Breakdown

Chapter 14: Telepath

Crawford was staying closed off to Schuldig. He wouldn't talk the entire drive home, immediately shut down any attempted mental conversations, and didn't so much as glance at the German when Shuldig had held the front door open for him when they'd arrived home. Not only did his leader's rudeness anger the telepath, but it also made him worry that Crawford wasn't going to explain anything to him, let alone discuss his current standing in the team. But Schuldig wouldn't let this slide. He was entitled to some answers. He'd given up watching his 'late night stories' to be a damn chauffeur to Crawford and the enemy after all. Now he would never know if a spontaneous orgy would break out at Veronica and Winston's wedding.

Schuldig growled. "Crawford," he said, closing the front door a little harder than was necessary, and followed his leader through the house.

"Don't slam doors and keep your voice down, Schuldig. Nagi is sleeping."

"Fuck Nagi!"

"You better not be," Crawford said sternly as he made his way to his bedroom.

Schuldig snarled and stomped after him. "Are you going to tell me why I drove you and your hot little date around?" he gestured wildly with his hand as he spoke.

"I'm going to bed, Schuldig."

"We were supposed talk!"

"Yes, 'were', Schuldig. Were. But now I'm too tired to deal with you so maybe we'll talk tomorrow."

"Maybe!?" Schuldig's voice reached a decibel that would have allowed aliens on Saturn to hear the indignation in his voice. "I came to pick you and your boy toy up, I stopped where you told me to, and I didn't kill the fucking kitten. And now you're too tired to 'deal with me'?"

"Exactly."

Schuldig clenched his teeth. "Scheisskerl!" he growled. "You almost made me piss myself when you told me that I was off the team, and now you're making me wait until morning to hear if I'm actually still a part of Schwartz? What kind of cruel bastard are you, Bradley?"

"A tired one, Schuldig," Crawford answered as he entered his bedroom. He made to close the door but the telepath pushed it back open and held it against the wall, glaring at the American.

"Don't you fucking dare close that door, Bradley."

"Don't give me orders," Crawford glowered, "And stop calling me Bradley."

"Stop being an asshole."

"You're doing it again, Schuldig." Now Crawford's teeth were bared. "And I told you to lower your voice."

"Yeah, you also said we'd talk. And I want to talk, Braaadley." Schuldig whined his name on purpose and was pleased to get an angry hiss from his leader. He knew the attitude wasn't helping his case, but Crawford was being a jerk.

"Go to your room, Schuldig,"

"Go to your room?" Schuldig snorted resentfully. "What am I? Five?"

"Sometimes I wonder," Crawford answered seriously.

Schuldig growled and pushed his way into the bedroom. He expected Crawford to fight him, but instead the American turned and shut the door quietly, sighing. Schuldig took a few seconds to look around the room while his leader's back was turned. Although he'd seen the interior of the room from the doorway, he still thought that maybe it would magically become more interesting if he were standing in it.

He was mistaken.

Just like Crawford's office, there was very little in the Oracle's bedroom. A dresser, a bed and a side table was all the furnishings he had. Everything was neat, military clean, there was no clutter anywhere. Schuldig was deeply disturbed. No human could have a room this clean, this sterile. Even a hospital room appeared more inviting.

Schuldig couldn't help wrinkling his nose as he finally met Crawford's eye.

"There's something seriously wrong with you, Bradley," he said, shaking his head. "This is just not right. You need help."

Crawford's brow furrowed, not quite understanding. "How do you mean?"

"This room! It's too clean. You don't actually sleep in here, do you?"

"Of course I do," Crawford said, scowling.

Schuldig still didn't believe him. "What? Do you hover over the mattress?"

"No," Crawford growled, "Some people actually make their beds in the morning."

"Not like this they don't," Schuldig said, pointing to the bed. "Not even military personnel are that anal. What did you do? Staple the blankets to the mattress?"

"Leave it alone, Schuldig. My habits are not important."

"Maybe not to you Bradley, but I think you need some help."

Crawford folded his arms. "Then it's a very good thing that your opinion means nothing to me."

Schuldig scowled and walked over to the bed. "I'm going to do you a favour, Bradley."

"Don't-" Crawford began, but it was too late. Schuldig grabbed the edge of the top quilt and yanked it off the bed; a pillow followed it onto the floor. And that should have been enough to ruin the pristinely made bed, but Schuldig quickly noted that Crawford must have glued down each layer individually because the sheets were still neatly folded and tucked under the mattress. It made no sense and it called for drastic measures. Before Crawford could stop him, the German kicked off his shoes and leapt onto the bed.

"You childish bastard!" Crawford growled and lunged at the telepath. Schuldig laughed and bounced out of his reach but Crawford caught his pant leg and jerked it when he was on his way down. Schuldig tumbled face first off the bed, letting out a small distressed cry as his top end hit the floor and his lower body stayed on the mattress. Crawford quickly climbed on top of him and grabbed a fistful of his hair. The telepath wriggled and tried to buck him off his back, keeping up the struggle even though his hair was being yanked, and somehow he managed to squirm off the bed without losing a clump of his fiery locks. Unfortunately Crawford's hand had taken on the shape of a claw and he was still holding Schuldig securely and wouldn't let go, even when the telepath reached back to try and pull himself loose.

"Verdammt!" Schuldig yelled and swung a fist at Crawford, but the American grabbed his wrist and pushed it to the bed, squeezing hard. Schuldig gasped in pain. "Mercy! I give up," he thumped on the floor with his palm, scrunching his eyes closed, "I give up!"

Crawford waited a moment and then gave a satisfied snort, letting him go. Instantly relieved, Schuldig rubbed his sore wrist and slowly climbed to his feet. He very gradually lifted his eyes to meet Crawford's, seeing the dark-haired man's gaze narrow immediately.

"You gave up," Crawford reminded him, not liking Schuldig's sudden grin at all. The German's smile only widened at his words.

"The battle, Liebling," Schuldig cooed, "I gave up the battle."

Crawford growled low, "I told you not to call me that. And there is no battle here."

"No of course not," the German agreed readily, "We're back to the war."

"And what is the aim of this war?" Crawford asked, continuing to lose patience with the redhead.
"Shouldn't you know?" Schuldig snorted. "Not much of a warlord if you can't keep track of your own goals, Bradley."

"I am not a warlord," Crawford growled. "And I know what I want, I want you to behave. I want you to obey me."

"Mmm…" the redhead smirked, "That's my big old warlord. But you know, that's also the attitude we have to work on. You need to loosen up Bradleykins."

Crawford's eyes widened, but he didn't look so much surprised as murderously angry. "You did not just call me that, Schuldig," he whispered icily.

Schuldig huffed and rolled his eyes. "Mein Gott. Loosen. Up. Brad-ley," he said, "Nicknames aren't going to kill you."

Crawford glared and climbed off the bed, stepping up in front of the redhead, standing just an inch or two taller than the other man. "So this is war, yes?"

Schuldig smirked and nodded, his eyes flicking down Crawford's body before returning to meet his eye. "I would say so. You want me to behave and I want you to loosen up. Those motives would create tension, don't you think?"

Schuldig flinched as Crawford grabbed his shirt collar. He was expecting maybe a punch or a harsh jerk, but instead, the dark-haired man just held him in place, suddenly smirking himself.

"Crawford?" the German asked, slightly unsettled, yet intrigued.

"And what if I got you to behave by loosening up, Schuldig?" Crawford said smoothly, sliding his hands down Schuldig's shirt collar to the first done-up button, which happened to be the third, and popped it open. Schuldig felt a flutter of excitement, wanting to groan at the sound of the American's deep voice. "We would find ourselves at a standstill, wouldn't we?" Crawford finished, watching the telepath steadily.

Schuldig swallowed, unable to tear his gaze away from his leader. He didn't know if this was a fantasy come to life or if this was suddenly going to go very bad, very quickly. He decided to just answer the question and hope for the best. He didn't want to have to apologize to his disappointed crotch later for getting its hopes up, literally.

"Um…ja?"

Crawford grunted. "Eloquently put, Schuldig." He let go of the redhead's shirt and stepped back, removing his own shirt as he walked, leaving him in his white undershirt. He folded the garment neatly and placed it on his dresser.

Schuldig could already feel the drool accumulating at the front of his mouth, and he tried his very best to keep it contained as his eyes roamed over his leader's exposed skin. He wanted to tear the undershirt right off his back because he wasn't content with just seeing Crawford's well-muscles arms and shoulders. There was oh so much more hidden underneath and he wanted to get at it.

"You want me, Schuldig," Crawford said matter-of-factly, glancing back at the telepath as he removed his glasses. "I'm not oblivious to that. Subtlety is not your strong point, I'm sure you know that."

Schuldig wasn't listening. He was trying to will the shirt off Crawford's back. The dark-haired man frowned, noticing this. "…and neither is paying attention to what I'm saying." He clapped his hands sharply and Schuldig broke from his trance.

"Huh?" Schuldig blinked, a little disoriented for a second. "Were you saying something?"

Crawford closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, reaching out blindly to put his glasses on the dresser. Schuldig could not understand why that act was so sexy to him, but it was.

"Schuldig, we are going to come to a truce," Crawford said, looking back at him.

Schuldig raised an eyebrow. "A truce?"

"We are going to end this war, as you call it," the dark-haired man said, walking back to the bed and his side. "You are going to listen to me. And since threats haven't worked in the past, I am going to give you some incentive so you will obey."

Schuldig really hoped incentive was code word for 'rough animal sex.'

He looked down as Crawford reached for his shirt again and slowly undid the remaining buttons, pulling if off his shoulders once he was done, letting it hang at his elbows so the telepath's range of motion was limited. He took a step closer and Schuldig could feel his warm, slightly sour breath on his face.

Schuldig licked his suddenly dry lips and stared into his leader's amber eyes, hoping to hell he wouldn't suddenly wake up to learn that this was all a dream. "Incentive?" he asked, his voice sounding raspy since his throat had strangely gone dry as well.

Crawford didn't answer him with words, but he leaned in for a kiss, pressing his soft lips against Schuldig's, making the telepath reel and shut his eyes. Schuldig felt like such a girl for thinking it, but he could have fainted right then and there. Reality was just too much.

And then the kiss had ended and Crawford was calling to him, the words sounding foggy in his ears.

"Mm…Crawford…" Schuldig smirked softly and opened his eyes, but groaned loudly as he was hit by a blinding light. "Argh…you need more romantic lighting, Bradley."

"Take it up with the sun, Schuldig," Crawford answered. "It's time to get up."

"Get up?" Schuldig said in confusion, still trying to get adjusted to the light. "Wait, SUNLIGHT!?" He suddenly became quite panicked. Hadn't it just been night?

Realization hit him like a ton of bricks. It was morning. He was not actually standing anymore, but was lying on a mattress. That fact became blatantly obvious when he felt his body dip to the right as Crawford got off the bed. Crawford's bed. The sheets weren't soft enough to be Schuldig's, and when he sat up and finally regained clear vision, he saw the rest of Crawford's room, that same as it had been the night before.

Schuldig wanted to cry. It was still supposed to be the night before. What had happened?

"If I had known I could have subdued you with a single kiss, Schuldig, I would have done it much sooner."

Crawford smirked at the redhead's lost face as he walked around to his dresser to get a change of clothes. He was now dressed in dark sleeping pants and a t-shirt. It made Schuldig want to blubber all the more. He'd missed the wardrobe change.

"What happened?" Schuldig asked in a pathetic voice, dreading the answer.

Crawford turned and gave him the most dreadful smile he'd ever seen the American make. It was the look of pure sadistic joy. It was the look of Farfarello. And it sent a chill down the telepath's spine.

"I kissed you," Crawford said, unable to hide the amusement in his voice, "And you fainted."

"I what?" Schuldig whined, close to depressed tears.

"You heard me," Crawford turned back to his drawers and picked out some fresh undergarments, "And I was going to let you fuck me too. What a shame you couldn't stay awake."

"What?" It was nothing more than a whimper.

Crawford didn't bother repeating himself. "Get up and get dressed, Schuldig. I want you out of my bed so I can change the sheets." He walked over to the closet and grabbed a clean suit and headed for the door. "You better be gone by the time I get out of the shower. I already did you a kindness by letting you stay in my bed with me last night. I won't have you sleep in while in it either."

Crawford left. And Schuldig cried. He had been so close. So close.

He had fainted.