Patterns of Blood ~ Mami's fanfics
God hurts those He loves...
sich nach jemandem verzehren
When trying to get over writer's block and get through the end of the semester, I posted a meme up on the internet to set up a series of ficlets for me to write. The people that responded picked a number between 1 and 3, and then a pairing with the numbers 1-8. After they'd chosen, the themes and pairings were revealed, and these are the fics that came out of that meme. Part One has the first 9 fics. Part Two will have the remaining 7. Thanks to Soleil Kitty for the title. ^__^
Akerushin: Theme 1, 3x7
Theme: Obsession/Possession. Pairing: Farfarello/Crawford
Smoothlikebutta: Theme 3, 2x5
Theme: Happy Date-Type Moment. Pairing: NagixSchuldich
Miikarin: Theme 3, 6x4
Theme: Happy Date-Type Moment. Pairing: OmixRan
Heixin: Theme 1, 6x1
Theme: Obsession/Possession. Pairing: OmixKen
Soleil Kitty: Theme 2, 8x6
Theme: Unrequited Love/Lust. Pairing: YohjixOmi
Soleil Kitty: Theme 1, 7x2
Theme: Obsession/Possession. Pairing: CrawfordxNagi
Evil Kat: Theme 1, 6x5
Theme: Obsession/Possession. Pairing: OmixSchuldich
Kelene: Theme 2, 5x3
Theme: Unrequited Love/Lust. Pairing: SchuldichxFarfarello
Lieb Schaden: Theme 3, 2x7
Theme: Happy Date-Type Moment. Pairing: NagixCrawford
Back to Mami's Fics
Hands against bare skin, shoving you down against the sheets as hard as I can. It's not enough; no matter how much weight I put into it, I cannot press hard enough. I want to push until you bruise and bleed. I want to push until my fingerprints are burned into your skin. I can almost imagine the way they would look, little ridges making loops and curves over your shoulders. Breath hisses through clenched teeth as I stare down at you and you gaze back as calmly as ever, perfectly fine with this, perfectly unconcerned.
You've always got to be in control, don't you? I hope your stomach clenches and bleeds with the effort of keeping that calm expression on your face. I refuse to believe that it's easy. I refuse to believe nothing gets through. I know better than that. We all do. You can't hide it from us. You can't hide it from ME.
I dig my thumbs in, turning them until the nails bite into warm flesh. Skin gives way beneath them and I dig in harder, twisting my hands until I feel one of my knuckles pop. Blood wells up beneath my fingers, just a small line of red, and it's not enough. It's never enough. Do you have any idea how many times I wake up in the night shaking with the need to peel your skin off of you? I can almost taste it, flimsy and paper-thin against my lips, as I watch my dream self rip it from your muscles. Night after night I've shoved my fingers in the cracks between your ribs, searching for your heart. I can almost feel it pulsing against my fingertips but I can never catch hold of it.
I lean down, pressing my mouth against your throat to feel your heartbeat. Lips slide open against shower-wet flesh and I bite down, wanting to leave a mark, wanting to rip a chunk away. But if I bite too hard, then where will your heartbeat go? I can hear it in my sleep. I can hear it every time we're in the same room. I've grown obsessed with it, I suppose; I do everything I can to find moments like these, to find a time when that calm thum-thum-thum of your heart finally changes into a more erratic pace.
I pull my hands back, sliding them down your shoulders onto your arms, and shift against you, feeling damp skin against my light cotton pants. Your towel is still off to the side where I shoved it. You don't need it. I didn't come here to stare at it; I came here to stare at you. It would only get in my way.
I shift against you again, sliding one hand down over your side. Fingers dig in to count your ribs on their way down to a hard abdomen and I bite down again, trying to taste blood without having to draw it. It is viciously unfair to exist like this, craving so desperately for both a man's death and his life in the same breath. I know that I would not be able to exist without being able to hear your heartbeat in the same room; to kill you like I need to would take that away from me. My chart says that I can't feel pain but this torn existence is close enough. My skin itches every moment that you're alive; my fingers twitch for your heat every time you're gone.
I put your face on every victim that I kill. It makes the murder less a murder and more of a piece of art. I take them apart from the ground up and bring you back a piece of it, a little offering and a promise of what you will look like one day. I don't know where you put such things, but you've never turned such bloody trinkets away. One of these days, I wish you would refuse. If you reject my gift, then you've rejected me, and I'll kill you and be justified.
"I'm going to kill you one day," I tell you. As usual, you say nothing, neither giving me permission nor shrugging off my warning. I wish you would say something, anything. Tell me that I can. Tell me that I can't, just so that I can. Give me something. Give me some way out of this endless cycle that's driving me mad. I need a way out. I need a way away from you. I'd die without you.
"I hate you," I whisper against your mouth.
The same thing every time, the same heated, twisted words. Your hand comes up to my face and I let you curl your fingers around my chin because I can't make myself twist out of your grip. I press my hand against your chest, feeling your heart against my palm, feeling the way it still beats steadily there, and I want to crush your breastbone into your spine. I want you as caught up in this as I am, because if there's no escape for me, then why should you have it so easy?
"I hate you."
"I know," you answer, the same simple reassurance as always. I feel your mouth move against mine, feel the way the words shiver down my back and twist in my stomach. It isn't enough, but when I start to lean forward, your hand keeps us that perfect, hated distance apart. "But I don't care."
A hard kiss; a harder touch. I burn myself into you, hoping to leave some trace of this madness behind, hoping to poison you so you'll die this same slow death. But you're as immovable as you always are, taking more than I mean to give and still managing to come out on top. Your heartbeat speeds up but your mask stays in place, and in the end, you've won yet again and left me with nothing at all.
Happy Date-Type Moment, NagixSchuldich
"Buy me ice cream."
Schuldich glanced over at his teammate from where he was lounging against the crosswalk sign. One thin eyebrow lifted over blue eyes and the telepath blew smoke in Nagi's general direction. "Do what?" he asked, though Nagi knew he'd heard him.
"I said, buy me ice cream," Nagi told him, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.
"Go steal it yourself," Schuldich answered, sounding bored, and he flicked ash to one side. "If you can bring a building down on our heads, then you can float an ice cream cone away from the stand. I have complete faith in your abilities."
Nagi ignored the dry mockery in his words. "I didn't say 'steal' it for me," he corrected Schuldich easily. "I said buy it for me. There's a crucial difference. Go buy it for me."
"Doesn't Crawford give you an allowance?"
Nagi frowned up at him. "It's two hundred yen, Schuldich. Is it that painful for you to part with it?"
"Do you have a good reason why I should do it, if it's just two hundred yen?"
"Because I told you to," Nagi answered sensibly. When the telepath just gave a quiet snort at those words, Nagi squished the urge to scowl. "Stop being a jerk."
Schuldich considered that, playing idly with the cigarette in his hands. He looked from Nagi to the ice cream stand they'd passed and propped his cigarette between his lips again. "It's almost winter," Schuldich pointed out, but Nagi said nothing. "You're out here wearing a jacket against the cold and you want ice cream. Why don't you ask for something more sensible?"
"Fine," Nagi said, turning neatly away from him and gazing across the street towards the far curb. The crosswalk sign there had a timer ticking down. It would turn green in fifteen more seconds. Nagi considered leaving Schuldich behind on this curb. It would be too easy to plant the German in place with his gift, and then Schuldich would have to wait for the next green light to be able to catch up.
"Very amusing, Nagi," Schuldich sent at him, picking up on the scheming.
"I'm glad you think it's amusing," Nagi answered.
Schuldich eyed him, weighing the seriousness of such plans, and finally dropped his cigarette to the curb. He ground it out with the heel of his shoe and glanced towards the timer. At last he heaved an exaggerated sigh and shoved away from the pole he was resting against, starting back towards the stand. "Whatever," he said. "You're such a child sometimes."
"I'm always a child," Nagi pointed out, trailing after him easily. "I want green tea and vanilla swirl."
"That's disgusting," Schuldich told him.
"You have to buy it," Nagi reminded him as they stopped in front of the stand.
"I know how to shop by now," Schuldich sent back easily, ignoring the strange look the ice cream lady was sending them. Schuldich made a face at his youngest teammate before turning to her and he stabbed a finger down against the picture of the green ice cream. "The brat wants one of these."
"In a cone," Nagi added.
"Two hundred yen, please," the girl chirped at them. Schuldich made a show of digging through his wallet to find the two coins and Nagi kicked him in the calf for such idiocy. The girl looked up from where she was scooping up the ice cream at Schuldich's curse, but the pair just offered her serene looks in answer to her surprise. She hesitated, then finished serving it, and Schuldich traded her his coins for it. "Have a good day!"
"Oh, it's fantastic," Schuldich answered, and Nagi saw her smile twitch a little on her face. He caught at Schuldich's jacket and pulled the telepath back towards the curb. The crosswalk was green with ten seconds to spare, not enough time for them to get across. Schuldich resumed his slouched position against the pole and gestured towards the blinking numbers. "Look at that, Nagi. You made us miss it."
"Whatever," Nagi answered, and he held a hand out for his treat. "That's mine."
"I bought it," Schuldich pointed out, nibbling at it. "Oh, gross. How can you stand to eat this?"
"You don't have to like it," Nagi said, giving his hand a demanding wave. "Mine."
"Mine, mine," Schuldich mocked him, and he caught at Nagi's hand with his free one. A small tug brought the telekinetic up against him and Nagi leaned up onto the balls of his feet to meet the telepath when he leaned down. He wished he would hurry up and grow taller already, but he wondered how it would change this when he didn't have to reach so far. Schuldich's mouth was cold against his from the ice cream and Nagi tangled one hand in long orange hair.
"You taste like ashy tea," he told Schuldich as he leaned back. "That's gross."
"Whiner. It's your ice cream's fault," Schuldich pointed out.
"Maybe you shouldn't smoke anymore."
"Maybe you should kiss my ass," Schuldich answered, but he handed over the ice cream just the same.
Nagi waved it at him. "Maybe you should at least stop smoking for the rest of the day," he suggested, "if you expect me to kiss you any more tonight."
Schuldich stuffed his hands in his pockets and grimaced at Nagi. "You're demanding," he complained.
"So?" Nagi returned, licking at his cone. He kept his eyes on Schuldich as he lapped at the ball, and it didn't take the telepath long to drop his eyes from Nagi's gaze to his mouth. Nagi squished the urge to smile and just kept licking. "Well?" he wanted to know.
"Oh, whatever," Schuldich answered, dragging his gaze away with some effort.
"Good." Nagi propped himself against the older man, letting himself soak up the other's heat even as he worked his way through his cold snack. Across the street the light went green again, but neither moved from their spot, content for the moment to stay as they were.
Happy Date-Type Moment, OmixRan
It took Yohji a few moments to react. The request had been so unexpected, especially coming from Omi, that he couldn't find a response immediately. At last he half-sprawled against his doorframe and one hand reached up to push his sunglasses further into his hair. "Take over closing for you?" he echoed. "I'm not on shift."
Omi clapped his hands together and held them up at the other in a plea. "I've covered for you many times," he pointed out, "and I've never before asked you to return the favor. Please, Yohji?"
"Did you leave off at that crucial a spot in your downloaded porn?" Yohji wondered.
Omi made a face at him. "Yohjiii… It's the first time our schedules have overlapped in two weeks. I've been too busy with school and missions up until tonight."
"We?" Yohji echoed, instantly interested in his teammate's plight. "Who's 'we'?"
Omi just waved his clasped hands at the other. "Please, Yohji? Ken's already starting on the clean-up downstairs. There's not much left to do. It was a slow afternoon shift."
"Don't I get any of the gory details?" Yohji complained.
"I never ask you for yours," Omi pointed out.
"Can't you ask Aya?"
"You know that Aya's still not back from training Kritiker's Fukui team. I've covered for you twice this week alone. Don't you owe me by now?"
Yohji gave an exaggerated sigh, ever the martyr, and plucked his sunglasses out of his hair. "Fine, fine," he relented, perching the glasses on the bridge of his nose instead. "But if you think I'm going to forget that you came crawling to me so you could go run away with someone somewhere, you've got another think coming. I want details!"
"You can harass me tomorrow," Omi agreed. "It won't do you any good, but you're welcome to."
"Whatever. Don't keep her waiting. It's bad manners."
"Thank you, Yohji!" Omi was already turning as he said it, and he heard Yohji call an encouragement after him as he hurried down the steps. His shoes slapped against the sidewalk as he ran down the street, and though he knew his rush would only make Yohji more determined to find out what was going on, he didn't make himself slow down. He could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket but he didn't bother to answer it. He already knew who was calling and he already knew where the other was. Birman had called when Aya had left her office, wanting Weiss to know that they were finally whole again after Aya's weeklong trip.
He found Aya right where he knew he was going to be. The redhead was stopped outside of the subway entrance, phone in his hand as he listened to it ring unanswered on Omi's end. The swordsman looked tired from his seven days out and from the long train ride between here and the western shore. But more than that he looked like Aya, home again, and Omi was ecstatic to see him again.
The redhead looked up at the sound of his name and Omi forced himself to slow down, taking the last ten steps between them at a jog. Aya looked surprised to see him but it was the hand extended towards him that warmed him. He slipped past Aya's hand to latch onto the redhead instead, wrapping his arms around Aya's waist. It didn't take the older assassin but a moment to drape one arm around Omi's shoulder, and Omi could feel a week's worth of tension slide out of the other man's frame.
"You're back," he said, voice muffled against his teammate's shirt.
"I wasn't staying away forever," Aya pointed out sensibly. "Birman said you were on shift tonight."
"I shoved it off on Yohji," Omi explained, straightening, "just in case you were hungry when you came back…"
He peered up into Aya's face and was rewarded with the sight of the other man's expression relaxing slightly. Aya's face was more often stony than not these days just out of habit, and Omi had learned to watch and wait for the moments when hard lines would smooth out into something easier. He felt his mouth curve into a smile in answer. "Did they feed you on the train?" he wanted to know.
"Dinner would be good," Aya admitted.
Omi's smile stretched wider. "If you're tired from traveling, we can take something back to our apartments," he offered. "I'm sure you're sick of being out and about."
"We can stay out," Aya offered. "I'm not in a hurry to see the others."
"So I get to keep you for an evening?" Omi asked, twining his fingers through Aya's and ignoring the occasional strange look the other pedestrians were sending them.
"Of course," Aya agreed, curling his fingers tighter around Omi's hand.
Omi loved the pressure of Aya's fingers against his hand, and he lifted their joined hands to press a kiss to Aya's knuckles. "Good," he said. "No one else can have you." Aya didn't answer, but he didn't have to. The look on his face said that he was perfectly fine with such a claim, and that was exactly what Omi wanted from him.
Knowing it was coming didn't stop him from jumping when it did. He was sitting on his bed when the knock came at the door and he felt every muscle in his body clench. Teal eyes darted towards the wood, tracing the outline of it against the shadows of his room, and he found himself holding his breath. It was a foolish attempt to remain hidden, but he couldn't stop himself. Common sense said that Omi couldn't hear his breathing through the door enough to know that he was still awake, but common sense would have told him two months ago that this wasn't really happening between them.
Silence stretched in the room as Ken sat immobile and his unwanted visitor listened for a response. The knock came again and Ken refused to answer. It wasn't long before he heard the scratching of metal at the door and his lips moved around a silent curse. He forced himself to lie down as silently as he could, hoping his mattress wouldn't squeak and give him away, and he managed to get the covers up over him right as the lock popped on his door.
He listened to it squeak open, staring blindly at the sheets that covered his face, and listened to the quiet rustle of shoes being abandoned at the entrance. The door was shut and locked again and he could hear Omi's steady breathing.
"Ken?" Omi called softly.
I can't hear you, Ken sent at him. I'm asleep.
Socked feet thudded quietly across the floor as Omi started towards him, and Ken closed his eyes as the bed shifted under Omi's weight. A moment later the sheets were pulled back and the cool air of his room swept over his face. "Silly Ken," Omi mused. "You shouldn't sleep like that. What would you do if you suffocated?"
I've never heard of anyone suffocating on their bed sheets, Ken returned silently. And like I would ever die in such a stupid way. I've survived too much to die such a lame end in my own bed.
Fingers touched his shoulder, cool against his hot skin, and Omi's fingernails traced a path down his chest to the bandages across his abdomen. "I shouldn't have let you go with Yohji," Omi decided as he picked at the edge of the cloth. "He likes to play around too much. Of course he would have been worthless to you. Now look…"
The words made his stomach curl into a knot. Just a few months ago, he would have never dreamed of Omi saying such things about their teammates, but everything had changed after that fateful mission. Ken had spent three weeks in the hospital and had almost died twice. In the two months he'd been back with Weiss, his teammates' attitudes had been distinctly different. Aya didn't brush him off as often, as if he'd finally realized that it would mean something to him to lose one of his teammates. Yohji asked for favors less often and spent more time arranging teammate bonding events than dating women. And Omi?
Ken wished he could say it was concern. He really did. But "concern" was a few steps away from Omi working all of the same shifts as him only to watch him almost every minute they were on the clock. Watching Ken's diet and injuries and free time activities weren't concern, and it made the hair on the back of Ken's neck stand on end every time Omi said something that gave away that he was following Ken every time the older man left the Koneko. He'd tried confronting Omi about it only once, and he was too scared to do it again. It had been a chilling little reminder that their bright-eyed Omi was really Kritiker's pet project, raised in this twisted world of death and politics.
"You've been hurt again, Ken," Omi breathed. "He doesn't get it, does he? I should have been there. Of course he wouldn't care like I do. Of course he wouldn't understand. Should we make him understand? How would he like it if he was hurt like this because of a teammate's carelessness? There's another mission coming up, you know. I can arrange it, and he'll never be so callous with your health again."
"Stop it," Ken spoke up at last, feeling sick.
"You shouldn't ignore me, Ken," Omi chided him. "Look at me."
"Look at me," Omi said flatly. Ken struggled to come up with a better protest, but he could find nothing, and instead opened his eyes to stare up into his teammate's face. Omi's smile was missing tonight and the eyes on his face were Bombay's, not their baby teammate's. "Why were you ignoring me?"
"Sleep is the best medicine," Ken told him. "I just want to sleep."
"You can sleep," Omi assured him, "after I change your bandages."
"Aya did it," Ken pointed out.
"And now I'm going to fix it," Omi answered easily.
"There's not really a need…" Ken started, but he swallowed the rest of the words when he saw the look on Omi's face. There was nothing he could do but sit in silence while Omi redid his bandages, and he felt his stomach twist again when he saw the way Omi's face changed at the sight of bloody, injured skin. The last scrap of warmth vanished from Omi's eyes and Ken knew where the younger assassin was going when he turned away. He wished he could say he was wrong; he wished he couldn't even guess.
"Omi," he called, reaching for the other. There was a plea in his voice that stopped Omi in his tracks immediately and Ken wanted to flinch away at how quickly Omi turned around. He forced his lips into a smile around the nausea he felt, and only his concern for Yohji's safety made the expression stick on his face. "I'm cold," he said, curling his fingers at Omi in a beckon. "Stay with me?"
"Of course," Omi soothed him, climbing back on the bed. Fingers smoothed his hair out of his face and the younger man leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Of course I will, Ken. Did you even have to ask? You know I'll do anything for you."
"I know," Ken answered, and Omi settled down against his side. Ken could feel fingers tracing his new bandages before Omi wrapped his arm around Ken's chest, and Ken stared up at a dark ceiling with a sinking feeling in his chest. "I know."
Unrequited Love/Lust, YohjixOmi
There were a lot of things Yohji could never forgive himself for. This night was turning into another one of those. He knew that somewhere in his mind, but the alcohol fogged the channels between understanding and common sense. Staring down at his younger teammate, he knew very, very surely that he needed to turn around and walk away, but it didn't occur to him to actually follow through on that. Instead he smiled down at the tolerant look on Omi's face and propped his hands to the wall above the shorter man's head. "Hi," he said. "Fancy meeting you here."
"We do live in the same building," Omi pointed out. "Sleep it off, Yohji. You've got morning shift with Aya and you know he's not going to pity your hangover."
"I don't get hangovers," Yohji boasted.
"You should sleep, just the same," Omi pointed out.
"Yeah," Yohji agreed, but he made no attempt to move.
Omi gave him a minute to shift away before gazing up at his teammate's face. From this close, Yohji thought he could feel Omi's breath on his face. Maybe it was his imagination. The heat wasn't; he could feel Omi's body heat crackling against his skin like electricity. It put a funny twist in his stomach that wasn't at all from the alcohol. His fingers twitched against the wall he'd pinned Omi to, trembling with the need to reach out and touch the youth, but he wasn't sure he could stay upright if he took his hands away from the brick.
"Yohji," Omi said after Yohji still didn't move. "I'm really tired. I've been on strategy duty for the past seven hours. If you're going to stay up, can you at least move so I can go to bed?"
"Cute," Yohji drawled.
"Normal people are in bed at this hour," Omi pointed out sensibly.
"You're so cute."
Omi hesitated, eyeing his teammate. "Yohji, I think you should go to bed."
"But it's so lonely there," Yohji complained. "I didn't bring anyone home tonight."
"For a change," Omi said, reaching out to take hold of Yohji's wrist. He was just trying to move the older assassin's hand away so he could retreat to his own room, but Yohji wasn't expecting the touch and he tried to jerk back out of his grip. Warm fingers against his skin; it was just the smallest of touches but he could still feel Omi's heartbeat.
Don't touch me- You don't know what I could do if you touch me-
Omi threw him a startled look for the reaction, but Yohji didn't see it. He lost his balance just like he knew he would without both hands to prop him up and he fell forward, flattening Omi between him and the wall. He heard the Bombay squawk at the sudden weight but it was a distant sound beneath the roaring in his ears. Omi was twisting against him, struggling to push Yohji off so he could breathe again, and all Yohji knew was that it was too late.
Months of watching, of wishing, of waking up and realizing that the nameless faces meant nothing… Months since he'd finally had to come to terms with the fact that he couldn't stand the air that kept their bodies apart… Months since he'd started drinking, trying to burn the need out of his veins, of realizing that it disgusted him to touch anyone else… He didn't even know how it started. He didn't even know why it was there. All he knew was that it had been months since he'd started dreaming about Omi, and right now, Omi was a live thing, hot and wriggling against him.
"Yohji, you're heavy-" Omi gasped out, but Yohji was already moving.
He heard Omi's head hit the wall when he caught at the other's chin, but it didn't occur to him that it might hurt. His hand was on the other's face to push his head back and there was so little space between them. It was too easy to close the distance, too easy to just give in and kiss him.
For a few tense seconds, it was perfect.
He heard Omi yell something, some sort of muffled protest, and then the other's knee came up into his stomach so hard that it drove the breath out of him. He had to wrench away from Omi to breathe and his youngest teammate shoved him with everything he had, throwing him against the railing of the balcony. The youth's eyes were wide and wild, staring at Yohji in disbelief.
"Oww, chibi, not so hard," Yohji complained.
"Yohji, go to bed." The words were almost too soft to hear.
"Look, Omi, I just want you to listen to me for a second-"
"No," Omi said, inching further down the wall. Yohji caught his balance against the railing and started towards him, but Omi held a hand out- a warning, a rejection. "Yohji, go to bed. Sleep it off and I hope you wake up and don't remember that you did that."
"Why should I forget?" Yohji asked, scowling at him. "Fuck, Omi, don't you get it?" He wanted his mouth to shut up, but it was moving without his permission, saying things he'd never intended to voice out loud. "I can't stop thinking about you. I can't stop dreaming about you. It keeps me up at night. Fucking tangled sheets and sweat and I can't even bring girls home to help."
"Don't say that." Omi looked queasy. "Yohji, you don't know what you're saying."
"Of course I know what I'm saying," Yohji argued. "Just because I'm drunk doesn't mean I'm stupid. It just means I can't stop myself from saying it. But it's been here for months." He dug his fingernails into his forehead and could feel something twisting unhappily in his chest at the look on Omi's face. "It didn't hurt, right, Omi? It didn't hurt. Just a little. Just give me a little something."
"Yohji, go to bed."
"I just want-" He pushed away from the railing, taking an unsteady step towards Omi.
Maybe it was the alarm in that voice that stopped him; maybe it was the dismay. Maybe it was the bit of horror in Omi's eyes at what Yohji was saying. Whatever it was, Yohji felt frozen in place, unable to move any closer, unable to move further away. Omi's expression twisted and he rubbed at his arms, warding off a chill caused by Yohji's words. "No," Omi said again. "Yohji, you-… Go to bed. Go to bed."
Omi was already moving, hurrying down the walkway to his room, and his door slammed overly loud in the night.
It's rather one-sided and blind to think the Titanic was a complete disaster. To mankind, perhaps it is, but to nature, it's a little more. Granted, authors of old loved to harp on the unintentional cruelties of an indifferent nature, but still. How do you suppose the iceberg felt to take out such a stunning ship? Maybe it was just chance that the two had to cross paths, but still. God himself could not sink that ship, but a floating mountain of ice could. Since that time, there has been the misconception that nature is an uncontrollable, untamable force.
Mankind is foolish.
Anything can be controlled in the end. Put enough work into it and the very things that shape this world can be bent out of shape and twisted to perfection. As a Rosenkreuz Talent, I know this. As a precognitive, it is my right to change things. Power. Control. Desire. I have always known how to get what I want, and I succeed because I refuse to fail. I'll twist and break until my own fingers are bleeding and peeling off the bones, but I'll have everything in the end.
Maybe a prescient can't turn a peaceful crowd into a riot with a few mental pokes, but if I control the telepath that can, I have already won. Maybe I can't dance with death and gut the world from the inside out, but I can still put a leash on the berserker and control that chaos.
Maybe alone I can't turn the world upside down, but… I don't need to be able to do it alone. As long as I have you, I don't have to do anything alone.
They said it couldn't be done. They said you were the one Talent that couldn't be controlled. Schuldich and Farfarello have their complications, but Schuldich is Rosenkreuz-bred and Farfarello follows anyone who opens the path to death. But you? They said it was foolish to try and capture you. You mutilated the last three reconnaissance teams that went after you, but I walked up to you alone and I took you home with me. They asked how it was done; I don't even think you know what happened that night. It doesn't matter, anyway. All that matters is that you're mine now, and I'll do with you what I like.
To control the world, one must have the power to kill the world.
To rule the world, one must control the strongest powers.
That is what you are. That is all that you are. Power. Pure, unadulterated, vicious power. Dead eyes and a deader mind, and the power to flatten cities if you feel the slightest whim to. But you feel nothing now, do you? You feel only what I tell you to, because that's the only way I'll accept it. Whatever you used to be, you're mine now, and you breathe for me alone.
You are the perfect addition to my little collection.
He was pretty certain that the walls had been white when he'd first moved into this new apartment. White or beige or some other pale color; it didn't really matter. It had been months since he'd last had any sort of bare space on his wall to see the paint, months since pictures had completely covered his walls and ceiling. He lay on his back in bed as he stared up at the colorful collage above him, fingers playing with the bowl of purple grapes he'd set on his stomach. He let his gaze travel from one picture to the other, studying a face he'd memorized long ago.
He didn't need to look at the picture to know what the other man looked like, just like he didn't need to look at his walls to be able to name every picture that was up there—and the order the pictures were in. Some of them were disconnected events, surprise spottings of the other. Most of them were from planned surveillance and were a series of pictures, capturing a few minutes out of the other's life.
"So much for 'I know everything'," Omi murmured up at the ceiling, studying his favorite sequence. He'd put it right above his head so that he could see it before going to sleep each night.
It had been… the most beautiful thing he'd witnessed.
As far as Weiss was concerned, Schwarz was flawless. They were the perfect team, the perfect set of four individuals. They worked together in a way that Weiss never could, in part because their madness meant that they didn't hide their problems from each other and in part because of the powers that bound them together. They were all insane monsters, but perfect in their insanity, in a twisted sort of way.
That's what Omi had thought, anyway, until he'd stumbled on them fighting.
"Stumbled" wasn't really the best word to use, because it wasn't that Omi had found them on accident. He'd been watching Schuldich for four months by that point, using Kritiker's resources to track the telepath. Nagi had helped inadvertently; ever since all of Schwarz had converged in Tokyo again for that stand against Rosenkreuz's twisted unit, it had been so much easier to track the black team. There was an art to it. There was a simplicity that made him wonder why he'd missed it when he'd been part of Weiss.
Routine- it all boiled down to routine.
Schuldich, despite all of his flaws- or maybe because of them- was still human. As such, he had favorite places he liked to go. He had to live and sleep somewhere. He had to buy his food at the grocery. It had taken three months to finally figure out where Schuldich went in his days of the week, but once that had been set in place, and it had been all too easy to tweak his schedule to match. When Schuldich went shopping for food, Omi was in the area to watch. When he went out to eat on Tuesdays and Fridays, Omi was across the street. So on and so forth, and the pictures that adorned his walls were a few layers thick in some places.
It was that tracking that had put him in the right spot to see Crawford and Schuldich fighting. They'd gotten into a rather cold argument behind Schuldich's favorite grocery store, and even if there hadn't been any yelling, it had sounded vicious just the same. Crawford had won and had left Schuldich standing there, and Omi had been in the perfect place to see Schuldich's reaction to the fight.
Up until that point, he had been just about convinced that Schwarz couldn't feel pain.
Omi lifted his arm from his side, splaying his hand against the hair above him as if he could brush his fingers over the pictures that were pasted out of his reach. Fingertips traced orange hair and angled cheekbones through the distance between them, and he ran his thumb along the twist in Schuldich's mouth. The frayed, frustrated look to Schuldich's eyes in the first few shots gave way to disappointment in the next few, and Omi's favorite picture was the one that had snapped when Schuldich had blinked. He loved the sight of the German's face, weary and worn down and unhappy, eyes closed against the weight of the day and real life problems.
"You have taken so much from me," Omi told the pictures, lowering his hand to cover his eyes. The images were burned on his eyelids and he could practically feel the weight of Schuldich's smirk against his hand. "So I'll keep watching and waiting, and one of these days, I'm going to take it all away from you…"
Unrequited Love/Lust, SchuldichxFarfarello
With Farfarello, murder was like sex. There wasn't really anything else to compare it to. Nothing else Schuldich knew of could be so violent and intimate as what Farfarello shared with his victims. In no other setting could he imagine such care as what guided the pale hands that traced blood-stained flesh. Maybe the hunger in Farfarello's eyes was hot more with lust for blood than lust for passion, but it was still a struggle for release either way. Bodies locked together; blood ran where sweat should; cries filled the air and he could hear Farfarello whispering soft nothings in torn ears.
It was better than stumbling across free porn on the TV late at night, but it was definitely a lot more dangerous. With the TV, there wasn't a threat. If the show was actually good enough to get a reaction out of him, he had two hands or a city full of people to fuck. But with Farfarello and his current consort just eight feet away, fucking or killing or whatever they were supposed to be doing, there was no such ready release.
"Oh God, please—" a desperate, choked, liquid cry.
Farfarello's ragged laugh, soft and hateful and sweet. Loving. Caressing. Caressing like a bed of nails would be, if the nails were tearing through tender flesh in the flesh's best interest, or something. Schuldich didn't know. It made sense in his head; it made more sense in his heating veins. He watched messy fingers run over a shoulder and down one shredded arm. There were only a few clean patches left on those hands to show too-pale skin through, but that was all the more tempting. All the more taunting.
"Can He hear you?" Farfarello asked his prey.
"God please stop please—"
Tears; ragged sobs. Pain, hysteria, horror. What an unending nightmare for tonight's unfortunate one. Farfarello had no room in his system for pity or mercy and Schuldich was too busy getting off on the mess to hurry him towards death. He'd rather slow it down and drag this out. He loved watching Farfarello kill; he hated watching the victims die. It was such a torturous sort of show and there was never a good release at the end. He was left alone with just his hand and the memory. He'd prefer hot flesh. Sticky hot flesh and that panting breath at his ear, and he didn't really care if it was Farfarello on top or bottom as long as one of them got fucked.
He was almost willing to tempt fate tonight. It was stupid, but he didn't really care.
Farfarello paid no attention to him as he shifted in his chair, but Schuldich didn't care. He let himself slouch backwards against it, let his hand trail across and down his chest. Muscle memory, didn't they call it? Limbs being able to act on well-practiced courses, or something. His hand knew the way to his crotch well enough that it didn't get sidetracked and he spread his legs, hooking his shoes around the legs of the chair as he fisted himself through the material of his pants.
It wasn't anything new, but somehow, having Farfarello just eight feet away made all the difference. He let himself groan deep in his throat, refusing to swallow the noise. The victim would never hear it, too lost in his own hell, but Farfarello missed very little- especially sudden noises that interrupted his special time with his prey. Schuldich watched through half-lidded eyes as a yellow gaze flicked his way and he felt himself only grow harder as Farfarello glanced down at his hand.
A full lip curled back in some sort of disgust and Schuldich let his own mouth curve into a wide smirk. He shifted his fingers against his too-tight jeans, digging them in to try and get a better grip. Farfarello twisted away, pulling his victim with him. It earned him a shriek and Schuldich heard Farfarello whisper something in the other's ear, some sort of soothing promise he didn't mean. The telepath just chuckled and slid his hand up, fingering the button of his pants.
"What's wrong, Farfarello?" he asked the other man, not bothering to raise his voice. He could see Farfarello's shoulders tense as he intruded on the madman's private little world. "I have to watch you. Why shouldn't you watch me?"
"I know where you sleep," the Irishman growled at him over his shoulder.
"You're quite welcome to join me when you're done over there." He twisted the button out of place and pulled his zipper down, smirk almost wide enough to hurt at the way Farfarello twitched. "Go on, Farfarello. Don't let me keep you from your precious games."
"You don't need to be here," Farfarello reminded him.
Schuldich just shrugged, even though Farfarello couldn't see it, and shoved his hand down into his pants. He groaned just for his teammate's benefit, head lolling back against the back of the chair. "Fuck, wouldn't you look perfect against my sheets? I'm not sure the blood would ever come out but I'm not-" His breath hitched in his throat as his fingers worked hard flesh. "-sure I'd even care."
"That sounds like a warning."
"Coming in when you're all trussed up in your precious straitjacket, and what would you do then? How would you get away? Ahhh, fuck…" Hips canted out of a chair, pushing into a hand that knew where to touch, and he gazed at his teammate through slit eyes as he imagined pushing into pale flesh. "Suppose you can't feel pain even down there?"
A hard body hit the ground in time to his strokes. It was too early for Farfarello's game to be done but apparently he'd killed the other's mood. He didn't really care; his was still in fine spirits. He offered his teammate a leer when Farfarello turned on him, ignoring the hard glint to the other's eye. He didn't bother to feel hopeful as Farfarello started towards him; instead he focused on not flinching away from the certain death heading his way.
A hand caught at his wrist, stilling him with his hand half out of his pants, and Farfarello's other hand left fingerprint bruises on his shoulder. He could feel the blood through his shirt from the Irishman's hands, could smell blood and the distinct smell of gutted flesh. Farfarello's face was just a few inches from his own and he leaned forward, knowing he would fail to snag a kiss but trying anyway. He had to wince back when Farfarello's fingers almost broke his shoulder and he leaned back against his chair again.
"Tease." He gave a slow roll of his hips and Farfarello's fingers tightened on his wrist as his hand was moved with it. He felt his wrist bones creak and he couldn't stop himself from wincing again. Apparently that was enough for the other.
"Do you have any clue what I would do to you if you followed through on that?" Farfarello asked him, almost too quietly.
"I think I can guess," Schuldich answered carelessly.
"No," Farfarello corrected him, and lips curled back over bloody teeth in a brief, silent snarl. A warning, a threat, a promise: death. Slow and painful, like what he'd just been playing with on the other side of the room- except this time without any pleasure on Schuldich's end. "No. I don't think you can."
"Who knows," Schuldich told him, smirking up at his teammate. "It might be worth it."
Farfarello gave him a smile that was almost enough to turn his cock into an innie. Schuldich felt his expression freeze on his face despite his promise not to react. Farfarello leaned forward and cheek brushed cheek until Schuldich felt Farfarello's breath on his ear. "Nothing," Farfarello promised him ever so softly, but for the first time, Schuldich couldn't link that voice to the need to bend Farfarello over something. "Nothing is worth it. Don't make me kill you. Crawford still has uses for you."
With that, he pulled his hands free and slipped past the telepath. The door clicked shut just a few seconds later and Schuldich was left staring at the cooling blood that was still spreading across the floor. At length he finally zipped his pants back up, but it was several minutes more before he joined his teammate at their car.
Happy Date-Type Moment, NagixCrawford
The drawback of precognition was that, while it served well as a warning system, it so rarely offered a good way out of tricky situations. This afternoon was just another fine example of that- he'd known this was a setup, but it didn't mean he could get out of it. His visions hadn't given him the complete picture of what was going to happen today, which meant that while he was ninety-five percent sure that Nagi was lying, that five percent was still too large for him to turn this down. All he knew was that there was a one hundred percent chance that Schuldich knew what was going on and that Crawford was going to hear about it for at least a week. It was enough that he found himself mentally counting bullets and sifting through visions, wondering if he could still make the future he wanted without the telepath's help.
Nagi, standing in front of him, didn't even have the good grace to look repentant of his ruse. He bought their tickets with an easy exchange of money and led the way into the hell beyond, completely unconcerned by the crowds and the throngs of screaming children. Considering how much Nagi hated kids and people in general, Crawford found it rather impressive that he could keep his calm façade in place.
"I find myself questioning your sources," Crawford said as he moved up beside his youngest teammate.
The youth slanted a look up at him. "You did see that Weiss would be here," he pointed out. "Maybe they're over by the monkeys. I'll find us a map."
With that, the telekinetic set off for the small stand that was handing out little packets of maps and guides about the zoo's current attractions. Crawford considered waiting on him, but the sight of a human chain of third graders heading his way had him neatly giving up his spot and moving to join his teammate. Nagi already had the map open by the time he arrived and he was scanning the blobby pictures.
"Look," Nagi said, tapping the sheet. "They're just past the reptile habitat."
"I see no reason for Morigawa to have come here today," Crawford told the youth.
"I'm in charge of keeping track of his schedules," Nagi reminded him distractedly. "Hey, five different kinds of snakes. We should go there first."
Crawford resisted the urge to rub his temples. His mouth was open to demand the truth but Nagi was already gone, trotting off down the path towards the sandy colored building that housed the reptiles. He stifled the urge to sigh and started off after him. Idly he wondered if he could just leave. If Morigawa was indeed threatened by Weiss's presence, Nagi was more than capable of taking care of the bothersome assassins. There was no need for him to be out and about today. All of his teammates had talked him out of his usual suits, saying he would be conspicuous wearing a suit at the zoo on a weekend, but Crawford didn't see how he could stand out any more. He was still a tall foreigner at the zoo, and he was attracting just as many comments and pictures as the caged animals were.
Schuldich obviously would have been a better choice to come; he would certainly fit right in with these creatures. Unfortunately, he would also be a lot more memorable. And Farfarello… Crawford didn't want to think about what sort of trouble Farfarello could get into here at a children-packed zoo.
Nagi was waiting for him at the reptile habitat and he offered the precognitive an amused look. "You could look a little less like you're considering suicide," the telekinetic suggested.
"Morigawa's not going to meet his end at the zoo," Crawford answered.
"But you can't prove it," Nagi pointed out, sounding more than just a little triumphant. He offered the precognitive a little smile in response to the look Crawford sent him. "I'll make it up to you later," he promised.
"If only you knew how," Crawford returned, and Nagi laughed. It was enough to temporarily distract the precognitive from his cranky thoughts and he eyed the telekinetic, wondering when the last time was that he'd heard Nagi make such a sound. Nagi returned his searching look with an innocent one of his own and reached out, tugging lightly at the shirt Crawford was wearing.
"It's a good color," he decided. "You should let Schuldich buy your clothes more often."
"I barely trust that man to buy our groceries," Crawford said, but he felt somewhat mollified. He decided to resign himself to the task of accompanying Nagi around the zoo, because even if he was right and Morigawa wasn't in trouble, at least it got him away from Schuldich and Farfarello's nonsense. "Sixteen year olds are more trouble than they're worth," he informed Nagi, feeling a little exasperated at how easily Nagi's words could change his mood.
"Probably," Nagi agreed with a serious nod, and he lifted his arm in a wave. "Omi! Over here."
Crawford blinked down at the telekinetic and then turned to look. It was just like he'd seen in his glimpse of the future; Omi and Ken were heading their way. With Nagi's explanation of the overlapping schedules and the stolen intel that said Weiss would be at the zoo at the same time, Crawford had been forced to interpret it to mean that he was seeing Weiss move in on their current client. Apparently he'd missed something, because neither of the two looked ready for battle—or surprised to see Schwarz there.
Quite the contrary: Omi was lifting his arm and waving back. "Nagi!" he returned. "Sorry we're late."
Ken offered Crawford a tense little smile, apparently in on the whole scheme but not entirely convinced that it was a good thing. Crawford decided he would spare Ken, but Nagi and Omi were definitely going to have to die. The two were chattering away, something about how Omi hadn't been sure which entrance to come in and Nagi reassuring him that it had turned out just fine. After all, they'd shown up and that was all he'd needed Crawford to see, right?
"Nagi, I'm going to kill you," Crawford informed his teammate in calm German.
"Later," Nagi answered in easy Japanese, turning back on him. "After we see the monkeys. I heard there's a baby chimpanzee now."
"A baby?" Omi repeated, and he tugged at Ken's shirt. Crawford wondered how neither of the two teenagers could see a problem with Weiss and Schwarz spending a day at the zoo and he idly hoped that Schuldich didn't know about Weiss's part in this. "Ken, let's go see it, okay? Monkeys are cute."
"Okay?" Nagi asked Crawford, reaching out to grab at the belt loops on his pants. He hooked his fingers through them as he stared up at Crawford and the precognitive attempted not to notice the look Ken was giving them both. "Just for a day?" Crawford was about to tell him that their time could be spent much better back at the apartment, but Nagi finally switched to German and offered up a last ditch plea: "I want to be normal just for a day," he said. "With you. I want us to just have a normal day."
"We'll go ahead," Omi offered, and he pulled Ken past them into the reptile house.
Crawford was left staring down at Nagi, and he could very distinctly remember Schuldich's laughing warning from a few months ago that Nagi was dangerous. At the time, Crawford had thought it to be a rather redundant thing to say, but in that moment, he thought he could finally understand what Schuldich meant. "Just for a day," Nagi pleaded. "Is that too much?"
Relenting wasn't quite as painful as he'd thought it would be. "We're going to have a talk later about honesty," he told Nagi.
"Later," Nagi agreed, and he leaned up to press a kiss to Crawford's throat. It was just a whisper light brush but Crawford could feel it even after Nagi had settled on his heels again. "Later," Nagi said again. "But right now, monkeys!"
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