Flying down the Tomei Expressway, doing a good 30 kilometers over the speed limit, Schuldig felt pleased with himself. Solo missions sucked—today’s was no exception—but he was making excellent time and he’d soon be home with the mission officially behind him.
The drive to Nagoya that morning had been hellishly dull, the wait for his target at Garden Pier’s aquarium even worse. It was hard to tune out all that environmentally friendly, educational bullshit the tour guides spouted in their chirpy voices. By the time the potential blackmailer showed—expecting to collect his first payment, the stupid bastard—Schuldig had been more than ready to lure him into the john and put three silenced bullets in his body. One in the head, two in the chest; lessons learned at Rosenkreuz tended to stick. He left the body where it fell, giving a mental push to find it to one of the doofus dads in ridiculous Bermuda shorts and knee socks that seemed to populate this place. Attempts to blackmail someone under Esset’s protection were hazardous to one’s health. The organization wanted that made clear. That was just fine as far as Schuldig was concerned; he wouldn’t have to worry about where to dispose of a body in an unfamiliar city.
Mission completed, he was going heavy on the gas of Crawford’s luxury sedan. Crawford wouldn’t like him speeding in his car, but, well, fuck him. Schuldig smirked insolently as he passed the marker declaring he was now 15 kilometers from Tokyo. He was looking forward to getting home and demanding compensation for a job well done.
Lost in a daydream, Schuldig didn’t register how much heavier the flow of traffic was becoming. He was driving on autopilot, failing to notice how his foot let up off the accelerator. He didn’t see the brake lights of the car in front of him until it was almost too late. Slamming on the brakes, he savored the jittery feel of the ABS hard at work, fine German engineering saving his ass.
After the adrenaline rush of nearly smashing up Crawford’s car passed, Schuldig took stock of the situation. Stationary cars were packed bumper-to-bumper in front of him as far as he could see. A growing line of vehicles stretched back in the rearview mirror. He skimmed across the thoughts coming from cars ahead of him like a rock over a pond, barely touching the surface before moving on. There was the problem, two kilometers up the road. He quickly disengaged from the minds that were witness to the six-car collision now blocking the westbound lanes of the expressway. Schuldig didn’t need a reminder of what had almost just happened to him.
He shifted uneasily in his seat. After last fall’s whole fever fiasco and the ensuing mindfuck, he’d had some difficulties getting his shields back up to 100%. He was pretty much back on top of his talent now, but situations like this tested his control. The frustrated thoughts of so many pissed-off motorists surrounded him. The weight of them pressing against his shields was palpable.
He put the car in park and looked to his right at the car idling next to him, checking out the gray, conservative-looking woman at its wheel. Sensing she was being watched, she turned and raked her eyes up and down Schuldig, a disdainful expression settling on her pinched features. He caught something in her surface thoughts about filthy gaijin. Bitch. He gave her his most predatory smile and licked his lips suggestively. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and turned her attention back to the car in front of hers.
Feeling antsy, Schuldig tried to amuse himself by changing all of the presets on Crawford’s satellite radio to the most saccharine j-pop he could find. When that task was completed, he settled on a station playing industrial music. He leaned back against the plump headrest, focusing on the crunchy guitar and heavy electronic beat. Mm, nice, just the right mix of a funky, danceable bass line tempered with dark and disturbing riffs. Something about the drive of this stuff always reminded him of fucking.
Running a hand through his messy hair, Schuldig inhaled deeply. The sharp scent of Crawford’s very expensive cologne filled his nostrils. Shit. He was pretty far-gone when just the smell of the man made him half-hard. The explicit lyrics oozing out of the sound system like liquid sex didn’t hurt either.
Well, he wasn’t too far from Tokyo. Delicately, he stretched out his talent, searching for the distinctive buzz of concentration that was the mental signature of Schwartz’s leader.
/Schuldig, what’s wrong?/
Schuldig cringed at how uptight the man felt over the link, even with Crawford shielding most of his thoughts. /Nothing’s wrong, just gonna be stuck in traffic for a while./
/Completed. No complications./ He rolled his eyes. He knew Crawford’s machinations had them balanced on a knife-edge and they couldn’t afford to fuck up a mission and draw attention to themselves, but sometimes Crawford’s obsession with fronting the picture-perfect team rankled. /Whacha doin?/
Nobody fetched an irritated mental sigh quite like Brad Crawford. /Working, Schuldig. What else would I be doing?/
/Well, I can think of something a lot more fun you could be doing…./
/No,/ he snapped. /I’m busy./
/Awww, Brad, come on. I’m bored./
/Forget it. I don’t have time to play your silly little games./
Feeling a little stung, Schuldig pretended like he hadn’t heard that. /I’m bored, I’m lonely, and I just executed a solo mission exactly to specs./
/Christ, Schuldig, you sound like a child. What, do you want a cookie when you get back?/
/Hmm, I can think of something else I’d much rather munch on./
Schuldig could feel Crawford fighting not to let his amusement register over their link. Getting warmer, then.
/Look, if you want any hope of me coming to bed tonight, you need to leave me alone now so I can get the planning done for our next mission./
/Nope, not happening. I think you need a break. Have I told you before how much I love this satellite radio shit?/
/Dammit Schuldig, I don’t care! Leave me alone and let me do some work./
/Wanna know what I’m listening to right now?/ Schuldig sent the pounding rhythm over their link, adding with it the thought of Crawford pumping into his ass in time with the beat.
/Schuldig…./ Crawford sent out a mental growl, but it held more heat than anger.
/Come on, Brad. Let me in./ He pushed a little at those infernal shields. /I want to be inside of you./
/Fuck…Schuldig…./ Giving up the fight with weary resignation, Crawford dropped his shields entirely. /Bastard./
Schuldig never took for granted the privilege of unfettered access to Crawford’s mind. The man was fucking brilliant, the tight and intricate weave of his thoughts singularly stunning. His ability to nearly effortlessly drop into total mental stillness was both exhilarating and terrifying. This place was cold, clean, beautiful. Schuldig was tempted to explore all the corridors of Crawford’s mind with their mirror-bright machinery, but knew if he started now they could both be lost for hours. He firmly reminded himself he was here to fuck.
Knowing that Crawford was particularly affected by visual imagery, Schuldig formed the best mental picture he could to get things started. He imagined himself naked, crouched on all fours over Crawford, who was also naked and lying on his stomach, legs spread wide to either side. He pictured the way his long orange-red strands of hair would shift over his shoulder blades as his head moved in gentle circles, his tongue slowly sliding around Crawford’s tight hole. He formed an image of how the muscles of his own ass would look, clenching as he shifted his pelvis in tandem to the movements of his tongue.
/I don’t think your ass is quite that firm, Schuldig,/ Crawford commented dryly, but now that his shields were down, the telepath could feel how much the image was turning him on.
/You know you love my body,/ Schuldig answered. He shifted on the seat, squirming out of his long green jacket and draping it over his lap.
/Mmm,/ Crawford replied noncommittally. /Are you hard?/ Over the link, Schuldig felt him back away from his desk and slowly move his hand up and down the length of his thigh.
/Yesss,/ he hissed, sliding down the leather upholstery as he spread his legs apart as much as the confined space would allow.
/Can you feel how hard I am?/ Crawford shifted the hand on his thigh up to firmly grip his sturdy erection through his pants. His other hand deftly undid a shirt button so that it could slip inside and pinch a nipple.
/Oh, fuck yes!/ Schuldig snaked his hand under the jacket and began to rub the bulge in his own pants.
/Are you touching yourself?/
/Is your cock out?/
/Pull it out. Show me./
Schuldig reluctantly let go of himself so that he could pull his zipper down. His erection sprang out of the opening, still covered by the jacket. Schuldig licked his palm and gave himself a few lazy strokes, using his thumb to spread pre-cum around the head. Keeping one hand wrapped firmly around the base, he lifted his jacket enough to catch a glimpse of his sloppy cock. Satisfied with the image, he shared it with Crawford.
/Mmm, yeah./ Crawford undid his own pants and fished his dick out of the slit of his boxers. Free to enjoy himself more in the relative privacy of his own office, he used both hands to slip loose a few more buttons on his shirt, exposing more of his chest. Through the link, Schuldig felt him run teasing fingertips over sensitive stomach muscles. One hand moved up, tracing a languid figure eight pattern around his nipples, while the other drifted down, palming the head of his cock.
/Jesus, Brad, do you know how hot that is?/ Schuldig began to pump his own cock, focusing his energies on the shaft so that the sensations did not become too intense.
Crawford took himself firmly in hand and started a no-nonsense rhythm, stroking up from root to tip and back down again. /Touch your balls./
Schuldig did as he was told, sneaking a second had under his jacket to unfasten the top button on his pants, making a larger opening to work with. He reached in and cupped the tight sac, sliding the thumb of his other hand over the tip of his seeping cock in little circles. /Tell me…what you’re going to do…when I get home, Brad./
Crawford’s breathing was fast and heavy, his mental voice reflecting the physical excitement, /Nothing, brat. I’m…oh fuck…going to be…working./
/I’m going to…come home,/ Schuldig began, teasing his balls as he upped the tempo of his strokes, /and go straight into…huhn…your office…get down on my knees…and suck you dry./
Schuldig felt Crawford begin to thrust his hips as his hand settled into a punishing pace. /Oh God…shit!/
Then Schuldig felt something from Crawford he’d never experienced before. It started as a tickle, just a drop in the bucket of shared sensations. Then, the vision slammed into him, startling in its intensity and clarity.
Crawford, perched atop his desk, resting back on his elbows, ass near the edge, bare feet planted firmly on the wood. Schuldig, face buried in Crawford’s crotch, sucking him down, slick fingers pounding furiously into the American’s ass.
/Oh…oh fuck!/ Schuldig’s toes curled as the vivid image sent him over the edge. He flung his head back, coming hard.
Crawford wasn’t far behind, spurting into his hand as Schuldig’s already spent cock helplessly shuddered again in response.
Crawford kept his shields down as both men caught their breath. However, once the afterglow died down and they each had collected themselves a bit, Schuldig found himself shoved out of Crawford’s mind, access again limited to only those thoughts Crawford wanted heard.
/Well, I guess I wasn’t quite right,/ Schuldig thought. He put himself back in his pants and zipped his fly. Pushing back up from his slouch, he looked to the car next to his and saw the bitchy Japanese woman was gaping at him, pale-faced and open-mouthed. He blew her a kiss.
/I thought I was going to blow you while you sat in your chair./ Looking ahead, he saw that cars were beginning to move. He put Crawford’s car in drive. /Traffic’s breaking up. I should be back soon./
Schuldig grinned, confident that Crawford was as eager to make that vision come to pass as he was. /Ja, I will,/ he thought, preparing to sever the link so he could concentrate on driving.
/And Schuldig,/ Crawford piped in, /if there’s cum on my upholstery, I’m going to kill you./