This is going to last so much longer than I meant it to. I'll be lucky to stop at thirty, and these chapters are even longer than in New Rules New Ruler! Ah well, lots of UST to enjoy. And there's going to be a lot…
The first few weeks passed miraculously quietly. Bradley kept himself out of the room as often as possible, and did a lot of night work. Schuldig behaved surprisingly well, knowing he'd be sent straight back to the dormitories, or even the Laboratories, if he didn't keep the same timetable as the other first year students. They only saw each other first thing in the morning at in the general study lessons, but they avoided each other then.
One evening, as Bradley was about to leave the classroom, still on crutches, the timid man who acted a teacher placed a hand on his shoulder.
"If I could have moment of your time, Mr Crawford?" Bradley turned around, gratified to be addressed with such respect, though the light pressure the hand had exerted was resulting in excruciating pain suggested that, since the man was a telempath and knew perfectly well how much it would hurt, it was anything but a polite request.
"Certainly," he said, trying not to wince.
"You have been given Schuldig as a ward, yes?"
"I suppose you could say that. He's sleeping in my room, as the dormitories were too overwhelming." The teacher gestured for Bradley to sit down.
"I… well… you know there's a lot of trouble with most of the students having been, shall we say, undereducated? Now, you have been a great help in bringing those students up to scratch, for which I am supremely grateful. But, well… Schuldig can't even recite his alphabet properly. He's sixteen, but he can't count that high. He can partially speak a variety of languages, but only in the crudest of fashions. And as for history and geography…" The elderly man let that hang in the air for a moment. "I've been asked to tell you that if it doesn't change soon, he may well have to leave Rosenkreuz." They both knew what that implied. "I think he was moved into a room with you because it was hoped he would improve."
"I wish some had told me that," Bradley commented wryly. "I'll do the best I can in bringing him up to scratch."
"That's all you can do," he was told. "Of course, if you find it too much, they can always move him back into the dormitories."
* * *
"I have never been so embarrassed in my life!" Crawford snapped. "I teach those classes, and to find out that you, who lives with me, can't even spell your own name! It was mortifying."
"I'm sure," Schuldig said sulkily. "What's the big deal?"
"Big deal? The big deal is that you can't read or write. How do you ever expect to function in society? If you saw a sign, how would you know if it was warning you away or encouraging you on? Reading, writing, 'rithmetic." He punctuated this by making chopping motions with one hand, slapping the palm of the other. "The three basic things every person needs!"
"I don't. I've survived this long without," Schuldig pouted.
"How?" Crawford spluttered. "Seriously, how have you coped? How do you intend to cope?" Schuldig shrugged the questions off. "Look, even if you can survive in the outside world, you'll never see it again! There's a written exam to graduate from here, and if you can't even read the essay question you'll never pass. And those that fail are killed. More than thirty students in my year were culled for being unable to answer the question in any legible or comprehensible format." Crawford sighed. "You don't have the faintest idea what either of those words mean, do you?" he demanded.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes!" Crawford couldn't work out how to get it through that damn thick skull. "Do you want to die?"
Schuldig opened his mouth to give some smart-arse retort, but none came. He frowned introspectively. "No," he said eventually. "I guess not, not any more."
"So are you willing to learn?" Bradley sighed. Schuldig remained silent. "They'll send you back to the dormitories if they think I can't cope with keeping an eye on you and teaching you. Then to the Labs. Then I don't know what, but nothing good can come after that."
"Yeah, I get it. Death and destruction." Bradley sat down on his bed with a sigh, and Schuldig perched on the edge of his own. They stared at each other across the narrow room, made narrower by the inclusion of another bed.
"So… recite your alphabet," Bradley said eventually. Schuldig remained stubbornly silent. "Go on, Recite. Your. Alphabet." Still silence. "Schuldig…" The warning tone was unmistakeable. Eventually, Schuldig caved.
"Look, if I can't do it, what's the point of trying?" he whined. Bradley's jawed dropped.
"If you don't try you're never going to be able to do it," he spluttered. "Go on, as much as you can."
"A?" Schuldig looked for confirmation. Bradley nodded encouragingly. "B… C D E…" he gazed at Bradley imploringly.
"F," Bradley prompted.
"F… I can't do it!" Schuldig moaned. "Look, just shoot me now, okay? Same result, but so much less hassle."
"Don't be ridiculous!" Bradley snapped. "Keep trying."
"F…G? H I…L?"
"No."
Schuldig stared at him for a moment, then rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. "I can't do it," he said in a muffled voice. "I'm stupid. Give up."
"Like you? Never." Bradley moved to sit on Schuldig's bed. "Look, Let's try something else, okay? How about counting?"
"I can count," Schuldig said in a surly voice, still with his head in his pillow. "1, 2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10. See?"
"What's after 10?"
There was silence. "I dunno," Schuldig admitted. "See, I'm stupid. Stupid, idiot me."
"Did someone tell you that, or is it your own opinion?" Bradley reached out and gave Schuldig's shoulder a squeeze.
"It's kinda obvious, isn't it? Can't read, can't write, can't count. Stupid. I'm sixteen. Most sixteen year olds can do long division, and stuff. Algebra. Calculus." He pronounced the words like they were part of a foreign language, and in most respects, they were.
"Not stupid," Bradley corrected gently. "A little behind, that's all."
"A little?" Schuldig asked incredulously. "Six year olds are smarter than me."
"Okay, a lot, but they're not smarter than you. You keep confusing education with intelligence. You escaped from here, didn't you? I know a lot of very well educated people who wouldn't have been able to, but you were clever enough to work out how. You're the only person to have ever escaped."
"You're being very patronising," Schuldig observed dryly, sitting up. "Okay, I get your point. So teach."
"I'll need some supplies," Bradley sighed. "Stay here, okay?"
"Ja, ja," Schuldig kicked his feet against the side of the bed. "Be quick, okay? There's a lot to do cover in a short time, ja?"
"Ja," Bradley smiled. Now Schuldig had been persuaded, he would prove a willing pupil.
* * *
Schuldig lay stretched on the bed when Bradley got back, carrying reams of paper and a cupboards worth of stationary. Schuldig looked horrified.
"All that? I need all that?" Bradley dumped the paper on his won bed with a grateful sigh. He rubbed his aching shoulders wearily. Suddenly, a different pair of hands took over. Bradley relaxed into Schuldig's capable arms for a moment.
"You need more than this, unfortunately," the American sighed. "We haven't got any books."
Schuldig used his thumbs to rub circles on Bradley's back and release the tensed muscles. "Are you sure? What about all those school in Africa with five hundred students per teacher and only one bit of paper and a blunt pencil to go around?"
"You're exaggerating," Bradley grinned. "You know, you're surprisingly good at this."
"So I've been told," Schuldig started to work on Bradley's lower back, his ministrations forcing Bradley to lie down on the bed. He moaned slightly. Schuldig's smile widened as he eased Bradley's shirt over his head.
"We should be getting on," Bradley muttered into the sheets. God, the boy was good! He hadn't had a massage like this since travelling with his father to the Turkish baths in, well, Turkey.
"Getting it on? I never thought you'd be so direct!" Schuldig's leer was evident in his voice, but so was an element of surprise. Bradley's eyes snapped open, and he sat up sharply, tumbling Schuldig off of the bed.
"No! Not like that! Get on with academic subjects."
Schuldig stared up at the flushed features of his mentor and put two and two together. Of course, Schuldig had no idea what two and two would make, but a blushing Bradley unable to look him in the eye spoke volumes to the German whore.
"Sure," Schuldig soothed. "Academic." He paused. "What's that mean?"
"Learning, I guess. Reading, writing, maths, history… everything, really." Bradley reached for his shirt, but Schuldig beat him to it.
"Ja, ja. In a minute, okay? I'm not done with you yet." Bradley frowned at him. "You're so tense!" Schuldig explained, "and I don't like to leave a massage like that. It'll probably get worse, because I've only partially loosened everything. It'll all tighten up much… tighter."
"We have to work on your vocabulary," Bradley said wryly, willingly accepting Schuldig's flimsy excuse to continue the massage, much to the young German's surprise.
Head nestled in a slim pillow, Bradley relaxed for the first time in what seemed like forever. Certainly, he'd been tense and alert ever since arriving at Rosenkreuz. Schuldig's nimble fingers worked the muscles in his back until they unwound, and Bradley found himself groaning in pleasure as he felt like he was melting into a puddle on the bed.
"You know what we need? Oil. Preferably scented," Schuldig announced, leaning over Bradley's hot back to murmur in his ear. For once, the physical closeness didn't bother the tranquil Bradley.
"No oil," he asserted indistinctly. That would be too much like one of those 'sensual massages'. He frowned into the pillow. "Schuldig, where did you learn to do this?"
"What, massage? Did it for clients, from time to time. I can feel what they like, you know? Really, it's more of a mental massage than a body massage." He began to knead Bradley's neck. "Always went down a treat."
"What exactly do you mean, 'mental massage'?" Suspicion began to creep into Bradley's tone, but he found he was too relaxed to really care.
"Not prying, just sort, 'easing'. Making the stress go away, just for a bit. Can't do it permanently, I'm, afraid. You make me wish I could, you know. You're way too stressed. You'll have a heart attack before you reach thirty." Schuldig rocked back and forth, and Bradley moaned again. Well, if Schuldig said it didn't matter, it couldn't matter. And it felt so good. He could feel the heat radiating off Schuldig's body and he swayed backwards and forwards above him. He was pretty hot himself. Perhaps oil wouldn't be such a bad idea?
"Mm-hmm," Bradley moaned. Schuldig bit back a laugh. "Nngh. Aarh!" Deft fingers left Bradley limp and happy. He whimpered as Schuldig drew back. "Nnn… more," he groaned.
"Nein, all done." Schuldig smirked done at the wilting adult, squirming on the bed beneath him.
"Please, more!" Bradley begged. "More!"
Schuldig chuckled and lay down next to him. Bradley watched him with one eye. "No more," Schuldig murmured, "all done. You look sleepy."
"Uh-huh?" Bradley yawned into the pillow. "No more?" he asked dejectedly.
Schuldig sighed and cuddled up next to Bradley's hot torso, leeching heat from the old man, who tried to put a friendly arm around the teen and pull him closer, but decided that was too much effort. Schuldig lifted the arm for him and nuzzled up to him. So what if he was using an unorthodox method of 'persuasion'? Bradley was happy. Schuldig hoped he'd remember that contented feeling in the morning.
