Delivery

by Lena (language corrections by Shayne and Phaedra7veils)

Chapter 4

At first it wasn't all that bad. The room looked decent (probably the fact that they hired the most expensive room in the motel had something to do with it) and had a surprisingly big and clean bathroom – the best bathroom one could dream of in such a place. Raoul was also shockproof – he didn't seem uneasy with the lack of luxury, and he no longer commented on his new clothes. On the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying himself. He came out onto the tiny balcony and for a few long minutes admired the vast plain that surrounded the inn.

"It's beautiful," he murmured under his breath. Katze, leaning against the doorframe behind him almost rolled his eyes. "You might not believe it, Katze," the Blondie turned to him, "but for the first time in my life I really feel... free."

The dealer just stared at him, but said nothing.

The nightmare started when they went down to the bar to get something to eat.

"You sure it's too early to ask?" Raoul asked on the stairs. Katze considered it briefly and decided that a little bit of practice definitely wouldn't hurt their matter, and maybe it would even help.

"On second thought," he said, "it's never too early. We don't have much time, let's use it to the fullest. Let the gossip spread."

"Exactly my feelings," the Blondie stated contentedly as they entered the bar.

It looked like a typical low-class Midas bar of twenty years ago... at least the way Katze supposed Midas bars looked back then. Sultry, smoky, gloomy, with an unbelievably obsolete jukebox in one of the corners and the very adequate clientele. The clientele consisted of a couple of hefty guys who – Katze would bet on it – inhabited the few dowdy houses that rose about the motel and dared to call themselves a settlement. There was no one in the bar that looked like the inn's guest.

The company occupied two tables and was engaged in a boozy conversation. The conversation stopped immediately when Katze and Raoul entered. For a while the room was completely silent, greedy stares following them as they approached the bar. Then someone whistled with appreciation. Katze ignored it deliberately, hoping that it was just a onetime expression of approval of the Blondie's charms. Raoul simply ignored it, perhaps not even aware what the sound meant. Or that it was directed at him.

They sat on the high stools at the counter and took the menus. Katze made his choice quickly. Raoul studied the offer for a long time, wrinkling his shapely nose minimally, with discontent. A detached thought flashed in the dealer's mind that he looked sweet like that. Finally the barman approached them and they made their orders, tea for the start.

"Hey, cuties, wanna taste somethin' betta?" someone screamed from behind. "Join us and we'll show ya what real men drink."

Raoul's eyes blinked. Katze tensed.

"Ignore it," he whispered to the Blondie. "They are just a few local goons. Not worth your attention."

Raoul nodded stiffly. Katze involuntarily reached for his cigs and lit one. After a short thought he offered the box to the biologist, realizing with certain surprise that he didn't even know if Raoul smoked. He'd never seen the Blondie with a cigarette but that didn't mean anything. Iason had first smoked in his presence after three years of their history together.

But Raoul shook his head in refusal. So Katze shoved the box back into the pocket and inhaled the wonderfully relaxing fumes.

"Hey, babes, wanna have sum fun?" sounded again from behind them.

He sighed inwardly and decided it was time to do something.

"Fuck off," he spat over his shoulder, hoping it would be enough.

"Katze," Raoul murmured. "Maybe we should... ehm... accept the offer. Maybe they could be of some help."

"Them?" Katze smirked. "I don't think so. I'll bet not one of them has left this rathole since they were born. No, Raoul, they know no one and no one knows them. If you want information ask the barman. Always the barman. Barmen know things, have connections."

"The barman," Raoul repeated with slight skepticism in his voice.

The barman, who for all that time had been busy behind the counter, now stopped in his tracks and glanced at them distrustfully.

"It depends on how much you can pay me to make me know," he grumbled.

He was just about to return to what he was doing when his gaze shifted onto something behind their backs and Katze realized he heard a sound of steps approaching. And with them came the acrid stench of alcohol.

"Hey, cutie," the voice behind them said. The same voice that had accosted them before. This time it was directed only at Raoul. "Maybe you wanna join us. Leave that guy of yours, he's no fun." A big hand landed on the Blondie's shoulder. Katze glanced at the local. The guy was huge. He seemed even bigger than Raoul.

The biologist calmly took a sip of his tea.

"Not interested. Go away, mister."

But the hand didn't leave. It slid along Raoul's shoulder to his neck and hair. The guy took the blonde strand and twirled it around his finger. Something in this gesture was lubricious.

"Nice hair. Never saw sumfin' like this. What do you do to keep it like that? Hire a private coiffeur?" He accented the last word with mock finesse and burst into very coarse laughter. The company at the table joined him eagerly.

Raoul half closed his eyes. A hint of impatience appeared on his face.

"The hair is not for you to touch," he said. Very calmly. "Take your hand away and leave."

Katze observed the progress of the argument with growing interest. He decided to stay away from this. Let's see if Raoul can take care of matters himself.

The mugger stroked the Blondie's head deliberately, then suddenly grabbed a thick strand and pulled strongly. Raoul's head jerked back with the impetus. The guy leaned down to his ear and drawled in a loud, drunk whisper.

"Oh, so we're touchy Come on, little sissy, join us. We'll have sum fun."

It wasn't even a blink. The Blondie leapt up from his stool, grabbed the offending hand by the wrist and turned nimbly, throwing the man on the counter. The jugger howled with pain as the sharp edge stabbed into his back.

The company at the table rustled agitatedly, and some of the guy's buddies jumped up. Katze cast them a sharp, warning glance. Somehow it worked, as no one moved from the place. For now.

Raoul lowered himself over the local.

"I told you, I'm not interested," he hissed. "Maybe I should repeat it in my friend's way. Fuck-off. That you'll understand, huh?"

But apparently the man wasn't smart enough. He writhed in the Blondie's grip growling furiously.

"Let me go, bitch!"

Raoul's eyes slitted. "What did you call me?"

"Let me go or I'll fuckin' kill ya!"

The biologist bared his teeth, his lips forming into a wicked grin.

"Oh, really? To do that, you'd have to get free first, wouldn't you? Well, come on... let's see who is stronger."

At first Katze didn't understand why the local's face twisted with pain and why a protracted, pitiful whine came out of his throat. Then something crunched and he jumped up with terror. Oh fuck, the stupid Blondie was crushing the man's wrist!

"Raoul, enough!" that sounded sharper than he intended.

Raoul shot him a short glance over his shoulder, but then the grip on the man's hand loosened.

"Does this make you understand?" he drawled once again.

The goon nodded his head hastily.

"Good. Now take your sorry ass and get lost."

Katze's eyes almost shot out of their sockets. Where the hell did the Blondie learn to talk like that? Certainly not from him.

Raoul released the mugger's forearm and stepped back. The man scrambled up from the counter, cradling his wrist in his other hand and staring at it incredulously.

"You broke my hand, you fucker!" he yelled, his voice shaky.

Languidly, as if nothing had happened, Raoul sat back down on his stool.

"Oh please, it's not broken, just dislocated. But I could have snapped it, so thank my friend here for stopping me."

The local shot him a hateful glace and for a moment Katze thought he'd try to start a brawl after all, but at that moment a masterful voice from behind the counter sounded.

"You heard the man, Smith. Get lost. All of ya. I don't want to see ya here until ya lose the stout-high."

The goons' eyes bore into the bartender. Their gazes were full of resentment, but the man's face was adamant.

"Hear me? Now!"

And then, instantly, their cocky demeanors vanished without a trace. They hunched their shoulders, hung their heads and left without a word. Katze followed them with his gaze until the door closed behind them, then turned to the barman.

"Wow, you've got their respect."

"I have to apologize you for them."

They spoke in same instant. For a moment there was a slightly confused silence, until finally, seeing that Katze was waiting for him to proceed, the barman took up.

"Like you said – one owns the bar, one wields power. I'm their only source of stout, they have to respect me. And hey, don't worry, they're always like that. Whenever they see a nice ass around, they try their luck. Sometimes it even works and one or two of them grab an opportunity for a night. But most times, they're walking nuisance who scare off my guests."

"If they are such a nuisance, why don't you kick them out for good?" Raoul asked.

The man shrugged. "Apart from travelers, they're my only clients. And they are helping me run this place. This—rathole, as ya called it, grew around this motel. It's the only business here. So you see, we live in symbiosis."

"Oh." Apparently Raoul couldn't find anything wittier to say.

"By the way, you should do something about that hair of yours," the barman offered. "It really stands out. If you don't want to get hassled at every step, cut it or sumthin'."

The Blondie swallowed the advice without a word, but his face clouded over.

The door to the back cracked open and a waiter – a terribly skinny young man – appeared, carrying two plates of food. He set the meal before Raoul and Katze and left. The bartender crossed his arms, leaned against the board and for a while watched them as they started eating.

"So," he offered, "what's this info yer looking for?"

Katze raised his head, surprised with the sudden change of subject. On impulse, he flicked his eyes towards Raoul and noticed that the Blondie was looking back, a question in his eyes. He shrugged at the elite. Wanna ask? Ask. Apparently Raoul understood him correctly, as he turned to the bartender and cleared his throat.

"Does the name Crimelord ring some bells for you?"

The barman scratched his scalp thoughtfully. "You mean that's a nickname of some criminal, right? Very original. No, I don't think I heard of him."

"What if we paid you?" Katze asked. "Would it help to refresh your memory?"

The man smirked. "Nah, sorry. You can try of course, but I tell ya right now – my memory ain't so good it can pull up stuff I ain't even heard of."

The dealer smiled. "Thanks for being honest."

The local waved his hand dismissively. "I was gettin' sick and tired of havin' those juggers in my place. You gave me a good reason to kick them out for a while, so I might as well be honest." He reached for the dishcloth and started to wipe a mug that was suddenly in his hands as well. The activity didn't seem to focus even an inch of his attention, and Katze wondered whether he was even aware of it.

"What do you need that goon for, anyway?" the guy asked after another minute.

"We have an offer for him," Raoul said. "A business offer. We'd like to meet and discuss matters. We're looking for someone who could help us make contact."




A small can flew vigorously in Guy's direction and the mongrel managed to catch it at the last moment. Next was the box of rusk, which he nearly dropped to the ground, trying to get a hold of it with one hand.

"Eat," Daryl said and sat on the stone before the one occupied by Guy. He reached into the bag and produced another can from it.

Guy glanced skeptically at his lunch.

"Will I get something to drink?"

"In there," Daryl indicated the bag between them with his head. Guy sank his hand into it and palpated the rounded form of the bottle.

For a while they ate in silence, their time counted only by the rhythmic clattering of forks against the metal. Guy pulled his cap further down on his head to cover his eyes from the scorching sun. He looked hesitantly at Daryl and again considered his idea. Well, this moment was as good as any.

"Will you tell me about him?" he asked.

The fork stopped in the middle of the way to the man's mouth. Hazel eyes flicked to him without the head moving.

"What's here to talk about?"

"Well, a lot if you ask me. Whole damn three years and a few months. It's even too much for the few days we have."

Daryl grunted. "The question is if I want to talk. Well, I don't."

"Why? You have a perfect opportunity to show me what a bastard I am. To make me feel even more guilty than I already feel. Why not use it? You hate me, right?"

Daryl's eyes shot him a sharp glance. "Trying to trick me into it, huh?"

"I really want to hear about it, dammit!" Guy exclaimed.

The eyes moved to the can the mongrel held in his hands. "Eat."

Right. Guy sighed and reluctantly returned to his meal. Another few minutes passed while he tried to choke down his dissatisfaction. To no avail. Oh hell, he wasn't going to give up so easily! He was just opening his mouth to say something, when Daryl's slightly exasperated sigh, accented by the louder clink of the fork attracted his attention.

"You really care to know?"

Guy nodded even more eagerly than was necessary.

"Right. Well, I guess I can tell you something after all." The furniture bit his lip and for a while was silent, apparently considering his decision. Or maybe thinking where to start... Guy pricked up his ears.

"We were at the same age," Daryl finally said. "Well, me a year older, but that doesn't make any difference. Before, I had to put up with self-conceited, dumb kids whose only concern was sex and appearance, now I suddenly met a guy of my own age and origins. Proud, rebellious and definitely not stupid. Everything about Riki was unusual. He despised me, of course, just like the other pets, but for completely different reasons. But he was also despised by the other pets and actually the only people in Eos he could talk to were other mongrels, that is – furniture. And since he avoided leaving Iason's condo, he usually talked with me. Soon we became close. Of course, he still looked down on me and I still had to perform my duties as a furniture... which means I sometimes had to punish him at Iason's order. But I felt that he saw me as his only kindred spirit in whole Eos. And I soon started to think of him as my friend. Although back then I never dared to say that to him."

Guy stared at Daryl wordlessly and the furniture at last met his gaze. He shook his head briskly as if trying to chase away the memories then took the last, quick bite of his food.

"Well, that's it. At least for now. Finish eating, we have to get going." With that he got up, threw the empty can into the waste bag and started to bustle about their very temporary camp, collecting the few of their things with some chaotic, nervous haste. Guy followed him with his gaze. It didn't escape his attention when at some moment Daryl stopped, stretched his back with a sigh and yawned deeply.

"Let me drive," he offered on impulse.

His guardian glanced at him, surprised.

"Let me drive, you need a rest."

One chestnut brow rose. "And what do you care?"

Guy suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "I don't. Let's just say I'd rather be killed by a ruler of this planet than by some unfortunate rock that happens to be in our way, okay?"

A quiet smirk. No, the mongrel mentally shook his head, he must have misread that.

"I can't let you drive," Daryl said. "You are a prisoner. It is necessary that I stay in control."

"Oh, give me a break. What could I possibly do with this shit on my neck and you sitting at my side."

The castrate considered that for a moment. "All right then. You'll drive. But mind me, one wrong move, and you'll regret it."

Five minutes later Guy slid into the driver's seat and did his best not to do anything that might, in Daryl's book, constitute a wrong move.




When the door closed behind them, Raoul turned to Katze. His face was laced with shock and amazement. And so was his voice.

"I feel disgraced, Katze. They offended me."

The dealer shrugged. "Yeah, well, better get used to it, 'cause you won't find other treatment here."

The biologist mulled it over for a few seconds. Then his features straightened and he said firmly. "I need to feel like a Blondie for a while. Prepare a bath."

Katze's jaw clenched involuntarily. Oh yes, he almost forgot it. Raoul could find the right treatment after all. In him, always. No matter where they were – Eos or the deserts – ultimately, he was just the Blondie's toy. He didn't think of arguing. He just nodded his head, switching to the furniture mode immediately and went to the bathroom.

He assisted Raoul during the bath as he usually did when the Blondie had a whim. And then he lay under the heavy elite body while Raoul used him to vent his indefatigable superhuman energy. Lately Raoul often used him more than once a night. This night wasn't an exception and the Blondie seemed more ravenous than ever. His thrusts were stronger, sharper – not violent or angry, but impatient; his breath was louder and his scarce caresses more intensive. Katze didn't protest as long as the enormous libido didn't cause him pain. He just took what was given and wondered what had gotten into the Blondie.

And the scary thing that occurred to him while the huge shaft moved inside him was that he didn't mind it. He didn't mind not only the fuck, but also being treated like that – almost like an object. And when after having finished, Raoul took his hand and said his usual soft, almost caressing 'thank you', Katze only smiled and squeezed the hand back, glad to be regarded as a human again. Damn, what was happening to him?




"You think I am always like that," the Blondie spoke all of a sudden, when afterwards they lay together.

Katze turned to him, not getting his words.

"Playful," Raoul answered his questioning look. "Carefree child of Jupiter, who doesn't know hardships of life. A grown up kid. That's what you think, right?"

Katze shook his head hesitantly, still staggered by the biologist's unexpected speech.

"No, I don't think you're carefree."

It wasn't quite true. As much as Katze never doubted that the life of a Blondie was not always easy and trouble-free – being a boss of the Center and now officially the Syndicate head, it was impossible to avoid hassle and stress – it was also a fact that Blondies, and other elites for that matter, lived in their own shiny, glamorous world and couldn't comprehend the mundane reality of ordinary people's existence. Their undisturbed belief that they were better than the others, their almost unrestricted power over people's lives in a way made them extremely immature. It was quite an obvious outcome.

And so, Raoul wasn't fooled.

"But you do, I know it," he insisted. "That's how you usually see me – a cheery, superficial golden boy. But you see, it's not the way I usually am, it's not the way I am with other people."

Katze frowned, looking at him. "What do you mean?"

"You do this to me, Katze. At work I'm a strict boss and a perfect elite. People respect me, some fear me. You would never call me playful if you saw how I am with them, how I speak and act, how I react, the decisions I make. But then I come home and there you are. And I suddenly feel kind and peaceful, I no longer want to be strict and awe-inspiring. With you I want to do other things. Play games, go out, talk, joke, laugh... have sex. And this feeling doesn't leave me even when we are in the middle of trouble. Like now, like with Kano. I never felt this way with any other person, not even with Iason. I truly like this feeling. I just wouldn't like you to think that you live with an irresponsible idiot."

Katze bit his lip as suddenly something grabbed his throat. Why did it seem to him that he saw more meaning to these words than Raoul did?

"I don't think that at all," he murmured and this time meant it to the letter.




The index finger curled and uncurled, without a problem. Guy stared at his hand and through it, at the regular features of the man sitting opposite him at the table. And over him, at the dirty wall of another hotel room they'd stopped in for the night. And at the man again. The man was – surprise, surprise – staring at his laptop.

Guy flexed the middle finger. Again, no problem. His artificial hand worked as well as ever. It seemed the Doc's worries had been unfounded. His gaze slid down his forearm and he idly examined the little scar that was left after the inspection. It still looked fresh, wouldn't have if he used the accelerating salve the Doc had given him. But well, his life had been turned upside down and at the moment salves and the condition of his arm in general were the least of his concerns.

He moved his gaze to the chestnut mop again.

"You very busy?"

Daryl sighed and sent him an exasperated glance.

"What do you want now?"

"Nothing. I just thought you could tell me something more. I was curious about one thing. But if you are very busy, I'll shut up."

Another sigh. "No, I'm not very busy. Just doing minor stuff. You may ask, if you want."

Guy felt his eyes widen, his brows lifting in surprise. Daryl agreed? So easily? At once? Without snapping at him and telling him off? Now that was something. He blinked, but kept his thoughts to himself.

"I was curious if... I wondered if Riki mentioned me sometimes when he was in Eos. Did he ever tell anything about me?"

Now Daryl's brows shot up.

"Are you kidding me?! He talked about you all the time! At least for the first year. Almost every evening we spent together he talked about you. He always said how much he missed you."

"You mean it?"

"Oh yes. He said that you were very close. Very close," the furniture repeated with the meaningful emphasis. "That you were the closest friends since he was old enough to remember."

Guy's heart beat faster at these words. He once again felt it – the too-well-known excitement at the very mention of Riki. At the very memory of the times they spent together. The times when they were just wild, crazy kids, drunk on youth, and had the whole of Ceres at their feet. And first of all – had each other. Those memories were still so fresh, so enthralling. As if his feelings for Riki had never ceased to be. Even now. But had they? Life had been a paradise for them back then, even though they lived in Ceres. But then came the Blondie and ruined everything...

Guy's jaw clenched abruptly as he forced away another wave of anger. No, he didn't want to think about it now.

"So what did he say?" he asked.

Daryl frowned. For a while he was silent, staring at Guy intensely. Suddenly, his face was tensed.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Why?"

"Because." The castrate turned his gaze away. "You turned out to be completely different."

Guy's eyes narrowed. He leaned over the table towards Daryl, as though it could help him to grab the information.

"What did he say?" he repeated. Damn, why did he want to know it so much?

His guardian shook his head, his eyes rolled. He glanced at Guy again – accusingly.

"He said that you were a good person," he snapped. "That you were the best person he'd ever known. He always said that you were the first to help people. And the first to forgive. Told me stories where you went with help to some punks who beat you to a pulp a month before. A little hot-tempered, yes, but the most decent, most gentle guy I know – he used to say. Wouldn't make a good leader, still he's a much better man than I am – that's what he said. For a while back then I felt as if I really knew you. I wanted to meet such a great guy you supposedly were. Look how you lived up to it."

For a few seconds Guy was speechless. His mouth opened as he struggled to push some words through it. But nothing seemed good enough.

"Oh," was all he was able to produce. He didn't know what stunned him more: the fact that Riki had said all those things, or the fact that Daryl seemed to know so much about him. Or maybe the overwhelming shame he suddenly felt at the dealer's words.

"Yeah, I screwed up across the board. Don't you think I know that?"

Daryl only stared at him, and suddenly Guy was angry.

"Ya think I wanted that? Think I wanted to kill him?! Ya think it's easy for me to live knowing what I have done? My life is officially hell! I can't stand myself and that memory in my head," his voice was faltering into a broken scream, "I can't stand knowing that I'll never get rid of that. Believe me, I'd rather be dead."

"Then why don't you end it all?" Daryl snorted contemptuously.

"He wanted me to live," the mongrel lowered his eyes, suddenly embarrassed again. "Riki. Katze told me that. So I live."

The furniture heaved a quiet, exasperated sigh and shook his head.

"Enough talk," he said shortly. "It won't do us any good."

With that he turned his eyes back to the laptop screen. He frowned with concentration, but looked as if he couldn't find any purpose there. His fingers tapped against the table nervously. Guy said nothing. His mind was lost in confusion.

He got up from his chair and dragged himself to the bed. He fell on it and resumed the activity that had taken up most of his time over the last few days: doing nothing. He raised his hand and started the pointless exercises once again. Better that than lying in complete stillness.

Daryl rose from his place after maybe five minutes. He walked over to his backpack and rummaged through it for a few moments. And in another moment a flat metallic gadget landed on the mattress beside Guy. The mongrel glanced at it curiously. A palmtop.

"You asked yesterday if I had any games," Daryl said coldly. "There," he pointed at the device with his chin. "A few games and three novels, out of things that could interest you. Busy yourself with something 'cause your idleness is like a pang of conscience."

Guy stared into the hazel orbs incredulously. He decided not to be ever surprised again. The vicious part of him added that it wouldn't be completely unreal, as 'ever' in his case meant only about six days. He murmured weak 'thanks' and turned his attention to the palmtop.




That night, lying in the Blondie's arms Katze had strange thoughts in his head. He was suddenly flooded with memories. He remembered his moments with Raoul; not usual moments, but those when the Blondie, apparently struck by some impulse of superiority, decided to show him his dominance in bed.

It happened rarely, but it happened. A few times he had Katze open his legs before him and simply stared for a while, apparently taking pleasure from that. Katze didn't know what purpose it served, whether it was a substitution of a pet's performance, which it certainly resembled, or a way to strip him of the little remaining modesty he still showed with Raoul. And although he felt terribly ashamed lying so revealed and vulnerable before the Blondie, his mutilation so evident for the other's eyes, he suffered through it, merely turning his gaze away and glad that his opulent blush wasn't visible in the twilight of the room.

Several times Raoul was in the mood to pretend that Katze was a doll. Really a doll, the dealer couldn't find a better way to put it. Lying next to Katze, he simply pushed his body face down – as if the mongrel were some dummy who could not do it himself – and topped him, giving short orders to open his legs and stay still, or not saying anything at all. Then he used him, sometimes putting a hand on his back to pin him to the bed. Katze figured that the best way to go through it painlessly and quickly was complete submission, and so he submitted, trying to turn off his mind for the time being, until the Blondie was through with him.

And of course there were those few blow-jobs Raoul requested. Katze didn't like blowing Raoul, he wouldn't like blowing anyone for that matter. He detested the taste and deemed the whole activity demeaning for the receiving end. But he did it, and truly tried his best to make Raoul feel the dazzling pleasure of it.

He did or allowed all those things, because he knew that whatever ideas might pop up in Raoul's head, the Blondie would never hurt him and once sated, he would quickly revert to his usual gentle self that regarded Katze as almost equal.

And then, there was this last memory – very clear and completely different from the previous ones, but in his mind it fit perfectly. It was a long time ago, just a week or two after Iason's death and a month after Katze had made his decision to stay with Raoul. The Blondie was leaned over him, thrusting into him, then suddenly stopped.

"Don't hate me for this," he whispered into Katze's ear.

Katze looked at him perplexed. What was the Blondie saying?

"I don't hate you," he whispered back.

For a long moment Raoul studied him with a careful gaze.

"No, I guess you don't," he decided finally and resumed thrusting.

Afterwards, when the biologist slid down to the sheets, Katze turned to face him.

"I don't hate you for this," he repeated, "how could I? You're the only person who decided I'm worth a glance. You hold me every night, kiss me, touch me. You think I could hate you for that?"

Raoul opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but whatever was in his mind seemed to get stuck in his throat.

"I might not be able to climax," Katze continued, surprised with his own eagerness to talk, "but that doesn't mean that I don't need... closeness. Everybody needs closeness. Every single person in the world. Furniture too. Damn, especially furniture. Do you realize how many of them... of us have a chance for that? For me such closeness might even replace sexual sensations. And what I feel down there is by no means unpleasant. It's... a nice addition. So you see, there's absolutely no reason for me to hate you."

Raoul still said nothing. He just raised his hand and stroked Katze's cheek.

And then Katze was back in the motel room, lying in the Blondie's embrace. And he realized that – regardless of his usual self-pity at being a fuck toy – for this closeness he'd come to accept almost everything Raoul might want to do to him in bed.



Delivery – chapter 3 << >> Delivery – chapter 5

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