Silence
by Morgiana (language corrections by Shayne)
1
Iason was giving another proof of his divided attention, by talking on the cellphone, keeping an eye on the weather outside the window, signing papers offered to him by Katze and nervously glancing at the watch on his wrist. Half past eleven. Katze was familiar enough with the unofficial part of Riki and Iason's relations to know that the kid should have been back before ten o'clock. Well, given that the rain was pouring and the wind could be heard in spite of the soundproof windows, the reason for this delay was more than obvious. Iason seemed quite aware of that fact, he didn't look anxious, only a bit irritated maybe.
Jimje, a green-eyed furniture, poured coffee into their cups and went away, taking the empty pot with him. Katze's gaze unwittingly followed him.
"I won't keep you any longer. Go home." Iason's voice brought him back to reality. He crushed the cig in the ashtray and looked at his watch. Again.
"Maybe I should... go look for Riki?"
Iason smiled, allowing that slight curving of his lips that passed for the expression.
"Don't worry about him. He is doing perfectly fine. If I know him, he's sitting in one of his *acquaintances'* places."
"One of those you've forbidden him to meet?"
Iason gave him a 'do-I-look-like-an-idiot' look. Katze sighed and got up, collecting his stuff. Before he'd finished, the doorbell sounded. Surprised, he looked in the direction of the hall. Riki could get inside without ringing and it wasn't the best hour for a casual visit. Jimje rushed through the room and disappeared in the hall without a single word.
Jimje was a silent, obedient boy with no personality to speak of. Therefore when they heard his short, expressive, forcible and painful 'holy shit' from the hall, this could mean only one. Riki was back.
The youth stood in the door with a wide, childish smile. He was soaked through, as if he'd taken a shower fully dressed – and from his chest down it looked as though he'd indulged in a mud bath. Water dripped from his hair and clothes, and in his arms he was holding a little, furry... something.
"Gosh, it's nice to be noticed. I collected a bunch of fascinating remarks on my way up," he offered, looking at Jimje, "but yours was certainly the most interesting."
None of those present reckoned it needed a comment. Riki took a deep breath and continued, still addressing the furniture.
"There are two options," he said. "Either you bring me a nice pile of towels and my bathrobe, or I'm gonna walk through this flop, just like this, to get them myself."
Jimje glanced at the muddy puddle at the kid's feet.
He chose the first option.
"What's that?" Iason asked, pointing at the fur sticking out from between the mongrel's arms.
Riki shrugged.
"I couldn't just leave them, right?" he answered as if it was as clear as day. Katze decided it was about time to remove his person from this trouble spot. "Right, Katze?"
Right.
Riki bent down and put two little cats on the floor. Cats that were in no better condition than himself. Iason gave him a cold look.
"You don't think you are going to keep them, do you?"
"Nah, of course not!" Riki smiled at him ironically. He took a towel from Jimje. "I'm not so stupid as to think *you* would be able to feel any kind of compassion towards a pet."
Jimje smirked with his head bowed and really tried not to produce a sound. Unfortunately, he failed. Poor kid. Yeah, it was definitely time to evacuate, Katze thought.
"I'm going home," he announced.
Riki moved aside to let him through.
"By the way, redhead, wouldn't you like a kitten?"
Katze gave him a cold look.
"I'm allergic to pets."
Riki had a right to his hatred, he knew that all too well. He had a mile long list of reasons why he should hate. And Katze never tried to convince him that it was otherwise. There was honesty between them; Katze owed him, after everything that had happened.
Iason, meanwhile, had his own equally long list of equally important reasons why Riki should be grateful. All leftovers of hardly reached understanding between them broke apart when they both realized their lists were the same.
One day, a long time ago, Iason just took him away, without so much as a thought, without consent; cut him off from his world, his roots, his poor substitute for family and life. Cut him off from hunger intertwined with drunken joy, from rare, precious explosions of meaningless happiness and from freedom limited only by coldness of unheated flats.
Iason wasn't able to understand how anybody would want to go back there. Riki wasn't able to understand how anybody could want to stay here.
Katze didn't understand just why the hell he was the one to be an interpreter.
They fought. A silent, permanent war that was eating both of them up from inside-out. Both of them knew it was meaningless, neither of them could do anything about it.
Someone less possessive than Iason would compromise. Would give love and patiently wait for its return. Would clench his teeth and hold on a little longer, let Riki come back of his own volition. But the superior Mr. Blondie lacked such patience, wanted more, wanted everything. It's not that he was a bad person, it's not that he wasn't trying. The spoiled child in him, who'd always received everything he wanted, wasn't able to wait. As far as emotions were concerned, Iason was a cripple. Jupiter had created him a cripple, he'd been brought up to be a cripple. He was a kid tormenting his favourite puppy to death, not even seeing that. But this kid definitely loved the puppy.
Someone more subtle, more cooperative than Riki would have understood. Would have taken the love given him and tried to finesse some freedom instead of fighting for it senselessly. Burning himself out, knowing he wouldn't win this way, knowing every day he was closer to complete defeat. Closer to despair.
And Katze was a dumb witness to their mutual pain, exactly the furniture, something that gave silent support when life became really hard, something you could rest on. Nothing more.
"Katze..."
"No."
"But Katze..."
"NO."
"How do you know what I..."
"No, Riki."
The boy sighed. Red kittens looking, in Katze's personal opinion, like little washed-off tigers, were strolling along the table, their tails haughtily pointing the air above. Riki took one of them and leaned against Katze's chair.
"Cats suit you."
Katze recalled an ancient truth that said that patience was a virtue.
"Give him a break," murmured Iason, not lifting his eyes to them.
Riki bridled.
"You ordered me to get rid of them," he said with emphasis. "Well, I'm just *doing that*."
"You won't palm them off on me, Riki. I hate pets."
"Yeah? And why is that?" the mongrel asked, pressing his cheek to the creature's fur. The creature that was right now scratching his arm.
"Cause they are noisy, grumpy, ubiquitous, troublesome, overtalkative, vicious and quarrelsome. Call it an occupational disease."
"All right, I can take a hint," the kid sniffed and tilted his chin. "Boys, let's go to have our milk." He took the other cat and marched away.
He was spending a lot of time with Riki. After the kid's return, Iason decided to teach him, using simple practical examples, how lucky he was and how much he *wasn't* treated like a pet. He wanted to show other pets to the kid; and other masters. Therefore, Riki again started to visit The High Society, accompanying Iason during formal meetings and conferences. Long hours, nights sometimes, spent among other pets and servants whom – Iason knew – the youth hated with all his heart. The Blondie thought that was because they had never treated the mongrel as an equal, but Katze knew better. Riki saw human dirt in them and it scared him. Equally rotten and empty, they showed his future, showed what he would become if he gave up, if he forgot his rage for a single moment.
The effects of Iason's tactics were predictable.
The first complaints came in after three days. Furious owners of beaten pets, alarmed administrators of injured staff. Iason was even pleased, having drawn a conclusion that his precious little one was regaining his usual psychophysical condition.
Dragging the kid out of despair by showing him that his life could be much worse maybe wasn't the best method. But every attempt to explain this to Iason was a waste of time and words. The Blondie was completely rigid. And stubborn as a mule.
Fortunately, not as stupid.
Wanting to give Riki more freedom, tired of gossips and Raoul's grumbling, disappointed with own service's discretion, he handed Riki over to Katze's and only Katze's control.
Therefore, after nearly ten years, Katze returned to the role of babysitter and furniture.
Probably, if Iason had known how caring Katze's protection would be, he'd have thought twice.
"A deal?" Katze couldn't believe his ears.
Iason met his gaze in the rearview mirror.
"Yes, a deal. I'll let him keep the furballs if he behaves."
Katze had to smile at that. As a matter of fact, Iason might as well demand that Riki walk on his eyelashes.
"Should I find a good animal shelter?" he asked.
"Very funny, indeed," Iason sighed and looked out the window. "I may be crazy but I haven't descended to idiocy quite yet. I know he'll cease to consider this deal binding after a week or so. Therefore I find it crucial to make this week as effective as possible."
Oh I'm sure you will.
2
"Let's go, kid."
Riki didn't move. He was sitting on the window sill, his gaze fixed on the floor. He was shivering. Not a big surprise, as far as his current outfit was concerned. Katze took a blanket from the table.
"Move it, Riki." He wasn't in the mood to handle him with kid gloves. Riki heard him and no matter how cold and tired, was still able to move by himself.
Riki sighed, rising. He walked toward the redhead, who covered his shoulders with the blanket. Riki smiled.
"What?"
"Nothin'."
"C'mon." He wrapped his arm around him and dragged him to the elevator. Riki leaned against the wall.
"What now?" he asked.
"Well..." Katze congratulated himself his ability to speak without taking a cig out of his mouth. "They are going to sit there and talk about the company policy till four a.m., you are going to sleep and I'm going to smoke three packs of cigs and check which TV channels this centre offers."
There was a long moment of silence.
"Take me with you."
"What?" The cigarette almost fell on the floor. Vowels, like 'a', were very inconvenient.
"You have a room in the service wing, right?"
"Hm..." Murmuring consonants was much safer.
"Take me with you. I'm going nuts with all those little sissies."
"Riki," he sighed, "would you please try..."
Riki frowned.
"I *am* trying, Katze. I'm avoiding conflict situations. I swear, one more night with those little pet shits flaunting their opinion of me and the Eos Conference Center will have the first case of mass murder in its history."
"Second," Katze mumbled. Riki ignored it.
"He won't find out. Even if he does, he won't mind." The pet gave him a pleading look.
Ok. That was true. The older Katze got, the softer he became.
"Help me get it off."
Riki emerged from under the blanket, where he had disappeared with a cup of hot tea a long moment ago.
Katze sat down next to him and started undoing the fastening, holding together the few straps that formed Riki's present outfit.
Firm, smooth, steady touch. A few gentle, well-trained, practiced moves and Riki was free from his ridiculous garments. Naked, he retreated under the blanket.
"Ya know what I think...?" he started. "You'd be a good father."
Katze frowned.
"These are just old habits. Nothing more."
"No. I've been watching you for a while. When you take care of somebody, you really *care*. You have it inside of you."
Katze decided to leave that statement alone. For a moment he wondered whether to sleep in one bed with Riki or to find himself a comfortable place on the floor. Well, what the hell. He was castrated *in order to* make his contact with pets free from ambiguity. Theoretically of course, but still.
Riki propped his head on the elbow.
"Think he's goin' to let me keep 'em?"
"He promised," Katze pointed.
There was a long silence when Riki turned on his back and for a moment passively watched the ceiling. Katze sat next to him, leaning against the wall.
"Don't think I don't know how childish it is. It's just... I really like those cats. And it fucking amuses me to make trouble for him, from time to time."
"You make it all the time, Riki."
The boy sighed.
"The world would be just oh-so-perfect if he'd fallen in love with you."
"Why?" the dealer asked in a dry voice. Not ever showing your emotions, right, Katze?
"Cause you'd accept it. You would appreciate it."
Katze swallowed hard.
"Perhaps that's it. He likes challenges." He kept his face blank. He didn't know how he managed it.
"The hell he does."
Riki watched him for a long moment, something strange in his expression, something foreign. Something that made Katze think he'd already lost. He wasn't sure what, but he knew he'd lost.
Riki caught his hand, the strong grip reminding he wasn't a boy anymore. Katze had to lean, he had to lean forward if he didn't want to let Riki damage his joints. Their skin met, their lips joined. Katze's brain turned off.
Whoever thought Katze had anything like a castration-complex was definitely wrong. Well, maybe the surgery itself wasn't the best memory to cherish, and maybe if he'd been given a chance to choose his way of life on his own, he would have chosen differently. But he wasn't complaining. He was even, sometimes, quite pleased with his current condition. Tanagura was rotten to the roots. The business of bought-and-sold passion provided half of its income. Sex was occupation, entertainment, currency... oftentimes all at once. Laboratories, factories, big financial business, human lives. This fucked up world was ruled not by Jupiter but by testosterone. Desire drove men to unimaginable lengths; it ruled and demeaned them. And Katze felt somehow free from all that. Like a barkeeper who didn't drink.
He found some pleasure in sex, of course, like most boys castrated after puberty. He knew what desire was, more or less, or rather he was able to imagine how strong it could be if one had a normal hormone level. But he was in control of his body, not the other way around. He was in control.
More or less.
The first feeling that overwhelmed him was surprise. He was surprised. Surprised it was so easy. To touch Riki's body, to feel his skin. To steal his master's property, to share his obsession. To clasp his own fingers with Riki's.
He was surprised that Riki, accustomed to a strong and dominant body, could still be so gentle, so attentive, so tender. He was surprised it felt so good. He was surprised no regrets came, he was surprised that not for a single second did he feel like a traitor.
And he was beyond surprised Riki made him come.
Katze lifted himself on his arms and looked at the kid from above. Dark, dazed eyes stared blankly through him, without seeing him. He brushed the black, sticky strands from Riki's forehead. The mongrel blinked, looked at him and raised his arm. His fingers traced the scar on Katze's cheek. His lips opened as if he was looking for something to say, but no words came. He smiled minutely and turned his head away. Right. There was nothing to talk about.
"It's been a long time since I felt so... safe," he said at last, much to Katze's astonishment. The redhead burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?"
"Your view on the widely defined question of safety," he said, lying down on his side.
"Which means?"
"Which means," Katze murmured, allowing himself a sarcastic smile, "that when Iason finds out, he's gonna strangle you and crucify me."
Riki didn't seem upset.
"Right," he said wryly. "Very funny."
Katze didn't answer. He reached for his smokes and gave one to Riki. The youth leaned against his chest and after a long moment dozed off, the glowing fag threatening to fall on Katze's chest. After a few hours he came round abruptly from some restless, nervous dream. He glanced at Katze, a strange, surprised expression on his face. Lifting himself, he kissed the dealer's lower lip, catching it between his teeth. Then he lay down on his side and allowed Katze to embrace him. They stayed like that for the rest of the night; no words were spoken. There was nothing to talk about.
3
For some time – far too long – Iason had treated Riki not like a living human, but like some separate extension of his life. Phenomenon, brainstorm, obsession, flash of insight... that's what he'd been.
Three years had to pass before he became a man, one of difficult character and rebellious soul, a man with whom the Blondie had to agree to compromise. Iason was learning. And he was probably trying to build his relations with Riki on the same basis as with Katze. Gain control over him and leave him enough space to spread his wings. Learn to talk with him. Speak to him and listen to his answers. All the Blondie's beliefs had turned upside down – he had to learn to talk with his obsession as if it was a living person with own judgment, instead of some easily molded lump of clay. Sometimes changes were too difficult.
Iason, no matter how many rules he'd broken, had an ordered life, seized in tight constrictions. Raoul was his friend. Always. And nothing else. Riki was his lover. And nothing more. Every person he connected with had a defined role in his life. Transferring one role to someone else would destroy the fragile balance, would give one person too much influence on his life. Katze knew that; he knew, because he was the only one outside the scheme. His duties had never been specified, he was doing just what he was required at the moment. He could do anything, he could be trusted in every case, he could be told about everything, because he was under Iason's utter control. The Blondie was his master, his owner, his boss and his mentor. And he didn't love him. There was no way Katze could control him. That's why he trusted the furniture more than Raoul and Riki altogether.
It seemed that nothing had changed. Katze had always spent a lot of time in Iason's condo; he worked there when he had to use data so classified or so expensive that the head of the Syndicate couldn't afford arousing suspicions of transferring them to someone else. He spent hours there, sometimes he forgot to go home for the night. He smoked cigarettes, drank wine after dinner, gave practical tips to new furniture. And he talked with Iason, casual subjects, only distantly related to work.
It seemed that nothing had changed, only now Riki joined them. That should have been nothing unusual, but for some reason it happened right now, not during the previous three years.
Katze knew his master well enough to recognize a silent cry for help. Riki was on the edge and Iason wasn't able to help him. An analytical brain, programmed with mathematical precision, wasn't able to understand the irrational.
To comprehend ambivalence.
Riki was touching his body.
They were lying close together, holding each other, feeling each other's hair on their faces. And then, Riki was touching him. The way he shouldn't.
"Stop it." He didn't. "Stop it, you little shit, don't ever touch me there."
"I want to make you come."
Katze moved his head slightly to brush Riki's ear while speaking.
"I won't come today. Just not in the mood." His voice was calm, explaining. "Just leave it, ok? Be a good boy."
Riki snorted but then moved closer, his hands embraced Katze's torso.
"Gonna have to explain it to me someday."
"What?"
"The way it works. The way you work, ya know."
Katze had to laugh, but still said nothing.
"We have to stop this."
"I know."
Riki was anxious today, their lovemaking fast and overwhelming, rapt and tense. Dark eyes were two black holes.
"He loves you."
"I know."
That day, later, Riki said he felt safe with Katze. Cause Katze didn't want anything from him. Didn't ask, didn't push, didn't demand, didn't give orders. Silence between them was comfortable and meaningless, just as it should. With Iason it always meant something – his fear, his sulking. He could be silent in protest or because he was too ashamed to say anything. Too tired or too scared, or too angry. But here, with Katze, there was just nothing that needed saying.
Katze knew how he felt. They worked together, talked, but only sometimes – about rock concerts, cheap drugs and other entertainment from their pre-Iason lives. They were silent together, listening to computer murmurs, smoking cigarettes and waiting for what was to come. They argued quite often, but that also meant nothing. They made love without talking about it, without deciding where or when or how. It just happened, always in silence. It just happened, and every time was meant to be the last, though both of them knew it wouldn't.
Katze emerged from the water and opened his eyes. He glanced down at the body immersed in the tub, his own nakedness he disliked so much. A rubber ducky, bobbing gently with the water's motion, turned slightly and its plastic eyes stared blankly at him. Damn, he was sharing his bath with three yellow duckies. Riki had put them in the water before he managed to throw him out of the bathroom. Where the hell had the brat found them?
He closed his eyes again and propped his head on the cold frame of the tub.
A few days earlier Iason had decided to let Riki work. Freedom no pet had ever had. The kid knew it. And he *was* grateful. Not that he managed to show his gratitude in any proper way. But they were making progress. Iason wanted the kid to live, not only to be next to him. Wanted his life, his passions, his talents.
I leave it up to you, he had said.
Sometimes Katze thought Iason knew exactly what was going on between them, and let it happen as long as he found it useful.
The idea made him shiver.
"We need to talk. We *really* need to talk." He heard Riki's voice just above his head.
"About what?" he opened his eyes and looked at him.
"You. Us. Him. Sex. Anything. I'm tired of silence at home with Iason. Fucking talk to me."
"You want to talk about your own stupidity?" Katze frowned and sat up.
"*My* stupidity? You are the one who is going to be crucified, may I remind you."
"Oh, just because you are his sweet little obsession? Finally found some perks for your position?"
"At least I'm not a coward. If I had a choice, I wouldn't..."
"You had a choice, Riki, you had a lot of time to run away. You came back here on your own feet."
"Cause somebody I considered a friend set me up."
"I've never claimed to be your friend, Riki."
"Have you ever claimed to be *anybody's* friend?"
"No"
"Thought not."
He turned on his heel and left the bathroom. Katze cursed and got out of the tub.
He found Riki in his bedroom, the place where they'd made love a few hours ago. The air was still heavy with the scent of sweat and sex. He took a pack of the cigarettes from his nightstand, lit two of them and passed one to Riki.
"So what is all this about?" he asked.
"About us being lovers?"
"About you avoiding the real issue."
"About the two of us being slaves?"
"About the two of us being *his* slaves."
Riki puffed on the cig.
"Yeah," he sighed. "He's inimitable."
"Let him love you, Riki."
"Easy to say. I'm not you, you know, able to take a gash across the face and still do what you're told. I have my..."
"Dignity?"
"You said it."
"There's a slight difference between the lack of dignity and the lack of brain. He kept me alive. I didn't let him slash my face out of sheer masochism. Besides, you're being evasive again."
"Oh shit, yes, I'm evasive!" Riki snapped. "All the problems we have are inside of my head, so all I have to do is face them. Fuck. It's not that you *want* to sleep with me, we have sex cause I'm evasive. It's not that you have the most eager ass I've ever seen. It's fuckin' all because of me, right? And I can't get along with Iason because of my attitude, not because he fucking rapes me any fucking time he wishes, one and a half times per average day, three times a day on weekends."
"Hard words, Riki," Katze sighed. They were silent for a moment. Then the redhead went on. "I saw you sitting on his lap. I saw his hand on your cheek. You didn't seem abused."
To Katze's surprise, Riki laughed.
"You see... that's exactly the way you are, Katze. I've just insulted you, if you failed to notice. And what's the first thing you do? Advocate *him*. I'm beginning to think he is not the one with an obsession here."
"I don't love him." It sounded stupid, pathetic. As if a child denied having stolen a candy. "I don't love him," he repeated again, somehow against his will. "He spared my life. Gave me a new one... along with his trust. He put his trust in *me*, a mongrel, a furniture, trash. He treats me like a human. Treats me fair. The power I have, I owe him. I would give my life for him. But I don't love him, not the way you do. I'm not *in love* with him."
Brilliant. An explanation Katze believed himself. Why shouldn't Riki?
"You're lying again. And besides, what makes you think I love him?"
"You haven't killed him in his sleep yet."
"There are a lot of people I haven't killed yet."
"And how many of them are alive to say they raped you?"
Riki didn't answer.
"Gimme another cig," he said, throwing the butt on the floor.
4
Every day was more or less the same. He woke up, checked the email box, *then* went to the bathroom; answered the most important messages, *then* had breakfast. He checked his appointments and if there weren't any, he usually spent the whole day in the same shorts he slept in.
He preferred it this way, when nobody interfered with him; he could work in his own rhythm, alone with his own workaholism.
His work consisted mostly of observing, using opportunities, being in touch. The market was like a living creature, always in movement, constantly changing. And the most dramatic changes tended to occur during the four hours he allowed himself to sleep. You had to know dozens of unwritten rules, you had to *live* in it if you wanted to control it.
Well, he liked it. It gave him a feeling of... power? He liked the twitch in his stomach when some new case arose, requiring harmonized actions of several people, controlling hundreds of things, foreseeing dozens of difficulties. For a moment he felt unsure whether this time he would manage to overcome this chaos, and he loved the satisfaction when he did.
The biggest problem was on the lowest level – the slum kids who ran errands for him. One never knew when such a kid might decide to suddenly disappear, how long their current email or cell number would be valid. Most people in Ceres didn't have permanent addresses, they actually didn't even have real surnames. They looked for a job because they needed money, needed it badly and *now*, but all Katze could say was 'I'll call you when I'll have something for you'. And he called after five months, and no one answered.
He seriously considered leaving this case to Riki. The kid would be able to rebuild his contacts in Ceres, he was more sociable... well, not *very* sociable but still more than Katze. He could easily keep the 'part time workers' issue under control. Iason probably wouldn't like the idea, he'd rather cut his pet off from Ceres. But giving the boy any other task was in Katze's opinion too dangerous.
Half of Katze's serious associates were also Iason's associates, so they could have seen and remembered the kid. Moreover, it was obvious Riki was able to work only at Iason's command, so any blunder could have unimaginable consequences. If Riki was *seen* by some inappropriate person, it could possibly be enough to bring this house of cards down on top of them all.
Iason knew that giving him a job would be difficult. Next to impossible, actually.
He said he was leaving it to Katze's discretion, he didn't order him to do anything. He just asked for it.
And of course he knew that Katze would come up with something, no matter how many sleepless nights it cost him.
So convenient, so crafty... so typical of you, Iason.
Yeah, Katze, keep deluding yourself.
Here he is, slowly awakening from the slumber, his head on the Blondie's lap, sly smile on his lips as he scans the room. Two other pets glance scornfully at him and he repays them in kind – see, here I am, a mongrel, Iason Mink's favourite. You'd kill to be in my shoes, wouldn't you?
Yeah, he finds some perverse pleasure in that. He knows that his position is special. After all, what pet would dare to sleep during a meeting. He knows his value, showing it in his 'my master is better than yours' attitude. He wants to beat them at their own game, not that he has the nerve to do it constantly, but this method seems to work.
In the car he leans against Iason, still sleepy. He actually nestles up to him and then dozes off again. Had a busy night, pet?
He is beautiful.
Just imagine Katze, try to imagine you met in another life. Would there be something?
Wild charm, feline looks, intelligence, sense of humor. Would it...?
No, you are too different. Before all this started you weren't even able to maintain a basic friendship. It's all because of Iason.
What are you going to tell yourself, Katze? That you are doing this for their sake? For Riki's sake? To change Riki's attitude toward Iason? By sleeping with the kid?
The most stupid excuse to invent.
Then why...?
Just because he is beautiful?
Shit, Katze, you've been castrated, your libido shouldn't be stronger than the natural instinct of self-preservation.
Any other options?
He comes to you because he needs to take it out somehow, to get it out of his system. He says he needs your warmth. And adds he could do with being top once in a while.
Yes, and you do it for him just out of sheer altruism.
Pathetic.
You feel pity for the kid? Or you envy him?
Or is this your own sick way to be as close to Iason as possible?
Share his passion.
Let it burn you just like it's burning him.
Create some unity with him.
What, you find it romantic?
You always think about him feeling the same skin, tracing drops of the same sweat, hearing the same moans, tasting the same saliva.
You are a pervert, you know that, Katze?
Years in this business have made you mental.
"I must apologize to you, Katze," Iason started when the three of them entered the apartment. "I know it interfered with your work. I really hope it won't happen too often. I value you too much to let you be a driver."
"Yeah. And we're all gonna die of boredom without his scintillating conversation," Riki grumbled. Katze knew he was referring to the heavy silence in the car. Well, he hadn't felt like talking. And the kid was constantly dozing off after all. "'m goin' to bed. Night, redhead," he said and left the hall.
Katze sighed.
"He is doing better these days, isn't he?"
Iason looked at him but said nothing. He walked toward his office without another word, but Katze knew he was expected to follow. The Blondie took two discs from his desk.
"He is indeed," he said, handing the discs to Katze. The redhead took them, for a moment meeting the beautiful, blue eyes. It's been a long time since he found this gaze so unbearable.
Congrats, Katze. Wouldn't it be enough to have ONE undefined, ambivalent relationship in your life?
"We have to finish that."
"Ymmm, I know," Riki murmured, kissing his neck.
"We *have to*."
"Do you sometimes wonder?" Riki propped his head on his elbow.
"Wonder?"
"What he will do when he finds out."
Katze froze.
"I try not to."
"I think..." Riki started, nestling himself next to the redhead. "I think he would understand."
"Understand?"
"Yeah. He understands quite a lot. Ya know, complicated stuff. He just can't get some of the simplest things."
5
They sat together with the wine Iason had ordered to pour for them, daring more and more to push the conversation towards typical mongrel topics. And Iason was listening, probably trying to understand. Though in his case it could only mean trying to remember as many examples as possible, and then use them to create in his head a model of so-called-by-them 'real life'. Life without a leash.
"Riki," he started, putting the glass aside. "What do you mean by splash?"
Katze had just said he really didn't mind bringing Riki to his quarters after meetings, if it would 'appease the situation' (he felt kinda sick saying this), but one more splash in the middle of the night and he would kick Riki out to the hall.
Riki, sitting on the elbow-rest of Katze's armchair, stretched himself and explained.
"I just splashed him, ya know, jumped, or rather fell on him with my whole weight while he was sleeping."
"Another senseless method of displaying friendly feelings," Katze commented.
Iason looked at them for a moment.
"That had to hurt."
"Not so much," Katze smirked. "One can get used to it. Besides, after a roommate put in plaster from his waist to his neck did something like this to you, it's really..."
Riki burst out laughing. Iason managed not to spit his wine.
"What happened to him?" the boy asked.
"Nothing special. He was riding a bike and missed seeing a wall. It happens."
"Yeah." Riki mused. "It happened to *me* about three or four times already."
"Riki," Iason spoke in his superior tone. "No more bikes."
"Oh man," the pet frowned. Oh yeah, as if he was going to take this threat seriously. Or as if Iason allowed him to ride a bike in the first place. "They are perfectly safe means of transport. Aren't they, Katze?"
"Oh yes. Just look at this one," the dealer pointed at Riki. "He is almost twenty one, he had only four accidents and – oh my – he is still alive."
"You aren't hel-ping," Riki sing-songed.
"I didn't plan to."
"I don't like you," he announced and moved to Iason's armchair, sitting on its side. The Blondie encircled him with his arm and Riki allowed it, casually leaning against his chest.
"Besides, it's bullshit that bikes are dangerous. It's..."
"It's all because of the buildings that suddenly appear in your way."
"Now I'm gonna kill you," Riki stated and tried to get up but Iason's arm held him in the place. Katze smiled slightly.
Damn, but they looked beautiful together. Iason wrapped his arm around Riki, possessively, strongly, as if the mongrel would be able to run away from him even now. The kid seemed kinda bored, indifferent. He was short, even for a non-Blondie, but well built, not fragile. Perfect in his imperfection. Sullen face; black hair against the waterfall of gold. Skin dark, even for a mongrel, seemed even darker compared with the perfect marble of Iason's body. Absolute contrast. Wonder if either of them noticed that.
Katze excused himself and left the room. He needed to be alone for a while. He went to the bathroom.
It wasn't right to sit there talking like this, so casually, so friendly, two days after he'd been fucked by the Blondie's precious pet. Shit, Iason not only risked everything for the brat, he *really* tried to communicate with him. Not with astonishing success, but still. And Riki... Riki was still the same sullen Angry Young Man as always. Some more ability to cooperate and...
He'd told him that. Many times. But Riki didn't want to listen.
"Screwed me against my will, repeatedly, humiliated me, reduced me to an animal. Give him a chance? Why? Maybe you can lick the boots of someone who made you suffer. I can't." It hurt. It really hurt.
Sometimes Riki was able to make him feel like a worthless piece of shit. Not that Katze never thought of himself that way. He served somebody who'd mutilated him because technically it was the best option, because it gave him power and money and made him self-sufficient. He didn't want to feel hungry anymore. And he didn't want to check whether he would be able to run away from Iason. Whether he would be allowed to run.
"Let's talk seriously Riki, you don't really need those cats. Besides, you've broken..."
"I *did not* break the deal Iason, it was... a special case."
Katze left the bathroom and stopped in his tracks on the way back to Iason's study. The doors were open, he heard everything.
"Beating up a walking example of Raoul's mastery in genetics... yes, pet, really..."
"Not so much of a mastery, Iason, since his bruises won't heal up 'til the next show. Not my fault. Raoul should do somethin 'bout that, don't ya think?"
Iason sighed.
"And you really think I'm going to let you keep them?"
"Well then..." the mongrel cleared his throat. "Are they really such a nuisance for you?"
"Don't be a child, Riki, why do you think you need them?"
"Well I... feel kinda lonely here." He didn't really try to sound serious. Instead, he sounded overly dramatic. "Some company would do, you know."
"Am I not enough for you?" Iason's voice wasn't too serious either. It was an intellectual game between them, not a real fight.
"Well... you... you *are* trying, but lower life forms need... someone more matching... as far as intellectual level is concerned."
Iason laughed. Point for Riki.
"You have Jimje."
"I said: matching, Iason."
"Aren't you too cruel?"
"No. He has personality of green salad."
"There's nothing I can do about that, darling. Besides, he won't be spending much more time here."
"I know," said Riki shortly. "When you pick a new one, try for someone with more than a ten-word vocabulary."
"Riki, dearest, if Ceres was able to naturally produce more people like you and Katze, there would be no caste system."
There was a long moment of silence.
"You really mean that? About the two of us, that is."
"Yes."
And then Riki became Riki again.
"Then why the hell you don't let me decide for myself?"
"What does that have to do with anything, pet?"
"You've just admitted I'm intelligent enough to be a self-sufficient, effective member of the society."
"Yes. You would be."
"Then why...?"
"Because this world has its rules, my dear, and it's not up to you or me to change it."
"But..."
"You know the definition of intelligence, pet? It's the ability to adapt to an unfavorable environment. I assume you are capable of that."
Riki bridled.
"Katze managed to adapt. And so will you, sooner or later," Iason concluded.
"Whatever," Riki grumbled. "I could as well adapt to living in a bush, but wouldn't it be a waste of my sharp intellect?"
Iason laughed shortly. Katze took a deep breath and entered the room.
Next morning Katze woke up just in time to see what was coming, but far too late to prevent it.
"Riki, don-" he managed to exclaim before a well-built, nearly naked man launched himself from the floor to flop down directly on top of him. Having seen him, Katze instinctively curled his legs to protect his stomach, therefore Riki landed on the dealer's knees. Which made it more painful for both of them.
"Riki... how old are you?"
"Oww, shut up, where's your famous sense of humor?"
"Was there ever anything like that?" Katze forcefully pushed him aside. He knew that Iason was somewhere near. "Go to him," he said quietly. "Don't make things more difficult."
Riki flinched and rose, adjusting the towel wrapped around his waist. Katze thought the kid looked appealing, but dismissed the thought as soon as it appeared.
"You don't know what you're missing," the pet winked at him and went out of the room. Katze stayed still, passively staring at the ceiling.
Riki was apparently in quite a good mood, since he said 'Hi' to Iason while passing him in the corridor.
"Don't show off bare-assed, Riki," Iason reprimanded him. For some reason, Katze felt sudden wave of... almost panic.
"Cause what? Jealous about two eunuchs? Ya don't hafta worry, the ass is yours, you even have papers for that. Besides, who the fuck taught you such a nasty word? Shame on them." Riki was loud, as always, which allowed Katze to hear everything. It was more difficult to hear Iason, although the Blondie had never felt the need to behave discreetly in his own house either.
"Go and get dressed," he commanded.
"Would you please explain to me why the hell you show me off half-naked in public but you won't let me strip down at home?"
"Consider it a whim."
Oh yes, now Katze knew why he was feeling panicky. It wasn't usual for Iason to make Riki dress. He was much more keen on making him undress. Could it be...
"And as you've rightly noticed, this ass is mine. So is the rest."
"There are things which are not going to be yours, Iason," the boy spat and then there was the sound of his feet, as he walked toward his room.
Katze shut his eyes tightly.
Don't push it, Riki.
"For example?" Iason asked, but Riki didn't bother to answer.
His laughter, Katze though. His laughter while he makes love. Short, child-like, deep. The clear brightness of his look. His pleasure, unadulterated by abasement. All his untapped warmth; slow, lazy, awkward touch. Scream with no bitterness, completion with no pain, pleasure with no remorse.
Actually, everything that Iason had within his grasp, and never decided to reach for, belonged to Katze now.
6
"Katze."
He looked up from the screen.
"Yes?"
Iason sat on the sofa and lit a cigarette.
"Tell me something, honestly."
Katze moved slightly away from the terminal to have a better view of the Blondie.
"What's it like, to be a mongrel? How does it *feel*?"
For a moment Katze just couldn't comprehend the question.
"Of course, you have no comparison, neither of us have. But try to define it. And then explain it to me."
Katze took a deep breath.
"Define it?" he asked, stunned.
"Try."
"Shit, Iason..." he had to laugh. Maybe it wasn't the most proper method of addressing his master but well, who cared. He thought for a moment. "Being a mongrel here or in Ceres?"
"In general."
He thought about it. When he was a kid, everything that wasn't around him, all that 'better world' where people weren't hungry, could bathe in hot water and buy things, was like a kind of fairy tale. When he became aware of its existence, he was overwhelmed by a feeling of...
"Rage, helplessness, bitterness..." he started. "Hell, Iason, go for a walk through Midas. Imagine that you can see contempt in every face you meet. And that every person you pass can kill you on a whim, without consequences. Multiply it by the whole human life. That should give you the idea."
"Then how do you manage?"
"It's not unbearable. It just makes you think that the world is totally, absolutely unfair. But I think it's better than being Midas lower-class. Not physically, but somehow I think, when your psychical comfort is concerned..."
"Why?"
"A mongrel is a mongrel, has nothing and nothing to loose. And is aware of being outside the system. He can fuck the system. But if you are a citizen – the system is something that keeps you alive, you cannot stand against it. They are aware that technically they are no different from the mongrels and they are paralyzed with fear that only these totalitarian rules keep them out of the gutter. They are aware that if they try to rebel..."
"I wouldn't say you are quite the same, Katze. Genetic engineering..."
"Makes a difference worth considering only where the Elite are concerned. Ordinary people... Maybe they are a bit healthier, they can remove ill embryos or something, but does it really matter? Nature does it itself, only a bit slower. Mankind did without genetic manipulation for thousands of years. The people who created Jupiter weren't engineered. Technically – mongrels."
Iason laughed, apparently amused by the idea. And then Katze heard himself saying:
"If you assume that the creature can't be more perfect than the creator..."
"Intriguing, indeed. I'd never thought about it."
"It just occurred to me, actually." Katze, you are talking to Jupiter's son, in case you didn't notice. You've just suggested...
"It's hard to surpass nature, don't you think?" the Blondie started. "A tool can be more perfect than a human hand in *one* particular area, but you can't create a tool *more* sufficient than a hand."
"What do you mean?"
"You can't create something more perfect than you. But you can create more and more perfect tools."
Katze was silent for a moment, trying to understand what Iason had in mind. Then the Blondie got up.
"I'm going for a walk," he said.
Every time Riki entered the room, Iason smiled slightly.
It wasn't something a person would notice. Perhaps even Riki didn't notice. But Katze had been observing this face for a dozen years.
It was almost sweet, to watch this perfect human machine, discovering emotions inside of himself, to find him surprised no less than anybody else. But it made his ruthlessness, his cruel firmness even more terrifying. When he wanted something, it was to be his without question. Humans were pawns on his chessboard. He decided. Others acted upon that decision. He was God in this city. Being the executor of his orders was sometimes overpowering.
Maybe that's why he was created emotionless. The perfect tool. Tool for running the city. An ordinary human being, guided by fear and concern, wouldn't manage.
He was created to be cruel. Not monstrous, but pitiless.
Pitiless.
The scar on Katze's check tingled. Oh yes, he could say something about Iason's methods of punishment and reward.
He should know better than to betray Iason's trust. *Now* he should know better.
What are you going to do when you find out, Iason?
The idea of Riki and Katze sleeping together seemed so ridiculous even to Katze himself, that he just wasn't able to predict any rational reaction from that analytical brain when presented with such news. No. He wasn't going to be rational. He was going to let his newly discovered emotions guide him. New, uncurbed, uncontrolled, overwhelming.
Hell, they really *should* be scared.
Somehow, they weren't. Maybe it was just a defense mechanism of their worn-out subconscious minds.
Silence was deep, almost audible, disturbed only by the fingers working on the keyboard.
Katze stirred when somebody's bare feet walked quickly through the room and then a hand hit him in the shoulder.
"Gotcha."
"Shit, Riki, you'll give me a heart attack someday," he hissed. He didn't turn back to look at the kid. "What are you doing here?"
Riki laughed.
"Everybody asks him the same question, ya know. He probably thinks he doesn't have to explain his decisions to anyone."
Katze sighed. His brain, plunged into the workaholic trance, finally acknowledged the fact that he wasn't at work anymore. It was Iason's place. More than obvious that Riki was here. He almost...
"Wake up, will you?" Riki sat on the table, actually, on the keyboard. There were three free chairs in the room, Katze noticed. "Want some coffee? It's three o'clock in the morning, in case you failed to notice. Perfect time for your fifth cup of caffeine today, or whichever it would be."
"Sixth."
"Whatever," the boy smirked. "Come to the kitchen. After midnight, it's my time to be willfully independent."
Oh yeah. As if he wasn't willfully independent during the day.
"Why 'after midnight'?"
Another smirk.
"Koi's sleeping. I'm gonna eat all ice-cream again."
Typical.
Koi, Iason's new furniture. The red-haired, green-eyed boy who had been here for about a week now.
"You two get along somehow?"
Riki shrugged.
"He considers me an idiot."
"Oh. Wonder why," Katze said wryly and Riki hit him automatically.
"Geez," he rolled his eyes, massaging his sore arm. "Sometimes I also wonder what the fuck Iason sees in you."
Riki smiled.
"I'm still trying to figure it out. C'mon. I'll make the coffee."
The way Riki moved around the kitchen was proof of years of experience in independent self-expression, and not only when nobody else was around. He poured the coffee into two cups and sat on the kitchen table (there was four chairs around it, Katze noticed).
"Man, this is what I call life," he laughed. "Coffee with you at three a.m. in the most luxurious kitchen in Eos. My secret dreams have come true."
"Don't drink too much. You won't be able to sleep."
"Don't worry about me. Besides, I can fall asleep at will. It's the only way to avoid his hard-on. *Sometimes* he doesn't wake me up."
Katze looked at him with a tiny smile.
"You hate this *that* much?"
Riki smirked.
"No," he admitted.
Katze nodded.
"It's strange," the boy started. "Sometimes I think... Man, that guy made me lick his boots in front of my friends. But somehow when I look at him... He is such a big baby sometimes. I look at him when he sleeps and can't help smiling."
Katze said nothing.
"What kind of master he was? For you, I mean?" Riki asked.
Damn, the two of them started to annoy him with their 'brilliant' questions. He shook his head.
"Maybe there can be many *kinds of masters* for pets, but not for furniture. They may treat pets in many different ways, but for furniture there's only one way – not noticing. He just didn't see me. I was fucking honored when he finally noticed."
Now it was Riki's turn for an acknowledging nod.
But he was always fair, Katze thought. Whatever happened, Katze could never say that Iason was dishonest with him. He was always honest. Even when he left Katze in a puddle of his own blood.
The redhead got up and stood right before Riki, putting his hands on the boy's sides. The kid looked at him, surprised.
"End of it," he announced. Riki was looking at him with a tiny smirk on his face, as if trying to remind him that he had already announced it quite a few times. "He doesn't deserve this. And we don't deserve what he's going to do to us."
"Right," Riki hissed, and then he smiled, catching Katze's pullover and pulling him closer. "End of it. Someday. For sure."
There was bitter irony in his voice. It wasn't meant to be funny. He was exactly as scared as Katze. Not of Iason, but of himself.
The dealer felt the soft lips on his own, warm breath and the gentle hand on his cheek. He lost himself in this warmth, warmth he hadn't found anywhere else in his whole life, only here, only with this kid who was as scared, and tired, and lonely as himself. And for a moment it gave him an illusion of safety and he was too weak to resist it.
Vicious circle.
He doesn't deserve this. We neither.
For a brief moment he was sure he saw something. Blue irises reflected in the kitchen window. The frozen gaze of ice-cold eyes. Eyes that weren't created to be warm.
And then he didn't see anything but the darkly radiant boy so close to him.
The End