulky expression on his face.

Just stay mad. Stay. Mad.

Yes, try to stay mad at me.

"Can I touch you or should I expect to get to be getting hit again? It makes it easier to take it out if I'm touching you--I'd do what I did to put it in, but I think another go would damage something I would far rather have intact."

Dammit---Omi sighed, still irritated but sat back a little anyway. "Fine. I won't hit you anymore." Wondered just when Schuldig had constructed his little mind-shielding device. Sometime early on, when he'd been suitably distracted... oh. Then.

"Yes," he said offhand. "Then. I did it because I wanted to, too." Put his hands on Omi's face. (Don't have to do that.) Closed his eyes, concentrated on the shivering ripped shield. A little damage left behind there, make Omi forgetful for a day or so. Nothing too bad.

When he opened his eyes his forehead was against Omi's, he pulled back slowly and looked at him. (How'd you get there.) "Can I change the sheets before we go to bed? I hate dirty sheets."

Omi nodded a little, climbed off the bed to let Schuldig remake his bed. Kicked his pants back off because sleeping in jeans was not terribly comfortable.

He realized that at some point there he had completely forgotten to be angry. Dammit.

Schuldig changed the flat sheet and the fitted sheet--because they had the worse of the filth--then tossed the dirty ones in the bottom of his closet and dropped the pillows back on the bed.

(Domestic little animal, are you?)

Pulled the blanket back on the bed. Looked ovr at Omi, yawned and flopped back on the bed, reached his arm out and motioned Omi over. Let a lazy smile show on his face as Omi slid onto the bed.

Good kitten.

Wrapped an arm around Omi and pulled him closer. Reached back across to turn the lamp off in the room and then wiggled until his pillow was right and Omi's weight against his side was right (and away from that developing bruise.)

Yawned again.

"Good night, peaches."