WK fic: Playing with Prey
Title: Playing with Prey
Author: ann89103
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Swearing and mostly-implied smut.
Prompt: Weiss Kreuz, trickstergod!Schuldig/human!Yohji, AU, “Humans are more fun than gods" Written for springkink
Word count: 3,651
Summary: Gods can be impulsive and cruel; Schuldig is no different.
A/N: A/U, but using most of the storylines from the original series. My original intent was to write something light and playful, but this came out instead. // used to bracket telepathic speech.
***
I’ve seen your faces. I’ll have your lives.
-Schuldig, Weiss Kreuz episode 11: Abkunft (Breaking the Spell)
Yohji Kudou and his teammates attacked the strange gaijin protecting Hirofumi Takatori, only to be amazed as the man evaded their weapons with unnatural speed and agility. Then the stranger did the impossible: he escaped by jumping out a window located near the top of a high-rise building.
Later that night Yohji found himself walking the streets of Tokyo, unable to sleep. The bodyguard was skilled: so why did he allow his employer to run off on his own and be killed by Weiss? From his years working as a detective, Yohji knew that unanswered questions meant trouble.
//Curiosity killed the cat, pretty kitten.//
Yohji froze in place, unable to determine the direction the words came from.
//You didn’t hear me, Kudou. I’m in your head.//
“Where are you?” Yohji growled.
“Right behind you,” a snide, nasal voice answered.
Yohji spun around, and the foreigner - wearing the same arrogant smirk from earlier - waved a hand at him in greeting. “Hello, kitten,” he said, amusement coloring his words.
“Don’t call me that, you bastard!” Yohji snapped, and shifted into a defensive stance.
“Fair enough,” the man responded, “you look like you’ve moved well past the kitten stage and you’re all sleek and sexy. I’ll just call you ‘cat.’”
“Who are you?” Yohji demanded. “What are you?”
“Names are unimportant: I’ve had hundreds of them over the years,” the grinning man now leaning against a graffiti-covered wall answered. “I’m going by Schuldig these days, but people have been massacring that name for months, it’s so annoying. You could use Reynard, Loki - maybe not, your language isn’t so good with the letter ‘L’ - or even call me Kitsune, if you like.”
He paused to laugh, and shook out his vibrant orange-red hair. “I have the coloring of a fox, don’t you agree? Numerous cultures in South America and Asia have made the connection. Maybe you can come up with a better name, Balinese: I‘m open to suggestions.”
“Your name should be delusional. I also like deceased, but I’d settle for maimed,” Yohji proclaimed while surreptitiously reaching for his wire.
“That’s not very nice, cat: it’s never a good idea to enrage a god,” Schuldig laughed, his cold blue eyes bright with amusement. “My kind have ruled over humans for centuries, and mortals that earn our displeasure rarely survive the experience.”
“Please excuse me,” Yohji said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “oh great one. How can I gain your forgiveness?”
“Well,” Schuldig responded in a far more menacing manner, “you could put that stupid excuse of a weapon away and come up with a better, less obvious form of attack.”
He paused for a moment, humor easily restored, then continued, “You’re witty, easy on the eyes and smarter than you look. I think you have potential, Kudou: I’m going to have fun playing with you. Who knows, cat? You might get lucky and actually scratch me!”
Yohji shot his wire at his opponent’s throat, but the other man jumped, easily flying over the weapon to balance himself expertly on Yohji’s shoulders before leaping away once more. His movements became a blur of red, then Schuldig was gone.
***
Yohji didn’t tell the others about his encounter with Schuldig. Within days Kritiker and Omi had investigated the bodyguards working for Reiji Takatori. Manx reported that the four men were part of a mysterious organization known as Estet; Omi added that the so-called bodyguards were professional assassins gifted with psychic abilities.
Since joining Kritiker they had seen many extraordinary sights, but Yohji knew no-one would believe him if he told them Schuldig’s story. Hell, he didn’t even believe it himself.
Schuldig had taunted them during their brief battle at Hirofumi’s condominium. It was apparent the bastard enjoyed toying with Weiss and took pleasure in throwing them off-balance.
The man is more than a telepath. He is powerful; he is cruel. And he loves to play with innocent lives… just like the arrogant, capricious gods in the myths and legends Yohji avidly read as a child.
Okay, maybe it was remotely possible, he decided.
***
The more Yohji learned about his teammates and the painful events that had shaped their lives, the more he believed that outside influences were involved. He didn’t believe in coincidence; nor did he believe in fate.
Ken having his life destroyed, betrayed by his best friend. Aya’s parents murdered, his sister seriously injured and now comatose. Omi kidnapped, then abandoned by his family and raised by his rescuer to be an assassin. And himself… Asuka was not meant to die in his arms.
“You humans always think you are more important than you really are. Do you think we have nothing better to do than interfere in your simple, everyday lives?” Schuldig cheerily inquired from Seven’s passenger seat - the same spot that was vacant a second ago.
Yohji braked hard, then worked furiously to regain control of his car as it skidded across the road. It took him a few moments to recover (mentally cursing the light chuckles escaping the lips of his unwanted companion) and he chose to pull over at the edge of a quiet, wooded area not too far off the main road.
He turned, exasperated, to his passenger and plainly answered, “Yes.”
Schuldig smiled, though it was more a baring of teeth than an expression of joy. “I like you, cat! You’re either too sharp or too stupid to be afraid of me, and it’s amusing either way.”
Yohji kept a gun under the drivers seat: he wondered if he could distract the other man long enough to reach the weapon.
“The gun’s gone, Yohji,” Schuldig said in response to his thoughts. “I left you a present instead.”
Yohji froze, visualizing a bomb or scorpions in a space far too close to his cherished private parts.
“Good imagination,” Schuldig said, “but I don’t usually kill on the first date.”
“This is not a date!” Yohji shouted.
“Of course it is,” Schuldig replied with faked pout. “Sure, I didn’t bring you flowers or chocolate - too much of a cliché, even for me - but the gift is yours to keep. And here we are, alone on a pleasant summer evening, about to take a stroll through the park. Romantic, yes?”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Yohji flatly declared.
“I wouldn’t want to force you,” the other man wheedled, “so how about we make a deal? Ask me any questions you want, and I’ll answer them.”
“It can’t be that easy,” Yohji immediately responded. “Besides, you so-called gods are notorious for lying.”
“Oh, I’m very easy, cat,” Schuldig purred, stretching his long legs as far out and apart as the limited space in Yohji’s car would allow. “And while I adore a good trick, I haven’t told you a single lie since we’ve met.”
“I’m not interested in men,” Yohji bluntly stated, “and I’m not interested in you.”
Light laughter met this remark. “And you call me a fraud,” Schuldig replied, tapping his right index finger to the side of his forehead. “It’s lucky for you that I’ve been known to protect thieves and liars. Shall we go now?”
Yohji started to decline, but before the words could fully escape his lips he and Schuldig were already a few meters down a winding path, one of Schuldig’s arms casually thrown over Yohji’s shoulder.
“I never tire of star gazing, not even after thousands of years,” the deity said, a wistful tone to his words.
Yohji had other, more pressing concerns than the beauty of the night sky. “Are the other members of Schwarz like you?”
Schuldig chuckled at the idea. “In many ways, though we come from different cultures and have varying abilities. We are allies of a sort, and sometimes even friends.”
He paused before continuing, a hint of wry humor contained his voice. “Though Crawford would rather die than admit we have anything in common. That man is far too controlled, and doesn’t know how to relax.”
“And why is Schwarz working for Reiji Takatori?” Yohji again inquired.
“The simple answer is because Crawford wants us to,” the redhead promptly answered. “Brad is obsessed with intricate, complicated schemes. He’s the leader: I’m just along for the ride. You want more information, you‘ll have to ask him. If you want to live, I suggest you don’t.”
Yohji took a closer look at the other man and his relaxed, comfortable posture. “You don’t strike me as the type of man who is easily led,” he commented.
“Hah!” Schuldig laughed, and slapped Yohji’s back in a friendly manner. “You are full of insight, cat! Let’s just say that I don’t mind being led when it is in my best interests, or at least promises to be an exciting adventure. In any event, I always get what I want.”
“So what do you want from us?” Yohji asked, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer.
“Amusement. A good fight or ten. A little unpredictability would be nice,” came the response. “Mind-blowing sex is a must, but only from you: your friends are remarkable enough, but a bit too straight-laced for me.”
Yohji didn’t like - or more honestly, knew he shouldn’t like, but thrilled to - the knowing, winning grin Schuldig now sported.
“You, Kudou, are a mix of hedonism, depression and rage: I like that in a lover.”
“We are not lovers!” Yohji snapped, and tried to move away from his companion in vain.
“Not yet,” the other man cheerfully agreed, “but I’ve got all the time in the world.”
The quick, enthusiastic kiss to his cheek was over before Yohji even sensed the movement. Schuldig easily dodged his responding uppercut and blew him another kiss before walking off into the night.
Yohji slowly made his way back to his car, reliving the past hour and trying to make sense of the confrontation. Before taking the drivers seat he carefully peered underneath the cushion.
He didn’t see anything dangerous, just a thin manila folder. Yohji opened the folder - gloves on to preserve any fingerprints - and found paperwork revealing some of Takatori’s illegal activities and future plans.
Schuldig hadn’t threatened him with a weapon; instead, he had given Yohji one.
That fact, more than anything, convinced Yohji that Schuldig just might be telling him the truth. He found the prospect both profoundly disturbing and strangely exciting.
***
Over the next two months, a consistent pattern emerged. Whenever Weiss encountered Schwarz during a mission Yohji would inevitably find himself fighting against Schuldig. Neither man dealt the other anything more than minor wounds - the battles were waged more with words than weapons - and nothing would be resolved.
Whenever Yohji found himself alone, Schuldig would appear. More words were exchanged - information, flirtations, veiled (and blatant) threats - and nothing would be resolved.
The turning point came when Weiss encountered Schreint during their first attack on Masafumi Takatori, when Yohji fought Neu. He broke her visor; he saw her face.
Yohji was starting to reassess many of his beliefs.
***
Schuldig had appeared in many places, but never in Yohji’s room above the flower shop.
“That is not Asuka,” he said quietly into the darkened room
The figure on the bed did not move, except to throw one arm over his eyes. “Go away,” Yohji ordered, his voice hoarse and tinged with sorrow.
“I’m trying to help you, cat,” the Schwarz assassin continued. “I haven’t lied to you yet, and I’m not going to start now: your lover is dead.”
Yohji raised himself to a sitting position, angrily throwing his blanket off of his body. “I know Asuka! I know her body, and I know her heart! I don’t care what Crawford is up to - I don’t care about your petty games - I will find her and keep her safe!”
“You humans are blind, always rushing headlong into disaster and madness,” Schuldig warned, wearily shaking his head. “All the oracles and gifts from the gods can’t change your reckless ways: you have to learn from experience. Do what you will, Yohji; just be prepared for the consequences.”
Schuldig leapt out the window without another word. Yohji fell back onto the bed, only thinking of his lost love now returned.
Schuldig sat on the rooftop and stared up at the stars in the cloudless winter sky, wryly amused by this turn of events.
//Humans are so predictable, even my gorgeous cat. One would think they would learn not to tempt fate - and the gods - after all of these years.//
He could clearly see the constellation of Taurus in the heavens. The bull was one of his symbols, an auspicious sign if one believed in such things.
Schuldig does not, even though he uses such superstitions to his advantage: he only believes in himself. He leaves the foreshadowing and divination to Crawford, and devotes himself to his arbitrary diversions and cunning schemes.
//Follow your heart, Yohji, and lose your way. I take care of travelers gone astray, and you will be mine.//
***
It was Asuka - Yohji was sure of it, she was just confused, suffering from amnesia - and he loved her. She would recover her memories, be the beautiful, brave woman he remembered and adored.
But then came her betrayal, her rejection, her desperate words to Masafumi Takatori: the pain was overwhelming. His mind was overflowing with chaos and madness, and his heart was filled with rage
It was Asuka, and he killed her. Asuka was not meant to die in his arms; Asuka was not meant to die at his hands.
Yohji screamed, his anguish unheard, unnoticed amidst Nagi’s obliteration of Takatori’s mansion. Yohji screamed, and abandoned himself to his fate.
***
“I hate you,” Yohji softly announced to his expected, unwanted visitor.
“Liar,” Schuldig replied, his voice pitched low and careful as well. “You resent me for being honest, and you begrudge me for being right, but you don’t hate me.”
“I hate you,” Yohji repeated, without a single trace of emotion in the words.
“You hate yourself,” Schuldig stated, blunt and heartless. “You hate the world. You especially hate women - happy, innocent women, all oblivious to your suffering and only seeing your charming playboy façade. How many have you killed in the past four months?”
“None,” Yohji’s voice flatly announced. Eleven, came the truth from his mind.
“I see. Don’t you think there’s a better way to deal with your insanity?”
“I could kill you,” Yohji said.
“You could try,” Schuldig responded, “over and over again. That way you can limit your serial killing to the dark beasts Weiss hunt.”
Yohji stared at him, considering his words.
Schuldig continued, “Your delightful attempts at murder would only entertain me; it‘s not as if you could kill a god. Of course, I expect payment in return, cat. Interested?”
“Payment,” Yohji said, “as in sex? You want me to whore myself out to you?”
“Don’t act so insulted, Kudou,” Schuldig sharply bit back. “I can taste the excitement in your thoughts, see from your ridiculously tight pants that you’re already hard for me.”
Schuldig moved across the room faster than Yohji could track, fisting a portion of Yohji’s light brown hair in one hand, pulling his head back to stare into his eyes.
“Haven’t you figured out by now that you don’t have to lie to me, or to yourself?” Schuldig hissed into one ear before biting at the lobe. “I look after thieves and liars. I safeguard all miscreants that cross my path. You can be yourself with me: no barriers, no deceptions.”
The god casually tossed Yohji across the room so he landed on his back on his own bed. Schuldig stood looming over him, his blue eyes bright and victorious even in the dark.
“Strip, cat,” he ordered as he started to remove his own clothing. “I’ll give you all the violence, pleasure and distraction that you need.”
Yohji only hesitated for a minute - his last, paltry effort at refusal - before he moved his hands to unfasten the top button on his jeans.
“Give me a show, Kudou,” the other man ordered, his grin wide and vicious. “I’m also a patron of whores.”
***
Three weeks after the events at the failed demon summoning, Yohji had a visitor.
“Miss me?” Schuldig inquired, watching avidly as Yohji’s expression quickly morphed from surprise to confusion, confusion to delight, delight to anger before his features finally settled at pained resignation.
“No,” Yohji answered as he moved out of the living room and into the kitchen, fully intent on making himself a drink. “You don’t stay gone long enough for that.”
Schuldig smirked at the response before moving to lay comfortably across Yohji’s couch.
“Liar,” he amiably commented, and waited for the other man to return.
When Yohji returned to the room - his drink in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other - he found Schuldig in mid-yawn, his head thrown back exposing a white, unblemished throat.
“The marks are gone,” Yohji complained. “After all that effort I put into strangling you.”
Even before Yohji’s words were fully uttered welts started to rise on pale flesh, the skin around the newly-reformed wounds now reddened and raw.
“Better, cat?” Schuldig inquired. “Because that’s all you’re getting. I refuse to restore the bruises and the broken ribs. And do you know what saltwater does to my hair?”
“It can only be an improvement,” Yohji drawled before placing the vodka on the table next to the sofa and draping his body over that of his guest.
“I assume the rest of Schwarz are alive as well?” Yohji asked while running a fingertip over the strangulation marks.
“That tickles,” Schuldig pouted, though the tone of his voice sounded more amused than sulky. “Of course they are. If you puny humans could survive that explosion, wouldn’t you expect us to as well?”
“A guy can dream. So what are your fellow gods up to?”
Schuldig laughed. “Farfarello’s gone back to his old hunting grounds, so I’d suggest that you tell anyone you value to stay away from Ireland for a few months. Crawford’s in Denmark, poring over ancient runes: says he’s recharging his powers at the source, but I figure he’s gone there to brood over his latest miserable failure. The poor bastard still hasn’t figured out I’m the one who keeps messing up his plans: I‘m too arbitrary for him to predict. Nagi’s still around - Japan is his homeland, after all - but he’s the one deity I try not to piss off, so I’m staying out of his business.”
Yohji could have rolled his eyes at the last comment, but decided instead to finish his drink. Once the glass was empty he said, “Whose life are you going to ruin this time?”
“Vodka, Kudou.” Schuldig said, the words a command and not a request, completely ignoring Yohji‘s question.
This time Yohji did roll his eyes, then poured more alcohol into the glass and handed it to his companion, but not before slipping his fingers into the liquid. While Schuldig drank, Yohji moved his now alcohol-sodden fingers back to the redhead’s neck.
“That fucking hurts!” Schuldig choked out between racking coughs and glared angrily at the other man. Yohji now wore more vodka than he had ingested, but it was worth it to watch this self-proclaimed god hissing like a cat caught in the rain.
Yohji would take every victory he could get.
“Oh, you want to play,” Schuldig’s voice, tinged with malice and laughter, rang out. “I swear, humans are more fun than gods: you still have passion; you still have hope.
Nimble hands reached into Yohji’s hair before he could evade them, pulling his face forward and into a hungry, demanding kiss. Yohji didn’t notice the clothes being torn off their bodies until the last strip of fabric hit the floor, and by that point he didn’t care: he hates Schuldig, no matter what the god said, though he hates himself even more. However, he loves losing himself in the furious pleasures of their bodies joined together.
The following morning Yohji sported his own set of wounds, a chain of dark bruises encircling his neck. Unlike Schuldig, he appreciates the marks: they remind him of the indescribable happiness he feels when eager hands cut off his every gasping breath.
It’s almost as good as when he does the strangling.
***
This time was different. This time, Schuldig was patient, uncharacteristically deliberate in his actions: every kiss slow and lingering, every movement a tender caress.
Yohji knew something was terribly, terribly wrong.
“Your paranoia is fully justified, cat. I‘m a fickle, faithless lover, and I’ve found a new toy to play with,” Schuldig cheerfully remarked as he rose from their bed, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you, Kudou: I derive too much pleasure from your self-made misery. Besides, I don‘t have to.”
The naked god moved towards the open window, only to stop at the sill. He then turned around - now attired in a white tunic, an olive green cloak, winged sandals and a jaunty yellow cap also adorned with wings - to face his lover. He held his kerykeion - a herald’s staff with two serpents entwined - in one hand, a pouch filled with gold in the other. Schuldig stood there for a few minutes, committing to memory the sight of that relaxed, lean body, tousled light brown hair and green eyes slowly glazing over from too much alcohol and a growing, unnatural confusion.
“You won’t remember any of this, Yohji, except in your dreams. But don‘t worry: it will all come rushing back to you when I return to escort you to the afterlife,” Schuldig - more commonly known as Hermes - said, the words a promise and a threat.
“I swear by the river Styx, that probably won’t take more than a few months. You must be on your ninth life by now, my pretty, damaged cat.”
With one last wink and a broad, mocking smile, Schuldig was gone.
Author: ann89103
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Swearing and mostly-implied smut.
Prompt: Weiss Kreuz, trickstergod!Schuldig/human!Yohji, AU, “Humans are more fun than gods" Written for springkink
Word count: 3,651
Summary: Gods can be impulsive and cruel; Schuldig is no different.
A/N: A/U, but using most of the storylines from the original series. My original intent was to write something light and playful, but this came out instead. // used to bracket telepathic speech.
***
I’ve seen your faces. I’ll have your lives.
-Schuldig, Weiss Kreuz episode 11: Abkunft (Breaking the Spell)
Yohji Kudou and his teammates attacked the strange gaijin protecting Hirofumi Takatori, only to be amazed as the man evaded their weapons with unnatural speed and agility. Then the stranger did the impossible: he escaped by jumping out a window located near the top of a high-rise building.
Later that night Yohji found himself walking the streets of Tokyo, unable to sleep. The bodyguard was skilled: so why did he allow his employer to run off on his own and be killed by Weiss? From his years working as a detective, Yohji knew that unanswered questions meant trouble.
//Curiosity killed the cat, pretty kitten.//
Yohji froze in place, unable to determine the direction the words came from.
//You didn’t hear me, Kudou. I’m in your head.//
“Where are you?” Yohji growled.
“Right behind you,” a snide, nasal voice answered.
Yohji spun around, and the foreigner - wearing the same arrogant smirk from earlier - waved a hand at him in greeting. “Hello, kitten,” he said, amusement coloring his words.
“Don’t call me that, you bastard!” Yohji snapped, and shifted into a defensive stance.
“Fair enough,” the man responded, “you look like you’ve moved well past the kitten stage and you’re all sleek and sexy. I’ll just call you ‘cat.’”
“Who are you?” Yohji demanded. “What are you?”
“Names are unimportant: I’ve had hundreds of them over the years,” the grinning man now leaning against a graffiti-covered wall answered. “I’m going by Schuldig these days, but people have been massacring that name for months, it’s so annoying. You could use Reynard, Loki - maybe not, your language isn’t so good with the letter ‘L’ - or even call me Kitsune, if you like.”
He paused to laugh, and shook out his vibrant orange-red hair. “I have the coloring of a fox, don’t you agree? Numerous cultures in South America and Asia have made the connection. Maybe you can come up with a better name, Balinese: I‘m open to suggestions.”
“Your name should be delusional. I also like deceased, but I’d settle for maimed,” Yohji proclaimed while surreptitiously reaching for his wire.
“That’s not very nice, cat: it’s never a good idea to enrage a god,” Schuldig laughed, his cold blue eyes bright with amusement. “My kind have ruled over humans for centuries, and mortals that earn our displeasure rarely survive the experience.”
“Please excuse me,” Yohji said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “oh great one. How can I gain your forgiveness?”
“Well,” Schuldig responded in a far more menacing manner, “you could put that stupid excuse of a weapon away and come up with a better, less obvious form of attack.”
He paused for a moment, humor easily restored, then continued, “You’re witty, easy on the eyes and smarter than you look. I think you have potential, Kudou: I’m going to have fun playing with you. Who knows, cat? You might get lucky and actually scratch me!”
Yohji shot his wire at his opponent’s throat, but the other man jumped, easily flying over the weapon to balance himself expertly on Yohji’s shoulders before leaping away once more. His movements became a blur of red, then Schuldig was gone.
***
Yohji didn’t tell the others about his encounter with Schuldig. Within days Kritiker and Omi had investigated the bodyguards working for Reiji Takatori. Manx reported that the four men were part of a mysterious organization known as Estet; Omi added that the so-called bodyguards were professional assassins gifted with psychic abilities.
Since joining Kritiker they had seen many extraordinary sights, but Yohji knew no-one would believe him if he told them Schuldig’s story. Hell, he didn’t even believe it himself.
Schuldig had taunted them during their brief battle at Hirofumi’s condominium. It was apparent the bastard enjoyed toying with Weiss and took pleasure in throwing them off-balance.
The man is more than a telepath. He is powerful; he is cruel. And he loves to play with innocent lives… just like the arrogant, capricious gods in the myths and legends Yohji avidly read as a child.
Okay, maybe it was remotely possible, he decided.
***
The more Yohji learned about his teammates and the painful events that had shaped their lives, the more he believed that outside influences were involved. He didn’t believe in coincidence; nor did he believe in fate.
Ken having his life destroyed, betrayed by his best friend. Aya’s parents murdered, his sister seriously injured and now comatose. Omi kidnapped, then abandoned by his family and raised by his rescuer to be an assassin. And himself… Asuka was not meant to die in his arms.
“You humans always think you are more important than you really are. Do you think we have nothing better to do than interfere in your simple, everyday lives?” Schuldig cheerily inquired from Seven’s passenger seat - the same spot that was vacant a second ago.
Yohji braked hard, then worked furiously to regain control of his car as it skidded across the road. It took him a few moments to recover (mentally cursing the light chuckles escaping the lips of his unwanted companion) and he chose to pull over at the edge of a quiet, wooded area not too far off the main road.
He turned, exasperated, to his passenger and plainly answered, “Yes.”
Schuldig smiled, though it was more a baring of teeth than an expression of joy. “I like you, cat! You’re either too sharp or too stupid to be afraid of me, and it’s amusing either way.”
Yohji kept a gun under the drivers seat: he wondered if he could distract the other man long enough to reach the weapon.
“The gun’s gone, Yohji,” Schuldig said in response to his thoughts. “I left you a present instead.”
Yohji froze, visualizing a bomb or scorpions in a space far too close to his cherished private parts.
“Good imagination,” Schuldig said, “but I don’t usually kill on the first date.”
“This is not a date!” Yohji shouted.
“Of course it is,” Schuldig replied with faked pout. “Sure, I didn’t bring you flowers or chocolate - too much of a cliché, even for me - but the gift is yours to keep. And here we are, alone on a pleasant summer evening, about to take a stroll through the park. Romantic, yes?”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Yohji flatly declared.
“I wouldn’t want to force you,” the other man wheedled, “so how about we make a deal? Ask me any questions you want, and I’ll answer them.”
“It can’t be that easy,” Yohji immediately responded. “Besides, you so-called gods are notorious for lying.”
“Oh, I’m very easy, cat,” Schuldig purred, stretching his long legs as far out and apart as the limited space in Yohji’s car would allow. “And while I adore a good trick, I haven’t told you a single lie since we’ve met.”
“I’m not interested in men,” Yohji bluntly stated, “and I’m not interested in you.”
Light laughter met this remark. “And you call me a fraud,” Schuldig replied, tapping his right index finger to the side of his forehead. “It’s lucky for you that I’ve been known to protect thieves and liars. Shall we go now?”
Yohji started to decline, but before the words could fully escape his lips he and Schuldig were already a few meters down a winding path, one of Schuldig’s arms casually thrown over Yohji’s shoulder.
“I never tire of star gazing, not even after thousands of years,” the deity said, a wistful tone to his words.
Yohji had other, more pressing concerns than the beauty of the night sky. “Are the other members of Schwarz like you?”
Schuldig chuckled at the idea. “In many ways, though we come from different cultures and have varying abilities. We are allies of a sort, and sometimes even friends.”
He paused before continuing, a hint of wry humor contained his voice. “Though Crawford would rather die than admit we have anything in common. That man is far too controlled, and doesn’t know how to relax.”
“And why is Schwarz working for Reiji Takatori?” Yohji again inquired.
“The simple answer is because Crawford wants us to,” the redhead promptly answered. “Brad is obsessed with intricate, complicated schemes. He’s the leader: I’m just along for the ride. You want more information, you‘ll have to ask him. If you want to live, I suggest you don’t.”
Yohji took a closer look at the other man and his relaxed, comfortable posture. “You don’t strike me as the type of man who is easily led,” he commented.
“Hah!” Schuldig laughed, and slapped Yohji’s back in a friendly manner. “You are full of insight, cat! Let’s just say that I don’t mind being led when it is in my best interests, or at least promises to be an exciting adventure. In any event, I always get what I want.”
“So what do you want from us?” Yohji asked, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer.
“Amusement. A good fight or ten. A little unpredictability would be nice,” came the response. “Mind-blowing sex is a must, but only from you: your friends are remarkable enough, but a bit too straight-laced for me.”
Yohji didn’t like - or more honestly, knew he shouldn’t like, but thrilled to - the knowing, winning grin Schuldig now sported.
“You, Kudou, are a mix of hedonism, depression and rage: I like that in a lover.”
“We are not lovers!” Yohji snapped, and tried to move away from his companion in vain.
“Not yet,” the other man cheerfully agreed, “but I’ve got all the time in the world.”
The quick, enthusiastic kiss to his cheek was over before Yohji even sensed the movement. Schuldig easily dodged his responding uppercut and blew him another kiss before walking off into the night.
Yohji slowly made his way back to his car, reliving the past hour and trying to make sense of the confrontation. Before taking the drivers seat he carefully peered underneath the cushion.
He didn’t see anything dangerous, just a thin manila folder. Yohji opened the folder - gloves on to preserve any fingerprints - and found paperwork revealing some of Takatori’s illegal activities and future plans.
Schuldig hadn’t threatened him with a weapon; instead, he had given Yohji one.
That fact, more than anything, convinced Yohji that Schuldig just might be telling him the truth. He found the prospect both profoundly disturbing and strangely exciting.
***
Over the next two months, a consistent pattern emerged. Whenever Weiss encountered Schwarz during a mission Yohji would inevitably find himself fighting against Schuldig. Neither man dealt the other anything more than minor wounds - the battles were waged more with words than weapons - and nothing would be resolved.
Whenever Yohji found himself alone, Schuldig would appear. More words were exchanged - information, flirtations, veiled (and blatant) threats - and nothing would be resolved.
The turning point came when Weiss encountered Schreint during their first attack on Masafumi Takatori, when Yohji fought Neu. He broke her visor; he saw her face.
Yohji was starting to reassess many of his beliefs.
***
Schuldig had appeared in many places, but never in Yohji’s room above the flower shop.
“That is not Asuka,” he said quietly into the darkened room
The figure on the bed did not move, except to throw one arm over his eyes. “Go away,” Yohji ordered, his voice hoarse and tinged with sorrow.
“I’m trying to help you, cat,” the Schwarz assassin continued. “I haven’t lied to you yet, and I’m not going to start now: your lover is dead.”
Yohji raised himself to a sitting position, angrily throwing his blanket off of his body. “I know Asuka! I know her body, and I know her heart! I don’t care what Crawford is up to - I don’t care about your petty games - I will find her and keep her safe!”
“You humans are blind, always rushing headlong into disaster and madness,” Schuldig warned, wearily shaking his head. “All the oracles and gifts from the gods can’t change your reckless ways: you have to learn from experience. Do what you will, Yohji; just be prepared for the consequences.”
Schuldig leapt out the window without another word. Yohji fell back onto the bed, only thinking of his lost love now returned.
Schuldig sat on the rooftop and stared up at the stars in the cloudless winter sky, wryly amused by this turn of events.
//Humans are so predictable, even my gorgeous cat. One would think they would learn not to tempt fate - and the gods - after all of these years.//
He could clearly see the constellation of Taurus in the heavens. The bull was one of his symbols, an auspicious sign if one believed in such things.
Schuldig does not, even though he uses such superstitions to his advantage: he only believes in himself. He leaves the foreshadowing and divination to Crawford, and devotes himself to his arbitrary diversions and cunning schemes.
//Follow your heart, Yohji, and lose your way. I take care of travelers gone astray, and you will be mine.//
***
It was Asuka - Yohji was sure of it, she was just confused, suffering from amnesia - and he loved her. She would recover her memories, be the beautiful, brave woman he remembered and adored.
But then came her betrayal, her rejection, her desperate words to Masafumi Takatori: the pain was overwhelming. His mind was overflowing with chaos and madness, and his heart was filled with rage
It was Asuka, and he killed her. Asuka was not meant to die in his arms; Asuka was not meant to die at his hands.
Yohji screamed, his anguish unheard, unnoticed amidst Nagi’s obliteration of Takatori’s mansion. Yohji screamed, and abandoned himself to his fate.
***
“I hate you,” Yohji softly announced to his expected, unwanted visitor.
“Liar,” Schuldig replied, his voice pitched low and careful as well. “You resent me for being honest, and you begrudge me for being right, but you don’t hate me.”
“I hate you,” Yohji repeated, without a single trace of emotion in the words.
“You hate yourself,” Schuldig stated, blunt and heartless. “You hate the world. You especially hate women - happy, innocent women, all oblivious to your suffering and only seeing your charming playboy façade. How many have you killed in the past four months?”
“None,” Yohji’s voice flatly announced. Eleven, came the truth from his mind.
“I see. Don’t you think there’s a better way to deal with your insanity?”
“I could kill you,” Yohji said.
“You could try,” Schuldig responded, “over and over again. That way you can limit your serial killing to the dark beasts Weiss hunt.”
Yohji stared at him, considering his words.
Schuldig continued, “Your delightful attempts at murder would only entertain me; it‘s not as if you could kill a god. Of course, I expect payment in return, cat. Interested?”
“Payment,” Yohji said, “as in sex? You want me to whore myself out to you?”
“Don’t act so insulted, Kudou,” Schuldig sharply bit back. “I can taste the excitement in your thoughts, see from your ridiculously tight pants that you’re already hard for me.”
Schuldig moved across the room faster than Yohji could track, fisting a portion of Yohji’s light brown hair in one hand, pulling his head back to stare into his eyes.
“Haven’t you figured out by now that you don’t have to lie to me, or to yourself?” Schuldig hissed into one ear before biting at the lobe. “I look after thieves and liars. I safeguard all miscreants that cross my path. You can be yourself with me: no barriers, no deceptions.”
The god casually tossed Yohji across the room so he landed on his back on his own bed. Schuldig stood looming over him, his blue eyes bright and victorious even in the dark.
“Strip, cat,” he ordered as he started to remove his own clothing. “I’ll give you all the violence, pleasure and distraction that you need.”
Yohji only hesitated for a minute - his last, paltry effort at refusal - before he moved his hands to unfasten the top button on his jeans.
“Give me a show, Kudou,” the other man ordered, his grin wide and vicious. “I’m also a patron of whores.”
***
Three weeks after the events at the failed demon summoning, Yohji had a visitor.
“Miss me?” Schuldig inquired, watching avidly as Yohji’s expression quickly morphed from surprise to confusion, confusion to delight, delight to anger before his features finally settled at pained resignation.
“No,” Yohji answered as he moved out of the living room and into the kitchen, fully intent on making himself a drink. “You don’t stay gone long enough for that.”
Schuldig smirked at the response before moving to lay comfortably across Yohji’s couch.
“Liar,” he amiably commented, and waited for the other man to return.
When Yohji returned to the room - his drink in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other - he found Schuldig in mid-yawn, his head thrown back exposing a white, unblemished throat.
“The marks are gone,” Yohji complained. “After all that effort I put into strangling you.”
Even before Yohji’s words were fully uttered welts started to rise on pale flesh, the skin around the newly-reformed wounds now reddened and raw.
“Better, cat?” Schuldig inquired. “Because that’s all you’re getting. I refuse to restore the bruises and the broken ribs. And do you know what saltwater does to my hair?”
“It can only be an improvement,” Yohji drawled before placing the vodka on the table next to the sofa and draping his body over that of his guest.
“I assume the rest of Schwarz are alive as well?” Yohji asked while running a fingertip over the strangulation marks.
“That tickles,” Schuldig pouted, though the tone of his voice sounded more amused than sulky. “Of course they are. If you puny humans could survive that explosion, wouldn’t you expect us to as well?”
“A guy can dream. So what are your fellow gods up to?”
Schuldig laughed. “Farfarello’s gone back to his old hunting grounds, so I’d suggest that you tell anyone you value to stay away from Ireland for a few months. Crawford’s in Denmark, poring over ancient runes: says he’s recharging his powers at the source, but I figure he’s gone there to brood over his latest miserable failure. The poor bastard still hasn’t figured out I’m the one who keeps messing up his plans: I‘m too arbitrary for him to predict. Nagi’s still around - Japan is his homeland, after all - but he’s the one deity I try not to piss off, so I’m staying out of his business.”
Yohji could have rolled his eyes at the last comment, but decided instead to finish his drink. Once the glass was empty he said, “Whose life are you going to ruin this time?”
“Vodka, Kudou.” Schuldig said, the words a command and not a request, completely ignoring Yohji‘s question.
This time Yohji did roll his eyes, then poured more alcohol into the glass and handed it to his companion, but not before slipping his fingers into the liquid. While Schuldig drank, Yohji moved his now alcohol-sodden fingers back to the redhead’s neck.
“That fucking hurts!” Schuldig choked out between racking coughs and glared angrily at the other man. Yohji now wore more vodka than he had ingested, but it was worth it to watch this self-proclaimed god hissing like a cat caught in the rain.
Yohji would take every victory he could get.
“Oh, you want to play,” Schuldig’s voice, tinged with malice and laughter, rang out. “I swear, humans are more fun than gods: you still have passion; you still have hope.
Nimble hands reached into Yohji’s hair before he could evade them, pulling his face forward and into a hungry, demanding kiss. Yohji didn’t notice the clothes being torn off their bodies until the last strip of fabric hit the floor, and by that point he didn’t care: he hates Schuldig, no matter what the god said, though he hates himself even more. However, he loves losing himself in the furious pleasures of their bodies joined together.
The following morning Yohji sported his own set of wounds, a chain of dark bruises encircling his neck. Unlike Schuldig, he appreciates the marks: they remind him of the indescribable happiness he feels when eager hands cut off his every gasping breath.
It’s almost as good as when he does the strangling.
***
This time was different. This time, Schuldig was patient, uncharacteristically deliberate in his actions: every kiss slow and lingering, every movement a tender caress.
Yohji knew something was terribly, terribly wrong.
“Your paranoia is fully justified, cat. I‘m a fickle, faithless lover, and I’ve found a new toy to play with,” Schuldig cheerfully remarked as he rose from their bed, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you, Kudou: I derive too much pleasure from your self-made misery. Besides, I don‘t have to.”
The naked god moved towards the open window, only to stop at the sill. He then turned around - now attired in a white tunic, an olive green cloak, winged sandals and a jaunty yellow cap also adorned with wings - to face his lover. He held his kerykeion - a herald’s staff with two serpents entwined - in one hand, a pouch filled with gold in the other. Schuldig stood there for a few minutes, committing to memory the sight of that relaxed, lean body, tousled light brown hair and green eyes slowly glazing over from too much alcohol and a growing, unnatural confusion.
“You won’t remember any of this, Yohji, except in your dreams. But don‘t worry: it will all come rushing back to you when I return to escort you to the afterlife,” Schuldig - more commonly known as Hermes - said, the words a promise and a threat.
“I swear by the river Styx, that probably won’t take more than a few months. You must be on your ninth life by now, my pretty, damaged cat.”
With one last wink and a broad, mocking smile, Schuldig was gone.