HEAVILY TRIGGERING for major character death and suicide. Suicide is not romantic. If you ever feel suicide is your best option, seek help immediately.
The end accelerated then.
Katze had the nauseating feeling of being stuck in a landslide, as if he was standing still while the whole world rushed by.
Reality fragmented, fractalized under the pressure.
Finding a diminished and drugged Riki.
Learning Guy had left, after mutilating him.
The silent drive to Dana Bahn.
Bits and pieces during which time slowed, before speeding all too fast to make up for it.
Katze's throat hurt, watching Riki heading in to Dana Bahn with a heavy, pained gait. Katze wanted to follow him and single-handedly take down Guy. Gods, he hated the man.
It was not his place, he repeated firmly.
His place was on the sidelines.
Guy was unstable. Who knew how he would react at the sight of Iason's first man, armed, in his chosen lair? It was better to let Riki go alone, convince him to come out and then shoot him!
The soil rumbled ominously and a tin shed near the back of Dana Bahn collapsed in a fluffy cloud. Katze set his watch with a frown.
Five minutes.
If Riki was not back in five minutes, Katze would go in after him.
Fire was spreading behind the massive building, where Katze couldn't see it. Embers and black smoke twisted in graceful plumes, slowly filling the windy air.
An explosion sounded; sharp staccato of wood cracking and the smell of burning plastic growing stronger.
Something was wrong. Dana Bahn was too unstable. Katze worried; how ironic would it be for him to find Riki, only to lose him before he could return him to Iason?
A frightful detonation, accompanied by the collapse of a large part of the main structure, decided the dealer. Katze started down the runway.
Smoke got in his eyes, made him cough: the violent wind whipped the flames into wild exuberant shaped. A hellish orange glow seemed to swallow the entire landscape.
Katze thought he saw two silhouettes crumbling to the ground not far in front of him. He sprinted, his fine leather shoes sliding on wet pavement.
Riki, slumped over Guy.
Katze sighed with relief. Passed out.
Katze's nostrils flared, the copper stench of blood sharp at the back of his throat. Riki had torn his makeshift stitches; the entire front of his pants dripped with blood. His ex-pairing partner did not look so good, gray-faced with one arm twisted atrociously under him.
Katze was glad. Let Guy suffer. He deserved it.
He shook Riki awake.
"Help Guy!"
Riki's first words were said like a mantra, a chant oft repeated all through his long treck dragging his unconscious ex.
"Help Guy!"
Fuck Guy.
Katze just wanted to get them away from this unsafe place. He did not give a shit about Guy. He rather wanted to kick him.
Riki's next words shook Katze more than the vibrating rumbles that shivered through the ground around them. They took the ground straight away, sudden endless fall into the darkest of pits.
Iason was inside. Impossibly, tragically... Iason was inside Dana Bahn.
"Where? Why?" It didn't matter though. Not really. Riki's halting, half-coherent explanation of his Owner's sacrifice didn't change the cold facts.
Iason was inside that unstable, dangerous place.
Alone. Grievously injured.
He was never coming back.
The seed of darkness that had been sleeping inside Katze unfurled; filled every single cell in his being and bloated the spaces between too.
Iason had confronted Guy, and he'd saved his beloved Riki. He had done it. Iason had accomplished his ultimate mission.
Now, the Blondie was going to let himself die.
If he'd wanted to be rescued, Iason would have long pressed his own emergency beacon; within seconds he would be have been out of there.
Katze ached to save him, with every fiber of his sinking soul.
He didn't make the call. It was not his to make.
Iason had made his choice. Katze would respect it, as always. It would kill him, kill all of them. Katze ground his teeth against a huge surge of gut-clenching hate for Riki. This was all his fault.
Katze had always been Iason's servant.
Katze had loved Iason.
Iason... appreciated Katze. Allowed him to grow, depended on him. Trusted him.
The black inhabiting Katze's being coalesced into pure blinding white.
Iason loved Riki.
There was one thing last thing Katze could do for his Master. As chunks of himself began to implode, like an iceberg breaking into the cold green depth of the arctic ocean, Katze forced his pain down.
"You left him there?" The words were hoarse, wrenched from deep inside.
Riki... Riki had been in denial of his true feelings for so long, Katze suddenly doubted. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Riki and Guy.
Riki fought to remain conscious.
He hurt, so bad... everywhere. He just wanted to rest.
The pain that flashed over Katze's face was like a bucket of water to the head, cutting through the fog of exhaustion and tranquilizers and blood-loss.
Just as fast, his friend got control of himself and his face smoothed out, but Riki had seen.
In a burst of clarity, Riki realized the immensity of what he was saying. Riki had always lived purely in the moment. In the slums, it was a capacity necessary for survival. He did not have Katze or Iason's ability to project into the future and see the consequences as a whole.
But because of Katze's slip, Riki realized the truth. The deadly pain that was quickly erased seized Riki by the throat and forced his eyes to open. Understanding made him bite right through the inside of his cheek to stifle a moan. He tasted blood. Blood. So much blood, Iason's ghastly injuries... Guys tainted blood and Riki's blood too, the flow sluggish now and coagulating, making his pants cling.
Iason was dying.
Iason was dying to save him.
Iason was dying to save Guy.
The Blondie had sacrificed himself to save the man he hated, the man who had taken everything from him. Simply because Riki had begged him to.
When the portal had begun to collapse, Riki had no doubt that Iason, with his android speed, could have saved himself.
He hadn't.
He'd saved Riki. Then urged him to take his ex and go to freedom.
Iason wanted Riki to be happy
Iason loved Riki.
And Riki, who had been fighting so long to be free of Iason, realized something. He couldn't be happy without Iason. He'd tried, God knew he'd tried during his year of freedom. It had nearly killed him. He'd been so angry at Iason for being unaffected by their seperation. Now, though, Riki realized that the haughty Blondie was just as enchained as his Pet by their fatal attraction.
Iason was not free either.
Iason was Riki's.
He was giving up his life for his Pet. Riki felt of wave of lonely disgust at his own selfishness. Iason was dying. Alone. Tears welled in dark dark eyes. It was wrong. Iason couldn't die alone. Iason was Riki's.
Riki was Iason's.
Perhaps, if he had more time, he might reflect and decide that this thing that unified them was love.
As it was, with the bridge creaking ominously and static sparking in the air, Riki only knew he couldn't leave Iason to die alone.
Choking down a sob, Riki heaved himself up using Katze's strength. He was surprisingly unafraid of his own demise.
Katze helped him stand. He wanted to wail and scream, but instead Katze dredged deep into himself to give Iason and Riki this one last thing. Smiling in spite of the knives slicing his chest apart, Katze let his face grow soft. Let his own pride and love for Riki's final act shine through.
Gave him the Black Moons, even though his heart screamed not to. No! Katze wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to face the end yet! It hurt so goddamn much, even if he'd known it was coming.
Katze hugged Riki impulsively one last time. It felt good, right, and at the same time it hurt more than any injury Katze had ever sustained. It was because of Riki that Katze had finally known peace, and love.
Just as fast, he let Riki go. Katze did not trust himself not to hold on if he touched him anymore, hold him tight and never, never relase him. Or maybe he didn't trust himself not to punch the mongrel into unconsciousness and go take his place by Iason. It was unfair. Katze...
Katze made himself smile at the man who he love-hated, the man who was giving Katze's Master what he needed. He understood now, why Iason had saved Guy.
Riki smiled back, a teary determined-sort of grin in his soot blackened face.
They did not say good-bye.
Riki limped back to the fiery hell of Dana Bahn. Katze scooped up Riki's broken ex-lover. Tears gathered in his eyes, and Katze couldn't let go of the dead weight of Guy to wipe them away. They clung to his eyelashes, burning and blurring his vision of the city sky-line.
Katze didn't look back. He shifted Guy's weight and plodded to his car. Some stupidly hopeful part of him was on alert, listening for the whine of the fast security vehicule that would come if Iason activated his beacon.
Iason had Riki now.
Maybe he would save them both. The sharp tang of urine soaking into Katze's coat from Guy was disgusting.
Iason wouldn't though. Katze knew it, with miserable certainty.
For all his physical prowess and logical intelligence, the Blondie was like a child when it came to emotions.
Iason was stupidly staring into the smoke where Riki had disappeared. He was calm.
Riki would be all right.
Riki...
Iason couldn't stop staring.
Riki...
And then, unbelievably, Riki was back. He trudged back to Iason and the Blondie could hardly comprehend it. Riki blabbed, as he tended to do when he was nervous.
Iason leaned into his Pet as the wind yanked at his hair.
The world lodged into place.
Riki had returned.
Iason did not care about Jupiter, or his legs, or his death.
He was filled with dancing light.
Riki had returned.
Riki chose him, Riki loved him back.
Inhaling the spicy poison, Iason settled the mongrel more firmly against his side. Riki found Iason oddly adorable. The way he held the cigarette, balanced strangely gently between pink lips, screamed that this was his first time smoking. Riki blinked, the edges of his vision blurring. He had shared many firsts with the Blondie, when he thought of it.
Riki's eyes drifted shut.
Iason smiled.
The ground shook and floor joists crashed.
Riki was his.
...
Katze made it to his car and dumped Guy in the backseat. He wiped his nose with his sleeve and got himself into the driver's seat, somehow.
He was about a quarter mile away when the formidable explosion flipped the car over and over like a tumble-weed in it's shockwave.
It was concussed instinct that made Katze push the door open and fall out onto parched grass. Bits and pieces of debris were burning even this far away, and dark smoke choked the air.
Katze sank to his knees, gripping the door, and vomited violently.
Iason was gone.
Riki was gone.
Tears wet Katze's face, and he swiped angrily at them.
He leaned his forehead against the car frame and gathered the fragmented pieces of himself.
Katze's identity had exploded at the same time as Dana Bahn. He was done with it all.
Soon.
Katze still had things that needed to be finished. He needed to cling on for a few more hours.
Katze rose unsteadily and spat, trying to clear the bile from his mouth. The tears dried into crinkly tracks on his dirty cheeks.
Soon.
Katze got back into his car.
The eery glow of the fire at Dana Bahn lit the streets with red as Jupiter unleashed fearsome electro-magnetic chaos.
The green emergency lights of the private clinic made everyone seem tired and haunted. Katze dumped Guy none too gently onto the stretcher he'd been procured.
He watched two nurses wheeling him away. The fat doctor turned to him expectantly; Katze handed him a thick wad of cash. He had no clue how much there was, and he didn't care.
Iason was gone.
Riki was gone.
Soon.
"Right." The doctor's eyes gleamed greedily.
"Top treatement then. I shall grow him a new arm that works even better than the old one did!" He promised, as oily as his lank hair.
"No."
Katze's voice was cold. He turned to walk out.
"Cut it off."
He did not wait for an answer, but he knew he would be obeyed. Money was not a difficult language to understand.
...
In the car, Katze placed a cigarette between cold lips. He couldn't let himself think.
Iason was gone.
Riki was gone.
It created a weird urgency in Katze. It was wrong. He shouldn't still be here.
Iason was gone.
Riki was gone.
Katze was gone. That was how it should have been.
Soon. Katze was an empty shell now. All the pain and hurt had temporarily left him. There were two things left to do.
Katze sped down dark, silent streets.
He had to knock several times before Raoul opened his door.
Seeing that pristine face, Katze realized how filty he was; he was soaked with Guy's blood and blackened with ashes and grime, the acrid taste of vomit in his mouth.
"Shower." He said.
Raoul did not say a word, simply showed him the door to the bathroom and left.
Katze's mouth started to twitch and his throat choked up, all alone in the steamy enclosure as warm water washed away the dirt. He was starting to unravel.
Iason was gone.
Katze couldn't afford to let go. Not now. Not yet.
Soon.
Swallowing the tears away, Katze turned the water to freezing cold. He shivered as he washed his hair, teeth chattering.
He did not get dressed, even if Raoul had kindly left a robe for him.
It was pointless.
Raoul was in the living room, staring at the eerily dark buildings of a powered-out Tanagura.
He turned when he heard Katze's footsteps.
"Fuck me." Katze said, voice scratchy.
Raoul's beautiful Blondie face hid his pain well. Katze could just barely make it out in the tension at the corners of his lips, in the line above his straight nose.
Raoul's gaze blatantly flicked up and down Katze's pale body, catching on his worked metal bracelet. Evaluating. Katze would have blushed, if he'd still cared.
"Why?" Raoul truly seemed to want an honest answer.
"Because you want to." Katze told Raoul. Tha castrate was not hard, and the cold water really hadn't helped his small dick. He wanted to hide himself with his hands. He didn't. Let Raoul see.
"You've abstractly wanted to for a long time." He said instead. "Through all those sessions, you've wondered."
Raoul did not answer.
Katze took a deep breath.
"This is your chance. You... " Katze swallowed.
Iason was gone.
It was unbearable. The tears wanted to start again, more insistent, and Katze blinked them away.
Not now.
Soon.
Katze held his ground with the stubborness of someone with nothing to lose.
Raoul still didn't answer, not until long after the silence was uncomfortable.
Katze took a step back; the formality of his incongruant bow gave him an aura of dignity despite his nakedness.
"As you wish." The castrate said. He should have been disappointed, or maybe ashamed to have been turned down. But at the moment he was too numb to feel anything but vague relief. Katze was so tired.
Iason was gone.
Very soon, Katze would finally join him. Just one last thing...
Raoul saw the calm determination on the mongrel's face. Katze's chiseled features hardened; at the same time his body relaxed.
The Blondie's battered heart broke again.
He knew it was the last time he saw the mongrel. It was written all over him; his quiet resignation spoke more than any dramatic tears. Katze had no flame left, his desire to forge on utterly gutted. Raoul would miss him; he looked forward to the spice of their weekly sessions. Katze had decided to go to Raoul one last time. It baffled him.
For some reason, Katze had felt it necessary to offer Raoul the opportunity to experience carnal sex before he took his own life.
It was a gift.
Raoul didn't understand it. There were suddenly so many things Raoul couldn't understand through rigorous examination of facts.
Why? It echoed in the vast cavernous interior around his Blondie synapses, finding no answer.
At the moment, Raoul needed to think; needed to parse things through and find some sense.
Raoul was finding it impossible to think, the pain of losing his best friend ripping his attempts to pieces. It was scientifically impossible. But it was undeniable. Raoul was more than an Android. He hurt.
Katze walked away. His naked buttocks rose and fell with his step.
"Wait." Raoul's voice was unrecognizable.
He joined Katze, turned him around; wrapped his strong arms around the slim rib cage.
"Katze." Raoul's voice was hesitant.
"You think I need this?" He asked
Kartze was not doing this for himself, that much was clear.
The mongrel nodded.
"Why?" Raoul's voice cracked on the word that had taunted him all day.
Katze's voice was steady when he answered; soft and sure.
"Because you'll always wonder. Wonder why Iason let himself sink with Riki. Wonder what it's like. Wonder if it was worth Iason dying for."
Katze rested his forehead on Raoul's broad chest.
"Because Iason is gone..." Katze's saying it out loud pulled a moan from Raoul.
The tall Blondie clutched the mongrel to himself, too hard.
Gripped him tight and then without thought, suddenly, they were kissing. It was frantic and Katze's chin wobbled with tears he was trying to push down so Raoul bit at it. Hard.
He let his hands roam everywhere over Katze's offered body, suddenly frustrated with his own clothing. Raoul ripped his gloves off and got naked as fast as he could, Katze watching with his too-bright eyes.
He was more than a robot. He craved understanding.
The Blondie was not hard and Katze curled at his feet. His face was determined; his fevered amber eyes were probing Raoul's. Seeing too much. Raoul closed his own stormy eyes, let the velvety dark behind his eyelids soothe him. Katze swallowed Raoul's dick and the Blondie bared his teeth at the intensity.
He'd never...
He was...
He'd never even dreamed...
More than a robot.
The blow-job was fast paced and Katze clearly had a purpose, sucking him expertly to an impossible raging erection.
Raoul was overwhelmed with the potential then; all the possible ways he could give and receive pleasure. His great mind skipped from hypothesis to possible conclusion before branching out to a different premise and circling back.
Jupiter...
Jupiter was wrong. Iason was right.
Blondies could be so much more...
When Katze stood, Raoul reached to stroke the castrate's cock but Katze shrugged him off.
"No." He said, bending enticingly over the couch. "Fuck me."
His body was willing, slim butt offered, but his eyes were cold, and it hurt Raoul.
Raoul decided he would not give Katze the pain he craved.
In the corridor, he encountered his elderly Furniture, who pressed the tube of lubricant into his hand with a look of compassion.
Katze let himself be handled roughly without complaint when Raoul returned; hauled back and flipped at the last minute so he was face-first against the cold windows. Inexplicably, shards of broken glass glittered on the floor to his right.
The city was still dark. The twin moons appeared all the more luminescent for it; majestically beautiful in the endless studded canvas of stars that appeared once Tanagura stopped emitting it's gaudy colors. The night sky humbled Katze, made him feel infinately small.
Raoul tugged Katze's ass out, keeping him mostly vertical against the glass as he efficiently prepared his anal canal.
Katze didn't know if he was pleased or annoyed that Raoul was taking the time to stretch him. It was cold and clinical and Katze felt self-consciously exposed, braced against the windows like a whore. Katze was vaguely ashamed; at the same time he just wanted the deed done. Over.
He didn't care what happened to his body anymore.
Raoul finally straightened up and lubed his mostly hard dick.
He could tell Katze was unsettled he hadn't just raped him. Whatever. He was not a sadist like Iason.
Wedging his dick at the entrance of Katze's hole, Raoul took a deep breath.
He pushed in with a grunt, and Katze hiccupped with pain. The mongrel rose onto tiptoes, instinctively trying to escape the pressure. Raoul watched their blurred reflections in the glass. They made a pretty picture, with Katze's ivory complexion and his own golden hair tumbling around them.
Raoul settled both hands around Katze's hip-bones and shoved in deeper. Katze's eyes closed and his teeth shone in the window, but he did not try to move away. Docile, he let himself be impaled further, shivers running under his skin.
Damn, Raoul was huge. Katze wondered if he was bleeding, not that it mattered at this point.
When Raoul was fully seated, Katze HURT. He embraced it, welcomed the physical pain that could never match the emotional anguish burning like acid in his veins. He wiped more tears from his eyes and pushed back against the glass, trying to get Raoul to rut. Katze noticed his fingernails were black underneath, filled with dirt from Iason and Riki's grave.
Raoul licked his ear.
"Why?" He asked again.
"For Iason!" Katze gasped. Splitting open.
"Iason is gone." Raoul spit out vehemently; finally finally moving with screeching friction that made Katze see stars.
Katze couldn't answer, writhing in agony.
Raoul managed a few more strokes. Katze's body gripping him was intense and raw. Addictive.
More than a robot.
"It hurts." Raoul whispered, stopping and resting his forehead on Katze's heaving upper back.
And Katze didn't know if Raoul meant his fucking was hurting Katze, or Iason's death was hurting Katze or perhaps that Iason's death was hurting Raoul. Maybe all of it.
Raoul kissed at Katze's sweaty neck, pulling almost out, and it was too tender, too caring.
Katze shoved back, uncaring of -reveling in- the pain, and sank Raoul's dick into him with a deep masochistic stroke. Then another.
Raoul realized something then.
Despite the undeniable physical pleasure, this was wrong.
He had not fantasied about this... this cold hurtful fuck. He'd yearned for more, like a ridiculous romantic; wanted shared passion and mutual pleasure. Wanted to feel, finally, not so goddamn ALONE.
It didn't have to be like this, though, did it?
Raoul cleared his throat, made his voice soft and soothing.
"Katze, listen to my voice." He instructed.
"No." Katze shuddered.
"You like listening to my voice." Raoul continued, rocking a bit. "My voice makes you feel safe."
Nononononono. Katze hadn't planned this. He could feel himself growing loose anyway, responding to the familar words.
"Relaxxx." Raoul urged, deep baritone melodious. "Breathe for me, Katze. Feel your body growing heavier with every exhale. Slowly, in and out. "
And Katze, conditionned over many months, did just that. He couldn't help it, even if he thought he wanted their encounter to hurt.
Raoul slowly pulled out, then pushed back in.
"Let your eyes close." Raoul instructed in a monotone as his dick plunged slowly. "Feel yourself let go, listening to my voice. Deeper."
Katze's breathing grew smooth and regular, in time to Raoul fucking him. His head dropped against the glass, heavy and pliant.
He was not properly in transe, but he couldn't fight the warm safe bubble Raoul's voice created; not after months of listening to it every night before bed.
Raoul fucked him good then, and he began to enjoy it. The Blondie understood now why Iason had wanted more, more, more. Feeling his body warming was much more thrilling than being coldly asexual, not that he'd thought of himself in that way for a few months now. Katze had intrigued him from the beginning of their sessions.
This was almost what Raoul had wanted. Katze stopped drowning in grief, momentarily. Raoul kept up the calm encouragement, controlled intonations smooth and mellow even as his heart accelerated and his body grew more aroused.
He wished the mongrel to be present, not heavily under, so he refrained from counting him down or issuing the "Sleep" command. But he also did not want to hurt Katze; the mongrel wanted to feel pain, grew crisp and tight if Raoul let him.
So Raoul confidently encouraged calm and relaxation and it worked. Raoul shaped Katze's responses until the mongrel stopped fighting his own body.
Raoul knew Katze intimately; knew the signs to look for.
Katze's breath caught, and his long fingers clenched against the shiny glass.
Raoul gave it another few strokes, watching intently.
Yes. There. The way the castrate's shoulders rolled.
"Katze." Raoul pitched his voice firm.
"Numbers?" he demanded, as he'd done so often.
"Three." Katze answered breathlessly. "And six."
"Gooooood." Raoul reinforced. "Relax, Katze. Stay with me. You are safe."
Three was as aroused as Katze could get, physically, without a touch. And the six was a pleasant surprise, meaning Katze was quite into it. Perhaps it wasn't all illusion. Raoul hadn't tried to elicit desire in Katze, just helped his body relax. Six indicated that it was likely Katze had fantasized of Raoul fucking him before. It warmed Raoul, to think the fascination had been shared. If only the circumstances weren't so wretched...
Raoul stroked in and out, enjoying the little signs.
Katze's breath was ragged, and his hands changed position more often. He wanted to touch himself. Because of Raoul fucking him.
He wouldn't. Raoul was sure of it. Katze had come to Raoul, not only out of altrusitic desire to help the Blondie understand. Katze sought pain, wanted punishment for his perceived failure to save Iason and Riki. Raoul wasn't in any position to judge. He had let his best friend die too.
"Numbers?" He asked again after several minutes of concentrating strictly on the physical sensations.
Katze frowned, breathing hard through his mouth.
"Two." He said. "And eight."
Raoul tskk-tsskk-ed at this admission, as he usually did.
"We can't have that, then, can we?" He laughed low. Katze was going to enjoy their sexual encounter. Raoul was going to force him to face the truth. He was not dead -yet.
"You feel yourself getting harder, Katze. Your dick is engorging, growing to match your arousal level." Raoul whispered seductively, thrusting rythmically.
"No!" Katze stood up straight and his ass clenched tight around Raoul, making him groan.
"Oh, yes. Katze. Yes..." Raoul hissed, keeping both hands on Katze's hips and fucking him harder. "You can't help it. You want this. Your body wants it. Your dick is growing to meet your arousal."
"No, no, no!" Katze shook his head, making his short hair fly. He wanted to be broken, wanted to remain cold and without pleasure, wanted to free himself from Raoul's voice and the kisses he was pressing all over his collar-bones.
His body betrayed him. His soul wept. His dick got hard anyway.
"No, Raoul, don't. Please." There were sobs in Katze's voice; his penis was red and throbbing. Raoul buried himself deep.
"Raoul!" Katze's hand gripped Raoul's on his hip, slim fingers surprisingly strong. " Please. I don't. Hah. Eight, eight, god. Raoul stop, stop-puh!"
Raoul stopped. The Blondie's penis pounded, encased in the slipperiness of Katze's insides.
It was glorious.
Raoul leaned backed, traced a wondering fingernail where they were joined.
Katze was gasping for breath, chest heaving. He finally gathered himself enough to ask.
"Please don't, Raoul. Don't make me." His body jerked, tightening against Raoul's cock. "Argh. I didn't think you would... be like this."
Raoul gave a cautious thrust, minutely relieving the instinct to move so he could answer.
"You thought I would hurt you."
Moving was nice. Raoul did it again.
"Yes." Katze admitted, words choppy. "I deserve it. Fuck. I want you to cum, Raoul. I really do."
Sweat shone on the mongrel's back. Katze's teeth clicked and he made a strange hurt noise.
"I can't let myself cum, though." Katze brought a fist to his chest, pressed hard; trying to hold himself together.
"If I... My self-control is... I can't." Katze took a deep breath. It didn't help. "Right now, it feels really good. But if I release with you.. after... I'm going to crash. Hard." I'll never be able to get back up. Ever again.
Katze's cheeks were red in the window. He practically glowed with arousal. How beautiful.
"I can't, Raoul. I can't. It's too much." Katze's thighs quivered.
Raoul's balls ached.
"Don't make me." Katze's faint plea trailed off into a throaty moan.
Raoul stroked harder. Katze took it; cupped a hand around his dick and whimpered as his body was slammed forward.
Raoul could feel the urgency growing, deep inside. The Doctor grunted, hair clinging to his neck as his butt contracted with powerful strokes. It felt bestial, glorious; crackling tension in his thighs, in his belly. All powerful. Raoul felt like roaring from the sexual high.
It was good, so good, too good!
He couldn't believe he'd never... Raoul was Blondie.
This was forbidden.
It had killed Iason.
Iason...
Raoul let out a strained whine.
Iason was gone.
A great crack ripped through Raoul's chest, spiderweb fault-lines spreading.
Iason was dead.
Raoul stepped back. His penis disengaged with an obscene plop and Katze fell, sliding down the glass pane with a fleshy screech of sticky skin pulling.
Raoul's knees were weak and he took a few stumbling steps, bumping into the couch. His aroused penis flexed, protesting the lack of stimulation. Raoul smothered the urge to cut it off.
Iason...
Raoul sank into the cushions, whispering a broken warning to Katze.
"Go."
Iason was dead.
Raoul sniffed, covering his face with his large capable hands and not really able to contain himself even if Katze was still slumped against the window.
Iason was dead.
Katze rose on shaky legs, heading for the bathroom. It disturbed him more than he had thought it could, witnessing the brutal heartache of a Blondie's impossible sorrow. Raoul's golden head was between his knees in the dark living room. His back shook.
Katze fled, a giant lump strangling him.
In the hallway, Katze realized he had no clothes to wear. He supposed he could take something of Raoul's. Raoul's Furniture suddenly appeared. He handed Katze his own clothes, clean now and still a bit damp.
Katze choked on a sob at the kindness, resolutely pushing the pain back down. Just a few more minutes.
Soon. Soon. Katze only needed to get home now.
Katze wiped the worst of the lube in his ass with a dry cloth, and got dressed.
Raoul was waiting for him by the door. He was composed, if much too pale, and nothing showed in his remote expression of his break-down moments ago. His sleek black silk robe only reached mid-thigh and Katze wanted to palm the golden flesh it exposed.
"I could hire you?" Raoul proposed somewhat wistfully.
Katze didn't even answer that. It was useless.
He was empty. He was barely hanging on, every second a burden too heavy to carry,
There was a moment when Katze thought Raoul would stop him; physically force him to stay.
It didn't matter.
Katze was a dead man walking.
Remembering how hard it had been to let Riki go back, to decide not to ring security and save Iason in spite of himself, Katze kept still. Raoul took a deep breath. His fingers reached tenderly for Katze's torn cheek.
"I will create a new flower, and name it after you." Raoul promised huskily. "An orchid, I think. Or maybe a lily."
Katze smiled, the bundled tears inside pushing, pushing, to come out.
He sniffed hard. Hand on the doorknob, he suddenly thought of something.
"Hire Cal." He asked.
Raoul nodded.
Katze walked out. He thought he heard the rustle of a tall body sliding to the floor on the other side of the door. He hated himself for doing this to Raoul.
Being left behind was hard.
Driving back to his appartment, Katze tried to fan the will to live Raoul had somehow ignited into something viable. Something he could cling to and grow.
The lights of the city suddenly switched on. They hurt his eyes.
Katze was tired, so tired. He hurt. He even had a hard time walking; sure his ass burned but more importantly, he was falling apart. He was a hollow shell; all the fragments were splitting apart. Katze sank into his chair, went through the motions of lighting a last cigarette.
The reality of it hit him then.
Iason was gone.
Riki was gone.
Iason.
Was.
Gone.
The cigarette fell from nerveless lips as Katze curled forward. The tears he'd been containg roared up and Katze cried. Chest rendering sobs that hurt, pressing a hand to his mouth lest he scream with the pain.
The black void would no longer be ignored.
The last sparkle of light blinked out in Katze's soul.
Katze cried.
Katze cried himself out. Until his eyes and throat hurt, until his nose clogged.
When the tears finally stopped, Katze didn't feel any better. Just empty.
Blowing his nose and wiping his puffy eyes, Katze rolled his chair up to his desk. A few passwords and clicks and it was done. Katze took a deep breath, waiting for the transfer to be fully over.
He opened his drawer in the meantime and contemplated a Black Moon, but that felt wrong now. He was not Riki. Sedative poison was... too gentle. Romance was not for Katze; he was not slipping away in the arms of his lover.
Katze was all alone.
Katze closed the drawer with a click. Looked around one last time, tidied up some papers and wrote a few quick notes for his successor.
At the last minute, he cleared a space on his coffee table. He placed his broken Furniture tag there. That had been the start of it, really, for Katze. The beginning of the end. Maybe it's significance would catch someone's eyes. Probably not. Probably, a tired policeman would scratch his head, maybe bag the evidence. Or a cleaning-bot would suck it up to be recycled.
Katze's lips quirked self-deprecatingly at the unexpected sentimentality. Who knew he had it in him? He didn't regret his life choices. He'd even been happy, during the last six months. It had been an unexpected present.
Katze walked tiredly up to his rooftop training ground. The night air was muggy and humid, still smelling of smoke.
Katze wasn't crying anymore.
It was time.
Iason was gone.
Katze had always been Iason's man. Heart and soul, without hesitation. He didn't want it any other way.
Iason was gone.
Katze's hand did not tremble.
...
No-one but the double moons caught the sudden flash of a laser-gun going off.
Only the wind caught a trench coat as it billowed then dropped over a fallen silhouette.
Red seeped into the gravel, slowly pooling around a fine-boned hand circled by a strange silver bracelet with a yellow stone.
...
...
...
Cal liked to go on Sundays.
It became part of his routine. On his way to the market, Cal stopped by the makeshift memorial.
Jupiter did not approve of the human habit of creating places to honor their dead. Dead was dead, in an AI's view, and as such the memorials were a waste of space.
However, Jupiter had more than enough to deal with at the moment. So the not-so-secret garden, tucked away between two high rises, was tolerated. There was still unrest, more or less violent, even a year later; a year after Katze had downloaded a life's worth of research into the public domain. Elite corruption, the secrets of Guardian. Breeding of mongrels, pages and pages of Pet records. Off-planet embezzlement and the disposal of females. Every penny that had been fraudulently made by the illegal exploitation of planetary riches. Secret police operations, black market transactions. Everything. Anything. All available to anyone with a com connection. It would take years to sift through it all.
The uproar had caused a major economic crash and civil war.
Everything was still so uncertain.
Cal was grateful Raoul had inexplicably summoned him and hired him the day after Iason allowed himself to die. He suspected Katze's hand in it, and had yet to work up the courage to ask.
Cal was settled in his new post. Raoul was hardly a difficult master. He demanded good, fresh food and a clean house, but that was all. He was almost a hermit. Cal got along well with his only other Furniture, who was much older than was conventionally approved. Other than that, it was the most quiet household Cal had ever managed. Raoul, though he had created hundreds, maybe thousands of Pets, possessed none of his own. Because of this, Raoul was not really involved in scandal as other Elite were. His resignation as Head of Medecine had gone unnoticed in the chaos of the first few days.
Raoul had adapted easily, applying his unique knowledge as a Doctor to heal the countless victims of violence.
Raoul was serene. Or he seemed to be.
Cal knew, though. Raoul hurt, maybe even worse than most of his patients did.
Most nights, Raoul sat in his dark living room, nursing a single glass of wine. Cal had seen how his hand trembled, sometimes, when the melancholy was worse; hovered over the heavy bottle, longingly toying with the lid.
Raoul never gave in to his urge to drink himself free.
Cal almost wished he would.
Cal hated watching his Master hurt; hated not being able to do anything about his loss.
Cal hoped, though.
He kept Raoul fed and clean; worriedly watched the dark circles under his patient green eyes.
Raoul mourned.
Except he wouldn't ever let himself mourn fully. Raoul refused to give in to the fits of anger that made his eyes sparkle like jade. He refused to speak of Iason, of the great void that would never be filled. Raoul wouldn't break and shed the tears that choked him, night after night. That had been Katze's greatest gift, actually. The one time the Blondie's pride had been shattered and he had been granted release from the pressure of infinite sadness.
Raoul mourned.
Raoul mourned Iason. He mourned Katze too.
Raoul mourned.
Quietly. His restraint made the grief worse, Cal thought.
Raoul was Blondie.
He was changed though. His pain had made him less arrogant, more compassionate. Raoul was aware he could fail; Iason was dead.
When Cal had shyly asked permission to have a small place in the illegal cemetary made, in honor of his friends and previous master, Raoul had not answered.
Three weeks later, he had informed Cal that it was done.
The first time Cal saw the stone, he had cried; violent, ugly tears like he hadn't shed since the early days.
It was perfect.
Cal had expected some ostentious Blondie monument, but no. NO.
Raoul understood, even if he wouldn't talk of it.
The white stone was simple, understated; just a rounded square, engraved with three names.
Cal kept the spot clean. He clipped the grass and pulled the weeds.
Of course, there were no actual dead bodies here, like rumor had it the barbaric ancient cemetaries had once held.
Cal liked their shady, tucked-away corner. Liked watching white butterflies flit around in the changing light. It was peaceful. Little brown birds nested in the tree nearby. Sometimes, a fat bumblebee droned along the grassline. Occasionnally, Cal saw another visitor. He nodded respecfully, but Cal never felt liked talking with any of them.
Cal escaped to the garden to be alone. Sometimes, Cal wrapped thin arms around his knees and cried. Sometimes, he whispered snippets of his day or a joke he thought Riki would have liked. Cal tried to remember to share his grasp of the turbulent political landscape. Katze would have surely wanted to know. Iason too. Cal still couldn't bring himself to speak directly to his ex-Master, even if he was dead.
Mostly, Cal just came to think, and remember. Coming here gave him comfort.
He knew Raoul went too, even if they had never crossed paths and his Master never spoke of it.
Once, Cal had found a uniquely recognizable long golden hair caught in the grass. He hoped Raoul also found comfort here, maybe a bit of peace.
Cal's suspicion that Raoul came to the graveyard was confirmed by the plants that appeared. First some kind of dark resilient shrub that screamed of Riki was planted to the left of the grave. A few weeks later, an exuberant rose-bush with overpowering waving blossoms of pure white showed up behind it. Months later, on the opposite side, there appeared a delicate lacy flower of a sort Cal had never seen before. It swung on a long stem, tall thin leaves forming a crown around the base. It seemed fragile enough, but Cal knew it wasn't. He'd been in the garden one night when a storm gathered. He had watched that long stalk bend and whip around easily; it was much stronger than it appeared.
Cal watered the plants, traced a hand over the smooth stone.
Read again the names Raoul had had engraved. No dates, no titles, no poetic statements.
Raoul, unbelievably, understood. Three names, sharing a headstone. Three names, united in a tragic destiny.
-IASON MINK-
-RIKI MINK-
-KATZE-
Raoul, acknowledging the mongrel's place by Iason. Cal's throat tightened as he read the chiseled letters.
Iason Mink.
Riki Mink.
Katze.
Cal took a deep breath.
Gone.
...
Cal plucked one of Iason's roses and put it in his basket of groceries. He would hide it among other blooms in the dining room arrangement. Raoul would notice it anyway.
Cal had work to do.
He was no longer Furniture, not technically. He still wore his tag, even if he'd been established with a temporary identity. He did not want a paycheck, or freedom.
He knew the cost of freedom. Ultimately, they had all been free, despite appearances.
Iason Mink.
Riki Mink.
Katze.
Sometimes, Cal let himself daydream. He wondered if someday, he would have his own name engraved in stone or if he would sink quietly into the foggy depths of time.
-CAL-
It would make an impression on a gravestone. Strong, independant, ressourceful. Just like Katze.
-CAL AM-
Now that had a nice ring to it.
Maybe, years from now, Cal might hope to be more to Raoul. Maybe.
Cal smiled and got to his feet.
He dusted his tunic off. Perhaps Raoul would finally allow Cal to touch him tonight. Cal was patient.
Raoul needed to be touched. Not in a disturbing sexual way; Raoul needed to be connected to another living being. Cal had been suggesting a massage for months. It seemed like the best way to begin eroding the thick armour of grief Raoul wore. Raoul understood what his Furniture was trying to do, Cal thought, but for now he wanted to wallow.
Maybe tonight, Raoul would finally be ready to heal. He might say yes. Or maybe tomorrow.
Fish was sure to be on sale today. Raoul didn't love fish, but he would eat it if Cal prepared it just right. Fish was good for the health.
His friends rested in peace. At least Cal liked to believe they did.
Iason Mink, Riki Mink, Katze.
Blondie, Pet and Confidant.
Lovers.
The sun pierced through the clouds and one of the little brown birds began to sing exuberantly.
Cal slung his basket over his arm and headed for the market.
If he hurried, he could catch the bus.
Cal had work to do.
I have received a request from a reader asking to print Katze's Verse. Distributing fanfic is illegal, but what you choose to do for your own self is your own business. Within a month, I will be post-editing all the authors notes out over at Archive of Own. Then it's only a matter of pressing download.
Well, this was quite a journey. The last chapter of Raoul's Experiment will be our dessert.
xxx
FrenchCaresse