Fortress
by Becca Abbott
Part 17
Riki.
Dark hair, dark eyes, a touch like velvet on his skin. Iason took a deep breath and lowered his head into his arms. The room Raoul had given him was small and adequate for his needs, but these places had not been built with privacy in mind and the walls were thin. He could hear men passing back and forth in the corridor outside, someone laughing loudly in the room next door.
If all had been right with the world, he would be coming home from the office. Riki would be waiting for him in the condo. Usually, the beautiful mongrel would have a smile for him, but sometimes he would be sulky with boredom and then they would have it out right there in the front room. It was Riki who ended up on the bottom most of the time, crying out as Iason had his way. Ever since the business with the Terrans, however, it had pleased Iason to let Riki take the upper hand now and then. There was a delicious excitement in being the one underneath, wrists pinned to the carpet and being directed to move at the pleasure of another.
Damnation! On the table, Iason's hands clenched. If only the ache in his groin would go away! If only the restlessness and lust would leave him alone! If only – if only he had Riki.
A knock on the door interrupted his silent desperation. He lifted his head. He was sweating. Getting up, he went to the room's small sink and wiped his face with the towel, listening as the knock repeated.
"Come in."
It was Guy. The mongrel had a handful of papers. He stood, blinking in the dark.
"Lights," said Iason. "What is it?"
"Our techs have finished with the disks. They're legit. We leave tomorrow."
Profound relief washed through Iason. He nodded.
"This had better not be some trick."
Iason's eyes narrowed. Guy stared back at him, dark eyes – eyes so like Riki's – not giving an inch.
"I would have gone with you to get Riki anyway," he said.
"Riki is mine." The words came out before Iason could stop them. Foolish words. Of course Riki was his.
"Are you all right?"
Iason remembered Dana Bahn, remembered the year after that when he'd found Guy again and taken his revenge. He remembered having Guy in his power.
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine," said Guy, coming into the room. Iason's heart jumped.
Get out! Don't come near!
"You aren't sick or anything, are you? I know the food here can be pretty shitty..."
Iason moved fast, too fast for Guy to react. The mongrel gave a startled yelp and found himself slammed against the wall.
"Iason!"
Iason's pulse beat like thunder in his ears. He could not take his eyes from Guy's mouth, watching the lips move, not hearing a word. The Blondie leaned forward, remembering how they had tasted, bloody and swollen and pleading for mercy...
"IASON!"
Raoul's voice cracked through the tumult in his heart and Iason released the terrified mongrel at once, reeling back. Then the other Blondie was between them, face like thunder. "Go," he said to Guy, and the mongrel fled, slamming the door after him.
Iason turned and stumbled to the bed, sitting heavily on it. "Raoul," he whispered, unable to look up at his friend. "What's wrong with me?"
There was silence, then the sound of a chair scraping as Raoul pulled it out from the table. When he looked up, the other man was staring at him, but there was no anger in his face, only weariness.
"Do you know why we're never supposed to have a sexual relationship with another human?" Raoul asked finally.
"Of course. It detracts..."
Raoul's harsh laughter cut him off. "Of course it does," he said, "but not for the reason you think."
Iason waited.
"We are – different. You know this. It's common knowledge. From the second week of our existence, our genes are manipulated so that we will be faster, stronger, smarter, more aggressive, more beautiful than all others.
"What you may not know, and what Jupiter has never cared to tell us – what she may not even consider important – are the side effects of that genetic manipulation."
"Side effects?" Iason's blood burned. Guy. Where had he gone?
"As long as we're good little Blondies and ease our sexual impulses with voyeurism and masturbation, we're safe enough. The hormone levels remain relatively low and stable; we function well. When we stray beyond those boundaries, however, we are playing a game of chemical roulette that Jupiter never intended."
"What are you talking about?"
"When you combine sexual desire with the less tangible, but very powerful, stimulation of – oh, let's call it, love, shall we? – the endocrine response within us goes out of control. A system designed for low levels of those hormones is suddenly flooded with them. The longer it goes on, the more our system acclimates to those high levels."
"Drugs," said Iason suddenly. "You're talking about addiction. It's fantastic, Raoul. Are you sure about this?"
Raoul shrugged. "As sure as I can be without running methodologically sound scientific studies. I've tested my own blood. I've seen the levels of hormones and they are abnormally high. I know how I feel when Guy's been gone a few days on a mission."
"But if we're addicted to sex, then why wasn't I satisfied when..." his voice trailed away.
"When you nearly raped the whore to death?" Raoul was coldly matter-of-fact. "Because he wasn't Riki. Because you didn't care. And that's why you can't have Guy."
Aghast, Iason stared back at him.
"If I had known five years ago what was happening," Raoul continued, "I would have killed Riki myself and none of this..." His voice trailed away. He made a helpless gesture with his hands and, for a second, looked haunted.
"Did Jupiter know?"
"I would think she would have at least considered its possibility. Maybe, when your job performance did not suffer, she was content to leave it alone."
"And now, she is content to exploit it." Rage crept through Iason. "What the hell do I do?"
"I don't know," replied Raoul frankly. "In the condition you're in, you'll jeopardize the mission."
"I won't." Iason was suddenly afraid. He couldn't be left behind! "I can control it."
Raoul stood up and came to the bed. To Iason's surprise, the other Blondie leaned over him, setting a hand on his shoulder. "If anyone can, it's you," he agreed. "There may some drugs you can take to alleviate the worst of the symptoms. I'll see what I can figure out. In the meantime..." His fingers tightened painfully. "Stay away from Guy."
Els wrapped the small statuette carefully in wadding and placed it in the box. It was a trophy that had been awarded to Draco on Erba for winning a race in an officer's competition. He remembered the day well. He'd been Jack's pet then, watching the race on the vid. He remembered how awed he'd been at the sight of Draco's magnificent body, his athleticism, his grace. Later, when it was Draco who had purchased him in the pet salon, Els' had been sure he'd been dreaming.
Now, it was a nightmare. Grief washed through him and he bent over the box, hugging it to him to keep from weeping. He'd been crying a lot lately. It was so strange. He'd never been one for crying, not even when he'd belonged to Jack and Jack had beaten him all the time.
Wearily, Els sealed the box and pushed it aside. The movers were coming later in the day to take everything. Most of the apartment was packed up. There was only his own room left. On his way there, he passed a mirror, catching a reflection of himself, pale, dark circles under his eyes. Wonderful, Els thought sarcastically. He'd do well on the auction block.
In his room, he stared at his things. Then, heavy-hearted, he pulled the waste-bin over to his drawing table and swept everything into it. He would have liked to have kept at least one drawing of Draco, but where he was going, it wasn't likely he'd be permitted to keep anything of his own. Els felt the tears start again and angrily dashed them away. Trying not to think about anything, he threw everything out except a display harness and his suit. He just couldn't bring himself to throw the beloved suit away. Then he dragged the waste container from the room and left it by the front door to be hauled away.
That was it. Turning, he walked back to the mongrel's cell.
This was his one last, little defiance – talking to Riki even when Draco had forbidden it. But Els knew he'd sunk as low as he could go in the Blondie's regard, and he couldn't just leave Riki alone and suffering in the cell. The force-door controls had been changed to keep him out, but he could give the mongrel some companionship, at least. Riki said he was grateful.
"Hey!"
On the other side of the room, the dark-haired man lifted his head from his arms. He was pale, fading bruises still visible on his skin. The heater was back in the corridor again, this time put there by Draco himself, and Riki wore clothing now, a grey coverall with the Templar logo embroidered on the breast pocket.
Els remembered that awful night, the terrible screams that had come from this room. Afterwards, the doctor had come and gone, shaking his head, claiming that he'd done what he could to repair the damage.
"He's badly torn, inside and out," Els had overheard the man saying. "If you must use him this next week or so, use his mouth."
Els knew that Draco only came here now to leave food. The boy suspected that what Draco had done to Riki frightened the Blondie more than a little. Moreover, Draco was ashamed. Els had never seen that before. Draco was a man of honor. Shame was something you felt when you were dishonorable. Shame was for people like Els, who did stupid things all the time, who were selfish and told lies. It disconcerted him to see that same expression in his master's face.
"Hey, Els," Riki managed a wan smile. "How are you doing?"
"Okay," sighed Els. "You haven't eaten again."
Riki looked at the untouched tray and grimaced. "Not hungry," he said and lowered his head back to his arms, watching Els with dull eyes. "How much longer?"
"A few hours."
Riki closed his eyes briefly. "So – you're gonna be someone else's pet soon."
"Probably not."
Riki didn't bother to gainsay him. They both knew Els' chances of that. "You should run away," said Riki then. "When you get to Midas and you get a chance – run."
Els smiled crookedly. "Right. Where?"
"There's a guy – in Ceres. Name is Katze. Tell him I sent you. He'll help you."
The door chime sounded. Els felt his stomach knot. "Gotta go. I'll be back."
It wasn't the movers. It was Asher. The boy stood, head tilted, his usual superior smirk in place. "Is Draco here?"
Els swallowed his resentment. "No."
To his surprise and chagrin, Asher pushed past him and into the apartment. "Fine. I'll wait. He said to meet him here."
The queasiness in Els' stomach became nausea. "Sure," he said listlessly. He waved to the sofa. "Have a seat."
Turning his back on the other pet, Els retreated to Draco's bedroom to finish packing his master's clothes. Was Asher going to be Draco's new pet? His hands shook, folding Draco's shirts.
Jupiter! I can't do this!
He bent double, shaking. In another day, he would be alone, just another former pet among hundreds lined up on the auction block, staring at a lifetime of serving anyone with the money to buy him for an hour or two.
Swallowing hard, he got up and went back to the front room for another box. Asher wasn't there. Els stood, staring around, then, alarmed, went looking for him.
The pet wasn't in Draco's study, thankfully. Then, heart plunging, Els thought – Riki! He ran through the apartment. Sure enough – the white-haired boy was standing in the force-door, staring through.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Els snapped, running down the corridor. "Who said you could just go wandering around?"
"Draco won't care," the boy retorted, looking back into the room. Riki was sitting up, arms wrapped around himself, staring warily at the stranger. "That the mongrel?"
"Get out!" Els was shaking. "You're not his pet! GET OUT!"
"Fuck you, loser," replied Asher, turning away. "Hey," he said to Riki. "Come here."
Something snapped. Els swore and, hauling off, hit the other pet with all his strength. Asher yelped, reeling into the wall. He stared in shock at Els and lifted his own fist, but it was too late. All Els' pain and misery and suppressed anger came rushing to the surface and the colony youth was on Asher in a flurry of thrashing fists and feet.
Howling, swearing, shrieking, the two of them went down, rolling around on the floor, pummeling each other for all they were worth. Els absorbed several good blows, but he was too far gone to even notice. All his rage and despair came pouring out and he was aware of nothing except the need to smash something – anything.
"ELS! Els, stop it!"
And suddenly there someone else hauling him up and away from Asher, shaking him like a dog. "ELS!"
Draco!
The Blondie had him firmly by his arm and was shouting at him. "Stop it! Stop it now!"
Els stopped. On the floor, Asher was curled into a ball, bleeding, his clothing torn, sobbing. Els' knees gave out and he hung in Draco's grip, beyond speech.
Without a word, grim-faced, the Blondie turned and, keeping Els firmly in hand, propelled him down the corridor, through the apartment and into his room. Tossing the pet onto his bed, he said harshly, "Stay." Then he was gone, slamming and locking the door after him.
Things were spinning out of control. Draco looked down at the sniffling Asher and reined in his impatience.
"He said it was okay," snuffled the pet. "He said it was okay to look."
"You're lying," retorted Draco coldly. "Els would never do that. Finish cleaning your face and get the hell out of my apartment."
"He messed me up! Mike's gonna be mad."
"Fine. Mike will be mad. GET OUT."
The boy gave him a poisonous look and ran. Draco followed. He was in time to see the door slam. With a deep sigh, Draco leaned against it. He could not get out of this place fast enough, he thought. Only a few more hours. Just a few more.
His eye lit on the waste bins beside the door. Frowning, he saw that most of the discarded stuff was Els'. The pet had thrown away his drawing things?
Of course, he had, Draco thought then and felt an unexpected pang. He leaned over and plucked a sheet from the pile. His eyes narrowed. It was a picture of him! And it was good. Very good. Curious, he picked up another. This, too, was of him. For a long moment, Draco stood over the bin, staring into it. Then he began to take out the sketches, one by one. Most were of him. Some were of the mongrel, too. All were excellent. How had he never noticed these before? His pet was an artist. His gaze lingered on one drawing in particular. Els had captured him in his study, bent over something on his desk. His face was drawn and pensive – lonely.
Draco turned and stared across the room.
I wanted to be the best for you.
"You're a damn fool, Draco," he said to himself. "He's a pet. There are thousands more like him."
He threw the picture back into the waste bin and left the apartment.