It was going to be a regular evening. Nagi was out, Farfarello was very very in, and Schuldich and Crawford were reading and watching TV, respectively.
Simple.
No jobs as of yet, they were still living comfortably off their last paycheck. Usually, they didn't take work unless they needed more money. There was a threshold of broke Crawford kept his eyes on, and if they neared it, they'd take a job and go and earn some more. Too much work, and they risked being obviously criminal, too little and they went broke. It was a balance they had to maintain.
Crawford casually flicked a look up above the edge of his book, simply keeping track of what Schuldich was doing.
Schuldich was lounging on their bed, one knee crooked up, the other stretched out before him and an arm behind his head. He was watching an action movie, and whenever there was gunfire he'd laugh.
"Tscha, right. Right there." He made a fake gun with his right hand, aimed it at the head of the hero protagonist who was firing and ducking on the TV screen, and pulled the trigger. Schuldich laughed again.
Crawford decided that he liked Schuldich's smile quite some time ago. It was rakish, devil-may-care, and rather contagious. It was also so full of ego that there was no room for self-doubt. He let his eyes move over Schuldich, taking in the lounging posture. The casual power he held in his frame. Crawford had seen that body move in fights, in gunfire.
Schuldich happened to look up at Crawford just then, and flashed Crawford a special smile.
"Brad, you're looking at me like that again."
"Well, you're looking like that again."
Downtime is fun. Not as fun as when they were at work, but still, very fun. Crawford felt he lead an idyllic life. Everyone he surrounded himself with was respectful. All the work he took tested his skill. And the lover he kept in his bed... well, adored him. He had perfect command of his life, which is all he ever wanted.
They were staying someplace nice, this time. A small rent-a-house at the very edge of town. Neighbors were far away. Three bedrooms and a very deep basement. They hadn't been at their permanent house in almost three months. But that was fine, they didn't need to actually be "home" very often. That's just the place they went to when they felt like taking an extended leave from the field. So this place was as good as any.
Very quaint. An old brown crushed carpet with patches worn at the door, and a kitchen that was mainly used for re-heating leftovers from whatever restaurant they'd been at the previous day. Small kitchen, but it served its purpose.
Nagi had claimed the room that had the most accessible outlets (and the ever important phone line) and immediately shut and locked the door behind him. Farfarello was shut away in the basement first thing. They didn't always have a setup this convenient, so it was comfortable.
Everything was in its right place, carefully controlled, and monitored. Crawford saw to it. So, he hadn't bothered to check to see what the future held in a few weeks. The daily routine was predictable enough as it was.
Schuldich was at the edge of mayhem. It was all too god damn quiet. He couldn't quite rip his eyes away from the driveway, through the kitchen window. He was just a little fascinated by the grain of the pavement, and the way the grass bent over for each little droplet of rain that struck it. Just off in the distance, he could feel an entire city thinking.
He shifted his weight, and tried to rip his eyes away from the driveway. He couldn't quite do it. It was mesmerizing, rhythmic, predictable, and alot safer than shifting his focus to the people around him.
Angst ridden Nagi.
Hyper-religious Farfarello.
Perfectly silent Crawford.
So he kept his gaze focused as tightly as he could on the movement of the grass. It would occur to him now and then, that he really wanted to do something else. But that ever present babble made staring so much safer.
When Crawford's hand closed over his shoulder, he convulsed away as though he were being attacked.
"Sssh, shh. It's just me."
Schuldich let out a shiver of a sigh. He was able to turn his head now, but still couldn't quite focus his eyes, and he kept wanting to turn back to the relative safety of the rain.
"It's okay. Come to bed now."
Schuldich had the strange feeling, that if he stopped looking at the driveway, it would stop existing.
"Come on."
And he was guided away.
Crawford's standard way of drawing him back away from the edge was sex. Schuldich at times felt insulted. Here he was, about to go utterly insane, and Crawford wanted to fuck him. He always had to remind himself: This is how he deals with me, this is the best he can do.
It rarely got any better then it was right at that exact moment. Slowly teasing, slowly kissing, all of it was as tender as it ever got. Arching on the sheets, almost enjoying himself. That's the way it was.
Crawford's hands were down the front of his pants, rubbing at him inside his underwear. Schuldich tilted his head to one side for Crawford to press kisses at his neck. His breathing was deeper now, excitement making him a little disoriented. Without thinking, he pulled Crawford down to whisper, "I love you," up against his ear.
"Sssh."
And Crawford rubbed his cheek against Schuldich's, bent his head down to kiss Schuldich on the shoulder. He was being soothed. Schuldich should like this, this should feel very tender, this should make him feel cared for.
"I do."
"Stop it."
They kept moving, touching. Schuldich started to feel slighted.
"Why won't you let me say it?" He heard himself start to demand. He pushed at Crawford now, glaring up at him. "If you know it, why the hell won't you let me say it?"
"Calm down, Schuldich."
"No." He pushed Crawford completely away. "Fuck you, no."
He rolled off the bed, more or less dressed. He paced to one wall, turned around. He was enraged -- he was more enraged than he'd been in ages. "God damnit, Brad. I want to say it."
Crawford rolled onto his side and glared at him from the bed. "No."
"Well why the hell not?"
"I don't want you to, that's reason enough."
"No. No, it isn't." Schuldich started to move his arms around in exaggerated anger. "I love you. I'm in love with you. I love love love fucking love you. Let me say it. At least let me say it when we have sex."
"Schuldich, calm the hell down."
"Fuck you."
"God damnit, Schuldich."
"Fuck," He hissed, "you. Why won't you at least let me say it when we have sex, huh? Why not? Does it turn you off that much?" He started to feel a little weak. "Why not?" There was a note of pleading in his voice. "At least in sex, Brad, please."
"No."
Breathing became difficult. "Please..." He closed his eyes, gripped his red hair and looked up. "Just, please, okay? Please, just in sex. I promise. Brad, that's all I want. You don't have to say it back or feel it back or anything." He closed his eyes. His heart was beating so fast, he couldn't quite breathe and he was starting to feel dizzy. "... shit." He walked back to the bed and sat down, held his head in his hands. "Please." The word came out breathy, it didn't project very far.
Crawford placed a hand on the nape of his neck, started to knead gently. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Schuldich just sat there, shirtless, with his head resting on his hands, a deep pounding headache at his temples and forehead, thoughts pressing closer and closer. Crawford very gently touched his hair, drew him close so that Schuldich's head was resting against his shoulder.
"We'll do this later."
Schuldich nodded against him.
Everything is normal, everything is routine. Crawford had a handle on everything. Work and play, violence and sex -- they were all under control.
Gunfire. The stink of it was in the air, you can taste it in your mouth, although you couldn't quite hear it. Quite a few bullets in the air. It was a deal gone messy. The light in the office wasn't very good. That was the first thing Nagi took out. They didn't need light to take out their targets. Nagi put on some night goggles and walked around crushing people, Farfarello slashed at anything that moved, and Schuldich shot whoever had a thought. He started to move forwards, away from Crawford's side, ready to take down anyone and anything. Crawford grabbed his arm, pulled him forcibly close, "Tell them to stop moving."
'Them', meant the team.
Crawford was very still for a moment, reached upwards without moving his body, aimed the gun without looking, and pulled the trigger. The very quiet, but definitely not silent, silencer muted the shot. There was a hot exclamation of startled pain. Schuldich's mind tasted the rich flavor of a man dying.
"Nice parlor trick." He said against Crawford's ear, "Can you pull quarters from behind my ear, as well?"
"I prefer other tricks than that."
"Oh, really?" And Schuldich nipped at a small spot on Crawford's neck. "I'll have to have you show me those, later."
They broke away, quickly, searching out the rest of the idiots who thought they were an easy target.
They were waiting in the car for Nagi and Farfarello to finish doing the last sweep of the building. Only one left, and the last one was always a bitch to find.
Schuldich refused to tell them where he was at. He wanted some time alone with Crawford, and decided that it was amusing sending Nagi and Farfarello out on such a stupid, menial task. Schuldich turned to Crawford suddenly, and decisively, smiling his best come-hither smile. "So, about those tricks --?"
Crawford raised his eyebrows. "Won't take them long to weasel out the last one."
"Well, they'll be long enough to get started, anyways." He reached over with his right arm and caught the hem of Crawford's dress coat. They kissed each other, the first kiss was fine and soft. The second kiss became hungrier, and they opened their mouths and slipped each other tongue. Schuldich pulled away, eyes glittering. "I don't think I've ever kissed anyone like how I kiss you."
"Good." Crawford stated simply. "Now tell Nagi and Farfarello where the straggler is."
"No." Schuldich said petulantly, "don't want to."
"Schuldich..." His tone was warning. Schuldich was very aware that if Nagi or Farfarello did this, they'd probably have been smacked to the floor by now. Screwing him nightly had its privileges.
Neither of them said anything for a minute. Crawford was glaring at him a little, and Schuldich kept his smirk up a while longer before he finally relented. "Oh, fine. You're not fun anymore." And he made an exaggerated movement of frustration. "Happy?"
Schuldich searched his pockets for his cigarettes. He finally located them, reminded himself to start keeping them in the same pocket all the time, and light up. "Cig?"
Crawford shook his head 'no' absently and continued to watch the entrance.
"Suit yourself." And he leaned back in the driver's seat and smoked leisurely.
If Crawford's guess was correct, and it usually was, Farfarello had just now located the straggler. Farfarello was probably killing him a little too exuberantly, and that meant that Nagi and Farfarello would take a moment to relocate each other and meet at the car.
It would have been a lot more amusing if they were still stuck in that building dodging gunfire.
"Well, why the hell not?" Schuldich demanded again and again. Schuldich was gritting his teeth at Crawford, yelling at him.
Crawford counted to ten, and coolly said once again, "Because I said not to."
"But why not in sex?" Schuldich leaned in again, "Why not then? I'd never say it in public. You know already. It makes no god damn sense and it's driving me insane, Brad." His voice cracked.
"Stop it. Just, stop it already." And Crawford gave up and left the room. He went into his office and shut the door, thought about it a moment and then locked it. He pulled out a bottle of bourbon, and sat down to have a good drink.
He sighed a breath heated by alcohol. Leaned back and looked at the ceiling.
He didn't bother thinking the situation though.
Four glasses later, he fell asleep reclined in his office chair.
It wasn't as if Schuldich would die without Crawford. He wasn't completely, mindlessly desperate to have Crawford's love.
No, that wasn't entirely true.
The longer they were fuck buddies the lonelier the sex got.
It was now at the point where Schuldich felt worse after orgasm than before. It still felt good, Crawford was never unkind to him. Rough, at times, but that's just the way sex is. It's just that every now and then, he thought that maybe... it would be nice, if it meant a little bit more.
A little bit more than stress relief.
A little bit more along the lines of affection.
A little bit more like...
But that was all idiocy, anyways.
And Schuldich fell asleep in bed alone that night, thinking to himself, that it really would be nice, if things were just a little bit different.
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