Weiß (Grau)

Schuldig loved his little toy’s eyes. They were just so big--so wide and almost innocent. They moved constantly, darting back and forth as he drank in his surroundings with a natural, eager curiosity.

Schuldig loved to make those eyes open up wide and defenseless and absolutely beautiful. Ken was like a deer caught in the path of an oncoming car, his eyes reflecting back the glow of the headlights. Ken was so beautiful like that--trapped, helpless.

It was that open, vulnerable beauty that drove Schuldig on; the need to feel it, to own it--to control it. That moment when he had Ken beneath him--begging for release and mercy, eyes spilling over with tears of shame even as his body told Schuldig that he wanted it just as much, just as hard--that was the moment he worked for. It was his high, and Ken was his drug.

Just thinking about it made him feel the ghost sensations of hands and tongue and flesh until he thought he couldn't take it--wouldn't make it until he could get away and see the Weiß again. The only thing he wanted was to go to that brown-eyed boy and jump on him and strip him bare and throw him on the ground and pin him to the floor and fuck him dry and devour him, chew him up, rip him up with his hands and teeth. And all the while those eyes would stare at him and plead and cry and that soft pink curve of mouth would twist and scream and beg in the most beautiful voice that no angel ever had.

Having had Ken only the night before—flesh darkened by shadows and slick with sweat, spread out on the expensive upholstery of the Mercedes—only made him more crazy instead of sating the need in him. And lieb Gott, the confusion, fear and remorse that screamed in the boy’s mind was such a sweet psychic morsel. The little pretty just withered under his condescending glare when Schuldig scolded him.

Oh but it was fun to torment his klein Weiß. Fun to watch him squirm under a hard glare, to threaten and always, always keep Ken aware of the power Schuldig had over him. The power to tear his life open, reveal his friends and fellow assassins, expose his secrets. Schuldig could remind Ken with a glance that he knew where they lived, what they did, when they moved, and yet the Weiß did nothing about it—did not tell his teammates—because they were fucking. No reason more complicated than that.

Ken writhed equally under Schuldig’s hands and eyes, and for the Schwarz it was all wonderful play—A game to which only Schuldig knew all of the rules.

Schuldig would never tell, though. Never tell Ken that he was only playing; that he would never betray his little assassin. Not and deprive himself of that beautiful, fragile hurt in Ken's eyes. It only made it sweeter when he had that hot, perfect body naked under him to know that Ken gave in and submitted to a man that held his life in one hand.

They had one target that had been evading all of Omi’s best attempts at tracking for almost a month. The target was a small group of hackers that murdered wealthy men and women and then stole their identities to commit financial crimes. They were hard to find because they did most of their thievery online and, according to Omi, used advanced software that kept even the young computer genius from tracing their movements.

Then one night Omi shouted and Aya went to see what the noise was about. Soon Aya appeared in Ken’s doorway, already dressed in his long, black trench coat, and told him that Omi had tracked the hackers’ movements. They were at that moment holed up somewhere in a large skyscraper in Tokyo, using one of the many computer bays in the building. Quickly, Omi shouted as he ran down the hallway past Aya, they had to get there and work quickly. These hackers worked fast and then packed up and disappeared, never to return to the same computer. It was a “now or never” situation. Ken dressed fast and soon Aya was taking turns on two wheels, speeding through the city.

Once there they moved rapidly. Aya and Omi headed for one likely floor, sent Yohji towards another one and sent Ken to yet another. They split up and merged with the shadows.

Ken was up high, on the forty-sixth floor, and all alone there. He could sense it as soon as he stepped out of the stairwell; the hackers were not on this floor. Still, he walked softly around the square-shaped hallway which wrapped around the floor. As he had expected, there were no hackers or even businessmen pulling late hours to be found. He headed back towards the stairwell; Omi had assigned him another floor to search before he checked in with the others.

He spun as he heard the slight noise of a small movement behind him. He spun, crouched and drew his claws, squinting into the shadows of a large office. Then he straightened and walked into the room carefully checking around him, but he still was not ready to see Schuldig standing by the window, illuminated only by the pale light of the crescent moon.

Their eyes met and locked for a long moment. Then, Schuldig moved and took a step towards Ken. The mood of the room shifted, the danger Ken was anticipating became that of a different kind. He retracted his claws but remained tense.

“These guys finance some of Schwarz’s more unorthodox projects?” Ken asked coolly, throwing a glance at the door in case one of Schuldig’s teammates were creeping around.

Schuldig gave a half-smile and walked over to close the door.

“Don’t worry. There’s just me. I came looking for you.”

Ken’s lips tightened in fear and apprehension. Was he telling the truth; was Schuldig alone? Or was he distracting Ken from helping his friends who could even now be battling Weiß’s negative image on another floor? Was this a trap, were the hackers even here? Did Schuldig really come here in search of Ken, or was he in league with the target?

“Mein klein hübsch,” Schuldig said in mock scolding tones. “You doubt me so!”

Ken swallowed through a tight throat and opened his mouth to speak but Schuldig was so damn much faster than he and as soon as his pale hand touched Ken’s throat, the Weiß lost all thoughts of missions and became focused on a different, more immediate and much more enjoyable kind of danger.

They kissed as if they would devour one another, the experience as painful as it was intense. They bit at each other’s lips and tongues even as they worked to draw one another’s souls out through their mouths.

With one dizzying touch of his mind, Schuldig whispered to Ken, I always lose myself in your kisses, klein ein.

Soon, Schuldig was working blindly at Ken’s belt without taking his lips away from Ken’s mouth. Then Schuldig’s knuckles were brushing the bare skin of his hips, and the red-haired man tugged Ken’s underwear and jeans down to his knees. Ken clumsily tried to reach down—lifting one leg—and pull his jeans and boxers down over his boots. Schuldig chuckled into Ken’s mouth and stepped back while Ken stripped them off.

Then Schuldig pushed Ken roughly back onto the desk. Ken fell back, off balance, and put his arms behind him to steady himself. Then Schuldig grabbed his left knee and lifted his leg up over his shoulder. Ken fell back but managed to get his elbows out to support his weight. Schuldig stroked the flesh of Ken’s inner thigh where it met the Schwarz’s chest, while, with his other hand, he undid his own belt and zipper and pulled out his straining erection. Ken shivered and then cried out as Schuldig thrust his hips forward and entered him all at once, not giving him a moment to get used to the size of him. Ken cried out again at the friction as Schuldig began to move, but even as it hurt him, the tip of Schuldig’s cock hit deep inside his tight channel and triggered that one spot that made him jump and thrust his hips up involuntarily with the sudden shock of sensation.

“God,” he moaned, then let out another long moan that contained no words. The pain of the way Schuldig so roughly took him only added to Ken’s pleasure. There was fire deep within his belly, his balls seized up and his cock lifted itself erect in the V of space between their stomachs.

Schuldig stroked him once but then fastened both his hands around Ken’s hips in an iron grip. He worked his hips like a piston, shoving Ken down as he pulled out and then pulling Ken’s hips up when he pushed himself back in.

Ken let himself go and moaned again and again, each of Schuldig’s thrusts pummeling his g-spot even as his twisted psyche got off on the pain of each unlubricated thrust.

Suddenly his earpiece crackled. Aya’s voice hissed over the line, calling Ken and Yohji down to the twenty-sixth floor. They had found the hackers; there were only six of them, but they were armed; help was both requested and demanded.

Ken reached up with a fumbling hand and tugged the piece out of his ear, not watching it drop to the floor, but hearing the slight noise as it did.

Schuldig laughed breathlessly, moving his right hand from Ken’s hip to wrap it around the leg that was hooked over his shoulder. He dug his nails into Ken’s leg and then turned to bite at the soft flesh of his inner thigh. Ken winced and let his head fall back, exposing the arch of his bare throat, his elbows holding up all the weight of his sagging upper body.

There was pain after the pleasure of the orgasm faded, and he bled a little. He pulled on his clothes, not looking at Schuldig—not wanting to see the lazy, smug, pleasured way the Schwarz moved.

“What are you going to tell your teammates, my little pretty?” Schuldig asked with a smirk that seeped into his tone.

Ken bent and picked up his earpiece from the floor and put it back in. Immediately, he heard Omi calling his name, saying they were fine, they got the targets, all of them, and was he okay? Where was he?

“It wasn’t working,” Ken said with a shrug as he moved to the door of the office, ready to leave. He knew he would not be so lucky as to be allowed to slink away without enduring Schuldig’s gloating.

“How lovely it is for me,” the German said, “that you risk the lives of your friends to stay here with me. I see the blood in your thoughts, Ken, and you know that I would kill you if I had to. Yet you stay with me—under me—” the Schwarz chuckled, “when your teammates cry for your help.”

They could handle six guys without me, Ken thought even as other, better arguments popped into his head, but he knew it was all rationalization. They both knew why he had stayed.

“Would you really?” Ken asked, his hand on the door knob, his back to Schuldig. “Would you really kill me, if it came down to that?”

He waited for an answer. Then, receiving none, he turned. The room was empty. One long, wide panel of glass in the row of windows on the wall opposite the door was open. A cool breeze blew in. Outside he saw the tip of a rope dangling for a moment before it was yanked up out of sight. He turned around again and hurried out of the office, already lifting a small communicator to his mouth and hailing his teammates.

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