Fortress
by Becca Abbott
Part 7
Draco slept badly. There was another storm, louder than most. He lay in his bed while thunder crashed around the massive old walls and tried not to think about what he'd seen tonight. His little pet, his spunky, sunny-natured, colony-brat had turned into a wanton right in front of his eyes. Draco had purchased Els because he'd seen the sensuality in the youth, but he'd never suspected the depth of it. He'd always considered the performances the boy gave for him as satisfactorily arousing, but tonight, when the mongrel had started to work, Draco had suddenly realized there was far more to Els that he'd ever seen.
A flash of lightning, very close, filled the room with brilliance. Draco sat up, remembering the way Els had screamed at the moment of climax, how his slender body had arched, long, crimson hair tumbling across Draco's arm. How, afterwards, his naked skin had gleamed like fine Enerian silk.
Jupiter! Draco was hard again just thinking about it. Restlessly, the Elite got out of bed. Wrapping himself in his robe, he left his bedroom. Opening the door across the narrow corridor, he peered in. Els was invisible beneath his mountain of covers. Making no sound, Draco moved to the bed and pulled them back. The boy didn't stir, sleeping deeply, hair in soft, damp curls against his flushed face. With a gentle finger, Draco traced the curve of that thin cheek.
For some reason, he suddenly remembered his first glimpse of Els in Erba's lone pet salon. The salon owner had tried to direct his attention to more expensive wares, boys bigger and healthier than the waif crouched in the corner cubicle, but when Draco had leaned closer to have a look, the waif had looked up at him and treated him to a smile so sweet and unfeigned that Draco had purchased him on the spot.
The faint marks of Els' tears were still visible on the alabaster flesh. Draco regretted shaming the boy, but he would regret it more if something happened because he'd failed to impress upon Els how dangerous the half-tamed mongrel really was.
With another feathery caress, Draco returned the blankets to their place and made his way on through the apartment to the room where the other pet in his care slept. The mongrel, too, was asleep, body curled into a small lump beneath his blanket, only a few locks of midnight hair visible.
This was no ordinary pet, thought Draco dourly. Els had not used the mongrel gently, yet it had been Els who had been left gasping and weak, Els who had stood outside the room afterwards with tears in his eyes and an expression of bewildered shock on his face. Mink must have spent a fortune turning this piece of dross into gold.
A man without morals may indeed find you irresistible, whore. What other talents do you have, I wonder?
The mongrel shifted, chain rattling against the bed frame. Asleep, he seemed very young, almost as young as Els. Draco turned his back on the oddly disturbing sight and retreated to his bed.
The next morning arrived clear and crisp. When Draco woke to the unexpected sunlight, he simply lay for a long time, basking in the warmth of it on his covers. The smell of coffee lured him through the cool apartment to the kitchen. Els looked around from the stove.
"Good morning, sir." The boy smiled cheerfully. "Coffee?"
"Am I forgiven?" Draco asked, one eyebrow lifting as he took the cup.
Els' eyes fell. There was an involuntary glance toward the back of the apartment. The coffee pot was clutched before him like a shield. "I'm sorry I disobeyed you, sir. You – you had every right to punish me."
Those enormous blue eyes were fixed at a point midway between Draco's face and midriff. Reaching over, the Elite gently lifted the boy's chin. "I wanted to drive home a point, Els. The creature is not an ordinary pet. Your attempt to bait the mongrel was poor judgment on your part."
Els looked stricken. "Yessir," he whispered.
Draco shook his head. He regarded the lowered head with some concern. "Would you like to go back to Erba? There is nothing for you to do here and I'll admit that the assignment is much more complicated than I'd first anticipated. I was only thinking of my own comfort and not about the effect it would have on you."
"No, sir! Please! I would have died if you'd left me home!" Els laid a hand on his arm, clearly horrified. "You need someone to look after you! I know that I'm not a – a real pet – not like those ones in the spaceport, but I do know what you like and you did need a Recorder! You may still need one! I'm really, really sorry! It won't happen again!"
Draco had to grip that pointed chin again, more firmly this time, to stop the tumble of words. "Enough. If you want to stay, I'm grateful. You do indeed know what I like. As for being a real pet..." His voice trailed away as he was assaulted by the memory of Els' in his arms, completely lost to pleasure. For just that instant, his feelings for Els had not been those of a master for a pet. Now, remembering it, feeling the warmth of the boy's skin under his fingers, looking down into the anxious eyes, he felt them again.
Iason Mink had sex with his pet whenever it pleased him.
"You do excellent work for me," Draco said, releasing Els as if he were afire. "I have no complaints."
"Thank you, sir!" The clouds vanished.
Draco bore his steaming cup off to his study soon thereafter and checked his mail. Alas, a message from the Committee awaited him, flashing urgent. It banished his pleasant mood at once.
Another member of the Templar Executive Committee, Deklar Finn, was dead.
Iason's personal memories of the Wasteland were brief, confined to a few short hours spent running like hell through it. He'd been with Riki then. He was with Katze now. He would have given anything to exchange them.
Raoul had told him two years ago that bikes were the most sensible way to negotiate the Old City's ruined roads. Iason now found that he rather enjoyed the freedom of the open vehicles, the wind in his face and the feeling of power between his legs.
They had left Ceres behind yesterday afternoon. Since then they had seen no one. There was nothing but ruin around them, broken, empty streets, fallen buildings, bits of stray vegetation pushing up through the crumbling concrete. The rumble of their bikes' engines seemed unnaturally loud, almost sacrilegious in the sepulcher hush of this desolate place.
There was rain coming. The sky was overcast and the air heavy with the smell of it. Iason slowed and stopped. Katz, beside him, did the same.
"Well?" Iason asked.
"According to my information, we should be entering the habited zones any time now," Katze said. "But hell if it looks like anyone's been here in a hundred years."
"Raoul says life begins after dark." Iason shook back his hair and wondered if there were eyes peering at them from the shadows. He hoped so. He wanted word of a Blondie in their midst to run like wildfire through the denizens of this misbegotten place.
Katze looked uneasy. "I hope you know what you're doing, Iason. The Templars are Jupiter's special force. You could easily overplay your hand on this one. You should have left me behind to keep an eye on things."
"I need you here with me."
The Furniture gave him a sour look. "That's some crap, Iason. I'm no fighter. Sure, I can fire a gun, but I could have found you muscle that would have been a hell of a lot more useful out here than me."
"Ah, but they wouldn't have had your wit and your charm to brighten up this journey. We could be out here a long time."
Katze choked. He met Iason's bland smile and looked away, face red. His hands trembled a bit as he pulled out his cigarettes and lit one. Iason waited until the other man had regained some composure.
"You could have refused," he reminded the eunuch. Katze's long mouth curled in derision and he gave Iason a look of pure disbelief.
Iason regarded him seriously.
"Do you think I'm stupid?" Katze muttered, looking away again. "I made you angry once, Iason and I – I've never stopped regretting it."
Iason stared at the sharp profile. He remembered the youthful Katze, the brilliant, talented youth whose curiosity had put them both in such deadly danger. "Did you really prefer being my Furniture?"
Katze was silent, dragging on his cigarette. "A – a little," he said finally. He dropped the cigarette and watched it burn out in the rubble. "Sometimes."
Iason leaned over and let his fingers sift through the man's dark red hair. Katze looked around quickly, startled. "In your own way," said Iason, "you are as indispensable to me as Riki."
There was hunger in Katze's eyes, and a deep regret. "It's not the same," said Katze finally, one of his rare, genuine smiles appearing, "But thank you, Iason."
When Iason had first taken Riki from the streets of Ceres, he had locked his fractious captive in a room much like this one. Oh, it had been warmer, the bed softer, and there had been a wall of glass to let in sunlight and a magnificent view of Midas, but Riki had still been naked, chained and alone.
No fool, Iason had known that the Midas pet salons were not prepared for his rambunctious, rebellious new acquisition. The Blondie could have tried beating the fire out of Riki – most others would probably have done so – but Iason had always been smarter than most others. He had left Riki alone. When he had come to the quiet room, he had done so only to take pleasure, then leave again, never saying a word.
It was being alone that had been the worst and being alone had eventually put the first crack in Riki's armor of defiance. Cut off from his mates, uncertain of his future, his determination had crumbled under the weight of the long, empty days. You didn't win against Blondies – not going straight up against them, head to head. In those days, he'd dragged out his own misery with his stubbornness and he was being just such a fool now.
What the hell has possessed him to go after the pet like that? Iason was right. Sometimes he just had shit for brains. Would it really have hurt to do what the brat had ordered? Was he so in love with pain that he couldn't use common sense just once?
Still... Riki's mouth curved into a small, smug grin. It had almost been worth the punishment just to see the look on the boy's face when Riki had torn that scream of pleasure from him – and even better – knowing that the pet knew it was a mongrel who'd made him feel so good.
Riki thought it might be morning, but he wasn't sure. The overhead light never went out in this prison either. But there was the smell of coffee from elsewhere in the apartment and the rattle of dishes and pans. Hunger gnawed at him and he thought about the dinner the red-haired youth had brought him, the one he'd scattered across the floor, then wiped up and discarded later under the dark, watchful glare of the Blondie.
Finally, he heard footsteps and straightened. Brand appeared on the other side of the force-door, crisp and handsome in his Templar's uniform, hair falling, thick and unruly, over his high forehead. Riki's gut knotted and instinctively, he slid his hand under the blanket and over his groin as if he could protect himself from the pet ring. But the Blondie, apparently satisfied that Riki was where he should be, just turned and walked away.
Riki hoped for breakfast, but the Blondie's pet did not appear. The hours dragged, one after the other, empty and silent. He moved around for exercise and a little warmth, but the chain dragged at him and the fetter chafed his ankle.
He tried to tell himself that it was better here, that at least he didn't have to live in dread of Simms, that he had a real bed and not a stone ledge, but in truth, it was not that different. There was still nothing to do and no company but his own dreary thoughts. The men who imprisoned him still looked at him as if he was an insect. And worst of all, he had no idea what was happening with Iason. Much later, bored to somnolence, he'd fallen into a doze when a clattering roused him. He lifted his head to see the red-haired pet standing just inside the door, setting a tray on the floor within reach of his chain.
"Hi," said Riki, sitting up at once.
The boy's head came up sharply and he took a hasty step back.
"Don't go," Riki burst out when the pet turned to leave. "Please stay!" He tried not to hear the note of pleading that crept into his voice. The pet heard it, however, for he stopped and turned around, frowning.
"I'm going crazy in here all by myself," said Riki. "Would it kill you to talk to me for a few minutes?"
"Why should I?" sniffed the boy.
Riki bit back an automatic retort. "I'm sorry about last night," he offered instead.
The boy just stared at him. Riki tried again. "Your name is Els, right?"
"Yeah. So?"
"You're not from Tanagura, are you?"
"What do you care?"
Riki looked away from the belligerent glare. Hostility fairly crackled around that slender frame. He took a deep breath. "I know things didn't get off to a very good start, but since I'm stuck here, can't we call a truce?"
"You can even say that after last night?" Els fired back, outraged. "Why should I give you the time of day, mongrel scum."
Mongrel scum.
No matter how many times he heard those words – and he'd heard them more times than he could ever count – they made Riki's stomach knot. Why the hell did he even try?
"Fine," he said. His heart beat rapidly and, dismayed, he found himself close to tears. He missed Iason so much it hurt. Iason – who didn't care about his birth, or his black hair, who loved him for who he was, not what he was.
Turning his back on the pet, he lay back down. After a moment, he heard the soft tread of bare feet and the boy was gone.