kinkfest | Weiss Kreuz (Farfarello/Schuldig)

Title: Balancing Act
Author/Artist: Laylah
Rating: R
Warnings: violence and sacrilege -- nothing out of the ordinary for the characters, I suppose.
Word count: 609
Summary: "Not yet," Schuldig murmurs, for what he swears is the tenth time.

"Now?" Farfarello says again, his voice low, his impatience pulling at the edges of Schuldig's mind like the grasping legs of an insect.

"Not yet," Schuldig murmurs, for what he swears is the tenth time. Farfarello has been edgy, brittle, barely-leashed since they arrived at Our Lady of Mercy half an hour ago. When it comes time to carry out the mission, Schuldig is sure it'll be useful, but right now it's distracting. He peers out through the crack in the confessional's paneling, watching the parishioners file in and fill the pews.

"I want to do it now," Farfarello mutters.

Schuldig sighs, and tries to stifle the sound. They're not just trying to kill the commissioner here. They want it to be a big ugly scene, a real statement. They have to wait. "Hush," he says. The sound of the organ, the hymn to open the service, covers their voices for the moment.

Farfarello looks over at him, lips curling in amusement. "Hush, my lovely," he whispers. His knives shine in the low light as he toys with them.

What? Schuldig lets himself into Farfarello's head, skimming along the surface, trying not to get drawn in too deep, where the oil-slick scatter of fleeting thought turns to the heavy, sticky mire of persecution -- not now; he's the one with the detonator for a reason. Ah. There it is: a fairy tale, half-remembered, something about a girl hiding in the dark while monsters prowled through the house.

"Hush, my lovely," Schuldig repeats. The story is a rotten match. The monsters are the ones hiding, this time. "Hush your tongue." He slips his fingers into Farfarello's mouth, strokes the wet-starfish texture of his tongue.

Farfarello hums softly, and leans against him, putting one of the knives away and reaching down instead to palm Schuldig's cock through his trousers. It's a distraction, for both of them, something to think about instead of the goddamn preaching. The timing's key, here, so it's a balancing act, keeping track of how edgy Farfarello's feeling and how far along the service has gotten, reacting enough but not too much. They aren't going to get the chance to finish before the mission gets going, but that's okay -- Schuldig knows he fights meaner when needs to get off, and he'd bet he's not the only one. Once, Farfarello squeezes, and Schuldig hisses before he can stop himself -- and there's a shifting sound from outside, creaking on the pews, like someone's turning to look. Schuldig bites Farfarello's shoulder as a warning. Farfarello licks his fingers.

Finally, finally, the mass moves on to the communion, dumpy pathetic humans shuffling up to the altar for their dry crackers and cheap wine. Schuldig slides the detonator out of his pocket, watches the procession. Beside him, he feels Farfarello come alert -- when had he relaxed so much? It's like the hum of high-voltage power rising now. In another minute their target should be -- yeah, there he is, filing up to the front now. Schuldig slips his fingers out of Farfarello's mouth before he gets bitten, and Farfarello lets go of his cock.

"Ready?" Schuldig breathes, totally unnecessary, as the commissioner kneels. He thumbs the button on the detonator, pushes, and the bomb they planted under the altar goes off with a shuddering roar.

Farfarello goes straight through the latticed confessional door like an attack dog coming off the leash, into the chaos and the screaming. Schuldig leans against the wall to watch him work. It's worth the effort of setting all the pieces up just so, to get to see them all come crashing down at once.