Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2764919.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Weiß_Kreuz
  Relationship:
      Naoe_Nagi/Schuldig, Brad_Crawford/Naoe_Nagi
  Additional Tags:
      Crossdressing, Violence
  Stats:
      Published: 2005-12-13 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 1922
****** Body and Blood ******
by emungere
Summary
     Crawford had no idea why Nagi had chosen to wear the uniform, but it
     was certainly effective. The plaid skirt was just short enough, and
     the bow tied around his hair like a headband was sheer genius.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Crawford sat in the car across the street from the target's building. On his
laptop screen were the images from three security cameras. On the first, Nagi
entered the lobby and stopped to speak to the security guards.
Crawford had no idea why Nagi had chosen to wear the uniform, but it was
certainly effective. The plaid skirt was just short enough, and the bow tied
around his hair like a headband was sheer genius.
He walked past the security guards, who apparently accepted his explanation
that he was here to visit his uncle without a second thought. Although, from
the way their eyes lingered, it was possible they were working with a different
definition of "uncle" than the one Nagi had intended.
On the elevator camera feed, Crawford saw Nagi methodically remove his gun from
its thigh holster, check the clip, and return it. Every time, without fail, he
checked. Crawford had never seen him actually use it, but had no doubt his aim
would be true.
The next camera showed the target in his office, hunched over his computer. It
was only seconds before Nagi stepped into the room.
There was no sound, of course, but it was easy to guess at their conversation.
The target didn't want to give up the information they needed. Nagi insisted.
Crawford watched the man's fingers bend back and break, one by one. Then his
arm. He was stubborn. There was blood spattered across his face and the
computer monitor by the time he talked. Nagi had to lean close; it must've been
hard to understand him by that point.
Nagi listened, nodded, snapped the target's neck cleanly, and pushed him out of
the chair. One or two typed commands ensured the necessary files were deleted
and overwritten.
A few minutes later, Nagi left the building with an almost cheerful wave to the
guards, and Crawford released the security cameras from their loop of empty
elevator and target hard at work. There would be suspicions, of course, about
the schoolgirl and perhaps even about Crawford's car parked outside during the
job. But nothing provable.
Nagi got in the car and ripped off the bow. "I am never wearing this again," he
said. His tone suggested this was not just a protest, as it would have been
from Schuldig, but a rock-solid statement of fact.
Crawford glanced over and caught a streak of red, high up on Nagi's thigh,
nearly hidden by the skirt.
"Are you hurt?" It was a stupid question. He'd watched, from start to finish.
He knew Nagi was fine.
"What?"
"Your leg."
Nagi looked down. "It's his blood."
"Careless. One of the guards might have noticed."
"It was covered until I sat down, or I would've seen it."
Crawford looked away and pulled out into traffic. "The outfit was effective."
"Never. Again."
"Where did you get it?"
"Schuldig, of course." Crawford could almost hear the eye-roll that went with
that.
Then there was a pause that made him want to look over to see Nagi's face. Or
maybe to see that smear of blood, like an arrow on Nagi's pale skin. He kept
his eyes on the road.
"He said you'd like it," Nagi said, finally.
Crawford's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Did he."
Another pause. Nagi was looking at him now; he could feel it.
"He was right, wasn't he?" Nagi asked quietly.
Crawford pulled into the basement garage of Takatori's building and killed the
engine. He drew his handkerchief out of his suit pocket and turned toward Nagi,
sliding it up his bare thigh. The blood had dried and stuck to his skin.
Nagi parted his legs a very little; to aid in the cleaning, or in invitation.
Crawford swallowed heavily. If it was an invitation, it was not one he intended
to take. But there was something in the way the soft wool draped over the boy's
legs, in the way the shadows shifted to define the space between them.
Something that was an invitation in itself, to slide his hand higher into that
darkness, to see what, if anything, Nagi had chosen to wear underneath.
It was only curiosity, nothing more.
The blood came away in rust-colored flakes. Crawford rubbed harder, until the
skin around the stain reddened. If he bent down and wet it with his tongue, it
would come clean more easily. Instead, he set aside the handkerchief and
scratched softly at the flecks with his nails.
He was aware of Nagi breathing faster, of the quickened throb of blood through
his femoral artery, and was unsure when his own hand had crept so high. Under
the skirt. Inches away from satisfying his curiosity.
There was a time, not so long ago, when he wouldn't have had to wonder, when he
had to buy Nagi's underwear himself. Not just underwear. Socks, shoes, school
uniforms. At nine, Nagi had been so small that the saleswoman had assumed
Crawford was shopping for a much younger child.
If he could still believe that anything was intrinsically wrong, surely this
was it. Even if Nagi wanted it, and he almost certainly did, or Crawford would
be in some pain by now.
He withdrew his hand and dropped the handkerchief on Nagi's knee. "Get it
washed," he said.
Nagi watched him impassively as he got out of the car.
Schuldig's mental voice was amused. You're a coward, Bradley. And after I went
to all that trouble to set this up.
I neither need nor want your help, Crawford replied.
Fine. But remember this when he goes after someone even worse than you.
Crawford paused and looked back. Nagi was still sitting in the passenger's
seat, face blank, watching him.
It was tempting to look into the boy's future. Not only tempting, but the
practical thing to do; the correct course of action. But perhaps Schuldig was
right about his cowardice, because he was afraid of what he might see--afraid
that it might give him an excuse.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Nagi was still sitting in the car when Schuldig came down to find him.
Schuldig leaned down and propped his elbows on the edge of the half-open
window. "Gonna sulk in here all night, kid?"
I'm not sulking. I'm thinking.
Nagi was the only non-telepath Schuldig had ever met who actually preferred
telepathic conversations. It left Schuldig well disposed towards him, even
though he knew it was mostly because Nagi just didn't like to talk.
"Funny. Looks like sulking. But then it usually does on you."
Go away, Schuldig.
"You know, I could just stop monitoring you. You'd have to actually talk to
tell me to fuck off."
"Fuck off."
Schuldig opened the car door and hauled Nagi out. In the next second, he found
himself levitated and shoved backwards until his body hit the concrete wall.
His head bounced off it, and he winced, vision blurring.
When his head cleared, Nagi was standing in front of him. Their eyes were on a
level, and it took Schuldig a second to realize that Nagi was standing on thin
air, a few inches off the floor.
You said it would work.
Schuldig rubbed his head, squinting through eyes that still felt vaguely
unfocused.
"Not my fault you couldn't convince him."
Nagi neither said nor thought anything in reply, but he was radiating anger and
embarrassment--more than the constant, lowgrade I'm-a-broody-teenager cloud he
usually wore. The anger was currently beating out the embarrassment.
Calming people down was not, Schuldig knew, his strong suit. But he liked his
skull the shape it was.
"Look," he said quickly. "How was I supposed to know Crawford would have moral
qualms? I mean, come on."
"You're a telepath."
Schuldig wondered whether it was a good sign that Nagi was talking out loud or
a bad one. He probed Nagi's shields and got an invisible hand tightening around
his neck for his trouble.
"I can't know stuff he doesn't know himself!"
Nagi let him go abruptly, and he dropped to the ground, rubbing his throat.
"Jesus, kid. Take some goddamn Paxil and get yourself a real boyfriend,
girlfriend, canine companion, whatever the fuck, but--" He lurched to his feet
and drove his fist into Nagi's jaw with all the force of his upward motion.
"But don't ever fucking mess with me like that again and expect to live."
Nagi staggered back a step and wiped away the trickle of blood from his lip. He
nodded calmly, and his anger subsided to less dangerous levels.
Schuldig stood up straighter and brushed down his clothes. He leaned close and
nudged Nagi's hand away from his mouth, licked across the cut. This close, he
could feel the small spike of pain like it was his own.
Dark eyes watched him steadily, waiting.
Want to make him jealous? Schuldig asked.
He won't care.
But there was uncertainty in Nagi's answer, a small peak of hope that felt not
unlike the earlier pain.
I can show him what we're doing, Schuldig told him. You honestly think he won't
care if he sees that?
Schuldig felt the small click of acceptance, thoughts and feelings sliding into
the correct shape, the shape he'd been pushing towards. He didn't wait for Nagi
to say it, just grabbed his wrist and towed him along.
When they reached the apartment and passed Crawford's open office door, there
was the expected surge of outrage.
You lost your chance, Brad. Sit down and shut up.
This was obviously Schuldig's day, because Crawford did, all the anger slowly
leaking out of him. Schuldig could barely feel it at all by the time he had
Nagi underneath him on the bed.
His hands popped open buttons on automatic while his mind reached for
Crawford's. No words, just an invitation, a few images. He couldn't force this
connection, not without consequences he wasn't willing to face, but he didn't
think he'd have to.
At first, Crawford refused, wordless, indignant. Schuldig showed him Nagi's
face as Schuldig stroked his cock; lips parted, still faintly sheened with lip
gloss, eyes closed. Crawford's fading determination felt almost as good as
Nagi's physical pleasure. He'd never seen Crawford weak before.
He knelt between Nagi's legs, pushed his shirt open, pushed his skirt up. No
underwear, he told Crawford. See? I was trying to make it easy for you. Nagi
gasped and bucked into his hand, and he could feel Crawford's reaction.
Nagi, on the other hand, was entirely blocked. Schuldig was getting only basic
emotions; hope, anger, fear, all subsumed by desire. Only what leaked through
his shields, and his shields were like steel.
You're missing out, kid.
No response. He hadn't really expected one. That was fine. He had Crawford, and
Crawford was more than enough.
No one's ever done this to him before, he told Crawford, as he bent to take
Nagi's cock in his mouth. It could've been you.
There was a surge of furious desire that almost made Schuldig come in his
pants. He felt his mouth stretch in a fierce smile around Nagi's cock. There
were times when it was good to be what he was.
Nagi came fast, hard, without a sound. The second he was done, invisible hands
pushed Schuldig off the bed, steadily backwards, out into the hall. The door
locked with a click.
Crawford spoke over the connection still open between them, mental voice nearly
slurred with rage or lust, or both. Get in here. Now.
Schuldig smiled quietly to himself. Whatever you say, Brad. You're the boss.
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