Sunday 1.13 A change in tactics

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Crawford sat in his leather office chair, reclined slightly and appearing relaxed. Only a very close associate would have noticed the whiteness of his fingertips from the pressure where they were steepled in front of his chest. Too dignified and self-controlled to resort to nervous behaviors like pacing, Crawford had to resort to occasionally polishing the already spotless and gleaming lenses of his glasses or tapping his fingertips together while he remained deep in thought.


The dynamic among his team were evidently changing with or without his consent. Evidently the defeat of the elders and the fall of the tower had given his subordinates a huge boost in pride and confidence. Even Farfarello's deeply ingrained psychoses had seemed to subside to something less manic, although no less deadly and unpredictable. If this new control could be managed and the berserker willing to follow orders, Farfarello could become even more a force to be reckoned with.

Crawford's thoughts turned to Nagi. The youngest member of Schwarz was currently dutifully carrying out his latest assignment. Aside from his psychokinetic talent, Nagi was a brilliant boy and his skills with computer programming and hacking were an extremely valuable resource to the team. Perhaps Crawford should make more of an effort to acknowledge the strengths of each team member. Perhaps...praise. A word unheard of within the walls of Rosenkruz and a reinforcement unused. The only reward a Rosenkruz alumni received for a job well done had been a lack of punishment.

Lastly, the final member of Schwarz, the most flamboyant, the most insolent, the most aggravating man to spend six years in Crawford's presence and still be living. Schuldig. What to do about Schuldig?

Crawford removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Be honest at least in your own head, he told himself. The question was what to do *with* Schuldig. In the privacy of his office and safely behind his nearly impenetrable shields, Crawford could admit to a certain attraction. Beyond the amazing head of hair that begged to be touched and that nearly femininely beautiful face there existed a brilliant flame that had never been extinguished during even the worst that Schwarz had faced. It was that peculiar bit of laissez-faire attitude that had infuriated and intrigued Crawford for years. What would he have to do to cement that loyalty to himself?

It would seem that Crawford's ingrained responses and tactics had to change, too. He smirked at what awaited the telepath and the berserker when they arrived home. Schuldig had insolently demanded a reward for carrying out his orders, a dinner to be precise. It would be interesting to see how his team reacted to the catered six course feast that he had ordered in, complete with intimate lighting, servers and a few wines so old they were nearly impossible to obtain.

A quick flash, just the barest glimpse of the future brushed over Crawford's senses, causing him to indulge in a slight chuckle. His team would most likely think he had finally succumbed to madness or was trying to poison them. Crawford's smirk deepened. He was willing to bend a little but he was no fool. The expense of the gourmet meal had been divided by four and the appropriate amount deducted from each person's personal account, access to the accounts something Crawford had always had. They would find out eventually.

Crawford retreated to his bedroom, walking once again with a confident slink to his stride. He felt the need to dress appropriately for this very important business dinner.

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Crawford waited impatiently and getting more irritated by the second. Twenty minutes had come and gone. His glass of wine was empty and the frightened sommelier gingerly approached to refill it.

Crawford took off his already spotless glasses and polished them anyway. What had once started as a mannerism bent to annoy was fast becoming a nervous habit. He scowled and replaced the glasses to lace his fingers together.

Catching the threads of the Schwarz link, Crawford shot off a few more orders to try and speed things along.

/Nagi! Farfarello! Get in here, now./

Now what would bring Schuldig in a hurry? Crawford smiled evilly, the sommelier backing further into his corner, and smoothed a steady hand down his tie.

/Schuldig?/ Crawford sent, his tone a mental purr that ought to come as a surprise to the telepath. /I'm waiting for you./

Crawford sipped from his fresh glass. He would see if *that* got him any results.

[fireun.livejournal.com]

Schuldich stopped dead, half way into his slacks, dress shirt hanging unbuttoned. That was just fucked up. Giving up on the pants completely for the moment, Schuldich fumbled over to check on his small stash of emergency recreational drugs. Nope, it was still there. That took away the easy explanation for the rather sultry tone Crawford's mental summons had contained.

Crawford didnt do lusty. He didnt do come hither. Schuldich snarled down at his hopefully attentive cock and hauled on his slacks. Crawford didnt do sex. Fucking bastard probably thought if he pulled on Schuldich's libido the telepath would play nice.

Two could play that game. Re-adjusting himself, Schuldich smirked. Schuldich most definately did sexy. He left his shirt unbuttoned, meticulously arranged his least offensive tie, and let his hair down. A careful, albeit short, application of his favorite brush, and Schuldich deemed himself presentable.

'On my way.'

[lilymoon1.livejournal.com]

Crawford had just finished his second glass of wine and was feeling nicely warm, but not tipsy. The Oracle could not afford to do tipsy, let alone falling down plastered. He still nearly dropped his empty glass when Schuldig slinked into the dining room. Really, did the telepath every walk any other way than a cocky saunter or an even cockier and sexy slink?

Crawford gestured for Schuldig to take the chair to his right and rose from his own chair just as Schu made to pull the chair back.

Standing close enough to breathe in the dark, compelling cologne Schuldig wore, Crawford reached around him and pulled the chair out himself. Taking advantage of his slightly greater height, he smirked down into blue eyes.

"Since you *did* dress for the occasion...allow me."

He sat Schuldig down with an encouraging push on his shoulder and helped scoot the chair back into place. For just a moment Crawford allowed his fingers to brush against the silky orange strands that flowed over Schu's shoulders.

Crawford turned back to his own chair, making sure the view was flattering and to also conceal the slight tightness of the front of his pants. Had Schuldig's hair always looked that soft and touchable? Focus, Oracle.

Crawford reassembled his polite mask in the few seconds he had then retook his place at the head of the table. He needed to harden his resolve. Game on.

[fireun.livejournal.com]

Schuldich hated relying on the mundane things in life to let him know what the hell was going on. Body language was a bitch. No wonder people were eternally publishing manuals. There was a glint in Crawford's eyes that was vaguely familiar, but Schuldich was staunchly trying to refuse to juxtapose needs of the flesh the the Oracle.

He had expected some snide comment or another about being late, or a demand he button his damn shirt. Schuldich had not expected a show of slightly misplaced but almost endearing chivalry.

Crawford did do endearing.

Personal bubbles were also passe apparently. Crawford had been standing very close. Lingering even. And touching, of all things.

As Crawford settled back into his place at the head of the table, Schuldich tried to sort out the internal arguement that was going on between his common sense and his sex drive, all the while longing for a nice, relaxing, comfortingly phallic, smoke.

Attentive, touchy Crawford. It was like every insane wet dream come to life. Hedonistically pleased he hadnt worn boxers, Schuldich shifted in his seat under the guise of assuming his usual lounge.

"So. I am assuming you didnt order chinese."

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"No, no Chineses or Japanese cuisine tonight, although Nagi may be disappointed. There are some very fine chefs and catering services here in Japan." Crawford smirked at Schuldig over his third glass of wine. "I know you watch 'Iron Chef'. Tonight is French, excellent food that does not favor any of the four of our separate cultures."

Crawford was really mellowing and instead of using his linen napkin, flicked out his tongue quickly to catch a drop of wine on his lower lip. He leaned forward slightly.

"In all our years together as a team, we have had so few chances to sit down and have a relaxing dinner. Our Masters are dead. We deserve the chance to rest, relax and enjoy our new freedoms."

Crawford pinned Schuldig with a smoldering stare that as quickly turned glacial hard. He wasn't near as mellow as he first appeared.

"Then *I* will decide on the next course of action for Schwarz. However, I want to hear what everyone else has to say and know how our freedom has affected you."

Crawford leaned back casually in his chair. Hopefully the others would show up soon.

"Tell me, Schu, have you ever had Coq au Vin?"

[fireun.livejournal.com]

Schuldich hated feeling the idiot. After a reflexive telepathic flail, he shifted from lounge to sulk. He hated French almost as much as he hated the fact no one within range spoke the damn language. He should have known interesting, interested Crawford had been too good to last. He let a bit of that disappointment show in his face before assuming his usual disdainful lack of concern.

"Relaxing dinner, eh? If I cant pronounce it, I'm not sure I want to eat it."

Schuldich wondered if Crawford had saved any wine for the rest of them. He and his battered dignity could use a good drenching. Dealing with Crawford was never good for his temper. Schuldich snared the meek looking man skulking in the corner holding a wine bottle and earned himself an alcohol serving slave for the duration.

[lilymoon1.livejournal.com]

Crawford watched, amused, as the sommelier very nearly fell over himself in his eagerness to serve Schuldig.

/A little eager for some alcohol? Am I making you *that* uncomfortable?/

"Coq au Vin is chicken cooked in wine. You'll like it."

Just to see if Schuldig noticed, Crawford casually loosened his immaculate tie and let it hang around his shoulders. Without looking at the telepath, he also undid the top two buttons of his dress shirt.

"It would seem the others are either going to be very late or not show up." Crawford's lips thinned in annoyance briefly, then those sharp eyes seemed to twinkle. Maybe it was an optical illusion. "Shall we start on the appetizers?"

Without waiting for an answer, Crawford rang a silver bell that had been sitting at his right hand and several white coated servants, dressed eerily like Schwarz had been for the final showdown, trailed into the dining room bearing trays of savory puffs stuffed with fragrant fillings. Crawford sampled one and gave a low moan of satisfaction.

Leaning far forward, Crawford took the remaining half and brushed Schuldig's bottom lip with it.

"Try it. You might like it."

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In a perfect world, Schuldich would check for sexual interest, smile, and dive in. In a perfect world, it would be approprite to use expensive looking little pastries as foreplay, then shove them aside in favor of fucking on a nice white tablecloth.

In a perfect world it wouldnt be Bradely-fucking-Crawford inspiring the previous train of thought.

There had to be a catch somewhere. There was always a catch when Crawford was involved.

The bastard has loosened his tie. Had undone his shirt a bit.

And the sound he had made when he bit into that little puffy snack...It had gone right to Schuldich's cock and had done a fabulous job of erroding common sense to the point where sex with Crawford seemed a perfectly reasonable idea.

Not good.

Schuldich, determined to give as good as he got, took his time pulling the bit of pastry out of Crawfords fingers, and in an act of foolish bravery, flicked his tongue out to catch any crumbs that might have lingered on Crawfords fingers.

Fighting back. He was merely fighting back. At least thats what Schuldich was busy telling his almost manic arousal.

"Not bad."

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Crawford smiled wickedly and brought the fingers that had just been licked back to his own mouth. He tasted, removing any remaining crumbs and murmured in satisfaction.

"Not bad at all." His lips twitched and his hand blindly and unerringly picked up another savory. "Another?"

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"You gonna feed it to me?"

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"Of course," Crawford purred and held out another puff. "I don't mind filling your mouth with something. Then you can't hurl snark at me."

He let the innuendo sink in.

"Not verbally, at least."

[fireun.livejournal.com]

Schuldich distinctly remembered being told not to play with his food. Or to bite the hand that feeds.

It's a shame Schuldich had never been too keen on listening to advice. snagging puff and the fingers involved between his teeth, Schuldich smiled, and waited for the answer to a long standing question;

Which came first, the insult or the injury? Crawford would either throw a punch or snarl something vile. Either way, Schuldich won.

[lilymoon1.livejournal.com]

Crawford sat perfectly still, flashing eyes just daring Schuldig to do something as foolish as draw blood. Then Farfarello entered the dining room and the sight of the man's *formal* attire eradicated every thought in his mind and all sensation of pain.