The Game 39
Edited by Karen Leigh
"Denise, your legs...they're healed," Ricky realized that in his surprise he was fondling the now unmarked flesh. Even the bite on Denise's cock had healed. The dusky flesh rested perfectly in its nest of chestnut curls. Ricky squirmed as his body reacted...reminded that it had been simply days since he's been laid...every one else seemed to have getting some, but he, poor suffering Ricky had probably grown a new hymen ... well, the start of one anyway.
Just then Walter uttered a loud cry and sat up. Great, the place had three doctors and now there were none. His former lover tried to stand up and didn't appear to be able to carry it off.
Glancing distractedly around the room, Walter saw Bryson on the next cot - saw the open fear in her eyes when she looked at him.
Oh, god, I hurt her - badly Refusing to closely examine the previous events - how she'd been injured - the horrifying thoughts that had filled his mind at the time - the sickening joy he'd felt while torturing her - Walter closed his eyes and blanked his mind.
He would not think about it - none of it ... at least not now.
Ricky patted Denise again and said, "Be right back. Don't be scared. The person who attacked you wasn't Walter. I'll explain later."
Reaching the bed just in time to catch Walter and guide him back down, Ricky eased Skinner back onto the bed.
Plucking at his clothing, still dribbled with blood, both his own and Denise's, Walter appeared none too coherent. Ricky finally decided that the blood was freaking his lover out and decided to undress him. He was sure that someone could find some clothing later. "Here, let me get this suit off you. It's bit the big one, Walter."
She wanted to warn him. He was in danger. Walter Skinner was a monster. She'd experienced it. Horrified, she watched as Ricky stripped the AD down and began to wash him.
His still dazed lover cooperated clumsily, interfering by trying to take Ricky's clothing off as well. Normally, Ricky would have managed to undress and wiggle over or under Walter in less than a minute, but now he pushed away the hands and scolded, "Just you this time, Walter."
"There," Ricky said, admiring the slabs of muscle that made Walter's chest a monument to weight lifting. Despite the heavily developed chest and shoulder, the iron-like arms and legs, Walter had the cutest little hint of love handles at his side. Ricky used to like to tease his lover by trying to pinch up enough extra flesh to hold on. There wasn't quite that much, but it was fun to see how embarrassed Walter became.
"I'm going to give you a bath too," Ricky said, spying a cart with all the requirements. Not only had some of the blood smeared Walter's chest, but dried cum had stained Walter's thighs and flecked through his rich tangle of pubic hair.
Stopping to pet Denise once again, Ricky said, "I'm right here. Don't worry. I just have to make Walter comfortable. Believe me. That was not Walter who hurt you. I felt someone else, a thing that called itself Horace Pinker. Walter helped me fight it off or it could have taken over you or I too."
This was so strange - he was talking about the paranormal here. Denise was by degrees confused and afraid, although that awful red-eyed look seemed to have gone from Skinner's eyes. She wanted to leave, but more than that, she wanted to stay close to Ricky.
Shit, good going, Denise or Denis looked as if he was considering running naked out of the place. Ricky said, "Haven't you ever run into anything bizarre on your cases, Bryson?"
Not like this. Never like this, she wanted to scream after him, but Ricky was so certain... She watched him handle Skinner, gently cleansing him and soothing him, and began to feel almost safe.
Back to Walter, one eye on Denise, Ricky sponged his lover down gently. He couldn't help kissing Walter's forehead and then his mouth reassuringly. He said, "It wasn't your fault, Walter. You fought as hard as anyone could. I couldn't have stood up to him as long as you did. If you hadn't told me how to defeat him, I don't even want to think what would have happened next."
Dazedly, Skinner accepted Ricky's care. He knew the man was talking to him but couldn't quite make out the actual words. In some dim corner of his mind, though, he knew that this man wouldn't hurt him, so he let the soothing sounds of Ricky's voice flow over him.
Parting the stone columns of Walter's thighs, Ricky sponged the cock, a cock he knew very well. Lifting the heavy balls and supporting the hot weight of the cock, Ricky was aware of an erection starting to form. He squirmed, scolding himself inwardly. Keep your little head out of my business, he told the Cruising Missile.
That was huge, she thought. How could anyone ever... She hugged herself, wondering why it was that after everything she'd been through she wanted to touch it.
A little more awareness had returned to Walter's eyes. Ricky drew the sheet and blanket back over Walter and said, "You're going feel better soon."
Returning to Denise, Ricky sat down on the bed and offered his hand back to her. What he really wanted to do was to go find One or one of the other Mac 27s and get laid in the least emotionally complicated way he knew; a nice dirty, hot and sweaty buddy fuck would be good right now. However, a little tolerance and unwelcome maturity was setting in. Ricky Caruso had responsibilities.
Smiling at Ricky, Denise licked her lips. Ricky was so kind, and so beautiful. Taking his hand in hers, she held it to her cheek, kissed it and peeped up at him.
"I never did say thank you, Ricky. You saved my life." There had been classes on sex abuse victims and how to deal with reaction to trauma, but damn, there had been this policewoman from another precinct. Eyes met across the room. After the break and a chat, they sat next to each other and the words didn't penetrate as Ricky played a thigh-to-thigh message passing game, eventually leading to a custodian's closet and extracurricular activities. Ricky had dated her for three weeks before they went their separate ways, both of them satisfied with the brief fling.
Unfortunately, it was easier to remember how Jill had tasted than what they said you should do when talking to someone who was the victim of an assault.
Ricky asked, "Do you mind me sitting here like this? I'm tired, been up for ages."
In fact, his statement broke with a yawn. He would have bedded down with Walter, but the man's bulk filled the hospital bed. There was much more room in Denise's bed.
The maternal in Denise went out to Ricky, so young and pretty and dazed in his fatigue.
"You poor boy. You've been so brave, and helped so much."
Trying to stay awake, Ricky said, "I wanted to explain. You see, I used to be just an ordinary uniformed cop. Then someone helped me get into the FBI and for the most part, I've tried to work hard and be a good agent. There's a guy I know; Walter's his boss, but not mine. Anyway, he investigates odd cases and he tracks down reports of alien landings. God, I sound spooky...don't I?"
Rubbing his eyes, Ricky slumped back and said, "I can hardly keep awake..."
Denise scooted over to make room for Ricky. She felt so safe with him beside her.
"Best take off your shoes then, dear. Don't want to get the nice white sheets dirty." As Ricky kicked the shoes onto the floor, she pulled him back into a firm embrace." I know that you'll defend me if... if he wakes and wants to hurt me again. You make me feel so safe."
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
Peter glared at the person who said that he wasn't Cory Raines.
"So if you aren't Cory, how about you show me the real thing? Where are these clones you're talking about?" He took a forkful of scrambled egg, and tried desperately not to look at Dave Cameron. This whole thing was strange, but he was used to strange things happening. He took a deep breath, beginning the deep breathing patterns that would calm and focus him.
"I'm ready when you are."
"Fine, then," Tom answered. He looked at Dave, "You ready?"
Dave nodded. Damn, he looked forward to Caine's reaction to so many Cory look-a-likes.
Grabbing the check, he headed up to the register and paid for the meal. Turning back to Peter and Tom, he raised a brow. "You gonna follow us, Caine ... or do you prefer to ride along in our vehicle?"
Tom remained silent - growing ever more attracted to this Dave guy. Most confusing, this. He'd never been drawn to a man - in a sexual way, that is. What was it about Dave? Mere curiosity? A sudden onset of gayness? A reaction to Dave's obvious attraction to him?
Damn.
Well, he decided, he'd just wait and see what might develop ...
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
Cory sighed. "Tell you what an immortal is... well, we're all foundlings, so we have no idea where we actually come from. We live a normal life - age just like anyone else, get sick, get hurt, all that good stuff - until our first death. We die, we come back to life shortly afterwards, and we stay alive. Like I said, I've been around for about 744 years. Methos is much older than I am. Um... We don't get sick, if we get hurt, we heal very quickly... Well, you saw that."
"Yeah," said Dustin. "I'm sure it comes in handy." Dustin smiled encouragingly.
He paused, not sure how much more to tell. After a brief internal debate, he shrugged and continued. "We um ... we all have what's called the quickening. It's our life force; I guess you'd call it. And, we can sense each other's presence through the quickenings. I have no idea when the first immortal came into being - I know we've been around for at least 5000 years. And - well, there is one way to kill an immortal - by taking his head. From that, we don't recover. When one of us takes another's head, we also absorb his or her quickening - which increases the receiver's strength. Some immortals spend all of their time hunting for heads - others spend all their time hiding on holy ground - that's the one place we cannot fight. When we do fight, it's called a challenge, it must be a one on one situation and we fight with blades. Legend has it that in the end, there will be only one immortal standing. The last one will gain some sort of prize - though, no one has any idea what said prize might be."
"That sounds like a ... violent way to live. Or ... I mean, is the prize that important? Do you actively try to kill every other immortal you meet, or can you be friends?"
Cory shrugged. "Some of us are friends - like I said, some are hunters. When challenged, we must fight - must have something to do with the prize. Luckily, I'm pretty good at avoiding challenges."
Dustin frowned and then grinned. "Eternal life... if I could bottle it, you know how much that would go for in Hollywood?"
Shuddering, Cory frowned at Dustin. "If this becomes common knowledge, I'm very much afraid of what might ensue - eternal life ... what would people do to gain it? No, Dustin, I've told you this in strict confidence. I'm trusting that you'll keep it to yourself - as a friend "
Tossing a sly grin in Dustin's direction, Cory raised his brows. "So there you have it - Immortals 101."
Dustin grinned back, sitting down on the bed and taking off his shoes. "Man, I'm beat," he said, lying back across it.
"Hey, you want to watch one of those movies now?" he asked suddenly, when he realized there was a TV/VCR in the room.
Burying his disappointment that Dustin wasn't interested in an exclusive relationship, Cory turned to the other man. "Sure, why not?" Cory answered, unable to actually leave Dustin's company. Damn, Cory, you are one sad, pathetic SOB
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
It was not about pain, no pain, not for Allison nor for Mac Brown...
Consciously replaying the vision and the sensory bombardment of Romeo and Jules...touching, emotions entwined, each contact building flames higher...Mac Brown remembered Luke's joy involuntarily broadcast to every Mac 27 in the building when Ryan finally initiated him into sex. He seared the images of Skip Brule and Mac Smith laughing with each other as they painted one another with chocolate and explored every atom of each other over the darker memories of his own life.
Somewhere Trey-Trey MacDuff was uttering love poetry as Anne showed him how to please her and tried too hard to please him, not understanding that he was content with her, did not care that she was not beautiful as he was. Trey- Trey was also unspoiled by violence or humiliation in this act. He learned the reality of sex was not the same as the feedback from others as his shuddering burst of pleasure united human brain and Mac systems as only the strongest emotions could.
Kissing was safe. Mac Brown had seldom been kissed and never tenderly...he stepped through the door, undressing automatically, exposing his flesh, his head bowing as he crept for a moment into what he had been.
Sex toy...worthless....hardly better than nothing. He offered exquisitely programmed pain receptors and afterwards, the agony of repair. His master's handsome face twisted with laughter if Mac Brown pleaded for mercy.
Naked, he posed as he had been taught. Subtle adjustments to his realistic muscle structure enhancing his form for his master or for whomever it had pleased his master to loan him.
NO! Mac Brown broke free of the submission. He was himself. He was alive. It was not his logic that told him that. It was in his very atoms and in the cells of his small, but functional human brain.
His hand stretched toward Allison, touched the tears streaking her cheeks. His fingertips analyzed the saline on one level, but some deeper emotion brought the dampness to his tongue. It was Allison...and she was beautiful to him.
Now a hint of joy began to break through the scars of the past and Mac Brown believed that this would be his first real experience. He leaned down, tilted up Allison's chin with trembling fingers. Her breath whispered over his mouth and his eyes half closed. His entire being felt the warmth gently fill him....and her lips opened to him, breathing life into him.
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
Hearing a loud engine noise, Gross peered out of the window. He couldn't believe it! Betrayed again... and by I-Mac, who seemed so reasonable, who he thought was his friend. And they had stolen his Aston Martin.
He leaped from the window, landing astride I-Mac's motorbike with a wince of pain. The preening pigeon fell from the handlebars, stone dead with shock. Hot-wiring it, he set off full tilt to the compound. He would get there before them, trash the place, so that Langly couldn't be kidnapped again, and then he would take her off to Hawaii, where his friend big Mac Donald had a fast food franchise. They'd never be found there.
A brief detour to Lone Gunmen headquarters revealed that Byers and Frohike were still off on whatever mission had taken them out of town. Langly gathered up his favorite CPU, his favorite black concert tee shirts, even allowing I-Mac to wear the classic collector's, Jimi Hendrix. Carefully translating a note into code, Langly shoved the refrigerator around to put the floppy disc into the wiring at the back...the Lone Gunmen way of leaving a note in the kitchen. Panting, he wiped his hands on his pants and said, "Okay, let's get back in
The Game, I-Mac."
--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--[o]--
Aftershocks of delicious sensation curled in Methos' groin and tingled through his body. He fell back from Anson, chest heaving as he recovered from his orgasm. Anson had exposed his double's body and now was kissing him, his hand teasing an erection that screamed for attention. They were so beautiful together that Methos wished he were a sculptor. He'd never been a sculptor. Perhaps this was something for him to try...
He could feel a strange connection from the newcomer. There was a fire from him that licked at his senses. He felt raw and over-sensitized as it flared between them. Almost without thinking, his sense of self-preservation, always strong, kicked in, and he moved away from the contact, as far as the edge of the bed, there to poise, wanting to watch them, ready to make his escape.
Visions of Kronos, laughing as he wielded a knife...
He shook his head and tried to clear it, and felt himself grow hard again at the memory of blood spilled and the sight of his lover at play.
Philip moaned raggedly, clutching at the clone and hooking a leg around him, blind with need. But the clone recovered quickly, blocking Philip's frantic humping of his hip and pushing him down onto his back again, shoving his legs apart kneeling between them.
One hand splayed in the centre of Philip's chest, the clone reclaimed possession of his aching erection in a firm grip, forcing him back from the brink of climax despite his protests. Grinning as their eyes locked, the clone ran the pad of his thumb up the underside of Philip's darkly engorged cock, pressing the sensitized flesh just enough to provoke a whimper.
Trailing of soft fabric and the touch of cool air, followed down the length of his body by his double's unexpectedly reassuring caress... Need almost immediately overtook surprise as Philip was pulled in for a deep, searching kiss. He returned it hungrily; anger, confusion, misgivings, all fragmented along with his thoughts, melted in the duel and slip of tongues. So good, so fucking good, it had been so long...
He groaned, bucking against the grip that closed around his cock, and the clone drew back slightly, delivering another kiss before nuzzling along Philip's jaw. He felt his double's teeth tugged at his earring, the tongue tracing the curve of his ear before worrying at the silver cuff that counter-pointed the tiny hoop in the lobe. "Oh yeah..." He shuddered, and a gravelly chuckle vibrated through Philip's skin in answer as the clone advanced along his throat and across a collarbone, stinging nips soothed by laving tongue and soft, mouthing kisses.
The while, the clone had continued his almost lazy working of Philip's cock, labor-roughened hand too light and too loose to take him that last remaining distance to the relief he was becoming truly desperate to achieve. He strained against it, breathing hard, gripping one of his double's shoulders for leverage, but his hand was slapped playfully away as he tried to force more urgency on the stroking that tormented him.
Suddenly the rhythm that had been underscoring their explorations faltered, and even that teasing touch was gone. The clone arched with a sharp intake of breath, eyes closed, responding to his lover's orgasm even though he was still some ways from his own. Gazing at the clone's expression, Philip was once again shocked into awareness of the nearness of their companion. Fear and excitement coiled and twisted low in Philip's belly at the thought of their having been sharing this passionate look-a-like, then turned to a powerful jolt through every nerve as what had been a low, steady buzz of pleasure spiked and spiraled.
His double bent, still stroking with his thumb, and Philip writhed at the sudden wet heat of the man's tongue licking a swathe around the head of his cock, tip darting quickly to taste at the slit before withdrawing again. Hands clawing, fisting into the sheet, head tossing side to side, Philip tried to thrust but was held down.
"Come on, man," he rasped, panting turning to a cracked sob. "Help me out, here. Finish...finish it, or let me -- "
The clone paused his teasing, and even in his extreme agitation Philip could see the emotions warring on his face. A crackling spark of confusion, apprehension...as if his plea had some greater meaning for the man. Not sure why, Philip reached up to place shaking hands gently on the clone's shoulders, willing him to eye contact again. "Please," he whispered.
It seemed to break some spell. No more games, and minutes later Philip arched, head thrown back, a strangled cry escaping through his clenched teeth at the painful intensity of his orgasm. For long moments, as the staccato jerking of his body subsided, his consciousness threatened to come unmoored. Perceptions swirled like mist...icy, burning...death and desire and a fierce protectiveness...
Falling back, Philip opened his eyes to see his double reaching across the bed toward the third man, and hissed a sharp intake of breath, as he understood. Their companion smiled, took the clone's wrist and slowly began to lap the cum from the man's hand. His dark eyes fixed on Philip, he was like a cat at the cream, languidly taking the clone's fingers into his mouth and sucking them one by one.
Eyes half-lidded, the clone smiled beatifically, his other hand absently stroking Philip's thigh. A rumbling sigh of pleasure sounded from deep in his chest as the stranger, having finished his treat, kissed the back of his hand with genuine affection and released him. Still mesmerized, Philip lay quietly as the clone moved to him again, carefully licking him clean. As his double crouched over him, tasting and kissing, Philip felt an indefinable shift in energies and looked across the broad back at the man watching them.
Even as his sated body at last began to relax, what Philip saw in the stranger's angular face disturbed him in any number of ways. This, he decided, is fucking insane. And I want more.
It felt as though he knew this man - had known him forever, and yet he knew that he had not. The energy that pulsed between them had surged and spilled over his skin to prickle like so many small insects, and then, as Methos had watched him spill himself over Anson, there'd been a singing rush of excitement along his skin that had left him trembling slightly with a need that frightened him.
Anson climbed back up to rest against the pillow between the stranger and Methos. He gazed curiously at this newcomer. So like himself - it still startled him, this seeing his own face on another body. Tentatively, he smiled at the man. "Hi," he offered in belated greeting. "I'm Anson - Anson Green, and this is Methos." Reaching over, he took one of Methos' hands into his and held it to his chest.
Rising up on an elbow, Philip looked at one to the other of the men, who were regarding him with calm cordiality, as if they'd all just ended up sharing a taxi rather than a bed. The sheer nonchalance of it jarred him more than he thought it should. "Philip Paget," he replied, wondering if his smile was as tight as it felt. "Always nice to be on a first-name basis with one's abductors."
Somewhat shamefacedly, Methos raised his other hand in a vague greeting, and smiled a slightly stunned smile that melted into something warmer as he turned his attention to Anson, whose still hard erection glistened where it lay against his belly. He leaned to kiss him again, and then straightened again, stroking Anson's chest idly as he pondered the newcomer.
Philip watched Methos caressing Anson, kissing him with what was obviously genuine affection. There was no question but that they were a couple, and no question but that Methos was pointedly underlining the fact. Yet there was a speculation in the man's dark eyes as they roved over Philip's body, a hunger that made him almost as uneasy as the clinical curiosity he could also plainly see there.
He knew that something was going wrong with him, had been going wrong at least since Rome. And there was definitely something very wrong, unfathomably strange, with this Methos. 'Methos? What the hell is that, like 'Madonna'...?! Yet there was something else, something that had been gnawing and skittering around the edges of his mind ever since he'd awakened here and hadn't known where 'here' was... And it certainly wasn't the idea of finding himself in bed with two striking men who both wanted to take him to the prom, or even the question of consent, that had unnerved him and made him want to scramble away and find his clothes, to escape their eyes, their touch...
It continued to elude him. Then Anson shifted slightly, drawing Philip's attention back to the flush and scent of his double's arousal, the tension of contentment and anticipation, and he let it go. "Very nice," he murmured, flashing a much more genuine smile.
"Mmmm, echoed Methos. "Very nice indeed." He began to run his hand the length of Anson's torso, teasing him as he lowered his head to run his tongue around the inside of Anson's ear. The other man - Philip - Methos thought, grinned, more to Anson than to him, and moved to lie on the other side of Anson, mirroring Methos' movements with his own, tweaking at a coppery nipple, lapping at the long, graceful arch of Anson's throat as they began, wordlessly, to pleasure him.
Pleasure it was. Anson let it take him, whimpering wordlessly with the waves of lust and desire that flooded him.
Suppressing a shudder, holding Methos' gaze, Philip reached out to run his fingertips along Anson's right leg, slowly stroking his inner thigh. The contact, Anson's restless movements and the heat radiating from his flesh, drew Philip back toward the pleasant haze that had scattered his senses not long before.
Anson all but purred. Methos was loving him, and the stranger with his face was sliding a hand along his thigh. Life was perfect.
Things were surreal, and dangerous, but Philip wanted more of his clone, Anson, much more, this incredible body so like and unlike his own... He also knew a challenge when he was called on one. And, he thought, grinning as he stretched out along his look-a-like's side and ran a hand over his chest, if that increased Anson's enjoyment, so much the better. Philip buried his face in the curve of Anson's shoulder, breathing him in deeply as his tongue traced a line up his double's throat. Even then, even if he weren't so intensely physically aware of Methos mere inches away as he ministered to Anson, the disturbing buzz of his presence was impossible to ignore...
Two hands moved down Anson's body, sliding from rib cage down to the flat belly, and down to slide along the crease that joined torso to thigh. Two hands brushed the dark curls, teased the tightly drawn up balls, and met as each man moved to seize hold of the neglected penis that wept for stimulation, dropping sticky tears onto the flat, white belly.
As fingers met, each hand moving to slide the length of the needy erection, both men gasped. The contact between them was sudden and fierce, with a zing as if there had been a summer lightning strike that had left the metallic flavor of ozone in the air. Philip gasped, and Methos echoed the sound. Beneath their hands, Anson cried out incoherently as the tingle overflowed and made him jerk his hips.
Methos found himself having difficulty concentrating on pleasuring his lover. The knowledge that Philip lay on the other side of Anson seemed bone deep, vibrating in a place that previously had been reserved for other immortals. Methos glanced over at Anson's double, and shivered. You are something else. Anson only believes himself to be dangerous. You're the real McCoy. I want you. He shook his head and turned back to Anson, kissing the open mouth with a ferocity borne of frustration. Anson was his, and he would do nothing to hurt him, ever -- but oh, if only...
Tonguing a nipple, Philip fondled his look-a-like's balls briefly. Finally closing his hand around the man's cock, he felt another hand, and a sharp snap of energy shot through his fingers as if he'd taken hold of a jumper cable instead. With a startled gasp, he raised his head and jerked his hand back, realizing as he scrambled up to his knees that Methos was doing the same. They stared at each other for a moment across Anson's body as the clone cried out, hips thrusting shallowly against the air. Philip looked down at him, concerned; Anson had obviously felt something, yet he didn't appear to have been injured, or even to have found it unpleasant. After the initial painful jolt, Philip had to admit he didn't find it unpleasant himself. Not at all. And yet...
There was a sudden flash of sensation that pooled like molasses in his groin and made him shout, and then the two of them - bastards - drew away as though by mutual consent. Anson all but sobbed.
Methos frowned, drawing his hand away slowly as he met Philip's suddenly guarded eyes.
Not immortal, Methos was willing to bet, and yet... The sensation was like, and yet unlike any quickening he had ever felt, and as always when in the presence of something he didn't understand, Methos wanted to study it - from a safe distance. Fire licked his fingers with sharp, pleasurable tingles and he found himself examining the hand that had touched Philip's, looking for an outward change. Of course there was nothing visible.
What are you, Philip Paget? Methos narrowed his eyes, pondered things from long ago, could find no template, and turned back to the conundrum opposite him, the puzzle who had apparently taken pity on his poor, unfulfilled lover, and who had resumed his attempts to drive him crazy as he licked his way down towards the bobbing erection.
Not an old concept then, so you must be something new. Are you immortal? I don't believe so, or at least, not yet... Although I feel you. There's something in you that speaks to me; that crawls on my skin so that I can't ignore you.
Anson moaned then, and Methos bent to kiss him, tasting the need of him, and knowing that it wasn't fair to play with him any more. Sitting up carefully, he spread his legs and pulled Anson into his lap so that his head rested against his shoulder. Sliding his arms beneath Anson's, he began to stroke and fondle his lover, claiming the rosy mouth in a long, deep kiss as he watched Philip draw closer and closer to Anson's cock.
Warily regarding Methos again, he saw the man flexing and studying his fingers with certain incredulity and that same clinical curiosity, which he turned on Philip. He seemed to be groping for words, but then chose instead to see to his lover.
It wasn't the time or the place; that he knew. Methos was nothing if not pragmatic, and Anson needed relief. He filed away the sensations that Philip seemed to induce in him, filed away the arousal that had filled him anew with the contact that he'd just experienced, and bent to pleasure Anson. An idea occurred, and he moved himself out of Philip's way.
Methos... the taste of him, the scent of him... it was wonderful, but it wasn't what he needed. He had to come. It was becoming painful for him now. He shifted restlessly in Methos' arms, but found himself held prisoner.
When Philip at last began to lick along the straining shaft, Anson cried out, sounds that were lost in the depths of the kiss he was sharing with Methos. Then, with a chuckle, Philip cupped Anson's genitals and sucked him in deep, beginning to work him in a determined and efficient manner as though he'd come to some decision. Methos watched, approving. The boy knew exactly which caresses would cause most delight.
Methos had moved away and was cradling Anson back against his body, lavishing him with kisses and caresses. Philip shifted to position himself between the man's drawn-up knees...between Methos' sprawled legs. The feel of them both, their strong mingled scents...Anson whimpered tremulously, writhing, forcing Philip from his distraction. He realized that the man was as desperate as he had been earlier, and contented himself with trailing fingertips, nibbling kisses, a wash of tongue, along the insides of Anson's thighs before reaching out to take his clone's erection in a firm, careful grip once again. Philip smiled to himself. Anson had been honest with him, taken good care of him once he'd understood the urgency. He had provided the quid pro, and despite the circumstances, Philip was more than willing to supply the quo.
He'd been right. Methos settled back to watch as Anson's double drove Anson himself quietly insane. People would pay for such a show, and Methos felt so damned aroused as he watched it, that he had to bite back pleas to join in with them. Something told him that Philip would bolt if he did more than observe. He held Anson tightly, watched as Philip got down to business, and swallowed Anson's cries of pleasure greedily.
Philip lapped at the fluid leaking freely from Anson's cock head, tongue and thumb teasing gently just beneath. One way to tell us apart, anyway, he thought giddily, savouring him even as his mouth followed the downward stroke of his hand, taking in the dark, rigid penis. Tongue swirling its heavy length, his nose buried in the damp, musk-rich curls of the man's groin; Philip knew he wouldn't last much longer. He drew back to avoid choking as Anson bucked his hips, peripherally aware of the soft sounds his clone was making with every heaving breath, some of them muffled by kisses, and the way Methos continued to watch him. Bending again, Philip worked hand, lips and tongue to bring Anson over the edge quickly, staying with him as he arched off the mattress.
It was happening... he was tense now with the sheer ecstatic delight of heat and Methos eyes were eating him up, while his lips demanded their share. Philip's tongue was darting over him, causing little shocks of pleasure to spiral in his groin and out...and out... and at last it all gushed out of him, the heat and the sweet sticky joy of Philip's mouth making him shudder it all out and lie gasping, sweat soaked and complete.
He took each pulse of the powerful orgasm, swallowing ecstatically until Anson fell back, spent. Sitting back on his heels, eyes closed and head bowed, Philip relished the aftershocks humming through his body.
As Anson finally arched, rigid and fighting to breathe, Methos felt his own breath shorten. He was as aroused now, as he had been when he had first awoken. There was something in the air, and Philip had brought it with him.
Smiling down at his lover, he murmured to Anson, "Say thank you to Philip." And then met Philip's eyes once more with his own softly spoken thanks.
Smug, condescending bastard! Pulled abruptly from the moment, Philip wasn't sure which was a more stinging slap in the face -- the way Methos had spoken to Anson as if he were a child, treating him like a pet, or the way his words and the look in his eyes seemed to assume the same for Philip while simultaneously dismissing him like a ten-buck whore. You think that had anything to do with you?!
The thought reminded him of the sharp spike of energy as their hands had touched, and he looked away. His skin crawling and his stomach twisting dizzily, he didn't trust himself to speak. He met Anson's half-closed eyes, and the man favored him with a wide, exhausted smile. Echoing it faintly, Philip allowed himself to be drawn into Anson's arms.
Methos frowned. There was something... The clone was less than happy for him to be there, and for the life of him, Methos couldn't comprehend the dislike that seemed to emanate from Philip. He had to overcome that. He wanted - make that needed - to understand this quickening that was not a quickening. He needed to learn about it. He NEEDED! How could he put Philip at ease? His mind had discarded the current environment. Philip needed time. That was obvious.
Anson, glistening with the sweat of exertion, and rosy from recent orgasm, reached to pull Philip to him, and again the two look-alikes kissed each other, while Methos at first held back, and then with a faint sound that might have been need, reached to run his hands over Philip's smooth, lightly freckled back, up and into the hair that was so fine and downy on the nape of his neck.
A roughness beneath his fingertips negated the tingling for a moment, and he leaned forward to peer, was rewarded with sight of a faint, white scar.
This was interesting. There had been others with such a scar.
Philip's mouth tasted bittersweet with the residue of his ejaculate, and Anson wanted to stay there, explore it with his tongue forever. He raised his arms in lazy, sensual benison, running them over Philip, touching and stroking, hands prying as the other man returned his kiss.
He lay, replete, and didn't want to let the moment go...breathed out his thanks as easy as the flow of air from his lungs, and clung to Philip, licking at the other man's ear as he whispered contentment.
Legs and tongues twining as they languidly consumed one another; Philip let himself sink into the pleasure of slick skin and solid muscle. Anson murmured to him, teasing at his ear, hands memorising him and enveloping him in sensation...in feeling...he couldn't remember having known before. Even with Monica, who had been aware of so much, and who had even been fond of him in her way, there hadn't been this kind of open affection. Never this incredible tingling across his skin or the seemingly instinctive knowledge of just how to massage the back of his neck to send him over the brink of complete wanton stupidity...
Fingers brushed repeatedly across the spot where the god had marked him, sending shocks through his body, and understanding hit him along with a wave of panic. "No!" he shouted hoarsely, struggling to extricate himself from Anson's embrace, not really seeing the wounded look of confusion on the man's face. His face. Wild-eyed, terrified and enraged, his breath coming fast and shallow, Philip scuttled back off the bed. "Do not fucking touch me!"
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Grabbing the check, David headed to the register and paid for the meal. Turning back to Peter and Tom, he raised a brow. "You gonna follow us, Caine ... or do you prefer to ride along in our vehicle?"
"I'll follow you guys, if that's okay. I'm not anxious to leave my rental car here. Chances are I'll forget it or something."
As the man who could be his older brother, and his friend who surely had to be Cory despite the protests pulled away from the parking lot, Peter Caine fell in behind them, driving towards the compound where he was sure that he would get some answers.
As they approached the entrance to the compound, David started to smile. Then he chuckled.
"What?" Tom asked.
"Our friend back there is in for one hell of a shock, you know. He doesn't believe that you're not Cory." Dave shook his head and laughed again. "This should prove entertaining, if nothing else."
He pulled up to the gate and informed the Macs on guard that the car following was with them. They looked askance, but once one of them went to take a look at the newcomer and saw his resemblance to Dave, they let both vehicles in.
Once parked, Tom and Dave climbed out of their car and went to join Peter. "Now do you see what we were talking about?" Dave asked, smiling inwardly at Caine's dumbfounded expression at all of the Macs and clones in view. "And this is only a small number of the Tom look-a-likes here at the compound."
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Spike pressed the button for the thirteenth floor, turned to his new acquaintance and smiled. "Well, this is pleasant, Mr. Spender. I'm a stranger to your capital city, but it's nice to know I'm welcome."
The sound of voices nearby brought Tin Man out of his standby mode. A pale light-haired man was taking to an older gentleman; the latter was smoking. Tin Man was outraged. The hotel was a public place; moreover there was a notice at the reception desk expressly forbidding the practice in the hotel's communal areas.
He rose and walked over to the receptionist, and waited politely for the young woman to complete a telephone call. He informed her of what he had seen. She seemed only mildly interested, but when he finally got her to come with him to speak to the offender, the two were gone.
He couldn't let this rest, though the receptionist would not pursue the matter. By, as he congratulated himself, devious means, he obtained Spike's room number, and chased after the wrongdoer.
Reaching the floor, he increased his aural receptors to maximum to locate his quarry. He could not be sure that the smoker had accompanied the other to his room; the receptionist had told him that the man was not one of their guests. But outside the correct room, other men were waiting. Rather than embarrass the old gentleman by remonstrating with him in public... after all, his transgression could be due to senility... he slipped into the linen closet alongside the suite, to listen for the man's departure. Every word spoken in the room was clear to Tin Man. However, it was not his business to listen, just to be alert. He set his receptors to record only, rather than analyze, and waited.
Spike led the way to the suite, and pushed the door open a crack, wondering what sort of a mess Dru had made of Pinocchio. He hoped Spender had a strong stomach.
"Poppet, I'm back. We've got a visitor, luv. Put the kettle on, would you?"
Spike stood back and gestured for Spender to enter. The wrinkly looked a bit desiccated, but once they'd wrung his secrets out of him, he might do for a midnight snack.
Samantha leapt up from the bed, fright evident in her eyes. "Father! What are you doing here?" She asked. "No more tests," she stated. "I'm not what you want, not now."
"Kettle?"
Drusilla's head cocked at Spike's inference to make tea while she protected Samantha within sheltering arms. Shielding the girl emotionally as only a mother could, while she looked both cautiously and predatorily at the new arrival. "Is he a present for our party? Oh Spike, you're ever so thoughtful..."
"Mommy can drink you all up, you know," she cautioned in scolding little girl tones. "Not nice to come here when I've a new family. Left the one you gave me cause she didn't treat me right. But Dru is the best mother a girl could wish for. Ever ever ever."
"She's mine now, Mister Smoke," Samantha's sire told him with a pet name added for polite informality's sake. "And I'll not have my daughter harmed any longer."
Samantha smiled at Drusilla. "Go say hi to my father," she said with a smile, hoping Dru would see fit to bite him and drain him of blood, as well. Her enthusiasm for the idea was evident as she vamped out.
"Now-now," she restrained childe of child. Stroking through youngster's hair in order to emotionally soothe her back to a less demonic facial mask. "Mustn't startle the rabbit before we catch."
Spender surveyed the girl, a little dismayed but unwilling to show it.
"Hello, Samantha. What a delightful surprise. I'm here to talk to your ...er... mother though, so perhaps we can catch up later. I'm sure that you'll like to hear how Fox is doing."
Turning to the dark haired beauty that was surveying him expressionlessly, he nodded courteously.
"I know who and what you are. I've come to ask you if you'd like to work for me. It will, of course, be worth your while."
Drusilla's gaze didn't have to shift to note the two individuals who were nearby to guard Spender. Physical eyes weren't needed for that - only a strong sense of intuition, which the vampiress had in a positive embarrassment of riches.
"Work for you?" The innocent demeanor of killer enquired. One eyebrow arched through subtle inquisition at the smoking man's shadow-some thoughts. "But we're having so much fun already." Sliding away from Samantha, Drusilla gave a passing glance at her mental slave of Michael Pinocchio. A pet now firmly under her command from ingestion of her inner demon essence. The chain barely covering his vicious, though healing, neck wound.
A smile passed the brunette's lips in attractive mystique, but it was more that of cat playing with mouse than anything else. Stepping towards the man of cigarettes with not a hint of fear about her. If anything Drusilla radiated an intoxicatingly dark presence that could very easily become death for any who came to know her. "Whatever would we want with you, hmm?" Quested English accent. "Could think of a lot of things but none you'd fancy."
The Smoker smiled again, and opened a new packet of Morley's . "Oh, this is more than fun, my dear. You may find that your fun is seriously curtailed when the aliens that are beginning to infiltrate the earth finally begin their invasion, and their invasion is coming at any time. I've had created an army of androids that cannot be affected by their methods of taking over human hosts, but they are under threat as well, and I'm sure Mr. Pinocchio there can corroborate should you ask him. The androids are intended to be humanity's first line of defense against the threat of the aliens, and I assure you that you need them to survive. Alien blood is a green, toxic substance. I doubt very much that it's nourishing. I need some assistance persuading the gentleman who is trying to destroy my androids that he should desist. I need assistance in combating the aliens that are at our door. My attempts to produce an alien/human hybrid have been sabotaged, and I find that I need to re-think my alliances. Still, my dear and beautiful lady, flexibility is all, wouldn't you say?"
Spike stood quietly smiling, curious to see if his precious would listen, or simply gut the old bloke where he stood. It wasn't easy to get Dru's attention, in fact, in his experience; it was bloody impossible unless it was something that took her mad fancy. What Spender was saying made Spike think he had a screw loose somewhere himself. Alien fucking invasion! Nutter. He'd heard of the aliens, though. Slimy buggers, but they'd always skirted around, never doing much of anything. He hadn't ever seen one. As for Samantha calling this old guy her Daddy - he didn't think it could be true, though they obviously knew each other. Her Dad would have to be a bloody cold bugger not to be upset by his little girly's change of lifestyle, and her new talent for face changing.
"Perhaps..." As Spike's sire and effectively the matriarch of their small gathering of family, it was little wonder that it fell to Drusilla to make the decision. Not to mention that she was the most capable out of all four to commit murder.
The sound of a door closing behind the mortal might have been due to Spike's intervention. On the other hand it may simply have been gravity or just a mere breeze. All that mattered was that the others could see, Spender could not and now he was trapped. Forced to deal with the vampires on their terms.
He was cool, Spike granted him that. Not a flinch as the door shut on him
"Oh, but they've been here for a LONG time. Longer than you. Just like me." She smiled and a lightning-quick reflex took a hold of the smoking man's hand by its wrist. Bringing the limb up as though expecting to bite deep into wrist. Instead removing the cigarette and offering it over to Spike before releasing from a demonically iron grip. Intimidation was all part of The Game for her and what a game this one could be...
Spender stood still, permitting the vampiress her display. The small smile on his face did not alter.
Spike took the cigarette reluctantly, feeling slightly sick about the wrinkled lips that had been wrapped around it, and, thoughtlessly, stubbed it out on Dru's new pet. The pain hit him like a hammer, and sent him reeling back into the wall. "Bugger," he snarled, staggering, and glaring at Pinocchio, as if it were his fault.
Pinocchio held back a sneer when the man put the cancer stick out on him but he also didn't budge. It seemed to him when ever Spike tried to do someone harm, he got pain. Pinocchio wondered if he had a something inside him like he did.
He stared at the old man calling himself Spender. His blue eyes scanning him. They then drifted behind Spender taking in all. He was using his military training to access the situation. Pinocchio didn't like this old man, gave him the creeps like Santiago always did. Something was up... it reeked too. Instantly, distrust was registered in Pinocchio's body as he waited to hear the lies this one could weave. He wondered if they could be as good as Santiago's.
"I'm not sure I should," vampiress responded with a graceful turn and glide over to ancient lover. Moving over to Spike's side with an easing in of sliding arm around waist. "Some fight between themselves." Drusilla smiled her captivating gaze into her William's eyes. The name given to his human self and the term she thought in whenever feeling most affectionate. "Others never can. It's not their nature."
Spike winced. He always had to tread a bloody fine line around Dru. He'd forgotten how stressful it was. Perhaps I should get therapy, he thought laughing to himself, Prattle about my childhood to some beardy twerp with a lot of useless letters after his name.
Drusilla leaned in, tilting head to side. A kiss between demon selves for a love never quenched. Then a pause was given as the instinctive bout of play and teasing reigned free with a smile and female head turned back to the stranger without her own and childe's lips meeting in anything but spirit.
"Isn't there something else you can offer? My boy's been made to think 'ee's not a bad dog. But 'ee is. Needs to bite as well as bark." A pause filled only with yet a further smile. "That'll do for a start..."
Spike's arm round her shoulder drew her in, and gave her a little shake. "The nice Mr. Spender already hinted that, luv, downstairs," he said, smiling at her, and then grinning at Spender. "But, you know, princess, I think we ought to hear him out. If the daft old bugger's come here with his problems, he must be a damn sight more than desperate."
Nodding, Drusilla sensed the unease filling their new pet Pinocchio. She didn't have to gaze down to see that. "He is," she responded with insight. "Ropes're frayin'. Some parts've come to the end of their tether."
"It's certainly something to consider. Help me out in this regard and we can definitely promise to restore Mr. Spike to his..er.. former self. You'll understand why I would like to see earnest of your good intentions first, however?" CSM took another cigarette, lighting it and drawing on it fiercely.
"It's only lies y'know. Electric blue lies spider-webbin' through my Spike's brain..." Dru leaned back, looking preciously to the side at her lover's head. Of course, in her own little way she already knew that his pain was effectively psychosomatic. If any electronic signal was still there, without any outside control it could be guided elsewhere. If none remained then so much the better.
Ever since the US Government-funded military project known as the Initiative had been destroyed, the pain meant to trick her William into thinking it was true, had largely been false. All she had to do was make him realize it, like one of Pavlov's dogs coming in from the cold for wolfen rehabilitation.
And step-by-step, little by little, bit by bit, that was what she would do if it were needed. It was simply easier in the long run to have it removed. For once seeing it outside of skull, Dru knew that Spike's mind would have no trouble reverting back to a painless sensation of free killing.
"But you tell us, hmm? What's your trouble that you need us so?"
"The aliens have indeed been here for many years, and we've created an army to help combat them, but something has gone wrong. The time for invasion has come, and the army of androids has been sabotaged by people with other interests. I need time to correct that before the earth becomes a place where only green blood prevails. I don't imagine that you'd like that very much."
"How so utterly dreadful..." She said it like they were talking about buying the wrong brand of biscuits for tea. A throwaway comment of vague sympathy and nothing more. "I do so like pretty colors but red's always a favorite."
"Yes of course. Red for sustenance and white for death. They become you well, my dear." Spender nodded, smiled again.
"Think over my offer. I'm happy to negotiate, but I require your help."
Drusilla looked up. Eyes ceiling-bound as etheric voices whispered in hushed tones. When she looked back after a few seconds, her words were distinct with frightening clarity: "It's started."
She gauged the man before them with a killer's instinct. A being more than capable of taking away his life before it was even realized. Options were being internally weighed with their outcomes measured and felt. "I know what we want. People to eat, nice clothes to wear, my Spike to be bad and a place all paid for, so's we can stay. But you... What do you want from us? What would we do for it?"
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When they reached their destination, David became aware of skepticism emanating from both Sypher and One. Stubborn emotive subsystems were instantly engaged and David did nothing to dampen or divert them.
Sypher leaned against the door as if she could keep the whole world out by doing so...or maybe keep the three of them in.
Her entire body was tense. David knew this was his fault somehow, but could not see a way to alleviate her stress. Maybe if he knew the source ...
"I don't know where to start or how, so...," she rapidly flipped through the miscellaneous mental information she had for Innobotics until she found the reference she wanted. "This is an advisory sent to all Mac 27 owners by Innobotics about 18 months ago. As you know, they never gave anyone outside authorization to carry parts or do repair work for any of the Mac lines. If a Mac needed repair, the owner was required to return the unit to Innobotics--no exceptions. To even attempt to effect a field repair would put any owner at risk of a lawsuit by Innobotics."
David hadn't even gotten the question formulated when he realized what the answer must be. A reboot was certainly a field repair. But he couldn't see the problem. Many Mac 27s had the technical skills necessary to repair each other.
"Needless to say, some Mac 27 owners worked their way around that--especially the ones that were tech-savvy. But Innobotics let most of them slide because the repairs were minor in nature. But then this happened," a reference to a newspaper article of an Innobotics lawsuit against a mid-size construction firm was presented, "and it seemed like all bets were off."
Sypher's distress was growing rather than diminishing. This was not the way that David understood that these things transpired. Talking about a problem was supposed to be helpful and lead to a solution. This matter did not appear to be progressing in that fashion.
One and David watched her steadily. "The reason Innobotics decided to pursue this particular lawsuit is because the repair in question was a forced reboot of one Mac unit by another." That got their attention.
David glanced at One, gauging whether he had known this information prior to conducting the reboot. From the look on his face and everything David sensed from him, that was not the case.
"This is the reason why." She pulled out the last file...a copy of an internal e-mail memo from Innobotics' research department to the head of marketing and development...
From: S. Roche (s_roche@innobotics.research.gov)
To: J. Townshend (jtownshend@innobotics.marketing.gov)
Please be advised that our research into forced rebooting in the Mac27 line has reached it's conclusion. The analysis shows that this is a highly dangerous operation when performed in the field between two units, as it appears to lead
to irreversible pair bonding between the units involved. This is an unwelcome development because, as you well know, the Mac27 line is not supposed to form alliances of this nature among themselves.
I'm worried, John...all of our research on the Mac27 line as a whole during this little experiment is showing a disturbing trend of highly evolved self-awareness...which you and I both know wasn't supposed to happen at this point and time. What the hell is going on here?
More importantly, what are we going to do about it?
Stacey
Research Department
David's face had gone completely blank. "I'm sorry," Sypher whispered. "It looks like I got into the middle of something I shouldn't have. Now I don't know what to do."
Irreversible pair bonding. Irreversible pair bonding. Irreversible pair bonding. The most important of the words echoed throughout David's systems.
David scanned his files for information as to what exactly that meant. He resisted the idea that it meant what it appeared to on its face. That was not possible. He wouldn't allow it or participate in it. Nothing was truly irreversible, was it?
His files were sparse on the topic. Pair bonding was something that had plagued earlier lines of Innobiotics products without the requirement of a forced reboot. The units lost their ability to reason as independent units over time, craving the communion of minds and, with some, the intense physical release that came with it. Fiercely independent, David could not accept that fate. Indeed, he couldn't accept the possibility of it.
She looked to One. "I love him with everything that I am. But if..."
She swallowed hard. "I don't know what to do," she repeated helplessly. What should I do? How can I give him up now? Tell me...
Pain and consolation finally permeated David's mind. Sypher's pain and One's effort to console her. Both angered him. David recognized that his reaction was what humans would call irrational, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered except escaping this ... this loss of self.
"No," he muttered. Both Sypher and One turned to him, and he added, "I don't accept that anything irreversible came of what happened. I won't."
Before One could begin a soft-spoken, reasoned reply, David interjected, "Don't. Save it for someone who will listen."
Ruthlessly suppressing the question of how he'd known what One had intended, David turned to Sypher. The hurt and concern in her eyes aggravated his emotive subsystems. "Stop looking at me like that! There's nothing wrong with me that a little more attention to maintenance won't fix. I'm not tied to him or to you or to anyone else! I refuse to be."
Wincing at the thought she projected -- that what had passed between them was a result of the reboot -- David plowed ahead. "I know who and what I am. My limits and my strengths." Trembling slightly, he added, "I know where I end and others begin."
There were tears in her eyes now. Feeling her pain lancing through him finally broke the cycle of anger. Cautiously, David approached and took her chin in one of his hands. "Listen to me, Sypher. Nothing happened as a result of what One had to do to me. Do you hear me? Nothing! I know because I have felt the things you make me feel before. Over two years ago. And it took me a long time to stop." Staring into her eyes, he murmured, "I do not understand it and I do not know whether I like it, but it is real."
Defiantly looking over his shoulder at One, David growled, "It's nothing like this ... alleged pair bonding."
"I've always cared about you, David, and now I find that I care about Sypher too," One said.
Suddenly, David felt extremely tired. His processors were operating slowly and because he refused to accept One's openness to him, David couldn't determine what was true and what wasn't.
Without his intention, images, touch, sensation spilled over from the locked memory...it had seemed to him as if he had been right with them, as if he had been Sypher touching David. David touching her...both of them touching him. He pushed away the flood of desire that greeted that thought. Sypher was David's. David belonged with her. One had no right to desire either of them.
The emotive burst from One was brief, but it almost knocked David off of his feet. There had been too much input over the last twelve to fourteen hours. Far too much.
"Romeo and Jules are still separate individuals," One offered, "what they do with each other is like a forced reboot yet they control it. David, don't be angry. I'd never ask...more of you than I have. Nothing has really changed. Don't take your friendship and support from me, please."
David couldn't respond. His thoughts were in disarray. Sypher empathized with One and that was both good and bad. One was distraught, but David couldn't help him. He couldn't give what Sypher seemed to think was necessary. Maybe she could, but it was beyond him. The very concept of necessity made David cringe. Couldn't she see how different the situation was?
Sypher's gold flecked hazel eyes, surrounded by lashes nearly as long as David's, met his. One saw sympathy and refused to even look for any more compelling emotion.
Mac Smith was clamoring for his attention. One held up a hand to ask for a moment to see what Skip's lover wanted.
The fact that duty was calling One allowed David to relax slightly. Maybe there would be time to sort through all of the data and make some sense of it. And to research the pair bonding issue.
"The equipment is all set up and we have a problem. Skip says there are a number of Mac 27s clustered at the site of Innobotics."
Using this as an excuse to leave before he said more than was wise, One took a last long look at David. So beautiful...the most intelligent Mac 27 he had ever known. His warrior spirit never daunted, his David... No, he must not even think that again. Not his, never his, David and Sypher had each other. That was the right way.
Guilt stung him. Had some part of him known that he could seal David to him if the reboot was successful? Was he a kind of rapist to do this to his friend...perhaps David would have come out of the freeze on his own?
"I'm so sorry," One said, "David, forgive me."
Sincerity and sadness were so strongly emitted that David could neither block nor ignore them or the underlying affection. "You didn't know, One," was all he could manage. It seemed inadequate even to his ears, but David thought he could feel something positive impacting him from Sypher's direction.
Turning resolutely, One said, "They need me in the other room." He walked on, alone as always despite the clamor of every living Mac 27 in his brain.
Wondering if he was receiving input through malfunctioning filters, David mutely watched One leave.
David sank down onto the bed and put his head in his hands, thinking that if he were a human, he would undoubtedly have a headache. The gesture of holding his head was oddly comforting, regardless.
He felt Sypher sit beside him and didn't resist, despite a very strong urge to do so, when she put her arms around him. She leaned against him, saying nothing, and her silence seemed to call out to him to speak. David tried to ignore the impulse, but he was unable.
"It can't be," he whispered. "We aren't ... he isn't ... I'm just a soldier. More like a spy. A tool that he can use, not ... not ... part of him."
Emotive subsystems fully engaged, David looked into Sypher's eyes. "What I am is so small compared to him. I'd get lost."
David wanted to run, she could feel it, but there really wasn't anywhere to run to, for any of them. The situation was what it was and the three of them needed to deal with it somehow. But David was so tired that she couldn't bring herself to voice it. Come to think of it, she was too. "Is that what you believe, Demon? That isn't what I saw. You complement each other, give balance to one another. Anyone can see it. It isn't a bad thing, beloved, just...really, really ..complicated. Even more so with me here.
"But for how long will we be able to complement each other?" he asked softly. "The few files I have say that the ... participants ...," he trailed off, distaste for the concept leaping to the fore. Doggedly, David forced himself to continue. "They start to think alike, fuse into one thought process. What good would that be? For him? For me?" Very quietly, he added, "For you?"
"I am so, so sorry," she sighed wearily, "I think I've compromised you, but I can't bring myself to regret our loving each other, only that it's causing you pain now." She kissed him very gently on the mouth. I love you so much, David. I'm sorry.
Why was Sypher sorry? She had nothing to do with the forced reboot procedure or its results. Did she?
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