Then, the door summons cheeped. Makioki's head whipped round to face the door so fast, Sukikun almost expected his neck to snap.
"Who knows we're here?" he asked.
"Whoever you brought," she said.
The door chimed again and then hissed, when the seal broke.
Sukikun nabbed the STEEDTest and dove toward the floor as the door swept aside. The team waiting outside did not let the door open completely before their blasters blazed. White beams burned holes through the couch, shattered the half-filled rum bottle, sending its now boiling contents to soak the carpet.
"A kill team!" Makioki grabbed the table and launched it toward the door. A pair of blasts disintegrated most of its mass before it struck, but enough remained to hit the emergency lock panel beside the door. This triggered the door to sweep shut and lock.
One of the kill team members dove in before the heavy panel fully closed, an androgynous figure in blackout armor. The armor was designed to bend the light, hiding all distinguishing details--only the most general height, weight or gender details showed through. The killer fired its pistol over one shoulder, as it turned to the panel to deactivate the lockdown.
Before the killer could hit the three-button unlock sequence, Sukikun launched a hard-soft attack. She came in low, body turning in fluid spins, feet lashing out to strike the pressure places behind both knees. The killer let out a grunt and bet backward, pistol discharging into the ceiling and then the floor. After Sukikun delivered a chop across the throat, it stopped moving.
"We don't have much time," Makioki said. At first, Sukikun thought he meant the STEEDTest purring in her hand, but then she realized the outside force was trying to burn a way in.
"Who are we dealing with?"
"Unknown," he said. "This isn't the Imperial counterintelligence team I've been dodging."
Sukikun ripped the mask off the assailant, revealing green-tinged skin and puffy features. She said, "Ceti Primary?"
"I thought they were on our side."
"What information are you carrying?"
"Unknown. The data is triple-deck encrypted. I have my orders: deliver it to you and then return home."
"Must be something Ceti Primary doesn't want us to know."
"Maybe not all the Ceti," he said. "How much longer?"
A glance said the door was almost ruined. She scanned the room. "When was the last time you space walked?"
"You're crazy," he said. "There's no atmo, out there."
"Actually there is," she said. To his slack jaw and stern gaze, she added, "The planet is a gas giant. It's all atmo. We don't need to breathe it. We need to anchor. When the door opens . . ."
"Blow the window." He nodded. "I see."
"The station and planet atmo pressure differential is sizeable," she said. "Possibly enough to generate a minor suck zone. The station's grav generators keep the Scepter--"
"Enough explanation," he said. "We're down to seconds."
She opened the port shutters, again. He hurried over, slapped a putty substance along one edge of the viewport. To her unspoken question, he said, "Seals are less substantial here than the material they hold together."
"Get ready." She jammed the STEEDTest inside her gown, pulled on her breather mask.
"Drek," he said, holding his mask between his hands. He held it up to reveal two messy holes burned clean through.
"Try the kill team's?"
No good. The collapse had crushed a breather pack. "We'll have seconds, right?"
"At most."
"Enough time to walk out the door," he said, "and close it."
"Maybe." She didn't like the odds. "But if one thing, anything goes wrong . . ."
"Spies gamble," he said. "And we're out of time."
Sukikun tethered herself to the wall and then clipped one onto his belt, too.
"Nice," he said, tugging on the tether line, "I could think of a few playtime uses for these."
"Did I hear you right," she asked, "when you said you could be charming?"
"When I want to be," he said.
"Incorrigible, more like," she said. Smug, she added. Annoying. Perhaps attractive in that macho alpha male way. The perfect Imperial Seat operator.
The team outside burned the door's control panel and the door itself started to swing. Hands entered to pull it further and Makioki hit his wrist control for the putty bomb. It made a dull whump, no louder than a 5-kilo bag of flour dropped a meter in an Earth-type gravitational field. Then, the window ripped clean out and the suck zone pulled at everything in the room.
Scientifically speaking, "suck" was as much of an illusion as centrifugal force. The laws of physics provided for pushing and pulling, but not suck. The concept was a guise for differences in pressure.
No matter the name, the effect was the same. The intense pressure change dragged Sukikun and Makioki to the full tether extension. The kill team in the doorway had no tethers. They flew through the door and into the room. Makiko dragged himself along the wall, one step at a time, fighting the pressure war, trying to pull himself through the open door.
Then the final member of the kill team appeared to block his way. It clung to the jam in desperation, losing the war an inch at a time. Sukikun slammed an elbow against the figure's shoulder. The killer rotated enough to lose its grip. It tumbled into the room, giving the agents a clear exit.
They pulled their way into the corridor and Sukikun triggered the shutters. Pressure restored enough for them to untether and run.
As with most espionage agents, the key to success was multiple back up plans and the ability to alter any plan on the fly. Before they arrived at the secondary rendezvous point, the STEEDTest beeped completion.
The results: Inconclusive.
"You think," Makioki asked, "we jostled it too much?"
"We'll test you again," she said, "when we're somewhere safe."
The secondary site proved to be an unused vending equipment storage closet. The place was mostly empty, a canned drink palate along one wall under a padded shipping blanket.
"Thanks for saving my life," he said. "I owe you."
"Thumb please," she said.
He held up his unpricked left digit. The STEEDTest drew its sample and began purring once more.
"What do you think the Ceti doesn't want us to know?" Sukikun asked. "Think they've changed sides, or was that kill team just a mercenary force?"
"I used to ask those same questions," Makioki said. "I probed and poked. Then I found out an important truth: The answers can sometimes drive a mind crazier than not knowing. Sides change quickly during wartime. Betrayal is a bargaining chip. Now: I deliver without questions, playing perfect soldier. Perfect agent."
She set the STEEDTest on the palate, while he hunkered on the floor. He stared into the deck plates when he asked, "You ever catch a surprise look at yourself and discover you're unhappy with how you've turned out?"
She said nothing.
"I know we all have pain," he said. "Everyone in the Undrentine League has been savaged--torn apart and chewed and spat out. Loss is our rite of passage." He said, "And sometimes I think I've lost more during the missions than I ever lost before."
"We're still alive," she said. "And all wars end. And afterwards, we'll be given the chance to heal."
His head rotated with robotic precision until his eyes met hers. "There's no healing from some wounds. The worst of mine are all self-inflicted."
She reached down to cup his chin. "What have they done to you out there in the Seat?"
"Nothing I didn't do to myself," he said. "I fucked people I loathed to establish my identity. I've killed people I favored to maintain my cover. I've fantasized about killing those I loathed but never got the chance to actually do it. I don't know that I ever will." He rubbed his hands together. The palm only leather gloves made soft whispers. "I'm kind of glad I'm going home."
His vulnerability was far more attractive than his bravado. She reached down and took his hand. Recol
lections of her mother floated through her mind as well as all the evils she had performed for the greater good. Shame left her empty.
She held him until the STEEDTest chirped that it was done. It was the six note happy song--no contagions, no diseases.
He visibly relaxed and a nervous chuckle spilled from him. "Thank the Accident!"
She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. "Stand up, agent."
He stood and she kissed him again. No lozenge exchange, no mission orders. This was something else. This was personal.
"Adrenaline can play tricks," he said. "Fool a brain into thinking--"
"Shut up," she said, "and kiss me, you damned idiot."
He followed orders pretty well.
She ran her hands along the garments, pulling them open to bare his chest. He undressed her, as well, his leather palm-only gloves smooth on her skin.
"I want to fuck everything away," she whispered between heavy breaths, "The mission, the past and the pain. Make me forget for a moment and I'll do the same for you."
He mighty arms wrapped around her, lifted. She was weightless as a kitten to him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her still hidden sex against his bulge. Through two layers, she could feel the strain of his hard-on. Stout as a dirk. She longed to sheath him.
While they kissed, Makioki set her upon the palate. Worries vanished when his gloves and boots slapped onto the floor. She unzipped her knee high boots and sent them to join his discards. When his broad hands undid the buttons on her tight trousers and then peeled them down, revealing her denuded sex, her sweat shining legs. She shivered, delighted when he drew his fingertips across her thighs, light touches creating sparks along her nerves.
She caught his face between her hands and pulled him into another kiss. His tongue dipped into her mouth and she sucked on it, envisioning other parts she would like to do the same with.
When the kiss broke, she saw his pants were undone. A quick tug and bend sent these and his underwear--such a silly lad, wearing multiple layers!--pooling around his ankles. He stepped and kicked until he was free. His cock was a lovely sight, bobbing like an impatient conductor's baton while he kicked off those troublesome pants. It curved toward the left, the shaft and glans flushed to near purple with desire. She reached down, took it to hand, and stroked. He remained stock still, like a cat picked up by the scruff of the neck, his mouth open, his breaths uneven. Hesitant.
The skin of that cock felt soft against her palm, warm. She stroked, smiling at the slit, as though it might smile back. It was a powerful cock. Stout enough to rob her of her worries, to focus her for a moment on nothing but life. When such a cock got done with her, why she would certainly be cleared out.
Yes.
"Come to me," she whispered. Her sex was so wet she was surprised it wasn't slobbering.
He did not fuck her immediately, pausing to produce a condom. "If you want it," he said, "we can say fuck the protocols."
"Fuck me instead," she said. She traced fingers in circles around her clit, and then dipped between the moist labia, extracting the honey with her fingertips.
He watched for a time and dropped the condom onto his discards and then pumped his cock with two bold strokes. He leaned in, and she spread to receive him. The head of his cock rubbed against her sex, and then slipped slowly inside.
So filling, that head. He did not ram fully home, choosing to slip in an inch at a time. His lips and tongue and teeth worked on her throat, tickling that sweet place where neck meets shoulder, tickling, raising goosebumps. His hands massaged her breasts, exploring the circumference and teasing her nipples with light brushes.
She clutched his strong arms, moved up to his shoulders. Squeezed with every rough inch of him. In and out, in and out, a wonderful tease. She beckoned him further, deeper, faster.
The heat and sensations soon grew unbearable. The head of his cock plunged steadily deeper, but she wanted more. Always more. It had been so long, too damned long.
"All the way," she demanded. Her following "Please" twisted into a hiss, when he withdrew, paused and then slammed home. Then, he turned from reverential worship at the altar between her thighs to a rowdy bacchanal. His cock pounded into her, their bodies slapping like mounting applause. His lips and tongue gave way to teeth and his hands crushed. She moaned and writhed as the rutting nearly blew all sense from her skull. Thoughts collapsed into simplicity. Color and sound and touch.
He leaned back then, taking her by the ankles and drawing her legs wide, his muscles taut as steel when he spread her. He continued pounding, composing all new rhythms of pleasure upon the waiting sheets of her desire. She drew her nails down his chest in short, sharp strokes and then turned to crushing his nipples between thumbs and pointer fingers knuckles.
"Fuck me," she ordered, "Harder. Harder. Harder." His strokes slowed in speed but grew in strength. Every entry was as stirring as a boulder thrown into a pond. Her body jolted with each thrust.
His body ran with rivers of salty sweat, which rained upon her own sweaty figure. Each thrust drove her closer to release. Her litany of demands grew increasingly vulgar, the words making little sense beyond their singular existence.
Was she calling him Daddy? Was she demanding vengeance? Was she insulting him and demanding a blood price? She had done any and all of these things with earlier seductions, causing her past lovers all manner of distress.
Makioki's face betrayed no emotion, only empty stoicism. Still he fucked her. And she found she loved it. Savored every powerful thrust, as climax loomed before her. When the fires of release washed her clean, she moaned. Her hands clawed the shipping blanket, her back arched, and a flood of cum washed over his strong, beautiful cock.
Still, he pounded, every motion sending mind shattering aftershocks ripping through her. His eyes were pinched shut, his mouth a tight line. His face was the color of exertion near climax. Still he pounded. Faster, now. Harder, now. Her mind was electric and her arms flailed. Her body was completely out of control, and yet he would not, not... not stop.
He seized up, his eyes snapping open. Grunted. Inside her, she felt his cock twitch and buck, felt his fluids flooding her. And then... his shoulders relaxed. She was halfway to a second climax. "Don't stop," she whispered, "don't you dare."
He pulled out and knelt to the task. His tongue was a wonder, looping around her clit. This sent her head spinning a second time, caught the breath in her throat. Force pushed it from her lungs, up and out her mouth. Force drew new breaths down.
His fingers found her, then. A pair of them sliding into her sex, all the way. Curling into her g-spot, sending fresh torrents of pleasure flooding through her. A finger on his second hand probed her further down, slipping into her asshole and out again. Sexual symphonies sang inside her, and she crested on them, rising higher and higher, like a bird taking flight until--
His tongue flicked her clit and both hands worked her beyond the brink. She gagged on her own saliva, as she bucked in pleasure's throes. Light and love and fulfillment flowed through her, washing everything beyond concern.
As she lay in the afterglow, she longed for something to complete the emotional vacuum. She pulled him to her chest, and he held her.
Inside her, the data file awaited extraction. Whatever it held, she knew it could not be as important as this shared moment. Their two wounded souls and hardened bodies met in a way that fit. They did not quite complete each other, not the way the poems and songs promised, but they fit.
They trembled together, and before she knew it she was crying.
"They killed my mother," Sukikun said. "She could be a bitch and she could be my friend. She could be a lot of things, but she was always my mother. And they killed her."
"My wife," Makioki said. "My babies. Burning."
They wept together.
Minutes later, the cold and needy world of facts pulled them apart. Missions needed completion, and a man had to return home for a time. They did not say goodbye, th
ey did not make promises neither of them could keep. They dressed and then touched palms.
And then they parted, passing from each other's life. Perhaps forever, perhaps not.
Knife, Gun, High Explosive
Reina Delacroix
He woke to the sound of a handcuff closing, that undeniable and unyielding click of metal which there would be no use fighting against.
Correction--it was a leg cuff.
One of two pairs.
He didn't remember sleeping that soundly, but there he was, spread-eagled on the bed, unable to move. Even as he struggled awake, he felt pressure as someone knelt on the top of the mattress and used his own movements to deftly press a gag into his mouth and wrap the strap around the back of his head.
He opened his eyes to a view of breasts and nipples and pale skin with freckles leaning over him.
"Be careful what you ask for," she said. "You might get it. In a way you don't expect."
She crawled back down the bed to his left side and he noticed she had a knife, one of those little flip-open Spyderco pocket knives, in her right hand.
"I bought this knife when I was afraid of someone else," she commented drily.
She flipped it open and the heavily serrated edge gleamed against the near-darkness of the shades being drawn against bright sun.
"But I haven't had to use it against anyone." She paused. "Until now."
He had been sleeping in just a T-shirt and underwear due to the heat. She grabbed the fabric near his throat and with quick, ripping motions, severed the front of it down to his waist. The short sleeves she cut across over his biceps and flipped away as well so that the shirt lay splayed open on the sheet, mimicking his vulnerability.
She ran a flat hand over his chest, her own skin slippery with sweat, looking at him but saying nothing.
Then she straddled him, facing away from him and leaning forward to cut the underwear off his stomach and legs with agonizing carefulness, two short tears and one long one, avoiding any possibility of slipping and injuring either one of them.
He had a very good view of her from the rear that way, and he realized she was doing that deliberately without expecting him to be able to do anything about it. A bubble of wetness leaked out of her pussy just a couple inches away from his chin, and the scent of juice and sweat slowly flooded him, more intense than normal since he could only breathe through his nose. For once, though, he felt less longing to be doing something and more a sense of relief; there was nothing he could do but lie there.
Like Slipping Under Cover: Erotic Spy Fiction Page 10
