"Purple Lemonade"

By The Queen of Blueberry Toast

A Weiss Kreuz Ficlet For ElspethDixon

It wasn't any wonder Schuldich was sunburned.  He'd flung 
himself into the summer like boy fresh out of the sixth 
grade might have.  Both his knees were crisscrossed with 
brush burns, there was a bandaid on his forehead where he'd 
knocked it in the midst of one spectacular dive to the 
bottom of their pool or another, blisters on both feet and 
now his back and shoulders were pearly red rather than tan.  
He hadn't complained about any of this *too* much.

But it still surprised Crawford to find him sprawled face 
down on one of their outdoor lounge chairs that afternoon, 
a green and pink beach towel draped over his wounds.  He'd 
known his lover was bound to do harm to himself again that 
day, but this! This was beyond ridiculous.  

He nearly dropped his stack of freshly-paid bills as he 
flung the patio door open.  "Schuldich, get back in the 
house.  Just because I'm on vacation this week doesn't mean 
I want to spend it gunking aloe on you."

"Really now? Anyway, make me!"

Oh, there were so many delicious ways to meet that 
challenge.  Brad's mouth began to water at the thought, but 
then his glasses made a point of gliding down to the end of 
his nose.  Correction- there were so many delicious ways to 
meet that challenge, provided the weather forecast didn't 
involve triple digit temperatures for the next week.  
Outside, laughter twinkled above the hum of the cicadas in 
the neighbor's yard.  

/You would find any suffering of mine amusing./

::But it is!:: Said the thing not himself that sometimes 
drifted over his mind.  ::Especially since *I* certainly 
wouldn't mind being tied up in the sun, all those little 
rivets in my new cuffs sparkling because the vibrator you 
just...::

"That's not funny or arousing.  Imagine the tan-lines! Or 
burn lines rather considering your complexion."

Schuldich moued and combed his hair back into place with 
his middle finger.  

"Now come back inside where it's cool."

"Nah."

"I'll consider playing master and slave with you this 
evening."

"You already did."

"I meant 'consider' as in..." Of course his prudence 
defeated itself at that.  Arguing with his lover seldom 
yielded positive results beyond said lover's pleasure.  But 
that was to be expected in dealing with telepaths.  Brad 
groaned and slammed the door in the midst of finding the 
need to remind himself of such things once again.  
Sensitives were all like this, but no matter how waif-like 
and darkly whimsical they turned, he would be their master 
and so must remind them of that.  

Through all of Estet's drills to that effect, had he ever 
suspected that the world would not end and one such 
creature would end up living in his house, sleeping in his 
bed, and periodically making ungodly enormous sandwiches of 
French cheeses pinched from his refrigerator? 

On the contrary, he had known it and so gone out of his way 
to think of his wards as things, not living entities fit to 
be wanted.  It had been too easy, he should have known 
better...

But he in the end, he hadn't.  As such, there was nothing 
to do in the present besides retrieve the hand cuffs and 
leg irons he'd been after in the first place (they were, 
conveniently spawned in the middle of the bed, which 
someone not himself had neglected to make) and march 
outside with them. 

Only to discover, once his bare feet met the concrete, that 
he was being laughed at once again, and probably not 
because he was obliged to scurry into what skimpy shade 
their fence provided.

Rather, because he had so obviously fallen for one of his 
lover's traps.  

Schuldich sat on the edge of the pool, naked except for the 
towel draped over his shoulders like a cape, and nosily 
sloshing his legs back and forth in the bubbles kicked out 
by the filter.  At his side were two highball glasses and a 
pitcher full of something dubiously lavender in hue.

"You have to come sit with me now," he said, triumphantly 
holding up the pitcher.

"No," Brad told him- it might have been his destiny to 
loose, but that didn't mean he shouldn't fight at least for 
show.  "You're going to make yourself peel if you stay out 
here any longer and even if that *IS* what I think it is 
I'm *NOT* going to drink it outside where its bound to 
attract bees."

Of course, by the time he had said his piece, he found 
himself standing at the water's edge, grinning at the thing 
in his shadow he's been meaning to grace with the most 
baleful of looks.

"Feh, it'll be gone by then.  Anyway, what interesting pool 
toys you have."

"Toys? Oh these?" But the cuffs only got a minute more to 
jingle and flash before he flung them into the deep end of 
the pool and let the leg irons chase them.  They were 
stainless steal, and so there was only the worry their 
shine would fade if they didn't reach the surface sooner 
rather than later.  In the mean time, he found himself much 
more concerned with rolling up his trouser legs, not to 
mention doing so without falling over.  In the end, he was 
obliged to balance himself with his palm in Schuldich's 
hair.

Which lead him oddly enough into a question.  "What 
happened to that jar of *NICE* conditioner I bought you, 
hmm?"

"It does jack shit for pool-hair?"

"I see."  Or felt rather.  After he'd settled for the fact 
neither bunched up leg would ever be the same length of the 
other, he smoothed what hanks had snagged on his fingers 
back into place.  And sat down.  And took his filled glass 
which lit at once on his lips.  The purple lemonade was icy 
cold and tangy enough to seem it winked like a jewel as it 
slipped over his tongue.  "You backed off on the grenadine 
this time.  Now that's surprising."

"I ran out."

 "Yes, the world really will end if you exercise 
restraint."

Schuldich rolled his eyes and blew bubbles in his glass.

"You know I was just thinking..."

"...about how it was.  How the world doesn't need to end 
any time soon.  How I smell and that we should probably do 
the laundry."

It was annoying at the least, eerie enough to make him 
shudder at first- the knowing; all of Schuldich really, but 
mostly that those things most lovers articulate given a 
lifetime and the strangest analogies known to man had 
already *BEEN* between them.  Not said, not heard, but 
simply existing for all their madness and delight.

But that too was telepaths.  Especially the one at his 
side, which Brad Crawford set aside his purple lemonade to 
embrace slow and satiny, the condensation from the highball 
slipping between them.  Schuldich didn't flinch when he 
fumbled the raw blush on his back, didn't give into his 
reflex to turn as his lover's thumb smoothed his cheek to 
the bone.  But he was so easy to want, easy to fondle, to 
rub his face against.

/Although you stand to learn how to ASK me to do something 
rather that manipulating me into it.  A simple "I have 
drinks ready" would have sufficed./

::Along those lines, I guess you gotta understand then 
thatcha like it.::

It was true, and though no need for affirmation remained, 
he kissed him wetly on the cheek to say yes and let his 
fingers tickle down his belly to the wispy curls of his 
pubic hair.  Schuldich's thighs didn't part for him, but 
rather clasped him, nuzzled his wrist and the watch still 
fastened there.

At least, for awhile.

"Bee."

Brad spun away from his lover and groped for his hapless 
drink.  Of course, in doing so, he ended up in a perfect 
position for the bee in question to land upon his nose, 
which it did, much to his dismay.

But apparently not Schuldich's- he simply reached across 
what little space was left between them and plucked the 
insect from him.  It made a faint crack as he popped it in 
two, rustled as he ground its fluff and wings into the 
concrete.  The last residue of it he simply wiped off on 
his towel.  "Now, you were groping...?"

"It stung you, didn't it?"

"Yeah, maybe a little."  There was only the tiniest red 
mark winking on him, and he rubbed it thoughtfully as if it 
was a smear of someone else's makeup.

"I knew you'd get hurt today."

"Who said it hurt?"

"Oh," said Brad.  Taking one more sip of his drink, and 
shrugging.  "No one I suppose."  

But with no more supposing left, he laid his head on his 
lover's shoulder, and so nestled in his scent and softness, 
let his hand glide between his legs once more.