“Stop? Why should I stop when you are so very sweet?” Journey said, diving back in. This time Journey suckled his balls, too.
Chet was beside himself with pleasure; spread and sundered. He didn’t know how long he writhed. Minutes, hours, it was all the same. Occasionally, Journey would draw back and slap or pinch to make him squeal. Chet could almost feel Journey’s grin, feel his enjoyment of Chet’s reactions. His skin was too small to hold him, and he came without warning, spurting onto the bedspread with vigor.
“That’s better. Now you’re relaxed.”
Chet realized Journey had the bottle in hand again. He squirted an oily trail directly onto Chet’s ass: it felt bizarre and dirty, and Chet reveled in the sensation. He really was dirty. A dirty little slut, spread before a Flame, ready to take his dick and fully intending to enjoy it.
Journey didn’t disappoint him, but when he inserted himself, Chet frowned. Journey seemed rather too small, more like a finger than a cock. Chet didn’t think he was that relaxed.
“Um...” he said hesitantly.
“I’ll grow when you’re ready for me.”
As Chet had suspected, Journey’s style of fucking was completely different from Fenimore’s. He went slowly. He took his time. He was not afraid to stop occasionally and just lie on Chet, letting Chet take his full weight. As promised, his cock began to swell larger after a time. Chet was so absorbed, feeling the changes of weight and length inside his anus, that he barely noticed his own dick becoming erect again.
After a time, Journey nibbled his ear. “How about right there? Is that comfortable?”
“Make it bigger.”
“You’ll hurt afterwards, and I don’t want to rupture your virginal ass.”
“Bigger!” Chet insisted. “I want to feel full. Completely full.”
“As you wish.” Journey began fucking him harder, his penis growing by the minute.
Chet groaned; the dick felt enormous. “Okay. Okay. Right there.”
“You’re a size queen, sweetie.” Journey snickered. He began thrusting in earnest; even pulling his cock all the way out before pushing—pushing!—back in. Chet came again, unable to hold back. It hardly mattered what he did. Journey was enjoying him thoroughly and would continue doing so no matter how many times he came. There was a certain freedom in that.
“Up on your hands and knees," Journey instructed and Chet pulled himself upright. “Get to the edge of the bed. I want to stand and drill you like a line driver.”
More oil was applied. Chet braced himself as Journey fucked him—hard. Chet yelped with each pounding, his hands closed to fists, gripping the bedcover. Journey threw back his head and whooped, slapping Chet’s thigh as he came.
“Pantheon, you two are loud. It’s a good thing we don’t have neighbors in the next room yet," Knife commented from the other bed. Chet blinked—when had Knife and Fenimore come inside from the balcony? He and Fenimore were cuddling naked together, as if they’d just fucked, too.
“Hah.” Journey threw himself onto the bed.
Chet snuggled up beside him. He gave Knife a worried glance. “Are you going to fuck me, too?” Every else liked his virginal ass, or his once-virginal ass.
Knife chuckled. “I like my lovers to have an edge to ’em. I especially enjoy self-righteous, cynical bastards, like certain unnamed parties.” Fenimore, face down in the bed, mumbled an inarticulate protest at these words. Knife grinned and continued, “You know, the type who are used to being dominant in any relationship. I like breaking them like ceroses so that they whine and shiver under me. No offense, Chet, but you aren’t my type.”
“Oh. Okay.” Chet yawned, curling beside the warmth of Journey’s body—male, female, it didn’t matter. He was so relaxed...
When Chet awoke, it was dark outside the mullioned balcony door. The bedside clock read 27:01. Midnight. Someone had tossed a blanket over his naked body. Fenimore was asleep on the other bed, and neither Flame seemed to be in the room. Chet saw an outline on the balcony—Journey? Too small and short to be Knife, anyway. He threw on his pants and wandered out to join... her?
Yes, Journey was back in female form. Chet gazed at her and noticed via the streetlight directly below them that she was rather more androgynous than before. Though she was dressed, he could tell her hips were long as a young man’s, her tits small. No bra. Her face, too, was squarer and less pronounced female. Thin lips. She didn’t acknowledge him but stared down at the street. Chet wondered whether he’d done something wrong. He was about to ask when Journey nodded downward.
“See them, a little ways from Knife? They’re finally here. I take it they traveled all the way from Eich Che at your friend’s insistence; you know, Zamie’s daughter.”
How did Journey know Rory’s mom? Abysmal god affiliates with their inside connections. Chet looked down at the quiet street. There was a party with loud music a few blocks away, but this street was silent. It took him a while to pick out Knife smoking on the street corner. Knife wore his cap tipped at a rakish angle and had his arms crossed, an attitude that suggested that he could wait forever, if necessary. He looked like a cliché from a spy novel come to life.
“I don’t see anyone but Knife," Chet said, rubbing his bare arms. The heat had broken, and he was chilled by the breeze.
“There. Right in the center of the road.”
Chet rubbed his eyes, uncertain what he was seeing. It was like staring into a very small, compact black hole. Only it wasn’t black—instead, it was almost entirely transparent. The thing rippled. “Is that... is that a Shadow Dancer Cluster?”
Journey nodded absently, and Chet scowled. “Why aren’t they doing anything?” Was this Rory’s family, here and now?
As if in reply, the Cluster suddenly split into two. The second ripple resolved itself into a human form in a flowing grey robe. The figure threw back its hood, and Chet gasped. It was Rory. He gazed down at her as he gripped the balcony with white-knuckled intensity. She didn’t seem to know Chet was watching; she stepped closer to Knife and they spoke quietly.
Chet couldn’t stand it. This was absurd. He needed to talk to her, to tell her things and make everything right. He opened his mouth to yell, but Journey grabbed his arm. Hard.
“Do not interrupt," she hissed in his ear.
Chet glared at her but closed his mouth. Whatever was happening was between god affiliates, which meant it was political. Rory was clearly representing her Cluster, speaking covertly to a Flame—a Flame spy—at midnight. Another pulp-novel cliché come to life: Shadow Dancers and Flame plotting dastardly deeds in the dark.
Suddenly, Chet felt anger broil up inside of him. Screw all these dium eating, cynodict-humping affiliates, he thought with a huff. His rage slammed him like a high-tide breaker. He was sick of their condescending attitudes and insider connections. Without thinking it through, Chet turned and slammed through the open balcony doors, out of the room and into the hallway beyond.
Chapter 9
Undercover
Journey called after him, cursing, but she kept her voice low... so she wouldn’t wake Fenimore? Chet didn’t stop. He could feel the cord to the Raptus grow taut, but he could also feel Knife up ahead. Such a bizarre sensation to be tied by the belly to another person, let alone a near stranger.
Stairs, lobby, street. Chet was vividly reminded he wasn’t wearing either shoes or a shirt. He shivered but jogged along, little pieces of gravel making him hiss and swear, yet Knife was just ahead.
Chet slowed. Now that he was out here, he wasn’t sure he wanted to interrupt Knife and Rory. He’d been pretty stupid to leave the room, but the anger inside of him still simmered, and he didn’t want to go back. Chet approached slowly and stopped just within earshot, standing under the awning of a nearby building.
“... Pelin can’t do it. You know that,” Rory was saying. “The historic records are very clear. Abyss, apparently you were there, Knife.”
“Indeed. Which means you’re going to have t
o take all necessary steps to call Aiena, little as I envy you the task. It was your Cluster—and ancestors—who originally lost the Raptus, it’s only fitting you fix this. We’ll go slow, drag our feet. Shouldn’t be too hard; the other Flame Council members are scattered across Uos, so we can ramble about and take our time. Just don’t lose us.”
“Well, don’t disappear off the map.”
Knife looked over his shoulder and glanced at Chet, then turned back to Rory. “We’ll do our best.” Knife dropped his cigarette and ground it under his foot.
Rory, too, looked at Chet. A plethora of expressions crossed her face—concern, anger, regret—within an instant. Chet surged forward, her name on his lips, but she turned away. Rory strode to the black hole and dove—dove—inside.
The black hole winked out.
Chet realized he was shaking. Hard as he looked, he couldn’t see it anymore. Would he ever get another chance to see Rory again?
Knife sighed and sauntered back toward the hotel. He wasn’t going fast enough to lose Chet, yet there was something about his body language that was chilling. Repellent. Chet followed him, rubbing his arms, cold from the inside out. He knew only one thing: Knife had lied, earlier. Rory had said Pelin couldn’t do something, and Chet assumed that meant she couldn’t destroy the Raptus. Why had Knife lied?
“I don't suppose you want to tell me what that was all about.” Chet’s tone sounded whiny even in his own ears.
“Not particularly, no,” Knife said pleasantly. He opened the hotel doors for Chet, ushering him inside. “You ran out of the room without your key, didn’t you?"
Chet had. He scowled, feeling like a child caught sneaking after bedtime. “I still don’t see what my girlfriend has to do with any of this.”
“You mean your ex?” Knife still appeared calm, but a slight sharpness had crept into his voice.
Chet hadn’t told him or Journey about their relationship. Had Rory said something? Abyss, his whole life had turned upside down. He had no control over where they went next... where were they going, anyway? Knife had spoken of Flame Council members scattered across the world.
“So, where do we go now?” Chet said as they started up the stairs. “At a leisurely pace, no less.”
Knife turned and, without warning, slammed Chet into the wall. Chet yelped—then his air was cut off. Knife held him by the throat in a secure manner. It felt like a practiced move. Chet’s body was supported, his weight distributed evenly, yet he was unable to defend himself or breathe.
“You will say nothing of what you just heard. Do you understand?”
Chet nodded frantically as best he could. He was held a moment longer—long enough to understand he wasn’t in control—then released. Chet crumpled over, coughing and gasping, tears running down his face.
“You may have been sheltered all your life, but this isn’t a game. Time to grow up, Chet Baikson.”
“Abyss! Why on Uos...” Chet looked up with watering eyes as he felt for bruises on his neck.
Knife turned and started up the stairs; Chet realized he had to follow. The Raptus made it so. It had changed everything. Still, Chet couldn’t help bucking at the enforced order of silence. “What if I do say something?”
Knife paused and Chet tensed. He turned slowly and Chet scrambled away, but not too far. He couldn’t go far on the invisible leash. Knife finally smiled. “I was under the impression you’re a smart guy, Chet.”
There was a long pause. Very long. Chet could feel his face growing hot. “Um. I like to think so.”
Knife nodded. “Just so.” He turned away again.
This time Chet followed without the backtalk. But he couldn’t help asking while Knife was keying their way into the hotel room, “So where are we going?”
“We need to find Oak, the first Flame Council member on our list.” Knife kept his voice down, but he was by no means whispering.
Chet glanced around the hotel room. The lights were off, but the curtains were pulled back from the glass doors, letting in the glow of streetlights. Alas, it was too cloudy for Elderbeth—the enormous gas giant which Uos followed doggedly in her orbit around the sun—to lend more light. Nevertheless, he could see Journey was awake, sitting cross legged on the bed. Fenimore still seemed to be asleep. Or at least he was snoring.
“Where would we find Oak, then? Maansterdam? Plainsdaugheau? Some Pantheon forsaken island? The arctic circle?”
“We go to Semaphore University. Your university.”
Chet shot him an incredulous look. “There are no Flame at Semaphore.”
Journey smiled at Chet and extended a hand. “Come to bed, sweetie. Tomorrow may be a long day.”
Chet stared at her, his stomach sinking. The Flame wouldn’t explain—they were definitely in on this together—and he had to go along anyway. Whether he wanted to or not.
Chet was in a dour mood as he drove everyone up the winding road to the university. His own vehicle had died eight weeks ago of a broken timing belt, and as his father had yet to replace it, they’d needed a means of transportation. Thus, Chet had rented a car with cash supplied by the Flame. It had been surprisingly easy, especially as their group was far less conspicuous today.
For one thing, Knife wore a long, messy wig bound in a ponytail. He’d changed his skin color to fallow once again; he and Fenimore looked like brothers. Fenimore’s own long hair helped Knife blend in, Chet realized upon seeing them together. They wore argyle vests and penny loafers in the style of undergraduate college students everywhere, though Knife also wore a leather bomber jacket over his sweater. He hadn’t carried that in his thin suitcase. Chet was shocked when he realized the outfits had come from Journey’s extensive luggage, though he didn’t know why he was so surprised that she owned male clothing. Some part of his brain had yet to catch up with events, he supposed.
Making his confusion worse, Journey was back in heavy makeup, cat’s eye sunglasses and the modern-cut wig. She looked much as she had the day she visited the dig site. Chet realized with a jolt that it wasn’t real makeup—she must have colored her face by shifting. It was hard to remember that she’d been a guy last night. With a penis and everything. When she was female, it was like that part of herself didn’t exist and never had.
Despite their preparations, Chet felt sourness eat away at his stomach. No one would tell him who the Flame on campus was, only that her name was Oak and that she’d been initiated last summer. Maybe she was a measly undergraduate in sociology or the arts. Something benign and unassuming. After last night, he hated the idea that this, this drama had somehow seeped into the normalcy—the sacredness?—of his studies. Journey and Knife fascinated him, despite the fact that they were doing things in an underhanded fashion, yet Chet bristled at the idea of a Flame on campus. A Flame sharing bathrooms and eating in the cafeteria along with normal people. It seemed... indecent. Though he knew he was being irrational, his shoulders ached with tension.
Journey, too, was in a foul mood. “The director said that he’d never work with me again. He literally screamed over the phone line," she said to Knife in the backseat. “It’s not as if I don’t have an understudy. The director’s vindictive, too. I might even get blacklisted from the Eich Che theater scene if he’s in an especially bad mood.”
“Shouldn’t have slept with him, then, should you,” Knife murmured. There was the sound of something—or someone—being hit, and Knife chuckled.
Chet glanced in the rearview mirror. “Do I need to come back there and separate you two? And you need to stop that, Fenimore.”
Fenimore drew his head back through the window to grin naughtily, then stuck his head back out, hair whipping in the wind. Chet wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d stuck his tongue out like a cynodict. Chet kept the car centered in the lane, hoping passing trucks barreling down the corkscrew mountain road wouldn’t cut off Fenimore’s head. Though... he supposed he should be grateful Fenimore wasn’t nauseous and complaining. The three-hundred year old man had
taken to automobile trips like a doedicu to water.
The university was quiet today. Well, it was summer term. Chet parked in the economy lot near the archaeology department, and they walked up the winding roads of campus. A campus security car passed them, and Chet held his breath. The vehicle didn’t even slow down. Good, the disguises are working.
To Chet’s astonishment, the two Flame headed directly toward the law library.
“Okay, I know there aren’t any Flame in the law school,” he said as they climbed the outer stairs. “I attended this graduate school for a year until I switched to archaeology. They’re the most stodgy, conservative group on campus.”
They were about to enter the library when, of all people, Professor Clementina emerged from inside with Professor Espies, head of the law department. Espies kept rambling on about something, though Clementina stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of them.
Espies blinked. “Is there a problem, Clementina?”
Chet didn’t doubt Clementina was fully capable of making a scene. He winced as she opened her mouth... except she shut it. “Not at all," she said, linking her arm through his and leading him away. “Now, what were you saying about the censure of the Jantrael Straight Parliament?”
Espies prattled on as they strode away, arm in arm. Clementina glazed back over her shoulder, her expression hard to read.
Chet stared, shocked. “I thought for certain she’d call security.”
“There’re always interpersonal politics on a campus like this one. She may call them as soon as she can get away from the fellow,” Knife said. “We’d best hurry.”
The library was hushed, serene. Chet sometimes missed this place, though he didn’t miss the law itself. His father had insisted on his becoming a lawyer to help with the family business. Chet hadn’t exactly done well.
He glanced around the library and spotted a friend, his former roommate Steve. Steve had seen Chet, too. He rose from the wooden table where he’d been studying enormous reference texts and walked over.
The Artifact of Foex Page 9
