Crush (Crawford/Schuldig Weiss Kreuz)
Feb. 11th, 2008 06:36 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kinkfestTitle: Crush
Author/Artist: D a.k.a.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wk_recomend
Rating: R
Warnings: Sex.
Word count: 2241
Prompt: Weiss Kreuz, Crawford/Schuldig: AU - Schuldig works at Japanese host club
Beta'd byaoeliveshere
Crush
Schuldig wriggled into a new pair of leather pants in time to the beat from the club proper. He swore that if the champagne stained his best pair he'd take it out of that bitch's bank account the next time she came by, by ordering bottle after bottle after bottle of only the best champagne whether she wanted it or not. He could easily get ¥4,000,000 out of her in one night; she was arrogant and petty in that way and he knew how to play her jealousy to maximize his profits. Maybe he'd get that guy who always said he was in love with him to come in and get into a bidding war for Schuldig's attention – whoever ordered the most amount of champagne would end up with Schuldig for the night. Oh yeah, that was the ticket, play them off of each other. Earn lots of money. Spend it on things.
He wrinkled his nose at his sodden pants and mourned for their potential loss. There was nothing to be done about them now, however; he'd just have to wait until he got home. And honestly, he'd be waiting until his next time off, since he'd merely fall into bed, asleep before he could bounce off of the mattress. At least his plan had the added advantage of pissing the bitch off royally, since she hated any reminder of the fact that he swung both ways; she thought that she could best the other women, but she couldn't compete with the men, and Schuldig suspected that she knew he leaned more toward the men.
He tossed his pants into his locker and swung his way out of the employee lounge and into the beating heart of the club. His eyes didn't have to adjust to the dim lighting and flashing neon; it was other types of lighting that he couldn't adjust to, having spent so much time in this club. He raised his hands, tossed his hair back and swayed his way back to the table and the bitch customer. At least until a hand touched his shoulder. Turning, he raised an eyebrow at Amori, the owner.
"Forget who you're with, we need you at table 5." The good table. The expensive table.
"And who I am with…?" He couldn't just leave her, no matter how much he wanted to smash her face open on the table edge; after all, he was there to provide her fantasies in the flesh.
"I've already sent Jun to attend to her." Amori jerked his chin at table 5 and waited around only long enough to ensure that Schuldig turned in that direction. Schuldig didn't waste any time to see where Amori went, but sashayed over to table 5, happy to ignore the bitch and curious about his new customers. He didn't care who they were, who they were was immaterial, but he was curious to see how much he'd be able to make off of table 5 this time.
He turned the corner, slipping behind the screen that added privacy to table 5 and had to force himself to keep moving, to not let his mouth fall open and to not stare stupidly at the vision that awaited him. There were two other high-level hosts loitering around the table, making conversation, but not yet laying claim to any particular customer, as that privilege was Schuldig's for being the highest ranking host, topping even the owner for profit. Schuldig already knew which customer he was claiming for the evening and didn't bother looking at the other four customers ringing the table. Another host was approaching the table and Schuldig was sure there would be another one along soon. Parties like this usually wanted a host per person, and Amori would never disappoint with his presentation. Schuldig knew that Amori was probably on the phone calling in another host or two who had the night off to help out with the other hosts who would be stretched thin working the rest of the standard customers.
The customer he was claiming was Western, his hair was black in the dim light of the club and the lights caught on the rim of his glasses, throwing harsh pricks of light into the gaze of anyone watching him. The man was hard, a solid build under a very, very nice suit, something that had probably originally been modeled on the runways of Paris or Milan. He had an air of detachment, as though he wasn't sitting in a host club seeking a lie to get him through another night and Schuldig found himself fascinated by the man. He slid into the booth next to him with a toned down smile – this man wouldn't want Schuldig to be loud and trashy and obnoxiously Japanese, this man would want someone elegant and dignified, and a challenge. And Schuldig was more than happy to be that challenge.
His chosen barely spared him a glance and didn't respond to Schuldig's attempts at conversation. He only discovered his name through the others at the table when they exuberantly shouted in a toast: "Kurafudo!" He raised an eyebrow, leaning in close, but not too close.
"Kurafudo?" He repeated. The customer turned to him and with barely concealed disdain, corrected him with the name Crawford. Crawford's voice was whiskey smooth and went straight to a tightening knot of low-level arousal. Schuldig never felt this way; there was something different about this man, and Crawford's lack of response and clear disinterest didn't deter him in the least.
The others at the table were easily entertained, having clearly wanted to come to the club, probably frequented host clubs. He wondered at the reason behind Crawford's attendance at the club and wrote it off to being dragged there by business associates as another toast was for a successful bid for another company. He crossed his legs, his calf just touching Crawford's leg and reached over to smooth Crawford's tie. He peered up at Crawford coquettishly and found an unsettling, hard gaze studying him. He fought the urge to frown, keeping his smile and widening it only from his years of experience. He tuned out the swelling of sound behind him as the others began cheering and babbling in their steadily increasing drunken haze.
"Don't bother." Crawford turned back to his drink, dismissing Schuldig entirely, but he wasn't going to let that happen. Crawford fascinated him, acting unlike any other client he had ever met. He wasn't going to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.
His smile widened to show teeth, and he knew that his smile was edged, that the pleasantness was fading, but he wasn't angry or bitter, that was easy to cover, this was something else entirely. "Oh? But I like what I see, I want more." That was actually more honesty than he'd ever let himself show. It bothered him, but with this hard man next to him, he was willing to toe the line, perhaps even step over it into uncharted territory. But he'd come to that when and if it occurred. He lifted his leg, resettling so it was crossed over his and Crawford's. He smirked in challenge.
Crawford's hand was on his thigh like a vice, gathered to shove his leg away and Schuldig could feel the tension all of the way up Crawford's arm as he leaned into him. "I know you hosts." Crawford's voice was cold, though the distaste was clear in it. That only served to fascinate Schuldig more. It wasn't the first time that Schuldig had thought there must be something broken in him to feel the way he did, but he couldn't help but not care, as always. "I'm not here for your lies. I don't need you to fake a dream for me or to pretend to like me."
"Excellent!! Kurafudo needs a man to take care of him." Schuldig blinked up at Crawford at the laughter and toasting elsewhere around the table. Crawford's expression didn't flicker, remaining hard and closed off. Since Crawford didn't acknowledge the stray, unwanted comment, neither did he.
"Who said I'm trying to do anything of the sort?" He countered lightly, laying his hand on the bunched muscles of Crawford's arm.
"It's in your job description. You're a host. I would think that would be obvious."
He pressed against Crawford's arm, smirking. "Oh, that is quite obvious. I will admit to trying to entertain you, but I'm not treating you like I would the other customers. I can tell you aren't here for that." This was stark honesty, but also not entirely true. He wanted Crawford unlike anyone he'd ever come into contact with, and he was trying to find a way to get under Crawford's skin so Crawford wouldn't walk out of this club and his life without once looking back.
Crawford gave a half-laugh. "I don't believe in love." The others were cheering about karaoke, and there was the sound of several people shuffling out of the booth, their cheers slowly growing distant as they passed the privacy screen. They were alone, he could tell without having to look. Crawford's hand was still on his thigh, ready to shove his leg off, but the dismissal never came.
He tilted his head. "Then why are you here?"
Crawford looked down at him, really looked at him and Schuldig's breath caught. "Those idiots," he jerked his chin in the direction of where they had gone, "thought that I needed some companionship. Also, it’s a celebration for a successful deal. It would be unbelievably rude to decline their invitation."
He shifted, turning so he could slide into Crawford's lap and laced his fingers into the short hairs at the nape of Crawford's neck. In spite of the disapproving frown etched on Crawford's face, his strong hands caged his hips anyway and Schuldig liked how they felt.
"Humor me. I like you."
Crawford's tone was colder than it had been, disbelief only second to the sarcasm. "Really. I am so surprised. Should I write over my checking account to you now or later?"
Schuldig smirked at that and shook his head, leaning close. "I don't want your money, actually. Maybe you don't believe me, but I don't get paid to do this." This wasn't exactly true. He slithered out of Crawford's lap and knelt under the table between Crawford's legs, hands sliding up Crawford's thighs and worked open his slacks. There were times that he got paid for sex, of course, but those times he was in a love hotel or the client's bed. He never got paid to be on his knees in the club. He worked Crawford out of his slacks and bent his head, licking the head, secretly pleased that Crawford had already been half hard.
Schuldig didn't try to keep it short and his jaw was starting to ache by the time Crawford came, but it was worth it to have Crawford's hand knotted in his hair, his thighs trembling to either side of him and to be able to look up and see Crawford's head thrown back, the long line of his throat tinted blue and green and purple as the neons flashed. He sat back on his heels after having reached for the hand towel that was beside each table in case they ordered champagne. He wiped his mouth and chin, swiped at his neck just in case, and tucked Crawford back into his slacks, fastening them and smoothing them as though nothing had happened.
"I'd tell you to jerk yourself off right there, but I don't want your come on my shoes." Crawford's voice was harsh with uneven breath. He was throbbing in his leather pants and he wanted nothing but to have Crawford's hand on him, even jacking himself off as Crawford had suggested sounded amazing. He resisted the urge, though, and slithered back up into Crawford's lap, nearly vibrating with arousal.
He leaned close; brushing his cheek along Crawford's to murmur in his ear. "I like you. I want to see you again."
Crawford was silent for a long moment. "Why should I believe you?" He resisted Crawford's attempt at pushing him back, leaning heavily on Crawford's hand.
"Because everyone looks at me like I'm an object to be taken off the shelf, paid for and returned when they are done. You look at me like I'm something to crush." The difference wasn't much, but it was vital. He'd stopped believing in love a long time ago, stopped believing in the good things in people, but he liked what he saw in Crawford: there was nothing good there, but there was a lot that was attractive.
Crawford's eyebrow rose and the silence stretched between them, taught and ready to snap. Crawford's hand slid down his chest, past his abdomen and cupped his erection. His hips jerked and he arched, mouth open on a gasp, hand fisting in Crawford's short hair as Crawford kneaded him slowly. He was whimpering and he wondered if Crawford could hear it over the music.
Crawford stopped, took his hand away. "I'll warn you now; you leave the hosting bullshit here. I don't like people who cater to my tastes. Go take care of that."
He slid off of Crawford's lap stiffly, licked his lips. "You'll be here when I return?"
Crawford gazed at him, eyes narrow, but glittering in the light of the club. "I'll be here."
Author/Artist: D a.k.a.
wk_recomendRating: R
Warnings: Sex.
Word count: 2241
Prompt: Weiss Kreuz, Crawford/Schuldig: AU - Schuldig works at Japanese host club
Beta'd by
aoeliveshereCrush
Schuldig wriggled into a new pair of leather pants in time to the beat from the club proper. He swore that if the champagne stained his best pair he'd take it out of that bitch's bank account the next time she came by, by ordering bottle after bottle after bottle of only the best champagne whether she wanted it or not. He could easily get ¥4,000,000 out of her in one night; she was arrogant and petty in that way and he knew how to play her jealousy to maximize his profits. Maybe he'd get that guy who always said he was in love with him to come in and get into a bidding war for Schuldig's attention – whoever ordered the most amount of champagne would end up with Schuldig for the night. Oh yeah, that was the ticket, play them off of each other. Earn lots of money. Spend it on things.
He wrinkled his nose at his sodden pants and mourned for their potential loss. There was nothing to be done about them now, however; he'd just have to wait until he got home. And honestly, he'd be waiting until his next time off, since he'd merely fall into bed, asleep before he could bounce off of the mattress. At least his plan had the added advantage of pissing the bitch off royally, since she hated any reminder of the fact that he swung both ways; she thought that she could best the other women, but she couldn't compete with the men, and Schuldig suspected that she knew he leaned more toward the men.
He tossed his pants into his locker and swung his way out of the employee lounge and into the beating heart of the club. His eyes didn't have to adjust to the dim lighting and flashing neon; it was other types of lighting that he couldn't adjust to, having spent so much time in this club. He raised his hands, tossed his hair back and swayed his way back to the table and the bitch customer. At least until a hand touched his shoulder. Turning, he raised an eyebrow at Amori, the owner.
"Forget who you're with, we need you at table 5." The good table. The expensive table.
"And who I am with…?" He couldn't just leave her, no matter how much he wanted to smash her face open on the table edge; after all, he was there to provide her fantasies in the flesh.
"I've already sent Jun to attend to her." Amori jerked his chin at table 5 and waited around only long enough to ensure that Schuldig turned in that direction. Schuldig didn't waste any time to see where Amori went, but sashayed over to table 5, happy to ignore the bitch and curious about his new customers. He didn't care who they were, who they were was immaterial, but he was curious to see how much he'd be able to make off of table 5 this time.
He turned the corner, slipping behind the screen that added privacy to table 5 and had to force himself to keep moving, to not let his mouth fall open and to not stare stupidly at the vision that awaited him. There were two other high-level hosts loitering around the table, making conversation, but not yet laying claim to any particular customer, as that privilege was Schuldig's for being the highest ranking host, topping even the owner for profit. Schuldig already knew which customer he was claiming for the evening and didn't bother looking at the other four customers ringing the table. Another host was approaching the table and Schuldig was sure there would be another one along soon. Parties like this usually wanted a host per person, and Amori would never disappoint with his presentation. Schuldig knew that Amori was probably on the phone calling in another host or two who had the night off to help out with the other hosts who would be stretched thin working the rest of the standard customers.
The customer he was claiming was Western, his hair was black in the dim light of the club and the lights caught on the rim of his glasses, throwing harsh pricks of light into the gaze of anyone watching him. The man was hard, a solid build under a very, very nice suit, something that had probably originally been modeled on the runways of Paris or Milan. He had an air of detachment, as though he wasn't sitting in a host club seeking a lie to get him through another night and Schuldig found himself fascinated by the man. He slid into the booth next to him with a toned down smile – this man wouldn't want Schuldig to be loud and trashy and obnoxiously Japanese, this man would want someone elegant and dignified, and a challenge. And Schuldig was more than happy to be that challenge.
His chosen barely spared him a glance and didn't respond to Schuldig's attempts at conversation. He only discovered his name through the others at the table when they exuberantly shouted in a toast: "Kurafudo!" He raised an eyebrow, leaning in close, but not too close.
"Kurafudo?" He repeated. The customer turned to him and with barely concealed disdain, corrected him with the name Crawford. Crawford's voice was whiskey smooth and went straight to a tightening knot of low-level arousal. Schuldig never felt this way; there was something different about this man, and Crawford's lack of response and clear disinterest didn't deter him in the least.
The others at the table were easily entertained, having clearly wanted to come to the club, probably frequented host clubs. He wondered at the reason behind Crawford's attendance at the club and wrote it off to being dragged there by business associates as another toast was for a successful bid for another company. He crossed his legs, his calf just touching Crawford's leg and reached over to smooth Crawford's tie. He peered up at Crawford coquettishly and found an unsettling, hard gaze studying him. He fought the urge to frown, keeping his smile and widening it only from his years of experience. He tuned out the swelling of sound behind him as the others began cheering and babbling in their steadily increasing drunken haze.
"Don't bother." Crawford turned back to his drink, dismissing Schuldig entirely, but he wasn't going to let that happen. Crawford fascinated him, acting unlike any other client he had ever met. He wasn't going to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.
His smile widened to show teeth, and he knew that his smile was edged, that the pleasantness was fading, but he wasn't angry or bitter, that was easy to cover, this was something else entirely. "Oh? But I like what I see, I want more." That was actually more honesty than he'd ever let himself show. It bothered him, but with this hard man next to him, he was willing to toe the line, perhaps even step over it into uncharted territory. But he'd come to that when and if it occurred. He lifted his leg, resettling so it was crossed over his and Crawford's. He smirked in challenge.
Crawford's hand was on his thigh like a vice, gathered to shove his leg away and Schuldig could feel the tension all of the way up Crawford's arm as he leaned into him. "I know you hosts." Crawford's voice was cold, though the distaste was clear in it. That only served to fascinate Schuldig more. It wasn't the first time that Schuldig had thought there must be something broken in him to feel the way he did, but he couldn't help but not care, as always. "I'm not here for your lies. I don't need you to fake a dream for me or to pretend to like me."
"Excellent!! Kurafudo needs a man to take care of him." Schuldig blinked up at Crawford at the laughter and toasting elsewhere around the table. Crawford's expression didn't flicker, remaining hard and closed off. Since Crawford didn't acknowledge the stray, unwanted comment, neither did he.
"Who said I'm trying to do anything of the sort?" He countered lightly, laying his hand on the bunched muscles of Crawford's arm.
"It's in your job description. You're a host. I would think that would be obvious."
He pressed against Crawford's arm, smirking. "Oh, that is quite obvious. I will admit to trying to entertain you, but I'm not treating you like I would the other customers. I can tell you aren't here for that." This was stark honesty, but also not entirely true. He wanted Crawford unlike anyone he'd ever come into contact with, and he was trying to find a way to get under Crawford's skin so Crawford wouldn't walk out of this club and his life without once looking back.
Crawford gave a half-laugh. "I don't believe in love." The others were cheering about karaoke, and there was the sound of several people shuffling out of the booth, their cheers slowly growing distant as they passed the privacy screen. They were alone, he could tell without having to look. Crawford's hand was still on his thigh, ready to shove his leg off, but the dismissal never came.
He tilted his head. "Then why are you here?"
Crawford looked down at him, really looked at him and Schuldig's breath caught. "Those idiots," he jerked his chin in the direction of where they had gone, "thought that I needed some companionship. Also, it’s a celebration for a successful deal. It would be unbelievably rude to decline their invitation."
He shifted, turning so he could slide into Crawford's lap and laced his fingers into the short hairs at the nape of Crawford's neck. In spite of the disapproving frown etched on Crawford's face, his strong hands caged his hips anyway and Schuldig liked how they felt.
"Humor me. I like you."
Crawford's tone was colder than it had been, disbelief only second to the sarcasm. "Really. I am so surprised. Should I write over my checking account to you now or later?"
Schuldig smirked at that and shook his head, leaning close. "I don't want your money, actually. Maybe you don't believe me, but I don't get paid to do this." This wasn't exactly true. He slithered out of Crawford's lap and knelt under the table between Crawford's legs, hands sliding up Crawford's thighs and worked open his slacks. There were times that he got paid for sex, of course, but those times he was in a love hotel or the client's bed. He never got paid to be on his knees in the club. He worked Crawford out of his slacks and bent his head, licking the head, secretly pleased that Crawford had already been half hard.
Schuldig didn't try to keep it short and his jaw was starting to ache by the time Crawford came, but it was worth it to have Crawford's hand knotted in his hair, his thighs trembling to either side of him and to be able to look up and see Crawford's head thrown back, the long line of his throat tinted blue and green and purple as the neons flashed. He sat back on his heels after having reached for the hand towel that was beside each table in case they ordered champagne. He wiped his mouth and chin, swiped at his neck just in case, and tucked Crawford back into his slacks, fastening them and smoothing them as though nothing had happened.
"I'd tell you to jerk yourself off right there, but I don't want your come on my shoes." Crawford's voice was harsh with uneven breath. He was throbbing in his leather pants and he wanted nothing but to have Crawford's hand on him, even jacking himself off as Crawford had suggested sounded amazing. He resisted the urge, though, and slithered back up into Crawford's lap, nearly vibrating with arousal.
He leaned close; brushing his cheek along Crawford's to murmur in his ear. "I like you. I want to see you again."
Crawford was silent for a long moment. "Why should I believe you?" He resisted Crawford's attempt at pushing him back, leaning heavily on Crawford's hand.
"Because everyone looks at me like I'm an object to be taken off the shelf, paid for and returned when they are done. You look at me like I'm something to crush." The difference wasn't much, but it was vital. He'd stopped believing in love a long time ago, stopped believing in the good things in people, but he liked what he saw in Crawford: there was nothing good there, but there was a lot that was attractive.
Crawford's eyebrow rose and the silence stretched between them, taught and ready to snap. Crawford's hand slid down his chest, past his abdomen and cupped his erection. His hips jerked and he arched, mouth open on a gasp, hand fisting in Crawford's short hair as Crawford kneaded him slowly. He was whimpering and he wondered if Crawford could hear it over the music.
Crawford stopped, took his hand away. "I'll warn you now; you leave the hosting bullshit here. I don't like people who cater to my tastes. Go take care of that."
He slid off of Crawford's lap stiffly, licked his lips. "You'll be here when I return?"
Crawford gazed at him, eyes narrow, but glittering in the light of the club. "I'll be here."
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