Fortress
by Becca Abbott
Part 16
Els sat on the edge of his bed, shaking with dread. The screams had stopped. He felt sick. It was over. There was no way Draco would want him after this. What a fool he had been! How could he ever have imagined that he could have lied and deceived his master and gotten away it? He was just a stupid pet!
Lifting a shaking hand, he wiped away more tears. Would Draco beat him? Els' first master had beat him all the time but Draco had never lay a hand on him. Now Els found himself hoping the Blondie would hit him, that the act of striking him might ease Draco's anger enough to bring forgiveness.
The boy heard footsteps and his gut tightened until he thought he would throw up. In the doorway, the tall, golden-haired figure appeared. Els slid from the bed and went to his knees. In the silence that followed, he was certain that the pounding of his heart was audible.
"The Committee has decided the mongrel is to be moved," came the Blondie's cold, calm voice. "I will be transferred with him. As for you – I will have all my Recordings retrieved and your port removed. You will be sent to the pet auction in Midas where you will be sold to whomever will have you. I will not keep a pet in my house that I cannot trust."
Els heard him as if from a great distance. The sound of Draco's receding footsteps echoed. Somehow, he managed to get to his feet. The walls of his room seemed to tilt. He made it to the bathroom and was violently sick. After that, he lay on the cold floor beside the toilet and wept until, at last, exhausted by his grief and despair, he fell asleep.
When he had been Iason's Furniture, Katze's main challenge had been boredom. The Blondie had kept a small stable of pets, usually no more than four or five expensive, well-behaved boys. In some households, a Furniture did other things as well, but Iason had had servants to fulfill every task. As a result, the handsome, red-haired boy the from the slums had found himself with a lot of time on his hands.
He'd fallen into the trap of all young, bright and restless young men – he'd gone looking for trouble, and he'd found it. Now, years later, a much older and wiser Katze stared in stunned disbelief as that trouble lay on the table in front of him, six small computer disks with the destruction of an entire society carefully encrypted upon them.
"It's all there," said Iason, "except for the last few lines of code that access the final interface between Jupiter's autonomic functions – the ones we need to keep – and her AI consciousness."
"You've had this all along?" Raoul asked.
They were gathered in Raoul's quarters, a collection of ascetically furnished rooms. Guy had told Katze it was on an island, but beyond that had offered no additional information. Since these substations numbered in the thousands and were scattered all over the planet, they could be anywhere.
"Yes," replied Iason. "Insurance. One never knows, does one?"
Raoul's mouth tugged into a reluctant smile. "You never cease to surprise me, Iason. When you refused to help the Terrans, I naturally assumed..."
"The Terrans wanted to take over. They know nothing of us, of what we've become. They would have imposed their ways on us, made us their vassals."
"With the AI shut down," Guy spoke up, "what will keep the system from collapsing?"
"I suppose you or I would have to maintain it through direct neural link," said Raoul looking at Iason.
"Only as long as it takes to reprogram the central processing unit with safeguards against consciousness."
Katze caught Guy's eye and saw the mongrel's lips twitch. How casually they talked of such apocalyptic matters. How typical of Blondies.
"That assumes," Raoul continued, "that the information here will do as you claim."
"You're welcome to look at it."
"And the remaining code?"
Katze's heart jumped into his throat. Suddenly cold as ice, he waited, but Iason only said, "I have it and so will you – after Riki is safe."
"Why not just rescue Riki yourself? Why go to all this trouble?"
"The Fortress is well-guarded and by a man who owes me a grudge. With the weapons you've stolen this past year, you have a superior force to anything I could buy on the street."
"But to destroy Jupiter, too?" Raoul laughed softly, harshly. "You're lucky I understand you, Iason, or I would think you'd gone insane."
"We don't need Jupiter. All we need is an AI that will run the Amoi's master computer network. It's a risk, but it's worth it. I will no longer have to worry about her trying to use Riki to control me. You would no longer be a hunted fugitive."
"Even if we have the code, getting past all her security to shut down the program will be impossible."
"Not necessarily."
"And why is that?"
"The Fortress almost certainly still has its original, direct cable link to Jupiter's central processor."
Raoul's eyes snapped open wide.
"Use the cable and we have an excellent chance of by-passing most of her internal security hardware. What do you say?"
Raoul stared at him. "I'll want to look these over," he said finally.
Iason nodded.
"If they check out, you have a deal."
Draco let himself into the apartment and, for one unnerving moment, caught himself looking for Els. But there was no sign of him. Els stayed out of his way by Draco's own order. In the past week, he'd caught glimpses of the boy slipping like a ghost from the room at his approach, pale and tragic. The pet continued to perform his household tasks, but invisibly.
Leaving his coat on the chair, Draco went to the kitchen. As he'd ordered, a tray of rations was on the table. The Elite picked it up and carried it to the mongrel's cell. The prisoner was lying on the bed, back to Draco. He didn't move. On the floor was last night's tray, untouched. Draco set down the new tray, picked up the old, and left.
The apartment was so damned quiet. He'd never realized how accustomed he'd become to hearing Els' laughter, the boy's voice calling cheerfully from one room or the other. Draco went straight to his study and threw himself into an armchair, rubbing his aching temples.
The Committee had set the date for the mongrel's move for the end of the week. An armored caravan would take them both to Illis, a settlement far to the north. He'd sent a message to Jupiter, but there had been no response. In his darker moments, he wondered if the Templars had managed to intercept it.
He thought about the mongrel, then wrenched his mind away, shamed. He should not have done what he had done. Whatever he might think of Iason Mink, Draco's duty was to guard the mongrel, nothing else.
Jupiter! To lose his temper like that! To abandon his control was unforgivable! Now the memories would not leave him alone. They haunted his dreams, tormented his awakenings. There were moments when he found himself walking toward the cell without intending to do so.
I want to go home, he thought, and realized with vague surprise that he was thinking of Erba.
Where was Els? He missed the boy, just like he missed Erba. Foolishness. His pet had proven himself unworthy of trust. So what if Els was an enchanting little thing? Draco was on Amoi now. There was the Midas pet auction. He could choose from hundreds of enchanting little things, damn it! Maybe he'd get a boy with blue hair this time, like those little tarts at the spaceline terminal – someone skilled and forgettable who he could sell when it was time to go back to the colony.
Because he was going back. Draco wasn't sure when he'd decided, but he intended to request a return to his old post. Amoi wasn't for him. He didn't like the politics, the double-dealing and corruption. General Ko would have been appalled at what his beloved Templars had become.
The wind moaned past the windows of the study, the only sound in the tomb-like apartment. The low, steady sound soothed his nerves somewhat and his eyelids grew heavy. He fell asleep where he sat. When he woke, it was abruptly, and to the unexpected sensation of something soft brushing his lips. Quick as lightning, he reached out and grabbed a slender arm. He heard a gasp. Eyes flying open, he found himself looking into a pair of wide, terrified blue eyes.
"ELS!"
The boy trembled in his grip. Stunned, Draco stared back. Had Els been kissing him? Draco lifted his free hand and touched his lips. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I – I'm sorry, sir," whispered the pet. "I – brought a blanket."
He was indeed carrying a blanket. Draco released him, pushing him away. "Why did you do that? Didn't I tell you stay away from me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well?"
"I – I wanted to."
Draco's eyebrows shot up.
"I figured – I – had nothing to lose." The red head lifted. The great eyes filled with tears, but Els' mouth was set in a defiant line spoiled only slightly by its trembling. "So – so I kissed you."
"Whoring is your new role, eh?"
Els flinched. "I guess so. No one is going to want me as a pet, sir. I'm colony-bred and – and I'm eighteen. Only brothels will take me, so – so I thought – I wanted to – just this once..." His voice broke and he swallowed convulsively. "Please let me," he whispered, dropping to his knees. "Please, master. Let me give you pleasure."
The command to leave trembled on Draco's lips, but he couldn't force it past them. He stared at the drooping figure, the smooth, soft skin and beautiful body and felt a powerful rush of heat. "I – I'll hurt you," he said in a strangled voice, even while he railed at himself. "I'm too big."
Els' head shot up, terrible hope in his eyes. "No, sir! If – if you use slick and go slow at first, it'll be all right, I know it! And – and I don't care, anyway! Please! Please say yes!"
Draco remembered how it had felt to push into the mongrel, the sheer, mind-wrecking ecstasy of it. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
The somber young face lit up. Els rose and approached the chair. Once again, he bent over Draco and put his lips to the Elite's. They were so warm and soft. Bemused, Draco was still, then he felt the tip of Els' tongue nudging at them. Without meaning to, he reached up and put a hand behind Els' head, meeting the kiss, opening his mouth and thrusting his own tongue past those tentative lips.
Draco had seen such kisses many times, but this was something quite different. The pressure increased as Els, encouraged by Draco's acquiescence, deepened the caress. The caress of a whore, Draco thought dizzily, opening his mouth a bit more. Els moaned, the sound and vibration making Draco shiver. Slender fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt and the garment fell open. His pet's hands moved across his chest while their tongues met in a slow, languid dance. He felt the hair on his body lift, his groin stirring. His hand on Els' head tightened, and he sought deeper egress, pushing Els' tongue aside, exploring the sweet cavity offered to him.
He had to breathe finally, releasing the pet. The boy placed his mouth at the corner of Draco's and began leaving tiny kisses on his cheek, on his eyelids, along his jaw. Then he transferred those attentions to Draco's throat, all the while his hands keeping up their distracting, breath-taking massage.
Draco gasped. Els kissed his chest, silken hair sweeping over it as he continued to stroke and caress his master. That gentle mouth found a nipple and fastened to it, sucking, his tongue teasing the tip of the sensitive nub and tearing a choking gasp from the Elite.
The heat in Draco's groin had become incandescent, the pressure building at ferocious speed. There was another disconcerting memory of the mongrel bent over on the bed, of Draco slamming his cock home again and again. He opened his eyes and saw the ceiling. Lifting his head slightly, he saw his pet kneeling between his legs in an attitude of worship, it seemed. Groaning, Draco closed his eyes again and made a small sound as Els moved down his belly and nuzzled at his navel. Deft fingers plied the fasteners at Draco's waist, opening his trousers.
"AH!"
Els' tongue slid up the length of his exposed cock to swirl around the head and Draco nearly leapt from the chair. A slide of that tongue into the slit and the Elite, with a growl, sat up straight, seizing the boy's head in his hand. "Els..."
"Will you take me now, sir?" the boy whispered, words a breath against Draco's aching sex, "or shall I continue?"
Draco, shaking, looked at the slight body and thought – it's not possible – but even as he thought it, he heard himself say hoarsely, "Yes!"
Graceful as a fawn, the youth rose and picked something from the table. It was a small jar; Draco remembered seeing it among the boy's collection of performance props. He opened it and, eyes holding Draco's, turned. Feet planted wide apart, he bent at the waist. The fever in the Elite's blood raised another few degrees as the youth covered his fingers with the thick ointment and reaching back, slid them into his own hole. While Draco watched, barely breathing, Els prepared himself, taking his time, almost teasing. Draco's breath was coming in harsh gasps when, finally, "Enough! I'm ready now!"
"Yes, sir," came the demure response. Els turned and knelt once more before Draco, helping him out of his trousers. Then, with careful fingers, he spread the ointment over Draco's burning sex.
"How will you have me, sir?"
"However you wish," gasped Draco, heart pounding.
The boy's lips parted, eyes widening. Then he nodded. Straddling the Elite, he bent once more and kissed Draco on the lips. Then, carefully, he positioned himself above Draco's cock.
It was all Draco could do not to seize those narrow hips, to hold Els still while he pistoned up into the boy. Instead, he went slowly, lowering Els onto him, feeling that tiny opening slowly stretch, watching the expressions that flickered across the youth's pretty face. Sweat sprang out on the fair skin. Els' head fell back, hair in a molten tumble down his back. He reached to steady himself on Draco's shoulders as, bit by bit, he was impaled on the Elite's huge organ. His chest rose and fell rapidly; his small nipples were rigid and, faced with them, Draco was unable to resist leaning forward and seizing one in his teeth. Els cried out softly, a shudder running through him that nearly undid Draco right there and then.
Jupiter, but the boy was beautiful! Els began to lift himself up, then lower himself, starting slowly, eyes half-closed, lips parted. Draco joined him and they moved together in an increasingly swift and frenzied dance. The Elite watched through glazed, half-closed eyes as Els reached down to seize his own cock and pump it in cadence with Draco's thrusts, then Draco lost all sense of anything except the exquisite sensation of himself inside Els.
He came in a flash of heat and light, roaring his completion and pulling Els down hard onto him with final, convulsive strength. There was an answering spurt of warmth on his belly, then the boy fell forward against his chest. Draco sat, limp and breathless, feeling Els' heartbeat against his own, smelling the subtle, spicy scent of his hair. He started to reach up to touch it, but Els rose and, carefully, stood up.
For a moment, Draco was overwhelmed by a sense of loss, but Els was back almost at once with a warm, wet cloth that he used to clean his master's groin and belly. Then he tucked the blanket around Draco, protecting him against the cool air. Draco, barely able to move, watched as he gathered his jar and his loincloth and headed for the door.
"Els..."
The boy turned.
"Why did you disobey me?"
The boy swallowed hard. His eyes were bleak. "I – I wanted to be better," he said finally. "Riki had training. I asked him to teach me. I wanted to be the best for you. I – I'm so sorry."
Draco remembered the mongrel's cry, "This was for you!"
"Thank you for letting me pleasure you," Els said and then, with an attempt at lightness that did strange things to Draco's heart, "I think I'll make a pretty good whore, don't you?"
Before Draco could respond to that awful question, Els turned and was gone.