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kinkfestTitle- Alexithymia
Author- fireun
Rating- PG
Prompt- Weiss Kreuz, Yohji/Schuldig: gentleness, "finality."
Schuldig slept with his mouth open- just enough to emit a startled sort of snore every now and then. His face never quite relaxed, and his eyes always seemed to be tracking something moving along the inside of his eyelids, but some of the deeper, darker lines eased, taking years off his apparent age. He looked the impish artist in the small hours of the morning, hair tangled, limbs splayed, eyes closed.
The eyes were what aged him, what gave him away. They gleamed with an awareness that was too far beyond what was expected, a touch too cruel, and far too intent. He knew all of your secrets, and he didn’t mind letting you know, uncurling a smile that was a warning, an inappropriate suggestion.
But, when he was asleep…
Yohji settled on the edge of the bed, ignoring the graveyard of pill bottles littering the nightstand. Somewhere in there Schuldig had hoped to find an answer, something to ease the tension and take the edge off of imminent insanity. Somewhere in there Yohji had stopped seeing the cruel killer and noticed the bewildered human. It was been an awkward transition, full of stilted attempts at concern and baffled bits of actual affection. It had been fumbling, and met with a feral snarl more often than not. Schuldig was odd about emotion. Was odd about breakfast in bed, in walks taken for no other reason than the sun was lighting the city in such a way as to make it almost attractive. Yohji had brought home a stray, and while Schuldig didn’t mark his territory and make note of his displeasure by pissing on the furniture, there were always the little things. Cigarette butts in Yohji’s favorite mug. A worn, loved book left splayed open on a dirty table. Shoes kicked haphazardly in the middle of common walking paths. The list was long and creative
‘Honestly, you should have killed me when you had the chance.’
Yohji snorted, making a face at the telltale pain line cutting through Schuldig’s forehead, the one that spoke of unwilling unconsciousness on the telepath’s part.
He could have killed Schuldig, taken advantage of that unexpected moment of weakness. But there had been an animal pain in Schuldig’s eyes, a bear that had stumbled into a trap and could quite place what had happened.
And Yohji had paused. Had weighed his options. Had made his decision.
After all, he had provoked the telepath, reminded Schuldig of everything that had gone wrong, all the defeats and deaths that had led him to be stumbling vicious and alone through hostile territory.
Yohji never was one for kicking someone while they were down.
And, if he was being completely honest with himself, he had been going through the motions more than anything else, following the code and catechism of an organization that had long since fallen apart.
‘You are never honest with yourself.’
“You’re sounding fairly with it today.”
‘You are fantastic as changing the subject.’
“I’ve had an excellent teacher.”
‘Touché.’
“Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“If you even finish that motion, you asinine mother hen, I will turn your brain inside out and eat your favorite memories for breakfast.” Schuldig’s voice was a guttural snarl, and stopped Yohji in his attempt to rearrange Schuldig’s blankets. “Ugh. My mouth tastes like a dog pissed in it.”
Yohji tried desperately to keep a straight face as he handed Schuldig the cup from the nightstand. Schuldig wriggled out of his blankets and gulp down the tepid water. This was a rare moment, with Schuldig aware of when and where he was. Who he was. Yohji grinned, having missed the banter and the rather fascinating series of expressions Schuldig tried on when he was waking up before settling on the usual smug and surly. Schuldig’s eyes glittered with friendly malice and the remainder of the water was sloshed into Yohji’s face.
Schuldig’s harsh cackle accompanied Yohji’s muttering as he wiped his face dry on the edge of a blanket.
The laughter shifted with an abrupt sort of hiccup as Schuldig closed his eyes, forehead furrowing.
‘You should have killed me when you had the chance.’
Yohji should have. But he couldn’t, not now, not when he had started to care.
Schuldig’s shrieking demands and insults drove Yohji from the room, one hand pressed to the side of his head. Schuldig would tire himself out, would go from terror and pain to exhausted confusion as his sense of self and stability scattered further. The telepath was a ticking bomb with a faulty fuse- he never managed to blow completely. There had been something so important about Schwarz, some dynamic that Yohji lacked. It had served as some sort of mental glue for the telepath, and Yohji was hard pressed to find a substitute.
Schuldig slept with his mouth open, one hand always tangled in the worn shirt Yohji left in the bed with him in the hope it provided some sort of center for the failing telepath.
Author- fireun
Rating- PG
Prompt- Weiss Kreuz, Yohji/Schuldig: gentleness, "finality."
Schuldig slept with his mouth open- just enough to emit a startled sort of snore every now and then. His face never quite relaxed, and his eyes always seemed to be tracking something moving along the inside of his eyelids, but some of the deeper, darker lines eased, taking years off his apparent age. He looked the impish artist in the small hours of the morning, hair tangled, limbs splayed, eyes closed.
The eyes were what aged him, what gave him away. They gleamed with an awareness that was too far beyond what was expected, a touch too cruel, and far too intent. He knew all of your secrets, and he didn’t mind letting you know, uncurling a smile that was a warning, an inappropriate suggestion.
But, when he was asleep…
Yohji settled on the edge of the bed, ignoring the graveyard of pill bottles littering the nightstand. Somewhere in there Schuldig had hoped to find an answer, something to ease the tension and take the edge off of imminent insanity. Somewhere in there Yohji had stopped seeing the cruel killer and noticed the bewildered human. It was been an awkward transition, full of stilted attempts at concern and baffled bits of actual affection. It had been fumbling, and met with a feral snarl more often than not. Schuldig was odd about emotion. Was odd about breakfast in bed, in walks taken for no other reason than the sun was lighting the city in such a way as to make it almost attractive. Yohji had brought home a stray, and while Schuldig didn’t mark his territory and make note of his displeasure by pissing on the furniture, there were always the little things. Cigarette butts in Yohji’s favorite mug. A worn, loved book left splayed open on a dirty table. Shoes kicked haphazardly in the middle of common walking paths. The list was long and creative
‘Honestly, you should have killed me when you had the chance.’
Yohji snorted, making a face at the telltale pain line cutting through Schuldig’s forehead, the one that spoke of unwilling unconsciousness on the telepath’s part.
He could have killed Schuldig, taken advantage of that unexpected moment of weakness. But there had been an animal pain in Schuldig’s eyes, a bear that had stumbled into a trap and could quite place what had happened.
And Yohji had paused. Had weighed his options. Had made his decision.
After all, he had provoked the telepath, reminded Schuldig of everything that had gone wrong, all the defeats and deaths that had led him to be stumbling vicious and alone through hostile territory.
Yohji never was one for kicking someone while they were down.
And, if he was being completely honest with himself, he had been going through the motions more than anything else, following the code and catechism of an organization that had long since fallen apart.
‘You are never honest with yourself.’
“You’re sounding fairly with it today.”
‘You are fantastic as changing the subject.’
“I’ve had an excellent teacher.”
‘Touché.’
“Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“If you even finish that motion, you asinine mother hen, I will turn your brain inside out and eat your favorite memories for breakfast.” Schuldig’s voice was a guttural snarl, and stopped Yohji in his attempt to rearrange Schuldig’s blankets. “Ugh. My mouth tastes like a dog pissed in it.”
Yohji tried desperately to keep a straight face as he handed Schuldig the cup from the nightstand. Schuldig wriggled out of his blankets and gulp down the tepid water. This was a rare moment, with Schuldig aware of when and where he was. Who he was. Yohji grinned, having missed the banter and the rather fascinating series of expressions Schuldig tried on when he was waking up before settling on the usual smug and surly. Schuldig’s eyes glittered with friendly malice and the remainder of the water was sloshed into Yohji’s face.
Schuldig’s harsh cackle accompanied Yohji’s muttering as he wiped his face dry on the edge of a blanket.
The laughter shifted with an abrupt sort of hiccup as Schuldig closed his eyes, forehead furrowing.
‘You should have killed me when you had the chance.’
Yohji should have. But he couldn’t, not now, not when he had started to care.
Schuldig’s shrieking demands and insults drove Yohji from the room, one hand pressed to the side of his head. Schuldig would tire himself out, would go from terror and pain to exhausted confusion as his sense of self and stability scattered further. The telepath was a ticking bomb with a faulty fuse- he never managed to blow completely. There had been something so important about Schwarz, some dynamic that Yohji lacked. It had served as some sort of mental glue for the telepath, and Yohji was hard pressed to find a substitute.
Schuldig slept with his mouth open, one hand always tangled in the worn shirt Yohji left in the bed with him in the hope it provided some sort of center for the failing telepath.
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