Main priority: Hurting God.
Everything else comes second.
God first.
Everything else second.
God first.
Schuldig second.
Hurting God first.
Fucking Schuldig second.
Fucking Schuldig second...
No, that didn't make sense.
Fucking Schuldig first.
Hurting God second.
No, that didn't make sense either.
Hurting God by fucking Schuldig first.
Everything else second.
Now that made sense.
Farfarello looked up from his quiet considerations. If hurting God by fucking Schuldig was his main priority then that would be what he was supposed to do right now.
All of Schwarz were standing in Takatori Reiji's office, waiting for their boss to show up and give them orders. Normally Farfarello would have been somewhat interested in their upcoming mission and the prospect of hurting God through it, but right now he had better things in mind. Like how nice Schuldig's ass looked in those pants, and how nice it would be to fuck him right there on that oversized wooden desk. Since God's suffering was all he lived for anyway, and he'd managed to completely convince himself that the best way to make God suffer was to fuck the redhead standing next to him, he didn't really care about what anyone would think. So he moved over, snaked his arms around Schuldig's waist, licked a little at his lips, and rubbed his groin against Schuldig's in a gentle and somewhat suggestive way.
Schuldig hadn't really been thinking about sex before, but it was getting kind of hard not to now that Farfarello was practically throwing himself at him, thinking of absolutely nothing else. And that wasn't the only thing that was starting to get kind of hard. Fuck. This really wasn't the best time. Still, he couldn't help opening his mouth to Farfarello's tongue, and he couldn't help wrapping his arms around Farfarello's shoulders, and he couldn't help moving his hips just a little, and fuck! IT WASN'T HIS FAULT! Oh well, as the blood left his brain to seek out lower grounds, which is really just a rather silly way of saying that he was getting a hard-on, he started to think that if Farfarello really wanted to fuck him as badly as his thoughts suggested - and his thoughts were pretty much suggesting that if he didn't get to fuck Schuldig within about ten seconds, he'd throw himself out the window - then it would be really selfish of him to refuse, now wouldn't it?
Damn. They were at it again. Crawford pushed his glasses up and wondered if he should just let them do it right there on that desk. No. Takatori would arrive any second now. Taking hold of Schuldig's hair - since he was the supposedly sane one and the one with hair that was possible to take hold of - he pulled the telepath's head back and informed him of the location of the nearest restroom. Hopefully they'd be more presentable when they got back.
Now that Schuldig had gotten the approval he needed - well, maybe not exactly needed, but it was still nice to have - he managed to ignore the fact that Farfarello was licking at his neck, making him feel pretty good, i.e. turning him on, long enough to grab the Irishman's arm and pull him out of the office and down the hallway towards the nearest restroom. That seemed like as good a place as any. Besides, it's not where you are that matters; it's whom you're with.
After getting lost a few times, shocking a few secretaries by accidentally dropping into their offices, and asking a receptionist for the way, receiving some odd looks from the lady in question, Schuldig and Farfarello finally found the restroom. Actually they'd ended up two floors down, so it probably wasn't THE restroom, but rather A restroom, but by now they would have pretty much settled for a janitor's closet or such anyway, unless they'd all been locked.
It was a nice restroom. Clean. Blue. Rather small. And it had Farfarello pinned to one of the walls, so to Schuldig this restroom was now officially the nicest restroom in the world.
Farfarello didn't stay pinned to the wall for very long though, but it had nothing to do with some kind of aversion to being crushed against a wall by Schuldig. On the contrary, he absolutely adored being crushed against walls by Schuldig. What he didn't absolutely adore was getting coat hangers shoved into the back of his neck. It didn't hurt, but it wasn't exactly comfortable either.
Schuldig on the other hand didn't have anything against that particular coat hanger. He pushed Farfarello out of the way and quickly removed his jacket, disposing of it on the hanger. And then he simply pinned Farfarello to the wall a bit to the right of the hanger, partly because Farfarello seemed to enjoy being pinned to walls, but mainly because Farfarello's body was so nice to almost crush against office restroom walls. And Farfarello's mouth was really nice to shove one's tongue into, so Schuldig did just that, getting immediate response from Farfarello's tongue, and from Farfarello's hands that were now all-but-resting on the back of his thighs, and from Farfarello's entire body which was now writhing nicely against his, hips grinding against each other, sending another wave of blood down to the main contact point right between his legs. By now he was amazed that he still had enough blood left in his head to stand up straight. Then again, he probably wouldn't have been able to stand properly if he hadn't leaned most of his weight on Farfarello, who in turn was leaning most of his weight on the wall, and any use of the word "straight" in this context is just ridiculous.
Farfarello had such a wonderful way of never wearing too much - unless you count wearing anything at all as wearing too much, in which case he was wearing too much right now - and "bondage pants" may sound complicated, but once you get used to it you can have them off in a matter of seconds. Which Schuldig was demonstrating right now, crouching a little, unzipping a few zippers, running his hands down Farfarello's bare legs, and since he was down there anyway, licking a little at Farfarello's cock, feeling the blood rushing even faster to his own crotch as Farfarello moaned and arched his back up to the wall. What the hell... He'd gotten those pants off in record time and the floor was so damn clean it was shining, so Schuldig got down on his knees and moved his hands up to Farfarello's hips. Schuldig covered his teeth with his lips, since even though Farfarello couldn't feel pain and was pretty masochistic at times, there were still limits, and leaving bite marks while giving a blowjob was definitely pushing things a little too far.
This was better than kissing. He'd get to use his mouth in somewhat the same way, but the response he got was so much better than any kiss. So he parted his lips and moved his face closer, taking part of Farfarello's cock in his mouth. Yes, "part of", as in "most of but I'm not a fucking sword swallower and I have absolutely no intention to choke".
If Farfarello had been the one with the mindreading abilities he would have agreed completely with Schuldig. This was so much better than kissing. He was still somewhat convinced that the best way to make God suffer was by actually FUCKING Schuldig, but if Schuldig wanted to go down on him, then who was he to say that oral sex didn't hurt God? No, oral sex most definitely hurt God. Especially when being performed by Schuldig, since he had absolutely no inhibitions and would go just as hard as Farfarello wanted him to. And his mouth... It deserved a ton of lyrical praise, but Farfarello wasn't exactly the poetic type, so he'd settle for saying that he'd give up self-mutilating for that mouth. Well, maybe not really, but right now he couldn't say much at all, so it didn't matter. Sudden case of twisted vocal chords or something, caused by Schuldig's mouth sucking really hard on his cock, and Schuldig's hands caressing his groin and stroking his thighs and generally seeming to be everywhere at once. Not that Farfarello actually felt like talking now, since everything he really wanted to say could be summed up in a moan and Schuldig seemed to appreciate that just as much anyway.
He was getting too good at this. Schuldig removed his hands and opened his mouth again, pulling away from Farfarello, who reacted with a really disappointed moan and some not so friendly hair-pulling. No. Schuldig didn't really want to move away - he was a fucking telepath for God's sake, "your pleasure is mine" and all that crap, but it had been too close that he'd gone too far this time. It wasn't that he minded the thought of Farfarello coming in his mouth. Not at all. It was just the fact that he'd been running around on three different floors looking for a place to get fucked, and damn it, he was going to get fucked, and he was on a time limit here - they'd already been gone too long - and he was NOT about to screw it all up on carelessness.
So Farfarello could be as disappointed as he wanted to be - it wouldn't last too long anyway - but Schuldig still got up off his knees and held on to Farfarello's shoulders for support as he reached into one of the pockets of his jacket. "Always come prepared" - isn't that some kind of slogan? Schuldig was definitely prepared, and he looked forward to the "coming" part, as he finally got a condom out of his jacket. Now all he had to do was get that damn package open. It didn't prove to be too much of a hassle this time, and he crouched in front of Farfarello once again.
Farfarello was just leaning against the wall now, pretty much just waiting for Schuldig to get finished with whatever it was he was doing so that he could finally fuck him. He wasn't exactly unaware of Schuldig's fingers nimbly pulling the condom on. More like the opposite - he was VIVIDLY aware of Schuldig's fingers against his cock, and he found himself wishing that it'd be more than just his fingers. God? Who's that?
Maybe the one to be thankful to for lubricated condoms? Then again, what's a little pain compared to the vast pleasure derived from being fucked rigid by a homicidal psychopath in an office building restroom? Schuldig was still somewhat thankful for lubricated condoms as he pulled Farfarello with him to the sink. It would do. He repeated the process of shoving his tongue into Farfarello's mouth and move it around a little - okay, a lot - and got some really nice responses. Partly from Farfarello's mouth when he returned the kiss, and partly from Farfarello's hands as they moved down to unbutton his pants.
Twenty seconds later Schuldig was sitting on the edge of the sink wishing that ceramic hadn't been so damn cold, with his pants around his ankles, about to be fucked rigid by a homicidal psychopath who currently seemed to be doing his best to shove his tongue down his throat. Cheap? You bet. Tacky? Just the way he liked it. So he put his knees up to Farfarello's hips, let go of his mouth, and told him that he'd better fuck him right now and he'd better do it hard or he wouldn't get any for a month. Or at least a week. Three days? Okay, so maybe that threat didn't really hold any weight at all, but it's the thought that counts, right?
Not that Farfarello needed any threats, since he suddenly remembered his plans to hurt God again, and took hold of Schuldig's shoulders, pushing the redhead back against the mirror behind him. And since he could be a really considerate lover when he actually thought about those things, he went as slow as his body allowed him to. Which wasn't very, but it's still the thought that counts, right?
Schuldig actually caught hold of that thought, and he didn't appreciate it much since he wasn't exactly the fragile type and didn't particularly like it when people tried to treat him that way. They'd done this more times than he could count with a hell of a lot less foreplay than this - three fucking floors worth of it.
Schuldig didn't have to worry though, since Farfarello's perception of a gentle kiss pretty much equaled most people's perception of heavy tongue action or something to that extent, and Farfarello's perception of going slow - well, you know how it is. So when he went from being somewhat alone within himself to being filled and joined and absolutely fabulously COMPLETE in just a matter of seconds it didn't shock him. He was prepared and ready, and willing as hell, but he couldn't help gasping for air, because it suddenly felt like his lungs were completely empty, and he moved his hips to help his lover - because right now he sure as hell loved Farfarello more than anyone or anything else in the whole fucking world, and come to think of it, hadn't he always? - find that spot inside that would send him right over the edge, and he suddenly noticed that he was digging his nails right into the back of Farfarello's shirt, and Farfarello's nails were digging right into the shoulders of Schuldig's shirt, and then they found that spot together, and the rhythm, and Schuldig had never met anyone else who'd ever fuck him that hard, and Farfarello had never met anyone else who'd ever be alive after he was through with them, and the image of the cheap setting spiraled away and right now they could have been absolutely anywhere because, well, they had each other and that was the only fucking thing that mattered.
The sappy romantic crap was quickly cut short as Farfarello gave in to his body's demands, and Schuldig came right after him, triggered by that last thrust and the mental overload that went with it.
Farfarello pulled away, and Schuldig slid down from the sink, arms still around Farfarello's waist. The Irishman took a couple of deep breaths - leaning against Schuldig who in turn was leaning against the sink - took a few moments to calm himself down considerably, and laughed a little - a tentative, slightly apologetic "maybe I had a bunch of thoughts, but we're still just fucking and nothing else, right?" laughter, and the German smirked, relieved that no one could ever read HIS thoughts, since that would have been really embarrassing.
But then they busied themselves with trivial, practical things. Disposing of the used condom, trying to get cum stains off their shirts, zipping up their pants, splashing their faces with cold water, generally trying to make it a little less obvious that they just got laid. And Schuldig pulled a hand through his hair and got his jacket off the hanger. Then he gave Farfarello a good long look under the pretext of checking to see that he didn't look to much like he'd just gotten laid - which he did of course, much to Schuldig's delight - before unlocking the door and stalking out into the hallway. Actually he was walking a bit stiffly.
They found the elevator and silently waited for it, avoiding eye contact as far as possible. When it arrived they got in, pressed the right button and stood in silence for the two floors they were going. It wasn't hard to find Takatori's office once they'd stepped out of the elevator - they'd been there so many times before.
Stopping outside the door, Schuldig turned to Farfarello. "Farfie... I just..." Farfarello stared at the carpet, more scared than hopeful, but feeling both, and Schuldig decided that no, maybe next time but not now. He shrugged it off. "It's nothing." Maybe it really was nothing.