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Self-service

hemmungslos in aegis_weiss

Saturday November 11

Warnings?: Violence. Bad Words. Schuldig being honest (srsly.) Also there's the emergence of an evil guy and Schuldig's cunningly inobvious master plan.




Schuldig hadn't slept. Not surprising, been sleeping too much, too close and warm and wrapped up in Omi's mind. But the shield had dimmed that, closed it off to a very slow trickle so that Omi's thoughts were like the rest of the thoughts murmuring in his head. Better that way--he'd seen telepaths that Hyde had drown in other people's heads. Stupid simpering little bastards that couldn't get themselves back.

(But you let it get this far, idiot boy.)

Let it get this far, but he wasn't lost. Stayed next to Omi until Omi was completely asleep and expended only the very slightest of touches to dim the alert that would have rose up in Omi's head when he left the bed. Pulled on whatever pants were still clean in his closet and whatever shirt was closest to the door (a T-shirt with "Ask me About my Bratwurst" on it in German he'd gotten from Farf at some point.) Then padded out of the room and to his couch. Laid there until the sun came up, digging peaches' thoughts out of his head. Sloughing off layer after layer of his personality and his memories and his feelings and his thoughts.

(Still in there though. Must be something else.)

He pulled at the little bits and pieces of Omi's memories that had gotten stuck to his own thoughts, pulled at them and crushed them away. One by one until the sun was rising and Omi had woken up--(Should have noticed that, that shield must be too damn good)--




He was getting used to waking up in Schuldig's bed. It still wasn't his futon, wasn't worn in the right places or as firm as he'd like, but he was starting to... tolerate it. Even when he woke up and Schuldig had skulked off to his couch.

*Another good line last night, too. 'You don't like me much, do you?' Honestly. Look at yourself*

Omi kicked the blankets off and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and pondering the shower. Heard his stomach growl and grabbed a t-shirt off the floor, tugging it on---fell well past his hips, must be one of Schuldig's. Enough for some kind of modesty while he went to look for whatever leftover takeout might be hiding in the kitchen.

*Aren't we domestic, going to just pull on HIS shirt like he wouldn't care and wander around half-naked. How long do you really think this game of house is going to last?*

"Morning," he murmured, voice still rough with sleep, spotting Schuldig sprawled on the couch as expected. Wondered idly what he'd been up to but quickly became more concerned with the leftover pizza in the fridge.




(What does he look like now?) Hyde's voice, her disdain, her disinterest. But it was contradictory. Hyde fucked everybody, no matter what they looked like. Schuldig pushed her voice back to the corner it had slunk out of and opened his eyes to see Omi walking past the couch.

(Looks like he hasn't got any pants on.) Quite. Looked like he was wearing one of Schuldig's shirts. One of his shirts. Walking through his house, absolutely no concern for what Schuldig had been doing all night, for the shield he put in his head, for his own safety or mental health or anything. It was disappointing. (How sweet, he's domesticated you.) Schuldig bit back a frown at that thought.

(The sex is good though.) Not good enough in comparison the other *present* complications. Not good enough to hurt Farf again or good enough to keep pretending to be such a good little house-pet. Not good enough for that. It was good enough for what it was (don't sell it short--it’s damn good fucking.)

Schuldig pushed himself up off the couch. Stretched, ran his hand down through his hair caught on a tangled mess and pulled it apart with his fingertips while he walked toward the kitchen.

(Hungry maybe?) Not really. (Going to put him in a chair and tell him all the naughty things you've done.) --Yes. (Shame to let this last opportunity go to waste--since he's left easy access and all.) The nature of the ease in which Schuldig had acquired this particular playtoy was one of the main reasons he was willing to let it go. Or to make Omi let it go. Give him a nice overview of the week’s activities.

Give him lots of happy details about wrapping that wire about Yohji's precious neck and that flurry of frantic thoughts--yeah. That.

(Still. Easy access.) Schuldig grinned, dropped into the chair at the table, reached down and picked up the box of pocky off the floor and ripped the wrapper open so he could suck on it. "Morning," he returned.





Something about Schuldig this morning. Wrinkled clothes, maybe, hair tangled and frizzy from sleeping---presumably, no telling what he might have *actually* been doing---on the couch. Pocky in his mouth and something wicked about that expression. Still that two-year-old-cookie-thief smirk that Omi didn't hate so much anymore, but that was only the tip of the iceberg...

*Something's up. I keep telling you, something is fucking UP*

Omi tossed the crust back into the empty pizza box and leaned against the refrigerator door, cool air on his legs---familiar pose, could hear Ken's exact tone of voice telling him to knock it off; protective of his kitchen, Ken was---watching his pocky disappear.

Distracting, watching that. "What've you been up to?"





(Picking your whiny ass out of my brain--) Schuldig used his tongue to roll the pocky to the other side of his mouth and slipped through the barrier he'd left on Omi's mind--not all the way, no need to undo all the work that had been done the night before. Just enough that he could hear the surface thoughts. Quieter than they had been.

What had he been up to? (Waited too long, he's not going to believe anything you say now.) "Picking voices out of my head. Sometimes they build up--," he said finally. It would do no good to single Omi out. Would make it worse, imply that he didn't like him (you don't like me very much, do you?) Make him angry, bitter, hurt, resentful--something.

Schuldig looked at Omi, dropped his eyes (quite noticeably he thought) down to his ankles and worked his way up. Pausing over his thighs--nice legs, really--and up higher, to the hem of the shirt. Turned his head to the side in a slight tilt--nothing that anyone but someone trained to notice absolutely every nuance of human body language would have noticed. Omi would know exactly what he was looking for, trying to see up his skirt so to speak. Spread another naughty smirk across his face and then straightened up and pulled the pocky out of his mouth, pointed it at Omi (Easy access.)

"Shirt's too long."




Omi tried not to laugh. Really, honestly tried for all of two seconds before leaning against the butter tray and snickering. A million things to be said and a million halfway decent lines in the world and Schuldig would pick the one that was the most blatantly obvious. And---

*Oh no, don't stop now. Say it. 'That's what I like about him.' Go ahead; it's what you were thinking. Fucking. PATHETIC. When he goes and plays your ass for all you're worth just know you deserve it.*

He closed the door, rubbed the laughter off his face and wandered over to the table, caught a bit in the playful mood. "What're you complaining about? It's your shirt."

Sidestepped the pocky, slipped into Schuldig's lap---liked it there---found his mouth immediately and teased it with his lips, urged it open for a taste---

*Always too relaxed. Focus, dammit, I keep telling you---*

Not right now. Wanted this, hoped to spend the morning lazily in bed with it, not worried about calling Aya or thinking of the looks in Ken and Yohji's eyes or whatever doom may or may not be poised to fall on his head. Just a little while longer, just for today.





(Not quite right is it? Not quite you again. Little kitty paw prints all up in your brain--)

Schuldig had his hands on Omi, under the shirt, up his back, fingers splayed across warm skin and climbing higher--felt the shirt tugging against his arm, pulled tight like it was. Strange the way he wanted it--wanted it just like this, with Omi in his lap. Warm skin against him, eager mouth on his and those fingers in his hair. Seemed strange because he didn't think he would have liked it--not before. (Not five years ago, not before Yohji and his fucking wire around Schuldig's neck and that fucking building going down, down, down.) Would have sneered at if it were offered up to him under the best possible circumstances. Passed this kitten onto Nagi or Farf or whoever would have had half the interest to take it.

But now-- (Yes, but now. Now that he's got you, with his paw prints in your head. Now that he's got you and you're too *weak* to fight him off.) No, not that. Immaturity, maybe, he'd always been a victim of his own lapses of self-interest. Didn't matter who he was fucking or what he did to get it (makes you a slut doesn't it? Except that you want something from this deal--that makes you a whore.) Been called worse things for stupider reasons.

No. (But go ahead, fuck the kitty one last time, since he's got your shirt on and he's all ready for it--eager for it--whimpering for it.) No, that would be--(easy)--No. Might hurt the kitten's feelings, fuck him half the morning and then tell him how he wrapped the wire around Yohji's neck (tell him about those thoughts--fuck him with those thoughts in your head. It'd be fun.) Had to end it on better terms--had to make it honesty because the good boys loved honesty.

Had to stop. Schuldig pulled his hands away, dragged them down Omi's skin--felt that whimpering dismay over the lack of touch (that is definitely not you) and pushed it away. Caught his breath for a minute, curled his hands around Omi's wrists and pulled them away, held them out the side a bit and looked him right in the eyes.

(Now ask me what's up--be a good boy, listen to Mamoru.)




The need was there, hard and immediate and right on Schuldig's lips---tasted so good, buried his fingers in that tangle of hair and roamed deep, felt warm hands sliding up his back---going to be good, going to be fevered and fast and *now*---

And it stopped.

Low whimper in his throat, a small protest as Schuldig pushed him back---no, no, don't stop now---and that look in his eyes...

*I told you. I fucking *told* you, didn't I?*

Something's up. Omi blinked, let his wrists go limp in Schuldig's grasp, called back all those moments since last night of half-truth and aborted eye contact and that nagging, nagging voice telling him over and over... Didn't want to listen, had bigger things to worry about and that damn word---Us---bouncing back and forth in his head. Something was up, sure, but it couldn't be...

Not this.

*It's your moment, Omittchi. You continue on this way and drive us all into the ground or you flicker out like a birthday candle. Life will go on. But this... this is not going to end well, either way.*

"Schu..." The nickname popped onto his lips, not one he had any kind of right or permission to use but it emerged anyway and stayed there, like it did at other moments in between moans and gasps. Instinctive. "What's going on?"




(Schu. Sweet, isn't it? When your lover calls you by a pet name, fair too--he's your peaches and you're his Schu.) Would be more annoying--intolerable if he hadn't done everything in his power to make Omi comfortable with him. (Now you have to make him leave. Bit of a turn around isn't it?)

Play it nice--civil. The tone, the eyes, the look, the words--make it nice. Schuldig loosened his hold on Omi's wrists, let his hands fall and sighed a little. "Its time for more honesty. Wouldn't be fair to do this again without it," he said. "And I think you're going to need pants for this."




*Just do it, go get dressed and don't argue. Stop wandering around half-naked like a fucking prostitute.*

Mamoru's sense of self was strengthening, whatever tension it was building up around this scenario feeding him, bringing those thoughts further up from the dregs of his conscience, sounding more and more like Omi's. The divide slipping.

He climbed off of Schuldig reluctantly---warm there, nice and it would have been good, dammit---padded to the bathroom to pull his pants off the shower curtain rod, then further to the bedroom to retrieve the rest of his clothing. Strewn across the floor, cleaner items stuffed in a duffle sitting by the door. A minute extension of himself into Schuldig's space.

*You know what he's going to say, don't you? Or rather, not what he's going to say, but why.*
Had a good idea, probably. He dressed, and left Schuldig's shirt on the bed before returning to the kitchen.





In the kitchen again. Always the fucking kitchen. (Don't think it’s a wise idea really. Still broken glass in the sink. Weapon that.) Schuldig looked at the sink, and the long shards of broken glass, then down at his hand. Grabbed the chairs and dragged them out of the kitchen. Didn't really care if Omi would find the setting weird--and it would be damn fucking weird--just so as long as he was as far from any potential weapons as possible. (Except for ones Peaches has already got, right?) Yes, except for those. There was nothing to be done about those.

Schuldig left the chairs somewhere in the middle of the floor and sat in one, brought his leg up to rest his ankle against his knee and hooked his elbow over the back of the chair. (Doesn't peaches like that pose?) Didn't fucking matter. Just as long as when he got done, peaches didn't like it so much he could forget his more charming qualities. (Less, charming perhaps?) Less to Omi, more to him. Waited until Omi came out of the bedroom, all dressed now, and looked up at him.

"This is fairness on my part. I've got all of you--now you get all of me."





All of him. Schuldig.

Omi was fairly certain he didn't want to know the finer details of Schuldig, he could guess them well enough from what he knew, what he'd seen in the past. Poisonous words and mental nudges, suggestions designed to instill paranoia or propel sordid acts. Ouka dying in his arms...

*Thought maybe tuning all that out would make it go away?*

Maybe. Knew though, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it wasn't going to work for long.

Omi sat down; had an instinct to check the lining of his pockets, rest his hand against a hidden sheath just in case---what? He'd been half-naked and unarmed less than five minutes ago, what was so different now?

*This arrangement has shifted... that and you just NOW remembered that this guy used to be your ENEMY. Focus.*

Focus.

"Okay." Really... how else could anyone respond to that?







(See, all you had to do was offer to be fair and he'd think you were perfectly dangerous.) How ridiculous. But the act, the thought and the little parade of memories in his head--those he liked. Enough that he had to concentrate on keeping his face neutral.

"This has become something different than what it started as," he said. Looked at Omi, kept a nice calmness about his voice, honesty even. "Your return of interest was unexpected." He smiled, rubbed his fingers against the fading marks on his neck. (What are you going to say now? You were too easy, peaches; the game got old the second I won? Except that you didn't quite win, did you?)





"Return of interest?" Just what he said, it was just a game until he pushed Omi against that wall---only it was *Schuldig's* interest that tipped the scales, the fact that he liked the idea, wanted Omi, even just a little bit.

He was right, though. It was different, now.

From Omi threatening him with a butter knife at his front door and smiling with a bit too much promise at a noodle hut to amazing sex, every night, in Schuldig's bed, no questions or reservations because Omi just didn't want to think about it.

And now, sitting on a hard chair in Schuldig's living room with his finger tapping the shuriken at his hip.

Right back at the beginning, having gotten no further for all of that.

"You don't have to candy-coat it." Omi was right, too, it turned out. Or Mamoru was... wouldn't be much difference, eventually. "In fact, I'd prefer that you didn't."




Schuldig gave a raise of his eyebrows in return to that, and felt the acknowledging smile cross his face. (Naughty boy. Stop that.) "Fine. Given our history I assumed you were playing my game only to keep me interested and direct my attention to meet your goals. I had no intention of fucking you. Or of you fucking me." Slight pause there. "That changed--and you know when it changed. If we aren't sugar coating it, it’s fair to say that I appreciate a fair amount of rough play. You indulged it and I liked it. That much is complete truth." He brushed his hair away from his face. "You should know that my behavior has been--" (tainted? Raped? Drown?) "--influenced by your thoughts. The more contact we had the more of you got into my head."

(Yes, that's civil and comforting and won't make him feel like a sluttish whore at all. Good job.)

"Your thoughts alone cannot influence my decisions, but they can change the way I act them out. That should explain any uncharacteristic *cuteness* that voice in your head has been trying to point out."





Getting down to it now, start with the easy stuff, the things Omi already knew or guessed or that voice in the back of his head had screeched at him while he wasn't listening.

*so, he doesn't really want you all that much after all, or that's how he's trying to make it sound. What a shame.*

"Okay." What the fuck else was there to say?





(Peaches is too smart.) No. (Has this game figured out already.) Maybe. It wasn't about outwitting him. It was about telling him the truth and watching what he did with it. (Run away, that's what you want. Leave.)

(Tell him about Yohji.) No. Yohji didn't happen next. Aya did.

"I do have interest in you. For more than just one reason and for more than just sex." (Tell him you like it because he knows when he's getting played--tell him you hate it because he lets you play him anyway.) "Some of my interest is admittedly self-centered. In the face of Estet coming after us, I would feel far safer with someone with a slightly less vulnerable mind leading us. Your over interest in Aya, for instance--easily played." (And I'd know because I fucking played it.) "You are aware of this so I have no need to elaborate."

He paused, just long enough to feel Omi's mind process that bit of information. "It should interest you to know that Farfarello is the one that found Aya though." (Yes, because if Farfarello talked to Yohji--he definitely had himself a little sit down with Aya. Since he seems to think Aya's the most stable and reliable.)





*WHAT.*

Aya. Aya knew Omittchi was a fake, knew why he was there, knew how to resist it. Knew too damn much, come to think of it. Hadn't been thinking very clearly then, at the time, too wrapped up in Aya...

Schuldig was right, he knew, had used it against him. Farfarello knew too.

*Fuck no. What was all that about TRUST, then, if he was going to go behind my back and talk to Aya first. No wonder he didn't bite. Farfarello needs to be put in line, right fucking NOW.*

I can't do that.

*I CAN.*

"Okay." Still the only word... forced around gritted teeth, now. That other voice was getting too close to the surface.





Oh, there was the boy. (Remember the plan, where you tell him what he doesn't want to know and he leaves.) Oh, but Mamoru. Such a vicious little beastie, hard to fuck with, that one. (Nice hard fuck you mean?) No. Something vicious there, obey or be disposed of.

"Yes, he does underestimate *you,*" enough emphasis on the word that it would be clear Schuldig was referring to that nasty beastie in Omi's head. "A bit. But think it through--Farfarello may look like he's a reformed soul but underneath he'd still very much like to rip out your intestines and paint your blood across the walls." A shrug of his shoulders. "Whatever you've got, he's got double--except eyes." (And the fact that Omi's fucked you and Farf has only thought about it.)






*So we'd have a contest to see who could get to it first. People go on living with their intestines hanging out.*

"Are you finished yet, or is there more?" Words a little too rough, a little too biting. Still too close...

*Stop singing that psycho's praises and get on with it.*

That look when he said it...

*Competition?*

Something there.

*We'll see about that.*






(*We'll see about that.*) Hadn't considered that. Such a fucking rush there, anger, lust, possession. Possession. Strange the way it felt, never had felt it when it was directed at him. (Felt it for other things, though. Felt it when you took Aya-chan away from her brother and how much he fucking hated you.) Jealousy, clawing possession. But devious. Cunning.

Clever little boy.

Schuldig shifted in his chair, let his foot slip off his knee and land back softly on the ground, felt the grin on his face and it was beyond his control. (Still too close, should have waited.) Breathed out a little--not loudly enough that it should have been noticed--and had to drop his eyes away from Omi. (Like how you have to put your hand over your eyes when he's fucking you--can't show him that, huh?)

"There is more." Schuldig raised his eyes back up to look at Omi. Met his eyes.

(*Stop singing that psycho's praises.*)

"I went and saw Yohji."





*That's right, you know you're mine.*

Don't say things like that, he doesn't...

*Stop whining.*

Yohji. Went and saw Yohji. The tone, the look, that didn't bode well---Yohji, Yohji tried to kill Schuldig, once, though to be fair they were all trying to kill each other at the time. Natural, then, shouldn't be any grudge from that, so why...

*You. Do NOT. Touch. Weiss.*

My family. No one is allowed to hurt my family. NO ONE.

*I swear to god if he so much as *thought* about it...*

I swear to god if he so much as *thought* about it...





No. Not yours. Not anyone's. (Thought you liked possession.) Liked to fight. (You've got that now.) Yes.

Schuldig kept the smirk off his face, would do nothing to help the situation. (Or to keep that shuriken in his pocket and not lodged somewhere in your body that would incredibly uncomfortable.) "Settle down, peaches. You've seen you him with your own eyes, all his toes, all his fingers, all his hair all perfectly in place." Leaned forward a little bit, still a far ways from Omi. "This is honesty. This is what you keep asking for." (You're avoiding it, you fucking coward--you are actually stalling.)

"I wrapped his wire around his neck--petty, yes. But Farf has gotten to him too and asked him to help. So I wiped his memory and he doesn't remember any of it."





No.

Omi was blessed with speed, too, after all. Years of training and practice and empirical application. Effortless, moving through that tiny margin of space between himself and Schuldig, instinctive the way the shuriken practically jumped into his hands. Left fingers bunched in Schuldig's bangs to tilt his head back, expose his neck, with his thumb holding one precariously over the telepath's eye. Two more in his right hand pressed against the jugular. Twin trickles of blood sliding down his neck.

Flick of the wrist, all it would take.

Schuldig had to know how close he came to death. Might not die now, a millisecond later. Could have if Omi hadn't chosen to pause.

"You only get one warning," he said, heard himself say in a voice that sounded more like the one in the back of his head. Used to be there, anyway. "Touch Weiss again and I won't hesitate."

You're useful, yes. I'd like to keep you around. But you are *not* special enough to be left alive if you put my teammates in danger.







Fucking shield. Stupid fucking shield. Should have felt that. Should have felt it long before he got that close. (Close enough to kill you? Close enough to slice your stupid fucking throat? And who's here to save your ass now? Who would even try?) Didn't need anyone else--not for this.

Fuck the kitty and his pretty thoughts, his anger, his lust and his deep dark scary voice. Fuck his self assurance and his speed. Fuck his fingers in his hair and those warm metal blades digging into his throat. (Should have been paying attention, kitty-cat. I don't appreciate that.) Two new scars to add to the one against the side of his neck. And that fist in his hair--pointing that blade into his eye.

This was him--shivering with fear. (I've been nice before--but now we're playing by new rules.)

Schuldig collapsed the shield (still there, to put back later, if he needed it) and didn't even have to touch Omi. Chaos in his mind like that, Mamoru and Omi and little Omittichi simpering in the corner--didn't have to work real hard. Curled his fingers around his mind--didn't play nice, didn't layer it up with good thoughts and happiness and sweet kisses. Didn't feel like it. But he didn't hurt him. Forced him back, nothing nice about it, stopped just short of ripping free Omi's control over his own body's movements.

Stood up--Omi moved back further, weapons slipping--two of them hit the floor. He was fighting it though, hard enough he'd break through it, sheer fucking anger there, and willpower. (Like that boy, don't you. Mamoru, almost as fun as precious Aya.) "I was keeping this nice," he said. Ran his fingers through the blood on his neck and then rubbed it between his fingers and his thumb. Smirked at it, lifted it up so Omi could see it.

(Trying to piss him off more, so that when he breaks that hold on his mind he can kill you for fucking real? Trying to do that?) Sure, why not. Save Farf the time and effort. (That's maturity. Really.)

"This isn't how I learn my lessons, peaches. It just pisses me off." A shrug there, it didn't matter, really. Not toward the ultimate goal. Had to make Omi leave and had to make it possible to work with him still. Looked at his eyes again (Mamoru there, go ahead, let him go, see what the fuck he does to you--nasty beastie.)





Pressure... almost hurt, all that pressure like his body imploding on itself. Didn't matter now, he'd made his point, let the telepath rage against him like the spoiled two-year-old he was. Smirked some, resisted because he could, had the nagging urge to check his watch (which was still in his duffle, he remembered. What a shame.) Didn't take long to bleed out from the jugular.

Should be done right about...

"Now."

Hard to talk under all that pressure, had to force the words out around his teeth, around the inordinately pleased expression he knew was on his face. Good little telepath, got some fight in you after all, hm? "You would be dead right now. Pool of blood on the floor, eyes going glassy. Now your skin is starting to go pale and cold. I'm leaving you with a kiss on your purple lips, locking the door and leaving you to rot until your neighbors complain to the landlord about the smell and they find you, all those flies buzzing around your corpse."

Remember something about that? Training, had to fight an inmate with a knife. Stab wound to the chest, realized mortality before he even knew what sex was.

Schuldig knew it already, just needed a reminder. "I want you to understand this. That's all."






Strange how everyone referred to him as a spoilt two year old. (And that charming display had the average maturity level of what--an eighteen month old? It’s MINE YOU DON'T TOUCH IT! ...Right.) And that smug fucked look on Mamoru's face. Like he had proven a point.

(Control that.)

What point, exactly? Proven that he could run fast and point sharp things at him when his mind was closed off? By a shield that Schuldig had to build around his head?

Prove a fucking point, huh? (Control that.)

Schuldig laughed. Nothing nice in it. Nothing even slightly nice, rude laughter. Haughty superior--fucking hilarious laughter. Laughing at you--Mamoru. Laughing at you and your silly little words, with your silly little knives and your silly little thoughts.

"And this is you," he said, smirk stretched across his face. "Dead on my floor." Slipped it out. Omi's control over his body. Didn't rip it--would hurt too much that way, take too long to heal. Compressed it, cut it off from his conscious mind so that his whole body went limp and landed hard on the floor.

Schuldig looked down at him, wiped the blood off his fingers across his pants (they were old anyway, and they were too big now) and stepped back to find his seat again. Sat down and hooked his arm back over it. "Now that we've both re-established that we can kill, how about we move on to something a little more mature?"





Strange how carpet fibers looked up close. Like a tiny forest. Omi (is it really?) found his motor skills back after a dizzying moment of absence, pushed himself slowly up off the floor. Sat back in the chair because that was more civilized, after all. Crossed his knees and focused on looking demure, or at least neutral. "Yes, we can both kill. I should think that would be obvious considering our occupations and I have no reason to prove something that trivial to you. So, if we've both got our prerequisite fifteen minutes of violence per day out of the way, yes. Let's be *mature*."

Paused there, tried very hard not to smirk. "There's something masochistic about that word coming from you."





(Check out peaches with the brand new mind.) Mamoru, all the way to the forefront of the mind, past Omi's resistance and Omittichi's whimpering. Right there, up front, and in control. Full of himself now, rich and bright and just--content. Strange.

(Let it go.) Masochistic. (He's playing you.) Yes.

"Must be annoying," Schuldig said. "Having Omi in control all the time. Took a long time to bring you out to play--” Something like a smooth smile across his face. Nothing challenging, acknowledgement of an equal maybe. Tongue across his lips. "Hello. *Mamoru.*"





Felt good to be called that out loud.

*No. You're dead. I buried you.*

Different now that I'm up here, and you're back there. Isn't it?

Watched the look on Schuldig's face, the slow smile, the hint of tongue. Cocky and tense behind all that, deserved it but this whole situation ought to be diffused before it got out of hand.

Maybe still a hint of desire, there, a ways back behind the look. And if nothing else... that *acknowledgement*, that was something.

Didn't smirk, just raised his eyebrows a bit. "Does this mean we're engaged now?"





(A hint of desire? Boy really didn't pay attention very well did he?)

Schuldig scooted his hips forward in the chair, spread his knees wider to accommodate the new slouch and pull both his arms back so his elbows rested on the chair back. Shook his hair over his shoulders and leaned his head to the side, stretched those nice little nicks on his neck so they oozed a bit more blood. Another slight swipe of his tongue across his lips.

"Depends," he said. Same look of equality dropped his eyes down to look him over briefly. "Are you pregnant?"






"I'm afraid that's a logical impossibility." He watched Schuldig's movements, the pose and the tongue (again) and... what the fuck was he doing? "Are you coming on to me?" Blinked a few times, innocently, tilting his head slightly to return Schuldig's stare. "Because if I recall correctly, since the start of this conversation you've called me a slut in a roundabout fashion, admitted to conspiring with Farfarello behind my back *and* confessed to the aborted murder of my teammate. Was that supposed to be a come-on too, or did I miss something?"





"Mamoru, as attentive as you are, I would have figured that you would have realized I've called Omi a whore more than once before the start of this conversation. To his face. During the course of this conversation, however, I have not once used the word slut. I had interest in you, you had interest in me and we fucked." A smile here. "As for Farf--it was the simplest way to finding Aya. I never promised you that I would not go through channels to find him and I never contacted him."

(Yes paint yourself as a perfect angel.)

"Kudo--yes. That was petty and it’s finished now. So am I coming on to you?" Another look over, a quick feel of that mind--"Let's see if you know me as well as Omi does. You decide."






"Clever, how you paraphrase everything I just said. I really don't care." Let a little bit of that gleam slip past his eyes, a little bit of danger. Felt that other voice roiling in the back of his mind and ignored it---yes, just like it had ignored him. Always. Never listened when he ought to, would never have gotten himself into this mess if he had.

"Apparently you have a point with all this and I've missed it. Which is only fair, as you missed mine as well. So, are we done here, or are you going to explain whatever your greater purpose is? Feel free to cackle maniacally and twirl your nonexistent mustache as you explain your grand designs, I promise I won't find it odd at all."






Schuldig got to his feet; let that look of equality slip away. Not that Mamoru would even notice, fucking smug bastard that he was. (Think Peaches would notice? Pretty quick, wasn't he?) Padded across the floor, knocked the shuriken--all three of them now--away and got right in front of Mamoru. Froze his mind, like a time loss only a bit more proactive, not nearly as evasive. More of a dull of sensations and cognitive reactions--and climbed into his lap. (Bit awkward, he might weigh more than you but where the fuck do you put your legs?)

One hand curled around the chair back to hold him in place and the other on dear Mamoru's smug-fucked face, palm against the curve of his smirk, tipping his face up. Those blue eyes wide and empty.

Gotcha, smug fucker.

Loosened the control, felt the start as the mind kicked back into utter control.

"You're too much like your Daddy, Mamoru." Cold words. "Too fucking stupid to see what's right in front of your face. I played him then, and I can do it to you now. So be a good little boy and get back. In. Your. Fucking. Place." Bent down, brushed his face against his--not smirking now, little bitch--and sighed into his ear. "Behind Omi."

Reached into his mind, not as easy this time, but long familiarity, and pulled Omi forward. Or what Omi considered to be his core, tugged it back to the forefront. Felt Mamoru fighting it and kept him still only long enough for dear Peaches to realize what had just happened.

(Fucking quick he is.)

"We need you, peaches. Not him," something in those words. If Omi could even hear it.

Left the rest of it up to him. Rocked back, stood up and wiped his neck again. More blood. Went to clean it off in the bathroom.





Blink.

*Oh fuck no.*

Breathe. In, out, curled his fingers against his palm---

*Should've just killed him, dammit.*

No, not Schuldig. If he had really hurt Yohji, left something serious, then maybe.

Omi stood up. Rubbed his forehead, leaned down to pick his shuriken up off the floor and methodically replace them in their respective hiding spots. Straightened his clothes self-consciously.

*Well, good for you, right back where you want to be. What're you going to do now?*

Padded down the hall. Noted Schuldig in the bathroom as he passed but didn't stop. Scanned the bedroom quickly, grabbed a few items of discarded clothing and stuffed the lot back into his duffle. Slung it on his shoulder and...

*What's this now?*

Leaving. That's what he wants.





Schuldig pulled the shirt off--blood on the collar--and wet the end of it to wipe his neck clean. Nothing too serious there. (Like what you just did to him--going to be smug about that now? Played out your plan exactly how you wanted to?) Yes. (Right down to little Mamoru coming to play?) Yes, but it wasn't quite finished.

Left the bathroom before Omi left the bedroom--met him just outside of the doorway. Kept his polite distance, but not so much it would see alienating. "If I wanted you to just leave I would have pushed you out of the door. This wasn't about making you leave. If you want this, you have to want it knowing everything."






Everything.

*I'm starting to hate that word.*

Shut. Up.

Omi stalled. Felt his weight shifting and resisted the urge to kick his heels, say something childish or corny and cliché like a romance manga or a line from a RPG. Something the hero would say to his love interest but no one would ever say in real life.

"Yeah, okay. Have to think about it." Shrugged at the weight of the bag on his shoulder, almost moved to walk past but paused in the middle. Bit his lip. Opened his mouth and something should have been there, something real and perfect and proof that he really was an adult, after all. That he could deal with this.

Leaned up and kissed Schuldig instead.






(Goodbye kisses--could have been good sex, earlier when he had your T-shirt on and all that easy access.) Plan. (Yes, and it worked out well, didn't it?) He brought his hand up, hovered it around Omi's face, and stroked his thumb down so it brushed his cheek--just the lightest of contact aside from the lips against his. Let him have his good bye kisses, and that bit of reassurance he wanted.

Let Omi pull back first. "I'll be here," he said. Then brushed his hand against Omi's hair again, lightly and pulled back.

(There he goes--finally. Damn. Would have been easier if Aya had managed to get that stick out of his ass--fuck! Aya.)

"Shit," he breathed, low enough it wouldn't be heard. "Still need to call Aya tomorrow."







Oh. Right.

Omi dug his cell out of his duffle, opened the address book and turned the phone to Schuldig so he could enter the number. Murmured an awkward "Thanks" when it was done.

No good lines to walk out on. Not this time.

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