Disclaimer/Summary: I don't own them, and I'd like to, because Braddy and Schu are my Schwartz favorites. BxS. Song and lyrics are property of Bush and are also, obviously, not mine. POV and tense may shift; for now, this is Brad's reflections upon his history with Schuldich.
The chemicals between us
The walls that lie between us
Lying in this bed
The chemicals displaced
There is no lonlier state
Than lying in this bed
Chapter 2: Lonely at the Top
It doesn't take a telepath to know that you were furious with me when I left Rosenkreuz, and probably furious at yourself as well. Furious at yourself for giving in when I pressured you, furious at me for breaking my calm behavior, furious at the fact that you found yourself, and don't deny it, hopelessly attracted to me and hating yourself for it.
Don't worry. You weren't alone. I've always been hopelessly attracted to you, too; and found myself hating you for it. For that stupid cocky smile when I knew you felt anything but confident, for the lazy way you tried to get back under my skin, for the way you let your hands wander when you wanted my attention. I hated the way I wanted you to do those things, the way you were unknowingly trying to worsen my weakness. So I forcefully ignored you.
You can't become the most powerful assassin group in the world overnight. I was a busy man, and you were distracting me from my purpose. Like I've said so many times before, you were a weakness I couldn't afford. I don't know why you didn't just stop; but you always tried to get under my skin even after you started looking for pleasure elsewhere. I was such a bastard to you, you know.
Because I've never told you how much my visions tend to revolve around you whether I want them to or not, there's no way you could have known that I would see what you did. You started clubbing heavily again, and I let you, in the hopes that you would find something else to set your affections on, something that wouldn't shun you cruelly the way I did. At first it was harmless, a little smoking, a little dancing, a little drinking, some flirting -- enough toying with the emotions of those around you to get your mind off of me, I guess. You never got into any of the drugs I know you must have been on when I found you, I guess because you didn't want your shields to become dependent on any of that anymore when you had finally gotten them to a sufficient strength. But the casual dancing, the casual drinking, the casual smoking soon became casual fucking, and I know you don't understand, but I had to watch it every single time.
And it wasn't fair because the weak part of me wanted me to be the one you were with, and I put the blame on you for being a stupid, lazy slut. Remember how I was always up to give you some sarcastic remark when you came home drunk and smelling of sex? It's because I was angry at myself for caring, and the easiest way to alleviate that was to take it out on you, the source of all my weakness.
You can't possibly know how lonely it is to try to sleep in your bed when you know the person you really want with you is out fucking your replacements. Or maybe you do, in a different sort of way, when I replaced you with work and threw myself headlong into making us invincible. And maybe on the outside we were.
I think the worst part was the days when you'd get too lazy to go out to a club and just fuck Farfello -- not only would I see it coming, I'd hear it, from the thin walls of our apartment. I remember fighting with you about it, after a particularly vocal round of sex on your part, when you came back from locking his room with that stupid, satisfied smirk.
I told you your behavior was unacceptable.
"It's not like he can feel any of it anyways." Was your reply. True enough, messing around with Farfello was really just about the pleasure for your part and the tolerance on his, once you convinced him that men fucking hurt God.
I told you that was the problem, it was like using a drug, a substitute. You sneered at me.
"Why do you give a fuck, Braddy? You certainly don't give a shit."
Oh, but I did, Schuldig. I really did. But I lied to you like all the other times.
"Crawford." I corrected you with a calmness I didn't feel. You've never made me feel calm.
"If it bothers you so much why don't you do something about it?" You said, lighting up a cigarette, leaning your delicious body against my own, and then blowing smoke in my face. I waved it away calmly.
"Why would I want to?" I asked coldly; trying to give you the impression that all I cared about was the performance of Schwartz and not your own mental health. If you had realized that I was lying and stayed closer for just a few more minutes, I would have given in. Around you I'm always close to cracking, going so crazy, and being so alone at the top of the mountain I built for myself by walking all over you.
But you didn't. You took the shallow insult and grinned wryly, backing off and heading for the door. I heard what you muttered on the way out, after you put out your cigarette against my impeccably clean white wall, leaving a small black mark.
"Because you're the only one who can." You had said, and opened the door.
"Where are you going?"
I asked.
"Out." You said, and as soon as the door shut, I was presented with another vision, another club, another body, another bed that wasn't mine.
I went to bed alone that night, like always. But I didn't sleep.
Leave me some love, folks. ^_^ This fic is a nice distraction from Karma Police... I swear I'll update KP later this week though. -glaube.