Five Lives Schuldig Never Lived
AN: Same policy. Don't own. And feed the author. God knows I need to eat more. And I've heard reviews are fat free.
These are a little more explicit, but they're Schuldig, what else do you expect?
I
He couldn't talk anymore, and he really couldn't see much. Not that there was anything to look at.
Being strapped down to a table almost constantly tended to make one bored to tears. Of course, he couldn't cry either. They had made sure of that.
Schuldig had held a morbid fascination with human experimentation, but he never dreamed that he would be the test subject.
He wanted to scream, but he couldn't. They had taken that privilege away a long time ago. There was nothing for him to do but wait...
II
With a yawn, Schuldig stretched his arms behind his head before draping one of his arms back over his lover. He wanted to enjoy all the warmth he could before they had to get up and go to work. He pushed his face into his love's honey blond hair and gently sniffed it, relishing in its scent. He didn't want to get up and work in that stupid flowershop, and he didn't understand why Yohji still kept the place.
III
He held an air of calm ferociousness as he entered the 'house'. Immediately, all the slaves in the room lowered their eyes to the ground, and their masters smiled and greeted Schuldig. There were a few shouts in the back room before his slave slowly came trudging out to meet him. The tall American lost his scare factor when he was decked out in very little. Schuldig grinned. It had taken a lot to break the American's natural dominance, but he'd done it...and the results were sweeter than honey.
IV
The nights in Berlin were always cold. They were even colder if you didn't have warm clothes, let alone a house. Huddled in the dark alley, he drew his shabby jacket around him, desperately searching for warmth. He supposed that he could go to a shelter house, but he never did. Schuldig was too proud of himself to go crawling for help, but he wasn't proud enough not to sell himself as a common street whore.
He saw a man walking past his alley and Schuldig strolled out with a simple "Hey you, ya interested in a little fun?" and a sexy pose. The man slowly took in Schuldig's matted red hair, extremely emaciated body and sunken blue eyes that had been attractive at one time. The man shook his head. "Nah, I don't like broken rag dolls." He then turned and walked away, leaving Schuldig alone to the loneliness of the night. Trying not to let the words affect him, he strolled back into the alley, subconsciously running his fingers through his hair just like a hairbrush.
V
White, white, everywhere white. Too much fuckin' white, Schuldig decided. Everything had to be void of color, why? The walls, the ceiling, even his straitjacket were white. Leaning back against the back wall, Schuldig could hear the sounds of life. The less insane allowed to gather for lunch chatting; the crazed laughter of those, like him, deemed too dangerous to be released; the anguished cries and moans of the anorexics being forced to eat. He could hear all this within his mind, which of course was the reason he was 'insane'. Schuldig sighed, closed his eyes, and wondered how many he could kill if he were to ever get a hold of a plastic fork from the cafeteria.
(I swear, I've heard of a story like V somewhere, so if it sounds like something you wrote, please inform me! I don't want to take anyone's ideas without permission. It's a compliment! )