Fortress
by Becca Abbott
Part 19
Brand knelt with the other prisoners in the icy wind. The rebels surrounded them, guns out, alert. Well-trained, he thought distantly. He looked over the heads of the others and started, catching a glimpse of crimson. Els?
Els was still wearing only his loincloth, kneeling on the slushy pavement. His lips were blue with cold. Asher hovered next to him, sobbing and wailing. Unlike Draco's pet, he was better dressed for the frigid afternoon in a little fur-trimmed jacket, long pants and boots. Why did I dress Els like that? Draco wondered absently. It's too cold here, even in the apartment.
He remembered glimpsing Phillips' corpse as he was being hustled from the administration building. So far, he'd seen no sign among the survivors of Richards or Simms.
A soldier, himself terrified, slapped Asher, who only wailed louder. Els, however, was dry-eyed. Teeth chattering, arms wrapped tightly around himself in a futile attempt at warmth, he knelt among the cursing, sullen Templars, looking lost. With a wary eye on their guards, Draco crawled to him.
"Els?"
Frightened blue eyes lifted and widened. The boy smiled tentatively, as if uncertain of his welcome. Draco felt his stomach twist at the sight of it. He stripped off his jacket without thinking, draping it over those slender shoulders. Reaching over, he pulled his pet against him. For a moment, Els was still, then his arms crept, trembling, around Draco and held fast.
"I'm so glad," Draco heard, muffled against his chest. "I'm so glad you're all right, sir."
Draco could say nothing, relief so profound it clogged his throat. He simply held the boy, stroking the tangled hair and wondered what the hell was going on.
That had surely been Raoul Am with Mink. Draco smiled bitterly into the deepening gloom of advancing dusk. Those two joining forces was one outcome they had all failed to predict, Jupiter included.
A sudden hush fell over the prisoners, starting on the edge of the crowd and moving into the center. Draco looked up. A group of rebels approached, a mongrel in the lead. Like Riki, this one was a handsome creature, with proud eyes and an easy, defiant stride. Across his back was slung a large weapon that Draco recognized at once. A K92. Low weight, high impact. A crowd killer. No wonder they'd pushed past the defenses so fast.
The mongrel spoke to one of the rebel guards, then looked over the huddled men and straight at Draco. His smile was – unpleasant. Lifting a long, shapely hand, he beckoned.
Draco took a deep breath and gently disengaged Els. "I have to go, little one," he said quietly. Els released him without protest. Carefully not looking back, Draco made his way to the edge of the prisoners, everyone moving hastily aside to let him pass.
"Hands up!" shouted a rebel, motioning with his gun. Draco lifted his arms and put his hands on his head. He stepped into the open. The mongrel's eyes slid past him. Heart plunging, Draco looked around. Right behind him was Els, silent and determined.
"Get back with the others, whore," snapped the guard, but the mongrel lay a hand on the man's arm.
"No. Him, too."
"Why?" Draco said, stepping between them as the mongrel reached for Els. "What could you possibly want with him?"
"Iason wants you both," said the mongrel shortly. "You can ask him yourself."
Incomprehensibly, Els smiled in relief.
They handcuffed Draco. Els, too, was shackled, ludicrous as it seemed. Draco protested; as if Els were a threat to anyone! Els, however, accepted it without a murmur and kept close to Draco as they were marched through the complex to the residence hall.
"I'll take them from here," the mongrel told the guard at the elevator. He looked narrowly at Draco, then at Els. He shoved his weapon into Els back. "No heroics," he told Draco, the threat blatant. Draco set his jaw and looked away.
At the top, the corridor outside their apartment was crowded with men who moved aside to let them pass. There were more men inside. Draco didn't see Iason.
"Keep going."
They were herded through the familiar rooms, past the kitchen and toward the mongrel's old cell. Draco's heartbeat was suffocating. Just before the force-door, the mongrel said: "Go in."
Draco gave him a dark look, then walked through, Els on his heels. Iason Mink sat on Riki's bed, but there was no sign of Riki. The look on Mink's face sent a chill straight through Draco's soul. Mink looked past the two prisoners to the mongrel who nodded and tossed him a gun. Iason caught it deftly and sat, one leg crossed over the other. He leveled the weapon unerringly on the pet. Whatever else, Mink was not underestimating him.
Draco was shoved across the cell to the shower. Taking another set of shackles from his pocket, the mongrel bound him to the heavy pipe. It was bolted securely to the wall.
"Activate the door, please, Guy," Mink said.
The mongrel nodded and took back the gun,
"And keep everyone clear of this room until I say otherwise. Especially Riki."
"Iason..."
"Do it."
The mongrel nodded curtly and withdrew. Mink rose, a lazy, graceful uncoiling of long limbs.
"Traitor!" spat Draco, hatred and fear rushing through him. He pulled at the pipe. There was give, but not enough. It was solidly anchored.
"Yes," agreed Mink, unperturbed.
"What do you want? You'll never get away with this! Headquarters in Tanagura knows by now we've been attacked! There are already troops on the way!"
"They'll be too late." Iason crossed the small space. His foot struck the chain lying loose on the floor and he froze a second, staring down at it. When he looked up again, there was cold anger in his face.
"You kept Riki here, didn't you – chained like an animal."
Draco shrugged, having figured already that Mink meant to kill him. "You have a troublesome pet, Mink. It was necessary to confine him."
"And the rape? That was necessary?"
The cold, sick feeling rushed back. "Is that why I'm here? Revenge?"
"Yes – and no." Iason stopped in front of Els, who shrank closer to Draco. He grasped the pet's chin gently, lifting Els' face. With unease, Draco noticed the fine tremor in that elegant hand. "This is a matter of – need."
"What are you talking about?" Horror crawled up out of Draco's gut, watching those blue eyes travel over the boy's shrinking form.
Mink's thumb traced the outline of Els' lower lip.
"If you were going to live, Brand, you would know what I'm talking about – seeing as you, too, have fallen past the point of no return."
"You're talking in riddles!"
Iason only smiled. "I want Riki and I will make love to him, but not until I can treat him – gently."
That terrible night came rushing back. Draco said in a low voice, "For what it's worth, I regret what happened."
"Too late," whispered Iason. His thumb pressed harder on Els lower lip and, helplessly, the pet open his mouth to admit it. Frightened blue eyes flashed to Draco.
"What do you want?" snarled the Templar. "Leave him alone!"
"You value him?" Iason's voice was idle, as if the question was merely academic. Els made a tiny sound. Then, in a small, tentative motion, the tip of his tongue appeared to caress the invading digit.
"Yes," whispered Draco.
"Good." Withdrawing his hand, Iason reached down and pushed Draco's jacket from El's slim shoulders. Too big to begin with, it slipped easily off to bunch around his elbows. The loincloth was the next to go. Els gasped and tried to shrink away, but Mink seized him and sent him stumbling across the room toward the bed.
"STOP!" Draco hurled himself against his bonds, but the shower fixture held fast. "Don't hurt him!"
"Such a pretty little thing," said Iason softly, as if Draco hadn't spoken.
The tremor Draco had noticed in the man's hands seemed to have transferred to his entire body. The handsome face glistened with sweat. What the hell was wrong with him? Draco's heart beat like a wild bird against his ribs.
"Get on the bed," Mink rasped, not taking his eyes from Els, "and bend over."
Els stared up at him, ashen, then nodded jerkily. "Yes, sir," he said in a small, thin voice.
"You'll kill him! Damn it! He's not like your fucking mongrel! You'll tear him to pieces!"
Iason only snarled. Draco threw himself against his bonds again, this time with such force that he could feel it in his wrists. The pipe rattled, but didn't give.
Els crawled awkwardly onto the mattress, but before he could do as Mink ordered, the Elite, with a snarl, seized his head and pushed him, face down, onto it.
"No," cried Draco, sick with horror. "Don't! He's done nothing to you!"
But it was as if Mink was beyond hearing. Draco could hear the other man's breathing, harsh and rapid, in the small room. Mink pulled Els' hips up, holding them there while the boy struggled clumsily to get his knees under him. Then he slid his hands between Els' legs and the boy whimpered, the sound muffled in the mattress.
"DAMN YOU! He befriended your fucking pet, you sick son of a bitch!" Words tumbled out of Draco. He barely knew what he said, only that he had to stop what was happening. "He was kind to him! He doesn't deserve this! If you must take someone, take me!"
Mink whirled around and stared. Draco suddenly found it impossible to breathe. There was an unholy fire in those blue eyes. Pale hair clung in damp, dark strands to the flushed face. His heart skipped a beat seeing Mink release Els. Going very still, he held the other Elite's burning gaze. Somehow, he found the strength to nod.
"No," Els whimpered. "Sir..."
"Silence!" Draco's voice cracked like a whip, not daring to look in the boy's direction, not daring to break Mink's basilisk stare. "Stay there, Els. Be quiet. Please."
Like some beautiful, predatory beast, Mink approached him. "You?"
"Why not? What does it matter to you, you fucking animal?"
"Word has it," Mink whispered, coming closer. "Word has it – you're a man of honor."
Draco said nothing. Mink was very close. Draco could feel the heat coming off his body. Was he ill?
"Yes," the Templar replied. "Not that you would know...AH!"
Mink's fist shot out, connecting with Draco's jaw, knocking his head back against the wall. For a few moments, he saw stars.
"Swear to submit and I'll not touch your boy."
"Master! No!"
Draco licked blood from his lips. "Why should I trust you?"
"What choice do you have?"
Looking over to the bed, Draco saw that Els had somehow struggled to his knees. His eyes were wide and anguished.
"You're right," he agreed with a crooked smile. "I swear."
"GUY!"
The long-haired mongrel appeared almost at once.
"Take the boy," said Iason without looking away from Draco, "and leave the key to the shackles."
"I-Iason?"
"Do it!"
"NO! I won't go! Please, sir! Take me!" Els clambered awkwardly from the bed, stumbling across the room to throw himself at Mink's feet. "I can please you! I know I can! Riki taught me!"
Mink gazed down at the pet, a strange look in his eyes. He set a hand on Els' head and to Draco, his expression seemed almost compassionate.
"Guy, take him away."
From the look on the mongrel's face, he, too, found something alarming about Mink. But he came in and took the sobbing, pleading pet from the room, tossing the shackle keys to the floor as he went. The force-door went back on. When they were gone, Draco sagged back against the pipe, almost sick with relief.
Iason motioned for him to turn. Without a word, he did so. Mink unlocked the shackles and stepped away. Again, as Iason brushed against him, Draco felt his heat, almost febrile in its intensity. Rubbing sore wrists, he watched the other man.
"Strip," said Iason softly.
Humiliation choked Draco at the command, but he had given his word. He pulled off the rest of his clothing in angry, graceless motions, throwing it to the floor. Iason smiled, eyes glinting, well aware of his mortification.
"I've never had another Blondie," said the man. "This will be interesting."
Draco swallowed his angry retort. Against his will, his eyes went to Iason's groin. The bulge there was unmistakable.
"Put on the fetter. The one you made Riki wear." Mink was trembling, Draco got the sense of desperate control.
"There's no need..."
"Do it!"
Jaw clenched, Draco crouched and locked the steel around an ankle. He rose and looked again at Iason. Those burning eyes sparked.
"Put your hands behind your back." The command was soft as silk. Draco did so, then caught his breath. In the Mink's hand was a small, silver ring – the punishment ring he'd forced Riki to wear. In all the confusion, he'd forgotten about it
"It was very accommodating of you to store the codes in your personal computer," purred Mink. "And without even encrypting the file, too. You're a trusting man, Brand. It's refreshing in this day and age."
Draco broke out in a cold sweat. He licked his battered lips and took an involuntary step back.
"You swore," Iason reminded him hoarsely.
Draco's heart was pounding. He stared wretchedly at his nemesis. Then he closed his eyes. Again he felt the terrible heat of the man's body. Mink clasped his limp penis and slid the ring on. Even soft, his organ did not easily accommodate the thing. He was breathing hard when Mink had it nestled firmly against his groin.
Although he expected it, the pain took Draco by surprise. He went down, catching the scream between his teeth, hands clutching helplessly between his legs. Before he could catch his breath, he was borne backwards, the weight of Iason's body crushing him to the cold tiles. The other man's mouth came down on his, fierce and demanding. Strong hands locked around his wrists even as he tried instinctively to defend himself and pressed them to the floor.
The aftershocks of the ring's attack reverberated through him and, impossibly, he felt himself hardening. No! he thought, dimly, appalled. Don't respond! Yet even as he railed against his treacherous body, he felt his hips grinding up against Iason's, his tongue meeting Iason's and tangling in a desperate, intoxicating dance.
Iason lifted his head at last, but not far. His breath was warm on Draco's lips, drinking in the Templar's gasps. He grinned and Draco shivered. There was very little sanity in that gaze.
"Damn you," Draco whispered, but the words lacked conviction.
"We are both damned," snarled Iason and came back for more.
There was no resisting the relentless kiss, the savaging mouth, the tongue that thrust and darted and stroked. This was nothing like the gentle caress with which his pet had gifted him. It was a ruthless, violent, raging mark of ownership.
He was an Elite, thought Draco dimly! He should not be moaning his acceptance. He should not be arching his body under the dry thrusting of this most despised of men! When Iason drew away a second time, panting, Draco struggled to rise, reaching for him without realizing what he did. With a wild look, Iason struck him, knocking him back.
"You want it?" Iason's voice shook with mingled incredulity and lust.
No! thought Draco, even as he snarled like a beast and twisted out from under Iason. I don't want it! But he lunged at the other Elite, catching some of that long, golden hair. Iason's nails raked his chest and the ring sent howling mayhem through his nervous system.
When he came to his senses again, his cock was a column of heat. His wrists were bound together with something – a strip of his shirt – and Iason's hair spilled across his face, tendrils falling into his eyes and mouth as the other man sucked at the delicate skin of his throat. He tried to move his hands and discovered they'd been affixed to something over his head. The bed!
Draco gasped as that wicked mouth moved down. His struggles weakened. Mink's clothes were gone. The body pressed to his was bare and the heat of it was enough to sear his skin. A knee drove between his legs, opening them.
Again, he struggled to throw off the weight that crushed him to the floor. Iason struck him, twice, leaving him dazed and dizzy. He heard laughter, low, harsh, barely human. Then Iason's mouth fixed on his nipple. Strong teeth bit down hard. Draco tried to keep the cry back but failed, head arching back, shoulders lifting from the tiles. Almost at once, the sharp-edged pain was gone, replaced by a velvet tongue.
Stop! No more! Fight him!
His struggles were weakening. He was burning up. Even the sweat he could feel gathering on his body – was it his or Minks? – could not cool him. Mink was muttering, but Draco was past comprehending. His pulse roared in his ears and he heard a low, steady moaning that he knew, to his distant shame, was himself.
Now the other nipple fell under that torturous ecstasy. The last of Draco's resistance melted away and he lay still and trembling, Mink's to use however he wished. Iason's cock rubbed against his own. The overhead light splintered into a rainbow as tears brimmed and spilled over. He closed his eyes.
Mink moved away, panting. Cool air on Draco's wet nipples made them stiffen and ache. His legs were seized and pushed up, hips lifted from the floor. He knew what was coming, tried to brace himself for it. There was a moment's pressure and then....
The scream was ripped from him. He gripped the leg of the bed, feeling himself torn asunder. Then, amid the pain, a shock of pure pleasure. His entire body leapt at its command, eyes rolling back in his head. Mink moved inside him, and again that bright explosion hit him. Draco began to sob, his own body responding like some whore's in heat, pushing back, moving frantically to meet each thrust. His senses were filled with Mink, with the fury, need and the fierce, bitter ecstasy each of the man's violent penetrations tore from him.
Then Mink's hand clamped around his cock. What tenuous hold Draco had on reality blew apart. He screamed again, feeling the unbearable pressure of his gut explode. There was an answering cry, but it seemed to come echoing down to him from a great distance. Then a warm wave of darkness rolled over him and for a time, he was barely conscious, remotely aware of Iason's weight on him and, finally, of the other Blondie rising and moving away.
He lay still, reason trickling back. Fingers, warm and unsteady, fumbled at the cloth around his wrists. Draco tried to move and could not. Strong arms sat him up and held him. His head fell helplessly onto Iason's broad shoulder and he was, for the moment, content to leave it there. A hand brushed wet hair from his face in a gesture of startling tenderness. He hurt. More tears leaked down his cheeks and were gently brushed away.
"You did well," came Iason's voice, the man's mouth against his hair. Draco wanted to spit out an angry retort, but the only feeling that came was one of relief and distant pride. "You did very well," Iason said again, and Draco heard surprise and something else, something he could not identify. "I suppose I'll regret it, but I shall let you live after all."
"We can't wait any longer," said Raoul grimly. He looked over at the men who stood by the door, then at Katze. "Are you ready?"
Katze's heart was beating at twice its normal speed. His hands clutching the box of disks were clammy. "I'm carrying the end of the world," he thought, and heard himself say aloud, "Yes."
"Good. Let's go." Turning, Raoul left the office. Katze followed. Raoul's men flanked them, well-armed and wary. The Fortress was theirs, Raoul claimed, but no one was taking chances.
They came to a door, guarded, that opened onto steps leading down. Their footsteps were muffled, as if the sound was swallowed by the black stone walls. At the bottom, a corridor led straight to another door.
The room beyond held a large computer, an antique from the looks of it. Katze's heart sank, but as they came further into the room, he saw a newer machine attached to it by a messy tangle of cables. At a short nod from Raoul, he went straight to it and sat down, shoving in the first disk.
"How did Iason get this information?" asked Raoul, coming to stand at Katze's shoulder.
Katze's fingers faltered, then, calmly, he began entering the codes. "You'll have to ask him," he replied.
To his relief, Raoul didn't push it, but moved away, leaving him to type in peace.
A quarter hour later, he heard a commotion and turned around. Iason! With him was Riki. From the possessive circle of the Blondie's arms, the mongrel grinned at Katze and winked.
Behind the two, walking between several of Raoul's men was another Blondie. The man's face was bruised, his mouth cut and swollen. His hands were cuffed behind him and he walked with a limp. By his side, walking as close as was humanly possible was a slight, astonishingly pretty youth with strawberry red hair and tear-stained cheeks.
"Nice to see you, Riki," said Raoul, then looking past him, "And you must be Brand."
The Blondie gave Raoul a cool glance and said nothing. Katze looked anxiously at Iason and saw with relief that his eyes were clear and sane. His hand, descending briefly on Katze's shoulder, was steady.
"Any problems?"
"None. We just need the last commands," said Katze, unable to keep the tremor from his own voice. "Iason, are you sure about this?"
"Is the remote unit ready?"
Katze looked over at the jerry-rigged contraption. It looked vaguely like a crown and would be worn as such. It wasn't perfect, but for the moment, it was all they had to serve as a human-machine interface. He watched Raoul and Iason exchange glances.
"Well?" Iason said finally. "Will you do the honors?"
"What are you doing?" Brand asked hoarsely, staring at the cable, then at the remote controller.
"Taking over the world," purred Iason.
Horror filled the Templar's eyes. He took a step toward them, but at once several guns were in his face.
"Impossible!" he whispered, but from his expression, Katze could see that Brand had no such confidence.
"Not at all," replied Iason, and calmly proceeded to explain the situation to the increasingly pale Templar.
Brand was appalled. "And you will be supplying the controlling intelligence?" he asked in a faint voice. "You?"
"The idea offends you?"
"Hell, yes, it offends me!"
Iason smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that," he said. Turning to Katze, he asked, "Go ahead, input the final code."
"Iason, this is..."
"Katze!" Steel ran under Iason's velvet tones.
"Katze?" Raoul echoed, frowning. "Katze knows it?"
"Ironic, no?" smiled Iason. "All this time, the world has been resting in the hands of my brilliant, dangerous Furniture."
Katze took a deep breath, seeing the pride there. His chin lifted. He turned back to the terminal and with fingers that shook perceptibly, entered the codes he'd discovered so long ago.
The lights flickered. That was all. Just that tiny hiccup and the old world ended. Raoul said something under his breath and picked up the crown, setting it on his head. "I'm not going to do this forever," he warned Iason darkly.
"I know," said Iason with his sweetest smile. "Don't worry. I have a plan for that, too. Now cancel those Templar reinforcements and have some luxury transports sent out to bring us back to Tanagura. I'm damned sick of roughing it."