Delivery
by Lena
Chapter 5
Daryl welcomed the third day of their trip with an unhappy thought that it was going to be another day he was condemned to spend with his prisoner. For a few moments he lay supine, staring blankly at the ceiling and unwilling to get up. Then a slight agitation on the other bed caught his attention. He turned to look in that direction. Guy was tossing his head from side to side, a deep frown creasing his forehead. Clear signs of a nightmare.
Right, Daryl snorted inwardly, maybe the ones he murdered came to haunt him in his dreams.
He flinched the moment this thought surfaced in his head and discarded it quickly. Something about it seemed not right. With a heavy sigh he lifted himself up, walked over to his charge and uncuffed his wrist from the bed frame. He shook the mongrel's shoulder sharply.
"Hey, wake up, time to get going!"
The gray eyes opened abruptly with a loud intake of breath. Daryl noticed a few drops of sweat that dotted Guy's temple. He turned on his heel, determined not to give it any attention, and started to bustle around the room. Somehow, however, he remained unpleasantly focused on his prisoner's reactions. Thus he heard very clearly when Guy tossed once more and gave an anguished groan.
"Shit, what a fuckin' dream."
Guy was restless since waking up. The frown didn't come off his face even for a moment. A few times he tripped up against the carpet or almost dropped something. When they came down for breakfast, Daryl noticed that the spoon in the mongrel's hand was shaking. He pursed his lips with discontent. The last thing he needed was a prisoner with issues.
"What is it?" he asked, minding to keep his voice flat and businesslike.
Guy looked at him, startled. "Huh?"
"I asked what is it? You're all shaky. Is it the dream?"
The youth stirred. "How do you know..."
"It's easy to say when someone is having a nightmare, you know."
"Ah, right." Guy lowered his eyes and for a moment focused them on the not-quite-deliciously looking porridge on his plate. He winced and looked up again. "Yeah, it's the dream. I dreamt that... I dreamt that he killed the guys. The Crimelord. Hell, I dreamt how he killed them. And I tell you, you don't want to hear about it."
At the moment the mongrel's face was almost green. Daryl assessed him with his gaze. "No, I don't."
That cut any could-be conversation. They continued eating in silence for a while. But apparently for Guy it wasn't enough as he suddenly leaned over the table spoke again, his voice low. "This guy is a monster, I tell you. The drugs he produces... I saw their effects, I saw people dying on them. He doesn't give a damn about human life, makes money on it. And the way he can torture people who stepped on his toe..." his voice trailed off dramatically.
Daryl tilted his head. "How can you know it? Ever saw his men torturing anyone?"
"No. And I'd rather not. But I heard gossips. Very picturesque gossips. He has a specialized team of men who are trained in torture techniques. They know how to make you hurt, but never faint. I once heard a story about one drug dealer who was stupid enough to try cheating on him. He was dead the moment the idea popped up in his head. But they didn't just kill him, oh no, they were..."
Daryl abruptly put his spoon away. "That's enough! No details. I'm eating, dammit!"
Guy lowered his gaze and stared at the table.
"And the dream was alike. When I think what he could do to the guys I just..." he shook his head.
Daryl rolled his eyes. "Oh, stop it! Your guys are no threat to this Crimelord or whatsoever. Nor did they mess with him in any way. He's got no business in torturing them. If he was to kill them, he'd do it fast. But it won't happen, okay? We'll be there on time. So stop whining."
He broke off, suddenly surprised. What was he doing? He was actually trying to comfort this little bastard. He was trying to soothe and reassure him. Damn, had he already forgotten what that scum had done? No, he hadn't, he would never.
Guy was gazing at him skeptically, as if not quite believing his words, but then sighed with resignation.
"Maybe you're right." And after a short pause, "Yes, I guess you're right. Thanks."
Daryl balked inwardly with an uneasy feeling.
They took off early in the morning, moving towards the sun that was slowly rising from behind the horizon. They wanted to get as far as possible today. The closer to Nyccos' area, the better, the stronger was the chance that their mission would succeed. Katze was driving the car at top speed, focused on the road and immersed in his own thoughts. It didn't bother Raoul, they were long past the point when the silence between them was uneasy – if it was ever. He spent the time staring out the window, still amazed by the sudden change the world around him had gone through during the last two days.
The engine stopped when the sun was at its zenith. At first it emitted a few coughing, abrupt sounds, then farted, then silenced completely. The vehicle hovered freely a few more yards, then stopped as well. For a while Katze sat behind the wheel unmoving, as if not quite getting what had just happened. Raoul cast a questioning glance at him.
"What is it?"
The dealer bit his lip. "Dunno. But I don't like it."
"Well, me neither."
Without saying anything more, the mongrel got out of the car. Raoul watched him from the inside. Katze came over to the hood. Before opening it, he took a step back and looked down, frowning. His lips moved, uttering one short word. Then the hood lid rose and blocked Raoul's view. For a while the Blondie sat, slightly confused, unsure what to do. Finally he decided to join Katze outside.
The first thing that hit him when he stuck his nose out of the pleasantly air-conditioned interior was the choking, agonizing wave of heat. Jupiter, it was hot. In the deserts it was always hot, but this day was simply extreme. Well, tough luck. He huffed an offensively burning breath and stepped out of the vehicle.
The moment he did, he understood what pulled the mongrel's gaze down. The magnetic field that held the car over the ground was flashing with electric discharges. Little blue lightnings twined in a chaotic dance under the chassis and licked its edges with a sapphire stroke here and there. He walked up to Katze and looked over his shoulder into the car's inside. The engine box was open and fizzling quietly, emitting puffs of smoke.
"Wow," he murmured quietly.
"Short circuit," Katze explained, not waiting for the question. "The joints overheated."
"Can you fix it?"
"Hardly. Not here. Not at the moment. I don't have the equipment."
Raoul raised his brows. "And what's with the field?"
"Apparently the side effect of the engine breakdown."
"Not good, huh?"
A quiet, ironic smirk. "Definitely bad. And I don't think it's save to keep it up. Wait a minute."
As if having just made the decision, Katze turned on his heel and disappeared inside the car again. Raoul watched him – first checking something in the dashboard comm, then reaching for his cell phone and making a call. Apparently no one answered, as after a moment the phone was put away abruptly. Katze directed his attention back to the dashboard, pressing some buttons. Another motion pulled the Blondie's attention down again. The wheels slowly emerged from the car's body, lowering themselves until they sat on the ground. Then the discharges dispersed, leaving only an ozone smell in the air. A moment later Katze was back with him.
"I'm sorry, Raoul, but I can't think of anything else I could do about it right now. I tried to call the nearest motel for help, but they don't pick up. Looks like we'll have to push the car to that spot. There they should have tools that will help me take care of it."
Raoul looked at the dealer incredulously. "You can't be serious. You mean... push it? Literally?"
"Yeah, very literally. Using these hands," Katze raised his hands to illustrate the meaning of his words. "And these," he pointed at Raoul significantly. "Hey, don't look at me like that! Think I'm happy about it?"
Raoul winced discontentedly. "It's hot, Katze. Very hot. And... well, it's disgracing. Elites don't do such things."
The dealer frowned at him, a slight trace of irritation on his face.
"Elites don't fuck, Raoul. Elites don't drag themselves through the deserts. If those things don't disgrace you, this one shouldn't either."
The Blondie felt a bitter smile creep on his face. "I guess out of all the things that violate elites' dignity, pleasant ones are definitely less disgracing."
For a moment the dealer looked as if he wanted to roll his eyes. "Yeah well, at the moment our priority is necessity, not pleasure."
"Can't you at least turn the field on again? It would make the whole thing much more easy."
Katze shook his head. "Bad idea. I didn't turn it off on a whim. In its present condition it could easily induce another short-circuit and harm the engine even more. A chain reaction. Come on, Raoul, there's no point in debating it any longer. Using your muscles to move this junker is really the easiest solution." And looking at the biologist with somewhat amused sympathy, he added, "Hey, you're a Blondie, what's this little car for your superhuman strength? And besides, it's not so far away. Just a few miles. Let's have it over with."
Raoul sighed and gave up. "All right."
It was going to be a long day.
She had wavy fair hair and sweet pink lips. Her short blue dress ended just below her hips, revealing the length of her thighs. She watched them with apparent fascination, swaying back and forth with some dogged persistence and nibbling on her fingernail. She was about four feet tall and no more than eight. She was a kid, she was a girl, and thus here in the deserts she was something extremely unusual.
She had already informed them that her name was Mara, an information she had shared completely gratuitously, not even asking if they wanted it or not. Katze had decided to pay her no attention. He had more important things to take care of now than staring at little girls, no matter how unusual they were.
"Hold it like that. Very well, and don't move your hand," he instructed Raoul, who hovered over the open hood and the half disassembled engine, following Katze's instructions.
The dealer closed the soldering gun to the engine's mainboard and started to fuse the most damaged joint with utmost carefulness. The fair-haired revelation watched it silently for another few seconds, but Katze had a feeling that the silence wouldn't last long.
He was right.
"What's wrong with your car?" she asked.
Katze sighed inwardly and reckoned that a straight question might however demand an answer. Maybe feeding the girl's curiosity was the best way to get rid of her.
"The engine overheated and it induced a short-circuit," he replied, not giving a damn if the kid would understand him.
The pink lips opened, and the girl drew in her breath in a soundless sigh of confusion. For a while she said nothing and just stared at them, meanwhile Katze managed to solder all three burnt joints, and studying the effect of his work decided that it looked fairly decent. He reached for the pliers and handed them to Raoul.
"Now, hold this wire up. Like that," he took the Blondie's hand and set it in the right direction. "I need to fix this as well."
Raoul shifted, looking for more comfortable position in the new arrangements. A few strands of his once majestically golden, now dusty yellow hair slid off his back and hung down, blocking Katze's view.
"Your hair, Raoul."
"Can't, holding the pliers, you do it."
It didn't escape the dealer's attention that Raoul's way of speaking changed in the midst of manual work and the observation made him smirk inwardly. He reached for the wavy strands and brushed them aside, placing them back on the broad elite shoulders. His gaze fell on Raoul's face. He stifled a smile.
"You'll have to wash. You have dust everywhere."
The Blondie shot him a withering glance. "Look who's talking. You should see yourself in the mirror."
"I'm sure. Well, there'll be time for it later. Now, hold it, okay?"
The Blondie nodded and Katze reached for the soldering gun again.
"You have a nice car. Ya come from a big city?"
The mongrel rolled his eyes when the girl reminded them of her presence. To hell with that little brat! Unexpectedly, Raoul came with help.
"We come from Tanagura," he answered, not lifting his gaze from the engine.
Mara's eyes grew round and huge like saucers. "Wow, Tanagura! I heard about it. Heard that it's the biggest city on Amoi. Is that true?"
"Yes, that's true."
"Cool. I never saw a big city, ya know? I was born here and never left this place. Daddy says he'll take me to El Camaal when I'm bigger. Ya know El Camaal? It's the closest city from here, that's what daddy says."
She paused for a breath, or maybe waiting for their comment. They didn't comment. Well, they didn't need to, as in an instant she was speaking again.
"Daddy says that the big cities are scary. There are all those cloned people, those... pets and those huge, creepy elites. Do you know any elites, misters?"
Raoul gave out a quiet, muffled puff of indignation. Katze managed to hold in his breath as the heavy laughter pressed against his throat. Oh damn, what the hell...
"Yeah, he does," he motioned at the biologist with his chin. "He's one of them."
He didn't know what made him say that. There was some evil part of him that loved to tease the Blondie even if it was stupid.
"Katze!" Raoul hissed.
But the girl already caught it up. "Are you, mister? Are you, really? Ya don't look too creepy."
"Of course I am not creepy!" Raoul protested. "I mean I'm not—" this however stuck in his throat. "Just ignore him, he's pulling your leg."
But she didn't listen to him, her little mind was already rushing forward.
"And you, mister?" she asked excitedly, turning to Katze. "Are you an elite?"
"No, I'm not elite," the dealer grumbled. "I'm elite's pet."
"Oh, come on, Katze, you're not a pet!"
"Right," Katze corrected, "I'm elites' furniture."
"How can you be furniture? You're a man."
"You are not furniture, Katze!"
The argument was suddenly interrupted when a sound of steps approached them and a big shadow fell over the bonnet.
"How is it going? Ya need anything more?"
Katze raised his gaze to their new landlord, a tawny man in his middle thirties. "If you'd have an insulating tape. I could use it to secure the wire."
"Sure, I should have something in stock. Wait a minute," the man nodded reassuringly and, turning away from the dealer, looked down at the girl. "And you, little lady, are disturbing our guests. They got work to do."
Katze thought that it probably became to start assuring the guy that no, she wasn't disturbing at all, that she was a nice little girl, so let her stay and ask whatever she wants. But he didn't feel in the mood for what became so he just stayed silent, and so did Raoul. Mara didn't.
"But daddy," she whined. "I'm not disturbing them. We were just talking. I was asking them about big cities..."
"You'll ask them later. Come now, honey. They really don't need you here at the moment." That said, the man took Mara's hand and – gently, but firmly – led her into the small building that topped over the yard. When they disappeared inside, Raoul looked at Katze reproachfully.
"You didn't have to say that."
"Why? That's true. Besides, she's no threat, even if she tells someone. Just look at you, you think anyone would believe her? They'll be thinking she's confabulating."
Raoul snorted with indignation. "Well, thank you very much. And I didn't mean me. I meant the part about you. That isn't true."
"Oh yes?" Katze imitated a surprised voice. "So, if I'm neither a pet nor a furniture, then who am I for you? Certainly you won't call me lover."
He finished soldering and pointed the gun at another wire.
"Now this one. Keep it up the same way. Hey, don't move your hand!"
Raoul tensed, trying to keep his body in perfect stillness, while the dealer returned to his work.
"Well," the Blondie took up their conversation, "certain things cannot be easily named. There's no point in forcing names on them."
"Right," Katze grumbled, but didn't comment it any further.
They continued like that for a while in silence. The work was almost done when suddenly something buzzed very loudly next to Raoul's ear, and then landed just there, tickling unbearably at the very entrance to his acoustic duct. The Blondie stirred abruptly, slapping his free hand against his ear. It didn't help the fact that his other hand moved with the impetus. The wire twanged and the weld gave up.
"Fuck!" Katze leapt up, his head almost smashing into the edge of the hood lid. He glared at the Blondie. "I told you, don't move your hand! Look what you did!"
"Hey, it's not my fault! Some darn fly just sat on my ear and—"
"Oh, fly, fly! You could've kept still those few more seconds. The fly wouldn't eat you! Now we have to do this stupid wire all over again."
"It was a reflex, Katze! I didn't control it! Big thing, a wire. And besides, don't yell at me!"
The mongrel rested his hands on his hips. His amber gaze bore through the Blondie.
"And why is that?"
"Because—I'm a Blondie! And I'm your..." Raoul paused, suddenly unable to continue.
Katze stared at him defiantly.
"Yes, exactly. You're my what? Well, spit it out!"
Raoul opened his lips but remained silent. Somehow the word 'master' – although it surfaced as a clear possibility in his head – couldn't find a way through his throat.
"Well?" Katze prompted.
"You have no respect!" Raoul finally blurted out.
The dealer gave a short snort, throwing his head back.
"If by that you mean that I don't fear you, then you're right. Hell, I don't fear you. And don't you imagine I ever will! But," he got more serious, "I know perfectly well what my place is. You got it into my head a long time ago."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," the arrogant expression was back. "And that's the point where I tell you what to do, not the other way around. Because, Raoul, I know way more about circuits and wires than you do."
The Blondie blinked. For a moment he was silent, perplexed. Then he threw his arms up. "Alright, alright! I'm sorry. Next time a fly barges into my ear, I'll let it bite through my eardrums, just to keep still. All for you. Happy?"
Katze ignored the irony and just nodded firmly, acknowledging the answer. He turned his attention back to the car, ready to go back to work. Raoul looked after him, then suddenly, before he realized what he was doing, his arm sprang out and grabbed the dealer's shoulder. He yanked sharply, pulling the other man to himself. He managed to see Katze's shocked face before, giving in to the impulse, he plastered his lips to the mongrel's. He forced them open almost violently, pushing his tongue through Katze's lips and exploring his mouth. The tense body in his hands stirred but then slowly relaxed. Raoul was surprised when he suddenly felt those lips starting to return the kiss. Not in the way they usually did, not submissively, listlessly, just a step over passivity. Suddenly Katze's tongue was entangled with his and they twisted together in a sensual embrace. Raoul's heart jumped up. His arms tightened instinctively, pulling Katze even closer, almost to the point of crushing and the dealer's hands, one still armed in the soldering gun, came around him as well.
Only after a long moment did they finally, reluctantly break the kiss.
"Hey, that was nice," Katze murmured.
Raoul frowned with slight indignation. "Is that so surprising?"
"No, I mean—" the redhead looked truly staggered, "really nice." He slowly disentangled himself from Raoul's arms and cleared his throat. "Why?"
"I'm not sure. I guess I wanted to show you my area of control."
One red brow rose. "I told you, I know perfectly where your area of control is. But—if you want to show it to me this way... well, no problem." He shook his head, still looking slightly dizzy. "Now," his firm tone was back and only a very sensible ear could catch its minimal shakiness, "let's go back to work, I'd really like to have it done already."
"Tell me something, Daryl," Guy spoke on impulse, turning his gaze from the monotonous pictures moving behind the window to the handsome eunuch in the driver's seat. "Why a man like you – a tough men, apparently a man of character decided to become a furniture. As much as I try, I can't see you as a Blondie's lackey?"
A short, sardonic glance was cast in his direction. Daryl smirked and there was something bitter in this sound.
"That's what you think, huh? Yes, I'm not surprised. Many people think so."
Guy frowned. "What do you mean?"
"'Decide'. That's an utterly wrong word to use here."
"How come?"
Daryl's eyes closed for a short moment, then opened again.
"None of us, furniture, had anything to say in that matter," he said flatly.
For a long while Guy stared at the man beside him dumbfounded. Daryl's simple statement knocked him off track. For all his life he'd believed that becoming a furniture was voluntary. After all, in Ceres it was an unspoken of, unadmitted point of envy. Guy knew that although no one dared to say it aloud, there were many people in the slum who would give much to go back to their early teens to be able to choose this way. During his time in the Guardian, he'd seen many boys boasting around that they'd just been accepted (it was, he remembered, the first time he'd heard about furniture). Then they disappeared and never came back.
"Then how does it happen?" he asked.
Daryl shrugged. "The usual way. Remember those tests they put us through in the Guardian when we turn fourteen? IQ and personality?" Guy nodded. Yes, he remembered quite clearly. It was a standard procedure every Guardian kid underwent. Daryl glanced at him. "Damn, we were there at the same time. We even could have met," he murmured detachedly.
"Guardian is a large place."
"Yeah, I know. Anyway, you probably don't know it, but these are the entrance tests for furniture. From among all the kids they choose the smartest ones and with proper psychical characteristics – compliant, rather introvert, very composed. Then they examine the selected ones... physically. And pick the pretties. And only then do they tell us what all that is for. Of course at first everyone is happy. They tell us we were the best, they tell us we are going to live in the luxury of Eos and after a few years we will be granted citizen rights. When I first heard it... man," he shook his head. "I never even imagined something so wonderful would happen to me. But then they took us to the clinic, and only there did we find out about the other part. You know what I mean?"
"The castration?"
For a long moment Daryl was silent. Guy looked at him and saw that the man's cheeks flushed a light pink.
"Yes, that," the dealer said quietly. "Tell me, Guy, when did you find out that furniture were castrated?"
The mongrel frowned, trying to sort out that moment. "My, I don't know. I guess I always knew about it."
"No, definitely not. In the Guardian they kept it as a secret. Even if a part of kids heard about furniture, no one ever told us about the castration. It had to be sometime later," he paused, as though to see if Guy had something to say, but the mongrel kept silent. "It was a shock. The wonderful dream dissipated, changing into a nightmare. Most of us started to beg those people to take us back to the slum. You think I didn't? We begged, cried, if not for the sedative they'd given us, I think we would've gone into hysterics. But they didn't give a damn what we wanted. And so they did it; they cut us – one by one."
He fell silent again and for a while the quiet hum of the car's engine was the only sound within the miles of nothingness. Only after a long moment did he speak again.
"Then they took us to the furniture training and there proceeded to put into our heads how lucky we were. That it was a privilege to serve the city's elite, and that our ultimate reward – becoming a citizen – was an even greater honor. Of course it worked. After a while we all got used to our new... condition. After all, since there was nothing we could do about it, we could only start seeing the pros of our situation or break down. So in effect most of us followed the training dutifully, determined to become good, faithful servants. End of story."
Guy was speechless, staring at Daryl with unmoving gaze. He was vaguely aware that his mouth was open, as he tried to produce something but found no words, and that his intensive stare could make the other man feel uneasy. He finally forced himself to turn away. Damn, he was shaken. For all this time he'd despised furniture. It was so easy to despise them. It was comfortable! They were the mongrels who abandoned their pride, they were the traitors and the embodiment of what Guy didn't want to become. They were the best example against what he'd fought, starting his private war with Iason Mink. Now it turned out that his picture of them was an illusion. Guy stared out the window and suddenly felt almost sick.
"I don't know what to say," he murmured. "I guess... I am sorry. I didn't know."
He heard a bitter snort from the driver's seat.
"Yeah, right. How could you have known? Now I should say 'never mind'. That's the line, isn't it?" But the tone of Daryl's voice said something completely different. "And just for your information," he added, "Riki didn't have much choice when Iason took him for his pet either. Actually, he didn't have a choice at all."
Guy turned to him on impulse. "Will you tell me about it? Finally the whole story. Please? I'd really like to hear it."
Daryl half-closed his eyes, his chest rose and fell in a deep breath. He took a moment before he answered.
"In the evening. When we get on the place. In short. Telling you the whole story would take ages. But, okay, I'll do it."
Guy nodded eagerly. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."
The dealer pursed his lips as his eyes rolled. "Stop thanking me already. I'm feeling strange getting thanked by you."
They were too worn out to continue their trip that day. Besides, although there were still about two hours before the sunset, it was probably too late to move on. So they just hired a room in the inn (the most expensive one, naturally) and went directly up, not even stopping for a meal.
When only the door closed behind them, Raoul turned his dusty, smeary face to Katze. The dealer sighed, guessing what was in store for him.
"I know, you need to feel like a Blondie," he offered, before Raoul had time to open his mouth.
"Well, I definitely need a bath."
That was true, the Blondie looked horrible. His face was covered with dust and grease, his hair was in a pitiful condition – ruffled, sticking to his forehead and neck in dirty, wet strings. His once-green shirt was now creased and decorated with huge stains of sweat under the arms and on the chest and back. Not that it harmed the Blondie's beauty. Contrasted to everything that now constituted Raoul's sorry countenance, it was even more striking.
Looking at him, Katze was only more aware of his own poor condition, that – he was sure – was as pitiful. Damn, he was no less dusty and smeary, and probably more tired. No matter how exhausted Raoul was, he could really give him a break this evening. Not that Katze tried to ask about it. No. He just turned on his heel and marched to the door that, as he believed, was the door to the bathroom.
He opened it and stopped at the threshold, sweeping the room with his gaze. Oh, wonderful! He turned to the Blondie... and found him standing just behind him, gazing inside over his shoulder.
"No bathtub, Raoul," he voiced the fact that Raoul must have already noticed.
Only a slender shower cabin was visible in the recess of one of the walls. There wasn't even a trace of a bathtub around.
"Well," the Blondie murmured. "We'll have to do with this."
They unpacked their toiletries, undressed and got into the shower. They stood under the brisk stream of warm water, waiting a few moments until it washed the first layer of dust and dirt from their skin. Once it happened, Katze felt so refreshed, that the thought of taking care of the Blondie now seemed almost bearable. As if hearing his thoughts, Raoul said:
"Wash my hair now, okay?"
The dealer nodded silently and reached for the shampoo. He looked at the blonde head. It was... high.
"You know, you could lower yourself somehow, it would make things much easier for me."
"Very well."
Raoul sat on his heels on the bottom of the cabin. Now he was too low, so Katze knelt behind him, finally finding the most comfortable distance. He assessed the thick mass of hair and the huge amount of dust with his gaze and sighed. Yes, he had to admit Raoul could have some problems with washing all that himself, certainly it was easier for someone else to do it.
"You'll definitely have to do something about your hair," he murmured, pouring a huge amount of shampoo on the Blondie's head.
It was a hard task and as much as Raoul had often demonstrated how much he liked having his hair washed by Katze, this time he was mostly silent. The few sighs he emitted seemed more the sighs of relief than of delight, and once the dealer finished rinsing the golden locks a few minutes later, he felt relieved as well.
Raoul rose to his feet and turned to him.
"Can you take care of the rest of you yourself?" Katze really hoped the Blondie wasn't in the mood to revel in his services.
"Yes, certainly."
"Then I'll just..." he motioned at the cabin's door and retreated to it, deeming it was enough of an explanation for the Blondie.
Raoul caught him by his arm. "And where are you going?"
"Well, since you don't need me, I thought I'd wait outside till you're finished."
"Oh, come on, Katze, there's enough space for both of us here, you don't need to go. I don't want you to go. And besides," he measured Katze's head with his gaze, "your hair need washing as well."
"I can take care of that later."
"Why? I can do it."
For a moment Katze thought he'd overheard. "W-what?"
"I said I can do it. You did it for me, now I can do it for you. What's so strange about it?"
Katze opened his mouth... and closed it, finding it hard to speak.
"Raoul," he articulated slowly, "you surely don't mean that. I mean, I'm a mongrel. You are a Blondie. You don't want to..."
"Yes, I do." The hand that held him now firmly pulled him closer. "Don't give me that talk, Katze. Especially not after today," the Blondie hissed, but there was a playful note in his voice. "Now, on your knees."
Katze needed another moment to comprehend what was demanded of him, then slowly, overcoming his disbelief, sank to his knees, assuming the same position Raoul had before. He heard the biologist kneel behind him and swallowed. It was impossible. The Blondie wanted to serve him! But the cool feel of shampoo on the top on his head and the gentle touch of Raoul's fingertips told him that it was not only possible, but also very real. So he just closed his eyes and relished the sensations he was sure he'd never have a chance to experience again.
When a few minutes later Raoul was done, he felt—relaxed, almost sleepy. He got up slowly. Raoul was smiling.
"Now, you can wash me, alright?"
Katze nodded vacantly, unmindful of the previous resolves. He reached for the soap and started to slowly, carefully lather Raoul's beautiful body. He almost choked with his breath when a moment later Raoul took another piece of soap and started to do the same – to him.
"Raoul..."
"Shhh, don't argue," the Blondie whispered.
So he didn't. No, he didn't have the slightest intention of arguing. His eyelids drifted to half-mast, his vision blurred, but he didn't need to see much. There were only Raoul's gentle, languid hands on him, and the Blondie's strikingly gorgeous body before him; shiny with soap, and at the moment his to touch. And Katze did, tracing those wonderful lines of Raoul's muscles, relishing the sensation of slickness of the fair, flawless skin. He really felt as if he were touching the most beautiful, living piece of art. For the first time during his history with Raoul, for the first time in all those months when he could touch the Blondie's naked body in bed or in the bath, he was genuinely excited about it. And, surprisingly, he knew perfectly well why it was so.
He saw the Blondie's face – a minimal smile still twisting his lips – and driven by some impulse stepped closer. Raoul's hands came around him, massaging his back, and his did the same. They spent a few more minutes, entangled in light, casual embrace, their chests brushing against each other, their lips almost touching another's shoulder or neck, their hands only now and then remembering that they should in fact do their work.
Finally the water was turned off and Raoul whispered into Katze's ear.
"That was nice, thank you. Now, let's get out."
So they did, not breaking the atmosphere between them. They took the towels and started to dry each other. Brushing Raoul's upper arms through the clothe, and feeling him do the same, standing so close, was almost like embracing again and Katze relished the thought.
"Feeling refreshed?" the Blondie murmured.
"You bet. And you?"
"Like a newborn."
Katze smirked. "You definitely look much better."
"So you do. So." Raoul's voice firmed a little. "Since we are clean and fresh, I guess we could go down to eat something and maybe make some progress in our inquiry, huh?"
The inquiry led them nowhere and they came back up with nothing. Still, Raoul wasn't very disappointed.
"Even if they know something, they might not breath a word," he remembered Katze's words from this morning. "They won't be eager to talk with you, more likely they'll contact the Crimelord to let him know that something's up. This way or another – as soon as we come across someone with connection, I'm sure those guys will show up. We just have to keep our eyes open."
So Raoul accepted their failure with self-assured calmness and, once back in the room, immediately went to bed, feeling he fully deserved a rest. Katze wasn't up for night-owling with his laptop either, as he joined him within the minutes. He sank under the covers facing Raoul, and the Blondie happily wrapped his arm around him. A low growl of delight escaped the biologist's throat, it was always so good to hold Katze. The more he was surprised when a few moments later the dealer asked in a slightly confused voice:
"Is something wrong?"
"Why should anything be wrong?"
"Well, I mean," the redhead cleared his throat, "aren't you going to... you know."
"Oh, that!" Raoul chuckled as he realized what the mongrel had in mind. He really must have been tired since something so obvious hadn't even crossed his mind. He considered it for a moment. And decided that all his body needed right now was a few hours of long, deep sleep. "No, Katze, I'm too worn out after all that happened today."
The dealer's somewhat tensed body immediately relaxed under his arm, giving Raoul a momentary, well known pang of pain, the feeling he ignored it with practiced ease.
"So tell me, Blondie," Katze offered, shifting to more casual position, "after today, are you still so enthusiastic about the deserts?"
Raoul closed his eyes, deciding it was time to slowly float away into dreams.
"Too hot, too dry, too wild and too dusty," he murmured. "And we could have passed the day without all those complications. Still, if not for those complications, I don't think nice things would happen either."
"Oh," Katze suddenly sounded embarrassed. "I guess we were both a bit... overheated."
Raoul opened one eye. "Why do you think I was overheated?"
"Well, you never kissed me like that, never with such... fire."
The Blondie smirked. "I guess I got mad that you were bossing around. But—is that why you also responded with such fire like never before?"
Katze gave a quiet, half-confused, half-affronted grunt. "You know, it turned out you can kiss after all, and quite well. Good action – good reaction, simple dependence."
"Oh, thank you very much! You're being very nice to me today," Raoul pretended an offended voice. "But you know what?" he lifted himself on his elbow, reckoning that he might let the sleep wait a few minutes, "I might be too tired for sex, but I'm definitely well enough to practice more kissing. How about that?"
Another grunt. This time it sounded bemused and startled. Raoul figured that their little verbal duel was over and congratulated himself on being a winner.
"Come here, Katze," he commanded softly and not waiting for the dealer to obey, pulled the thin body to himself. He brushed the scarred cheek and combed through the red fringe. His heart melted like every time he looked at his mongrel from so close.
He bent to the dealer's lips. They didn't try to escape him, they never did. At first he felt the initial, slight resistance, but then proceeded like he had before, pushing them open with his tongue, exploring them, and soon the tension subsided, until finally Katze's tongue – first tentatively, then more firmly – entangled with his. Raoul shuddered, when he suddenly felt Katze's hand, being uncertainly, as if it were a skittish animal, laid on his side. Oh, Jupiter, the dealer didn't have to do it!
On reflex he pulled the mongrel even closer, his hands starting to explore the shapely, lithe body, moving up and down Katze's arm, moving to his side, to his chest, his hips, his... Katze whimpered and stirred away.
"Don't. Let me."
He guessed the dealer wouldn't have tried to escape him anyway, but well, he couldn't say that for sure, he'd never touched him in that particular place before. It was strange, but he wanted it. Little by little, Katze's body relaxed again; the grip of his inner thighs loosened, giving Raoul better access, and the hand on the Blondie's side resumed its light caress.
"Good," Raoul murmured into the mongrel's mouth, although it came out as an inarticulate murmur.
His hands got bolder, exploring the – yes! – hardened balls, sliding over the short stump of the dealer's one-time penis. For yet another time, this time very tangibly, Raoul satisfied himself that Katze's mutilation wasn't disgusting to him. On the contrary, it was quite interesting.
Finally Katze also slid his hand off his side and the Blondie realized – feeling a huge lump in his throat – that it headed for his crotch. It touched it, at first cautiously, brushing the testicles, sliding around them and then along the shaft as if checking if it was hard. It was painfully hard.
"Yes, please, do it, Katze," he whispered around the kiss, his voice muffled with excitement.
Katze's fingers slowly curled around his erection and rubbed up and down, the thumb massaging the head. Raoul wanted to scream. He deepened the kiss, continuing working on the mongrel's balls. They went on like this for a while, but soon he realized that he wanted... needed more. And he wanted to have his hands free to be able to embrace Katze.
He rolled over, turning the dealer on his back and pulling his knee aside. Katze broke the kiss.
"You said you were too tired," he whispered.
"You filled me with new energy."
"Oh. Right."
But he wasn't distressed. He moved his other leg to the side, his arms sliding around Raoul's back in silent consent. The Blondie entered him hastily, without any trouble and started moving. He couldn't stop kissing Katze, their mouths were glued together. For the first time he heard the dealer actually moaning at his actions and it flooded his body with hot and cold waves of excitement.
Katze's hands were traveling over his back and arms; they came down to his buttocks. It was making Raoul crazy. He came as fast and hard as never before. Afterwards he slid onto the sheets and never releasing the mongrel from his grip was fast asleep.
They sat at a table in the dim light of the lamp above. Only the central part of the room was lit, the rest sank in the shadows. An ashtray with a few butts and Guy's cigarette box sat on the kitchy, checked oilcloth that covered the tabletop. The smoke hovered densely in the air, even though they had opened the window to let in some fresh air. Daryl was smoking his second cigarette. It was quite remarkable that he had decided to take the cig Guy had offered and for some reason it filled the mongrel with joy. It was also interesting to find out that his guardian did smoke. Guy wasn't sure how many cigarettes he himself had smoked, but definitely more than two.
It was dark outside and after the unbearable heat of the day, the cool breath of the early night was soothing. Guy leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and listening to the flow of voice that at the moment sounded really soft, felt almost... good. Felt calm. It was the strangest and most surprising feeling. He could almost forget in what hell he'd found himself and that in a few days he was about to meet his end. Not that he cared much about staying alive, still, the almost happy feeling that filled him was striking.
It turned out Daryl was a good storyteller. Guy could almost see the pictures in his head, almost hear the voices from those few years ago. He nearly saw Riki and his struggle with the Blondie. Maybe it was that – maybe it was what gave him this feeling. Maybe he was simply comforted knowing that his former lover hadn't given up all at once. That he'd at least tried to fight Iason.
But there was also something else. He opened his eyes now and again to glance at the chestnut-haired castrate before him. Daryl wasn't looking back, his gaze was distant, fixed on his cig or on the unfortunate oilcloth on the table, so Guy felt quite comfortable with his stare. His thoughts took very strange turns. The man before him was his only lead to Riki. He was his memory of Riki. One could say that, in some twisted way, he was his Riki. And now, knowing that he hadn't given himself to those bastards in Eos on his own free will, it was even easier to accept. Now Guy couldn't contempt him for what he was and, strangely, he was glad.
His Riki – the mongrel shook his head. No, it made no sense, he was making a terrible mistake. But somehow, at the moment he was more aware of Daryl's beauty than ever. The dealer's features were perfectly regular, with nicely shaped, pointed jaw and delicately slanted eyes that gave his features an exotic stroke. His slim, finely chiseled arms were crossed on the backrest of the chair he'd straddled from behind. He was completely different from Riki, both – physically and psychically, Guy had no doubt that it wasn't a question of resemblance. But somehow looking at him, he couldn't get rid of the thought. His only connection to Riki, his recollection of Riki. Almost like Riki.
Katze entwined the last strand into the thick rope of golden hair, leaving a long tuft at the end, and adjusted the clip. He looked over Raoul's head at their reflection in the mirror.
"Well? What do you think?"
The Blondie was staring at himself, then his gaze slid to Katze. Shapely lips twisted minimally.
"Surprisingly, not bad. I quite like it. And what about you? What do you think?"
Katze cleared his throat. "Yeah, not bad. Not bad at all."
Not bad. It was a huge understatement. It was as if to call Iason Mink, or Raoul for that matter, pretty. It was as if to call Riki the Dark naughty. The Blondie's face, now finally fully exposed, was crowned with the thick coat of golden locks. A few shorter strands slid out to freedom and hung loosely over Raoul's forehead and at the sides of his head. The sight was breathtaking. Well, it wasn't the first time Katze was short of breath looking at the man he'd now come to call 'his Blondie', but this time it was something really amazing. Finally the picture felt... complete. The new hairstyle matched the new clothes beautifully, forming a new, absolutely endearing quality. There was nothing more to add to Raoul's looks to make him more human. And as much as Katze appreciated and admired the Blondie's appearance before, now he positively loved it.
His hand rose on its own volition and collected a few strands that escaped their captivity at the Blondie's neck. His fingers brushed the marble skin as he did so, and he took in his breath, struggling to keep his hand in check as it craved to change the casual touch into the more intimate caress. Raoul's gaze on him intensified.
"What are you doing?"
"Err... nothing." He hastily busied himself with tucking the unruly locks into place in the golden mass. "They were on your neck, they'd be tickling you."
The beautiful lips twisted more. Impishly. "You are tickling me, Katze."
"Sorry." Damn, he was blushing. After all those months, even after tonight, he was still embarrassed when it came to showing warm feelings to the Blondie. He quickly finished his work and took his hand away. "Here, ready. Now you can wear it like that or easily hide it under the cap. It won't bother you anymore. And those guys shouldn't pick on you either."
Raoul rose from the stool and turned to him, throwing the braid over his shoulder. He was still smiling when met Katze's gaze. "Thank you," he said simply.
Katze didn't know why his heart was beating so fast.