"I hate you," he hissed, so softly that he was barely heard.

"No, you don't," the other replied, voice strong and condescending.

"I do, I--I d-do." The first one moaned and stuttered and gasped as his face was accidentally shoved into the vinyl upholstery of the seat.

The other laughed, still so superior. He gripped the handle on the door for better leverage and pressed his face against that of the man beneath him. "You couldn't hate me if you tried."

The man pinned beneath him could only moan in response, twisting frantically as pressure built inside him and he neared climax. Fingers brushed his groin and stomach as they stroked him, gently, gently...the only gentle part of the man that seemed to be punishing him with every thrust.

"Oh. Oh, God, Schuldig, please," he cried, pulling desperately at the scarf that bound his wrists to the handle on the door of the car.

"Shh," whispered the other, reaching up and covering his mouth. "Quiet." He pushed his lips against his willing captive's cheek, then slid them along the side of his face. He stiffened and his back arched as his lover came, clamping muscles and tightening around him. He could not hold on very long; he felt the growing heat and rushing pain-pleasure like vertigo, like falling in slow motion...and then he came, too, in a hot wrench, loving it and hating it because it was capitulation, giving in. He cried out, calling out his lover's name, and cursing it. "Nnh, fuck you, Ken. "

He collapsed onto the writhing, trapped body beneath him and reached up to take Ken's face in his hands.

You don't hate me. It's not me you hate, but yourself. He placed the words directly into Ken’s cringing brain, ignoring the deafening shockwave of horror as he made contact. He drew a deep breath, sucking in some of the warm, moist air that filled the car and made the windows fog and gave Ken his thoughts softly, like a silent whisper. You hate yourself for being weak--for letting me do this to you. He slid a hand down to fondle between Ken's legs, then reached up to tug on the scarf that held the younger man's hands tied above his head. For wanting me to.

Ken turned his face to the side and closed his eyes tight, whimpering softly in surrender. Schuldig smirked and nuzzled Ken's ear and jaw, brushing his lips lightly over the tender skin.

He lay there for a long moment, savoring the defeat he saw on Ken's face. Then, he sat up and grabbed his clothes from the floor of the car. He left Ken sprawled, naked and helpless, on the back seat while he pulled on his briefs and then his loose, khaki slacks. He'd left his white linen button-down shirt on, enjoying that small triumph over Ken--being at least partially clothed while the other was completely bare.

"So," Schuldig said, finally turning to Ken, who was still lying bunched up on the seat, too tall to stretch his legs out fully. He was staring up at Schuldig in mute supplication, soft brown eyes wide and pleading, ragged, chestnut hair in tangles around his face. "Should I untie you?" Schuldig asked, reaching out to run a finger over the diaphanous fabric of the scarf. "Should I let you go? Or should I keep you there--make you stay there while I drive us back into the city?"

He thought about it--driving through the crowded city streets while Ken lay stretched out and bound in the back--knowing that at any time someone could look into the car and see--

His throat tightened at the thought and he felt the warmth of arousal. He grinned at Ken's frightened expression, noting that the younger man's lips were parted and his chest rose and fell with quickened breath. Yes, fear--and lust.

Reaching forward, Schuldig chuckled and caressed Ken's cheek. "Ah, well. Perhaps another night, then." He worked out the knots on the scarf, pulling the loops of fabric until Ken was set free.

The skin on Ken's wrists was red and raw from his frantic pulling. Schuldig ran tender fingertips over the wounded flesh. He heard Ken's breath catch and looked down at his transfixed expression. Schuldig leaned down to place a soft kiss on his mouth before running his tongue over Ken's lips--lewd and wet. Then he laughed out loud and, not caring that Ken was still naked, sat up and threw open the door by his feet. He jumped out of the car and stepped away from it, pulling in a breath of cold, sharp air.

Behind him he heard quick, muffled sounds as Ken rushed to the door, reached out, and then slammed it shut. Schuldig laughed and looked back at the car, glancing only briefly at the fog-shrouded back window.

Allowing Ken the privacy to get dressed, Schuldig walked away from the car. He stopped about ten feet away and looked up at the white stars, gleaming like tiny puncture wounds in the black flesh of the sky.

He shivered and hugged his arms against his body. The sweat on his skin was drying quickly in the bitter winter wind and he was not wearing a coat. He strode back to the car and pounded on the window.

"Hurry up, Ken," he called, "it's rather freezing out here!"

Schuldig heard the click of the automatic lock and narrowed his eyes.

"Fine, but don't take your time. I'm turning into an icicle out here."

He stalked away from the car again.

"Can't believe the little baka locked me out," he mused, smiling a little. He shivered again and rubbed his hands over his arms, the fabric of his long-sleeved tailored shirt bunching under his fingers.

After another minute of thinking warm thoughts he heard a click as Ken unlocked the car and then the door opened. Without turning, Schuldig knew Ken was watching him but he kept staring up at the stars.

Warm, muscled arms slid around him and he felt the hardness of Ken's chest curl against his back. He leaned into Ken's body, resting in the embrace and letting the other man warm him.

"Did I hurt you?" Schuldig asked softly, reaching up to touch the wrists and hands that were on his chest.

"No, not really," Ken answered.

Schuldig frowned and tilted his head skeptically. "'Not really'?" he echoed, suddenly gentle and concerned.

Ken laughed. "Hardly at all." He dropped his face to Schuldig's neck and began placing small kisses along his throat.

"I don't mean to be so rough," Schuldig started to apologize but Ken hushed him.

"Shh," Ken whispered, then said lightly but truthfully, "Yes you do."

Schuldig sighed a little, then turned his head to capture Ken's lips. He lifted a hand to rest it along the other's jaw and deepened the kiss, parting his lips and then licking the seam of Ken's mouth. As he felt a warm response, the shy answering touch of Ken's tongue, Schuldig turned away from the kiss and ripped himself out of the embrace.

"Come on," he said curtly, already walking to the car. "It's late. We have to get back before we're missed."

Schuldig heard Ken sigh before following. He reached the driver's side and opened the door, looking briefly at Ken over the roof of the car before sliding in and slamming the door shut behind him. He started the car before Ken was even all the way in and stepped on the gas as soon as the passenger side door was closed.

They were both silent as Schuldig drove. Ken almost spoke a few times, but as soon as he opened his mouth his throat closed, choking him and paralyzing his vocal cords. He pressed his lips into a thin line, knowing that he shouldn't speak anyway; Schuldig hated it when he did. Schuldig liked the silence after sex—liked the sex to be noisy and messy and the time afterwards to be quiet and still—would get pissed if Ken interrupted it with his clumsy, mumbled remarks and insecure questions—and life was always just a little bit harder when Schuldig was angry.

Ken leaned his face against the cold window and sighed softly, his breath making a small cloud on the glass. Outside the car the open park land and forests gave way to businesses. Gradually the buildings grew closer together and then they were suddenly back in the city. Neon lights and high beams blurred in bright flashes, lines like pink and yellow lightning zigzagging past him.

Ah, he didn't even know what he would say to Schuldig right now if he could bring himself to speak. There were no words for what he was feeling, only half-sufficient terms and phrases that were like clips of emotions: ashamed and afraid; excited and still aroused; and tired. He rubbed at his sore wrists and looked down at the bands of red skin where the scarf had chafed him.

The shame lingered, even though he was free now. The memory of being trapped, pinned, helpless and naked and completely subject to Schuldig's will brought a hot flush to his cheeks. He closed his eyes tight against the burning behind his lids and tucked his chin. It was the same, always the same...the shame and the anger at his weakness. Schuldig was right, he did hate himself--for willingly becoming powerless and submitting completely--for wanting it that way. Every time, it was the same.

Schuldig was watching him. Ken sensed the other's eyes on him and looked over, meeting them for a moment before glancing away. Schuldig knew about Ken's ritual of shame and despised it, mocking him for yet another weakness.

"Know what you want, Ken," he snapped, never taking his eyes from the road. "And never regret getting it."

Ken sighed again and closed his eyes once more. He heard Schuldig's breath, shallow and quick with anger, and then the warmth of the other man's hand on his thigh. He stiffened slightly but then relaxed as Schuldig's fingers kneaded the tender flesh of his inner thigh through his jeans. Fingers flickered over his groin and he grimaced as he felt the answering warmth of arousal. One tear burnt its way past his closed lids and trailed down his cheek.

The hand left his thigh and then he felt a finger on his face. Surprised, he opened his eyes and looked over at Schuldig. The other man was taking his hand away from Ken's cheek with the tear glistening on the tip. He put it in his mouth, licking the moisture away and glaring at Ken sideways through his eyelashes. Ken cringed and stared back out his window again, fighting the blush that crept down his neck and across his face.

Schuldig drove as far as a block away from the building that Weiß was currently renting as a home. There he parked his sleek sports car on the side of the road and Ken grabbed the jacket he had left in the back seat and got out. He put on the jacket, tugging the cuffs down to cover his wrists, then waited for one apprehensive moment before Schuldig, too, got out of the car and came around to the sidewalk.

"Shall I walk you home, little one?" Schuldig asked in his low, smooth voice.

"No!" Ken said quickly, then cringed at how easily he had risen to Schuldig’s bait. He heard the other’s soft chuckle and looked away, shame burning his face.

"No?" Schuldig repeated mildly. "No, I must. I insist. This is such a dangerous neighborhood, after all, and I don’t trust my property to remain safe from the harassment of the common thugs and thieves that abound in a place like this."

Ken frowned and for a moment he thought Schuldig was talking about his car, but then he flushed and remembered that he was the property of his red-haired rival. He jumped at the touch on his left hip and turned in surprise to see Schuldig slipping an arm around Ken’s waist. Schuldig smiled slyly and walked on, pulling Ken with him.

"If you’re so worried about your property," Ken said, unable to help his snide tone, "then I wouldn’t think that you’d leave your car just sitting out on the street like that."

Schuldig cocked his head at Ken and lifted an eyebrow. Behind them, Ken heard the beep of a car alarm arming itself and fastened his gaze on the ground again. Schuldig laughed and reached up to gently caress Ken’s chin.

"I always hold onto what’s mine, little one. Always."

Ken swallowed and let the other guide him towards his home. His mind spun as the front door came in sight.

What would they say, your Weiß friends, if they saw this, hmm? Letting a foe see your home, your safety compromised, your cover blown, all for the sake of a good, hard fuck tied up in the back of your enemy’s Mercedes? A mental chuckle. Do they know about you, Ken? Do they know how you like it…rough?

Ken tensed and scowled. "You know I had nothing to do with you finding this place."

Schuldig laughed and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Perhaps."

They reached the front stoop to Ken’s house. Ken had the door unlocked and partway open before Schuldig tugged on his waist, forcing him to stop. Ken did not turn, though, he faced the house, one foot inside the shadowed foyer.

"Good night, Ken," Schuldig said, stepping in close to Ken and saying the words in a low voice.

Ken stiffened and stared at the darkness that filled his home. He felt Schuldig's hand on the small of his back, fingers rubbing him and flitting down to smooth over the curve of his ass.

"Good night," he gasped.

Schuldig chuckled and walked away. Ken sucked in a breath and then almost jumped into the house, closing the door loudly behind him.

"Hey, Ken!"

Ken's breath caught and he looked up. He had his bedroom door open and was about to lock himself inside when Omi approached enthusiastically from his own room.

"Hey, Ken, where the hell were you?" Omi asked amiably.

"I went for a drive," Ken said after a moment, blinking and wishing he had come up with an excuse that was not so close to the truth.

Omi pouted slightly. "Aw, I couldn't sleep, I was looking all over for you. Yohji’s in a coma, he kicked me out when I knocked on his door, and you know it’s pointless to go to Aya for anything unless you need someone skewered. I tried your room, but there was no answer."

"Well, n-no," Ken said, stuttering nervously. "I was out, driving around."

"On your bike?" Omi asked, and Ken bit his lip. He wondered if Omi had noticed that his bike was in the carport when he was nowhere to be found.

"Yeah," he said, taking the risk that Omi had not checked the garage to see if Ken had taken his cycle anywhere.

"Oh, okay," Omi said neutrally and Ken sighed a little.

"Yeah," Ken said, warming up to his story. "I was getting a little stir-crazy, you know, what with there not being any new clients lately and all, so I just had to get out of here for a while. I drove out to the park, that big one right on the edge of the city."

What had actually happened was Schuldig climbed the fire escape and knocked on Ken's window and commanded, "Come on, I want to fuck you in my car."

Ken kept the sleeves of his jacket pulled down to hide the raw, red flesh of his wrists. He had not pulled hard enough at the binding fabric of the scarf to cut himself, but the red marks would remain for a few days and there might even be some bruising. He did not want Omi or anyone else to see the marks because he did not have an explanation for them that he was willing to give. He was not clever enough to come up with a good lie explaining their existence and he certainly could never give the truth.

Sleeping with the enemy, oh yes, that would go over well. Ken could imagine the scene, trying to explain to his teammates how he could let himself become involved with one of Weiß’s most dangerous foes. Ken himself often wished he had the power of insight to look within and find the twisted, masochistic part of him that craved the perverse attentions of a man that would kill him in a second.

Or at least, would when he didn't have Ken naked and pinned between his thighs.

"I'm going to bed," Ken announced abruptly and gripped the edge of his room’s wooden door.

"Yeah, me too," Omi said with a resigned sigh. "Hopefully I will be able to sleep this time. Good night, Ken," he said with a smile.

"Night," Ken called over his shoulder as he walked into the blackness of his room. He shut the door behind him and leaned heavily against it. He slid his jacket off slowly, gingerly past his sore wrists and dropped it onto the floor.

***