Beyond fate, there is choice
by Ainzfern
3
Chey Neeson approached packing for a journey the same way he approached any project; methodically, efficiently, without fuss or hesitation. He had it down to a fine art now. Having now served for nearly two years as the federation government's Minister for Trade and Foreign Affairs, travelling had become as familiar to him as changing his socks.
Completing his task, Chey glanced at the time, nodding with satisfaction as he noted that he still had a comfortable space of forty five minutes or so before his ministry driver would arrive to take him to the space port. Leaving his bags neatly stacked in the hall just outside his bedroom, Chey strode towards his living area, the calling of a fine glass of scotch over ice getting stronger with every step.
His private residence in the main city of the core federation planet of Elldaren-Prime was roomy but modest, entirely suitable to a career bachelor such as himself. With spacious rooms, all on one level, and a neatly landscaped garden, it served essentially as simply a place to come back to when he was not at work.
But it wasn't really his home.
Reaching the sideboard in his living area, Chey poured a generous measure of scotch for himself, added two ice cubes and took a slow, appreciative sip of the fine single malt.
No, he mused silently, smiling a little sadly to himself, 'home' was a little planet called Isius, on the rim of federation territory. A place where the extended Neeson family still lived and prospered, and sent proud vid-letters and dialed through regular calls through to their distant son; where his rare visits back to the home place meant tears and kisses and warm embraces that threatened to never let go and a party that inevitably lasted for at least two days.
Someday, Chey swore to himself, he would go back for good.
But, he snorted softly with wry amusement as he turned and walked towards his usual armchair, it would not be any time soon. There was still too much to do, too much to achieve. Nursing his drink in one hand, he sat and relaxed for a few moments, girding his energy for the trip ahead. In less than fourteen hours, he would be on Amoi once more.
Even though he was visiting the central planet of the Amoian regime as an official delegate to the annual trade conference at Partia, he couldn't deny that he was also, personally, looking forward to the trip. Many of the various locations he was required to visit as part of the job in federation and Amoian territories alike, he honestly could take or leave. But with Amoi itself, there was the added pleasure of being able to spend at least some time catching up with Iason Mink and his Companion, Riki; two people for whom he honestly felt a depth of genuine respect and affection.
His friends.
Considering that, Chey frowned slightly, inspecting the amber contents of his glass in a thoughtful manner before sipping once more, sighing softly as the liquid burned its way pleasantly down to his stomach. It was true that he had, through the course of his rather productive career in politics, cultivated quite a few of what he considered to be actual friendships on several different worlds, from many different walks of life. There were people out there in the greater known territories who, for Chey Neeson, would always offer a warm welcome.
He was simply the kind of man that people couldn't help warming to; decent, honest, and almost preternaturally likeable.
And this was a good thing, Chey supposed, swirling his scotch around in his glass to the accompanying tinkle of ice cubes. It was pleasant, not to mention useful, to have a network of more than just professional colleagues built up. But, he also had to admit that a strong network of buddies couldn't quite make up for the fact that personally, privately, Chey Neeson remained alone.
It was a train of thought that had begun to occur to him more and more as the last couple of years had passed. Chey was successful, respected and admired. He had a resoundingly solid career, had accumulated an enviable amount of assets through thrifty investment, and enjoyed an active life in a worthwhile vocation.
But, he had no one to share all of this with.
Chey huffed a soft, gently self-mocking chuckle into his glass before draining his drink and rising to his feet once more. It was a sort of pitiful little thought really, Chey admitted to himself; the kind of thought that sighed sadly and looked longingly out of windows. For a pragmatic man such as himself it almost embarrassed him to suddenly find he was feeling this way.
But, that didn't make it any less true.
Of course that wasn't to say that Chey hadn't had his share of lovers in his time. He was physically fit, tall, strong and handsome. A virile man in the prime of his maturity, so indeed he had taken lovers; both men and women, finding with each sex unique pleasures and strong emotional connections. He had always had a characteristically straightforward approach to finding a partner too, deeming attraction and compatibility as far more important than social status or gender. And he was good in bed. Well, at least, he had been told he was. Certainly he had never received any complaints. But his real romance, his life-long true love, it seemed, had ended up being his career. In all cases, he had lost lovers because of it. They just couldn't compete, they had told him, with such a demanding mistress as the senate of the federation government's parliament.
But lately, Chey heaved another soft sigh and placed his empty glass back beside the crystal decanter on the sideboard, it seemed that the job alone really wasn't enough anymore. He still loved it; that was not the issue. But the older he got, the stronger the drive within him became to form a connection with someone that was more than just an affair.
He wasn't thinking of any kind of spousal union, as such. Pondering deeply, Chey walked back across his living area and gazed out the picture windows at the sweeping driveway that curved up the length of his front garden. He didn't want to be stapled at the hip to anyone; that just wasn't practical. And as for children... well, he really wasn't looking to become a new father either. Of course, he was a moderately ecstatic uncle, and loved the family's tribe of nieces and nephews very much, whether they were still in nappies, or were old enough to get distressing haircuts and start listening to the kind of music that frightened animals.
No... What he had found, over the last few years, was that he was yearning for a like-minded soul.
Someone he that could genuinely fall in love with just as they were. Someone who might adore him back without trying to mould him into some utterly un-Chey-like ideal. Someone independent, strong-willed and self-reliant, who he could be faithful too and trust that the same would be returned... who would value time with him and enjoy his company, but who wouldn't fall to pieces if duty required he leave for a while.
Chey shook his head as he watched the lights from the ministry car turn from the road outside his residence and slowly coast up his driveway.
Unlikely, he thought matter-of-factly, that he would find such a person.
Dismissing his thoughts, Chey squared his shoulders and went to collect his bags. He had work ahead of him on Amoi, and friends to visit. There would be time enough to feel sorry for himself when the trip was over.
It was quite late in the evening when Iason Mink and Raoul Am made it back to Eos following the closure of the quarterly Syndicate conference and, as he entered the lift with Raoul at his side and began the ascent to the residential levels of Eos Tower, Iason was forced to admit, he was genuinely fatigued. Glancing at the Elite beside him, he smiled wryly as his gaze met Raoul's deep green eyes, noting his friend's own weariness clearly reflecting back at him.
Obviously catching the look, Raoul chuckled softly. "You know, Iason," he murmured, arching a sardonic brow, "if we were Sapphires, we would have been home three hours ago."
Iason snorted, his lips twitching. "This is true. But, alas, someone has to stay back and sift the dross out of each department's submissions before they become even remotely workable."
"Ah. Yes," Raoul nodded sagely. "But, one wonders, does one not... why you always manage to include me in your definition of 'someone'?"
"Because I enjoy sharing the misery." The tiniest smirk crossed Iason's perfect face as he looked at his friend with affection. "Call it a character quirk, if you will."
Shrugging amiably, Raoul smirked back at him. "I might just do that."
"At least you can take some comfort from knowing the task is over." Iason lifted one hand to the back of his own neck, rubbing the tense muscles for a moment. "And Katze will be waiting up for you, I imagine?"
"Yes," Raoul's expression softened noticeably in this private moment between them, something that Iason knew he would never normally see out in the greater Elite world of Tanagura. "He has acquired quite an endearing habit of that."
"Good." Iason's hand shifted, passing over his tired eyes briefly. "After your excellent efforts today, I feel you rather deserve some congenial company."
Chuckling again, Raoul lifted a whimsical brow. "Well, Katze is certainly that, my friend," he replied as the lift doors silently opened onto his floor.
Iason bowed his head respectfully towards the Blondie as Raoul stepped out. "Rest well," he said softly, warmth coloring his tone.
"I will indeed." Raoul nodded by way of farewell as the doors slid shut and it continued the last few floors to the penthouse level.
Muffling a yawn as he alighted from the lift into the lobby of his penthouse apartment, Iason consciously pushed all thoughts of the day, and the perplexing and disturbing vendetta that he appeared to have acquired against him, to the back of his mind. He was home. Time now, to soak a little of the balm that was Riki's affection into his soul. Time to relax, to lower his defenses, and let down his emotional guard in the company of the single individual in his life who never needed him to be anything other than himself.
However, as he walked into the main area of his penthouse after quietly greeting Dane at the front door, one single look at Riki's troubled yet oddly firm expression made Iason acutely aware that actual relaxing part of the evening might need to wait a while.
"Something is wrong?" Iason asked him without preamble, as he sat next to the mongrel on the sofa. Pleasantries could wait. Iason had learned from experience that when Riki wanted to discuss an 'issue', it was always prudent to address it immediately. A sudden almost whimsical thought occurred to him, even as he waited for Riki's reply. Much as he adored his mate, he had to confess that in the full flights of upset, Riki did have an impressive volume.
And, being completely honest with himself, Iason really wasn't up to that tonight.
"Yeah," Riki replied, leaning forward to kiss Iason's face in greeting. "I know you're tired, but we need to talk."
Iason absently nodded his thanks as Dane quietly placed a glass of wine and a selection of light foodstuffs on the low table beside them before silently withdrawing from the room.
Odd... perhaps it was just a sign of his weariness, but another inexplicable thought entered Iason's mind at that moment. He could no longer actually remember the last time he hadn't acknowledged Dane for performing his duties. He supposed he had picked up the habit from Riki, having noticed that his mongrel, for all his rough edges, had always been unfailingly polite to Iason's young Furniture. The thought of that notion, for some reason, sent a powerful wave of affection washing through his chest, softening any possible shades of impatience; and he smiled and nodded at the younger man.
Yet another thing he had obviously acquired via osmosis from his dark-eyed lover... that some matters, such as the emotions and well-being of his Companion, were worth his complete attention, no matter how preoccupied or tired he might be.
"And what exactly," Iason asked softly, reaching for his wine glass and taking a welcome sip of the fine vintage, "do we need to talk about?"
Riki took a deep breath, that same resolute expression crossing his face once more. "It's about the recent break-ins in Midas," he answered softly.
Iason felt a certain tension tightening his shoulders. He looked closely at Riki's face, his pale eyes troubled. "Why would you be worried about such things?" he asked carefully. "Have you heard something from some other source?"
Riki gave him an odd little look. "No," he shrugged slightly. "But I saw the look on your face this morning when Hadren's message came through..." Riki paused then, his face growing even more somber, "Iason, what aren't you telling me about this?"
Sitting back a little, Iason stared at Riki in silence for a moment. He was reminded of a moment back in their own personal history; when Iason had taken Riki from Katze's safe house and back into Eos to start the first days of their new life together. Riki had said to him, during that very journey, that he was too perceptive for his own good at times.
Now, feeling a wry little smile flit across his flawless face, Iason had to admit that Riki himself was no slouch when it came to reading the subtle signs.
Especially, apparently, when it came to him.
Sighing, Iason nodded wearily, setting his wine glass down before reaching out with one hand to stroke the back of his fingers down his mongrel's smooth warm neck, taking a kind of comfort from the feel of that soft skin. "You are right," he murmured, "there is more to these recent events than just criminal mischief. There have been messages left at every crime scene thus far."
Riki's eye widened slightly. "What kind of messages?"
"Messages that strongly indicate the break-ins are aimed at undermining my current authority over the Syndicate and the leadership caste." Iason flexed his shoulders for a moment, attempting to ease some of the tension there. "That the events would not have occurred at all if not for my introduction of social reforms."
"A protest of some kind? Some pissed off citizens, maybe?"
Iason shook his head grimly. "I do not think so. I believe that this is coming from much closer."
Riki's full mouth thinned. "So... you think it's a 'dirty tricks' campaign? Some fucker in the Syndicate who opposes you, but who hasn't got the guts to face off with you in person?"
"Possibly," Iason ran one hand over his face again. "The acts, combined with the messages, have all the hallmarks of a personal insult. Someone is attempting to flaunt the fact that I cannot contain this nuisance, and..." Iason heaved a great sigh, "eventually, if I am unable to put a stop to it, the greater number of Elites will begin to question that weakness."
"God," Riki chewed at his lower lip, almost absently rising to his feet and moving around behind Iason. He perched on the arm of the sofa behind the Elite, his hands closing over Iason's shoulders, the strong fingers beginning to massage away some of the tension in his broad shoulders. "It's kind of sad, really," he mused aloud as he worked, "that your Elites have actually come quite a long way in their acceptance of change and yet, there are some things... like lining up to stab you in the fuckin' back, that never change."
Iason chuckled ruefully, closing his eyes and dropping his head forward a little as he relaxed into the delightful touch of his mongrel. "I have directed Mace and his team to work directly with Commander Hadren," he murmured. "I would expect that will assist the matter a great deal."
"I'd say so," Riki replied, shifting his hands to work the back of Iason's neck. "Mace has a talent for this kind of shit."
"He does."
"But that still leaves the question, Iason," Riki's voice murmured directly into his ear as the mongrel rested his chin on Iason's shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Iason sighed softly, even as he felt Riki's arms slide around him. "I did not wish to concern you. At least, not until I had a clearer picture of what was behind all of this."
Riki's arms tightened briefly before he sat back once more and resumed his massage. "Well, that's very noble, Iason... but it's not that smart, y'know?"
Venting a piqued little grunt from low in his chest, Iason looked over his shoulder at Riki, one elegant brow raised. "Oh?"
Utterly unmoved by the Elite's expression, Riki calmly looked back at him, his fingers still working Iason's stiff muscles. "I can't help you, if I don't know what's going on, can I?"
Iason frowned up at him. "Help me?"
"Yeah." Gently, but firmly, Riki used one hand to ease Iason's head forward once more before sliding his hands to the back of his neck again, stroking up from nape to hairline with his thumbs, "Remember, me and Katze still have pretty strong connections over in Ceres, right?"
"Mmm?" Iason's eyes fell closed again, almost helplessly, as he submitted quite happily to Riki's ministrations.
"Well... the main theory is that it's a gang from Ceres that is doing the actual work, regardless of who's behind it," Riki continued, his hands never still. "So... we make a few calls, ask a few questions of some of the key players... we can probably find out exactly which gang is getting regular work from an Elite in less than a day."
"How can you be so certain?" Iason's question was almost a purr. "Would the gang in question not keep such information secret, to protect their own advantage?"
Riki snorted gracelessly. "Hardly. Believe me, they'd be crowing about it, lording it all over the other gangs. Anyway, they all watch each other like hawks. What one gang does is always news to the others. Someone will know, trust me."
"Oh, implicitly," Iason shifted then, twisting around to grip Riki's arm, hauling the mongrel off his perch to sprawl across his lap. He dipped his head down, catching Riki's soft lips and kissing him gently for a moment, feeling the same sweet surge of arousal fill him as it always did when Riki responded immediately, sliding his arms around the Elite's broad shoulders and arching up to deepen the kiss.
Pulling back, Iason smiled down into Riki's slightly dazed eyes. "Am I correct in assuming that Guy would be on your agenda of gang leaders to contact?"
Riki blinked at the question, his expression growing resolute once more. "Well, yeah... he's a pretty major player these days, so Katze tells me. It would make sense to put the question to him, at least."
Iason felt his expression harden. "I cannot say that I am at all in support of that, Riki."
Riki lifted a hand and touched Iason's frown gently, his gaze still steady and level, for all that he was lying across the Blondie's lap. "We're not going to have that same argument, are we?"
Remaining silent for a moment, Iason considered the idea as dispassionately as he could. He still, personally, felt a deep resentment, even hatred, for the mongrel human that had once caused such devastating harm to his Companion. But he also knew that Riki, matured as he was into a strong willed and intelligent man, was more than capable now of handling an interview with him. He had proved that before. And, he had to admit, there was a great deal of sense to Riki's suggestion. Sourcing the actual henchmen, rather than the mastermind, might turn out to be the most efficacious solution.
But, Iason smiled grimly, watching Riki's normally smooth brow crease as he waited for the Blondie to speak... there would have to be at least one condition.
Iason had said he trusted Riki, and this was quite true. He had not, however, ever said that he trusted Guy.
"I would prefer that you and Katze not venture into Ceres at all," Iason spoke calmly, smoothing his hand up under Riki's loose shirt and over his sleekly muscled chest, enjoying the warmth of the flesh under his palm, "But, if you must... you will take a detachment of Mace's men with you."
Riki heaved a sigh, his mouth opening on a reply.
"Riki," Iason's tone firmed a little as he cut him off, his eyes narrowing. "This is not actually up for discussion."
Sitting up, his mongrel pinned him with an unimpressed look. "I was going to say, 'okay', Iason." He shot back, flatly.
"Ah," Iason smiled at him, relaxing once more. "My apologies." He eased his other hand up under Riki's shirt, stroking with a touch more insistence, before grabbing the hem of the garment and easing it up over Riki's head, discarding it to one side.
"Right," Riki laughed helplessly, then gasped sharply, as Iason shifted him again, easily, in his arms, lifting him up so that he could press his lips to the sweet curve of silken skin where Riki's neck met his shoulder, "I see... the issue's settled to your satisfaction and now you're after a piece of ass, am I close?"
"Oh yes," Iason purred at him, shifting one hand down under the waistband of Riki's sweatpants, his long fingers curling around the delightfully eager erection that was already waiting for him. He pushed Riki down against the corner of the sofa, half covering him with his body, his pale eyes heating with affection and not an inconsiderable amount of desire as he stroked Riki's sex with confident milking motions, watched the expressions of pained pleasure cross the dear face before him. "I am in most dire need of a suitable distraction, I will confess."
"Uh... o-okay," Riki panted, his head dropping back and his eyes closing in sultry bliss as Iason worked him, bringing his primed body closer to release. "Well.. y'know..." Riki gasped again, a soft cry of delighted pleasure leaving his throat when Iason pressed his thumb against the sensitive slit of his cock, before sliding down to rub the glans in firm circles. "If... if you insist..."
Hunkering down, Iason closed his lips over a small male nipple, suckling the velvet bud into hardness; nipping gently, before laving the tiny hurt away with slow strokes of his tongue. He felt the deep shudder running through Riki's body, heard the tiny note of frustration in his tight groans, and knew that his mongrel was close. A sultry and wicked little grin crossed Iason's face as he increased the speed of his stroking hand and, after a few more seconds, Riki arched back, his pelvis snapping upwards in sharp fast rhythm as he came with a delighted shout, his semen pulsing out in hot bursts over Iason's rapidly moving fist.
In the aftermath, Iason simply held him, enjoying the sullen heat building in his own loins with patience enough. He would let his lover recover and then take his own pleasure all in good time.
No rush. And, as he had learned, some things were very much worth waiting for.
Iason smiled as Riki's eyes opened, as he met a dark-eyed, slightly lust-drunk gaze filled with warmth and love.
"Iason?" Riki's voice was still breathless.
"Yes?"
"That was nice."
Iason chuckled softly, amused and entranced by how kittenish Riki always was after he climaxed. Not that he would ever say so. Some observations, he felt, were genuinely better kept internalized. "You are most welcome."
"Iason?" Riki reached up and slid one hand around the back of the Blondie's neck.
"Hmm?"
"Would you take me to bed and fuck the hell out of me?"
Gathering him up, Iason chuckled again, his previous worries shunted firmly to the back of his mind where, for now, they rightfully belonged. "Nothing in this world, Riki," he replied with absolute confidence, "would please me more."