kinkfest | Elusive [Weiss Kreuz, Crawford/Schuldig, PG]

Title- Elusive
Author-

fireun
Rating- PG
Prompt-Weiss Kreuz, Crawford/Schuldig: worry - and some days it feels like nothing that always used to feel like plenty
A/N- late, late, late. Sorry!

He was stretched too thin, a personality that filled any room now just ghosted around the edges. It was apparent in the little things, the way complaints weren’t as creative, insults less than scathing, and it was possible to forget he was there.

Crawford glanced over, making sure Schuldig was still where he had settled, perched sideways in the worn recliner he refused to replace, head on one armrest, legs dangling off the other. A cat-quick brush of telepathy acknowledged his interest, leaving impressions of equal parts scorn and amusement along the its path. Schuldig pointedly refused to meet Crawford’s eyes, refused to acknowledge the irritating bit of worry that hovered behind Crawford’s eyes.

It had become part of the morning ritual. Crawford would settle with the paper while Schuldig brewed coffee, and where the silence had usually been filled with the sounds of Schuldig disapproving of the morning- gripes and taunts and an abject desperation for caffeine- there were battered hints of normalcy. Something would occur to Schuldig, instigating a chuckle, and telepathy would snake its way through Crawford’s attempt to read until Crawford gave in.

“What?”

“The neighbor kid just found his father’s porn on the computer. Kid is getting a lot of learning this morning.” Schuldig laughed, his eyes focused elsewhere as he poured too much coffee into his cup, ignored the mess, and joined Crawford at the table.

A part of Crawford still resisted the emotion, the strictly unprofessional concern that had corrupted his interaction with the telepath. To acknowledge that concern would be to acknowledge its source, born of rough kisses, wandering hands, and intimate glances. To be concerned would be to admit he had something invested in Schuldig’s wellbeing, and that was an illogical decision. Investing anything in such a chaotic, unstable element as Schuldig…

Schuldig looked up with a smirk, his eyes focused on Crawford’s face for the first time that morning. It was a sharp, vicious expression, one that made Crawford’s pulse thunder along with something delightfully close to expectation. All of the devious viciousness of the world glittered in pale eyes before the moment passed and vagueness clouded the expression. “Don’t worry so much, Crawford. The Devil takes care of his own in the end.”

Desire was his damnation. Crawford folded his paper, stood, and leaned across the small kitchen table to drag a slow kiss across Schuldig’s lips. The contact was a focal point, allowed Schuldig to pull himself back together, and for one long moment of lip, tooth, and tongue, eyes open and challenging, it was everything they both needed.

In the next heartbeat, Schuldig’s telepathy unfurled, tasting and testing the city around him, drawn back out in endless exploration and Crawford returned to his paper and pretended he couldn’t feel Schuldig slipping away.