Ok, so no deep dark angst here. Of course, there is a bit of emotional mess. But the healing, necessary kind. Not the perverted twisted one from last chapter.
Pretty realistic if purposely vague descriptions of rape wounds and aftercare. Possibly triggering? Many many years as a nurse have completely screwed up my ick-factor. So I tried not to be too gross but I am pretty immune to things like blood and bodily fluids. So, meh, I don't think it's too bad?
AFTERMATH.
Katze was not expecting a short text-com from Cal the next morning.
A sleepless night spent hacking into Guardian's servers had almost worked to calm the gangster.
In three simple words, Cal's cryptic message had Katze tied right back up in stressful knots.
Riki needs you.
Shit.
...
Furniture didn't answer at Katze's knock and he let himself in with a deep sense of anxious wrong.
Iason was gone, that much was clear immediately. His apartment always felt empty and somehow echo-ey without his presence. Katze's gut recognized the feeling from his years as Furniture.
Sighing in relief, he headed to Iason's room.
Fearfully, the Head of Ceres Black Market cracked the plain white door.
Fuck.
Katze rocked back on his heels, a jumble of emotions crashing through him; digging his fingernails into the door frame, he waited for calm to return.
Riki was a dismal sight, curled motionless in the messed-up bed. Cal sat lightly by his side, running patient fingers through his matted hair. The image brought a flash of sensory memory; Katze could almost feel the familiar rythm of the regular carding soothing him to sleep.
So... It had been Cal who had remained at Katze's side during the long bout of weeping after his first night with Riki and Iason!
The Furniture met Katze's worried gaze, infinite sadness in his youthful eyes.
"I will need to call Master Raoul." He spoke softly, apologetic. "But Riki keeps crying out for you and I think a few minutes more won't matter and anyway Iason is... "
Cal's mouth snapped shut on further justification of why he wasn't doing his duty, realizing the irony of defending defiance to the ex-Furniture.
Katze swallowed hard, anger and sadness and hurt and guilt choking him as Riki moaned his name, just as Cal had said.
Then he swallowed again, just to be able to push words out. "I'm here."
Katze's voice sounded rougher than he would have liked, but the effort required to force his usual smooth politeness was not worth it. It was safe to reveal how upset he was, with only Riki and Cal as witnesses.
Making his way to the bed, Katze crouched. "I'm here, Riki. I'm here. Ssshhhh. "
Katze had to press his teeth together hard, to hold back the automatic rush of empty reassurance that wanted to escape. It was not okay, Riki was not okay, and Katze saying it was would only be stupid mockery.
Instead, he traced a light hand down Riki's hot cheek. Riki's eyes flicked open, red-rimmed and weary. His lips twisted into a pale imitation of a smile; the bottom one was split and swollen three times it's normal size.
Katze couldn't help feeling the tight flesh with a fingertip, smearing shiny saliva.
Fuck.
"He hit you in the face." Katze whispered in shock.
He couldn't imagine Iason doing a thing like that; brutal unecessary violence meant the Android was completely unstable. Getting overwhelmed by carnal passion was one thing, but smacking the one you love in the face... Katze would need to notify Jupiter. Without proper access, he would need go to Raoul Am first.
While his mind made plans, Katze absently continued to touch Riki's face. The Pet watched him through slanted eyes. His sudden laughter was a barking, broken sound.
"No. Iason didn't punch me. I bit through my lip. More than once." His expression shuttered and Katze wanted to weep when Riki stared at the wall, admitting " I screamed anyway."
"Hey, stop that." Riki's hand weakly pushed Katze's gentle fingers from his face. "I'm all gross and full of dried snot or whatever."
His eyes closed, exhausted by the brief burst of affirmation. Katze's gaze caught Cal's over Riki's shoulder and his fists clenched with suppressed anger.
Fuck Iason for doing this to him.
Katze ferociously wanted to hate the Blondie, to pretend he was a monster and his actions were incomprehensible. The dealer fucking couldn't though, damn it. It was all so fucking messed up. Katze should have known. If he hadn't been so self-centered, Katze would have fucking known. Katze had seen how Iason was overpowered, maintaining control only because he was in public.
He should have found a way to stop the train-wreck, FUCK.
The knowledge that yesterday, Katze had unwillingly enjoyed Riki being tortured in his arms tore deep, adding a layer of guilt that ripped Katze apart from the inside.
"Bath." Riki pleaded softly.
Katze took a few shaky deep breaths, working hard to push the agitation aside. It fucking hurt to do so, and he would pay for it later, but Katze was determined to focus on Riki for now.
"Bath." Riki repeated.
Cal toyed with the hem his Furniture tunic, worried.
"He is badly torn up. He'll need stitches for sure. I don't think a bath is a good idea for his wounds, and the risk of infection..."
Riki raised his head to look at Katze, frantic eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Please." His voice caught and he sank back into the pillows. "Bath."
Katze ached to see Riki defeated, and he understood his need to feel cleansed yet he also knew Cal spoke medical logic. Fuck. They were all fucked; Riki was fucked, Katze was so fucked, everything was just plain fucked. Damn Iason.
A bright flash of illumination made Katze jolt.
"Shower." He announced. "We'll take a shower."
At Cal's dubious frown he added. "I know he can't stand, I'll go in with him. So Riki gets clean but his wound are not soaking in soiled water."
It was a plan, and plans were good. Katze was a man of action.
Cal looked immensely relieved and hurried to the washroom. He ran right back out.
"Wait." The Furniture said breathlessly. " I'll get the bench from the pantry, in case he needs to sit in the shower."
Katze dumped his coat in a heap on the floor. Riki's hands clenched on the sheet when his friend went to remove it.
They shared a moment, each man steeling himself.
Katze grunted at the vision anyway.
It was bad. Really bad. Katze had known what to expect, but it affected him anyway. Riki's body was fucking covered with bruises and a long scratch ran from chest to groin. His inner thighs were dark with flaking dried blood and other digusting residue. Riki flinched, dark shame at having let himself be abused like a hot knife in his belly.
Argh.
Overwhelmed, Katze flipped around and sank his fist into the wall. The cracking plaster was hardly satisfying, but the bloom of pain in his knuckles felt good, clearing his head.
Wordlessly, he turned back around and, as carefully as he could, carried Riki to the washroom. The crack in Katze's heart dug deeper with each whimper and involuntary cry the jostling pulled from Riki.
Depositing Riki on the toilet as gently as he could, Katze turned his back on the Pet. Katze didn't dare leave him alone, but he could sense that Riki needed a moment. Shit, he needed a moment.
Katze tugged his shirt off with jerky movements, forced to stop for a minute when it got too much.
Fuuuuuck, the helplessness was killing him.
Katze pressed his forehead into his arm, braced against the wall. He swallowed, swallowed, swallowed; until the grief and hatred receded enough for him to finish getting undressed. Katze's throat felt torn to shreds with the piled up sobs he'd contained, and his nose ran, fuck. Sniffing hard, he gathered his composure.
Meanwhile, Riki swiped angrily at the hot fall of tears that had started again. He hated being vulnerable, he hated feeling weak and needy and so fucking insecure. He hated himself for forcing Katze to accompany him, even though the red-head wasn't complaining. His presence calmed and reassured Riki in a way he couldn't explain, in a way Cal couldn't.
Riki trusted Katze. Even when he couldn't trust Iason, when he couldn't trust himself, Katze knew what needed to be done and he would see it through.
Cal knocked and entered with the plastic seat in his hands. His eyes were red and his lashes clumped together, but was he was as annoyingly deferent as usual.
Riki got quite dizzy after the first few minutes in the shower, even with Katze holding him up. He blindly sank onto the bench, nauseated and light-headed.
Something was wrong with his ears; it seemed the worried voices of Cal and Katze were coming from far far away, tinny and incomprehensible. All of his limbs were heavy and Riki really hoped he didn't puke. Sweat broke out all over his ravaged body and Katze's hand was on the back of his neck, pushing his head hard between his legs.
The ice cold water that splattered on him was a shock, but it made the dark spots go away from the edges of his vision. Sound returned and Riki started to shake hard, feeling like all his muscles had turned to jelly.
But he wasn't going to pass out anymore, at least he didn't think so. The lancing pain in his right side hurt much worse in the bent-over position and Riki tried to sit up.
"No." Katze sounded concerned. "Stay down a bit, to make sure you don't faint."
Riki tried, a few seconds more, but the discomfort rose to fiery agony and he gasped, every breath a torture.
"Please!" Riki worked to sit up again, wheezing. "Hurts."
He pressed his hand hard to his side, where something inside was catching with every inhale.
Katze helped Riki sit up, strong hands on his shoulders stabilizing him until the flare of pain diminished to a tolerable buzz.
"I think I have a cracked rib." Riki explained. Or two or three, he added mentally.
Katze's normally expressionless features twisted in sympathy while he fumbled with the temperature taps.
"Sucks." The dealer said. "Had a few of those myself."
Riki's tense shoulders slumped when the freezing shower turned warm and comforting. Katze's comment made him feel better. Normal.
Riki realized he'd been bashed up much worse after picking fights in the slum. Yet broken bones caused by his smart mouth had never left him in shambles the way his Pet bruises did. It was temporary relief to focus on the wounds themselves, forgetting the abuse behind them.
Katze tenderly washed a sitting Riki. It should have been awkward, but it wasn't.
The water sluiced down Riki's face, satisfying and cleansing. Soap suds stung his lacerations, but he really didn't care. Katze's fingers massaging his scalp helped Riki relax further, dissolving him into a purring lump.
If more scalding tears were washed away with the shower water, neither man acknowledged them.
Katze stood after carefully washing Riki's feet up to his knees. The shower nozzle in his hand, he debated how to clean the worse part.
Riki solved his dilemna by rising stiffly to his feet, groaning.
The Pet clung to Katze, finding instinctive comfort in the naked closeness. Katze wrapped strong arms around Riki's middle, turning the jetting water into a gentle drizzle.
He took his time, running the hand-held showerhead in soothing patterns on Riki's back. Riki was shorter than Katze, and he arched to hook his pointy chin over the castrate's shoulder. Katze held himself stiffly at first, unused to all the skin touching; he gradually relaxed, the textures and strong muscles and running water reminding him of his first orgasm.
When Katze brought the water to Riki's lower spine, the darker man jumped with a hiss and clutched at Katze.
Fuck.
Katze couldn't bring himself to hurt him more, keeping the showerhead at his lower back and letting the flowing water clean Riki up. The Pet jerked in Katze's hold a few times, but he didn't stop him. An unhappy Katze rubbed circles on Riki's upper back with his other hand, trying to distract them both.
Riki curled into himself, hiding his forehead on Katze's smooth chest. One hand fisted and unclenched rythmically, useless by his cheek.
The sight of pink swirling down the drain, fascinating streams of red that diluted in eddies around their feet made Katze sick.
How could he have let Riki be hurt like this?
"Don't." Riki's voice was choppy with pain. "Don't, Katze. Just don't."
The dealer arched an eyebrow, looking down at the upturned face in his hold.
"You're blaming yourself. I can tell. Don-aaah." Riki cried out at a more sensitive spot.
Chest heaving, he calmed himself and continued. "I don't care what I said yesterday. It's not your fault. It's not."
Katze clenched his jaw, silently disagreeing.
"It would have happened anyway." Riki continued. "It's happened before. It's gonna happen again. There's nothing you can do about it."
Riki shuddered at the awful reality, unless it was Katze who did?
"One day, Iason is going to kill me." Riki's voice was gentle, almost wistful. Katze pressed him closer, unable to answer.
Riki's voice firmed.
His faced searched out Katze's, freezing him to the core. Riki's dark eyes glittered, hard and... manic.
"Iason will kill me." He repeated. "And it will kill him."
Katze couldn't breathe at Riki's words. Couldn't deny or argue the raw truth, delivered in harsh satisfaction.
Riki turned his cheek again after a moment, resting in Katze's stunned hug.
There was nothing left to say, and after a while Katze turned the water off.
...
Riki was exhausted by the shower.
His face was grey and drawn; he sat docile on the closed toilet while Cal dried him off. Katze scrubbed himself hurriedly with a brown towel, stepping into his pants. The red-head cursed when the fabric clung and twisted around his humid legs, irrationally wanting to throw a fit.
No time, however. Riki needed him.
Cal had Katze hold Riki up, placing folded sterile compresses between his butt-cheeks, frowning at the red immediately soaking through.
Riki leaned heavily on Katze, too tired to even hold his head up. He made a croaking noise of protest when Katze bent to pick him up, rapidly shushed by a rough "Don't even think of walking. You are already bleeding enough."
Katze was surprised to find Iason's bed still a mess, the sheets unchanged. What the fuck, Cal?
The lithe silhouette of the boy darted around him, heading for the corridor. "Here, here." He bowed. "To the Pet quarters."
Katze followed, gait jerky from Riki's weight.
Cal chattered on. "Riki will complain too much if he wakes in Iason's bed, after... The other time, he tore the stitches crawling across the floor. Best not to aggravate him."
Katze couldn't answer, juggling a semi-conscious Riki.
With a soft "thanks" the Pet fell asleep immediately after being laid in his small Pet pod.
For a quiet minute, Katze watched him.
He finally turned and left for the bathroom to retrieve his shirt. Cal met him in the hallway, handing him a plain red T-shirt.
"Your shirt is stained, sir, I will have it cleaned and returned." He bowed. "Your coat is in the guest washroom."
Katze knew a dismissal when he heard one, even politely framed.
He inclined his head, and made his way to the guest washroom with a smile at being ordered around by Furniture.
When he was sure his appearance and the mask of calm aloofness he wore everyday were perfect, Katze exited the impeccable room.
He came across Raoul Am in the foyer, and bowed deferently.
Green eyes met amber, evaluating.
The Blondie frowned at Katze's presence, but he did not comment, sweeping after Cal towards Pet quarters.
Setting a cigarette between thin lips, Katze drove to his office.
...
Katze postponed dealing with the aching mess of his heart until late that night, when there was no justifiable excuse to work any longer. Standing in his apartment, Katze hesitated, feeling forlorn and useless.
How did one go about adressing the elephant currently sitting quietly in a dark corner?
The passionate pain from earlier was dormant, a lump Katze couldn't bring himself to poke. Yet he knew he had to deal; he had managed to avoid Iason today, but he couldn't escape forever.
Just sitting on his couch and breaking down into tears was not an option. He was too calm now, too rationnally functionning. At the moment, he wasn't any worse than after a stressful day. It would be so much easier just to ignore the toxic mush he'd pushed aside earlier...
His usual work out would at least loosen the knots in his shoulders.
Shirtless in black ninja pants, he headed for the rooftop.
The familiar martial arts routine always soothed him.
Bowing, Katze leisurely started bending his body in the repetitive motions that forced him to concentrate. Twisting faster, hitting harder, Katze gradually warmed up. A night cat, almost silent except for forced grunts that added power to his thrusts. Katze kicked high and parried, graceful violence that made the gravel crunch.
The night wind was warm, licking at his muscular torso. Sweat prickled on his skin -good clean sweat, brought on by physical exertion. Katze felt his focus narrowing, more and more with every repeated sequence. He lost himself, every deadly punch and twirl razor-sharp.
Punch. A flash of purple bruises, splashed down a lean flank.
Duck. Riki's dead eyes.
Kick-kick, drop. Gagging at the carnal smell of blood and sex permeating the air in Iason's room.
Turn, punch-punch. Riki's bound hands clutching at Katze's pants during the Show the night before.
PUNCH, damn it. Katze's penis swinging heavy and distracting between his legs, after the performance.
Pivot, jump, pivot. Iason, regal and heartless.
Fuck, Iason. Katze swiped at his face, surprised to feel wetness on his cheeks.
Bowing to his imaginary adversaries, he began the next round. Faster, rougher, the welcome burn of muscles complaining as he slowly relived the morning in bits and pieces.
He was so intently focused he had not even realized Iason had appeared, leaning against the brick wall to observe his employee.
The sight of the uninvited blond Master on his roof -watching his private session- clouded Katze's vision with virulent hate.
All the focused violence he had been idly dispensing found it's target.
Iason.
Fuck Iason. The ruined shambles of both Riki and Katze's lives were all HIS fault.
The Blondie stepped closer, unafraid.
He towered over the mongrel, recognizing the seething need for release in his scarred face.
"Would it help if you punched me?" Iason querried conversationnally, as though it was a perfectly normal question.
And God, did Katze want to. Wanted to let loose and roar. Ached to destroy that perfect face; to feel cartilage crunch and synthetic flesh rip.
He didn't give a damn about consequences.
He was going to do it.
Katze was going to beat the fuck out of Iason. Really.
Katze crouched, balanced on the balls of his feet.
Oh yeah. He was going to make Iason suffer.
Katze savored the anticipation, coiling tight and controlled.
Just as he contracted his shoulder for the first hit, the twin moons illuminated the brief flash of satisfaction in Iason's eyes.
MOTHERFUCKER!
Iason wanted Katze to strike him.
It was the only thing that could possibly have stopped him.
Katze did NOT want to make things easier on Iason.
Fuck no. Whatever his reasons, if being hurt would help appease Iason, Katze wouldn't do it. Let him stew, unrelieved.
Stumbling back, bile in his throat, the red-head bowed stiffly.
"Go." He whispered.
Turning his back on Iason, Katze began the routine again. Gone was the fluid grace of earlier. Katze quivered with unreleased angry energy. He deliberately shut out the vision of Iason's pale form, throwing choppy punches and breathing totally fucked.
By the time he was done, the Blondie was gone. Katze's teeth flashed white, an eery grin of satisfaction.
...
Days passed and worn clichés proved true though.
It was almost insulting how over-used platitudes applied, even to Blondies and the Head of the Black Market.
Humbling them.
Time did not exactly heal the trio.
But it dulled the sharp pain, molded it into their identity. Katze eventually stopped feeling nauseous and enraged at the mere sight of Iason. Gradually, their rigid exchanges sank into familiar efficiency. Iason's brittle facade softened, the Android losing some of the rigid formality.
Katze didn't forget. He could never forget. The image of Riki, bloodied and sad, still haunted his sleepless nights. The experience somehow isolated itself from the daily grind though. A dark spot of hurt that Katze could live with most of the time.
Cal's daily text messages, documenting Riki's progress, were the only real change in Katze's life.
Slept all day.
Or,
Had to sedate him.
Then slow improvement.
Ate soup for lunch.
Got up today. Fainted again.
Damn Riki. Impatient as always.
Two weeks later, more good news.
Stitches out !
The next message had Katze chewing on a thumbnail, yearning to call Riki.
Sat in Iason's lap tonight.
God, Katze couldn't imagine what might have gone through Riki's mind, forced to be handled by his abuser. He wanted to phone his friend, to reassure himself that Riki was okay. He didn't dare, though. Their relationship was too new. Katze had never called Riki before, it would be strange for him to start in the middle of a crisis.
He supposed everything was all right though, because a few days later he received;
Starting to complain at being stuck in the house.
Yeah, Riki was getting better.
Drank himself into stupor after breaking into the liquor cabinet.
Followed the next morning by:
Headache, good for him :)
Katze smiled at that one, all alone in his apartment. Poor Cal. A bored, healed Riki was sure to bother the Furniture. And indeed, a few more days and...
Oh my God, take him out somewhere or I will push him off that damn balcony!
It was clearly a joke, but Katze rescued Cal anyway.
After a few initial stiff moments, it was just like before the agression. They didn't talk about it, but it didn't hang menacing over their relationship either. It became a shared pain, recognized but not uselessly rehashed. Riki began to run errands in the Market again.
After two months, Katze correctly guessed that Iason had finally had sex with Riki.
The Pet was reporting after a job.
Riki winced, groaning when his behind touched the seat of the chair.
Katze froze, alarmed. He cleared his throat, gripped with an icy wash of dread. The sheets of reports he had been flipping through stopped moving. Not again...
Riki pushed the hair off his forehead, grimacing. Recognizing Katze's masked concern, he grudgingly admitted.
"Iason wanted to make love to me."
The Pet's voice dripped with disgust. "It was... disturbing."
Riki sucked his cigarette to life, continuing his explanation around it.
"Iason tried to be all romantic and gentle and shit."
Katze fingered his scar, almost able to picture it.
Riki smirked through his bangs at Katze, eyes sparkling. "So I bit him. Made a Blondie fucking bleed. Put an end to that emotional nonsense right quick, yeah."
Riki bounced a knee, staring at the floor.
"M'not his fucking lover. I'm his Pet." he mumbled.
Poor Riki! If only the situation between him and Iason was that simple... No wonder he clung to reassuring labels.
Riki suddenly pulled on his Pet personality. It was unmistakeable. Riki seemed to slow, every movement designed to fascinate. The change in his demeanor heated Katze's cheeks and made his adam's apple bob behind his shirt collar.
Riki just oozed lazy seduction, sprawled with his knees spread. His gaze burned, boldly dissecting Katze. The castrate gulped, unused to such attentions.
Katze's abs clenched at the smolder in Riki's eyes. Fuuuuuucck.
The Pet leaned forward, a flirty lip-bite drawing Katze's attention. Riki trailed a promising finger over Katze's knuckles, bump-bump-bump, igniting sparks of sensation.
"I think we can get back to taking your virginity soon..." Riki rasped.
The papers in Katze's hands shook.
Forgotten fires roared to life in his belly.
Yeah.
That.
Things can finally progress! With a deeper understanding of exactly how messed their relationships are.
Infinite thanks to fanfic3112 for the continued feedback. Sometimes, I get too deep in characters heads and I lose the big picture. I am always amazed when readers pinpoint exactly why a chapter needed to happen. In this case, to show how, in a fucked-up way, it is Riki who holds power over an obsessed Iason.
