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| (Timor mortis conturbat me quia in inferno nulla est redemptio - The fear of death troubles me, for in hell there is no redemption) (***) Had a dream I could turn back time - David Usher, 'How Are You' (***) February 13, 199X Brad was late tonight. Schuldich took a gulp of his canned beer as he leaned his head against the cool glass of his bedroom window, the benign thought coming to him from origins unknown. His bored gaze lingered on the deserted city street below him, the lamp-lit silence broken only occasionally by the nighttime revelers who were audacious enough to be out this late on a weekday. Yet, no sign of Crawford's expensive BMW graced the scene, and he was getting slightly restless. The Schwarz leader was meeting with a potential client tonight - some big man dealing with black market pharmaceuticals, from what Schuldich had heard. But the rendezvous was supposed to have occurred over five hours ago, which in the telepath's opinion, should have been enough time to wine, dine, and woo Schwarz their next paying job. Such was the life of a group of freelancers, he thought with a sigh, their livelihood now epitomizing capitalism at its most basic. His pride bucked at having to cater to the whims of the wealthy and corrupt, but realistically thinking, he knew there was no other way to make a living now that Schwarz had lost all its powerful affiliations. Normally, he wouldn't give a rat's ass to Crawford's whereabouts but frankly speaking, tonight, he was feeling horny and he needed a good lay. In all honesty, the telepath had to admit that he had never had as good a fuck partner as that anal American, all stiff upper lip and holier-than-thou as he was. To Schuldich, that was part of the fun: how fast could he get the legendary iceman of Schwarz to become the total slut in bed? He smiled at the challenge, one that had been his motivation for countless nights these past nine months. It had all started back then - the two of them too exhausted and too wound up after a particularly difficult mission to go out and look for a bed partner. After so many years of training and working together, they had looked at each other that night and made the fateful decision. They had mutually agreed to a short-term relationship, and had used the other to relieve their pent-up energy. Little did they know that the agreement would still stand so long thereafter. 'Besides,' Schuldich added arrogantly. 'It's not as if I'm that bad a conquest myself.' Changing his focus from the street to his reflection in the glass, he admired his fine-featured face. Yes, he was conceited and yes, he thought himself beautiful. With his vibrant orange-red hair, sparkling green eyes, and pale smooth skin, he considered himself quite a catch and was damn proud of it. He had brought many people - male and female alike - to their knees with his looks and his body, the simple animalistic power of it all fueling his already overblown ego time and time again. Taking one last swig of his beer, the German pushed away from the window and placed the now empty can down on his nightstand. It didn't look like Crawford would be returning any time soon so he decided to take a shower and perhaps call it a night. As he ambled lazily toward the bathroom, it suddenly occurred to him what a prude he had become: nine months ago, he would've squeezed himself into what he referred to as his finest 'hunting' clothes and staked out the hottest nightspots for the typical one night stand. As shallow as that sounded, he had once really enjoyed that kind of existence, but now ... now, it just seemed to take too much effort and energy. 'Must be getting old,' he concluded as he closed the bathroom door behind him and began to unbutton his trendy, fitted shirt. 'Twenty-three years old and already feeling like the stay-at-home half of an old married couple - what is my life coming to?' he wondered with a healthy dose of chagrin. It didn't take long for him to completely strip down and jump into the shower. After adjusting the water temperature to a comfortable level, he straightened, closed his eyes, and relaxed as the soft pressure of the shower's spray fell sensually across his skin. He didn't know how much time had passed with him just standing there enjoying the water's warmth, but he was about to reach for the soap when he sensed another presence in the small room. Instantly, he tensed for action. Yet, the momentary call to alertness quickly disappeared as he telepathically probed the new mind and encountered the meticulously guarded one of his lover. Crawford. Within minutes, he felt the spine-tingling flutter of the older man's lips on the back of his shoulder and the tickle of rapidly dampening hair dance over his skin. Instinctively, Schuldich leaned into the worshipful contact, reveling in the roaming hands of his lover and the pleasant pinpricks of water that caressed his body. He could hear Crawford step into the shower behind him, naked arms wrapping around his upper torso and exploring, and mouth never leaving the his back. But Schuldich wasn't in the mood for too much teasing or foreplay tonight. Letting out a tempered growl from deep within his throat, he whipped around and eagerly claimed the American's errant lips with his own. 'And the man tastes so damn good,' the telepath thought as he dueled with the aggressive tongue of his partner. 'Like part brandy, part honey, and all Crawford ...' He wove his fingers through the mass of dark, wet locks, trying to pull the older man as physically closed to him as possible, and pressed his hips forward, purposely rubbing his straining erection against the sensitive skin of his lover's inner thigh. Crawford easily understood his silent plea and was more than happy to accommodate. Before Schuldich could react, he found himself pushed up against the wall, his skull narrowly missing the showerhead. The wet tiles were uncomfortably cold against his back, but his body heat eventually rectified that as the dark-haired man kept him pinned there and continued to plunder his mouth. Lowering his hands to his partner's sturdy shoulders, Schuldich pushed up and wrapped his legs around the Schwarz leader's narrow waist, skin gliding enticingly along water-slick skin. Using the strong body of his lover and the wall as leverage, the telepath angled his hips so that his entrance hovered just above the other man's erect length. Crawford groaned at the the wanton invitation and broke their kiss off to take full advantage of their situation. The German's lips suddenly grew cold at the absence of attention but his dazed mind never had a chance to return to reality before he felt the other man began to nip the vulnerable spot in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Somewhere through the sexual haze of his mind, Schuldich heard the faint sound of a bottle cap being flipped open - very much like the cap of the shower gel - but that was forgotten moments later when he felt Crawford thrust upwards and impale him. The man was not gentle by any stretch of the imagination but he did not mind one bit. He was in the mood for rough and fast so the pain that accompanied the American's entry was almost welcomed. And then ... and then, he felt Brad begin to move, slow seductive motions - up and down, in and out - that caused the searing sensations of pleasure and sexual gratification to shoot through his whole body. "Christ ... Crawford ..." he croaked, breaths hitching at every proprietary thrust and eyes glazing at the overwhelming sense of completion that pervaded his entire being. He tilted his head back against the tiles, muddled attention lingering on the man before him. Those eyes ... those dark, beautiful, unreadable eyes stared back at him with such intensity that he almost forgot who he was and what they were doing. And suddenly, he was caught, irretrievably caught in that inexplicable look of sheer perfection and beauty. Those golden green-flecked orbs were undeniably focused on him, mysterious, endless chasms that leaked illusory tears as they watched from beneath the shower's spray, hiding a secret that would never grace the light of day. A particularly hard thrust from his precognitive lover jolted him from his impromptu reverie, reminding him once again of his rather erotic position. Bending his head forward, he reclaimed and held the other man's mouth with tenacious ferocity until he felt satisfying warmth explode inside him. Even then, when his dark-haired partner began to relax, Schuldich refused to let go, secret smile on his face as he continued to taste as much of the Schwarz leader as he could. Crawford gave into the ministrations, body now spent but still supporting the climaxing man pressed against it. Schuldich came minutes later, his seed spilling messily against his lover's navel, only to be quickly washed away by the steady stream of warm water that fell soothingly around and on them. The older man slowly withdrew and set the telepath back on his feet, leaning on the younger Schwarz member, who, in turn, leaned against the hard ceramic behind him for support. Both were breathing hard, but both found it difficult to move so they silently opted to remain under the artificial rain, letting the warm fluid wash away any remnants of their spent passion. The water's mist and the lingering scent of soap filled Schuldich's nostrils, lulling him onto a plane of total relaxation and post-climatic euphoria. If it had been up to him, he would have stayed there forever, safe and warm in his lover's arms while the world went about its business in its far-from-here demesnes. But inevitably, he felt Crawford shift against him, making to leave. He wanted to protest, to complain about the unfairness of it all but he caught himself in time to save his own dignity. He was Schuldich. He never begged. He fucked and he enjoyed but he never begged. Begging was for the lovesick lovers he liked to laugh at on TV and on the streets. He never stooped so low. Reluctantly, he followed Crawford out of the shower and began to dry himself off, in the end, deciding to give his hair some attention before heading off to bed. With its length, he would have a hell of a time fixing it tomorrow morning if he didn't. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he grabbed his brush from beside the sink, and began to work out some of the tangles that were making a mess of the bright strands. After straightening out several knots, he looked up and noticed that the bathroom mirror had been misted up to the point where he could only make out his own fuzzy outline. He hadn't realized that they had stayed in the shower for that long. Setting his brush down, he quickly swiped a hand across the reflective surface, revealing a streak for clear viewing amidst a whole scene of blurred objects. His own bright eyes and flushed cheeks stared back at him through the de-fogged section, the very picture of health and happiness. Schuldich wanted to laugh at that thought. Health and happiness? Him? A cold-blooded killer with a sadistic streak, healthy and happy? What a concept! Shaking his head amusedly at the absurdity of it all, he picked up his brush, and was about to work on his hair again when he felt a pair of possessive arms wrap around him from behind. Leaning back into his lover's embrace, he wondered what was on Crawford's mind that had made him so eager today. Usually, it would be the telepath initiating all the action. Schuldich watched the partly misted mirror and caught the habitually stoic leader nuzzling the crook of his neck. They looked to be the very image of a happy, loving, carefree couple, indulging in the amorous overtures that often followed a bout of sex, but he knew that was as far from the truth as he could get; it was merely an illusion, nothing but a false reflection that existed only in the superficial world of the mirror. It was not real ... it could never be real ... "So what's the special occasion today, Crawford?" he asked with his usual lopsided smirk, tone dry and slightly sarcastic as per his natural persona. The other man stopped what he was doing and looked up as well, his deep, penetrating eyes meeting Schuldich's in the mirror. He didn't answer right away, but seemed to be searching his lover's expressions for an answer to a question only he knew. And when he finally spoke, his reflection's fathomless gaze remaining unwavering and steady, his voice held the seriousness and blandness that had long become the Schwarz leader's trademark. "You're going to die tomorrow night, Schuldich. And there's nothing I can do to stop it."
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