"Ummm...yes...harder...please harder...so good, so fucking good...ahhh" crash!

The larger man on the bed froze mid-thrust, while the smaller figure beneath him ground himself upwards, in a pitiful attempt to reengage his partner's interest. Ken detached himself from the small body beneath him, and climbed off the bed. "Omi, did you just hear a..."

"No! Now come back!" Omi commanded, directing a very angry pout in Ken's direction when he turned to face the bed. For a minute the idea of crawling back between those sheets and letting himself slide back inside that warm glistening body seemed a very good idea indeed, but still he hesitated.

"It sounded like it came from Aya's room. Maybe I should just slip a robe on and go check on him" he replied, tying the sash of his robe and moving towards the door.

"Ken-kunnnnnnnnn" it was a low keening noise somewhere between a whine and a plea, but it turned his attention back to the bed, which was all it took. The little imp was on his knees, one hands brushing sweat soaked bangs back from his face, and the other stroking himself rhythmically. Those blue eyes staring into him were glazed with lust and brighter than ever. "Now take that robe off and get back here or I'll go to my room and finish alone" Omi said softly, sparing a mischievous smile when the robe hit the floor.

"Are you scared kitten?" The redhead hovering over him cooed.

Well if that wasn't the dumbest question. Of course he was scared, he was terrified. Aya Fujimiya is a brave man, not a masochist, and contrary to popular belief there is a difference between the two. What frightened him the most at the moment really wasn't the American, who Aya already knew he couldn't beat in a fight, or the Irish lunatic gazing lustfully at the blade in his hand. Hell, it wasn't even the freakishly-tall red-head who somehow always knew what you were thinking. What scared Aya the most was that he was unrestrained.

If your enemies tied you down when they captured you it was usually a good sign. Ropes made it harder to escape true, but they proved you had a chance of escape, because if there was no way for you to get out, what was their reason for tying you down in the first place? That was the problem. These three men, three men who knew Aya was a deadly assassin, had shut themselves in a room with him, and given him a chance to fight. That move spoke of confidence; it spoke of power, and for the first time in many years Aya was scared; not for his team, or his sister, but for himself. The only advantage he had was that he was faced with the cocky German, and not the American bastard who was standing across the room. Though the other two men were a bit intimidating, they were nothing he couldn't handle. Something about the American man though, the way his eyes glanced over you briefly, unimportantly, like he knew something you didn't; something that made you weaker than him; he looked at you like he knew your future, and simply didn't care about it.

Schuldig tried hard not to laugh, a difficult feat when one was privy to all of the highly amusing thoughts running through the kitten's mind. Ahh...so it was Crawford he feared? Wasn't that interesting. But the idea of Farf being just another lunatic...that wouldn't do at all. He sent everything he heard through the link to Crawford, with his own additions of course.
'You hear that Brad, he thinks we might be crazy. Not that he's completely off mind you'
'I'm not crazy'
'Didn't say you were. Neither did he really'
'He thinks I'm the sane one?'
'Yeah he does. It scares the shit out of him too.'
'Stop smirking, Schuldig'
'I'm not'
'Yes you were, and now you're pouting. I can feel it'
'You can't feel a smirk Bradley, or a pout for that matter'
'Schuldig I could pick you out of a crowded room by your smirk'
'Awww that's so sweet'
'Of course I would never need too. You're god-awful red hair could serve as a lighthouse beacon'
'Fuck you. Fuck you very much.'
'Later perhaps. If I'm feeling generous.'
'Ha fucking ha. Now what about the kitten oh exalted one.'
'Let Farf break him in. After all, I am the scariest, and we don't want to do him in before the fun starts.'
'Yes oh great and wise Master. I'll hand him over to our mad Irish friend so as not to over excite the kitten. I couldn't possibly have a go at him as I'm still quaking in fear from your powerful display of masculinity'
'Master huh? I like that. From now on you will address me as Master Crawford.'
'Still Shaking'
'You will be'
'Hey'

'Crawford'

'Oh Strong Manly Master Crawford Sir'
'WHAT?'
'You have some of my come on your shoulder'
'Fuck you very much'
'Later perhaps. If I don't have a headache'

'So are you giving Farf the first go or what?'

Crawford flashed him a secretive little smile and inclined his head towards Farf. Schuldig smiled back and sent Farf a little message of his own. The Irishman stretched took a few steps forward and knelt beside Aya.

"The door across the room is unlocked. All exits to the outside are bolted shut. I'm giving you 30 seconds, so I hope you're fast", Farf whispered to the man on the floor. Aya looked from the shining blade to the madman then back again. With one last glance across the room to where Crawford was standing the red-head bolted for the door.

Farferello stayed on his knees and calmly began counting backwards from thirty.

Schuldig watched joyfully as Aya ran from the room, then a minute later as Farf followed him through the door. So the Irishman liked to catch his prey, there was no harm in that. Besides, Farferello wouldn't start the fun stuff until Schuldig and Crawford were there. That was the rule.

He had lasted longer than most men, even men in his line of work, but from the moment Aya Fujimiya had taken off, the men of Schwartz knew it was a lost cause. No one got away if Farferello wanted to catch them, which was why when Schuldig and Brad walked into the room, the red-haired man was already naked and pinned beneath their teammate. Without looking up or bothering to acknowledge them in any way, Farferello began. The Irishman welded his knives in much the same way that an artist might wield a charcoal pencil. Drawing thin lines which cut through nerves and skin without ever delving into the flesh below.

The blade cut across fingers and biceps, and even circled both of his nipples, before delving lower. The redhead had his eyes closed, not tightly, but calmly. Laying there with all those lovely welts and slices turning a deep red, the man looked peaceful, almost as if he were ignoring them. That wouldn't do at all. The red lines running down the man's pale chest all joined in one hoop to circle his navel, then without hesitation Farferello placed the tip of the blade at the very base of Aya's soft member, and slid it straight to the tip, drawing a scream from the assassin. The cut was razor thin, but it served its purpose. Those violet eyes were now wide in shock, brimming with tears of pain as they stared right into the one golden eye before them.

Without breaking eye contact, Farferello reached down to his holster, pulling out another knife, the size of a very small ice pick, but razor sharp. He dropped the larger blade and used his now free hand to roughly lift one of the pale thighs up and over, and shoved the blade past the initial muscles and inside the man beneath him. The sound that followed was a howl so desperate and inhuman that even Schuldig flinched when it reached his ears. Crawford, however, watched on unmoved as Farf began slowly thrusting the knife in and out of the bloody passage, then leaned over and began lapping up the blood. The Irishman's hand never stilled as his tongue traveled over pale arms and chest, and when he reached the man's navel where the blood had gathered in a little pool he drank that as well. He even licked away the thin ribbon of red along the soft cock, then threw his bloody knife to the floor and delved down to taste that blood as well. Farf lapped eagerly at the thin layer of blood coating the hole, before delving his tongue inside to suck most of that blood away as well.

Standing, with his back still turned to his team; Farferello wiped his mouth and smiled down at the bloody broken figure beneath him. He reached down to gather his knives, and laughed coldly at the whimper that escaped the man on the floor as Crawford walked over to take his place.