3 kisses meme
There was a fun meme in plurk. I'm going to post it here, too, just because. ;D I'm aware that I've not written the requests for the last meme I did, but I feel like these might be a lot easier to punch out, being just little snippets, that is.
Three Kiss Meme! Give me one of your characters and one of mine, and I'll write three little snippets, each one ending in a kiss!
And this sounds like an rp meme, I have a feeling it hails from Amat. But who cares? Just throw some characters at me, please. :3
Plurk requests and snippets
Some of them should be avoided by minors. :3
[I realised after writing a few of these that I should have wrote them from an rp? But we don't really play in the same game anymore. And I've got lousy memory. D: So they're just... sort of like a ficlet of whatever I happened to cooke up.]
calliopepurple - Schuldig & Nagi
1. in observations
She sighs with parted lips, pink tongue glistening just slightly beyond the shadows of her mouth. You can see traces of lipstick still on her chin, her lips are swollen and red even without the fabricated colour. There is black mist around her eyes, smeared eye-shadow, her hair is a tangled mess of tentacle-like locks that still curl slightly. Her hands are small and narrow as they fist in orange mane, pulling him close. And he goes willingly, pressing her against the dirty brick wall. You can see his thigh between hers, riding up with the hem of her skirt short skirt.
You sigh, take a sip of your coke and flash the five other security camera feeds across your screen. Nothing alarming there. Then you return to first one, arranging it in the centre of your screen, slightly on top of the others so you can view them all at once.
It's all part of the mission, you know. But he seems to enjoy it. Or maybe it's just your imagination. He kisses her with open mouth, nipping on a soft bottom lip, flick of a tongue travelling over her teeth. Her eyes are closed and she moves her mouth against his in a slow motion.
You have to wonder how it could be in any way comfortable. Swapping spit with another person. You kind of like your own spit. Maybe if she was smaller, cuter and with blue hair...
Still, not very interesting prospect.
You purse your lips, then open them, moving them in a way she does, trying to imitate her expression. Ah, nothing special there. Then you pause, watching as she moans, her head tilting back and his mouth moving to her neck, flash of white tells you that he just bit her. He has a hand between her legs and she seems to be trembling...
The pure rapture on her face makes something in the pits of your stomach tighten, and you decide to pull the window smaller than it was before. After that you look only from the corner of your eye, curious, but not really wanting to see. Not knowing what you're watching. Not caring, perhaps.
Nothing special.
Evidently nothing worth looking as smug as he does when it's finally over and he's walking away, grinning at the camera. He knows you're watching, of course. It's all in the plan.
And definitely nothing worth the kiss he blows at you through the video feed, which you close right off with a disgusted snort.
2. in experimentation
You can't stop thinking about it.
It had not been anything like you had thought it would be. Her lips had been dry, soft and barely there. She had not sighed, or moaned, or even moved her mouth against yours. It hadn't been unpleasant, if a little awkward, and later your lip had throbbed a bit in the spot where you hit it against your teeth.
Yet you can't stop thinking about it. How the woman had sighed when he kissed her, how she had arched against the wall. And the way those warm lips had felt against yours. It had not even tasted anything. Her breath had smelled a little like peppermint. And maybe lemon.
You press the arrow key again, flipping to another page of a medical record of your next customer. He seems to have a heart condition. Surprising that. Yet not as interesting as wondering what he did to her between her legs that made her moan like that.
Do you know how distracting it is when there's a teenager discovering hormones in the next room, and you can hear all of those horny thoughts, no, better yet, feel them right through the walls?
Sharp response dies on your lips when you realise what he's saying. You can feel the heat rising from under your collar, spreading across your cheeks and even the angry command to get out of your mind dwindles into a weak mental snarl as you notice that he's standing behind you, taking half of the door frame with his relaxed form.
"It's obvious," he continues as if not noticing your dismay. "You kiss like a school girl. And me, well, I'm not half bad." He grins shamelessly and you know what he actually means is that he's a world better than you are.
"Yeah, isn't that just natural. It was your first time," he says as if you were having a conversation. Not bothering to answer, you just give him a sense of annoyance, and he chuckles in response. Perhaps your silence is as good as an invitation because he decides to slip into your room, hands in pockets and eyes on you.
His smirk says he's up to no good.
When am I?
"Do you know why it's different, Nagi?"
You spin your chair around, not liking the idea of him behind you. His grin spreads wider as he steps in too close for your comfort.
"Yeah, I know. I know that you're an ass," you say, hoping he'd vaporize to thin air like water in a glass, only leaving ugly marks as a memory of his existence.
He laughs at that, smoky and low. "I don't think you do," he says smugly as he leans in, faster than you thought he could, capturing your wrists against the hand rests of your chair and planting a knee to the cushion of your chair, right between your thighs.
"I'll show you," he breathes the words across your mouth. Coffee and oranges.
And then he kisses you.
3. in a message
You're a bit surprised how easy it is.
Leaving.
You haven't told either of them. Just the three of you left now. And you're going as well. For different reasons, but reasons nontheless. Somehow you know neither of them will stop you, it's a decision you make for yourself, to stay or to leave. And this one you've done a while ago.
Some clothes in a backpack, laptop in a shoulder bag, you mean to travel light. It's snowing outside. But you have already called a cab, and will let it take you to an airport for a plane that leaves for Japan in an hour and half. Your hotel is booked, meeting arranged for tomorrow. Everything is settled.
Everything except the fact that somehow leaving means betraying your team.
No, you think, you'll just work apart from them for a while. You make it crystal clear even in your head, as a response to the thought that was not yours. And you can hear him snort as you step outside to the snow covered steps in front of your house. He's smoking, snow melting in his orange hair. He doesn't look at you, and even if he doesn't voice any accusations, it's plain to see that he doesn't understand and approves your decision even less.
And why should he, an alien thought snaps in your mind, you're making them a two man team.
You shake your head even if he can't see it with you standing behind him. You can't say nothing has changed, but you insist that some things will always stay the same.
He flicks the ashes from his cigarette to the snowy ground with a quiet grunt when your cab pulls up to the driveway. You adjust the strap of your bag and step past him. But pause when you hear him speak behind you.
"What if it's not worth it?" he asks, and when you turn to look at him, he is stubbornly staring past you at the cab, obviously murdering the driver with his glare.
You say nothing as you turn fully, grab a hold of the railing beside him and lean in to press your lips to his forehead, free of bandanna and shades this time.
Do you know the difference, Schuldig, you think when you are walking to the cab.
---------
athena8 - Chitokura, D1 & RookKnight (one for each!)
ChitoKura
[Written for a yakuza rp. Randomly imagined scenario.]
It has become one of those do or die moments. Crouched behind a cement projection in a run-down parking hall, blood oozing from a gunshot wound on Chitose's shoulder, Shiraishi's once immaculate suit now wrinkled and torn from several places. The left lens of the red shades on the bridge of Chitose's nose have been cracked, blood clotting Shiraishi's flippy hair against his right temple.
Gun fire has been ceased momentarily, but that doesn't mean it's over. Not before either them or the others are dead. In the air, still lingers a chemical smell of gun powder, the silence in the lack of ear-shattering gunfire is deafening.
"So..." Chitose starts as his hand dives into a pocket of his tattered jeans for extra clip.
"So," Shiraishi replies, his gun already loaded.
"Any chance you might talk us out of this situation?" Chitose doesn't sound very hopeful.
"You could go see, wave a white flag and tell them you're my envoy." Shiraishi leans the back of his head against the cold concrete, his eyes closed, face hard.
"Heh. I take that as a no." Chitose glances at his shoulder and grimaces at the sight of blood staining his knot tied shirt to half way down his chest. "What about the police?"
"They've got enough to put us both in jail for the rest of our lives."
"I know..."
"So, why the hell are you still yapping about this pointless shit? There's only one way forward."
Chitose doesn't answer immediately. He pads his pockets and finally fishes out a crumbled pack of cigarettes. He peels off the paper until he can find one crooked roll of cancer. Then he goes back to his pockets but can't find what he's looking for. So, instead he asks--
"Got a light?"
Shiraishi snorts but fishes out a metallic lighter from a pocket of his suit, offering flame at Chitose. Their gazes meet through the smoke, linger, and do not falter even when Shiraishi reaches for the cigarette between Chitose's lips.
He takes a drag, then another, blowing the smoke to the pregnant air between them. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough.
"I need a beer once this is over. It's your treat."
Chitose smirks, reaching to wrap his fingers around Shiraishi's wrist, pulling his hand closer to take a drag of the cigarette.
A flick of fingers, and burning flakes of ash scatter in the air as they both stand up, one limping, other favouring an arm. First bullet shot, met with a rain of gunfire.
D1
[Again, written for a yakuza rp. Another randomly imagined scene.]
How to trick a conman?
First of all, you need poker face that never fails. You need to think quick and play it even quicker. You have to be confident, but only lie when you really have to. And always keep your story clean.
Getting a fake passport is not as easy as it is in the movies. You don't have the connections, nobody does. But someone you know, might, and that's the key to success. You have to stay friendly with everyone, even your enemies. And yet not close to anyone.
Follow me? No? Well, lets make it really simple. You are a storyteller, and you have an audience to please, to shock, to move, first of all, you have to keep them interested, you have to keep them on their toes. If they have time to think about it, you're caught.
Niou has a few connections. But those are out of the question when he can't risk having a word of his movements somehow reach his old friends back in the city. But he needs two passports, for himself and another one for Yagyuu. The police are virtually useless, fault laying in their protocol, rules and regulations that know no exceptions. A minor leak in the chain of information could completely ruin the operation. If you can trust only one man, why would you have to trust seven of them?
The plan is really simple. Those are the best ones. Masayoshi Yamada is only a small criminal, some illegal gun dealing, selling women. He's served his sentence and got out for parole. Only, his sister is getting married, in Italy, and he needs to get out of the country. No fucking way is he going to let his sister marry a mafioso without checking up this guy, right?
Now, this guy, who claims to know a guy, who could maybe be willing to fabricate few passports, is a no name criminal, with nothing impressive under his belt. He deals some cheap drugs and buys a few stolen cars, paints them, sells them forward. Even his looks are nothing special, a mouse of a man, with quick eyes but a weak chin and hair, glasses that have been stained with few too many fingerprints. His name is Sasakawa something, who cares? He plays with his pen nervously as he eyes up Masayoshi from top to toe, cold eyes and wild, black hair, crooked grimace and a temper that obviously doesn't need a lot of baiting.
"It's my fucking sister," Masayoshi says, louder than is needed.
"I get that, man, but isn't that a bit too much for just seeing her married? It's a serious crime."
"Is it about the cash? I will pay, so you tell that to your guy." Masayoshi growls as he fishes out another cigarette and lights up. "Two passports. I've got the pictures right here. So, how much will it be?"
Sasakawa leans back in his chair. Obviously he doesn't like being bullied. But he is greedy for the money and far too clever not to take an easy job when it's offered. "So, what's the deal with you two? He's family as well?" He nods towards the timid looking man standing behind Masayoshi. Light hair, nervous eyes, peering at the dealer through a pair of rimless glasses. He looks all too clean for these circles.
"Him?" Masayoshi gives a laugh, sharp and shameless. "He's mine, lay off him. So, you gonna do it then? Good."
Not about to give Sasakawa any time to connect the dots, Masayoshi throws an envelop to the table. "There are the pictures. And half the money. I'll get you the rest when I've got the passports." There is a little more than that, a tracker, his phone number, a note attached to the envelop, and another smaller envelope sealed one for the guy doing the actual job. All Yagyuu's doing.
Sasakawa eyes them suspiciously as Masayoshi rolls his form up from the heavily cushioned chair and turns to the door. Light haired guy gives a little gasp as Masayoshi's hand lands on his ass, and there's a definite whisper of a blush upon his cheek as a mouth nibbles on the corner of his. Masayoshi gives Sasakawa a wink, and mouths 'call me' before pushing them out of the door.
Later, they sit in a taxi, heading back to the safe house. Niou returns the favour by removing the fake moustache off of Yagyuu's upper lip, and kisses him fully on the mouth as he is slips his fingers under the black wig Yagyuu is wearing. The glasses on the bridge of Niou's nose mist lightly from their shared breath.
Rook/Knight
There are friends he has known for all his life. Like the guy who used to live next door to the small apartment he and his dad had. Scrawny boy with a big scar on his left cheek, got from a bicycle race when they were just six years old. Masato had won, but only because that scrawny guy fell off his bike and ended up hitting his face to some broken glass on the ground. Victory had been easy to forget when blood had made them both scream. They had agreed that it was cool not to smile when they did something to make them feel proud. All the cool guys in manga did that. The guy married some years ago and now has a scrawny little boy of his own. And he often not smiles when he looks at his kid, it's easy to tell what he is thinking. Masato knew the boy's mother as well, another old friend. She lived few streets away and they had both declared not to like her a lot when they had been six. And then made a competition out of asking her out when they had been fifteen. Obviously Masato had lost that time.
But it doesn't take a lifetime to learn to know someone. Masato knows Yuushi better than he knows that scrawny boy grown into a scrawny father. He knows when Yuushi is too proud to say anything even if something is bothering him. He knows Yuushi can be childish and more eager to argue than play it nice and polite. He knows Yuushi is kinder than most, and would not refuse a sincere plea for help, or even reach out and offer a hand without being asked for it, like he tries to do with Ran now.
And he knows when Yuushi is thinking about the damned redhead even if he's not saying a word.
Especially when he's not saying a word.
Like right now, staring out of a window and forgetting his breakfast. His hand stirs a spoon in his coffee cup lazily, but his brow is furrowed and there's worry in the blue eyes. Masato knows because he knows Yuushi. And he also knows it's likely to stay like this without interception.
Not one to mince words, Masato jumps right into it. "You want to talk to him again," he says before taking a sip of his coffee and turning another page of his morning paper.
"...what? No," Yuushi replies, his frown deepening. "Yes, I don't know. He doesn't--"
"He knows what he's doing, Yuushi."
"I know that! He's doing a huge mistake."
"It's his mistake to make."
"Wouldn't you do the same if it were me?"
"That's different."
"Really?"
"…" Masato looks up from his paper, and at Yuushi, staring back at him seriously.
"Really?"
Maybe it's not that different. And isn't that what bothers him the most?
Rising to his feet, Masato picks up his coffee, folds his paper and tugs it under his arm as he steps to Yuushi's side of the table. His hand is wide and strong as it slides behind Yuushi's neck, pulling his forehead against Masato's belly, hard muscles working under smooth skin, a trail of hair starting from his navel to disappear under the elastic band of his pyjama pants. He bends slightly to press a kiss on the crown of Yuushi's light hair.
"You'll get your chance, Yuushi," he says quietly before bowing out to the balcony for a smoke.
----------------
twentystitches - Schuldig and Aya
Three time's a charm.
Aya wishes he could kill the person who invented that phrase.
1. car crash mentality
She has a way of pleading with her eyes, Aya realises, one that isn't exactly annoying, but thoroughly bothersome. She does look a lot like Aya-chan, and it's always been hard to say no to his sister. But therein lies the problem with her. She wants something he can't give. She looks and sounds so much like his sister, and even if he doesn't think of her as family, he can't really think of her as potential love interest either. Even so, if he could look past the braids and face, she is both too young and innocent, and he is too damaged. There is nothing he can offer her that would be worth her time. Or worse yet, worth her life.
He sighs, and shifts his gaze, studying the busy street outside. The café is buzzing with noise and people, bodies crammed against each other, laughing, talking, joking...
This is so awkward.
When he turns to look at her again, she has moved closer with desperately determined light in her eyes. And he already knows what to expect. He stays still as she kisses him, unwilling to embarrass her more than is necessary. Her breath is damp and nervous against his cheek and lips dry as they touch his. Eventually he puts hands on her shoulders and pushes her away gently.
"I'm sorry, Sakura," he hears himself saying, as if observing the situation from far away. Her flushed face seems so achingly familiar and even the emotion behind such an expression. Contrary to the popular beliefs, Aya has been rejected a few times in the past.
She excuses herself, and then runs towards the bathrooms. He contemplates about leaving for a moment but he doesn't want to hurt her feelings more than he already has. Sipping his coffee, he stares out from the window and counts seconds, minutes...
When the cushions beside him dip again under weight of a body, he turns and is about to suggest to her that they take their leave now. But instead of her earnest face, he finds a crooked grin, pinkish shades and ridiculously orange hair.
"Schwarz!" he spats out immediately, hand already clenching to a fist, ready to punch that smugly smirking face in.
"Ah, good enough. Tell me, Ran, how much you think a thin layer of wood and some cushions will slow a bullet? Enough not to kill the person sitting at the other side of these mighty obstacles?"
Suspicious, Aya pauses for a moment. Schuldig never makes any gesture towards his arm that is thrown over his jean-clad lap, his green jacket over half of his arm, hand and possibly a gun, pointing towards the back of the sofa they're sitting on. A small glance tells him that there is another person sitting in the next booth, the small of his back where Schuldig's assumed gun barrel is pointing at the cushions.
"What do you want?" he asks between clenched teeth. Schuldig is crazy enough to kill a man just to get the attention he wants.
"That's right, I am," the telepath answers, "And believe it or not, I'm here to help you, you ungrateful little bitch."
He moves closer, Aya shifts back, until his back is pressed against the dead end of the booth.
"Stop that," Aya snaps, irritated. "Help me? I don't need your help."
"That's what I mean. Ungrateful bitch. You did and you do."
Aya grimaces, and as Schuldig moves even closer, too close, close enough to see the flecks of sea green in the blue of his eyes, to smell the cigarette smoke from him, Aya shoves him on the chest, hard. Just a little panic rising within.
"Go to hell!" he hisses between his teeth.
Not very convincing, Ran. The German bastard's voice rings within his head, taunting. For whatever reason Schuldig has decided to help him, he isn't doing it out of the goodness of his heart.
Schuldig smirks, leaning in to place a hand on the windowsill behind Aya. "Can you point me a moment when you had been sincerely altruistic?" he asks, his breath falling warmly against Aya's cheek. He whispers. "You know there's no point lying."
Shaking with mixed rage and purely selfish spite, Aya pulls back an arm, about to punch Schuldig in the stomach. But before he can put to use the intention, his wrist is captured, pressed against the cushions of the sofa. Schuldig makes a small 'nngh' sound at the back of his throat as his nose rubs up across Aya's cheek, parted lips following, tongue flicking against the corner of Aya's mouth before the German's lips close over Aya's.
It's more like a bite than a kiss, brief, hot and flashed with electricity. Aya's eyes are wide as he stares at Schuldig, who is retreating as fast as he was pushing in, with a mocking grin plastered upon his lips.
The German asshole passes Sakura on his way out, salutes at her and walks out of the cafe. Only then Aya realises that there was no gun in his hands.
2. volatile violence
I didn't know you liked guys... she had said. I'm sorry, as if it had been her fault.
Aya had wanted to ask if she didn't recognize Schuldig, but decided against it in favour of nursing his wounded pride, his flaring anger and anxiety that seemed to stem out of nowhere.
It doesn't matter! he wanted to snap at her. Didn't you see?
But either she had blocked the memory or Schuldig had done something nasty to her, she just didn't seem to pay any mind to who but to what.
The worst part of it was that the German jerk actually ended up helping Aya. Sakura has completely given up on him, and now only gazes him with this curious look that seemed more searching rather than worshipping. Despite the fact that she gets extremely interested whenever he is talking with another male, which has started to be rather annoying, all in all, dealing with her is a lot easier than before.
Aya, however, can't stop wondering about Schuldig. Why? Why kiss him? Why help him? Obviously there is something more behind it. The asshole is playing with him.
The kiss? Sure, he had felt something, a small clench at the pits of his stomach, heat and excitement, yet nothing to speak about weeks later. Schuldig was a psychopath, murderous lunatic who had not only kidnapped his sister but also put Sakura in danger as well, killed Omi's sister and plotted to plunge the world into primal chaos. His resume was enough to make Aya feel sick. And the man was insufferable.
Certainly, Aya Fujimiya did not spend even five minutes of his life pining after Schuldig. He did, however, feel slight threat when trying to picture their next encounter. In his daydreams it went something like this: A sword meets gut, falls in love and plunges right in, perhaps twisting here and there just for extra enjoyment. His nightmares, though, were a completely different matter.
Never had he thought it would end up like this, however.
Another job, another night, another corpse - the story of a murderer's life. He had met Schuldig after the target was down, running out of the same underground laboratory with only half a clip loaded to his machine. Gunfire had lit the darkness of a lonely maintenance hallway, sword had hissed out of a scabbard. Aya had taken a bullet to his shoulder, Schuldig had lost his gun, now bleeding from several cuts. Neither of them has spoken a word, yet, wordlessly riding on a wave of battle frenzy.
Somehow, the German has Aya pinned against a wall, banging his sword hand against a brick wall with both of his hands wrapped around Aya's wrist. By the time katana clutters to the ground with a loud shriek, Schuldig is sporting several sore spots on his right side where Aya's free fist has connected. Schuldig has to dance aside to avoid having a knee dig up in his groin. Aya shoves him at the first opening, hard enough to send Schuldig stumbling backwards. But the German has a hand gripping Aya's wrist, and they both scramble against the opposing wall, this time Schuldig first, bouncing his head from the brick wall with a hissed curse. Aya's left hook graces his mouth and chin, digging painfully to the rough wall behind Schuldig's head. Both cheek and knuckles come out bloody. In return, Schuldigh sputters out blood and snarls in anger, Aya gets a heavy punch to his stomach, emptying air out of the smaller redhead momentarily. Just enough for Schuldig to throw him against the wall again, pinning him there by weight and hold on both wrist and arm. Aya gives a little 'nngh' when Schuldig slams against him, and the German's eyes narrow in irritation.
Adrenalin bounding through their bodies, instincts on overload, the sensation of post-mission erection rubbing against one another is like hot and cold, equal amounts of lust and disgust. Madness of the moment, neither of them knows which one started it. But the kiss is heavy, spiced with a metallic tang of blood, teeth clashing, biting, devouring, someone moans, hand in red hair, fisting tight, a nose breathes damp and hot against a cheek, tongue slinging against another...
3. addicted to adrenalin
It has become madness. Dangerous, violent, and yet so addicting. Only a twist of faith and hate was coupled with lust, disgust with curiosity. Every mission becomes a bit more vivid when there's a chance of encountering a viciously grinning mouth against his, calloused hand in his hair and...
The twist is that he would just as likely kill Schuldig as he would touch him willingly.
Maybe that is the fact that arouses him the most.
Sick, isn't it?
Laughter answers him from the doorway of a shadowy office. Tonight there were two targets, and he was meant to kill neither. But Omi got a bullet through his arm and they had to fall to plan B. That being the target chased to his office by Aya, and cut down there.
The man lies on his face on the floor, a puddle of blood spreading under him. His pleas for mercy almost seem to linger in the air still. Almost.
Aya turns sharply to face the Schwarz, well, only Schuldig. The enemy.
"...enemy you want to fuck," Schuldig taunts. "Or kill. It's practically the same thing, isn't it?"
"Leaning towards the 'kill' option," Aya hisses, clutching his sword harder in his hand.
"Isn't that a little predictable, Ran? Try to show some imagination."
"I'm not here to entertain you."
"Quite the contrary, I feel fully entertained by your lust for blood, Weiss."
"Your blood."
"It's all red."
The hard part about fighting Schuldig is that he's so damned fast. His aim is not the best, perhaps exhausted by that speed of his. He comes from right when Aya thought he'd be at left, and kicks feet from under the swordsman. Aya falls with a yelp, hitting his elbow to a corner of a desk and swings his katana at the madly grinning German in a wild, half circle. Only the velocity of the blow manages to gain him a ripple of blood spread across his blade and the front of Aya's coat.
Schuldig curses as he touches his cheek. The cut is shallow but bleeds over his face handsomely. Aya is struggling on his feet when the next kick comes, right to the elbow of his sword hand, sending the weapon flying across the room and somewhere between desks and chairs, drawers and computer screens. His whole arm throbs with pain as he jumps up and staggers back to put space between himself and Schuldig.
Too late, he realises when the German slams into him, a fist digging into his stomach, hard, and both of them fall onto a desk, Aya struggling to breathe, Schuldig hammering the side of his fist to the desk, right where Aya's face had been just a moment ago. Then a wail can be heard, and the desk gives up under their combined weights. Splinters of cracking wood, pens, papers, computer screen, and two assassins, all come stumbling down.
Only a left side of the desk gave up, and they flip over as the support under Schuldig's hand and Aya's right shoulder gives. They roll, and end up with Aya on top, half straddling the telepath. Schuldig moans in pain, splinter of wood has put a vicious bruise on his neck, and quite possibly a hole or two on his back. Aya doesn't feel much of sympathy and reaches up to wrap his fingers around the asshole's throat, both hands, tight enough. He can feel a pulse under his fingertips, picking up as Schuldig opens his eyes to stare up at Aya.
Comlink rattles against Aya's ear, Omi's retreat command distracting him just enough that he doesn't notice when Schuldig's hand creeps into a pocket and just few seconds later a naked blade presses against the hollow of Aya's throat. The knife is not big, but fully frightening thing pressed against his windpipe.
"Baby, we can't keep seeing each other like this," Schuldig croaks, his throat working hard under Aya's grip.
"You should learn when to just shut up," Aya replies, and a swallow gives him a taste of just how sharp the knife on his skin is.
"Can think of better things to do with this mouth of mine."
"You're a fucking dirty liar."
But he still leans down, even despite the sharp pain he can feel on his neck as the knife parts his skin ever so lightly. Licking away blood from the corner of Schuldig's mouth, Aya is the one to initiate the kiss this time.
Takes one to know one.
Three Kiss Meme! Give me one of your characters and one of mine, and I'll write three little snippets, each one ending in a kiss!
And this sounds like an rp meme, I have a feeling it hails from Amat. But who cares? Just throw some characters at me, please. :3
Plurk requests and snippets
Some of them should be avoided by minors. :3
[I realised after writing a few of these that I should have wrote them from an rp? But we don't really play in the same game anymore. And I've got lousy memory. D: So they're just... sort of like a ficlet of whatever I happened to cooke up.]
calliopepurple - Schuldig & Nagi
1. in observations
She sighs with parted lips, pink tongue glistening just slightly beyond the shadows of her mouth. You can see traces of lipstick still on her chin, her lips are swollen and red even without the fabricated colour. There is black mist around her eyes, smeared eye-shadow, her hair is a tangled mess of tentacle-like locks that still curl slightly. Her hands are small and narrow as they fist in orange mane, pulling him close. And he goes willingly, pressing her against the dirty brick wall. You can see his thigh between hers, riding up with the hem of her skirt short skirt.
You sigh, take a sip of your coke and flash the five other security camera feeds across your screen. Nothing alarming there. Then you return to first one, arranging it in the centre of your screen, slightly on top of the others so you can view them all at once.
It's all part of the mission, you know. But he seems to enjoy it. Or maybe it's just your imagination. He kisses her with open mouth, nipping on a soft bottom lip, flick of a tongue travelling over her teeth. Her eyes are closed and she moves her mouth against his in a slow motion.
You have to wonder how it could be in any way comfortable. Swapping spit with another person. You kind of like your own spit. Maybe if she was smaller, cuter and with blue hair...
Still, not very interesting prospect.
You purse your lips, then open them, moving them in a way she does, trying to imitate her expression. Ah, nothing special there. Then you pause, watching as she moans, her head tilting back and his mouth moving to her neck, flash of white tells you that he just bit her. He has a hand between her legs and she seems to be trembling...
The pure rapture on her face makes something in the pits of your stomach tighten, and you decide to pull the window smaller than it was before. After that you look only from the corner of your eye, curious, but not really wanting to see. Not knowing what you're watching. Not caring, perhaps.
Nothing special.
Evidently nothing worth looking as smug as he does when it's finally over and he's walking away, grinning at the camera. He knows you're watching, of course. It's all in the plan.
And definitely nothing worth the kiss he blows at you through the video feed, which you close right off with a disgusted snort.
2. in experimentation
You can't stop thinking about it.
It had not been anything like you had thought it would be. Her lips had been dry, soft and barely there. She had not sighed, or moaned, or even moved her mouth against yours. It hadn't been unpleasant, if a little awkward, and later your lip had throbbed a bit in the spot where you hit it against your teeth.
Yet you can't stop thinking about it. How the woman had sighed when he kissed her, how she had arched against the wall. And the way those warm lips had felt against yours. It had not even tasted anything. Her breath had smelled a little like peppermint. And maybe lemon.
You press the arrow key again, flipping to another page of a medical record of your next customer. He seems to have a heart condition. Surprising that. Yet not as interesting as wondering what he did to her between her legs that made her moan like that.
Do you know how distracting it is when there's a teenager discovering hormones in the next room, and you can hear all of those horny thoughts, no, better yet, feel them right through the walls?
Sharp response dies on your lips when you realise what he's saying. You can feel the heat rising from under your collar, spreading across your cheeks and even the angry command to get out of your mind dwindles into a weak mental snarl as you notice that he's standing behind you, taking half of the door frame with his relaxed form.
"It's obvious," he continues as if not noticing your dismay. "You kiss like a school girl. And me, well, I'm not half bad." He grins shamelessly and you know what he actually means is that he's a world better than you are.
"Yeah, isn't that just natural. It was your first time," he says as if you were having a conversation. Not bothering to answer, you just give him a sense of annoyance, and he chuckles in response. Perhaps your silence is as good as an invitation because he decides to slip into your room, hands in pockets and eyes on you.
His smirk says he's up to no good.
When am I?
"Do you know why it's different, Nagi?"
You spin your chair around, not liking the idea of him behind you. His grin spreads wider as he steps in too close for your comfort.
"Yeah, I know. I know that you're an ass," you say, hoping he'd vaporize to thin air like water in a glass, only leaving ugly marks as a memory of his existence.
He laughs at that, smoky and low. "I don't think you do," he says smugly as he leans in, faster than you thought he could, capturing your wrists against the hand rests of your chair and planting a knee to the cushion of your chair, right between your thighs.
"I'll show you," he breathes the words across your mouth. Coffee and oranges.
And then he kisses you.
3. in a message
You're a bit surprised how easy it is.
Leaving.
You haven't told either of them. Just the three of you left now. And you're going as well. For different reasons, but reasons nontheless. Somehow you know neither of them will stop you, it's a decision you make for yourself, to stay or to leave. And this one you've done a while ago.
Some clothes in a backpack, laptop in a shoulder bag, you mean to travel light. It's snowing outside. But you have already called a cab, and will let it take you to an airport for a plane that leaves for Japan in an hour and half. Your hotel is booked, meeting arranged for tomorrow. Everything is settled.
Everything except the fact that somehow leaving means betraying your team.
No, you think, you'll just work apart from them for a while. You make it crystal clear even in your head, as a response to the thought that was not yours. And you can hear him snort as you step outside to the snow covered steps in front of your house. He's smoking, snow melting in his orange hair. He doesn't look at you, and even if he doesn't voice any accusations, it's plain to see that he doesn't understand and approves your decision even less.
And why should he, an alien thought snaps in your mind, you're making them a two man team.
You shake your head even if he can't see it with you standing behind him. You can't say nothing has changed, but you insist that some things will always stay the same.
He flicks the ashes from his cigarette to the snowy ground with a quiet grunt when your cab pulls up to the driveway. You adjust the strap of your bag and step past him. But pause when you hear him speak behind you.
"What if it's not worth it?" he asks, and when you turn to look at him, he is stubbornly staring past you at the cab, obviously murdering the driver with his glare.
You say nothing as you turn fully, grab a hold of the railing beside him and lean in to press your lips to his forehead, free of bandanna and shades this time.
Do you know the difference, Schuldig, you think when you are walking to the cab.
---------
athena8 - Chitokura, D1 & RookKnight (one for each!)
ChitoKura
[Written for a yakuza rp. Randomly imagined scenario.]
It has become one of those do or die moments. Crouched behind a cement projection in a run-down parking hall, blood oozing from a gunshot wound on Chitose's shoulder, Shiraishi's once immaculate suit now wrinkled and torn from several places. The left lens of the red shades on the bridge of Chitose's nose have been cracked, blood clotting Shiraishi's flippy hair against his right temple.
Gun fire has been ceased momentarily, but that doesn't mean it's over. Not before either them or the others are dead. In the air, still lingers a chemical smell of gun powder, the silence in the lack of ear-shattering gunfire is deafening.
"So..." Chitose starts as his hand dives into a pocket of his tattered jeans for extra clip.
"So," Shiraishi replies, his gun already loaded.
"Any chance you might talk us out of this situation?" Chitose doesn't sound very hopeful.
"You could go see, wave a white flag and tell them you're my envoy." Shiraishi leans the back of his head against the cold concrete, his eyes closed, face hard.
"Heh. I take that as a no." Chitose glances at his shoulder and grimaces at the sight of blood staining his knot tied shirt to half way down his chest. "What about the police?"
"They've got enough to put us both in jail for the rest of our lives."
"I know..."
"So, why the hell are you still yapping about this pointless shit? There's only one way forward."
Chitose doesn't answer immediately. He pads his pockets and finally fishes out a crumbled pack of cigarettes. He peels off the paper until he can find one crooked roll of cancer. Then he goes back to his pockets but can't find what he's looking for. So, instead he asks--
"Got a light?"
Shiraishi snorts but fishes out a metallic lighter from a pocket of his suit, offering flame at Chitose. Their gazes meet through the smoke, linger, and do not falter even when Shiraishi reaches for the cigarette between Chitose's lips.
He takes a drag, then another, blowing the smoke to the pregnant air between them. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough.
"I need a beer once this is over. It's your treat."
Chitose smirks, reaching to wrap his fingers around Shiraishi's wrist, pulling his hand closer to take a drag of the cigarette.
A flick of fingers, and burning flakes of ash scatter in the air as they both stand up, one limping, other favouring an arm. First bullet shot, met with a rain of gunfire.
D1
[Again, written for a yakuza rp. Another randomly imagined scene.]
How to trick a conman?
First of all, you need poker face that never fails. You need to think quick and play it even quicker. You have to be confident, but only lie when you really have to. And always keep your story clean.
Getting a fake passport is not as easy as it is in the movies. You don't have the connections, nobody does. But someone you know, might, and that's the key to success. You have to stay friendly with everyone, even your enemies. And yet not close to anyone.
Follow me? No? Well, lets make it really simple. You are a storyteller, and you have an audience to please, to shock, to move, first of all, you have to keep them interested, you have to keep them on their toes. If they have time to think about it, you're caught.
Niou has a few connections. But those are out of the question when he can't risk having a word of his movements somehow reach his old friends back in the city. But he needs two passports, for himself and another one for Yagyuu. The police are virtually useless, fault laying in their protocol, rules and regulations that know no exceptions. A minor leak in the chain of information could completely ruin the operation. If you can trust only one man, why would you have to trust seven of them?
The plan is really simple. Those are the best ones. Masayoshi Yamada is only a small criminal, some illegal gun dealing, selling women. He's served his sentence and got out for parole. Only, his sister is getting married, in Italy, and he needs to get out of the country. No fucking way is he going to let his sister marry a mafioso without checking up this guy, right?
Now, this guy, who claims to know a guy, who could maybe be willing to fabricate few passports, is a no name criminal, with nothing impressive under his belt. He deals some cheap drugs and buys a few stolen cars, paints them, sells them forward. Even his looks are nothing special, a mouse of a man, with quick eyes but a weak chin and hair, glasses that have been stained with few too many fingerprints. His name is Sasakawa something, who cares? He plays with his pen nervously as he eyes up Masayoshi from top to toe, cold eyes and wild, black hair, crooked grimace and a temper that obviously doesn't need a lot of baiting.
"It's my fucking sister," Masayoshi says, louder than is needed.
"I get that, man, but isn't that a bit too much for just seeing her married? It's a serious crime."
"Is it about the cash? I will pay, so you tell that to your guy." Masayoshi growls as he fishes out another cigarette and lights up. "Two passports. I've got the pictures right here. So, how much will it be?"
Sasakawa leans back in his chair. Obviously he doesn't like being bullied. But he is greedy for the money and far too clever not to take an easy job when it's offered. "So, what's the deal with you two? He's family as well?" He nods towards the timid looking man standing behind Masayoshi. Light hair, nervous eyes, peering at the dealer through a pair of rimless glasses. He looks all too clean for these circles.
"Him?" Masayoshi gives a laugh, sharp and shameless. "He's mine, lay off him. So, you gonna do it then? Good."
Not about to give Sasakawa any time to connect the dots, Masayoshi throws an envelop to the table. "There are the pictures. And half the money. I'll get you the rest when I've got the passports." There is a little more than that, a tracker, his phone number, a note attached to the envelop, and another smaller envelope sealed one for the guy doing the actual job. All Yagyuu's doing.
Sasakawa eyes them suspiciously as Masayoshi rolls his form up from the heavily cushioned chair and turns to the door. Light haired guy gives a little gasp as Masayoshi's hand lands on his ass, and there's a definite whisper of a blush upon his cheek as a mouth nibbles on the corner of his. Masayoshi gives Sasakawa a wink, and mouths 'call me' before pushing them out of the door.
Later, they sit in a taxi, heading back to the safe house. Niou returns the favour by removing the fake moustache off of Yagyuu's upper lip, and kisses him fully on the mouth as he is slips his fingers under the black wig Yagyuu is wearing. The glasses on the bridge of Niou's nose mist lightly from their shared breath.
Rook/Knight
There are friends he has known for all his life. Like the guy who used to live next door to the small apartment he and his dad had. Scrawny boy with a big scar on his left cheek, got from a bicycle race when they were just six years old. Masato had won, but only because that scrawny guy fell off his bike and ended up hitting his face to some broken glass on the ground. Victory had been easy to forget when blood had made them both scream. They had agreed that it was cool not to smile when they did something to make them feel proud. All the cool guys in manga did that. The guy married some years ago and now has a scrawny little boy of his own. And he often not smiles when he looks at his kid, it's easy to tell what he is thinking. Masato knew the boy's mother as well, another old friend. She lived few streets away and they had both declared not to like her a lot when they had been six. And then made a competition out of asking her out when they had been fifteen. Obviously Masato had lost that time.
But it doesn't take a lifetime to learn to know someone. Masato knows Yuushi better than he knows that scrawny boy grown into a scrawny father. He knows when Yuushi is too proud to say anything even if something is bothering him. He knows Yuushi can be childish and more eager to argue than play it nice and polite. He knows Yuushi is kinder than most, and would not refuse a sincere plea for help, or even reach out and offer a hand without being asked for it, like he tries to do with Ran now.
And he knows when Yuushi is thinking about the damned redhead even if he's not saying a word.
Especially when he's not saying a word.
Like right now, staring out of a window and forgetting his breakfast. His hand stirs a spoon in his coffee cup lazily, but his brow is furrowed and there's worry in the blue eyes. Masato knows because he knows Yuushi. And he also knows it's likely to stay like this without interception.
Not one to mince words, Masato jumps right into it. "You want to talk to him again," he says before taking a sip of his coffee and turning another page of his morning paper.
"...what? No," Yuushi replies, his frown deepening. "Yes, I don't know. He doesn't--"
"He knows what he's doing, Yuushi."
"I know that! He's doing a huge mistake."
"It's his mistake to make."
"Wouldn't you do the same if it were me?"
"That's different."
"Really?"
"…" Masato looks up from his paper, and at Yuushi, staring back at him seriously.
"Really?"
Maybe it's not that different. And isn't that what bothers him the most?
Rising to his feet, Masato picks up his coffee, folds his paper and tugs it under his arm as he steps to Yuushi's side of the table. His hand is wide and strong as it slides behind Yuushi's neck, pulling his forehead against Masato's belly, hard muscles working under smooth skin, a trail of hair starting from his navel to disappear under the elastic band of his pyjama pants. He bends slightly to press a kiss on the crown of Yuushi's light hair.
"You'll get your chance, Yuushi," he says quietly before bowing out to the balcony for a smoke.
----------------
twentystitches - Schuldig and Aya
Three time's a charm.
Aya wishes he could kill the person who invented that phrase.
1. car crash mentality
She has a way of pleading with her eyes, Aya realises, one that isn't exactly annoying, but thoroughly bothersome. She does look a lot like Aya-chan, and it's always been hard to say no to his sister. But therein lies the problem with her. She wants something he can't give. She looks and sounds so much like his sister, and even if he doesn't think of her as family, he can't really think of her as potential love interest either. Even so, if he could look past the braids and face, she is both too young and innocent, and he is too damaged. There is nothing he can offer her that would be worth her time. Or worse yet, worth her life.
He sighs, and shifts his gaze, studying the busy street outside. The café is buzzing with noise and people, bodies crammed against each other, laughing, talking, joking...
This is so awkward.
When he turns to look at her again, she has moved closer with desperately determined light in her eyes. And he already knows what to expect. He stays still as she kisses him, unwilling to embarrass her more than is necessary. Her breath is damp and nervous against his cheek and lips dry as they touch his. Eventually he puts hands on her shoulders and pushes her away gently.
"I'm sorry, Sakura," he hears himself saying, as if observing the situation from far away. Her flushed face seems so achingly familiar and even the emotion behind such an expression. Contrary to the popular beliefs, Aya has been rejected a few times in the past.
She excuses herself, and then runs towards the bathrooms. He contemplates about leaving for a moment but he doesn't want to hurt her feelings more than he already has. Sipping his coffee, he stares out from the window and counts seconds, minutes...
When the cushions beside him dip again under weight of a body, he turns and is about to suggest to her that they take their leave now. But instead of her earnest face, he finds a crooked grin, pinkish shades and ridiculously orange hair.
"Schwarz!" he spats out immediately, hand already clenching to a fist, ready to punch that smugly smirking face in.
"Ah, good enough. Tell me, Ran, how much you think a thin layer of wood and some cushions will slow a bullet? Enough not to kill the person sitting at the other side of these mighty obstacles?"
Suspicious, Aya pauses for a moment. Schuldig never makes any gesture towards his arm that is thrown over his jean-clad lap, his green jacket over half of his arm, hand and possibly a gun, pointing towards the back of the sofa they're sitting on. A small glance tells him that there is another person sitting in the next booth, the small of his back where Schuldig's assumed gun barrel is pointing at the cushions.
"What do you want?" he asks between clenched teeth. Schuldig is crazy enough to kill a man just to get the attention he wants.
"That's right, I am," the telepath answers, "And believe it or not, I'm here to help you, you ungrateful little bitch."
He moves closer, Aya shifts back, until his back is pressed against the dead end of the booth.
"Stop that," Aya snaps, irritated. "Help me? I don't need your help."
"That's what I mean. Ungrateful bitch. You did and you do."
Aya grimaces, and as Schuldig moves even closer, too close, close enough to see the flecks of sea green in the blue of his eyes, to smell the cigarette smoke from him, Aya shoves him on the chest, hard. Just a little panic rising within.
"Go to hell!" he hisses between his teeth.
Not very convincing, Ran. The German bastard's voice rings within his head, taunting. For whatever reason Schuldig has decided to help him, he isn't doing it out of the goodness of his heart.
Schuldig smirks, leaning in to place a hand on the windowsill behind Aya. "Can you point me a moment when you had been sincerely altruistic?" he asks, his breath falling warmly against Aya's cheek. He whispers. "You know there's no point lying."
Shaking with mixed rage and purely selfish spite, Aya pulls back an arm, about to punch Schuldig in the stomach. But before he can put to use the intention, his wrist is captured, pressed against the cushions of the sofa. Schuldig makes a small 'nngh' sound at the back of his throat as his nose rubs up across Aya's cheek, parted lips following, tongue flicking against the corner of Aya's mouth before the German's lips close over Aya's.
It's more like a bite than a kiss, brief, hot and flashed with electricity. Aya's eyes are wide as he stares at Schuldig, who is retreating as fast as he was pushing in, with a mocking grin plastered upon his lips.
The German asshole passes Sakura on his way out, salutes at her and walks out of the cafe. Only then Aya realises that there was no gun in his hands.
2. volatile violence
I didn't know you liked guys... she had said. I'm sorry, as if it had been her fault.
Aya had wanted to ask if she didn't recognize Schuldig, but decided against it in favour of nursing his wounded pride, his flaring anger and anxiety that seemed to stem out of nowhere.
It doesn't matter! he wanted to snap at her. Didn't you see?
But either she had blocked the memory or Schuldig had done something nasty to her, she just didn't seem to pay any mind to who but to what.
The worst part of it was that the German jerk actually ended up helping Aya. Sakura has completely given up on him, and now only gazes him with this curious look that seemed more searching rather than worshipping. Despite the fact that she gets extremely interested whenever he is talking with another male, which has started to be rather annoying, all in all, dealing with her is a lot easier than before.
Aya, however, can't stop wondering about Schuldig. Why? Why kiss him? Why help him? Obviously there is something more behind it. The asshole is playing with him.
The kiss? Sure, he had felt something, a small clench at the pits of his stomach, heat and excitement, yet nothing to speak about weeks later. Schuldig was a psychopath, murderous lunatic who had not only kidnapped his sister but also put Sakura in danger as well, killed Omi's sister and plotted to plunge the world into primal chaos. His resume was enough to make Aya feel sick. And the man was insufferable.
Certainly, Aya Fujimiya did not spend even five minutes of his life pining after Schuldig. He did, however, feel slight threat when trying to picture their next encounter. In his daydreams it went something like this: A sword meets gut, falls in love and plunges right in, perhaps twisting here and there just for extra enjoyment. His nightmares, though, were a completely different matter.
Never had he thought it would end up like this, however.
Another job, another night, another corpse - the story of a murderer's life. He had met Schuldig after the target was down, running out of the same underground laboratory with only half a clip loaded to his machine. Gunfire had lit the darkness of a lonely maintenance hallway, sword had hissed out of a scabbard. Aya had taken a bullet to his shoulder, Schuldig had lost his gun, now bleeding from several cuts. Neither of them has spoken a word, yet, wordlessly riding on a wave of battle frenzy.
Somehow, the German has Aya pinned against a wall, banging his sword hand against a brick wall with both of his hands wrapped around Aya's wrist. By the time katana clutters to the ground with a loud shriek, Schuldig is sporting several sore spots on his right side where Aya's free fist has connected. Schuldig has to dance aside to avoid having a knee dig up in his groin. Aya shoves him at the first opening, hard enough to send Schuldig stumbling backwards. But the German has a hand gripping Aya's wrist, and they both scramble against the opposing wall, this time Schuldig first, bouncing his head from the brick wall with a hissed curse. Aya's left hook graces his mouth and chin, digging painfully to the rough wall behind Schuldig's head. Both cheek and knuckles come out bloody. In return, Schuldigh sputters out blood and snarls in anger, Aya gets a heavy punch to his stomach, emptying air out of the smaller redhead momentarily. Just enough for Schuldig to throw him against the wall again, pinning him there by weight and hold on both wrist and arm. Aya gives a little 'nngh' when Schuldig slams against him, and the German's eyes narrow in irritation.
Adrenalin bounding through their bodies, instincts on overload, the sensation of post-mission erection rubbing against one another is like hot and cold, equal amounts of lust and disgust. Madness of the moment, neither of them knows which one started it. But the kiss is heavy, spiced with a metallic tang of blood, teeth clashing, biting, devouring, someone moans, hand in red hair, fisting tight, a nose breathes damp and hot against a cheek, tongue slinging against another...
3. addicted to adrenalin
It has become madness. Dangerous, violent, and yet so addicting. Only a twist of faith and hate was coupled with lust, disgust with curiosity. Every mission becomes a bit more vivid when there's a chance of encountering a viciously grinning mouth against his, calloused hand in his hair and...
The twist is that he would just as likely kill Schuldig as he would touch him willingly.
Maybe that is the fact that arouses him the most.
Sick, isn't it?
Laughter answers him from the doorway of a shadowy office. Tonight there were two targets, and he was meant to kill neither. But Omi got a bullet through his arm and they had to fall to plan B. That being the target chased to his office by Aya, and cut down there.
The man lies on his face on the floor, a puddle of blood spreading under him. His pleas for mercy almost seem to linger in the air still. Almost.
Aya turns sharply to face the Schwarz, well, only Schuldig. The enemy.
"...enemy you want to fuck," Schuldig taunts. "Or kill. It's practically the same thing, isn't it?"
"Leaning towards the 'kill' option," Aya hisses, clutching his sword harder in his hand.
"Isn't that a little predictable, Ran? Try to show some imagination."
"I'm not here to entertain you."
"Quite the contrary, I feel fully entertained by your lust for blood, Weiss."
"Your blood."
"It's all red."
The hard part about fighting Schuldig is that he's so damned fast. His aim is not the best, perhaps exhausted by that speed of his. He comes from right when Aya thought he'd be at left, and kicks feet from under the swordsman. Aya falls with a yelp, hitting his elbow to a corner of a desk and swings his katana at the madly grinning German in a wild, half circle. Only the velocity of the blow manages to gain him a ripple of blood spread across his blade and the front of Aya's coat.
Schuldig curses as he touches his cheek. The cut is shallow but bleeds over his face handsomely. Aya is struggling on his feet when the next kick comes, right to the elbow of his sword hand, sending the weapon flying across the room and somewhere between desks and chairs, drawers and computer screens. His whole arm throbs with pain as he jumps up and staggers back to put space between himself and Schuldig.
Too late, he realises when the German slams into him, a fist digging into his stomach, hard, and both of them fall onto a desk, Aya struggling to breathe, Schuldig hammering the side of his fist to the desk, right where Aya's face had been just a moment ago. Then a wail can be heard, and the desk gives up under their combined weights. Splinters of cracking wood, pens, papers, computer screen, and two assassins, all come stumbling down.
Only a left side of the desk gave up, and they flip over as the support under Schuldig's hand and Aya's right shoulder gives. They roll, and end up with Aya on top, half straddling the telepath. Schuldig moans in pain, splinter of wood has put a vicious bruise on his neck, and quite possibly a hole or two on his back. Aya doesn't feel much of sympathy and reaches up to wrap his fingers around the asshole's throat, both hands, tight enough. He can feel a pulse under his fingertips, picking up as Schuldig opens his eyes to stare up at Aya.
Comlink rattles against Aya's ear, Omi's retreat command distracting him just enough that he doesn't notice when Schuldig's hand creeps into a pocket and just few seconds later a naked blade presses against the hollow of Aya's throat. The knife is not big, but fully frightening thing pressed against his windpipe.
"Baby, we can't keep seeing each other like this," Schuldig croaks, his throat working hard under Aya's grip.
"You should learn when to just shut up," Aya replies, and a swallow gives him a taste of just how sharp the knife on his skin is.
"Can think of better things to do with this mouth of mine."
"You're a fucking dirty liar."
But he still leans down, even despite the sharp pain he can feel on his neck as the knife parts his skin ever so lightly. Licking away blood from the corner of Schuldig's mouth, Aya is the one to initiate the kiss this time.
Takes one to know one.