Because

He is awake, staring out his window, replaying the dream he woke from not that long ago. The lights of the city below twinkle like diamonds in the sea and he sighs, wondering what the dream means. He's had it every night for a month now. The cool air washes over him, relaxes him, and he leans into the breeze.

The light in the hallways turns on, comes through the crack between the door and the floor, and the door creaks open; Crawford already knows who is there.

"Can't sleep?" Crawford barely understands the German accent—he's too tired.

"Obviously." Why else would Crawford be practically hanging out the window in the dead of night?

"Weird dreams?" Schuldig enters the room proper and sits on the bed, right where Crawford usually sleeps. There is still a lingering warmth there. Crawford watches him fidget with the hem of his t-shirt, trying and failing to have it cover what Schuldig refers to as shorts.

"You should be in bed." Crawford never misses an opportunity to be authoritative, and he knows Schuldig is going to ignore him.

"I know, Mother," Schuldig teases with a roll of his eyes. "I don't know how you expect me to sleep when all I hear are your thoughts, and the people's in the flat next door, and the ones above, and that guy passing on the street's, and—"

"I get your point."

Schuldig reclines and stretches out his long legs, arms resting behind his head and against the pillow.

"Is that why you're here?" Crawford asks, away from the window now. Schuldig chuckles.

"You should already know why. After all, that's why they call you Oracle, ja? You should See why."

Crawford sits down next to him, right at the edge of the bedside, and Schuldig reaches for him.

"We can't keep doing this," Crawford whispers as Schuldig shifts to be on top of him, mouth at his throat.

"Why?" Schuldig looks straight at Crawford, his eyes alight with amusement.

"Because I am your boss."

Schuldig chuckles and harshly grinds his hips into Crawford's, enjoying the friction there, watching Crawford react ever so subtlety.

"Since when did that matter before?" A quick kiss, cold hands slipping underneath cotton fabric, mingling with the warmth of Crawford's skin. Schuldig's fingers grip the shirt and push upwards, revealing pale, scarred skin, scars that Schuldig doesn't hesitate to trace with his fingertips. He feels Crawford's pulse quicken right above his collarbone where his lips are now.

"Since I became your boss."

Schuldig grinds his hips harder. "I don't care if you're my boss or my teammate or a lowly guard at the Schloss-Schule. You can keep your personal life and your business life private."

Crawford smirks. "Not if you're in both."

Schuldig collapses on top of Crawford, his hair fanning out across his shoulders and back. Crawford runs a hand through it before fisting it and yanking hard. Schuldig winces as Crawford forces him to bare his throat, leaving it vulnerable.

"Surely I'm better than some guard from Rosenkreuz…"

Schuldig's fingers claw at the back of Crawford's shirt as Crawford bites the juncture of his neck.

"Well, ja… But you're my boss. We shouldn't be doing this." He says this with a smirk, one that is teasing and condescending as he looks down at Crawford, the man who can never be so stoic around him as he is with Nagi or Farfarello or whilst making a business transaction. He applies the slightest pressure to Crawford's groin and feels the subtle tightening of muscle.

Schuldig's face is blurry this close up, and Crawford squints and curses his far-sightedness as well as Schuldig using his words against him. He pulls down Schuldig's shorts, unfazed by the lack of underwear, and crushes their lips together.

"So then why are we doing this?"

Schuldig grins as he sits there straddling Crawford's thighs. Crawford's hands slide underneath the t-shirt and explore the expanse of skin there. He knows where very scar is on him, where every knife and bullet wound is. The touch sends shivers up Schuldig's spine.

"Because I know you want it."