|| Weiß Kreuz || Farfarello/Schuldig ||
Title: Conversations in Silence
Author: ephedran
Fandom: Weiß Kreuz
Pairing: Farfarello/Schuldig
Theme set: Gamma
Rating: M
Warnings: AU, M/M, Bloodplay, Bondage, Adult situations, Extreme punctuation abuse, and POV/Tense abuse.
Authors Note: I’ve only ever written two pieces of fanfiction before, and that was over five years ago. Haven’t written much of anything, fanfiction or otherwise, matter-of-fact. This challenge was, for me, something to try and kick-start my confidence; convince me I actually can write. Whether or not I write absolute drivel, is of little importance. I needed to know I can write, and I think I might almost believe myself... Might have to do another one, though, just to make sure.
Please, comment and critique. I want to improve my writing.
Ring
Fiddling absently with his piercings, Farfarello turns to watch me with a lazy intensity; the look of a man content to hurry along the end of the world, as long as it amuses him.
Hero
While Farfarello may use me as a mental anchor, I need him just as well, if only to prove that I’m not the only crazy one.
Memory
The memory of that night was an old wound; faded, disturbing, but a part of me now, and it still makes me flinch.
Box
Looking into the room I knock on the doorframe, walking in to lean against the windowsill, staring through the bars - “Let’s get out of here,” grinning, looking over to Farfarello.
Run
Grinding in the club, sliding my hands up Farfarello’s form-fitting shirt, tugging him in the direction of the stage entrance; slipping into the green room without anyone seeing was no simple work, but worth it, and better than a restroom stall any day.
Hurricane
The flurry of emotions and thoughts from the crowd was deafening as we tongued and fondled each other, stoking an inferno that might best be left untouched.
Wings
Flying on the high, I grunt as Farfarello scrapes down my chest and arms-a nasty habit that, if he wants bloodplay, then let it be an honest, clean cut, not these ragged welts-and bend down to nip at his lips, and tell him just that.
Cold
A prickling shiver ran up my spine as he slid the knife out of it’s well-concealed sheath and rubbed it’s flat against my thighs, watching not the blade, but staring curiously into my eyes.
Red
With a deft twist the edge scrapes delicately along the backs of my knees, and up again over the tops of his thighs, and higher to dance across my chest, this time though tracing playful designs in red.
Drink
Hissing, only partly from pain, I brace myself against the top of the couch as Farfarello leans up, working his hands over the path of the blade until he reaches the top, lapping at the blood at first, then suckling and gnawing at the wounds.
Midnight
Feeling rather than hearing the show draw to a close the scene cools down just before the real night life come out to play, and as the clubbers revel in a drink or two before again dancing their way into the fray I slip out into the hallway, disheveled and bloody, with a rather petulant Farfarello in tow, getting out before the band returns.
Temptation
Kiss-bruised lips and flushed skin are all I can see as we exit to the alley and Farfarello slams me into the wall, crushing our bodies together to kiss and bite his way over shoulder and neck, pausing to smirk mischievously before locking on to my lips again.
View
Grinning viciously while still parrying Farfarello’s tongue, I remind him that while giving a show is all good and fun, there are much more interesting things we could be doing together than flaunting our lurid display to the local stumbling drunks and homeless.
Music
Convincing the teller that we had already paid for the tickets, we clamored into the half-filled subway car just in time; a group of teenagers at the end of the car had their music blasting as they scrapped and taunted, remembering what we had originally gone out for, I leaned into Farfarello, rubbing against him and twining my arms around his neck - what was music for, if not to dance.
Silk
Farfarello ran his hands roughly over my chest and around to my back, fingers tickled with the tips of mane; winding his fingers higher and tugging down, he pulls my head back to lick my collarbone, biting down hard on the bend of my neck.
Cover
Coming out of the station, rain fails to dampen the mood as we walk unhurriedly - like there wasn’t a drop in the sky.
Promise
Slinging an arm around Farfarello’s shoulder, I drawl about the things I’m going to do to him when we get back to the apartment, in great detail, without speaking a word.
Dream
Reaching the apartment at all was a feat in itself; toeing off boots at the door and tossing wet coats on the rack I sent Farfarello to his room while gathering some accessories from my own.
Candle
Walking in with a medium nondescript bag, I pull out a black candle and a Bic, lighting it and setting it on the side table; “I’d never guess you were the candles and roses type,” Farfarello chuckled, sitting on the bed, leaning back on his hands.
Talent
Saying nothing to that, I stride over and start nibbling and caressing Farfarello’s body, working my way from throat to nipples, torso, bellybutton, all while we are fully clothed; mouthing a thousand things I’d never say, coming to rest on his inner thigh then start circling in, never quite staying in any one place long enough.
Silence
The silence stretches as Farfarello arches his back, leaning into the caresses, suspending breath and all thought to live completely in the sensation.
Journey
Stopping long enough to remove Farfarello’s shirt, I get up to retrieve the candle; a trip that seems an eternity to him, but I soon return and push him down.
Fire
Transfixed by the flame, he doesn’t feel the pain of the burning wax, only mild discomfort and the euphoric rush of endorphins.
Strength
Setting the candle to the side again, picking out one of my own blades and another object from the bag, I turn to lean over Farfarello; skimming the edge across flushed skin, flicking the daubs of wax off expertly, relying on finesse and experience rather than strength.
Mask
With knife still in hand, I reveal the second object for a moment while removing Farfarello’s patch, replacing it swiftly with a thick band of leather, clasping it shut at the back-he attempts to sit up, almost gasping in protest before I capture it, tasting it with the mixed flavor of my own insistent moan.
Ice
The click of the cuff locking on my wrist is the first, the first sign, the first warning, the first time I notice that Farfarello had been hiding something behind him; slipping the chain around the restraints set into the headboard by touch alone and locking the second handcuff around my other wrist-restraints usually reserved for his teammates protection against himself-Farfarello can’t help but chuckle low in his throat, a frightening sound to anyone, but to one who knows what he is capable of, it’s like being doused with ice water.
Fall
And to think I had somehow thought I was in control of the situation, how stupid, I think, as he removes the mask and places it on me, kissing me mercilessly as he fastens the catch; Farfarello grabs for the knife and takes it from my hand, tossing it on the floor-in reach, but not in play-, then deftly fingers the bloodied edges of my shirt, ignoring me as I hiss, pulling the shirt off cut by cut.
Forgotten
The pain is soon forgotten as Farfarello straddles my thighs, memorizing my body with his lips, tracing my wounds and scars with his fingertips.
Dance
This power struggle, this elaborate play, it is no more difficult than the steps Farfarello has learned to take, balancing on the fine line before being truly lost to the depths; if it was an intricate dance, Schuldig taught him the rhythm, and was the perfect lead.
Body
Flinching against one of Farfarello’s more eager ministrations, a sharp intake of breathe, “Gott im himmel!”1; if the body was a temple, Farfarello’s would’ve been long desecrated, if still standing and in good order, but he was definitely not one to cherish and worry over such trappings as flesh, they were merely a means to an end.
Sacred
Farfarello lifts himself up from the crouch and steps off to the floor, turning my head at the sound; Farfarello picks up the knife beside him and stands, smirking sardonically, “Gott ist tot.”2
Farewells
Padding silently out of the room, Farfarello closes the door, walking past Nagi sitting with his laptop in the living room, “Where are you going,” -not really a question; he grabs his still-damp coat and slips on his shoes as he turns up the collar and slips the knife in his pocket, halfway out the door he notes, “You’ll want to see to Schuldig, he needs bandaging.”
World
Both submersing themselves in the regular, mundane things-not that someone could mistake their lives to be ‘regular’-, it’s almost like nothing happened, except that Schuldig is still a bit stiff when reaching for things in the top cupboards, and Farfarello is more distant, detached than usual.
Formal
We both treat each other with a cool indifference, myself because I’m not sure if I want to pursue it any further, and Farfarello, who knows what Farfarello is thinking.
Fever
When at last I can take no more, I confront Farfarello, pinning him against the wall in the hallway one morning, asking questions with my hands, waiting for answers in the air.
Laugh
All I receive in reply is slow laughter, emanating from the Irishman’s mind-dropping my hands, digging for a cigarette as I stalk into my room, lighting up and leaning out the window.
Lies
Taking a stiff drag, I try to relax, picking up minds at random, rummaging for something amusing, and discarding each in kind-Tokyo is full of minds, but none of them compare to his; Farfarello leans against his own window, /You are the liar and the thief; the king of masks./
Forever
Breathing clouds, I tap my cigarette out the window, /I will always be Guilty,/; Farfarello chuckles, laying his head down on his arm resting on the sill, /But will you ever be yourself?/
Overwhelmed
Farfarello turns to watch a plane overhead, /I am exactly who and what I am, no lies-who are you, I wonder,/; cocking my head, feeling Farfarello close at the edges of my mind, an invitation-to look, or to be seen, I delve in immediately.
Whisper
Images and feelings and memories rush over me, trying to make sense of them, but how can I when they don’t make any sense to the owner; some I recognizes, others of a distance past, “Don’t go too far,” he whispers, fingers wrapping around mine.
Wait
Staring at the sky I start, ashes singeing fingertips, dropping the cigarette as I breathe deeply, not knowing I had held my breath.
Talk
Standing up and turning, finding Farfarello leaning against the doorframe; “Why don’t we just do this the old fashioned way,” he grins, as he walks in the room, stopping to stand in front of me.
Search
Looking into my eyes I look back into his, one bright with possibilities, and one horribly scarred and damaged beyond use or repair; looking, for a reason, for an answer, for something to make sense of this tangled psychological mess we’ve gotten ourselves into.
Hope
“For a telepath, you are remarkably single-minded,” he smirks at me, I just shrug.
Eclipse
I’m about to lean in for a kiss when he pulls away, taking a step back; no longer smirking he fixes me with a look, “I don’t want your ‘façade’, though I won’t ask for honesty since I know that’s beyond you.”
Gravity
Wincing inwardly at the thorn, I try to look away thoughtfully, but I’m pulled back to his face, his lips, his scars; he stares at me, judging, and decides, bending to taste my smoke-stained lips.
Highway
Like stepping into oncoming traffic, there is adrenalin, and the underlying feeling that I’m doing something incredibly dangerous, but all is drowned in the feel of him, his body, and his mind, a tempting labyrinth to find myself in; he kisses my lips, and cheek, and neck, trailing kisses all along my exposed skin, before standing to admire his handiwork.
Unknown
Looking at him looking at me, both poised on the precipice, we stare into the darkness willingly, knowing the monsters we are and not fearing what may come of it.
Lock
We join again, lips questing for reasons our minds have lost, testing each other, with neither found wanting; stepping back to lean against the wall just shy of the window, wind teasing our clothes, Farfarello takes the advantage to pin me to the wall, grabbing hold of my hair to claim the fruits of his unintentional victory.
Breathe
Coming up for air, he grins at me - a humourless grin, a knowing, plotting grin - as we exchange gasps, tugging at buttons and zippers, reaching to touch; grasping, hunched together, the heat of our bodies mingling-we face one another, breathing each other.
1: German - “God in heaven!”
2: German - “God is dead.”
Author: ephedran
Fandom: Weiß Kreuz
Pairing: Farfarello/Schuldig
Theme set: Gamma
Rating: M
Warnings: AU, M/M, Bloodplay, Bondage, Adult situations, Extreme punctuation abuse, and POV/Tense abuse.
Authors Note: I’ve only ever written two pieces of fanfiction before, and that was over five years ago. Haven’t written much of anything, fanfiction or otherwise, matter-of-fact. This challenge was, for me, something to try and kick-start my confidence; convince me I actually can write. Whether or not I write absolute drivel, is of little importance. I needed to know I can write, and I think I might almost believe myself... Might have to do another one, though, just to make sure.
Please, comment and critique. I want to improve my writing.
Ring
Fiddling absently with his piercings, Farfarello turns to watch me with a lazy intensity; the look of a man content to hurry along the end of the world, as long as it amuses him.
Hero
While Farfarello may use me as a mental anchor, I need him just as well, if only to prove that I’m not the only crazy one.
Memory
The memory of that night was an old wound; faded, disturbing, but a part of me now, and it still makes me flinch.
Box
Looking into the room I knock on the doorframe, walking in to lean against the windowsill, staring through the bars - “Let’s get out of here,” grinning, looking over to Farfarello.
Run
Grinding in the club, sliding my hands up Farfarello’s form-fitting shirt, tugging him in the direction of the stage entrance; slipping into the green room without anyone seeing was no simple work, but worth it, and better than a restroom stall any day.
Hurricane
The flurry of emotions and thoughts from the crowd was deafening as we tongued and fondled each other, stoking an inferno that might best be left untouched.
Wings
Flying on the high, I grunt as Farfarello scrapes down my chest and arms-a nasty habit that, if he wants bloodplay, then let it be an honest, clean cut, not these ragged welts-and bend down to nip at his lips, and tell him just that.
Cold
A prickling shiver ran up my spine as he slid the knife out of it’s well-concealed sheath and rubbed it’s flat against my thighs, watching not the blade, but staring curiously into my eyes.
Red
With a deft twist the edge scrapes delicately along the backs of my knees, and up again over the tops of his thighs, and higher to dance across my chest, this time though tracing playful designs in red.
Drink
Hissing, only partly from pain, I brace myself against the top of the couch as Farfarello leans up, working his hands over the path of the blade until he reaches the top, lapping at the blood at first, then suckling and gnawing at the wounds.
Midnight
Feeling rather than hearing the show draw to a close the scene cools down just before the real night life come out to play, and as the clubbers revel in a drink or two before again dancing their way into the fray I slip out into the hallway, disheveled and bloody, with a rather petulant Farfarello in tow, getting out before the band returns.
Temptation
Kiss-bruised lips and flushed skin are all I can see as we exit to the alley and Farfarello slams me into the wall, crushing our bodies together to kiss and bite his way over shoulder and neck, pausing to smirk mischievously before locking on to my lips again.
View
Grinning viciously while still parrying Farfarello’s tongue, I remind him that while giving a show is all good and fun, there are much more interesting things we could be doing together than flaunting our lurid display to the local stumbling drunks and homeless.
Music
Convincing the teller that we had already paid for the tickets, we clamored into the half-filled subway car just in time; a group of teenagers at the end of the car had their music blasting as they scrapped and taunted, remembering what we had originally gone out for, I leaned into Farfarello, rubbing against him and twining my arms around his neck - what was music for, if not to dance.
Silk
Farfarello ran his hands roughly over my chest and around to my back, fingers tickled with the tips of mane; winding his fingers higher and tugging down, he pulls my head back to lick my collarbone, biting down hard on the bend of my neck.
Cover
Coming out of the station, rain fails to dampen the mood as we walk unhurriedly - like there wasn’t a drop in the sky.
Promise
Slinging an arm around Farfarello’s shoulder, I drawl about the things I’m going to do to him when we get back to the apartment, in great detail, without speaking a word.
Dream
Reaching the apartment at all was a feat in itself; toeing off boots at the door and tossing wet coats on the rack I sent Farfarello to his room while gathering some accessories from my own.
Candle
Walking in with a medium nondescript bag, I pull out a black candle and a Bic, lighting it and setting it on the side table; “I’d never guess you were the candles and roses type,” Farfarello chuckled, sitting on the bed, leaning back on his hands.
Talent
Saying nothing to that, I stride over and start nibbling and caressing Farfarello’s body, working my way from throat to nipples, torso, bellybutton, all while we are fully clothed; mouthing a thousand things I’d never say, coming to rest on his inner thigh then start circling in, never quite staying in any one place long enough.
Silence
The silence stretches as Farfarello arches his back, leaning into the caresses, suspending breath and all thought to live completely in the sensation.
Journey
Stopping long enough to remove Farfarello’s shirt, I get up to retrieve the candle; a trip that seems an eternity to him, but I soon return and push him down.
Fire
Transfixed by the flame, he doesn’t feel the pain of the burning wax, only mild discomfort and the euphoric rush of endorphins.
Strength
Setting the candle to the side again, picking out one of my own blades and another object from the bag, I turn to lean over Farfarello; skimming the edge across flushed skin, flicking the daubs of wax off expertly, relying on finesse and experience rather than strength.
Mask
With knife still in hand, I reveal the second object for a moment while removing Farfarello’s patch, replacing it swiftly with a thick band of leather, clasping it shut at the back-he attempts to sit up, almost gasping in protest before I capture it, tasting it with the mixed flavor of my own insistent moan.
Ice
The click of the cuff locking on my wrist is the first, the first sign, the first warning, the first time I notice that Farfarello had been hiding something behind him; slipping the chain around the restraints set into the headboard by touch alone and locking the second handcuff around my other wrist-restraints usually reserved for his teammates protection against himself-Farfarello can’t help but chuckle low in his throat, a frightening sound to anyone, but to one who knows what he is capable of, it’s like being doused with ice water.
Fall
And to think I had somehow thought I was in control of the situation, how stupid, I think, as he removes the mask and places it on me, kissing me mercilessly as he fastens the catch; Farfarello grabs for the knife and takes it from my hand, tossing it on the floor-in reach, but not in play-, then deftly fingers the bloodied edges of my shirt, ignoring me as I hiss, pulling the shirt off cut by cut.
Forgotten
The pain is soon forgotten as Farfarello straddles my thighs, memorizing my body with his lips, tracing my wounds and scars with his fingertips.
Dance
This power struggle, this elaborate play, it is no more difficult than the steps Farfarello has learned to take, balancing on the fine line before being truly lost to the depths; if it was an intricate dance, Schuldig taught him the rhythm, and was the perfect lead.
Body
Flinching against one of Farfarello’s more eager ministrations, a sharp intake of breathe, “Gott im himmel!”1; if the body was a temple, Farfarello’s would’ve been long desecrated, if still standing and in good order, but he was definitely not one to cherish and worry over such trappings as flesh, they were merely a means to an end.
Sacred
Farfarello lifts himself up from the crouch and steps off to the floor, turning my head at the sound; Farfarello picks up the knife beside him and stands, smirking sardonically, “Gott ist tot.”2
Farewells
Padding silently out of the room, Farfarello closes the door, walking past Nagi sitting with his laptop in the living room, “Where are you going,” -not really a question; he grabs his still-damp coat and slips on his shoes as he turns up the collar and slips the knife in his pocket, halfway out the door he notes, “You’ll want to see to Schuldig, he needs bandaging.”
World
Both submersing themselves in the regular, mundane things-not that someone could mistake their lives to be ‘regular’-, it’s almost like nothing happened, except that Schuldig is still a bit stiff when reaching for things in the top cupboards, and Farfarello is more distant, detached than usual.
Formal
We both treat each other with a cool indifference, myself because I’m not sure if I want to pursue it any further, and Farfarello, who knows what Farfarello is thinking.
Fever
When at last I can take no more, I confront Farfarello, pinning him against the wall in the hallway one morning, asking questions with my hands, waiting for answers in the air.
Laugh
All I receive in reply is slow laughter, emanating from the Irishman’s mind-dropping my hands, digging for a cigarette as I stalk into my room, lighting up and leaning out the window.
Lies
Taking a stiff drag, I try to relax, picking up minds at random, rummaging for something amusing, and discarding each in kind-Tokyo is full of minds, but none of them compare to his; Farfarello leans against his own window, /You are the liar and the thief; the king of masks./
Forever
Breathing clouds, I tap my cigarette out the window, /I will always be Guilty,/; Farfarello chuckles, laying his head down on his arm resting on the sill, /But will you ever be yourself?/
Overwhelmed
Farfarello turns to watch a plane overhead, /I am exactly who and what I am, no lies-who are you, I wonder,/; cocking my head, feeling Farfarello close at the edges of my mind, an invitation-to look, or to be seen, I delve in immediately.
Whisper
Images and feelings and memories rush over me, trying to make sense of them, but how can I when they don’t make any sense to the owner; some I recognizes, others of a distance past, “Don’t go too far,” he whispers, fingers wrapping around mine.
Wait
Staring at the sky I start, ashes singeing fingertips, dropping the cigarette as I breathe deeply, not knowing I had held my breath.
Talk
Standing up and turning, finding Farfarello leaning against the doorframe; “Why don’t we just do this the old fashioned way,” he grins, as he walks in the room, stopping to stand in front of me.
Search
Looking into my eyes I look back into his, one bright with possibilities, and one horribly scarred and damaged beyond use or repair; looking, for a reason, for an answer, for something to make sense of this tangled psychological mess we’ve gotten ourselves into.
Hope
“For a telepath, you are remarkably single-minded,” he smirks at me, I just shrug.
Eclipse
I’m about to lean in for a kiss when he pulls away, taking a step back; no longer smirking he fixes me with a look, “I don’t want your ‘façade’, though I won’t ask for honesty since I know that’s beyond you.”
Gravity
Wincing inwardly at the thorn, I try to look away thoughtfully, but I’m pulled back to his face, his lips, his scars; he stares at me, judging, and decides, bending to taste my smoke-stained lips.
Highway
Like stepping into oncoming traffic, there is adrenalin, and the underlying feeling that I’m doing something incredibly dangerous, but all is drowned in the feel of him, his body, and his mind, a tempting labyrinth to find myself in; he kisses my lips, and cheek, and neck, trailing kisses all along my exposed skin, before standing to admire his handiwork.
Unknown
Looking at him looking at me, both poised on the precipice, we stare into the darkness willingly, knowing the monsters we are and not fearing what may come of it.
Lock
We join again, lips questing for reasons our minds have lost, testing each other, with neither found wanting; stepping back to lean against the wall just shy of the window, wind teasing our clothes, Farfarello takes the advantage to pin me to the wall, grabbing hold of my hair to claim the fruits of his unintentional victory.
Breathe
Coming up for air, he grins at me - a humourless grin, a knowing, plotting grin - as we exchange gasps, tugging at buttons and zippers, reaching to touch; grasping, hunched together, the heat of our bodies mingling-we face one another, breathing each other.
1: German - “God in heaven!”
2: German - “God is dead.”