Copywright Disclaimer: I own nothing. Wiess Kruze and Schwarz belong to someone other than me :( So a little OC from me in this story but, I am only playing with the boys and will return them shortly. Enjoy please!
Mental check:
Nagi? Out on a school trip to some hot spring.
Farf? Lying in wait for the kill 40 miles away.
Brad? Watching Farf and destroying evidence.
Schuldig did one last look around the house. Alone at last.
Schuldig ran to the hall closet and, in a whirl of dust, pulled out every cleaning product while putting on an apron and gloves.
While everyone thought Brad Crawford was the neat freak; the truth was, it was Schludig who was OCD. Not because he wanted to, but because he needed it.
Telepathy was a hard mistress giving unbearable pain along with ultimate power. He once told his lover, 'It's like drowning on air in the middle of a street with your ears bleeding as every one just screams, without ever having to stop for breath.'
His telepathy couldn't control people's thoughts; just plant suggestions. A push here or there. Encouragement to do the wrong thing, say that inappropriate line.
Back to cleaning. This was all him. Just his thoughts. The physical act of putting things in place, like he couldn't place his mind. The random ideas of others flowed on their own in and out and around.
Nagi would only clean his computer, Farf, his blades, and Crawford, his gun and paperwork. The house was left untended until Schuldig was alone.
Sighing, he pulled out the vacuum and began.
Order made his mind focus, games kept his mind occupied, and his lover made the voices stop. What a viscous circle.
Three hours later, Nagi returned. Stepping through the door and toeing off his shoes, Nagi noticed his reflection staring back at him.
"Schuldig?" Nagi slid towards the living room, "Did the cleaners come today?"
Slumped on the couch, Schuldig inclined his head back, "Yeah, what do you think?"
"It's too bright," came the grunted reply as Nagi retreated to his room.
"Brat."
Farf was in next. Sopping wet and bleeding slightly. Ah, comfortable routine.
"Farf, don't bleed on the floor. It was cleaned today."
"Blood is the path the righteousness, and his shared blood is the saving grace. I will not spill my blood on this sacred floor."
"Good enough."
Brad was last. The silence of his mind approaching was comfort. Pure bliss to a telepath. Just thinking about thinking his own thoughts was exciting him. The lanky body uncoiled and straitened up into a familiar slouch. Carrying forward to lean on the door jam gave the perfect view of the front door.
His lover's head was bowed down facing his shoes. Left shoe off, right shoe off. Left sock off, right sock off. Striating up, put Brad in the glow from the evening sun. Planting a fuzzy halo through the glass that seemed to emanate from Brad.
What a joke.
"You're standing in my way. What do you want?"
"You know." Ah the silence, it was the sweet lullaby that carried away the pain in his head. The angelic figure strode forth and down the hall, turning into his bedroom. Illusion broken, Schuldig followed like a puppy, barely keeping both feet on the floor. Brad had already disposed of his jacket, shirt, tie, belt, and pants leaving the Schwarz leader in tight boxers.
"You cleaned. I told you to leave it alone."
"I couldn't help it. There was nothing else to do and I tried to hold it off for six hours. You took to long."
"Close the door."
Schuldig relented and twisted to shut and lock the door; the kids would get the message.
"I told you to leave it."
"Geeze, what is your problem? I'll do better next time. Just…just let me do this. I need to do this." Schuldig felt pressure behind him, and body heat cradling him. Leaning back gave reason to stare into those dark brown eyes. That's right, nothing was bright about this.
Brad said nothing, trailing fingers up and down Schuldig's arms.
Pulling away, "I knew it wouldn't work."
"Then why…?"
"Because now you owe me an answer. What do you want from me Schuldig? Honestly."
"Silence."
"Good enough." Brad led the way to bed pulling the telepath. Lying onto the new linens and ruining the creases. Schuldig found himself encased in two strong arms and breathing against a strong chest. "You owe me twenty bucks."
Sometimes it was ok to lose.