Eight-ball
by Shayne
Prologue
"Sir?"
Raoul looked up to see his assistant hovering anxiously in the doorway.
"Yes, Gene? What is it?"
"You have a visitor, Sir. A... Katze. He doesn't have an appointment, but he asks if you would speak with him."
Leaning back in his chair, Raoul Am threaded his fingers together, resting them along his flat stomach.
"Would that be Katze, of Iason Mink's enterprises?"
"Yes Sir."
"Send him in, then."
Gene inclined his head and exited, leaving Raoul to contemplate the man in his outer office. He'd never formally met Iason's former Furniture, but he'd listened to his friend's stories and the whispers that ran through Elite society concerning the mongrel and his odd stature. Power without respect. He'd wondered how a man could stomach such dichotomy in his existence.
It seemed his curiosity was about to be rewarded.
Katze's height was a surprise. He'd only seen the other man as a shadowy figure in the driver's seat of Iason's car. The mongrel was almost Raoul's match for inches, if he was not mistaken.
Crimson hair hung over a delicately featured face, and exotically tilted golden eyes stared back at him without hesitation.
"Mr. Am. I apologize for disturbing you."
"Iason's right hand is welcome here."
The thin mouth tightened.
"It is on his account that I've come."
Raoul studied the man opposite him.
"You are aware, then, that the bodies were recovered?"
"I am." Katze swallowed visibly. "Sir, forgive my impertinence, but I must know... will he live?"
"I cannot say for sure at this point, you understand," Raoul said slowly, "but from Jupiter's reports, my answer is an optimistic yes. Cellular degeneration had not begun, so survival for them both is a solid out-come."
"Both of them."
"Yes." Raoul's lip curled slightly in disdain. "Jupiter feels that Iason will be content to live only if that creature he was so attached to survives."
"Riki." Katze's vehemence startled Raoul. "His name is Riki. And he is not some 'creature'. He is a man."
They both froze, Raoul with astonishment that a mongrel would dare speak so to a Blondie; Katze in equal surprise at his own daring.
The mongrel waited tensely for Raoul's retribution. When it was not forthcoming, he rose and bowed deeply to the man seated before him.
"I thank you for your time, Sir, and bid you good evening."
"Wait."
The red-haired man stopped abruptly in the port's open frame.
"I meant no offense, Katze. I did not really know your Riki. I speak as a man to whom his friend's actions have given much concern."
The tight set of Katze's shoulders relaxed and he turned to look at Raoul, clear gaze meeting the Blondie's.
"I—thank you. Not many Elites would bother to apologize, especially to a mongrel. I am sorry for my disrespect, but... Riki was my friend."
Raoul looked into those golden eyes, captured by the fierce intelligence and passion in their depths. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen either in such abundance and it fascinated him.
"Would you join me for a drink at Mars?" he asked on impulse then waited while Katze stared at him, expressionless.
"I would be honored," the red-head finally said. "Are you sure you wish to be seen with a mongrel at such a place?"
Raoul's mouth quirked.
"Iason took his mongrel to the finest Eos establishments. Why should I not be seen with an associate at a local club?"
A slight smile tilted thin but well-shaped lips.
"Then I accept. Perhaps—if you do not mind—we might speak more of Iason... and Riki? I would like to know what's being done for them."
"I don't mind." Raoul stood. "Shall we go?"
"Yes."
The mongrel walked quietly beside him, eyes fixed on the ground. Raoul took the opportunity to examine Katze without that disconcerting golden gaze on him. The creature was beautiful in the Elite fashion. How extraordinary.
He realized that he was looking forward to an evening out for the first time since Iason had died. His friend's former Furniture was an interesting distraction at a time he greatly needed one.
1
Five months later...
A thin stream of smoke bled from the cigarette dangling from Katze's mouth. His lean form bent over the pool table, he tracked his shot carefully before decisively sending two balls into two different pockets with one sharp crack.
Raoul watched from the other side of the table, idly chalking his own cue.
"You really should quit. Those things will kill you."
Gold eyes glinted at him from beneath long, red bangs.
"Many things will. I pick my poison. They don't bother you?"
"Not at all. They have a pleasant smell to them: spicy, almost sweet."
"They're imported. Earth cloves won't grow on Amoi, even in the hydroponics labs, but they do on Terra 3, along with many other home-world plants. Perhaps that's why the colonists named it that."
"More likely they were lonely for what they'd left behind."
Katze circled the table, weighing his options. The shot he picked was not one Raoul would have attempted, but as with the two before it, yet another ball disappeared from the green felt surface.
"You're good. You played Iason?"
"On occasion. Riki was more often my opponent. An extremely challenging one."
Raoul's eyes followed the curving line of Katze's spine under his tight black turtleneck down to where worn blue jeans cupped a truly superior ass. He jerked his gaze away from the enticing sight.
It was always like this. Ever since Katze had come to see him that evening almost five months ago, they met twice a week, sometimes more. Just... to talk. About everything and nothing. About Iason and Riki. About the appalling state of Midas' public finances. About anything but what Raoul really wanted to discuss: the fact that he wanted Iason Mink's former possession.
He wasn't even sure how to qualify that want; it just was.
When Katze wasn't with him, the red-head often occupied his thoughts. And Raoul found himself making excuses to see the man even more than he already did.
It wasn't just the graceful body, as tall and well-proportioned as any Elite's, or the flawless bone structure of the mongrel's face that attracted him, either. Katze's mind was equally fascinating.
Agile and beyond brilliant, it drew Raoul like a moth to flame. Its unfathomable twists and turns made Katze a constantly shifting challenge and for the Blondie, there was nothing more enticing than an unsolvable puzzle. The red-head was the living equivalent of one.
Katze had come to Raoul's office one afternoon when the entire building's system was experiencing data corruption and processing failures that threatened to shut the place down for the rest of the day. Sitting down at Raoul's terminal, the crimson-haired mongrel had stuck one of his omnipresent cigarettes between thin, pretty lips and proceeded to fix the problems in less than an hour. No Elite he knew of could have done so.
Even with the scar running down his cheek, Katze was as lovely to look on as any pet and he possessed something Raoul found more stimulating than a hundred of those creatures put together: an intense, independent personality coupled with that power-house of a mind. Arousal spiked through his body just from watching the thoughts flashing rapidly behind tilted, amber eyes.
"Raoul?"
He looked up to find those eyes studying him curiously and realized that while he'd once again let Katze dominate his thoughts, the mongrel had sunk the eight-ball, finishing the game.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine." He raked black-gloved fingers through the thick blonde hair that fell around him. "Just thinking."
A slight smile tilted Katze's mouth.
"You were frowning and I thought maybe I'd annoyed you. What were you thinking of?"
"That you don't look like a mongrel."
The words flew from Raoul's mouth without the intervention of his brain, and he swore silently when Katze went rigid, all animation draining from the man's face, leaving it a blank mask.
Turning back to the pool table, Katze began to rack the balls.
"Perhaps that's because I didn't begin life the way most mongrels do. The people who provided the genetics necessary for my birth were from well-to-do, middle-class merchant families. They wanted a blue-haired child with silver eyes. When they saw me, they weren't at all happy and the lab advised them to try again. I went into a Ceres orphanage. The director did not hesitate to let me know how defective I was. After all, my own parents didn't want me."
Raoul didn't speak. What did one say to something like that, anyway?
It was true that Katze would have had a much smoother, less painful life, had his parents not been such appearance-driven people. And then Raoul would never have met him. That was an unacceptable possibility for the Blondie.
Raoul would willingly condone the scar, the castration, the daily humiliations of Katze's life as a non-person, all of it, if it meant the red-head was standing in this room with him tonight. The realization bothered him, made him wonder just what was wrong with him.
Know thyself.
A bioengineer and a psychologist, Raoul knew more about the make-up of the human genome and the human brain than most people in the known universe. But there were some variables that could not be mapped and he'd just stumbled over one of them. How did you control unforeseen emotional response?
Laying his cue down, he walked to where Katze stood, hands braced against the edge of the pool table, staring off into space. Tentatively, uncertain of what to do in such a situation, he reached out and put a hand on the mongrel's shoulder.
The bright red head rose and Katze turned to look back at Raoul. For once, the long bangs fell away from pale skin and the mongrel's face was revealed in its entirety.
The scar was jagged and cruel in its length, but it had faded with the years, becoming more a line of demarcation than the angry brand it must have once been. When Raoul reached out, Katze flinched, but the Blondie merely cupped the mongrel's chin in his palm, his grasp firm.
Golden eyes narrowed, their expression defiant, and Katze shifted his head so that the rest of the hair fell back from his face.
"Did you want to see Iason's handiwork, Raoul? Does it not disgust you? I'm a scarred ex-furniture with no will but what Iason has allowed me over the years. I may run the Market, but I have fewer rights than the lowest gutter whore in Midas."
Raoul's mouth tightened. Letting go of Katze's chin, he struck him a short, sharp blow across one high cheekbone; just hard enough to leave a red mark and shock the mongrel out of his pathos.
"It does not disgust me. Why should it? And you have never impressed me as being one to indulge in self-pity, Katze. It does not become you."
Midas' Boss jerked away from the Blondie and turned fully so that he faced Raoul.
"What the hell do you want from me, Blondie? You ask me here for a game, you want me to join you for dinner or drinks... why? Don't you have enough Elite friends?"
Katze's bewildered anger just focused Raoul's need. What did he want? Bending over the man leaning against his billiard table, he touched his lips to Katze's.
The mongrel sucked in a sharp breath when Raoul's mouth settled over his, and for a few moments, remained rigid in his grasp. Then the tension slowly melted from the long body and it fluidly conformed itself to the Blondie's. A low groan poured from the red-head's throat, sending shivers along Raoul's spine, turning his cock rock-hard.
Sliding a hand down to cup that perfect ass, Raoul pulled Katze even closer, discovering, in the process, that a certain type of castrate could get an erection. Long and hard, it pressed urgently against Raoul's own, the mongrel's restless hips sliding them together.
Their tongues met, twined, and they ate at each other as if they were both starving.
Abruptly, Katze pushed him away. Panting, he braced his hands against Raoul's chest, golden eyes wild.
"Why—why did you do that? Is this some joke?"
"I don't make jokes," Raoul replied, feeling slightly out of breath.
"I can't do this, Raoul. Gods."
Spinning on one heel, Katze left the room, his long-legged strides almost a run. Stunned by the swift turn of events, Raoul didn't even attempt to follow. In the distance, he heard the hiss of the front port as it opened and closed.
Walking to one of the low couches that lined the walls of his game room, he sank down, letting his head fall back. Arousal still pounded in his blood and he wouldn't be surprised if his erection stayed up all night.
Something Iason had said to him during the year Riki had been gone from Eos drifted through his mind: I need Riki, Raoul. My balls are so blue I'm ready to drag him back by his hair, if I have to.
Blue balls. A crude Ceres phrase, if he was not mistaken, but at the moment it seemed extremely apropos.
2
Katze walked through an open archway into the main show-room of Xanadu, one of Eos' more popular pet salons. If he really thought about it, he might be able come up with somewhere he wanted to be even less than this ridiculous tribute to Elite snobbery. But he doubted it.
He'd run the Market for Iason many years now, and much of the illegal trafficking involved pets. Before that he'd been a Furniture, harem keeper to Iason's pretty little twits. He'd dealt with the creatures, one way or another, day in/day out for almost eleven years. That he personally found the whole business repugnant didn't matter one bit.
One of the things he'd fought for, though, was his own space. He'd told Iason in no uncertain terms that if he couldn't have part of the day to himself, the Blondie might as well kill him immediately and get it over with. To his surprise, his former owner had acquiesced without protest.
So what the hell was he thinking, coming here during his jealously guarded PC time? He had two new games calling his name in siren-sweet voices.
Cursing himself inwardly, he threaded slowly through packed floor tables towards the private booth where two blonde heads, one a distinctive gold, glowed softly in the low lighting, dimming the impact of lesser Elites. He knew why he was here, dammit. Because Raoul had asked him, that's why.
Idiot.
For so many years, he'd been too blinded by Iason Mink's charisma and beauty to see anyone else. He'd gone from worshipping the man, to infatuation, then admiration... and from there to exasperated affection. The Blondie was his friend, odd as that sounded. He'd grieved endlessly at Iason and Riki's deaths.
And then another Blondie, as perfect in mind and body as Iason, had given them back to him.
Raoul Am had been just another of Iason's Elite associates... until Katze had spent a rainy evening in conversation with a man willing to be seen openly in the company of a scarred mongrel.
Then again, that acceptance could be just another manifestation of Raoul's arrogance. It was as though he dared Amoi to pronounce judgment on him, laughing haughtily at its vagaries all the while.
Raoul was oddly mercurial for a Blondie. He was kind on occasion, then as cold and cutting as Iason himself. Katze had been present a few times for Raoul's displeasure, and those unfortunates on its receiving end were left white and shaken.
But... Katze liked the man. Liked talking to someone as intelligent as he was. He felt that Raoul—in his own way—understood him. Then the Blondie had kissed him. He still didn't know why.
He'd thought that would be the end of their association, but Raoul had commed him the following week to ask if Katze would meet him for dinner. Those blue-green eyes had been as opaque as always, only a hint of amusement showing.
The Blonde Elite had wanted to know if he was willing to do some systems corrections for a friend and he'd agreed without question. Pleased to be of service, Master. May I lie down and let you walk all over me now, Master?
During their vid-com this afternoon, the Blondie had been exquisitely polite, apologizing for disturbing the mongrel during business hours, then asking if he would join them tonight.
"Hector wants this cleared up quickly, and I assured him that you are very good at what you do," Raoul had said.
And he, sap that he was, had nodded his head like an obedient little mongrel, wagging his tail at a kind word from his master. If he kept this up, pretty soon Raoul would be able to put a ring on him and call him 'pet'. Major puke factor, as Riki used to say.
He came to a halt in front of Raoul's booth and the Blondie smiled faintly, gorgeous features made mysterious by the room's dim lighting.
"Katze. Thank you for coming." Raoul indicated the space beside him. "Sit."
A Furniture approached quietly, inquiring if he desired a drink, and he shook his head, then followed the man with his eyes as he left. There but for the grace of the gods and Iason... he thought with dark humor.
"You worked for Iason Mink," the unknown Blondie said, and Katze turned to look at him.
"Still do," he replied laconically, and saw Raoul's mouth twitch out of the corner of his eye.
"Hector Acheron, meet Katze. He's not sociable or gracious, but he knows his way around a terminal. And since yours are giving you problems, I suggest you be polite to him."
Acheron watched Katze from across the table, his eyes bored. Typical Blondie expression.
"As Raoul says, I am running out of options. I'm prepared to be generous if you are able to eradicate this... annoyance."
Katze was tempted to play the ignorant mongrel just to watch the Elite's elegant nostrils flare. But Raoul was here and he didn't want to cause trouble for the Blondie. Raoul was... well, he wasn't sure what the Blondie was to him, but he'd behave.
"I'd have to take a look before I give you a firm answer," he said, his voice as expressionless as the Blonde Elite's. Two could play that game. "You have nothing to lose and even if I can't help you, I might be able to send you to someone who can."
Pale blue eyes studied him unblinkingly. Acheron was as flawless as any Elite, but next to Raoul's sun-god beauty, he seemed almost... faded. A washed-out copy of the real thing.
"A wise man gives no assurances," the Blondie finally said. "You will come tomorrow?"
Katze scrolled through his schedule in his mind.
"I've got a couple of spare hours after fourteen-hundred."
The Elite across from him inclined his head slightly.
"I won't be on-site, but the head of my R&D team will. His department is the worst affected, so he'll show you what you need to see."
"That's fine."
The Furniture arrived on silent feet to replenish the Blondies' drinks and as he departed, other movement caught Katze's eye. Turning, he looked over at the stage.
The seductively-lit dais had been full of coquettishly displayed pets when he'd first arrived. Now there were only three: two boys and a girl.
The boys were blues, the girl a silver, and the contrast was startlingly erotic as they writhed together in the center of the stage to the low, sensuous music that pulsed through the room.
"Which is yours, Hector?" Raoul asked. "I know we're here tonight because one of your pets is performing."
"All three of them, actually. I selected them specifically for their coloration. Striking, isn't it?"
"Indeed."
The golden Elite's voice was detached and noncommittal and Katze felt sudden relief. This club hadn't been Raoul's choice. He knew the Elite saw pets as just one more facet of their lush lives, but for some reason, it relieved him to know that they didn't number amongst Raoul's pastimes.
Katze, you really are an idiot, he chided himself.
On stage, things were heating up. The boys had pulled the silver girl's harness askew, exposing pert, red nipples and smooth genitalia. They fondled her and each other, bringing them all to peak arousal.
By this point, Katze was wondering how far it would go. If tonight was going to be all-out sex, he'd just leave before it got any worse. Even as he thought it, both boys released their cocks from leather loin-covers and one slid easily into the girl's wet vagina while the other spread her ass wide and pushed into her from behind.
Well, hell.
He turned to Raoul, surprised to find the Blondie's gaze fixed on him rather than the dais. The turquoise eyes were white-hot in their intensity and the surge of arousal he hadn't felt while watching the explicit floor show drenched the mongrel's body in waves.
"I'm going to find the lounge, Raoul," he mumbled. "I'll be back in a minute."
Without waiting for the Blondie's reply, he stood and made his way back across the floor. Instead of the restroom, he headed straight for the back exit, pulling his cigarettes out as he went. He stopped a few feet from the door, sticking a cig between his lips and searching for his lighter.
When hands slid into his back jeans pockets, he jumped, nearly loosing the cigarette in his mouth. Raoul's scent surrounded him; no cloying perfume, just warm skin and clean, silky hair. He shut his eyes tight and tried to block it from a mind already preoccupied with sex.
One of Raoul's hands pulled from his pocket and came around to hold Katze's lighter under the unlit clove. The flare ignited and he gratefully sucked inward, inhaling fragrant smoke.
"You always leave it in that pocket. And then you promptly forget you put it there. Every single time. Why is that, I wonder?"
The Blondie purred into his ear, the rich, mellow vibration of Raoul's voice making his unruly cock even harder.
"Don't-," he gasped when a warm, wet mouth grazed his throat. "Don't know. Raoul, what are you doing?"
"Whatever I want. Does it not feel good?"
Long-fingered hands pulled his trench-coat out of the way and slid under the tight-fitting, black long-sleeve he wore tonight. Nimble digits traced the ridges of his stomach, moved slowly upward.
"I knew you'd come out here to smoke. I could see your fingers twitching the entire time we were sitting there."
Finger-tips toyed with his nipples, circling the hard nubs without giving them the pressure they needed. He pushed helplessly into the unsatisfying caress and Raoul rewarded him immediately, tugging on both of them at once.
"Fuck!"
The sharp exclamation burst involuntarily from him, his cigarette tumbling to the tile floor, his neck arching back against Raoul's shoulder.
"So responsive. And yet, the show merely irritated and embarrassed you. Do you prefer participating to watching, Katze?"
Katze turned to look at the other man. Wrong thing to do. Raoul's mouth came down over his own and his lips parted easily under the Blondie's aggressive tongue. They devoured each other until neither could breathe then Raoul lifted his head, gazing into Katze's eyes.
They looked dazed and bewildered, their soft gold nearly eclipsed by black desire. Raoul let his thumb gently caress the long, pale scar. It had been criminal of Iason to mar such flawless skin. Not that Raoul really cared. He wanted the man, not the trappings of smooth white flesh.
"Why are you doing this, Raoul? You've told me how appalled you were that Iason would actually take a mongrel for his pet—then his lover. And unlike Riki, I'm not even a whole man."
Raoul took his time answering.
"Riki's origins were not the true issue. Iason forced a mongrel to become his pet, then proceeded to demonstrate to Tanagura and Jupiter that the boy was more important to him than anything else. The assassination attempts escalated and he was dangerously close to loosing face permanently. But I'm sure you were aware of those things."
"Yes." Katze's eyes became distant with remembrance. "I reminded him more than once. Riki, too." His gaze flicked back up to Raoul's. "You may believe me or not, but Riki cared for Iason. He was ashamed of it, hated himself for it, but I don't think he could help it. They were obsessed with each other from the beginning."
"I believe it. Why else would he have died with him?"
"Yes."
Katze sagged forward, leaning his forehead against Raoul's shoulder, and the Blondie threaded gloved fingers through the flame-colored hair.
"You didn't answer my question, Raoul," the mongrel murmured into his navy evening-jacket.
"Which one was that?"
"What do you want from me?"
The Blondie sighed. That was Katze, for you. No matter what, that restless mind would always poke and pry at things better left alone.
"I want you. Do you really need to know anything else?"
Katze pushed himself back from the golden Elite.
"I don't know. Raoul, if you think Riki was bad, how can you reconcile a relationship with an ex-Furniture? I'll leave the fact that I'm a visibly flawed mongrel and way too old to be a pet out of it for now. How would your name survive such a scandal?"
Raoul shrugged.
"Unlike Iason, I am not in the public eye. My personal life is my own business and I will tolerate no interference."
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he flashed on a conversation he'd had with Iason after one of those attempted assassinations. Raoul's phrasing matched his friend's almost exactly. From the look on Katze's face, the other man must have heard something very like it from the platinum-haired Elite.
"You sound like Iason," the mongrel whispered.
A slim white hand skimmed lightly over his face, and he looked into golden eyes, that surprising height putting them almost on a level with his.
"I'm not worth it, Raoul. Don't take chances with your life the way he did."
The red-head turned to leave, but Raoul gripped his wrist, holding him in place.
Katze searched the Blondie's eyes, looking for... what? Denial? Anger? He didn't know. But Raoul's eyes were the same as always; calm and cool.
"You are worth it to me," he said in his low, even voice.
Then he let Katze's wrist go and walked back towards the salon's main room, his gait unhurried.
"I'll see you this Sixth-day, as usual." he said without turning and disappeared into the narrow hall's gloom.
The mongrel stared after him, eyes wide, Raoul's words echoing through his mind.
You are worth it to me.
3
His eyes on the terminal screen in front of him, Katze shoved his office-style chair back and stretched fluidly. No matter how he manipulated it, the data stayed the same. Looked like someone inside Hector Acheron's little empire had decided to commit a spot of industrial sabotage.
When Katze first arrived at CYAN, it hadn't taken him more than a couple of hours to isolate and neutralize the bugs infesting the company's entire controls system. Thing was, they were back the next day in a different form.
So the mongrel had decided to go at the problem from another angle: find the feed and destroy it. He'd located the source terminal fairly quickly. It was inside the company's main building. But it was a public I/O, so it was going to take him a little while to find the human culprit.
He was downloading security vids right now, and he'd take them home tonight then maybe do some checking. Maybe. Right now he was tired enough to fall face-down on his bed and stay there indefinitely.
Inside his jacket, his com hummed softly and he retrieved it, flipping it open.
"Yeah, go ahead."
"Katze?"
He sat up abruptly, surprised. Raoul very rarely commed him during the day.
"Raoul? Is anything wrong?" he asked tentatively.
"Nothing at all. Iason came out of the coma early this morning."
"'No' is not a word I am accustomed to hearing, Raoul."
Katze stopped abruptly outside the port to Iason's hospital room. His breath caught at the sound of that much-missed voice, complete with bored annoyance, and he rested his forehead briefly against the cool corridor wall. Until this moment, he hadn't really believed that the platinum Blondie would wake.
The two previous times he'd come here with Raoul, he'd looked into the regrowth chamber at his former master and thought the Blondie, some emperor of legend, frozen in eternal sleep.
"Patience, Iason. I know you possess some. Hassar should be here within the half hour. He does have other duties, you know."
The mongrel outside the door smiled a little. Raoul must have been recruited to keep the other Blondie from leaving, merely by default. Katze doubted any of the hospital staff could stand up to Iason Mink's stare of ice-blue displeasure.
Tapping twice on the open port to alert the two Elites within to his presence, Katze stepped into the room.
Iason was sitting up on the bed, broad shoulders covered in midnight blue silk. He looked no different than he had the last time Katze had seen him, nearly a year ago. Midas' Boss experienced a moment of disorientation, as though past and present had collided, their jagged edges not quite fitting together.
"Katze."
The Blondie's eyes fixed on him, and for just a moment, the mongrel thought he saw something move within their cool depths, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
"Have you come to issue me admonitions, as well?" Iason asked. "If so, you may rest assured that Raoul has covered every point quite thoroughly."
Katze shrugged.
"I won't bother. I never commit myself to losing battles."
Iason's mouth twitched at one corner.
"I've always acknowledged your intelligence." He paused. Then, "have you seen Riki?"
For the first time, there was overt emotion in the Blondie's eyes. Katze saw both hope and fear before long, gilt lashes veiled them.
"I've seen him. He'll be fine. I'm sure he'll be back to making my life hell in no time," the dealer replied, his tone light.
Iason scrutinized him narrowly, trying to ascertain the truth of his words. Then the blonde brows smoothed out and he nodded once, before turning his gaze towards the window, his inner vision fixed on something Katze could not see.
"I would have commed you this morning, but your hand unit was off."
Shifting his eyes from Iason's still figure, the red mongrel looked over at Raoul. Dressed in navy and cream, the Blondie was a perfect as always. For some reason, Raoul's unshakable poise made him relax inside, and the exhaustion he'd been holding at bay dropped heavily over him.
Katze passed a hand over his aching eyes, the day's frustrations flooding back.
"I was at CYAN. I wanted to be able to concentrate without interruption."
A slight frown tugged at Raoul's brows.
"I thought you'd dealt with that."
"So did I."
Walking to the only chair the pristine room afforded, Katze dropped into it and slumped there, his eyes closing. Something brushed his bangs, causing them to slide softly against his skin and he reluctantly let his lids slide up. Raoul stood over him, inquiry in his gaze.
"What happened?"
"Acheron's got an enemy. Or a rival willing to pay a top-quality saboteur. Whoever it is throws replicating viruses into the system to distract attention from the major issue: he's undermined the majority of controls so that nothing at the main plant is getting done. And with the terminals going down several times a day in R&D, they can't make progress on whatever projects they've got going right now."
A golden brow arched.
"How extraordinary. If I'd known the problem would have outside complications, I'd never have said anything."
"It's fine, Raoul, I don't mind. Besides," he grinned up at the golden Elite, "he's gonna have a heart-attack when he gets my bill."
Dry humor glinted at him from the Blondie's eyes.
"Of what are you speaking?"
They looked over to see Iason watching them from the bed. Pale eyes moved from Raoul to Katze and back again.
"Trying to lure my best resource away from me, Raoul?"
Katze saw Raoul's muscles tense, but the Elite spoke in his usual even tone.
"He's merely doing me a favor. Do you remember Hector Acheron?"
"Cyber-animation?"
"Yes. He's having systems problems. Katze did such a fine job fixing mine, I asked if he'd have a look at Hector's."
"Hm. As long as it doesn't interfere with the Market..."
To Katze's surprise, his anger sparked at being discussed like some inanimate object.
"Have you ever known me to let things go, Iason?" he asked, his voice taking on a sharp edge. "Try trusting me for a change. I've handled things fine for ten months."
Both Blondies turned to look at him.
"I believe I demonstrated my trust years ago when I let you live," Iason replied, his voice a silky, dangerous purr. "Do not take that tone with me."
The platinum Elite stared straight into Katze's eyes, daring him to further rebellion. Katze refused to look away.
"Good evening, sirs." A voice from the doorway broke the tension and Katze dropped his eyes as a Silver Elite walked into the room. "Mr. Mink, if I might have a few minutes alone with you?"
"Certainly, Hassar. Raoul, I'll see you tomorrow, I assume. Katze," the blue gaze returned to the mongrel's face, "I wish to speak further with you. Do not leave."
Gazing through floor-to-ceiling, tinted plas walls, Raoul lingered in the hospital's lobby, waiting for a certain red-head to appear. Iason had kept Katze busy for the last hour, catching up on business and whatever else the mongrel felt he needed to know.
He should have left long ago, but... he hadn't seen Katze for two weeks now. He missed their evenings together and the mongrel's ironic sense of humor and sarcastic opinions. He missed looking at him. But Katze had been avoiding their usual meetings.
Raoul knew why and was beginning to think he'd have to demand the mongrel's presence if he wanted to see him again. The Blondie was seriously considering doing so.
The remembered sensation of silky red hair sliding through his fingers and a slim, taut body pressed against his distracted him, filling his thoughts, both waking and sleeping. Constant arousal, he was finding, was a definite annoyance. He was beginning to see why Iason had finally given in to temptation: it was either that or lose one's sanity.
"Raoul?"
He looked up to see Katze standing about two meters away, a cautious expression on the dealer's finely-sculpted face. The mongrel was as wary as a starved felis watching a forbidden fish-steak with suspicious amber eyes.
"Do you need a ride to your apartment?" Raoul asked.
"I—yes."
"Come, then."
4
He observed the mongrel silently as the air car glided smoothly over slick streets. Rain slid down the windows, obscuring the light of the twin moons, but Tanagura's evening illumination was more than adequate and he had no trouble discerning the other man's features.
Katze looked exhausted. Dark shadows lay beneath the exotic eyes and the white face was pinched and hollow.
"You take poor care of yourself, Katze," Raoul said, suddenly annoyed with the man's self-destructive lifestyle. "You've fallen into bad habits over the last year. Iason would never have countenanced this level of fatigue in his property."
"My habits are my own concern. And I am no man's possession."
Katze turned his head away from the Blondie, resting his cheek against the car's soft leather interior. His mouth thinned by anger, his jaw clenched, he managed to appear both sullen and formidable.
Reaching out, Raoul grasped that pointed chin, turning Katze gently but inexorably towards him.
The gold eyes were furious at Raoul's insistence and Katze's own inability to protest such treatment. Years of resentment glared at the Blondie from the red-head's livid countenance.
"Not even his?"
Katze jerked, trying to loosen Raoul's hold, but the golden Elite just tightened his grip.
"Iason owns my time and abilities. Not my body and not me."
"Self-determinism is an odd trait for a Furniture."
This time the mongrel managed to escape the Blondie's hold.
"Do you think," he said between clenched teeth, "that I wanted to be someone's living foot-stool? I was given no choice in the matter. Iason decided I would look good against his condo's furnishings, so he had me chopped."
Raoul watched in fascination as crimson hair became living flame in the heat of Katze's anger.
"Sometimes I wonder just who the hell you Elites think you are! Don't you know it's wrong to play with people's lives the way you do? Just because you can do something, doesn't mean you should!"
"Isn't this argument the reason Ceres is now a stagnant pool of wasted resources?" Raoul inquired mildly.
The mongrel's mouth snapped shut, and feline eyes narrowed to slits.
"There's always an easy answer for Blondies," was all he said.
The rest of the drive was made in silence. When the car came to a stop, Katze pressed the door's catch without waiting, then froze as it opened. His head turned and he gazed at Raoul in impotent fury.
"This is Eos, not Midas."
"Yes," the Blondie replied and propelled the other man through the car's port.
Katze glared at the ground as he walked through the main hall of the Eos tower that housed Raoul's condominium. He'd been here many times before; had looked forward to it, even.
But tonight he wanted to be alone in his small, elegant Midas apartment and away from all Blondies. Away from the clusters of Elite who occupied the enormous lobby—pets standing dutifully at their sides—waiting for their cars, or simply conversing with friends and acquaintances.
Iason had been just as demanding as he'd imagined, and for the first time, Katze had felt impatience with the Blondie's imperious attitude. Hadn't Katze functioned perfectly well on his own? Couldn't Iason see that he didn't need to micromanage?
He wouldn't, though. For Iason, time had frozen for a year; everything still the same as it had been before the explosion. But Katze had had that whole year to grow and change, away from the Blondie's overpowering reach.
He had changed, he thought, surprise coloring the knowledge. At twenty-five, he'd finally achieved adulthood. He trusted himself and his own abilities and was ready to move beyond the bounds Iason had placed on him.
Glancing over at Raoul, he felt the truth of self-discovery wash away his ill temper. He hadn't really been mad at the golden Elite, just what he represented. And it was unfair of Katze to take his issues with Iason out on a man who'd become, he suddenly realized, a friend.
When the penthouse elevator's door closed behind them, he turned impulsively towards the Blondie, reaching out to touch Raoul's arm. The Elite's startled gaze swung towards him.
"Katze?"
"I—I'm sorry, Raoul."
A spark of laughter lit the beautiful eyes.
"Whatever for? Iason nearly goaded me beyond endurance, as well."
A breath of relief escaped the red-head.
"Yes," he said fervently, and Raoul's mouth quirked up.
"You should have been there when I first arrived. The entire med-staff was in a spasm of terror."
Katze's head fell back against the lift's metal wall and he laughed until his stomach hurt. Raoul watched him, lips slightly curved.
The lift came to a halt and Raoul keyed in the inner door's sequence.
"Better?" he asked the mongrel, and Katze nodded. "Then come in, share a drink and play a game or two with me. I think we've both earned the relaxation, no?"
Suddenly, it was exactly what Katze wanted. Pushing away from the wall, he followed Raoul into the condo and wandered over to admire the magnificent view while the Blondie input his privacy code.
"Cognac?" Raoul asked as he strolled to the bar.
Katze looked away from Tanagura's shining towers and bright streets.
"Please. I love this view, you know. Midas doesn't offer anything so inspiring."
"Perhaps you should move, then."
In the process of taking a sip of the drink Raoul had just handed him, Katze nearly sucked it down the wrong pipe. He gaped at the Blondie.
"Me? In Eos? You must be joking, Mr. Am. They'd crucify me, even if I could get someone to sponsor me. And if I could afford it, which I highly doubt."
"That wasn't precisely the arrangement I was thinking of, but never mind. Would you prefer billiards or chess this evening?"
What the devil did 'not precisely the arrangement' mean? Oh well... Blondies.
"Billiards, I think," he said aloud. "I have the sudden desire to hit something... hard."
"Indeed," Raoul murmured and led the way towards the game room.
Katze broke for the second time in a row and began to prowl the edge of the table, examining the lay of the balls. Thwack. There went a red into one corner pocket. A green followed in quick succession.
The mongrel missed his third shot and Raoul stepped up to the table, sinking one, then standing back to look at his options.
"I think this is going to be the last one for tonight, Raoul. I'm dead on my feet and I need to get that CYAN thing taken care of so I can put all my concentration back on the Market."
The Blondie straightened, looking over to where the mongrel was sprawled on a lounge, cue dangling drunkenly from one hand, a clove cigarette held loosely in careless fingers. Luckily, Katze used the crystal ash-trays Raoul provided for him, so the couch was in no danger of incineration.
"Is that what you want?" Raoul asked, responding to the mongrel's last statement.
Katze grimaced.
"Tell you what, I'm not sure anymore. But don't say that to Iason."
"I won't. Have you enjoyed working on Hector's problem? Do you like that kind of challenge?"
"Trouble-shooting, you mean?" Katze stared off into space, considering. "Ye—es. Yes, I believe I do. I'm gonna enjoy nailing that little sonnuvabitch, too. Fucking with systems like Acheron's should be punishable by death. That thing is a work of art."
The Blondie smiled inwardly. Katze and his terminals and systems. As he watched the man lying across his couch, an image formed in Raoul's mind, one many years old and oddly clear.
He'd been visiting Iason for the evening, he couldn't remember why anymore. The Furniture—Katze, he now realized—came and went quietly in the background, performing his duties perfectly... until he'd accidentally spilled Iason's drink all over the coffee table.
In his mind's eye, Raoul saw the stricken boy crouch before the platinum Elite, softly begging his master's pardon and cleaning the mess as swiftly as he could, before backing out of the room, head bowed.
That was his first and only memory of the mongrel from those days; it existed because the Furniture Katze once was had done something out-of-the-ordinary that single time.
His gaze followed the long lines of the man that boy had become; comparing the slim, pretty, skin-suited youth to the lean, full-grown male perfection occupying his lounge, clad in jeans and a sweater.
It was impossible that they could be the same. The boy would never have looked at Raoul with such fiery defiance. And yet—Katze wouldn't be who he was now, if not for the youth's experiences. He would not be the same man Raoul was so drawn to...
"Stay tonight."
He came around the table to stand over the red-haired mongrel. Katze's long lashes lifted slowly, revealing quizzical amber eyes.
"For what purpose, Raoul?"
"You know."
A deep sigh escaped Katze's lips.
"I told you before—I can't. I'll disappoint both of us."
"Why don't you let me judge that for myself?"
Leaning his cue against the wall, the mongrel ground his clove out and sat up, running a hand through disordered bangs. He didn't even bother to hide the scar anymore, the Blondie noticed.
"I've tried before, you know." Tilted eyes glanced at him then resumed their study of the carpet. "To have sex, I mean. I can—get an erection. I just can't climax."
A smile slid over the thin mouth, both bitter and self-deprecatory.
"Sometimes I think getting just your balls taken is probably the cruelest form of castration. After all, I've still got my cock and I still get aroused. I was old enough to know what coming felt like, when they cut me—I'd already passed the threshold of puberty. Since then... I reach a certain level of stimulation I can't go beyond."
Deliberately placing his cue on the pool table, Raoul stepped forward until he was directly in front of Katze, then leaned over, pushing him back on down on the lounge.
"Did you know that a man with no genitals may still experience orgasm?" he asked Midas' Boss. "A total castrate can come, just from having his prostate stimulated."
Katze's pupils had nearly swallowed up the gold irises, leaving only narrow rims of amber around dark pools.
"I'm aware of the theory," he said. "I'm just surprised you've heard it."
Raoul's laugh was both amused and mocking.
"Katze, Katze. Do you think I've been living under a rock for nearly thirty years? I've degrees in both psychology and biology... human sexuality is a part of both those fields.
And I may not have engaged in the act, myself, but what do you think pets are for? I've seen nearly every possible way any two people of either sex can engage in coitus. And I haven't even mentioned ménage."
The Blondie's mouth slid against the mongrel's. Wicked teeth gently seized Katze's lower lip and Raoul bit down lightly then licked the tiny sting away.
"Shit."
The hard, slim body beneath him arched upwards, well-worn jeans strained by the castrate's much-discussed erection. Supporting himself on one arm, Raoul slid his other hand down to trace its outline. Katze bit his lip, his strangled moan barely audible.
Then Raoul pushed away, rising to walk back to the pool table.
"One shot. The eight ball. Make it and you may leave... miss it and you stay." He turned his head, turquoise eyes bright. "I insist."
Katze stood slowly, retrieving his cue from where it stood.
"You won't try to keep me here, Raoul? We came in your car."
"And my driver will take you back to Midas. Do you doubt me?"
"I watched Iason with Riki for years," he said, meeting the golden Elite's gaze squarely. "Blondies have never impressed me as being particularly truthful unless it suits them."
"My word, then," Raoul said. And waited.
5
Katze studied the relative positions of the billiard table's remaining balls while yelling mentally at himself.
Didn't he know by now how underhanded Blondies were? They waited until you were exhausted and not thinking straight... then pulled something like this.
The black eight ball sat directly in the center of the colorful spheres. No matter how he attempted the shot, the likelihood of actually sinking the damn thing was almost nil.
Raoul had decided, the gods only knew why, that he wanted Katze. The mongrel was willing to bet that nothing and no one had ever thwarted the Blonde Elite before, and he didn't think this time would be any different. Raoul would have him, if not tonight, then some other time. And probably regret it the next day.
That last fact was the only reason Katze truly made the attempt to sink the onyx-colored ball.
Leaning over the table, he took aim. Thwack.
Balls scattered everywhere, and the eight rolled swiftly towards a corner pocket, rimmed it... then dropped.
"Excellent shot." The Blondie's voice was calm as ever. Katze turned to look at him, meeting the unruffled turquoise gaze. "I'll com Jase and let him know you're coming down."
He stood there, frozen, while Raoul left the room. A moment later, he heard the golden Elite speaking into his com, and then Raoul was back.
"He'll be there. Goodnight."
"Raoul!"
The Blondie stopped in the doorway, waiting silently.
Unsure of what he was doing and why, Katze walked swiftly towards the tall, unmoving figure and laid a hand against Raoul's back. The other man turned so that his profile was visible to the red mongrel.
"Don't touch me right now, Katze. Not unless you want me to fuck you in here on the floor."
"Raoul." Was this him speaking? It must be, since that was his voice. "If you need it that bad, then have me. I—I don't mind. And I'm a safer bet than going to a brothel or buying a pet. No one will know."
It was official. He'd finally fried every cell in his brain, 'cause otherwise, why would he have just offered himself to a high-ranking Blonde Elite?
"You—don't—mind?" The blue-green eyes came suddenly, furiously alive and the Blondie grabbed the mongrel's wrist in a vise-like grip. "I want more from you than 'I don't mind'," he stated wrathfully, turning to drag Katze after him into the penthouse's darkened depths.
"Lights!"
The master suite went past Katze in a blur as Raoul shoved him forward. He slammed into the side of the bed, the Blondie's force unbalancing him. Then Raoul was on him, ripping his sweater open down the front with those unbelievably strong hands, pinning his wrists to the mattress above his head.
"I've waited long enough, you stubborn mongrel, and I'm not going to settle for acquiescence. And you were right, earlier; you're not Iason's—you're mine."
Had he lost his mind? Perhaps. At the moment it mattered little to Raoul Am. Katze's scent and the feel of his body filled the Blondie's senses and obliterated years' worth of conditioning.
He buried his face in the mongrel's throat, mouth fastening on the white skin and sucking hard. When he drew back to look, the mark he'd made stood glaringly out against the pale complexion. It gave him a shock of feral satisfaction. Mine, he thought, and bent to take Katze's mouth.
The mongrel beneath him whimpered, lips opening under his onslaught, body wrapping lithely around his own. Katze could talk all he wanted about 'not minding' but his erection proved his extreme interest in the proceedings.
Stripping the torn sweater from the other man, Raoul let his fingers wander over smooth skin. Katze was thin, but strong, and it showed in the lines of bone and muscle. Muscle that leapt when the Blondie ran his hands over tight abdominals, a gasp leaving the long throat as finger-tips flicked coppery nipples.
They tightened into tiny nubs and Raoul leaned over to lick, then nip, at one taut disc.
"Raoul."
"Mmm?"
"Do it harder!"
Low laughter poured from Raoul's throat to fill Katze's ears, and the Blondie's mouth tormented one nipple while slender fingers pinched the other. Then Raoul's free hand slid down to open Katze's fly and the mongrel's mind flickered out like a powered-down terminal.
Those fingers stroked and explored, touching everywhere, even the shriveled, empty sac. Katze wanted to cringe away, but something inside stopped him. If it didn't bother Raoul, why should he let it worry him?
Then the Blondie was stroking the sensitive strip of skin between sac and anus and Katze nearly came out of his skin.
"Uhn!"
Raoul nipped his earlobe, licked the mark he'd made on Katze's neck. The bruise was deep; the mongrel could feel it throb along with the pulse in his erection. The Blondie's fingers slid back even further to brush across his tightly closed entrance, making him jump at the intense sensation.
"Let's get rid of these clothes, hmn?" Raoul purred, and he could do nothing but obey, his body Raoul's to command.
Disposing of boots and socks, Raoul pulled Katze's jeans down over the slim hips with their prominent bones. For some reason, the contours of skin and flesh, which only bored him in pets, made him dizzy with want when he looked at this one mongrel.
The lack of complete testicles was slightly strange, but not displeasing; like the scar, it was just another part of Katze. Sliding his fingertips down the length of the castrate's cock, Raoul watched the lust-hazed golden eyes grow even heavier, their lids nearly closing.
Katze gazed fearlessly up at him from under long lashes, mouth slightly parted.
"Turnabout is fair play, Raoul."
A faint smile on his lips, the Blondie carefully removed the dark clasps from his wrists and discarded the white over-tunic with its emblems of status that every Elite wore. The indigo jacket went next, the tight white turtleneck following in quick succession.
Katze caught his breath. He'd always known Raoul was beautiful, but the Blondie's strength and perfection had never been so obvious before. Well-defined muscles flexed under fair skin, the long gold skeins of wavy hair falling against it a perfect foil.
Raoul looked at him from under that heavy golden mane, knowing exactly what effect his little performance was having on the mongrel. Fingers toyed with the fastenings of slim-fitting navy trousers until Katze wanted to yell at him to hurry up. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he glared at the Blondie.
"Alright, you win. I want you. Now would you please finish and get over here?"
Raoul stayed motionless for an instant, his eyes so hot they nearly burned. Then the pants vanished and Katze's arms were full of hard, sleek Blondie. He ran his hands greedily all over the creamy skin, finally free to touch.
"Katze—I need..."
The red mongrel looked up at the Blondie. Raoul's face was strained, his eyes pure flame.
"Give me your hand," Katze said, his voice low.
Sucking two long fingers into his mouth, Katze kept his eyes on Raoul's, watching as understanding dawned. When the fingers were drenched, he let them slide from his lips.
"Now—get me ready," he murmured into Raoul's ear, wrapping his legs loosely around the golden Elite's hips.
"Tell me if it hurts," the Blondie said. "I've never done this before."
One of Raoul's fingers gently circled his entrance—then slowly slid inward. After so long without sexual activity, the muscle protested, and he forced himself to relax. The Blondie noticed his tension, though, and halted.
"Alright?" he asked softly and Katze nodded.
"Just—go slow."
Raoul did. So excruciatingly slow, that by the time he added another finger, Katze was arching against the tantalizing slide that just brushed his gland with every stroke.
"Now you're teasing me," he gasped out.
"I like watching you." Raoul leaned down to brush a light kiss over his jaw. "You look beautiful aroused... did you know that?"
He hadn't, but the Blondie's words only made him harder.
"Raoul, please!"
The fingers withdrew, and a thick, silky cockhead prodded his anus. It was one hell of a stretch. Raoul was bigger than anything he'd ever taken before, but as with his fingers, the Blondie went slow until finally he was all the way inside Katze.
Raoul leaned forward, resting his forehead against the mongrel's throat. Iason was right. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced—a thousand times better than masturbation. Katze's muscles gripped him in a velvet vise, rippling rhythmically around his cock.
"Gods!"
The Blondie thrust—unable to stop himself—and Katze moaned deep in his throat, his whole body arching.
"Do that again!"
He did, pressing forward and drawing back, learning intimately the motions of sex for the first time in his nearly thirty years. Katze felt so good wrapped around him—arms, legs and anus—and he shoved deep into the mongrel, his body too caught up in its own needs to stop.
Katze suddenly gripped his shoulders, long fingers impossibly strong, gold eyes going wide.
"Oh fuck. Raoul!"
The tight channel surrounding his cock clamped down and Katze bit his shoulder—hard. The double stimulus propelled him over the edge of orgasm and he came in long, wrenching pulses, his eyes blind with the intensity of the pleasure.
Finally, the endless contractions released him from their grip and he collapsed over the man sprawled beneath him.
They lay together like that, not speaking, for a long time. Then Katze turned his head to look at Raoul.
"I came," he said, disbelief in his voice.
"I know." The Blondie's tone was smug and Katze had the sudden urge to smack the insufferable look right off his gorgeous face. "I told you that you could."
Shoving the irritating Elite off him, the mongrel rolled to his side, feeling a twinge of discomfort. It had been a very long time, and he was going to be sore come morning.
A long arm snaked over his waist and pulled him against Raoul's wonderfully warm body. Mmm. If only he wasn't so annoyed with the Blondie, he might actually be able to enjoy this.
"Stop thinking, Katze. I know you'll worry this to death tomorrow, but leave it be for tonight."
Lying quietly within Raoul's embrace, he thought about it... then decided the Blondie was right. For now, he'd let things stay as they were.
"Sleep," Raoul said in a tone that brooked no refusal, and the mongrel was too tired to protest the golden Elite's arrogant assumption of control. Unconsciousness sucked him swiftly down into its dark whirlpool; he slept.
He awoke sometime long before dawn and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. This always happened. He couldn't sleep for more than a few hours at a time, and he usually went directly to his terminal once he was up.
This was Raoul's place, though, and he couldn't just wander into the Blondie's office and commandeer his computer, no matter how much he wanted to. And he needed a cigarette badly. He'd wanted to smoke last night after that unbelievable orgasm, but had restrained himself.
"Go ahead," Raoul's voice spoke suddenly in his ear. The golden Elite's mouth grazed his neck. "I know you want to."
"What?" he asked, feeling slow, stupid, and half-aroused from Raoul's nuzzling.
The Blondie sighed.
"Use my terminal. I'm sure you can connect with your own and do whatever it is you're so desperate to. The code's R46-3920."
"You sure?" he made himself ask.
"Yes."
Katze slid from the bed, finding his jeans easily in the moonlight streaming through the windows.
"And Katze." The red mongrel turned in the doorway, looking back at the beautiful man spread out over the fantastically shaped bed. "Take an ashtray with you."
Nodding, he left, thinking that Raoul knew him pretty well after six months. He went to the great room first, retrieving his trench-coat from the lounge where he'd thrown it. Not only did it contain his cigs, but the security-vids from CYAN were on a chip he'd stashed in one pocket. Might as well take care of that while he was up.
A couple of hours later, he stared at the terminal's screen, slow triumph spreading through him.
Got you, you little bastard.
He sent the vid and data to Acheron's senior R&D engineer, then logged out of the Space, yawning. For some reason, he was tired enough to go back to bed. Shutting down the terminal, he snuck back into the master suite, hoping to lie down without waking Raoul.
No such luck.
"Finished?" the Blondie asked in a sleep-blurred voice, pulling Katze against him.
"Yeah."
"Good," Raoul replied, then kissed him, and Katze ceased to think about anything else for quite some time.
6
Twenty-nine new messages, said a pop-up in the lower-right corner of his screen, and Katze blinked. That was odd. Now if the mail-box in question was the one he used for Market deals, it wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary, but this was his private one.
He opened it—and stared in further disbelief. They didn't look like spams. One familiar address caught his eye and he clicked on it. It was from Hector Acheron. And its contents were interesting, to say the least.
Acheron had been pleased to have his sabotage problems dealt with and, as he'd indicated at their first meeting, had been generous with his gratitude. He'd asked to retain the mongrel's services as an independent trouble-shooter, and Katze had said yes. What the hell? He'd liked doing it and it could be an interesting side job. Something for himself.
Apparently, though, the pale Blondie had passed his name along to a few business associates.
Katze counted the unfamiliar addresses and any RE's with 'systems' in them. Fifteen of the damn things! As if he didn't have enough to deal with lately. Although... he had to admit that at almost any other time, he'd be intrigued
Sprawling in his chair, he stared moodily at his terminal. Right now he was being pulled in two different directions, by two equally arrogant men—and he didn't know what the hell to do about it.
Iason was as exacting as ever... even worse, actually, than before the explosion. He wanted Katze's full attention focused on the Market all day and often insisted on his presence at the Eos condo in the evening. Katze was pretty sure that his boss just missed Riki and was trying to fill that space until the black mongrel woke up, but Iason wasn't the only Blondie making demands on his time these days.
Raoul wanted his nights and most of the evening as well. And he wanted Katze in his bed. Caught between two imperious Blondies and unable to give them both what they wanted, he felt like banging his head against a wall and yelling with frustration. Or maybe banging their heads together. Blondies!
Worse, this situation was causing friction between the two Elites, even though Iason had no idea that Katze was sleeping with Raoul. He'd walked into Iason's condo last night to find his employer leaning against the bar, sipping a drink, icy eyes full of cold fury. Raoul stood by the window, his shoulders rigid.
The echoes of their argument, whatever it had been about, hung heavy in the air and vibrated along Katze's already strained nerves.
After he left his office today, he'd turned off his hand unit and come directly to his Midas apartment. If Raoul commed, he wouldn't be able to say no. He never could. Just one low, purring laugh and he'd be heading mindlessly towards Eos, unable to think of anything but the golden Elite.
Aaack!
He was completely disgusted with himself and the whole situation. He was also reasonably certain that planetary relocation was the only solution. Hmm. Geia was always nice this season...
Raoul stood in the door to Katze's home office, watching his lover stare at the ceiling and mutter to himself, a cigarette dangling from one hand. His eyes roamed over the three desks that occupied the room, all of them piled high with data and vid chips, assorted bits of computer detritus, and what looked to be a gutted terminal. Certainly not the kind of atmosphere the Blondie preferred to work in, but Katze loved his mess.
"Your com is off," he said, strolling casually over to inspect the mangled electronic debris. Definitely the remains of a terminal. He wondered briefly why Katze had taken it apart, then dismissed the thought. The red mongrel was fully capable of disassembling something just to see how it had been put together.
Katze had turned in his chair and was now watching him from those exotically sexy eyes.
"I turned it off on purpose. I wanted some time alone. What are you doing here?"
The challenging words stirred something primal inside the Blondie. Stalking gracefully over to the mongrel, he leaned over his prey, trapping Katze against the chair.
"I allow you a great deal of leeway, Katze. I know Iason is not an easy man to work for, but I expect you with me when your work-day is over."
"Dammit, Raoul, don't you get it? My day is never over! I'm on call thirty/ten and nothing you do or say will change that. My Furniture tag may be physically gone, but in a way, it will always be there."
"Then I'll speak with Iason."
"No!" Katze shut his eyes tightly. "Don't. Not now. It's not that he's interested in me... but he wants Riki back and it's driving him crazy. I provide distraction that I think he needs."
"Let him find another distraction." Raoul growled, his eyes narrowing. "I don't share."
He took Katze's mouth, the kiss hard and bruising. The mongrel tried to pull away and it made the Blonde Elite even angrier.
"Don't," he breathed into the other man's ear, one black-gloved hand wrapping around Katze's throat, the other pinning him in place.
Katze made a despairing noise deep in his throat, and Raoul jerked him up from the chair. He slid his fingers through crimson silk, pulling the mongrel's head back, searching the wide golden eyes with his own.
"Iason or no, you belong to me... don't ever forget that."
Determined to crush this small rebellion before it even started, the Blondie pushed the red mongrel against the wall and kissed him brutally. To his surprise, Katze shifted in his arms, returning the vicious caress, biting down on his lower lip. Coppery blood flavored the dealer's mouth and the scent and taste of it pushed Raoul even further into madness.
Later, he wasn't sure what he would have done if a voice hadn't rung sharply through the room.
"So Raoul... how long have you been fucking my Furniture?"
Iason was dressed for the evening in stark black and cream, a dark mantle swirling around him. His gaze examined the room's contents then moved to Katze's face, his pale eyes completely without expression, his face a blank mask.
This was the first time the Blondie had ever been here, Katze suddenly realized. They either met at their respective offices, or he drove into Eos. Then he remembered that he and Iason were meeting with the bosses of a rival syndicate from Akkaad in Midas tonight. Hells.
"You were late," his employer said briefly. "You never are."
The ice-blue eyes swung to Raoul.
"I believe this goes beyond the realm of favors."
"Certainly," Raoul returned. "But I don't see what that has to do with anything, Iason. Katze is not your Furniture. He has not been for some time, now."
Fury flared in the platinum Elite's eyes—then vanished without a trace.
"Indeed. We must go, Katze. I don't wish to sour this accord due to your personal problems. Raoul, I bid you good evening."
The golden Elite's turquoise eyes touched briefly on Iason's face.
"If you have business, I won't keep you." He turned to Katze, who still stood against the wall. "I will expect you at home, later. Don't make me come get you."
Moving at his typical unhurried pace, Raoul walked through the port without a backward glance.
Iason looked at Katze, his eyes glacial.
"Come."
7
"Why?"
Katze turned away from the car's window to look at his employer. The evening had gone off without a hitch—the Ysaat Syndicate's top bosses lulled with excellent wine, food and the most exquisite of pleasure slaves—and now they were headed back towards Midas' more respectable districts.
"What do you mean?"
"Why Raoul? Why anyone at all?"
The Blondie's expression was quizzical, his tone indicating true curiosity. Katze ran nervous fingers through his bangs, brushing them back from his face, and Iason's eyes followed the movement.
"That's the fourth time you've done that tonight. It allows the scar to show."
"What difference does it make?" Katze asked tiredly.
"None. But it has been a point of shame for you these many years."
"I guess I got used to it," he said, his tone sarcastic, and one white-blonde brow rose.
"Don't push me, mongrel. Your position is not immutable."
"Yeah, yeah. That threat stopped working years ago, Iason. Throw me back in the gutter. See if I give a fuck."
"I could always report Raoul's misconduct to Jupiter. You'd be mind-wiped."
Calculating Blondie eyes fixed on him, awaiting his reaction.
Katze crossed his arms and stared right back.
"Uh-huh. Like you'd really do that to Raoul, just to get at me. She'd have him 'cleansed'."
"You are unusually quarrelsome of late." This time the even tone contained just the slightest hint of annoyance.
"Maybe I'm just acting normally," he retorted. "Ever thought of that?"
Those pale eyes blinked once.
"You still haven't answered my question," Iason said.
"I don't know!" Katze yelled. "There. You happy? Why Raoul? Because he talks to me like I'm human. Because he's beautiful. Because he wants me. Any or all of the above! Or none of them! I—don't—know. Now can we drop this?"
"Do you enjoy it?"
He controlled flood of hot blood that threatened his face and neck, but could not stop the slight line of red that crept along his cheekbones.
"Gods, Iason! Why don't you order me to strip naked in public while you're at it? Christ!"
There was complete silence for a minute, then Iason spoke.
"I admit to curiosity. You are a castrate."
Katze shot him a look.
"Doesn't mean I don't get horny."
A corner of Iason's mouth twitched.
"Don't we all?"
Katze let the silence spin out once again before answering.
"Iason... about Riki. They'll be bringing him out of the coma soon. You'll have him back and I... I guess I'd like to have more time for my own things. I run the market, but I have subordinates who could handle more responsibility than I give them right now. And when Riki is better... I'm going to put him in charge of most of the day-to-day stuff. Trust me, he'll be a lot happier for it. Maybe he'll stay in Eos with you this time if he's got something challenging to do."
Iason's eyes had taken on a distant look, as though he contemplated the worth of Katze's words.
"Is this because of Raoul?"
"Some of it. But also-," he stopped, wondering how to tell Iason that he wanted the freedom to do—whatever he chose.
"Yes?"
"Remember that Blondie I did the systems stuff for?"
"Hector Acheron. Yes."
"Well, he's got me on retainer. Doing something I really want to do. And I've got a whole mail-box full of requests at home for other things like that."
Iason was studying him, brows drawn together.
"And you expect me to let you go—simply for the asking?"
"No." Katze looked straight into the Blondie's eyes. "I don't expect it. I've never expected anything from you. But I am asking."
The car pulled to a stop a moment later and Katze glanced out the window. Eos. Raoul's building. Turning back to Iason, he quirked a brow at the Blondie.
"Do you mean to tell me that you wouldn't have come here tonight, one way or the other?" Iason inquired. "When Raoul wants something, he gets it."
"I know," Katze replied, a thread of laughter in his voice. "I'll see you tomorrow, Iason."
Then the driver opened the door and he stepped out into the rain-washed night. He stood there for a moment, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his trench-coat, breathing in the mist-laden air.
Behind him, Iason's car hummed smoothly as it pulled away and Katze tilted his head back, gazing up to the zenith of the tower before him. Up to where Raoul waited. Shrugging his coat closer against the chill of the evening, he walked steadily towards the tall plas doors.
The End