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

Parts: WIP – 26 of ?

Reviews are fuel.


"If you love, love without reservation. If you fight, fight without fear.”
~~~
The Way of the Warrior


Chapter 26 of ? – Entropy (Post OVA)


He was early. Iason had demanded it. Iason always demanded, regardless of the subtlety employed in his eloquent delivery.

The request for his presence had one proviso. The Chief Medical Officer of Tanagura was to arrive at the penthouse unannounced during the new Furniture’s allotted bi-weekly respite from his duties. The Furniture would be alone since the Pets of the Mink household frequented the salon on those days for their own form of social interaction.

Raoul was simply asked to observe and report what he found. A simple enough task, the Elite supposed. It seemed Katze never left the penthouse on those days, preferring to remain indoors. This had been the fuel for Iason’s suspicions as to the young Furniture’s suitability to the role, though vouchsafed by Sir Niiro.

No doubt Iason was being paranoid. Then again as head of the Syndicate, his enemies were, in truth, legion. Raoul would humour him just this once for the sake of their friendship.

Iason’s misgivings had grown as the weeks turned into months. Now bound and determined to catch the male in question at some manner of nefarious activity, despite his perfect record and evident skills that defied his Excellency’s irrational qualms.

“It is in his gaze, Raoul. Something about his regard does not sit well. I need proof of his duplicity. Who better to affirm my suspicions but a geneticist and friend?”

Annoyed at the interruption to his day, Raoul keyed the digits softly while his mind wandered to more pressing matters beyond his brethren’s quixotic fancies of possible misdeeds on the Furniture’s part.

Seriously, all the wretched creature had to do was tend the three existing pets and general housekeeping. It was Iason’s fault entirely that he had not gotten the evidence he needed. A camera or two would have sufficed, but no, not in his Excellency’s residence.

Raoul sighed with frustration. Spying was hardly his métier. There was something distasteful in the act and well below his station.

He sniffed the air upon entering the main living space. A subtle aroma came wafting to his nostrils. Not unpleasant per say, more exotic in nature and definitively food. His salivary glands began to show interest as he followed his nose toward the source of the promising gastronomic delights.

It was definitely coming from direction of the hallway that led to the Pet’s quarters and that of their keeper, the Furniture.

A faint melody beckoned too. It seems all his senses were to be engaged this day. First that mouth watering scent and now a haunting instrumental of clearly alien origins, coiling sensually to his ears, leaving him with a languid feeling.

Humming?

That was unexpected. Not particularly melodious but in time with the chords. His discerning ears heard the swish of material and the clatter of cutlery being set upon a surface the closer he came to the Furniture’s own quarters.

Raoul stilled outside the partially open door, where radiant sunlight lit flame coloured damp hair as the Furniture pirouetted about the room in a highly inappropriate manner, having completed his task.

The Elite cocked his head in consternation, noting the elegant, rather young being’s sway. No more than seventeen, if looks were to be believed. An aesthetically pleasing specimen, but then, Iason would have it no other way.

He watched Katze catch his breath, looking about the room with pleasure before flopping into the well worn chair by the window and curling his legs under him. Raoul stepped back a fraction, just in case, noting in his sudden caution the fact that he had not taken a breath recently, so caught was he by the appearance of the castrate.

A lovely creature unadorned in a simple white robe that only emphasized the lean yet well built form and the long neck that protruded from the collar. It was the hair that most caught his attention. It had a life of its own in its glow, casting an angelic light upon a truly exceptional face for a mongrel.

Katze, he believed his name was, looked surprisingly pleased and contented with his borrowed world. Most un-Furniture like, the grace of those long, elegant fingers that had apparently secreted something under a cushion and now found it with a secretive smile; a book, Raoul’s eyes grew wide.

The thin voile curtains billowed touching the high cheek boned face, whose owner became pre-occupied as deceptively soft, amber lit eyes greedily absorbing the words of the page into his soul. He appeared to be on the last few pages.


Raoul was taken aback at the sight and felt somewhat ill as unwanted voyeur. This was the secret? The wicked machination that threatened to overthrow Amoi’s best and brightest; a Furniture taking rest from the usual tedium of his life?

He too enjoyed the odd diverting read and an excellent merlot, though his was not ill gotten gains. That vintage came from Iason’s private cellar. Raoul shook himself. There was no point justifying the theft. This would be reported, but still, hardly an egregious offence.

It was then Raoul’s eyes fell upon the cover of the leather bound text with a cold chill – ‘The Positronic Brain: Creating Sentience – Dr Katzen Wolf’.

Raoul knew this volume well. Not only was it an antique, book two of three to be exact, but it had been a gift from Raoul to Iason two years prior. More than likely never read, but taken in good graces.

He worried his chin with a single gloved digit as he recalled the mongrel’s expression with inward gazing eyes. The chill returned. Not possible; Just co-incidence, the names or for the matter his appearance.

Tipping back from the doorway, Raoul headed for Iason’s library just to be sure, somewhat confused by the mixture of surprise and affront that warred within his mind. What in Jupiter was this servile doing? He could not possibly understand what he was reading. Could he? Had he taken it by mistake or some fanciful egoistic drive while dusting the tomes?


Raoul fingered the volumes and found the space occupied. His eyes narrowed. Brilliant really considering that Iason would not notice its absence with a volume of similar colour, density and height in its place. He took it down and carefully opened volume one to the back leaf. Just for a moment, the Elite’s heart skipped a beat at her appearance.

Niiro was playing games again. This was not funny in the least. Had he tampered with this Furniture to make a point? Few knew he had purloined select specimens of the First One’s DNA codes with Raoul’s able assistance.

His brethren was once again overstepping well beyond his appointed caste and task. As it was, Iason tolerated Sir Niiro’s interests on the off chance that his covert experimentations might prove profitable.

Raoul shook his head allowing his mind’s eye to study those intelligent, exotically tilted citrine eyes. They were like amber jewels, hauntingly iridescent in their light. He would have to speak with Niiro about this mongrel’s anomalous behaviour.

Implicit in the expression of those mesmerizing golden eyes was actual comprehension of rather advanced scientific theory for its time.

The Elite’s brows furrowed in deep thought, his hand still upon the first volume as he processed and tried desperately to comprehend what he had just seen in that flawless and decidedly intelligent countenance that bore more than a striking resemblance to the woman on the back cover. He returned the mismatched book to its rightful place.

Not possible. They were not bred to this. Something was amiss. The science of it should have stymied a mongrel of Ceres. As mongrels they were given the barest essentials of what passed for education in Midas for slum dwellers. Encapsulated within these three volumes were the foundations of bio-mechanical theory as laid down by the First One herself, Dr. Katzen Wolf, Amoi’s progenitor and Jupiter’s creator.

~~~BMR~~~

The hum was closer now as was the scent of some equally exotic melange Raoul assumed was freshly brewed tea combined with the faint bouquet of cologne, fastidious creature.

Again not strictly a crime in and of itself, just simply unexpected in a decorative menial such as a Furniture; that was a Pet’s prerogative, as sanctioned by its Master.

The Blondie hurriedly replaced the volume just as the library door opened fully and a loud yelp echoed in the room announcing the much thought about Furniture’s presence.

Raoul’s gaze fixed on movements of a porcelain cup, whose liquid contents precariously skimmed the rim as it slid from the saucer heading for the carpeting and truly frightened amber peered up at him in a deafeningly silent scream.

He intercepted its downward trajectory with ease, but alas, not before it had done a modicum of damage to his tunic and marred a pristine white glove. He ignored the scalding heat that seeped through the silken layers with knitted gilt brows and thinned lips.

The terror in those eyes had been worth the discomfort. Katze knew he had been caught.

Perhaps this afternoon’s journey hadn’t been a total waste of his skills. Discipline is what these creatures needed when they extended themselves beyond their appropriate reach. The Furniture lowered his head and crumpled to his knees in abject apology.
The Blondie did note the protective hand that closed the robe, where an object was being held close to the mongrel’s chest.

“What have you there, Furniture?” Raoul pointed accusingly with sopping glove.

Katze whimpered. “Nothing of consequence, Sir, may I please attend you? I hadn’t heard you enter.”

“That...” the Blondie stated, giving the demur male a quick once over, “is patently obvious, little mongrel. Yes you most certainly will.” The Blondie’s expression remained stony as the elegant creature rose and slowly approached the obviously irritated Elite.

Raoul’s mind began to wander taking in the pleasingly graceful lines of the form before him.

Katze, despite his origins, could easily be mistaken for an Academy grade Pet, interesting. Well proportioned limbs, respectable height, symmetrical features and truly flawless ivory skin that seemed to glow in the warm sunlight. Not even a freckle atop the bridge of his patrician nose.

Most disconcerting, though he supposed this occurred naturally on occasion.

Raoul almost felt giddy with delight. His thorough inspection had finally netted a flaw in that near perfect countenance. The mouth was a bit too sharp. The upper lip though beautifully formed was somewhat thinner than strictly proportionally correct unlike the bottom which was lush in contrast.

Unbeknownst to the Elite, his speculative expression had been observed by the mongrel beneath thick auburn, lashes. “Sir Am?”


He found himself biting his own unconsciously as the lips in question moved in a disembodied way. The Elite was only marginally aware that actual sound was emanating from those lips of current preoccupation. In fact, he could tell it was a rather rich baritone and well modulated too if given full voice instead of the feigned docile timbre currently being used to appease.

“Sir Am? I humbly apologize for causing, this...it is my hope that...” Katze faltered now that he stood in front of the Elite and tightened his grip about his robe.

Raoul sighed in irritation looking down at his soiled tunic then at the not quite cowering Furniture with bowed head. He had three choices as to how to proceed.

One, make the mongrel grovel at his feet. That was pleasing.

Two, he could forcibly remove the shielded book from the lithe male’s grasp while enjoying the sight of him becoming emotionally unhinged at the very real prospect of punitive action on the part of his owner, and summary dismissal; equally pleasing.

And then there was three, the most delectable option of them all and a punitive action that he himself could rightfully exact, considering.

“Come here.” The Elite inhaled with deep satisfaction. Amidst the subtle scents of soapy unguents and freshly scrubbed skin was the delightfully invigorating piquancy of fear.

Raoul opted for three, while his eyes roved freely over the now quivering form that stood in front of him.

“One assumes the guest quarters are free currently?”

Katze blinked in confusion, but never raised his eyes, keeping his own counsel. “Yes, Sir Am?”

“Prepare me a bath while you affect repairs to my personal attire, discretely of course. One would not wish your grave faux pas to leave this room, what with you idling away your free time reading books without permission.”

The Furniture looked up directly into the Elite’s eyes accusingly for the briefest of moments.

Oh there it was, the gaze Iason had mentioned, just a flash of it mind. Those deep amber pools were diffident, watchful and calculating in their narrow, angry appraisal.

A slow malicious smile graced Raoul’s full lips. He would be punished for that too.

“You might wish to return the volume to its proper place first of course before decanting that vintage I seem to have spotted in your quarters from Iason’s private stock, no doubt? Waste not. Want not.”

Cool control returned almost instantly as the mongrel bowed deeply before revealing the tome in question from beneath his robe and cautiously reached up above the Elites head, placing the book in its proper place silently. Raoul closed his eyes and inhaled the mongrel’s beguiling natural scent. It hadn’t been cologne.

“Thank you, Sir Am. Might I ask something?” Katze barely murmured between pursed lips.

The demur lilt was missing in the cunningly formed question. Raoul smiled. “I’ve already returned the other volume to its rightful place, out of sight out of mind and all that?”

He watched with amusement the mongrel’s quick furtive glance caste to the spot mentioned three shelves down behind the armchair Iason favoured.

“I shall see to your needs immediately, Sir Am.”

Raoul nodded his approval and steadied himself, disquieted by the unexpected vague fluttering in his chest at the more dissolute interpretation that could so easily be placed upon the castrate’s response.

“If you will give me a few minutes to affect repairs, Sir Am, it would be greatly appreciated?” Katze beseeched quietly not waiting for a response as he retrieved the cup from Raoul’s wet, gloved fingers, taking the affected garment with him with one smooth, graceful swipe and headed for the main living space with efficient precision.

Raoul looked down at the sticky palm, wondering why it tingled at his touch.

There was something unnerving in the young male’s gait; far too proud of broad, straight back, far too elegant of pace with his long limbs and in no way apologetic for his misdeeds. In reality, he had come for volume three, the last in her series.

A heavy stillness followed the Furniture’s exit as he calmed his breathing and meticulously catalogued the stains to be removed from the carpet before seeing to the Elite’s other manageable requests for his complicit silence. Cause, it was clearly a deal. He’d have to figure out what the ultimate price was, when time permitted.

Raoul carefully folded long limbs upon the couch, mindful of the still damp silk of both tunic and shirt. Fortunate for the mongrel Katze, only minor cleaning would really be necessary of the front of both.

Something irked in the knowing expression of the Furniture as he left.

In that silence, that barely detectable moment of transition, both had made a decision. The mongrel had made his for survival, accepting the Elite’s tacit agreement for what it was; a bargaining chip whose redemption would come at a price he would have to pay and he did it, without flinching in the fraction of a second.

The Elite’s lips curled in anger, finally recognizing what had truly irritated in that moment. He, Raoul Am, was being played and he had allowed it and could not fathom why. How did he actually benefit, other than to be tethered to this slum dweller?

What a dangerous little creature. Iason had been quite right, but for all the wrong reasons. Katze was self possessed.


~~~BMR~~~

Niiro had good taste.

She was hot. Yeah, he’d give her that.

Donovan’s eyes twinkled lasciviously, enjoying the swell of pert breasts, the provocative sway of hips and the length of supple leg revealed from beneath the gossamer thin sheath she wore. It clung to every single curve with each graceful stride.

Ooooh yeah. It reeeeaaaally was a pity he was on duty. He’d like to make her acquaintance in more ways than one. That shaft she carried so lovingly gave him all kinds of ideas about his own. He shook his head. Some fool or other was going to benefit from him being out of commission tonight.

Donovan tapped his ear piece with a lewd smile, intent on calling Guy. He owed the kid a favour. One of them had to enjoy this sight all close and personal. It’d be good practice for the kid too.

Where the fuck was he? He was supposed to be at the bar.

The smile quickly faded from the bodyguard’s lips, finally recognizing the hunched figure at the bar. She was making a bee-line straight for the idiot. Guy was just sitting there, nursing a drink, completely fuckin memorized by the fucked up inbred specimen on display.

“Pick up, you undisciplined little shit! She’s heading straight for you.” Donovan hissed, disconnecting as he headed down the third tier of stairs at a run, barrelling through the crowd.

This one had the kind of self possession he’d rarely seen, except in the Boss. She reminded him of Red in pursuit, nothin’ but focussed attention as he bore down on his prey for the kill.

He didn’t like the looks of this one damn! All the warning signs were there. Donovan picked up speed.


~~~BMR~~~

Raoul’s eyes caught the rapid movement through the crowded third tier in his peripheral vision, noting the crowd parting like a wave as Donovan thundered through them heading for the bar.

The Elite stood.

“Call her off, Niiro. Whatever you are planning, call her off before that ill-bred maniac gets to her and this becomes an incident. Do not think for a moment we are not being observed by Jupiter.”

Sir Niiro sighed with a bored expression, lazily watching the large well built male dressed in black, heading down the second tier at a fast clip. “Raoul, Raoul, my dear. Why so fascination with them or is it just one in particular?”

Raoul rounded on the Ruby, snarling in his face, broad shoulders tense with aggravation has he hovered over him with menace in his stance.

“I caution this line of discourse, Sir Niiro. You will not appreciate my response if you elect to continue.”

Nirro shrugged with feigned innocence, jewel toned eyes twinkling in the dim light.

“So I am right. Still sniffing after that defective specimen?”

Raoul’s own lips thinned as even white teeth bit out a retort. “First you will call her off and second you will cease and desist this inappropriate questioning.”

“Protecting him still, I see.” Another dissolute sigh as elegant fingers were pressed to one temple and long lashes closed over opaque yellow eyes in concentration.

Raoul breathed a sigh of relief, noting the android’s abrupt halt in front of the mongrel Guy and the sudden, equal stillness of the minder no longer beating a path to her with raised pistol.

Crisis averted.

That pleasing well modulated lilt brought him out of his reverie. ““Pity, he doesn’t appear to hold you in the same regard.”

“Meaning?”

The Ruby gestured to the viewing box with his flute, golden bangles about his wrist clinking as if to solidify his point. “See for yourself.”

~~~BMR~~~

“You read?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Katze poured with a suitably bland expression upon his face when the Elite lifted the stemmed crystal glass for the fourth refill, effectively emptying the bottle.

Eyes downcast, the mongrel remained at attention by the bath’s side with towels to hand over the arm that held the bottle.

Raoul had not quite enjoyed torturing the wretched creature who bent to his every whim. Whether undressing him, checking the temperature of the water or standing in vigilant silence as he lulled the time away enjoying both music and the warm languor instilled by the libation in question.

Something was missing. It wasn’t the servile silence he required but understanding.

“What is the content of your reading matter most often?”

There was a pause as the Furniture took a deep breath and actually fidgeted, most pleasing. The wretched creature had not anticipated the question.
“I do not understand your query, Sir Am?”

Raoul sniffed the dark, fragrant wine, enjoying the notes of warm peaches. He had never actually seen a peach in his life, but he knew its scent by Jupiter’s catalogued memory, or was it a nectarine? He closed his eyes taking another sniff to correct the error, enjoying the bitter after taste of the tannin as it reached his palette with a testing sip.

“Oh but you do. Your interests lie with the First One herself.”

Katze shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “Her work is, was, remarkable. She gave us Amoi.”

Raoul snorted. “Us?”

“I mean, the Elite, Sir Am. I am confused. Please forgive the error in my speech. I am Furniture.”

“Are you really?”

No response. Instead, more fidgeting of long, angular limbs in discomfort at the turn of events and the Elite’s penetrating gaze. The damn castrate was blushing. Until now, Raoul hadn’t really paid mind to looking at the creature who had been watching him beneath those ridiculously long lashes.

“Yes Sir.”

“Rather complex reading matter. Do you understand what you have read?”

“Somewhat. I understand the premise, Sir Am.” Katze shrugged, taking the opportunity to turn and place the empty bottle and the indifferently handed glass upon the tray on the vanity as the Elite rose to his full height, entirely naked.

Raoul’s eyes narrowed speculatively, tossing his thick damp mane, amused as the castrate’s gaze remained on his torso and greedily followed the path of the rivulets of water before attempting to hand the towel to the Elite.

The Blondie raised his arms instead and waited with more patience than he felt, glad of the chill in the air.

You couldn’t castrate the mind. Rather cruel that, Raoul thought absently with sudden pride at being appreciated physically, even by a mongrel.

Wrapping the towel efficiently about the Elite’s waist, Katze inclined his head, effectively pointing to the dressing space where the freshly tended garments lay. “I will leave you to dress, Sir Am. Will you require anything further?”

Again the fleeting thought as he regarded those lips and felt the residual warmth of fingers about his midsection. This wasn’t good. He needed to get out of here.
Perhaps it had not been the best of ideas to have removed his own Pets not having time for their titillating performances meant to quell the dormant sexual thirst of his kind. It had never been a challenge before or even a sustained thought.

Twice now his thoughts had ventured beyond good form, laced with a desire to be touched. An idle bargain meant for his amusement had turned exacting its own price in awareness and need.

Katze was dangerous.

“You will dress me.”

“Yes Sir.”

~~~BMR~~~

Raoul’s gaze rose with foreboding to the box and the tall shadowed presence standing by the outer railing looking on with smug satisfaction upon the crowd.

The Elite’s heart began to race as he strove to control his breathing while adrenalin coursed through his body unchecked causing him to tremble. He moved forward unseeing beyond the object of his loathing whose long, elegant fingers held fast the rent cloak, while fingering the material suggestively.

Even in the dim light, the Elite could see the glint of crimson orbs beneath the sundered cowl that haphazardly framed Admon’s perfectly malevolent regard.

‘Where was Katze?’

Raoul quickened his strides, pushing a few patrons out of his way, his teeth grinding in anger, taking in the flush of pale skin the closer he came and the unruly mess of strawberry blonde curls, no longer a perfect cascade of studied coils.

Their eyes locked in unspoken battle.

Emerald eyes searching with growing desperation the ruby depths staring back at him, unapologetic and unafraid as the Elite reached him. The pincer like grip that held his throat as he was flung back into the observation room at the mongrel’s feet, would change nothing.

Raoul was confused.

Admon smiled, selecting to remain where put, basking in the roiling emotions felt by the infuriated Blondie who glared at the mongrel accusingly.

Katze sighed and chuckled looking down at the supplicating droid at his feet. “Leave us, Admon. Wait outside. This won’t take long.”

He was proud of his new Master who inhaled deeply before releasing a thin plume of smoke, meeting the Elite’s regard with focussed indifference before turning and casually flicking the spent butt into the ashtray.

Without even a perceptible blink, the dealer inclined his head as protocol dictated.

“Sir Am? What might I do for you?”

Raoul bristled, beginning to pace the outer rim of the room like a caged beast in search of control.

Yes, it was best to leave them now. Rectification was inevitable, Admon thought, closing the door quietly behind him, just as the Elite lunged for the dealer.


Author's Note


*Hides behind hands with twinkling naughty eyes* Yes. I am wicked for leaving you all there. I promise. It is worth it. Let me know how you liked the chapter. Rather enjoyed this one immensely. The next one. Holy Crap!

EP