by Amber Jayne
His fingertips drummed his knees. Finally he said, “Your work lately has been quite good.”
“Lately, my Toplux?” She gave the words the mildest droll edge, as if to wonder why he was questioning all the chemical work she had done earlier. “Your words are kind.”
She was smart. She was quick. She was also a pain, one Aphael had tolerated for some while—and would probably go on tolerating for some longer while, despite her attitude, despite even her illegal activities. Her work was simply too valuable. Her concoctions helped to keep the Shadowflash/Weapon program going. Where would all those Lux doctors be without their drugs and dopes? They needed to control the members of the operation, those manufactured teams of Passenger killers who were so crucial to the government, so important for the morale of the populace. Statistics on the ongoing slaughter of those creatures out there in the Unsafe were wildly popular among the people. They followed such things the way some ancient texts claimed citizenries used to follow athletic competitions.
Still, Virge’s status didn’t mean the Toplux couldn’t agitate one of his best chemists now and then, especially after such a bold infraction as she’d committed—or at least after her involvement in the activity. The Guard was sure she’d had something to do with the crime.
“Tell me, Virge,” he said, reaching for the flier crumpled on an arm of the throne, “what I’m supposed to make of this.” Without unballing it, he tossed it to her.
Her hand flashed up and snatched it, her right hand, revealing the sterilization tattoo on the tight, corded inner flesh of her forearm. Lustrous brown eyes made a casual study. “It’s paper, isn’t it?”
Smart. Quick. A pain. But he could handle her. With a subtle shifting of tone he said, “Smooth it out. Take a look.” He wove a threat into the words without being blatant about it. He didn’t need to remind her of his power. This was, after all, the Citadel, a monument to the Safe’s power, and he was the government’s ultimate authority. She knew that better than most people did. He had personally mandated her sterilization, in fact. Such was his privilege. Government programs carried out many such infertility treatments, seeing to it—for the people’s own good—that the population remained stable, that needs did not outstrip resources.
Aphael Chav nurtured a quiet self-satisfaction over his personal decision to sterilize this woman. Virge didn’t know his name had been on the order. One day, perhaps he would tell her.
Taking her time, Virge uncrumpled the sheet. She fussed a bit with the corners then finally gazed fully at it. Her brown eyes gradually widened in innocent surprise.
“It’s satire, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Satire. Propaganda. Treason. There are a number of things one might call it.”
“It’s a cartoon.” She turned it to show him, as if he hadn’t already seen the caricature of himself surrounded by his council—only those members were depicted as clucking hens and he was drawn to resemble a wolf. Not that anyone had seen a wolf in years.
It wasn’t unfunny. Aphael had a sense of humor, even about himself at times. But he simply couldn’t allow himself to be the butt of any joke, especially one so seditious.
“A cartoon,” said the Toplux. “And what’s written beneath?”
Virge made a show of studying the flier anew, this time squinting at the poorly printed words along the foot. After a moment she said, conclusively, “‘Tyrant’ is misspelled.”
He nearly sighed aloud but maintained his demeanor. There were very few who could play this verbal feint and parry with him. He had a certain admiration for this female, something beyond her extraordinary talent with chemistry. She was a strong individual. She would have made a fine addition to his government.
Only she would never have agreed to serve. As a chemist she enjoyed a certain freelance liberty, though the vast amount of the materials she produced were used by Lux doctors. And anyway, Aphael Chav didn’t want co-rulers, not even a Vicelux. He would rule the Safe as he saw fit until the day he died.
“That paper it’s printed on,” he said now, slouching back into his seat. “Paper is rare, you know. Expensive to manufacture. We’ve a limited number of trees.” He called for the bailiffs. “The Guard Detectives who collected that shoddy pamphlet and quite a few others like it tell me the paper is from a batch earmarked for your laboratory.” He lifted a hand to stop her words, as a flash of gratifying fear at last appeared in her eyes. “No need to explain to me. Tell it to the Interrogators. They’ll want to hear, I assure you.” With the same hand, he made a dismissing gesture just as the bailiffs came to haul her away.
* * * * *
The holding room was small and gray, lit from above by a single row of round, flat lights. Their dismal glow made the space seem dank, almost wet. And cold.
Virge knew the space was designed to intimidate. Make her feel small and squeamish. She sat in the only chair provided to her, set before the small square of a desk. It was no reasonable size, having barely enough surface area to rest one’s forearms upon. Chances were it had been specifically designed for the signing of confessions. It was all typically dreary Guard tactics, a mindset of menace and rote power-flexing. At least old Aphael had some flair. You could banter with that evil fucker.
The only other person in this little room paced its moderate length, back and forth. Another tactic, Virge thought. The man was trying to appear casual, when really he was only stalling until his superiors arrived. He wore the typical Lux-like attire of all black, cut in the militaristic fashion of a Guard uniform. Two silver bands circling his upper left arm revealed his position and rank as a low-level Interrogator. The Guard loved to give themselves capitalized titles. Probably the sod who swept up the gray floors was called the Janitor.
But pompous title or not, this man certainly had the authority to ruin her night were he so inclined—and when were members of the Guard not? At least no one had handcuffed her.
Virge had already had a long day. Waiting to see the Toplux for hour after hour had pissed her off far more than she’d let on. But this was about more than her being inconvenienced and she damn well knew it. This was serious. That business with the pamphlets. She had known when she’d given Bongo and his merry band of recalcitrants that paper that it would probably come back to bite her on her shapely ass. He and his gang claimed to practice “magic”, though Virge had never seen any real proof, just a lot of flashy talismans and mumbo jumbo. Even so, Bongo was persuasive, and a good fuck, and he always seemed to turn up just when she needed some serious fun.
Besides, she had no love for the Lux. Anybody with eyes could see that they had a stranglehold on the Safe…not that that stopped her from selling her services as a chemist to them.
Damn, she could use a drink.
“This is the third time we’ve been in this room together, isn’t it, Miss Temple?” The Interrogator voiced his question in the smug tone of one who already knew the answer, or was pretty sure he did.
So much for getting back to town before the midnight curfew, Virge thought. It looked like she was going to be spending the night in the Guard facility inside the Citadel. Hers wasn’t one of the dangerous border towns, though it did lie beyond the city that surrounded the Citadel, the heart of the Safe.
She cleared her throat, folded her hands and smiled. “Fourth, actually.”
It was worth it for the sour squiggle his mouth became. On the other hand, having been hauled in for questioning four times wasn’t anything to be proud of. It was better not to get caught, to not even be a suspect in any anti-Lux activities. After all, she liked her freedom. Liked it a lot.
It occurred to Virge only now that she didn’t know this low-level Interrogator’s name, this man who had babysat her three times before, charged with keeping her company until his superiors finally put in their appearance. She had never understood the purpose of this interim figure. Why not just let her sit, the way Aphael Chav had?
Virge eyed the pacing male, considering. What if he wanted to b
e in here with her? It was a sudden, unexpected, vaguely delicious thought. Maybe this man pulled some strings every time she was brought in. Maybe he wanted to play at being the dominant inquisitor before the true professionals showed up.
A snigger escaped her.
His heel ground sharply on the stone floor. He turned and glared at her. “Finding something amusing?” He made the question low and menacing.
Or it would have been genuinely menacing a minute ago, Virge mused, still tickled by her theory about this man. She slouched back in her chair a little and for the first time truly beheld her Interrogator with her deep-brown eyes.
He looked a bit underfed, which probably wasn’t the truth of it. The Guard ate well. Food shortages never seemed to affect any of the people who played on the side of the Order of the Lux. More likely he just had a naturally thin frame, though he did appear to have some muscle tone beneath his black uniform. His skin color was wan but not unhealthy. Probably he spent a lot of time in rooms like this. His jawline was firm above his stiff dark collar. He actually had fairly handsome features, although he was likely going to end up with a dour-looking face as he got older if he didn’t exercise some other facial expressions. He looked to be in his mid-twenties.
All in all, not a bad specimen.
Virge considered further. She had a good idea of how long she’d been in this cell. She had a rougher notion of how long it normally took before the other, higher ranked Interrogators arrived to truly get the investigation underway.
An impish smile tugged at her lips. Was she really considering this?
Well, why the fuck not?
“What’s that smile for, Miss Temple?” he asked.
“You can call me Virge, you know. The Toplux does.”
“I can call you anything I want,” he asserted. He took a step her way, standing now just on the other side of the tiny desk.
“I’d like to call you something,” she said.
“I’ll bet you would. The problem is, of course, that if I don’t like it, I can make you sorry you said it.”
A corner of her smile gained a provocative curl. “I’d settle for knowing your name.”
He blinked. He seemed to be contemplating some threatening rejoinder. Maybe he couldn’t think of one. Maybe he reconsidered in mid-thought. In either case, after a few seconds of hesitation he said, “Daphral. Nick Daphral.”
“I’m glad to know your name, Nick Daphral.” She lifted one well-toned, red legging-clad leg and perched it provocatively upon the edge of the little metal desk. She let her head loll subtly to one side, her fair hair spilling over the shoulder of her blouse. Her smile grew even more sultry. It was as far as she was willing to go with this, especially since any move more enticing would require her to open her shirt and let him see the full swells of her breasts.
His eyes had grown comically wide. Whatever he had expected to happen in this room this evening, this sure as hell wasn’t it…although maybe this was in fact the fantasy he’d been secretly hoping for all along.
“Why…” He swallowed drily, cleared his throat, but his voice remained breathless. “Why are you glad to know my name?”
Nick Daphral was a little dense. Fine. So be it. She could back down from this thing right now. Or she could go ahead.
She dropped her foot from the desk and slowly rose from her seat. “‘Cause if I didn’t know it,” she purred, “I might call out somebody else’s while you were boning me.” Fuck it, she thought. She was in this all the way now. Her fingers went to her shirt’s buttons. She started at the top and worked toward her navel. This crazy scenario was starting to seriously excite her. The only thing that would’ve made it better was if she’d had a few drinks in her. But beggars in holding cells couldn’t be choosers.
She had reached the second to last shirt button when Nick, in something of a blundering rush, came around the desk and dropped strong hands atop her shoulders. He stood half a head taller than her, and he stooped slightly when he went to kiss her.
Virge wasn’t having any of the tentative, almost chaste kiss he started to plant on her lips. She whipped a hand up to take him by the nape of the neck, feeling soft flesh above the rigid collar. She pulled his face down hard onto hers, spearing her tongue up between his lips. He responded after another little hesitation. His hands tightened on her shoulders. His mouth ground onto hers. Their tongues stabbed eagerly at each other.
The kiss broke, both of them panting. Nick’s hands scrabbled into her open shirt. He grappled at her breasts as if he hadn’t touched anything like them in months. That might be the case. Who knew? Virge liked the somewhat rough feel of his fingers on her erect nipples.
She dropped her hands to the unnecessarily complex fastener holding shut his black trousers. Stupid fucking Guard uniforms, she thought. Finally a snap gave and a zipper parted with a sharp steely tearing sound. She plunged her hand inside.
His cock was fiercely hard. Virge loved the throbbing warmth of it. She grinned triumphantly when the Interrogator paused in his pawing of her breasts to breathe out a delirious little moan. It had the tonality of excitement, of gratitude, of stark wonder that such a thing was happening here and now, to him.
Yeah, she judged silently. Been a while since this poor bitchboy got laid.
She shucked her shirt then pushed Nick back until he had to sit on the edge of the metal desk. That desk was small but at least it was sturdy. Still grinning, Virge seized his pants and yanked them unceremoniously off his legs, sliding them over his polished black boots. He was still panting for breath, gazing at her with those shock-widened eyes.
She wondered why she hadn’t ever thought of doing this before.
Virge Temple dropped to her knees. The floor was cold, felt almost damp under her. She was more interested, however, in the moistness currently streaming in her pussy. Delicious heat scoured its way over her body. It felt as if her rigid nipples, a chocolaty shade darker than her flesh’s pigment, were pulsing with desire.
She addressed the cock now rearing conveniently before her. He was healthily endowed, though not so big as to be unwieldy. Virge brushed her wet lips along the shaft. She let her tongue playfully explore the map of squiggly veins. She even dipped low enough to mat the dark, wiry curls on his balls. He squirmed on the desk’s edge.
Finally she showed him mercy. She closed her mouth over the drizzling crown of his cock and started sucking him down to his hilt. His strong, bare thighs pressed in on her shoulders. She drew him deep into her mouth, feeling his cock head slide into her throat. She was pleased to find she had a sure control of her gag reflex. Her nose was tickled by his dampened pubic hair.
“Oooooh—” It came from somewhere above her, the wordless sounding of desire echoing slightly in the stony little room.
Sex was more than about the pleasure you got, Virge knew. Its equal purpose was giving. It was about connecting, about bridging, about bringing together human spirits in a carnal tangle, even if it was with some Guard son of a bitch who was keeping her prisoner.
These high-flown thoughts disappeared from her head as she sucked Nick Daphral in earnest. Her mouth rose and fell. Her tongue remained active. She strummed his veiny length, feeling his every pulse, every jerk of his body. She cupped his balls while she went down on him and he seemed to like that.
But when his taut thighs started to clamp on her like a vise, she lifted her mouth, rocked back on her heels and looked up. A sweaty, bliss-wracked face was looking down, blinking, dumbfounded.
“This isn’t just about my mouth, you know,” she said, seizing on her philosophical thought of a moment ago. She peeled her red leggings down her thighs and calves, then removed them completely. “It’s about your mouth too.”
He stayed perched on the desk, saliva-wet cock twitching. But when Virge sat in the chair she’d occupied before, slouching once more and spreading her legs to fully expose her primed pussy, Nick fairly dove from the desk, dropping to his knees before her.
His bre
ath was hot on her naked folds. She liked to keep her curls trimmed back to a modest triangle above her vaginal lips. It allowed her, on occasions of oral contact like this, to get the full gamut of the experience.
Nick slavered his avid tongue up and down her cleft. She gasped at the sensation, at the wondrous intimacy. He was utterly fearless about the act, parting her lips and jabbing inside. His nimble tongue tip flicked her clit repeatedly. Grinning anew, she reached down and raked her fingers into his hair. He had the standard short Guard haircut, but she got him by the roots anyway and held tight, jamming his face harder onto her crotch.
She loved the hungry slurping sounds he made. The action of his speedy, daring mouth excited her further. Her hips were thrusting now, her bare ass rising from the chair. “Yeah, Nick, you fuckin’ eat that—” she growled, feeling the pleasure hurtling her implacably along. And then she came. It was like an erotic cascade, her juices flowing, pleasure frothing. He kept his open mouth on her, even when she pulled cruelly at his hair, holding his head in place as the quaking continued to shake through her.
He fell back when she let go. His face was slick from his nose to his chin and his eyes were ablaze. “I have to fuck you, Virge,” he said, voice strangled and husky.
“Yes,” she said wickedly. “Yes, you do.” She lifted her right arm, showing her sterility tattoo on the underside. “And no worries there.”
She pushed up from the chair, took two steps and placed her palms on the cool concrete wall. She stuck out her ass, planting her feet and turning her head to regard the Interrogator over her shoulder.
Nick lunged toward her. She heard his boot heels scrape the floor. His overheated body plastered itself against hers. His panting breath poured against her ear. His spit-slick cock slithered quickly through the valley of her ass, then he slotted himself in hurriedly.
Virge actually cried out at the penetration, feeling the fullness of him inside her as he slammed himself home. He wrapped one arm around her, the hand closing decisively over her right breast. His other hand took grip on the ripe flesh of her ass. Then he started thrusting into her.
