AnK - Black Moon Rising

Black Moon Rising

By: ElegantPaws with all due deference to Yoshihara Rieko

Edited by: Ainzfern

Key Pairing: Raoul/Katze

Rating: Mature – Adult Content

Parts: WIP – 13 of 25

Reviews are fuel.

"For Avernion…Just Because."

Chapter 13 of 25 – Secrets (Post OVA)

~~~BMR~~~


It was not Cal, the Furniture, that opened the door but Iason Mink himself.

Katze met the Syndicate leader’s cool regard with a decorous nod. Those glacial pools betrayed nothing of Iason’s keen interest in the guest standing silently behind the Black Market dealer with a suitably demure countenance.

With a slight inclination of a pale silken head, Iason gracefully stepped aside allowing them both entry into the penthouse’s darkened social space.

“Come through.”

The redhead noted the sudden pinch expression that marred otherwise flawless patrician features when Iason gave a fleeting glance to the outer hall. Katze knew he would have to answer for the Kid’s whereabouts; another shit-storm, this one not of his own making.

Katze answered the unspoken. “He’s on his way, Iason.”

“Yes…no doubt.”

The dealer smoothly turning on his heels shucked his coat and handing it to Cal with a secretive wink before returning his gaze to Iason. Ice blue eyes were drinking in the Karinese with open curiosity.

Katze watched in fascination the meticulously slow, questioning appraisal that paused before smoothly glided to Katze with an expectant air.

“This is Admon of Karin, the newest acquisition to the stable. Time did not permit me to leave him behind before attending this meeting.”

Iason’s continued his silent inspection of the merchandise. It was proving disconcerting.

“Are you an Empath, Admon?”

Katze held his breath, awaiting possible censure for the unexpected intrusion.

“Yes your, Excellency.”

Censure did not, however, come from the quarter anticipated as the well accoutered being in question moved forward and deferentially bowed to Tanagura’s leader with well practiced grace.

Swift shadowy movement drew Katze’s attention from across the sitting room. The dismissive wave of a gloved wrist in Admon’s general direction was all it took to recognize Raoul.

Katze paled visibly.

“Come, come, now Katze. You could have left it in the vehicle, sparing all concerned the dramatic entrance and sycophantic preening.”

Though Raoul’s face remained in shadow, his meaning was clear, if not to Iason - himself.

Admon schooled his countenance, bristling within as his eyes met those of livid, questioning green and the scorn in the supercilious curve of full lips. In one fell swoop his existence as a sentient being entirely dismissed; not worthy of notice.

His challenge had been countered instinctually. Admon wondered briefly if the Elite in question realized that he had natural empathic abilities.

The Blondie was in defense mode, his body language spoke volumes.

For a creature scrupulously designed to suppress the baser emotional drives of the purely organic human animal, the Elite in question was doing a poor job of curbing his disquiet and all because of his new Master’s presence; interesting.

Palpable tension filled the space between his Master and the Blondie, their respective heart rates had risen; their breathing becoming shallow, though neither spared the other the vaguest of glances.

Most curious of all to the Karinese was the contrasting chill and guarded curiosity from the observant one they called leader.

“That is neither here nor there, Raoul,” Iason responded in a clipped tone, while guiding the dealer forward and indicated a seat before returning his attention to his intractable friend. “He is here now Raoul, and Cal will see to his needs while we discuss the Auction’s itinerary for tomorrow.”

Admon’s eyes narrowed perceptibly as he watched the Blondie in question slowly approach the deep couch where Katze sat, ramrod straight with his usual impassive expression in place.

This Raoul Am had been the source of that haunted feeling in the pit of his stomach, his scent distant but familiar to his senses.

Raoul’s gaze flicked across the Black Market dealer’s stoically handsome face, clinically taking in the shadows beneath his pale eyes, the tension evident in those high cheekbones and the growing rigidity in his lower jaw with each step he took closer to his mark. A thin film of sweat now touched that delicately structured upper lip which trembled slightly. Katze needed a smoke. He could always tell.

The medical man smirked; pleased he could still elicit fear in the little mongrel, despite the protection of his current surroundings. Soon enough he would get him alone and exact punishment.

Fear was always preferable to respect. He could and would bide his time. Katze would answer for this new ‘acquisition’, one way or another.

His Master had given him but one order, to observe and so despite the obvious dislike in the venomously questioning glares being leveled at him sporadically, he did.

Wave upon waves of wholly destructive emotions mixed with suppressed carnal need, flowed over and through Admon unhindered.

Muddled frustration warred with suspicion as the Blondie glowered at him, willing his demise but not succeeding. Admon wanted to smile feeling the sudden emotional shift within the Elite as he fought valiantly to control the discharges of his instinctive, possessive will. Raoul’s gaze shifted for the second time to the redheaded mongrel, assuming a quietly bland expression.

That brief glance directed at the dealer also spoke volumes. He wanted Katze.

Frustration turned to molten rage as the object of need remained seemingly indifferent to his surroundings. The sharp hurt of longing verging on despair continued to coil in slowing eddies from the Elite as he fought for control. Admon’s gut churned, attempted to process the shifting tapestry of emotions within the Blondie. It was too much. There could be no outcome but violence.

He was proud of his Master though. That stolid countenance feigned indifference well, though Admon could feel the rising heat of his skin and the subtle well hidden fear. The quality of the fear however was intriguing. It had less to do with the Blondie and more to do with the dealer himself.

Admon felt a hand touch his shoulder lightly bringing up from his trance-like state. He shifted under the unwanted touch and those dark beseeching eyes looking up at him – Cal. Like all who served these exalted beings he was frightened.

Still dazed by the encounter Admon glanced at Katze who cautiously nodded his assent.

Katze’s skin prickled when his eyes met the cool surmise within Iason’s ice blue counterparts. He knew.

Iason had to admit, though his head ached, this was fascinating; Katze as sexual being, how curious.

Admon lowered his gaze beneath long lashes and quietly followed the Furniture from the spacious well appointed room, aware of two sets of eyes upon him; one set amused and curious, and the other, cold fury.

Katze was in trouble.

He should never have marked him with his scent. The dealer would pay for this oversight.


~~~BMR~~~

The bar was silent as Riki smirked counting the credits before him, sure of his victory.

Ahh just like the old days, he thought with wet, petulant lips firmly closed around the sweet morsel while his dexterous tongue worked its magic and his audience breathlessly awaited the results of the bet.

Gray eyes watched with no small amount of interest from behind. Donovan scanned their proximity with growing trepidation as he silently signaled his men to move forward in case.

The bodyguard had always liked the Kid, but this was a bit showy, even for him. Guy had not moved a muscle, but the trouble lay in his haunted gaze that held a secret want.

Riki managed a lascivious grin around the cherry’s knotted stem protruding from moist lips before he ate it with relish to resounding cheers.

“It’s all in the tongue, baby” he slurred, reaching for the bowl of cherry red liquid with the bobbing sweets.

A hand moved it playfully just out of reach, spilling the viscous, pink tinged liquid over long fingers that rose to paint Riki’s lips, with infinite care as he spoke.

“I remember that tongue.”

The mongrel licked his lips suggestively before giving his verdict. “Sweet.”

Gray eyes held a predatory gleam as they watched the slow movement of Riki’s soft wet tongue, liking his own index finger meaningfully, removing the remaining sticky sweetness.

Riki’s obsidian gaze remained unreadable as he met Guy’s appreciative stare. The dark mongrel snorted, lit another filter tip and turned away, pounding the bar top for service.

“Keep ‘em coming. The night is young.”

The credits were thrown back to the barkeeper. Cheers echoed throughout the main floor at the unexpected largesse displayed by the former slum dweller.

Donovan convulsively cracked his spine before approaching. He had to put an end to this, feeling an unfamiliar twinge in his gut at Guy’s open display and the Dark Mongrel’s indifference.

There was unspoken anger in that obsidian gaze; unfinished business.

“Okay, point made, Riki.” Donovan said casually placing himself between Bison’s current leader and Iason Mink’s fuck toy, “Time to go, Kid.”

Guy snarled as his arms were grasped from behind by strong hands and a cold pistol was leveled at his spine by security, daring him to move or speak.

Riki’s dark brow rose in a quizzical arch, his extraordinarily handsome face assumed a knowing, mischievous grin while he slowly took inventory from the bodyguard’s booted feet, up the well-muscled torso to the breadth of broad powerful shoulders, but no further as he butted the smoke.

“So Guy, I’m guessin’ he tops?”


~~~BMR~~~


Cal refreshed Sirs Mink and Am’s stemmed glasses, feigning indifference to the hushed rapid fire discussion shared between his Master and the ex-Furniture, Katze. Sir Am, on the other hand, appeared more interested in contemplating the delicate structure of the crystal flute he held and its contents than partaking of conversation.

The redhead’s adroit suggestions being met most often with protracted silences and or a diffident nod, but only where absolutely necessary. Cal’s brows furrowed. It was curious that neither regarded the other, preferring to maintain Sir Iason’s narrowed, steely gaze in discourse.

Deek was right. Something was amiss with the Chief Medical Officer of Tanagura, particularly when it came to any public interaction with the Black Market dealer.

Gray brows knitted briefly as he retreated to the kitchen deep in thought, taking the impromptu guest with him. Not two nights before, Cal had it on excellent authority the mongrel had been a guest of Sir Am for several hours in his private study. He barely tolerated Deek’s presence there, much less the mongrel.

Iason steepled long gloved fingers and regarded both men across from him with growing irritation at the conversational impasse.

Katze licked his lips nervously, noting the pregnant pause.

“Raoul, I would take it as a personal favor if you accompanied Katze tomorrow morning and see about the exotic offering in question.”

“Donovan will greet Sir Am. We’ve re-organized things a bit for security reasons.” The last fucking thing he needed was to be in close quarters with the son-of-a-bitch.

Iason’s already growing impatience, particularly with Raoul’s obvious reticence, caused the soft words directed at the dealer to emerge from taut lips with a hiss.

“Was I not clear? You, Katze, will accompany Sir Am. Not one of your lackeys.”

“Of course, whatever you deem appropriate, your Excellency. I was merely thinking ahead so as not to inconvenience Sir Am.”

A derisive snort echoed within the room as Raoul gracefully rose and straightened his sash coat with marked impatience. He wanted to leave. The Karinese scent still permeated the room; most displeasing in its sickly sweetness; highly repulsive to his delicately honed olfactory senses.

“Iason, if you will forgive a simple observation?”

“Go on, dear friend. I am sure your faultless surmise will be of equal interest to Katze.”

Raoul shook his head slowly, unsure by his friend’s tone if he should continue. “As you wish….Iason.”

Ice blue eyes sparkled with a malicious gleam as pale lips curved into a smile. “Continue.”

“This recalcitrance,” Raoul paused and pursed his lips, searching for the right phrase. “No, this passive aggression you see displayed is the direct result of your indulgent handling of the mongrel.”

Katze stiffened, hearing the slow intake of breath coming from Iason, who casually smoothed long gloved fingers over the sleeve of his coat.

“And one facile observation merits another, Raoul.”

Katze shifted his gaze to the carpet. He knew that tone well. Raoul was about to get his perfectly delectable ass handed to him and in his presence too. Not good.

A slow diffident nod signaled the medical man’s acquiesced to the strategically chosen adjective meant to upbraid.

Livid green eyes lowered accusingly toward the bowed head of the mongrel, who had developed a sudden and inexplicable fascination with the carpeting beneath expensively shod feet.

“Your meaning, Iason?”

“Perspective, Raoul, all is perspective, don’t you think?”

Raoul’s gaze grew cold and distant. “I still don’t quite catch your meaning?”

“The illusion of choice can prove beneficial in obtaining one’s ultimate ends. It is essential, in fact. One must always allow for individuality, complicity, and acceptance in setting boundaries.”

“Yeeeeees, a modicum of freedom is allowable, depending on the subject. I concur, but discipline is also an essential part of training.”

Iason’s mouth hardened, smooth alabaster skin pulled taut over his flawless, well boned countenance, while long gloved fingers caressed the arm of his chair rhythmically in thought.

“I would hazard this passive aggression displayed has more to do with your ever present need to debase him, knowing full well he has no recourse.”

Rendered mute by the well couched observation, Raoul’s eyes grew large in horror.

Languidly, Iason continued with a frigid smile upon his full lips.

“I see you don’t deny it?”

“Discipline, Iason. All is discipline. I do not put up with impudence.”

“Allowing him no illusion of freedom to choose the path most dearly sought, by his victimizer, is a mistake, Raoul.”

Katze abruptly rose, not liking the tenure of the conversation as his blood began to run cold with fear. This was too close to home. Riki’s earlier flippant comment was coming home to roost.

If Iason continued this line, he would be the one to suffer. “Your Excellency, it grows late …”

“SIT!!! You are no better than he.” Iason roared, kneading his temples. “The both of you are giving me a headache of epic proportions.”

Raoul’s stance abruptly changed from diffidence to concern as he moved forward and kneeled before the elegant seated figure in obvious pain. He would not address the comment in the presence of the mongrel. He would not deign to give the observation, merit.

“Iason, the offer still stands. I can retrieve the necessary preparations in a matter of minutes. Allow me to leave your presence momentarily?”

“I’ll get it, Sir Am.” Katze offered softly, finally seeing a tangible means of escape.

It was rare for anyone to see Iason like this and in truth, the redhead didn’t like it. When all was said and done, Iason had allowed him some semblance of choice and freedom, however tethered, it was life.

Raoul turned narrowed eyes on the remarkably striking figure hovering over his right shoulder and was somewhat piqued by the genuine concern emanating from soft amber pools, directed at Iason.

In that moment, wholly illogical as it was it irked the Blondie that never once had Katze ever looked at him in that manner.

“Well at least some semblance of your conditioning remains intact.”

Resentment, jealousy and suspicion came to the fore as the muscles of his back tensed. He wanted to strike the fragile mongrel. That foul unwelcomed scent wafted to his nostrils again the closer Katze came.


“Once a Furniture; always a Furniture,” he murmured sarcastically, returning his attention to Iason’s strained face.

Katze signed, turning his fatigued eyes to Raoul, uncaring of the probable outcome for speaking out of turn. “Just let me get what he needs, Sir Am and I can be out of your hair.”

Raoul had noticed it before, but had assumed the fragrant eddies were due to overdone toy’s unwanted presence in the penthouse; not anymore. It had been lingering on Katze, all along. He had witnessed that rather invasive touch as they left the lift. It only served to fuel his anger then.

“And back in your plaything’s no doubt? Tell me Katze, have you taken to sampling the goods?”

“RAOUL!”

Both flinched at the sheer volume that brought Cal and Admon running back into the living space.

Instinct brought Admon to Katze’s side, eliciting Raoul’s indignation at the possessive, almost solicitous look given to the mongrel’s cloaked visage.

Where moments before there had been warmth, softness, concern in those cognac depths, now only cold citrine regarded the Elite with barely suppressed rage.

Pale lips quirked with gratification; he preferred that look. He understood that look for what it was. This was in no way finished, but Iason came first. He would assert his dominance at a more appropriate time without prying eyes.

“Inform Deek you have my permission to enter my study and retrieve my medical kit.”

Katze glared back into spiteful green eyes, instinctively aware something had changed in Raoul’s almost rapacious cat-like appraisal that glided over the mongrel’s attractive form. No fucking way. He knew that look and there was no way in hell, he told himself, though his breath caught and the faintest of tremors coursed through his own being in want.

Iason needed help and that came first; he would deal with the bullshit later; preferably with Admon.

“Where in the study, Sir Am?”

“The desk of course, right next to that bizarre little box, you so covet.”

Admon flinched, gripping Katze’s shoulder for support as a feeling of foreboding ricocheted through his chest as nonsensical images passed before his eyes; a helix of spectral light spiraling up; the sound of running water down a long cold hallway. A place his current Master had been and the pain.


“You okay?” Katze whispered steadying him gently with the stroke of warm fingers down his back with soothing caresses meant to reassure.

“Can we please leave?”

“Yes Katze, please do. Its scent offends.” Raoul snapped waspishly, as Iason abruptly rose and pointedly glared at his second in command.

“Cal, his coat,” Iason interjected, “and Katze, inform Riki my generosity has limits tonight.”

“I am sure he is on his way as we speak, Iason,” Katze assured unconvincingly, accepting the coat.

Pale lips thinned to a harsh line of resolved, “He has been too long without the ring. This will be rectified upon his return.”

The Kid had finally done it and he had no one to blame Katze thought watching as the tall imposing being abruptly turned and headed down the long corridor that lead to the Master bedroom.

“CAL!” Iason barked.

The Furniture was glad of the reprieve and hurriedly followed in the wake of his Master’s bellow, leaving Katze with the unenviable task of dealing with Raoul.

Admon’s opaque ruby eyes glided over the handsome Elite’s strained features. Tactical retreat was the only option at the moment. “I will await your return in the foyer, Katze.”

The redhead blinked. There was a message there in the use of his given name, but damned if he had time to figure it out now. What was unfortunate, however, was Admon’s timing, presaged by Raoul’s sharp intake of breath as he headed for the door.

Raoul chuckled softly. “Katze, is it? How quaint.”

Recognizing the danger in the sibilance of tone and query, the dealer quietly slipped on his coat and slowly began to back towards the door, his mind rapidly gauging the remaining distance between himself and it.

“You won’t make it, but you are welcome to try, Katze.” was the whispered threat that now came from directly behind his ear.

He shivered as Raoul’s warm breath ghosted across the nape of his neck and he found himself pinned effortlessly against the door.

“Be quick about it.”

Katze blinked in confusion as he craned his neck, trying to see the shadowed expression on Raoul’s face. Warm breath brushed his face as gloved hands glided possessively over his hips, wending their way suggestively to his crotch with a vicious squeeze.

He flinched in pain as Raoul ground his hips forward with a purr of delight against a tensely muscled backside.

“I trust, still mine?” Raoul whispered threateningly, his interest evident by the heat of his burgeoning erection.

Tears welled behind the mongrel’s closed and furious eyes. Despite the pain inflicted, his body responded.

“Yes…”

A stinging smack to his rear ended the encounter, as Raoul lazily eased himself off Katze’s plastered form with a languorous sigh. “Excellent. Be back in five minutes. You won’t like it if I have to come looking for you, little mongrel.”

“No, Sir Am.”


~~~BMR~~~


It was time to return. Funny, but it didn’t bother him half as much as it use to, he mused distractedly, dark eyes looking wistfully toward the crest of the hill at the shimmering towers that beckoned; his home, such as it was.

He glanced upward. No sign of the twins tonight.

The moisture laden air took on the distinctive scent of the rain to come, while dark foreboding clouds gathered, overshadowing the usually star filled sky.

Riki stretched tiredly, feeling for the last smoke bummed while Donovan waited patiently in the doorway like the towering sentinel he was, simply observing as the Mink security detail prepared to leave now that Riki sat astride his hover bike and blew unsuccessful smoke rings as if he had all the time in the world.

Iason would be pissed. What should have been an hour or two of respite, a kind of freedom from the stolid, hollow and often times, lonely, sterile existence had turned to four.

The acrid stench sure to follow rainfall, the noise, the dirt, the sound of plodding feet, laughter, drunken stupors, the visceral pleasure of a good fight, fleeting passions and pain, all confirmed you were alive, unlike the bland opulence of the penthouse; ever silent, pitiless in its regularity and perfection.

He was so fucked. Might as well enjoy the smoke before dealing; Iason’s punishments had been kind of weak of late, maybe he’d luck out.

Those all too brief exchanges, no longer cruel had changed to something indefinable and Iason had grown watchful, almost reticent in his touch of late; giving and taking in equal measure.

In truth he almost preferred Iason’s wrath, the forceful possessiveness to this new untenable hold the Blondie had over him. It was the silences now that hurt, alone in that gilded cage. That hollow ridge within where anger alone no longer sufficed was unbearable.

Something had changed, but fuck if he knew what.

The hum of engines brought Riki out of his reverie as he felt Donovan’s approach.

“Go Riki, Guy’s foaming at the mouth downstairs in the cell.”

The dark mongrel shrugged gunning the powerful engine beneath him.

“And I give a fuck beeeeeeeeeecause?”

Donovan large hands grabbed the handles with menace and lowered his face mere inches from the smirking mongrel’s.

Dark eyes became mere pinpoints of angry light.

“Donny, Donny, Donny. Never touch the ride.”

“Stop comin’ around. Stop rubbin’ his nose in it. You made your bed. Lie in it, Kiddo.”

Riki chuckled and gunned the engine once more, shifting his weight sufficiently as he back up, leaving Donovan no choice but to relinquish his grasp.

“Yeah…whatever, sweet cheeks. Tell Katze I might see him tomorrow at the auction, just depends.”

Donovan’s eyes glinted threateningly. Fuckin’ brat thought this was a game. Such a cold little bastard; perfectly suited for Sir Shit by the looks of things.

“Depends on what?”

“Never you mind, Sexy. Go take care of your rabid dog. You’re welcome to him.”

The first droplets of rain touched Riki’s cheek as he eased into traffic, his unhappy retinue following as he weaved through traffic with an impish grin. It felt so good to be out. He felt free in the moment.

Iason would be pissed alright, he was two hours past curfew. Okay so it was gonna fuckin’ hurt, but bruises always healed, he reminded himself, glad of the rain that washed away all evidence of tears.


~~~BMR~~~


Katze was stronger than he looked. He would give him that, however, the undue solicitousness would have to go.

All that brushing back of hair from sweaty brow was untenable to the Elite’s sense of propriety. Against his better judgment and Iason’s insistence he had returned with the tiresome mongrel and his new plaything.

Glaring at the inordinately attractive prone figure, Raoul huffed. “Does he have any pre-existing medical conditions, some form of communicable disease you saw fit not to mention?”

The redhead lower jaw stiffened at the clear implication of Raoul’s words.

“No Sir Am, my people gave him a thorough medical.”

Raoul shrugged indifferently and began pacing the small room impatiently, noting the uncharacteristically practical surroundings with suspicion. Such a decorative creature he had imagined would surround himself with all manner of petty, juvenile flotsam. Instead, it was neat, ordered and almost clinical in its perfection.

“With his line of profession, you never know what manner of sexually transmitted disease may lay dormant before rearing its ugly head. It pays to be safe in these matters.”

“Do you need him undressed? I’ll get Kato to assist you in your examination, Sir Am.”

“Noooo, please…no. Not him.”

Admon was conscious.

A perplexed golden brow showed clear affront at the pathetic whine.

“Oh dear, are we feeling modest, Admon?”

Admon released the breath he had been holding as his vision acclimatized to the familiar surroundings and he focused his attention on his Master, ignoring the jib of the vituperative Blondie, currently staring at him as though he were a nasty little insect.

Long pale fingers of their own volition brushed the Black Market dealer’s scarred cheek before gently cupping the curiously beautiful face full of genuine concern.

Katze blushed self-consciously, carefully extricating himself from the gentle touch, folding Admon’s beautiful hands to his chest.

“No more fainting, ‘kay? It’s bad for business. The clients will freak.”

A slow tired smile graced Admon face as he closed his eyes once more.

Katze would later remember the gentle ephemeral smile that touched soft lips; a genuine smile, the first he had himself witnessed since Admon’s capture. He would also hold in memory the equal gentility of that touch.

It was almost reverent.

No one had ever touched him that way, as if he were worth something.

Only the best clients Katze thought, absently - only the best and not those inclined to perverse cruelty, simply because they had paid well for the privilege of bedding him.

There were plenty of other uses for Admon within the organization, where his natural skills could prove beneficial. He would speak with Donovan and the crew in the morning.

“I will do my best in future. On occasion I have turns when over stimulated by hateful, destructive emotions. It is nothing more than that. My usual guard was not up.” Admon glared at the towering figure standing behind his Master. “It is now. Please allow me a few minutes to equalize before attending to you.”

Katze shook his head, somewhat thrown by Admon’s practicality. “You get another reprieve tonight. Scared the shit out of me when I found you in the hall all dead to the world.”

Raoul gritted his teeth disgusted by the intimate undercurrents displayed. It was as if he weren’t even in the room the way they spoke. Why was the mongrel smoothing the covers over the whore as though he were some manner of delicate porcelain, something precious to him?

Admon raising himself slowly upon his elbows, “I do not wish this reprieve you speak of. I wish to pleasure you. That is my purpose now.”

Uncomfortably aware they were not alone Katze coughed, rising to his feet and adjusted the blankets around the almost prone figure with finality.

“We’ll talk about that tomorrow. Kato will be in shortly. You need to eat and rest.”

“So do you.”

“Touché…Rest. That is an order.”

Admon nodded wearily and gracelessly flopped back onto soft, plush pillows. It seemed the Elite had lost interest in him, preferring to glean more about the ‘whore’ by detailed examination of the quietly modest bedroom.

Katze sighed as he turned to face the suspiciously silent Blondie and bowed before heading for the door. He hoped it would be enough.

“I am sorry we’ve kept you, Master Am. We thank you for your valuable time and consideration. If you will allow me to escort you downstairs, Donovan will see you back safely. Again, I apologize for wasting your time. Good night, Sir Am.”

Again that rich golden brow rose in actual amazement. This sudden show of spine was unacceptable as was the finality in Katze’s tone. Again the wretched little creature was taking it upon himself to be dismissive, however well disguised the attempt at chivalrous behavior.

Head held high, the Elite exited the non-descript little room without a backward glance.

This was in no way finished.

~~~BMR~~~


There was always something.

First Donovan bitching at the top of his lungs in the kitchen abut Riki’s behavior, then the bar count was off, due to the Kid’s generosity and the happy fingers of the former Barman, who now lay prone in the alley, a mere shadow of his former self.

Katze flopped in a booth, nursing his wrist. He never could throw a punch. God his wrist hurt and Kato was in a mood, all his well laid plans, gone for naught. A rueful smile did curve pale lips however. Somewhere between the upper floor and the bar, Raoul Am, the bane of his existence, had miraculously disappeared. No one could find him.

“Praises to Jupiter.”

The dealer dismissed the thought as his eyes absently wandered over the two attractive males atop the dais copulating with bored expressions. He checked the chronometer over the bar. It was their second performance for the night. Katze made a mental note to switch up the partnerships before the next set.

No heat. No lust.

Analytically, citrine eyes passed over the clientele, measuring the response levels. As it was, only the truly desperate at the bar showed any interest. Not a single hand went unconsciously to a crotch. Not good for business. A third of the salons upstairs remained unoccupied. It looked to be a slower than average night.

The lighting was off too and in no way complimentary to the practiced heaving forms. A threesome for the midnight show, a female even, just for a change of pace; exotica paid dividends.

The more holes for impaling, the better it was for business; just a fact, he thought slowly rising, intentionally ignoring the twinge of pain from his rapidly swelling fingers. What the fuck had possessed him to take a swing at the jackass? That was always best left to Donovan whose shadow hoved into view.

“Want some ice for that?”

“Fuck off.”

Donovan stifled a chuckle. “Just an offer, Boss. Nice shot though, almost broke his jaw.”

“Almost my ass, you’re enjoying this,” Katze sighed, flexing his fingers with a hiss. “You’re on tonight. Put a threesome up next. Use the little female. She’s plenty flexible.”

“Yeah, was kind of wonderin’ about those two.” The bodyguard snorted, folding long powerful arms across his chest. “They’re kinda losin’ their edge, Boss. We’ve all noticed.”

Katze nodded wearily. Another fucking decision to make, in the end this was a game of profit and loss. “I’ve noticed over the last few weeks their personal bookings are flat and Peter’s is in decline. At this rate, it’ll be soon time for him to fend for himself.”

Speculatively both men turned and regarded the duo. Donovan leaned down and whispered in Katze’s ear. “We do have Admon. Wanna try him out?”

“Yeah…” Katze flicked his bang irritably changing the subject. “Did you find Sir Asshole?”

Donovan peered at his Boss curiously but kept his own counsel. “As near as I can figure, the limo he followed you in is gone. So he legged it, I guess.”

Impromptu singing from the doorway caught both their attention as a few newbie’s trooped in, already three sheets to the wind. Katze eyes drifted to the minder at the door who gave a preemptory nod. They were clean – no weapons, no listening devices, just copious amounts of credit.

“Fresh meat, Boss.”

Katze dispassionately regarded the group of dissipated men negotiating the crowded bar room floor towards a private booth. Jupiter he was tired and the sight of the rain soaked entourage just made him feel more so, but he suspected at least the remaining salons would now be booked, that was something anyway.

“Guy?”

“Sorted.” Donovan replied while eyeing the newest entrants with the usual suspicion.

“Liar…but I’m not up to his bullshit right now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Ice it. Eat something. I’ll take it from here.”

An auburn brow quirked, “I’m paying you too much.”

Donovan chuckled. “Not nearly enough, Boss Man. Not nearly enough.”

The lithe darkly clad male moved off toward the back stairs, feeling Donovan’s querulous gaze upon his back. He turned.

“Yeah?”

Nervously scratching the back of his head, Donovan grimaced, paling with embarrassment. “Thanks.”

“For?” Katze countered patiently.

“You know. My brother…stuff…Guy…you know. Just thanks.”

Golden eyes narrowed as he studied his No. 1. “Switch it up,” the dealer waved at the revolving dais with obvious fatigue, “before they bore the clients to death. That’ll be thanks enough.”

Donovan’s grin lit up his handsome weathered face. “G’Night, Boss.”

Katze mounting the stairs with relief, he didn’t need gratitude. In the end, they had each others back, that was gratitude enough. He would check in on Admon though before returning to his quarters for some well deserved rest.


~~~BMR~~~


Carefully Katze closed the door behind him and perched upon the dresser across from the rumpled bedding and its occupant. He looked angelic in sleep, despite the evident furrow of well tended brows.

Admon was dreaming, but of what?

There was no question he was exquisite, handsome even in the right light, but more so eerily beautiful, Katze decided, continuing to watch with rapt attention the sinuous movements of the prone figure in restless sleep. Admon clutched the soft sheets beneath his fingers and whimpered as though in pain.

.
For a moment Katze toyed with waking him but thought better of it as long fingers slackened their grip and smoothed the rumpled silk. Quietly amused by the incongruity of the sight, the dealer shook his head. Admon had revealed himself, however subconsciously as a neat-nick.

He really was living symmetry and grace, not born for the task he was now relegated to, a body for hire. What a body too Katze mused, drinking in the supple shift of strong, agile muscles beneath warm, delicious skin. Jupiter he needed a smoke, if only to distract his nethers from the unconscious seduction taking place.

The voluminous robes strategic design only served to enhance Admon’s well honed musculature, exposing just enough to tease, to entice. Maybe Donovan was right. The thought really irritated though of myriad hands and other body parts intruded on what he subconsciously knew was sacred space not meant to be defiled.

He was too perfect, maybe even enhanced though nothing in his bio records indicated that. Someone of great power had owned him once. That was self evident by his manner, bearing and the secret he still kept.

An ominous chill shot through the dealer as he continued to drink in the vision before him with growing trepidation at the fitful form who cast the remaining sheets aside exposing pale muscled legs and a small scar mid thigh. Katze leaned forward perplexed by the sight. It was a raised, twisted and angry by comparison to the otherwise smooth expanse of delectable skin.

Silently, Katze moved forward for a better look. He was just too perfect he thought cautiously running a finger over the mark, definitely alien in origin. It had to be his imagination that he had seen something like it before.

Fucking Blondies were making him paranoid. Katze blinked as a memory ghosted teasingly within only to be quashed by a soft reverberating voice.

“It is my former Master’s crest.”

Katze started pulling back his hand as though burnt, embarrassed at being caught as dark red eyes glowed in amusement up at him. The dealer self consciously adjusted his bang, hiding his own scar.

“You always do that when unnerved, fortunately few notice this idiosyncrasy.”

The dealer stood, his traitorous fingers sifting through auburn silk, unwittingly confirming the wry observation. “Admon, you need to stop that.”

Flexing languidly Admon carelessly tossed a wealth of strawberry blonde curls over an exposed shoulder. Katze watched, thoroughly enraptured as long fingers caressing the opulent ream of crimson silk about lean hips. “Stop what, Master Katze?”

Katze waved his hands in frustration and gritted his teeth in pain though inquisitive amber eyes were glued to the subtle rise of cloth at the apex of Admon’s sex, matching his own. “Stop it now or you will be working tonight and it won’t be me!”

“No…” Admon retorted softly, swinging long legs off the bedding. “So be it. I live to serve.”

When the fuck had he lost control? He hadn’t meant it. “I give the fucking orders around here, Admon. Get back in bed.” Even to his ear the command sounded petulant.

Admon sighed, gracefully uncoiling himself as he rose. The rain had stopped, the silver light without beckoning his sight as he padded to the small window overlooking the back alley, his eyes rising to the heavens for confirmation. They were there as he had anticipated, their respective glow almost touching tonight; how apropos.

“If you believe nothing else, believe this, my Master. You have nothing to fear from me. I will never probe your mind unless you so wish it. We all deserve to keep our secrets until such time that we can deal with them effectively.”

The light of the moons came through the thin screen casting a silvery sheen atop Admon’s head. An eerie silence followed. He was too perfect, but not a threat. Katze could feel that in his gut.

“What secrets?” Katze murmured, lighting his filter tip, inhaling the sweet smoke, like life’s breath while watching Admon’s graceful gait.

“Oh just the ones we select to keep from ourselves in hopes of avoiding the imagined fall from grace.”

Too perfect, Katze thought again, just too fucking perfect, “Why are you here, Admon? Why did you allow yourself to be caught?”

Slowly the Karinese turned, away from the ambient light to face his accuser. “I don’t know, Master Katze. You brought me here and now, I simply do not know. Time will tell. It always does. I can only hope it will lead me back to the One. You are both connected. I can see it in your eyes. Until then, I will serve. I live to serve.”

For a moment in the mottled light so regal and proud in his honesty, that vague feeling of foreboding returned. The one felt when they had touched briefly in the hallway.

It was his stance and in the subtle play of silvered light and shadow upon his face. It was the impertinence and force of the knowing gaze that held his, why he saw the likeness. Perhaps not of look, but definitely of bearing, Raoul Am’s Ruby, so well hidden in the alcove, away from prying eyes, alone but sacred.

“Describe the One.”

Admon stood in graceful silence, refusing to speak. Simply watching as clarity dawned in cognac eyes.

Katze sighed aloud, the dull ache in his wrist returned on cue. He would allow Admon’s reticence this once because they both already knew the answer and maybe, just maybe he was right about secrets.


~~~BMR~~~


Champagne had its merits, Raoul mused downing the last of the contents within the long stemmed crystal flute. He was bored. Three quarters of a bottle had indeed induced a surprisingly pleasant mental lassitude. It might even be said, a certain level of tolerance had come into those verdant green eyes, currently at half mast watching the attractive mongrel’s progress down the hall, favoring his wrist.

It had been fascinating if truth be told watched the wretched little thing efficiently patrolling his territory facilitating business, having quiet conversations with the Donovan fellow, seemingly placating that portly little servant and engaging in a rather heated exchange with an employee that ended with fisticuffs.

Raoul shook his head and adjusting a pillow behind his neck against the headboard.

Wretched little creature was not designed for that manner of base activity.

Pale full lips curved into a lascivious smirk. He could think of far more useful activities.

Sleepy green eyes scanned the darkened bedroom, well pleased with the changes made under his expert hand. The petals had to go for a start and he didn’t much care for the crimson sheets either, far too reminiscent of the plaything, but they would have to suffice under the circumstances.

“Pleasure him, indeed,” Raoul murmured, reaching for the cool, sweating bottle and carefully pouring the last of its contents. Superior hearing was a most gratifying aspect of being enhanced. The quiet hush of the outer office portal giving rise to heightened awareness of scent and movement signaling the dormant predatory shift within his agile mind, the games were about to begin.

Slowly, the bedroom door opened, revealing the familiar shadowed presence. Raoul watched as Katze’s shoulders slumped with an accompanying resigned sigh.

Not quite the picture or reaction the disrobed Elite had had in mind.

Raoul pursed his lips in thought as the mongrel entered the room fully and quietly closed the door behind him.

“I take it you have been fucking this Admon creature?”


Author’s Note:

Oh Katze, Oh Raoul, Lord but you both will be the death of me. Ladies and gents, I sincerely hope you enjoyed. This is the single longest chapter I have EVER written for one of my fics!. The hell is about to begin, this night. See you soon. Let me know. Hespera, expect a response later this evening.

EP