Categories > Anime/Manga > Weiss Kreuz
There's sweat on his forehead, trickling down his skin, and he swipes it away again and again. A nuisance, or it had been anyway, but now the routine was dulled. And in the good ol' days he would have let it be to begin with, slicked back his hair and walked his beat, but nowadays things were different. Tears of the skin could make him scream, curl onto his side because jesus-fuckin-chirst but it hurt to get salt in an eye socket.
And it was Mexico's fault, whore that she is. She takes more than she gives and nothing about her is soft. The heat, the dust, the blood, the sweat. It's all hers in the end, just as the blackness is his.
And everything was too damn hot.
Then it came, just as the thoughts rose in his mind, that cold-ice-burning sensation deep in his gut, like the worst fucking enema in the world. Made him suck in air and bite his lip as snapshots of images made themselves known. Nothing pleasant, nothing good, and the frozen feeling stayed until it all dried up, because even a power like that couldn't last long in Mexico.
Head cocked to the side, Sands swiveled his chair around, irritated that the spinning sensation still bothered him. There were footsteps on the stairs, the third one creaked as a warning, then on the porch.
red hair, sharp smile, cold flaring eyes, biting, heat, cool hands-
"Are you still wearing that shitty hat of yours, Red?" Sands drawled. He sat back, managing a sprawl on the cheap chair.
"It's not shitty, /Sheldon/," came the reply. Hint of a German accent, like dark bitter chocolate. "It's /me/."
The blind man snorted and re-holstered a gun as the footsteps drew nearer. "You're made of cheap material and sold for four pesos at a broken-down stand?"
"Fuck you, no." Definitely a bite in that. Sands smirked. Then Schuldig was straddling his legs and part of his brain fled south of the border. "Miss me?" the German purred.
"Like a hole in the head. Which I have several of, if you've forgotten."
Sharp teeth nipped as his throat, a warning or maybe more playing. It was hard to tell. Especially when the hand on his dick kept switching from caresses to pain-pleasure torture. "Miss this?"
Sands gasped in response.
And that bastard just chuckled before sliding off of him. "I'll come back later, when you're ready to play." Then the door opened and closed before the CIA agent could reply. Score one to Schuldig.
Groaning, Sands slumped back again. Too fuckin hot.
***
AN: gift for gogoangelgunboy. Pure crackt.
And it was Mexico's fault, whore that she is. She takes more than she gives and nothing about her is soft. The heat, the dust, the blood, the sweat. It's all hers in the end, just as the blackness is his.
And everything was too damn hot.
Then it came, just as the thoughts rose in his mind, that cold-ice-burning sensation deep in his gut, like the worst fucking enema in the world. Made him suck in air and bite his lip as snapshots of images made themselves known. Nothing pleasant, nothing good, and the frozen feeling stayed until it all dried up, because even a power like that couldn't last long in Mexico.
Head cocked to the side, Sands swiveled his chair around, irritated that the spinning sensation still bothered him. There were footsteps on the stairs, the third one creaked as a warning, then on the porch.
red hair, sharp smile, cold flaring eyes, biting, heat, cool hands-
"Are you still wearing that shitty hat of yours, Red?" Sands drawled. He sat back, managing a sprawl on the cheap chair.
"It's not shitty, /Sheldon/," came the reply. Hint of a German accent, like dark bitter chocolate. "It's /me/."
The blind man snorted and re-holstered a gun as the footsteps drew nearer. "You're made of cheap material and sold for four pesos at a broken-down stand?"
"Fuck you, no." Definitely a bite in that. Sands smirked. Then Schuldig was straddling his legs and part of his brain fled south of the border. "Miss me?" the German purred.
"Like a hole in the head. Which I have several of, if you've forgotten."
Sharp teeth nipped as his throat, a warning or maybe more playing. It was hard to tell. Especially when the hand on his dick kept switching from caresses to pain-pleasure torture. "Miss this?"
Sands gasped in response.
And that bastard just chuckled before sliding off of him. "I'll come back later, when you're ready to play." Then the door opened and closed before the CIA agent could reply. Score one to Schuldig.
Groaning, Sands slumped back again. Too fuckin hot.
***
AN: gift for gogoangelgunboy. Pure crackt.
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