Title: Respect
Author: Lauand
Beta: Bookofnicodemus
Pairing: Crawford/Schuldig
Rating: PG-13, I think.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Schuldig is tired of waiting.
A/N: Crawford and Schuldig are not involved when this story takes place. Thanks to Books again for the beta; I miss you babe.
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Schuldig could be really subtle when he wanted. He didn't want to very often, though.
"Hi, Brad," he greeted airily, "wanna fuck?"
Crawford didn't bother to even glance at his telepath. He had stated clearly when they met that he wouldn't answer if not addressed properly. The preposterous offer didn't deserve a reply, anyway.
"Come on, Crawford… I'm bored. And horny."
The Oracle pondered if he should ignore the redhead further or give him a metaphorical cookie for calling him by his surname this time. Maybe Schuldig had baited him into it, trying to compell him to actually engage in conversation as reward for addressing him correctly.
Maybe Schuldig felt like some subtlety, after all.
"That's none of my concern, Schuldig."
Crawford was not terribly expressive. He put special care into not giving away any emotion. But even though Schuldig was no empath, and his leader's shields left nothing out for him to read, he had a keen instict when it came to knowing who was after his ass. Or who would like to be, if he wasn't a terminal case of anal-retentiveness. He was sure Crawford had the hots for him. But as the stick up his ass probably hindered his movement, especially in manoeuvres of approachment, the precog would let himself die of blue balls before taking the telepath to bed. Or to the couch. Or the wall. Or over the desk. Schuldig wasn't picky.
So, as things were, the redhead considered it his duty to be the one to initiate the seduction.
"Ok, but why, exactly, don't we fuck?"
The Oracle turned his attention to the redhead and, seeing that the telepath was serious under his multiple layers of sneers and smirks, he drew a breath.
"Schuldig, there are unnumbered reasons for us not to get involved that way."
"For example…?"
"Leaving aside the fact that I'm your boss and you are my subordinate…"
"Yeah, yeah, the old bussiness-pleasure argument, I know, I know…"
"…and the added detriment of our particular line of work…"
"Maybe we won't live to see another day, blah, blah, blah…"
"…as well as the risk of losing the delicate balance in our relationship…"
"Great, you like me as a person and don't want to lose my friendship."
"…besides, of course, the matter of our mutual respect. I respect you, Schuldig."
At least that was a new one.
"Well, Crawford, let's just say that your goddamned respect doesn't satisfy me sexually, you know?"
"Schuldig…"
"What now? You'll call me? It's not what I think, you can explain? You don't sway that way? Keep on sucking, I'll warn you when I'm about to come? Is there any fucking cliché you haven't uttered yet?" The redhead was definitely pissed, and a pissed Schuldig tended to become reckless. More than usual. So the German came closer and finally sat on Crawford's lap, ignoring the disapproving raised brow directed his way. Fuck Crawford and his subtle, mixed signals. "Look, man, you know what? Amongst all the rubbish you've just spat my way, there should have been a particularly great argument you didn't wield. You haven't said 'no, Schuldig, because I don't want you'."
"No, Schuldig, because I don't want you."
"Uh-uh," denied the telepath, "too late for that now. Especially when I'm feeling your erection through your pants. Or is it the financial section of the newspaper that gets you hard?"
Crawford didn't miss a beat. He just calmly stated:
"Exactly."
Schuldig smirked and got his face dangerously near to Crawford's, until they were breathing each other's air.
"Liar," he whispered, just before closing that last inch between them to kiss the bastard.
Crawford's lips were unexpectedly soft and yielding. One would have guessed that they were hardened by the dissaproving scowls and self-satisfied smirks they so often displayed, but no, they were silky and pliant. Schuldig cupped the precog's face and undulated his hips as he tried to slip his tongue in his leader's mouth.
Strangely enough, it took him a while to notice that Crawford wasn't kissing back. Or touching him. At all. He just sat there unresponsive, waiting for Schuldig to get tired of his games and leave him alone. The redhead could have pressed the matter (most of the time, a hard cock beat an iron will), but he was too pissed off to keep the mood. Damn Crawford and his fucking passive-aggressive attitude. Schuldig was tempted to bite him hard, drawing blood, marking him, but the Oracle was faster and pushed him away.
"Don't," he calmly warned him.
Schuldig hated precogs for a reason.
As he tended to do when he lost, the redhead smirked. He then raised his hand to brush Crawford's lips with the pad of his fingers, ignoring the inexpressive hazel gaze still fixed on him.
"Alright, Oracle. You win." Slowly, touching Crawford's body with his, Schuldig rose. "But wait for too long, and you'll lose me."
And with a flip of his orange hair, he was gone.
Crawford sighed and permitted himself to lean back on the couch and relax, if only for a little while. Damn Schuldig and his dangerous games.
Outside the room, Schuldig sighed and permitted himself to lean his back against the closed door, if only for a little while. Damn Crawford and his mulish stubborness.
"May your dreams be full of me tonight, you son of a bitch," he whispered venomously to the empty air, before walking back to his room.