“I’ll show you sometime,” Crawford said, and patted the bed. Schuldig didn’t move. “I’d rather not show you tonight.” Crawford laughed and the sound broke Schuldig’s blank stare and forced his feet into motion. Stumbling over his pants, abandoning them along the way, he threw himself onto the bed like an over-anxious puppy.
“How? I mean you don’t have to show me tonight, but who taught you?”
“Do you want to fuck or talk, or both? Wait – don’t answer, my memories too long.” Crawford had sense enough to realize they’d be locked in this neutral state of anticipation until he gave some answer. “The categories and the various levels came naturally. They taught me to organize the walls, same as they taught you, but I never let them know there was a basement, a hidden room.”
Schuldig straddled him and started to work again on his shirt. “So no one knows?”
“Leave this on,” Crawford tugged the sleeve of Schuldig’s own shirt. “Just you.”
“They can’t hear us here, can they?”
“The terrain doesn’t offer any obstacles, but it’s too remote and our job here is too small for them to have any need to monitor our actions. And we’ve proven ourselves; they’re not watching you like they were last year.”
“Why me?” Schuldig leaned down for a kiss that went on a little too long before he drew back to hear Crawford’s answer. He also hoped the quality of the kiss would improve the quality of the response.
Crawford searched his face again, deliberated, considered, for so long that Schuldig was certain the answer would be profound, complete. Instead, Crawford said, “I have no idea.” And flipped Schuldig onto his back. Before Schuldig could waste time with another unanswerable question, “I think you have an uncategorized talent for wasting time,” Crawford said and bit Schuldig’s mouth lightly before getting mixed up in the same too-slow kisses as before.
Schuldig slid into Crawford’s perfect quiet, and he remained there as Crawford played his desires, weary of pushing any thoughts into that white room, the time wasn’t right, not yet. He was still a visitor in that strange place and he wanted to know it well before he made us of it.
Crawford’s thoroughness, his carefulness, was no longer surprising; they were stuck together now, like it or not. They couldn’t get away from each other alive, not with their shared knowledge, because Crawford’s silence revealed Schuldig’s questions and neither trait was beneficial to their employers.
Crawford’s slick fingers sought out and Schuldig’s body took. When they finally got around to the actual fucking, it was like an afterthought of an already realized goal.
no subject
“I’ll show you sometime,” Crawford said, and patted the bed. Schuldig didn’t move. “I’d rather not show you tonight.” Crawford laughed and the sound broke Schuldig’s blank stare and forced his feet into motion. Stumbling over his pants, abandoning them along the way, he threw himself onto the bed like an over-anxious puppy.
“How? I mean you don’t have to show me tonight, but who taught you?”
“Do you want to fuck or talk, or both? Wait – don’t answer, my memories too long.” Crawford had sense enough to realize they’d be locked in this neutral state of anticipation until he gave some answer. “The categories and the various levels came naturally. They taught me to organize the walls, same as they taught you, but I never let them know there was a basement, a hidden room.”
Schuldig straddled him and started to work again on his shirt. “So no one knows?”
“Leave this on,” Crawford tugged the sleeve of Schuldig’s own shirt. “Just you.”
“They can’t hear us here, can they?”
“The terrain doesn’t offer any obstacles, but it’s too remote and our job here is too small for them to have any need to monitor our actions. And we’ve proven ourselves; they’re not watching you like they were last year.”
“Why me?” Schuldig leaned down for a kiss that went on a little too long before he drew back to hear Crawford’s answer. He also hoped the quality of the kiss would improve the quality of the response.
Crawford searched his face again, deliberated, considered, for so long that Schuldig was certain the answer would be profound, complete. Instead, Crawford said, “I have no idea.” And flipped Schuldig onto his back. Before Schuldig could waste time with another unanswerable question, “I think you have an uncategorized talent for wasting time,” Crawford said and bit Schuldig’s mouth lightly before getting mixed up in the same too-slow kisses as before.
Schuldig slid into Crawford’s perfect quiet, and he remained there as Crawford played his desires, weary of pushing any thoughts into that white room, the time wasn’t right, not yet. He was still a visitor in that strange place and he wanted to know it well before he made us of it.
Crawford’s thoroughness, his carefulness, was no longer surprising; they were stuck together now, like it or not. They couldn’t get away from each other alive, not with their shared knowledge, because Crawford’s silence revealed Schuldig’s questions and neither trait was beneficial to their employers.
Crawford’s slick fingers sought out and Schuldig’s body took. When they finally got around to the actual fucking, it was like an afterthought of an already realized goal.
“What now?”
“We’ll figure it out as we go.”