The door to the office was, as usual, locked. Nagi eyed it for half a moment, smirking. Crawford never would learn. He cocked his head to one side, eyeing the lock offhandedly; it fell beneath the pressure of his mind with barely half a thought.

Crawford looked up in irritation as the boy slipped through the door. "I lock the door for a reason, you know." He scowled, not taking his hands from the keyboard. "This doesn't mean that you can just open it right back up whenever you feel like it."

Ah, yes, the opening moves. "I was worried about you," Nagi purred, softly; none of the usual coyness today, not when he already knew what he wanted. He slipped across the length of the room, teenage body that somehow managed to still stay fresh and young even after what it had been through moving easily, lithely. "You're working too much." He slid behind Crawford's desk chair on silent cat-feet, bringing his hands up to Crawford's shoulders. Strong hands found the exact spot that ached, digging thumbs into hard, unyielding muscles.

Self-control was one thing, but self-control in the face of those practiced and talented hands was entirely different. Crawford let out a soft mmmpfh, letting his fingers still on the keyboard and dropping his head back. "Sometimes I think that I'm the only one of us who works at all," he murmurred.

Nagi laughed again, leaning forward and letting his lips brush against the other man's ear. "I'll remember that you said that the next time you need me to crack into some system or another." He worked his hands down Crawford's shoulders, millimeter by millimeter.

Crawford's fingers twitched on the keyboard again, tapping out the next in the series of commands he was issuing to the machine. "You do that." Tap. Tap. Tap. Mmmpfh. "Right there. Your left thumb."

:Far be it from me to ignore such polite direction,: Nagi thought, amused; he dug his left thumb in more strongly, adding just a hint of the telekinetic push behind it to avoid it being such a directed attack on Crawford's abused muscles. "I've almost got those bank files cracked for you," he said, breath light against Crawford's ear. "I'm running the hash sums even as we speak. I thought I'd come down here to see if you were still hard at work." He nipped lightly at the ear beneath his lips, then kissed his way down a pale and graceful neck. "I figured you would be. Need some distraction, Brad-niisan?"

A turn of the head, ostensibly to look at Nagi; the gesture revealed the sloping expanse of Crawford's neck. And such a pretty neck it was, too, Nagi mused. "When am I not hard at work?" Crawford asked, dryly.

The skin revealed was far too much of a temptation; Nagi rubbed his cheek against it, inhaling the crisp, clean scent of man. "When you're asleep," he answered, the smile in his voice. "When you're killing someone. When you're fucking around with Schuldich, or fucking me." He picked up his head and smiled, the innocent and perfect smile he had mastered so many years ago. "Or when you're getting a backrub."

He could tell Crawford wasn't fooled by the smile, wasn't fooled by the innocence. Crawford never was, except when he wanted to be. The older man smiled anyway, showing just a hint too much teeth. "You're so considerate."

That made Nagi laugh too, and he ran his hands along Crawford's shoulders, slowly, savoring the broad expanse of skin and muscle beneath thin, expensive cotton. His hands slid around the shoulders, along the collarbone, down the chest, reveling in the sensation. "Only the best for my oniisan," he purred, light voice nothing more than a rumble against Crawford's skin. "I only have your best interests at heart."

He could practically feel the waves radiating off the other man; irritation, indifference, arousal, all wrapped up into one. "An interesting method of administering a backrub," Crawford said, his tone dry. He hadn't bothered switching from his native English; he never did.

Nagi reflected in passing that his grasp of sarcasm in other languages had increased tenfold lately. His accent, however, had not; for that reason, he tended to keep with his native Japanese. "Are you asking me to stop?" A deliberate, affected, hurt tone. "I could just go back upstairs and watch the computer run cycles..."

Crawford shrugged. "You could." Nagi hid a smile; he could hear the barest hint of strain in Crawford's voice, could feel the barest hint of tension returning to his body. It was well-hidden, however, as Crawford lifted his fingers back to the keyboard. "I am not, however, telling you to stop."

Nagi rubbed his fingers down the front of Crawford's button-down shirt, then back up, then back down again, this time lingering a little more at the waistband. The fabric was cool and crisp beneath his fingertips, delicate and soft. "No, you're not." He rubbed his cheek against Crawford's shoulder again, eyes slipping closed, breathing in the very feel of him. "What would you like me to do, Brad-niisan?"

Crawford's fingers stopped tapping, and he rested them atop the keys. "If I didn't know better, I would assume that Schuldich is being a bad influence. However, the opposite is probably a more accurate estimation of the situation." He looked at Nagi, his face slightly impatient in that way that only those closest to him would recognize. "Isn't it?"

:I win.: It was the kind of victory that would take some time to claim, the kind of victory that would look like defeat to any outside observer, but Nagi knew it, and he smiled against Crawford's skin again, nipping lightly. "I haven't seen Schuldich since yesterday," he protested, all hurt innocence. "He hasn't had time to be a bad influence. Besides, I'm just so innocent on my own..." Deliberately, his palm brushed over a nipple. "I wouldn't do anything you wouldn't want me to do. Are you complaining? Do you want me to stop?"

Crawford's eyebrows lifted once, quickly, and then his face returned to its usual impassivity. "I won't parrot Schuldich by calling you a liar." He reached up to cup Nagi's chin. His hand was large, and Nagi's face so small in comparison; Nagi let his eyes slit closed in pleasure, his gaze merry behind the low lids, and nuzzled the inside of Crawford's wrist.

"And what part of that was a lie, Brad-niisan?" he murmured, softly.

One thumb brushed over Nagi's small, soft lips. "You know as well as I do that every word of it was a lie." He parted Nagi's lips, slipped the thumb between them. "And the truth."

Suckling on Crawford's thumb, Nagi slid around the chair, spilling into Crawford's lap, all sleek angles and curves. He ground his hips hard against Crawford's, straddling the other in a position that could almost be called dominant, were it not for the fact that even on his knees backwards in Crawford's chair, the American was taller, broader. Crawford only eyed him tolerantly. "Enjoying yourself?"

Nagi took advantage of the change of position to rub his palms over soft skin again, settling more firmly into the lap grudgingly offered. "I always enjoy myself with you," he whispered. "You don't treat me like Schuldich does." He nuzzled down Crawford's fingers, palm, arm, knowing as well as Crawford did that each of his statements, taken separately, was gospel truth. It was only when you put them together that you got the lie.

The other arm wrapped around Nagi's shoulders. "Is that so." It wasn't a question; Crawford knew the answer full well.

Nagi tilted his head back to look at Crawford, through eyes that burned dark and hot. "I'm not lying to you, Brad-niisan." He ran his hands down Crawford's shirt again; this time, the first of the buttons parted beneath practiced fingers, then the second, then the third.

"Of course not," Crawford purred, in his deep voice, fingers seeking the little hairs at the back of Nagi's neck. "Of course not."

Nagi felt the little mental buzz that indicated that Schuldich was looking in; he hid a smile against the skin of Crawford's throat, lowering what scanty defenses against eavesdropping he had, inviting Schuldich to see through his eyes and rummage his thoughts. :What took you so long?:

There was no response; he hadn't been expecting one. Tentatively, his tongue flicked out to taste Crawford's collarbone, his fingers making short work of the other buttons, even as Crawford's touch sent shivers along his spine.

Crawford picked up on the buzz as well. :Careless, Schuldich,: he thought, keeping up his own mental shields as always against the German's intrusions. The thought slipped through, as it was intended to; Nagi smirked again at the echo in his mind, relayed by the eavesdropper from the other side of the building. Slowly, deliberately -- as if to make it a good show -- Crawford moaned; Nagi laughed, softly, and looked up.

"Liar," he whispered, softly. "That's not enough to make you start moaning." Sharp fingernails skimmed over soft skin, gentle and rough at the same time.

Crawford met Nagi's eyes. "Isn't it?" His fingernails dug into the nape of Nagi's neck; Nagi threw his head back against the touch, leaning into it more than shying away from it, and his eyes were amused behind the pleasure-drugged expressions.

"I'm not that good. No matter how much you like to fuck me." One fingernail scraped over a nipple. "And you do like to fuck me, don't you, Brad-niisan?"

"No," Crawford answered calmly, rationally, as if responding to a question of whether or not he liked beets. His dark eyes didn't even blink as they held Nagi's.

Nagi ground his hips against Crawford's again, and smiled, slow and sensuous. "Liar," he whispered, feeling the very evidence to the contrary hard and demanding beneath him, and leaned forward to nip at Crawford's nipple, teeth sharp and practiced. "Liar, liar, liar. I'm starting to sound like Schuldich." He laughed again, lifting his head some more to nuzzle at Crawford's neck before brushing his lips ever-so-gently against the other man's. "I could leave, if you don't enjoy this. I'd hate to ask you to do something you don't want to do, Brad-niisan."

Crawford smirked. "I didn't say I didn't want it." He reached forward and grabbed Nagi's lower lip between his teeth, biting down harder than necessary to keep the boy from moving. "But as long as you're here, it would be a sin to waste a good opportunity."

Nagi suckled on Crawford's lips, around the other man's teeth, ignoring the pain, or perhaps reveling in it. Once more, he rubbed his groin against Crawford's, pressing his soft, denim-clad ass against the other man's thighs. Without a word, as his mouth was rather busy, he spread his hands wide open, as if to say, take me, I'm yours. For now.

The bifurcated future spread out in front of Crawford, as it always did -- the one that would be if he acted one way, the one that would be if he acted another. "Do you have a spare keyboard lying around?" he asked around Nagi's lip.

Nagi laughed, softly. "Have you seen my parts room lately?" he murmurs, against Crawford's mouth. "Anything you could need."

Crawford smiled and let go. Nagi could feel it, could feel the neat cracking of the other's resolution, and smiled to himself; the game had been won quickly this time. "Good."

With perhaps too much force, he pushed Nagi off his lap and onto the desk. His keyboard snapped neatly in half with the force of the boy's body. And in the back of Nagi's mind, there was a grating and familiar laugh.

:Shut the hell up, Schuldich, I'm getting laid here.: Nagi landed on the desk roughly, sprawling across the broken bits of plastic, pushing himself up on his elbows to meet Crawford's eyes even as he let his legs fall open, revealing the swell of his cock hard beneath his jeans, the curve of his ass in the soft denim. He smiled, slowly, in invitation, and licked his lips. :He always feels so guilty afterwards.:

Crawford placed his left hand on Nagi's throat and shoved him back roughly against the desk, not knowing -- or, more likely, not caring -- about the one-way conversation going on around him. "Is this what you want?" he asked in a voice far too calm for his actions.

His other hand undid Nagi's pants; Nagi struggled a little bit, for the sake of appearances. It wouldn't do to give in too quickly, even if he had Crawford exactly where he wanted him. Or rather, even if Crawford had him exactly where he wanted to be. "If it wasn't, would I let you do it?" he breathed, his voice growing raspy.

One of his feet trailed up the back of Crawford's leg; Crawford tore Nagi's pants down past his hips, then flipped him roughly over onto his stomach. His hand remained on Nagi's neck, keeping the boy down on the table, almost choking him; it was familiar, the position, the pressure. "You know," he mused, still in the calm monotone, "you probably would."

Nagi laughed, a sound not quite amusement but not really anything else, either; his breath was beginning to come in ragged gasps, his arousal plain and unashamed. "Maybe," he whispered. "Maybe not. You'll have to try it sometime." He tossed his head back, just a little, just enough to make the struggle apparent.

Crawford unbuttoned his own dark pale khaki slacks with quick, efficient motions, releasing the erection that Nagi knew had been nagging at him rather urgently for the past few minutes. He took a moment to stroke Nagi's bare back and ass with his free hand, almost delicately. A thought slipped through his shields, quickly pounced upon by the listening Schuldich and relayed to Nagi: :And the forthcoming stains will never come out of these pants. Too bad; I rather liked the suit. Ah, well; occupational hazard.:

Nagi took the sudden bit of freedom to push himself up on his elbows again, looking over his shoulder to watch Crawford with dark, promising eyes. He didn't move further, but reached out with his mind instead; Crawford's shirt whispered over the barrier of his shoulders, falling to the floor almost like a delicate flower. He knew that his dark gaze was almost a challenge as he tossed his head to get a piece of flyaway hair out of his face.

Crawford watched the removal of his shirt with something akin to amusement on his face; Nagi knew that he forgot the practical applications of telekinesis sometimes. Nagi also knew -- from experience -- that Crawford kept no lube in his office; there was a bottle in his own back pocket, but he didn't particularly see the need to mention it. Instead, he closed his eyes and watched with that other sense as Crawford lifted a hand to his mouth, drawing his tongue along his palm, wrapping that hand around his cock, then -- without further preparation -- drove into Nagi's body with the same roughness he had thrown him down on the desk.

"Comfortable?" The deep voice was far too calm, far too controlled; Crawford wasn't even breathing hard.

Nagi hissed at the sensation, so familiar, so damn familiar. It was exactly why he had come down the stairs, exactly why he'd sought Crawford out. He pushed back against the thrusting, hard, insistent. "Except for the --" /crash/ "-- fucking keyboard pieces --" /crunch/ "-- God, yes..." Practical applications of telekinesis, indeed; among them was numbered removing broken pieces of computer machinery from underneath your left hip.

The rhythm that Crawford set was hard and demanding; Nagi would have called it mindless if he couldn't feel the weight of the other man's mind ticking over possibilities and probabilities, listening to the futures. :Oh, no, you don't.: Nagi slipped into the rough and bruising rhythm easily; he reached out with the feathers of his power, raking invisible claws down the other man's back. His reward -- or attempted punishment, it was hard to tell, particularly when Brad let the reins of control slip a little -- was a tighter grip, a harder thrust. He relaxed against it, feeling the pressure building inside of him, the pain and pleasure blending into one near-blinding sensation.

"I'll expect that keyboard on my desk sometime fairly soon; I do have work to do." By the end of that sentence, Crawford's breath was growing heavier, more ragged.

:Hey Nagi. Gimme a handjob.: The thought was layered over with arousal.

:Not now, Schuldich, fuck off, can't you see that I'm getting fucked? I'm busy.:

:You're a geek. Multitask.:

He didn't even dignify that with an answer, instead gritting his teeth. "Fuck -- your keyboard --" He tangled his phantom fingers in Crawford's hair, twining, pulling, tugging, in the "touch me" gesture, the demand for hands, lips, teeth, as well as cock and fingertips.

Crawford bent down further, placing his mouth near the nape of Nagi's neck, just below the place his hand hadn't strayed from. "You don't seem much like my keyboard." His other hand grabbed Nagi's hip roughly, in a grip that would most certainly bruise.

Nagi tossed his head back, beginning the teasing struggle, though to anyone else it would appear to be in deadly earnest. "I sure as hell have -- the damn imprints -- all over me --" he growls, sounding far older than he was. He could feel Crawford's grin, hear the growling in the back of his throat even as he thrust deeper, harder. The friction would hurt anyone else, anyone who was not a former street-whore turned computer genius or a psychic assassin businessman. The hand around Nagi's neck tightened, to hold him down, to forestall the struggle.

He tossed his head against the restraining hand, daring Crawford to push harder, to bite, to shove more, even as his ass gripped Crawford tightly, teasingly. His own cock was pressed up against the desk, firmly, preventing Crawford from getting a hand on it -- not like Crawford would, anyway -- but that didn't preclude his own pleasure from growing and washing over him; yes, this is familiar, we know this. We know this.

He sighed in pleasure as Crawford took the hint, biting roughly against Nagi's neck. The teeth clenched closer together, closer and closer as Crawford approached his climax -- until they drew blood and he thrust once more forcefully before slumping across Nagi's body, breathing heavily. Nagi let out another hoarse cry at Crawford's teeth, pushing back against the other man's climax forcefully, demandingly; he held, tightly, as the older man came, and then relaxed as Crawford slumped over him.

The sudden silence between them in the office was broken only by Nagi's soft laughter. Crawford released his teeth, licking his tongue over the wound. "Yes?" he asked darkly, hoarsely.

Nagi laughed softly once more, arching his neck against the touch of tongue. "You never cry out when you come," he purred, letting his ass grip Crawford's cock, then releasing. "I find that funny." His pants, still tangled around his knees, were beginning to irritate him; a careless thought, and they slid to the floor beneath the desk. He was still almost painfully hard, his own erection strong and demanding, but that had never bothered him before.

Without further wait, Crawford slipped out of Nagi, picking up Nagi's discarded pants to clean the mess. Another thought slipped from behind the shields. :No, the stain on these pants will never come out. But it doesn't matter.: "Why is that?" he asked, zipping up his own pants. Nagi could sense Crawford standing behind him, shirtless; one hand still held him against the desk. He laid, sprawled fully over the papers and the work, knowing that he looked far too innocent and fragile to withstand such rough treatment, knowing that his skin was already beginning to darken with the bruises at hip and throat.

"I don't know," he said, after a second, closing his eyes again and reveling in the feeling of his body well-used. "It's just funny." Invisible fingers stroked Crawford's cock, through the much-abused pants.

Crawford let go, finally, stepping back enough to let Nagi crawl off the desk. "I'm glad I provide you with your amusement."

He concealed the disappointment at being let go with the ease of long practice, knowing that Schuldich would feel it, knowing that the telepath would use that observation in their next set of games. He didn't leave the desk; he twisted over so that he was sitting up on the edge, heels up on the table, knees bent, leaning back on his hands. "I thought I was amusing you," he whispered, lifting a hand to brush his hair out of his eyes.

Crawford leaned over him, placing one hand directly on the desk space near Nagi's hip, and kissed him; the sense of kiss that cuts off oxygen, drugging and demanding. Nagi thought, sometimes, that this was the entire reason he went through the whole process, just to be kissed like that; he arched his body hard against the kiss, fitting himself up against Crawford like a second skin, rubbing up against Crawford like a kitten. It was over far too soon, and Crawford reached down and picked up his shirt. "Now go find Schuldich. You know that jacking off never does it for him."

The orders made Nagi laugh. "He won't want me. He's going to want you." Dark, knowing eyes met Crawford's. "So if I were you, I'd go and find some lube, because you don't know how long he's going to wait to fuck you." With that, he did slide off the desk; the shirt that had been pushed up and forgotten fell down again, the hemline riding his hip, the fabric brushing up against his own erection.

He could feel Crawford's eyes on his little display, and that made him pose, artlessly, in a languid stretch. The other's gaze was cool. "Then perhaps you should concentrate on making him want you."

Nagi held out his hand, and his pants jumped up and slithered into it. He smiled. "Throwing me to the wolves, Brad-niisan? That isn't very nice."

Crawford shrugged. "I'm not a nice man."

Nagi laughed, darkly. "I know," he purrs. "It might just be what keeps me from falling in love with you." A pause, as he stroked himself, wrapping a hand around his erection and pulling, once. "Or maybe not." A hidden smirk played on his lips.

Crawford eyed Nagi for a full minute, expressionless ... then began to laugh. "If I didn't know that everything inside of you even half-capable of love has probably been killed rather mercilessly, I might almost believe that." He ran his fingers through his hair and straightens his glasses.

Nagi's lips quirked. Later, perhaps, that might sting; for now, it was the simple, honest truth. "You think so little of me." He took a step closer, rubbing up against Crawford again, and stood on tiptoe, reaching up one hand to tangle in the other man's hair and pull him down for a quick, intense kiss -- thoroughly mussing his hair again, and disrupting the arrangement of his glasses. "Enjoy your work, Brad-niisan. I'll have that keyboard down to you in a minute or two." And then, without bothering with such niceties as pants, he slipped through the door and was gone.

:Such nice work, kid. And you let me watch. I'm touched.:

:Consider it your birthday present.: