Wasteland
by Becca Abbott
Part 6
Juno. Katze stubbed out his cigarette and lit another. Smoke curled up from his fingers as he stared at the disk.
The name had come up in his investigation twice, once in the records of Selig Horn, again in the datebook of Brandt. As soon as he'd seen it, something had ticked off in his memory.
Once upon a time, he had been Furniture for Iason Mink, that most beautiful and enigmatic of the Elite. And as the possession of Tanagura's most powerful Blondie, he had gone digging into the city's hidden places. He should have been dead, armed as he was with those deadly secrets, but Iason had chosen to let him live.
It had been almost ten years since he had recorded the files that now sat on the desk beside his keyboard. Even Iason might not have mercy had he known what Katze stored there. Taking a deep breath, the redhead activated his guardian program, then inserted the disk.
It took a while to sort through the files. He'd never really organized them, having been in a hurry when he'd made the disk. There! He called it up. The Olympus file. Quickly he read through the directory and selected the image he wanted. At once a picture of thirteen people appeared, men and women, all in white coats and smiling cheerfully at the photographer. It was an old photograph, very old, and the only one of its kind he'd ever been able to find. Katze zeroed in on a woman whose image seemed to leap out of the picture. She was dark haired, features pleasingly regular and wore a serene smile. Arianne Bradford-Juno, the leader of the Olympus Project – the head of Jupiter's original programming team.
"Let's go out somewhere."
Iason looked up from his computer. Riki stood in front of the windows, his back to Iason, hands thrust into his pocket.
"Where?"
"Someplace that isn't here."
Iason looked outside. It was late afternoon, clear and hot. He considered his pet. Riki was growing restless and bored. Iason had been seeing the signs and knew all too well what could result from that dangerous combination. "All right."
Riki's eyes lit up.
Iason called the car. They made love in the back seat behind the tinted windows as it raced north out of the city. Tanagura and its suburbs were built right up to the water in most places, but if you went far enough, you could leave the city behind for a while before a new city began. Iason had the driver park off the road at a place where low, broken cliffs rose sharply above wild surf. On the opposite side of the road, the land continued to rise steeply. There, atop the promontory, out of sight, was the school where he'd spent his early childhood. Iason knew this land like his own hand.
You could see for miles out to sea from here. On a bright, clear day, the tiny islands of Lucutia were just visible as gold dots on the horizon. Today a storm was gathering out on the water, still too far to see. Riki, hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, stood with his face turned into the brisk wind, his dark hair flying.
"Come." Holding out his hand, Iason waited.
With an odd little smile, Riki took it and let himself be led down the steep embankment, finding the old path. "You've been here before," he accused.
"I grew up here," Iason replied, letting him go. "Watch your step."
They scrambled over wet rocks, slipping and sliding. The wind threw spray into their faces. Riki laughed aloud. Iason remembered himself, a small, solemn, solitary boy who had come up and down this way many times. "Over there!" he called, raising his voice against the rising wind and the crash of the surf.
Riki turned and saw the broad shelf of rock. He nodded and headed for it. As they reached it, the first of the geysers shot into the air. The mongrel stopped, his mouth falling open. Iason's smile widened at the look of surprise and awe.
One by one, the pillars of water shot skyward, forty-three in all. They were a phenomenon born of rock formation, of subterranean underground rivers and ocean current. As far as Iason knew, the display could only be seen from a small part of the shore and the air. The tallest of the geysers was almost eighty feet high, the smallest little more than three. They spread out across the water, filling the air with a fine mist that, in the fading sunlight, turned to diamonds.
"Wow," said Riki, stunned. "It's beautiful!"
"Yes," agreed Iason, drinking in the mongrel's lean, spare body, the handsome profile.
Riki turned to him and, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, came into his arms. Iason's heart turned over. He pulled the mongrel close and they stood together, watching the water dance and sparkle.
It was some sixth sense perhaps that made Iason straighten and turn, made him look across the rocks along the way they had come. He saw a man standing up straight, rifle to his shoulder and aimed straight at them. Without hesitating, Iason swept a bemused Riki behind him, but as he did, he caught a flash of metal from the rocks above, then another further to the east. Men armed with laser rifles held them unwaveringly on the Blondie and Pet.
"Shit," the mongrel said in the low voice. "Friends of yours?"
Iason counted almost a dozen men. He looked at the only way out – the turbulent ocean almost fifty feet below. He might survive it; Riki wouldn't. If they were swept out to sea there was no guarantee both he and Riki would be recovered. Without a word, he raised his hands.
Guy lay on his side and watched the sunlight creep across the wall of his room. His shoulders and arms ached from having his wrists shackled at his back all day. Raoul had put a leather collar on him and attached it by a short chain to the headboard. Guy was miserably uncomfortable and had to piss in the worst way. Lord only knew when his fucking master would get home.
What in the hell had possessed him to go after Raoul in the bath? Had he really thought he could take the Blondie? Even naked and at such a clear disadvantage, Raoul's strength and agility had been more than equal to the task of self defense. The rape that had followed had been hurtful and shaming, but so far, it had been the only real consequence of his stupidity. Guy did not believe for a second that would be the end of it. A knot of dread had taken up residence in his gut.
Outside the bedroom, he heard the soft tread of footsteps. Guy tensed, heart speeding, and rolled over. Raoul appeared in the doorway. The Blondie was plainly dressed in a dark suit and tie, hair pulled back and fastened at the nape of his neck with an ebony clasp. Their eyes met. Then Raoul came into the room. Bending over the bed, he pushed Guy onto his back and ran his hand over the mongrel's bruised flesh. His fingers lingered on Guy's pierced nipples, then traveled down to his sex. Guy pressed his lips together on the gasp. Except for the faint bruise on Raoul's face, you might never have known the Blondie had been in a fight for his life.
Then Raoul was rolling him back onto his side and unfastening his manacles and the chain from the collar. "Go," said the Blondie. "Take care of your needs and then join me in the other room."
He would be a fool to defy Raoul and risk more misery. Guy did as he was told, lingering before the mirror, putting off what he knew was coming. The reflection looking back at him seemed to be of a different man than he remembered, thinner, with haunted, shadowed eyes.
Why the hell did he keep fighting? If he wanted an example of the futility of resistance, he needed only to consider Riki, as much Iason's slave now as he ever was. Hell. Death was no escape! If Raoul lost patience with him, Guy would end up back in the brothel. For an instant, he had a horrific vision of dying in such a place, of being resurrected to die again and again.
Afraid to test Raoul's patience any further, Guy left the bath. The great room was empty, but Guy could hear Raoul moving around somewhere else in the condo. The mongrel went straight to the bar.
Raoul appeared a few minutes later wearing a robe of dark green silk. It turned his eyes a deeper blue, the supple fabric clinging to his body in ways that made Guy's hands shake as he poured the wine into the glass.
Raoul sat on the couch and waited for Guy to bring it to him. Brilliant eyes rested on Guy's face, thoughtful, distant. He motioned to the mongrel to kneel at his feet. Guy's heart took up its frightened hammering. Now, surely, it was time to pay the price for yesterday.
"Take off the collar," Raoul said.
Guy stared. A golden eyebrow drifted up. Fingers trembling, Guy did as he was told.
"Touch your nipples," said Raoul softly. "Play with them for me."
Something was different. Guy, mouth dry, fought the urge to search that handsome face. He plucked at the rings, trying to wet his lips, and shivered. Raoul's gaze scorched his skin. Rubbing the pierced and swollen nubs, Guy felt the now-familiar stirring in his groin, the pressure that made him shift uncomfortably. His breath grew ragged.
Then, "Stop. I'll do it."
Those long, fine hands pulled him forward. The golden head bowed. Raoul drew a ring into his mouth, teased it with his tongue. Guy made a strangled sound. Each nipple was sucked and bitten until he whimpered, sweat springing out on his skin. The Blondie's other hand crept between Guy's legs.
"Oh, god..." moaned Guy as those strong fingers kneaded his exquisitely sensitive sex. They slid between his balls, caressing them, pulling them forward.
"Kiss me," commanded Raoul.
Guy lifted his head. Raoul caught Guy's lower lip in his teeth and bit gently.
Raoul had kissed him before – declarations of ownership that were savage and violent and left Guy with a bruised mouth and bitter humiliation. This was different. For one wrenching moment, Guy remembered Riki. Gentle, almost tender, Raoul's tongue slipped deep, tangling with his, possessive, insistent but without... the anger. And his hands! Raoul's fingers stroked and massaged until Guy could no longer hold back his moans. He was barely aware when Raoul took hold of his arms and pulled him around and onto the couch. Kneeling on the cushions, bent over the back, Guy waited, heart pounding.
It hurt when Raoul inserted a slick finger, but only for a second. Head hanging over the back of the couch, Guy could only take breath after shaking breath when Raoul slipped in another and found that place inside that reduced Guy to helpless whimpers.
Oh, god! Clinging desperately to the couch, Guy tried to deal with the firestorm of desire, fear and confusion inside him. Relentless, Raoul stroked and teased at all his private, sensitive places, eliciting shudders at the mounting sensations.
"Why – w-why are you doing this?" Guy whispered, part of him still not believing, part of him still expecting the pain to begin at any second. "I thought..."
"Tell me what you want, Guy," he heard through the roaring in his ears. "What will please you?"
In the confusion of his soul, there was anger, but it was remote. He could not reach it. "You," he replied hoarsely even while his heart cracked straight across.
The hands were gone. He knelt, shaking, breathing hard, the fear edging in. Was that the wrong thing to say? He started to straighten, only to have Raoul gently but inexorably press him back. Something silky soft and big prodded at his asshole. Pleas trembled on his lips, but they weren't pleas to leave him be nor cries of protest. Dimly, dizzily, he wanted — wanted...
Raoul took him slowly, letting him experience each heavy, slippery inch. Guy cried out, back arching, feeling himself stretching, dimly expecting the sharp, tearing pain. It didn't come. Unhurried, Raoul went deep and held. His hands circled Guy's waist, sliding down his belly to wrap around the mongrel's needy sex. One slim, strong thumb stroked over the head and pressed deep into the leaking slit. For long, agonizing seconds, Guy was held utterly still. Then, with the same lack of haste, the Blondie began a slow, deliberate pumping.
Gooseflesh lifted the fine hairs on Guy's body. It felt so good! Wave after wave of pleasure rolled up from his groin. The slow, steady thrusting inside him, the unrelenting grip on his erection, both were unraveling his wits. He heard low, panting sobs and knew it was himself making those sounds. As if spurred on by them, Raoul moved faster and harder, pounding into Guy, the movements of his hand keeping pace.
"Oh, god! Oh, g—AH!" Orgasm took Guy, white light exploding behind his eyes, the wash of pleasure so deep and intense that he was aware of nothing else. There was an answering, guttural growl from the Blondie, one final savage thrust and Raoul fell forward, pinning Guy against the back of the couch. They remained that way for some time, bodies pressed together, feeling each other's pulse slow and breathing ease.
Guy made a small sound when Raoul pulled out of him. The Blondie collapsed back into the cushions, pulling Guy with him, and held him tightly for a several long minutes. Guy, as bewildered by this as the rest, lay with his cheek against Raoul's broad shoulder.
"That was very good," said Raoul, releasing him finally and sitting up.
Guy moved over, pushing long hair out of his eyes. In spite of himself, he felt a warm rush of gratification at the praise, but he shrugged and pretended not to care. From the gleam in the Blondie's eye, he had the uncomfortable impression that Raoul saw right through him. Raoul pushed away from the cushions and stood up. He looked down at Guy who had reluctantly plucked up the collar.
"Leave it," Raoul said unexpectedly. He might have said more, but the doorbell chimed. "Who is it?"
"Katze."
From Raoul's expression, the visit was unexpected. Drawing the edges of his robe together, he called to the Iason's former Furniture to come in.
Guy tried to slip away, but Raoul caught his arm and held him as the redhaired man approached. Gentle but insistent pressure pushed Guy back to his knees at Raoul's feet. The young mongrel felt his face heat as Katze's eyes slid over him, amusement lurking in their depths.
"Where's Iason?" Katze asked.
Raoul shook his head. "Home?"
"No. He and Riki are out somewhere and haven't returned."
"Maybe a love tryst," Raoul purred, regarding Guy limpidly.
Guy fought to keep his face still, looking down, anger back again and simmering.
Katze said. "I have some information I'd prefer not to leave in his message box. Can I rely on you to see that he gets it?"
"Of course." Raoul leaned forward. The robe slipped off one shoulder. Absently, he pulled it back into place.
"I have a name. Juno. It showed up in the both Selig and Brandt's records and it has a rather interesting significance that may or may not be relevant. Tell him to call me as soon as he gets back."