…Frankly, I have nothing much to say about this. Except. SCHUXBRAD ALL THE WAY! That's about it. Heh. Oh, and this one is pretty old, all things considered.
Strike One
By Djinn
Crawford couldn't remember ever wanting anything so much. Even now, as he stared at the redhead from across the room, he wanted him. Every single move the German made, every sway of the tumbling cascade of red-gold hair, every mocking, dark-eyed glance, whether directed at him or not, made him burn.
It maddened him, infuriated him. It was driving him insane.
Especially since the one thing he wanted was the one thing he couldn't have.
At first, he had been repulsed by the very idea. Appalled by his own instincts and emotions, appalled at his desire. Then, as the want refused to go away despite himself, he slowly came to accept his unnatural craving. To more than accept, to want to embrace it, act upon, so anything - anything - to ease the fire that more lately had been slowly consuming his soul in a building inferno within his own mind.
In his earliest fantasies, when he had allowed them, it was always dominating, always wiping that derisive smile off the redhead's face, always taking when he would, as he would. But later and later, he found himself not caring whether he was in power or not. Whether raking that mocking gaze across the face or being raked by the same mocking gaze. As long as he could hold, could touch that hot lean body, as long as he could have him. He didn't care.
Of course, that would inevitably mean that he couldn't have him.
If he went too close, the German would know. If he stayed distant, nothing would ever happen. And so it went on, caught in a tenacious balance of desire and desist, half-love half-lust, and never being able to at all.
"He's beautiful, isn't he?"
The voice was low, with that certain edge achievable only by the truly fearless or the truly insane. The owner of it was both.
Crawford spun around to find himself face to face with Farfello.
"I know you want him. Hell, I want him too." He lounged on the high leather stool by the wall, his eye fixed across the room, on the same figure Crawford's own two had just vacated.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Crawford replied tonelessly, trying desperately, under the calm façade, to keep his rising
excitement
- fear under control. As if he hadn't just been caught in the act. Trying to seem as if he was above and beyond ideas of such a debased nature.
"Really?" Farfello's voice turned mocking, the wry smile turned into a smirk. "You don't know what I'm talking about?"
He slipped his lithe form off the perch, circling Crawford. "You don't know how it's like? To see him, and want him so much sometimes it actually hurts? To wonder how it'd feel, running your fingers through that long, thick mane? To wonder how he'd taste, that smooth tanned skin, and that arrogant, arrogant mouth? To wonder..."
He smiled, left the sentence unsaid as he darted close, gave Crawford's growing hardness a light caress...
With a look of disgust, Crawford knocked the hand away, blood rushing to his cheeks. But he said nothing, he had lost, he knew.
And Farfello knew too. He said nothing as well, just gave Crawford a rather smug smile, and disappeared into the shadows, much the way he had appeared.
Crawford stared into the darkness the figure had vanished into, still breathing rather irregularly. His hand crept up to his face; his cheeks were still hot. With a quick look to make sure no one had witnessed their exchange, he relaxed slightly, leaning against the wall.
The matter had just gotten a lot more complicated.
* * * * * * *
Crawford awoke with a start, panting slightly as the last dredges of the dream slipped away from his consciousness back into the empyreal haziness of the sleepworld.
He normally didn't have such
erotic
- disturbing dreams, even when he was painfully aware of the desire in the waking world. But perhaps after the events of the day...
And it wasn't just Schuldich, was it? He was there too...
He sighed, propped himself up in bed with his left arm, reaching for the glasses with his free hand.
When he looked up and nearly had a heart-attack as he realised a single yellow eye was staring at him from the shadows.
"Far - Farfello!"
Farfello stepped out of the shadows, that smug smile on his face once more.
"You dreamed about him, didn't you? You dreamed about it."
"What are you doing here?!"
Farfello sighed, slipped over and onto the bed.
"You really don't get it, do you?"
Crawford stayed silent. He was afraid he did get it.
"You want him. I want him. Both of us know we can't have him. That's getting us nowhere."
He leaned forward, fixing a yellow eye, bright with desire, upon Crawford's hazel ones.
"So as long as we can't take him...why don't we help each other out?"
Crawford tried to answer, found his throat suddenly dry, and his pants suddenly constricted. Normally he wouldn't even consider such a proposal, but
that dream. That dream, he was there too, and he -
- Farfello had a point, and he was, in a way, desperate for release.
His thoughts must have shown on his face, for Farfello was suddenly smiling, and looking more insane than Crawford had ever seen him.
And somehow even more sane at the same time.
"I knew you'd see it my way."
"Wait!" Crawford managed to get the words out of his dry mouth. "Who...who gets to be top?"
Farfello stopped, considered this for a while, then looked up and gave him a sweet smile.
"Why don't you tell me?"
Then he was upon him in a flurry of arms and legs and tongue, and Crawford simply forgot to say.
* * * * * * *
From outside the door, the silent observer gave a slightly disappointed shrug. He hadn't expected both his toys to give in so soon.
But then, Schuldich added to himself as he turned and walked away from the amorous scene behind him, it just makes the game all the more...interesting.
END