Just a dream

In the same way the last chapter deserved the R rating for physical gruesomeness, this chapter deserves it for the sexual aspects. I've kept it brief, but the rating is honestly deserved, I think.

Nagi frowned. "I killed you already," he whined.

"Yes," the man said. "I'm bored of that now."

"So… what?" Nagi was on the defensive. His powers were useless here. But the illusionist? Practically born for the dream world. He was the kind of telepath who thrived in this situation.

"So we're going to swap places," the illusionist smiled, lip curling dangerously. "You can stay right here."

"Leave the bairn alone," a voice came through the wall. Nagi frowned. Had there been a wall there earlier? He hadn't been paying much attention to the background. It was somewhere in Japan, he realised now.

"Who?" The illusionist spun round. Hertz, Nagi remembered vaguely. He'd claimed to be another member of the Hertz family.

Nagi took a sharp breath in. It was a monster. He hadn't known he could dream up such creatures. He shot a fearful look at Hertz Two, but the aged illusionist seemed even more horrified than he did, his form wavering as he lost control of his powers through surprise.

"Leave. The. Bairn. Alone."

"What are you?"

"I am-"

"You are Farfarello," Nagi whispered. He'd heard a few rumours about Jei's transformation, but he hadn't realised it would be this immense. He was unrecognisable. He was terrifying. He was demonic in name and nature. He was insane.

He was beautiful.

Nagi was young. A child. On the cusp of adolescence now, and finally feeling those oft mentioned 'feelings' that adults don't like to bring up around their offspring because it's a reminded of time passing. Nagi knew the facts of life. He couldn't even claim virginity. But for the first time he could claim sexual desire.

"Farfarello," he repeated.

"Get out of the boy's head before I throw you out," the Irish man said. Without a word, the illusionist faded.

Nagi stared up at Farfarello, blue eyes huge. "Thank you," he murmured, voice catching in his chest.

"He's not gone," Farfarello warned. "You are a possessed child. That demon will take you one night, and wreak havoc on the world."

"Will you protect me?" Nagi simpered. He loathed himself for it, but even self-contempt couldn't keep him from doing everything he could to ensure Farfarello's undivided attention and protection. This was new, this was sudden, and this was powerful. It was not something Nagi would take to half-heartedly.

Farfarello shot him a bemused look. "You've never needed protection from any man before," he pointed out.

"I can't protect myself here," Nagi said honestly. He sidled up to Farfarello. "I'm vulnerable," he added, biting his lip.

Farfarello seemed a bit disconcerted. "Go to Schuldig," he suggested abruptly.

Nagi sighed. He was going about this the wrong way, clearly. It didn't matter, it was only a dream. Farfarello was locked up in the Lab's darkest, dampest, dankest cell. Nagi found himself hoping he had this dream over and over again, so he could keep practising for when he really saw Farf again.

"Will you stay?" Nagi asked softly. "Just till I'm out of the dream cycle."

"Aye, bairn," Farfarello sighed. "You're lucky I found you. I'll keep you guarded, for tonight at least."

"Thank you," Nagi said candidly. "I hope I dream about you often. I've been having that nightmare for weeks now."

Farfarello looked alarmed. "Weeks? Has he threatened to take your body before?" he demanded.

Nagi thought about it for a moment. "No," he said finally. "Some nights he's barely even here. It's like he's been approaching me, from a long way away, and only now is he closest enough for me to see and hear him."

"He is trying to rise from the dead," Farfarello said ominously. "He must have escaped purgatory before he was assigned to hell, and it has taken him time to find you."

"Really?" Nagi asked, feigning interest.

"I will come when I can," Farfarello said eventually. "Dreams are hard to access, but I know you well. I was wandering past your bed when I heard you scream."

"You're out of the Labs?" Nagi asked incredulously.

"Hah, no," Farfarello snorted. "I have released my soul from my body, for the time being. I was walking Rosenkreuz, hoping Schuldig was awake that I might haunt him, when I thought of you."

"I'm glad you thought of me," Nagi said, heart leaping at the idea. "Have you always been able to project yourself?"

"No, or I haven't tried before. I think Schuldig untied me," Farfarello said cautiously. "He's been playing with my head. From the outside, I can see all the snips and cuts he made. It make the outside look positively unscarred!" he laughed bitterly. "The German is arrogant. He thinks he is God."

This lined up with Nagi's previous evaluations of the telepath, and he told Farfarello so. "I don't want to go to him," Nagi said. "I don't want him to mess with my mind. Whatever he did to you, he did for his benefit. I will be no one's tool."

"You are everyone's tool," Farfarello corrected lazily. "You're too powerful and too young."

"I won't be young forever," Nagi said sullenly. "And I'll only get more powerful."

"Have you held anything back?" Farfarello asked. "Everyone has a way of defying Rosenkreuz. Schuldig laughs in their face, but hides behind his uniqueness. Rammi uses his connections to get what he wants, and ignores rules he doesn't like."

"Yes, I hold a lot back," Nagi interrupted. He didn't want to be reminded of his former friend. "I can do things I have never heard of others doing. But it's not resistance. It's self-preservation. Resistance gets you killed, or worse. I don't have that uniqueness, or those connections, to hide behind when I overstep my boundaries."

Farfarello looked at him. "And this is why you are a tool and always will be," he said. "You could shield yourself with their fear, Nagi. No one would dare oppose you, if you let lose on those who tried. Crawford, Schuldig's Crawford, learnt that lesson."

"Do you know why I won't use fear as a weapon?" Nagi asked softly.

"It is a powerful weapon," Farfarello said, a little puzzled.

"Because I am a product of fear. The cornered rodent bites back." Nagi looked at him through cold and bitter eyes. "When a person is put through a great deal of fear, it builds up and fills every part of them, and keeps building. The pressure increases. Under pressure, one element may change to another, and so the fear turns to anger. And still there is this pressure, still building, still changing, until there is only anger and no fear, and it can't take the pressure, and it explodes." Nagi's voice was crystal sharp.

"Are you afraid?" Farfarello asked, voice a soft and woolly alternative to Nagi's cold point of a tone.

"Always," Nagi said. "Always afraid, always angry, and always pressured."

"Nagi go bang," Farfarello murmured to himself, tawny eye gleaming.

"Nagi go bang," the boy agreed.

* * *

The next morning Nagi woke to the usual cold clanging bell. There was the sound of rough sheets and blankets sliding over each other, and second years barking sleepy commands. Nagi ignored them, lying still. Above him hovered a single yellow eye. When Nagi reached up to touch it, it winked, then faded away.

Not a dream, then, not the normal kind.

* * *

Schuldig settled himself opposite Brad, the codex on his lap. Its weight was reassuring, a reminder that he wasn't tilting at windmills. The information was there, in Brad's head. All he had to do was find it. Brad looked tired and dirty and sullen, an expression Schuldig was more used to seeing in the mirror than on his mentor.

It was the filth, Schuldig decided. Brad hated being dirty. He was going to be as uncooperative as possible.

"Do you want a shower?" Schuldig asked casually. He stroked the sheaves of paper languidly. Brad glowered at him. "The sooner you cooperate the sooner you can go back to your nice little suite and take a shower. Get clean."

Brad refused to reply, but Schuldig could feel the longing.

"I've tried starving you. I've tried denying you water. It hadn't occurred to me that denying you cleanliness was a way through, but with your anal-retentive obsessive-compulsive character, well, I should have guessed, shouldn't I?" Schuldig smirked at him.

"You're in this alone now," Brad spat. "They've taken Jei away, though I doubt he'd have anything to do with you anyway."

"You'd be surprised," Schuldig said smoothly. "It's Farfarello now. Jei is dead."

"Does it make a difference?"

Schuldig pushed the wedge of paper off of his lap and slunk over to Brad, kneeling in front of him. He brushed one hand against Brad's head, slipping fingers between greasy locks of hair to caress Brad's skull.

"Yes," he whispered, leaning forwards and kissing the American hard. Brad responded just as passionately. Schuldig pulled back, pausing to run his tongue over Brad's hungry lips, and studied the older man. "What would you do for a shower?" he purred.

Brad wasn't about to pledge anything to Schuldig, not to simply peel the layers of grime from his skin, but it was close. "Sex," he managed, head whirling. He wouldn't tell Schuldig about the prophecy, but Schuldig wasn't interested in that right now. It lay in the middle of the room, forgotten, abandoned by Schuldig's libido. "I'll have sex with you."

"Will you suck me off?" Schuldig asked, pressing his body closer to Brad's to elicit a moan.

"Yes," Brad whimpered. "Just let me get clean, and let me fuck you." Schuldig started to trail kisses down Brad's neck, but stopped when he remembered the layer of sweat and dust, and saw the dark lines of dirt in the creases of skin. Shower. Right. Shower then sex, definitely.

Schuldig pulled back and yanked Brad to his feet, snapping the chain that held him to the wall in one strong hand. Brad stumbled after him as Schuldig led him through a maze of dank tunnels, the underbelly of the mountain, until he found a small room. It stank of dungeon, of illegal containment. In one corner was a mouldering bed with shackles at each corner, and the door was covered in heavy bolts. Brad paused in the doorway, and Schuldig let him take it in.

"Can't get clean here," Brad shook his head. Weeks of mental war had left him confused and easily dumbfounded.

"Trust me," Schuldig smiled. Holding Brad's hand in his, he led him across the foul room to a small door on the other side.

It was a sparse cubicle, barely more than functional but it was clean. Brad gasped. The chipped white tiles and mildewed towels were heaven to his starved eyes, proving for him the cleanliness wasn't next to godliness, but simply was godliness. Breaking Schuldig's grasp on his hand he started stripping off immediately and spun the stained stainless steel of the shower controls, not caring that the water that hit him was ice cold. He'd had years of cold showers. The brisk freshness opened his eyes and closed his mind, leaving him with a sense of self that Schuldig had taken weeks to strip from him.

Schuldig leant against the wall and watched as Brad scratched and scraped at his own skin. He grimaced at the water flowing to the drain in the centre of the room, an unpleasant yellow-brown colour. He'd done everything he could to keep Brad uncomfortable, denying him leave even to go to the toilet, until the smell had started to bother him. Still, even with that privilege restored Brad still needed the shower.

The water warmed with a jolt and a judder, the pipes objecting with whistles and bangs. As steam began fill the room, obscuring the men from each other's sight, Schuldig began to strip off the uniform he was still obliged to wear. When he stepped up to Brad and wrapped strong arms around a much-diminished waist he expected Brad to stiffen, even pull away. Instead he was rewarded with a pliant and pleased American, pressing back against him and leaning his head on Schuldig's shoulder.

"I hate you," he said conversationally, "but I haven't able to get you out of my head recently."

Schuldig laughed easily. He pulled back, leaving Brad feeling oddly vulnerable until he clamped down on the undesired emotion, and produced from a cubby hole Brad had failed to notice a flannel and a bar of iron-like soap. Brad moaned as Schuldig, after a great deal of effort, produced lather and began to finish the job Brad had started. As the last of several weeks of grime sluiced down the drain Brad turned to face him.

"I want to fuck," he said bluntly.

"You forget," Schuldig scolded, flicking soap into Brad's eyes, "who has the power here."

"You have no more power than I," Brad scoffed. "Idiot."

Schuldig bit Brad's neck, catching a pressure point between his teeth lightly and drawing a startled gasp from the older man.

"Nagi is ready and waiting," Schuldig told him. "You've lost track of time, but it's late and I've got Nagi out of bed to police this little outing."

"The telekinetic?" Brad frowned. "I'll never understand your interest in him." He paused. "It's not…"

"Sexual? No. I swing most ways, but not in that direction. I know how it feels, you see." Schuldig ran his fingers through now clean hair, relishing the fact he didn't have to hold back the urge to retch when he did so.

Brad smiled. He slipped his arms around Schuldig's waist and pressed their erections together. "Spread your legs," he commanded.

"Again, you forget who's in charge. I believe you promised to blow me?" Schuldig raised an eyebrow. "You seemed to enjoy it last time."

Unbidden, or perhaps bidden purposely by Schuldig, Brad's mind skipped back to that night. As time went by he fought to keep from attaching any emotional significance to it. He found himself missing those days, when Schuldig was his friend and companion, not his bitter enemy. Or better, those days when Schuldig was his student. He'd been so keen to mould the young German and avoid the mistakes his father had made. Schuldig had been so keen to learn and gain that friendship and trust Brad had been so reluctant to offer him. Brad remembered the bath, and the visions. For the first time he prayed to a god he didn't believe in that every aspect of that vision came true.

He kissed Schuldig, softly, every regret bitter on his tongue. Schuldig responded as gently, melancholy intruding on his own thoughts as well. For a long moment they just held each other in the shower.

"Tell me," Schuldig whispered. "Just tell me what's going on and it can all go back to how it was. I still love you."

Brad pressed his head to Schuldig's neck. It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to say.

"No."

Schuldig took a long shuddering sigh and pulled away. "Blow me," he said, eyes closed, one hand pressed to his face to hide threatening tears. "Just fucking blow me."

Brad sank to his knees in the shower, water still cascading over his shoulders, and took Schuldig's hips in his hands. Schuldig thrust and Brad bobbed his head and Schuldig shook and Brad gasped after a few short sucks Schuldig was collapsing to the floor, spent. He sat in the shower, staring between his knees at Brad with watering eyes.

"Do you still want to fuck?" he asked, voice rough.

"Yeah," Brad said scratchily, voice just as broken.

"I hate you," Schuldig added bitterly, sliding forwards across the tiles to wrap his legs around Bra's waist and Brad sank to sit between his own ankles. Brad kept his hands on Schuldig's hips and manoeuvred the willing German into position. He frowned for a moment, wondering if the scummy soap would serve as lubricant, when Schuldig thrust himself down on Brad's erection and enveloped him completely. A thin trickle of blood snaked away.

Punishment. Masochism. Self-loathing. Schuldig wanted to be hurt physically as he had emotionally, and Brad obliged helplessly, hating himself for being so consumed by his baser instincts.

When it was over and the hot water was running out, Schuldig crawled away and shook himself like a dog. He pawed through his uniform, his back to Brad. Brad grimaced at the thought of wearing his filthy clothes again. Before he could force himself back into them a wave of cold air blasted through the room, steam billowing to reveal a narrow form, dark in the white clouds.

Nagi held the clothes out and both Brad and Schuldig accepted them gratefully from him. Schuldig looked him up and down.

"Kid?"

"Farfarello told me you'd want these," he said, voice empty.

"Farfarello?" Brad frowned.

"He watched the whole thing. He told me I was too young to see, though," Nagi couldn't resist a pout.

"Farf watched?" Schuldig froze in the middle of pulling his jumper over his head and trying to put a sock on at the same time. "Huh?"

"Soul body detachment," Nagi said, as if it explained everything.

Brad frowned. "Could he do that before?" he asked.

Nagi shrugged. Brad turned to Schuldig, who shrugged as well. Schuldig stared at him.

"Is it him? Is he going to have this demon summoned in to him?" he demanded, voice rising in excitement.

"Maybe," Brad said evasively. "Let's go back to that godawful room and the chains and the filth and the poor food."

"Yes," Schuldig smirked. "And I can try that not sleeping torture. I hear it worked well for the KGB."