Sleeping with the enemy was just a phrase. It didn't have to include the instant when tension and tempers snapped.
It was a guilty pleasure, an unintended sin. It didn't need to involve the quiet, the gentle splay of mingled limbs and unconsciously synchronized breathing.
It was never meant to include the smell of fresh coffee.
Schuldig poked his head out from a tangled cocoon of quilts, lured towards emergence by the tantalizing aroma of his favorite drug. It was it was the safest way to wake the telepath; almost tricking Schuldig into thinking it had been his idea in the first place to crawl forth and face the day. Coffee, brewed strong and dark, free of sugar or cream; it was the carrot on the end of the proverbial stick.
It was carefully mundane. If one carefully avoided varying states of undress, a lack of socks and tousled hair, if one focused completely on the familiar ritual of morning coffee, the oddity of the two of them in the same kitchen without blood being spilled could almost be considered a benign sort of truce.
The image never held long enough for Aya to remain comfortable and guilt free. Schuldig would ooze from bedroom to kitchen like an insidious haze of lusty affection and warm contentment. It was a contagious mood, pulling the reflexive tension out of Aya's shoulders, relaxing his clenched jaw and the death grip he maintained on his mug. Aya went from feeling guilty about bruises along his collarbone to feeling guilty about having had the consideration to make coffee. It was domestic. It was kind. It was an awkward juxtaposition, he and Schuldig. It made the bit of flesh between his shoulder blades itch every time he turned his back, had him considering opening and opportunities for attack as Schuldig leaned forward in all his unclothed, unconcerned glory and stole the entire pot of fresh coffee.
"A penny for your thoughts. Or yen. Or whatever." Schuldig yawned, rummaging around with his free hand for the double latte mug he filled close to spilling every morning.
Sleeping with the enemy should be an accidentally unfortunate occurrence, something to bemoan, to avoid ever happening again. In an ideal world, Aya would have killed the evidence. He should have...
Schuldig raised an eyebrow in amusement as he filled the mug, and then leaned to fill Aya's. "You're really bad at this killing me in my sleep thing, you know."
Aya muttered something that might have been "I know" before his strategic retreat into his coffee. for someone who howled about being the epitome of lazy, of abhorring morning people, Schuldig did a damn fine job of being rather regularly jovial over morning coffee. Bastard probably got some cheap kicks off of Aya's discomfort.
"Kid next door still feels bad about stealing his pop's Playboy. That's enough to keep me happy for a week yet. Hilarious situation." Schuldig peered over the rim of his mug at Aya, eyes glittering with an intoxicating mix of amusement and suggestion. "That and I have plenty of other ways to get my 'kicks' off of you." Finishing a sip, Schuldig took great care to lick every last drop of coffee of the mug.
"You have no shame." Aya growled.
"You knew that when you gave me a key."
"I shouldn't have."
"And why not? This is America. It advertises itself as the land of opportunity, of new beginnings. So fucking get yourself a new beginning." Forgetting himself for a moment, Schuldig sloshed coffee in a fit of emphatic gesticulation. Swearing with an almost comic vehemence, Schuldig snatched the paper towel Aya offered and mopped at his hand and chest
"Seriously, Fujimiya, watching you writhe and angst was amusing for about a week. Hell, it was the reason I kissed you. I was counting on your being delightfully conflicted. But it's been what, months? Get over yourself."
"If I no longer amuse you, why stay?"
"You make a damn fine pot of coffee. You can do utterly fantastic things with your mouth. You know how to put those calluses on your hands to creative use. You're abrasive and arrogant and you put the fight back into foreplay." Schuldig's mouth stretched into a feral, pleased sort of smile. "Need I go on?"
"Would you shut up if I said no?"
"Probably not. Someone has to give you a hard time. You must get damn tired constantly doing it to yourself."
"You most definitely give me a hard time." Aya poked around the breadbox, hoping there was at least one bagel left.
"I would rather give you a hard on."
"Schuldig." Aya cracked his knuckles against the top of the breadbox as he jerked in reflexive irritation at Schuldig's choice of morning banter. The fucking was fine, the attraction and the arousal acceptable in the heat of the moment. If only Schuldig would stop trying to talk about it…
"Sleeping with the enemy." Schuldig mused, nonchalantly picking up where Aya's train of thought had been circling on itself with the morbid determination of a hungry vulture. "The depressing, emasculating concept brought about by some idiot who didn't want to take responsibility for thinking with his dick." Schuldig emptied his mug and moved to place it in the sink. The movement brought him very close to Aya, who was trying on one of his more potent scowls.
Schuldig leaned, almost draping himself across Aya's back to put his chin on Aya's shoulder, to whisper in his ear. "You know what makes you worth all the angsting and bitchiness? You never think with your dick. It's always you glaring, staring, snarling and moaning. It's hotter than hell and fucking addictive." Schuldig nipped lightly at Aya's ear, enjoying the reluctant growl it pulled from Aya, reveling in the mix of deadly anger and reluctant lust implied in the sound.
"And you forget the most important part, Fujimiya. I'm unemployed. We aren't enemies." It was a casual dismissal of past transgressions and confrontations, and it was guaranteed to get Aya's blood boiling.
Which is exactly what Schuldig wanted. A furious Aya was far more interesting than a moping one. He would pay for it in bruises and blood, but everyone had their own form of catharsis. Aya would be oozing reluctant contentment later, and Schuldig would bask in it, would enjoy the way Aya tended to absently play with his hair after sex. Maybe he could lure Aya back to bed for a couple more hours of sleep...