At Night
Schuldig-watching wasn't one of Crawford's habits. The telepath was flashy enough to be noticed, regardless of whether one wanted to see him or not. So Crawford didn't consider it necessary to look at him in his free time. It wasn't a common occurrence, then, that the Oracle found himself staring at a sound asleep Mastermind at 2 am.
Schuldig always enjoyed the sleep of the just, which, in Crawford's opinion, was another irony of life.
It was weird enough to be watching Schuldig sleeping naked by his side. In Crawford's bed. Even weirder was the silly compulsion to touch that orange hair. That at least, Crawford would refrain from doing. But it was still odd to feel the urge.
Puzzled, head propped on his hand, Crawford tried to sort himself out without interrupting his watching.
"It's fuck o'clock in the morning... Brad, man, for God's sake, don't think so loud..."
Schuldig's whining was slurred by sleep, but the words were still totally recognizable. Just like their meaning. The hot and nasty tendrils of alarm tried to take hold of Crawford's brain.
"You can't read me."
The hidden question mark made Schuldig's lips curve in delight. He didn't need to read Crawford to know what the bastard was thinking. Or, at least, to notice he was doing it. He knew him too well.
Orange eyelashes slit lazily open a fraction, just for Schuldig's eyes to glimmer evilly at Crawford, perfectly matching his wicked smile.
"Gotcha."
As imperceptibly as he had tensed, Crawford relaxed. It had been a bluff, then.
"Mm."
Crawford lay down again and turned his back on the telepath.
Even weirder than having been staring at him and wanting to touch him was the feeling of contentment that invaded Crawford when Schuldig unceremoniously slung an arm around his waist and tangled a leg between his before falling asleep again. With regular breathing caressing the skin of his nape, Crawford followed him.