ElyriasEcstasy (13 page)

But that didn’t matter for shit at the moment, he decided,
tossing aside the blanket he’d had Bongo wrapped in. Naked, still atop, Urna
felt himself growing hard as the blond male’s fingers raked a way into his long
silver hair. Those fingers tightened tentatively at the base of his skull and
Urna gave in to the slight pressure, leaning forward, bringing himself face to
face with this man who claimed—a claim Urna believed—to have essentially
rescued him and delivered him to safety. However long the safety of this place
would last.

Long enough for some fun, Urna hoped with sudden wickedness,
very glad now that the water and food had so revived him. In a way it was like
they were still struggling, Urna still seeking to dominate the other.

He laid his lips on Bongo’s, surprised to find the man’s
mouth primly closed, the kiss he returned almost chaste. Blinking, Urna backed
off a few inches. He softly growled, “Kiss me like a man would, motherfucker.”
Then he set his mouth after Bongo’s again, finding Bongo’s parting lips, his
quivering, eager tongue. Their mouths devoured each other.

Urna was starting to grind slowly atop a body that felt firm
with muscle. He wanted to see it, all of it.

Pushing off Bongo, he said, “Get your clothes off.”

The heat had risen in Bongo’s eyes. His wet mouth was open,
panting. He held still a moment, eyes sliding down Urna’s hairless shape until
they froze on his cantilevered cock, which was waiting and yearning for this
new lover’s touch.

All at once, almost comically fast, Bongo was shedding
garments. They went flying in all directions. As Urna watched a pair of undyed
briefs go flinging into a corner, he saw his own clothes neatly piled. Was the
gun still among them? What about the ancient photograph he’d had in his boot?

He would find out later.

Now, both men bare, they fell upon one another. Urna felt
Bongo’s strength, which seemed considerable. Even so, in a fight the Weapon was
still wholly confident of a victory. He had reflexes this civilian could only
dream of.

But
this
wasn’t a fight, though it was something of a
delicious struggle. The lovers he’d received in his quarters back at the
military base on the Citadel’s grounds had always been women. Urna felt he
must’ve had other male lovers in his lifetime. It was like his flesh had some
nebulous but undeniable memory of other men he’d fucked around with. But no
clear memories came to mind, nothing with tactile recollections, with mental
images. No other male but Rune. Rune, who’d been such a sweet fuck.

Hands grappled. Skin shivered upon skin. Bongo’s tongue was
slavering a way down Urna’s throat. His fingers were plucking at one of the
Weapon’s nipples. Urna reached between them, gathering up a doubly full
fistful, squeezing their cocks as one. He felt Bongo’s flesh throbbing against
his own.

He had to taste this man.

He shoved the blond male onto his back. Bongo gave a little
cry of surprise, but it turned swiftly to a melting moan as Urna dove between
his thighs, seizing the waiting rigid cock first in his hand, then gripping it
with his hungry mouth.

“Oh, fuck yeah—”

Urna held Bongo’s balls, dusted with blond curls. His lips
cinched the thick cock head, tongue flicking over the slit, catching the salty
dewdrop there. He dropped the moist circle of his mouth down the vein-lined
shaft. The flesh pulsed, a rapid throb of life and lust. Urna sucked him all
the way down to where the edge of his hand held the man’s testicles.

Bongo’s legs clamped Urna’s shoulders. He started lifting
his ass from the bed with every downward plunge of Urna’s mouth. Urna took the
full length of the cock each time, without hesitation, without trepidation. The
fat crown of that shaft found his throat but his gag reflex didn’t engage. He’d
trained it well.

He savored the sumptuous flavor. Having this male’s cock in
his mouth lent him a sure—though temporary—sense of absolute ownership over
Bongo. He
had
him. Bongo was babbling more obscenities, thrusting
upward. The legs hard against Urna’s shoulders were trembling.

Suddenly Bongo was pushing him with those strong thighs.
Urna happily went with the encouraging motion, rolling over onto a hip, letting
Bongo spear his mouth even deeper with his cock. Fingers grabbed his silver
hair. The pornographic jabbering became incoherent, just animal braying now.
Bongo fucked Urna’s mouth. Urna felt the male’s balls tighten.

The thick jets were loosed. The first blasts Urna caught
wholly in his mouth. The taste of the semen was like bliss, a more startling,
though less bitter, flavor than Rune’s. Eagerly he swallowed. But Bongo’s thrusts
were out of control and his spending cock wrenched loose from Urna’s mouth and
sprayed several more surges of cum over his throat and chest. The warm spatter
felt delicious on his flesh.

After a time, Bongo ceased quivering and murmured, “That was
so fucking good.”

With the taste of that seed on his tongue, Urna rose onto
his knees and snarled, “It ain’t over yet.”

Heat still flickered in Bongo’s sparkling eyes. He fixed
Urna with them and said, “Damn right it isn’t. How would you like to fuck me?”
Not waiting on an answer, he pushed himself over onto hands and knees,
thrusting out his lusciously sculpted ass.

A fearsome grin split Urna’s narrow, fey face. He swiped two
fingers across his slick chest then smeared the digits over Bongo’s waiting
hole. He probed Bongo with his fingers for several seconds, gently at first,
then more urgently, until the natural tightness eased a little. Getting into
position, Urna set his cock head to the glistening pucker. He gripped the man’s
hipbones and started sliding his inches inside.

Bongo grasped him nicely. Urna probed deeper, until the
blond male suddenly bucked back against him, taking the full length of his
needy cock. Urna gasped. Heat held his meat. The pressure was exquisite, as was
the sense of connectivity, of renewed ownership of this man.

I had his cock. Now I own his ass.

The grin wound several degrees tighter on his features,
pulling the flesh into a mask. Bongo had his hands braced on a beam above the
bed. He continued to thrust back against Urna as the Weapon lunged into him.
Urna’s cock speared the beautiful male ass. It was a wonder to look down and
see himself disappear into that willing hole, feeling his lover writhe about
with his every plunge.

His grip tightened on Bongo’s hips. His thrusts increased in
speed and violence.

“Yeah, fuck, yeah—” Bongo was off on a new obscenity-rife
diatribe. His head turned. One eye peered over a shoulder. He said, “I can’t
believe
Urna
is fucking me in my ass!” He sounded astounded, proud.

This, then, was indeed fame, Urna decided as his hairless
balls slapped Bongo’s ass at a frantic rhythm, as his orgasm gathered over his
body and started to rush groin-ward. This was, apparently, more than just a
simple man-to-man fuck to this Bongo character. This was a prize of some kind.
He was having sex with a celebrity. He knew of Urna. Of course he did. Probably
everybody in the Safe knew his name. That was a staggering notion, really, but
it was one he’d never fully contemplated. After all, he had spent virtually all
of his time either in his room at the base, doing drills, or going on missions
with Rune into the Unsafe. Never before in his life had he been out among the
common people. At least, he couldn’t remember any such occasions.

But the immediacy of the carnal moment returned to Urna in
walloping fashion. Bongo was shrieking more vulgar gibberish. Urna was slamming
his ass in a frenzy. At last his orgasm converged. The assembling pleasure
poured through him, doubling and redoubling in intensity as it gushed from his
cock. Hot spurts filled Bongo’s ass. He hung onto his beam and whimpered now,
even as the rapture rose and crested and started its slow ebb in Urna.

His smooth pale chest rose and fell. A bead of sweat rolled
into one eye. He lifted a hand to wipe at it. His cock slithered free of
Bongo’s ass.

They lay together, their bodies gradually cooling. Bongo
kissed Urna’s shoulder. The Weapon ruffled the man’s hair.

After a time, with a post-coital sleep just threatening to
take him, Urna grew aware that Bongo was murmuring something. Opening his eyes,
he saw that the man had a tiny object in his hand. An irregularly shaped
crystal, with a bluish tinge. He also noticed for the first time that he had a
tattoo just below his left collarbone. A corkscrewing red thing that looked
vaguely familiar, though Urna couldn’t say exactly where he’d seen it before.
Probably something he had come across in an old text.

“What’re you doing?”

Bongo had the small crystal pinched between thumb and
forefinger. He was holding it near his right temple. He stopped his humming and
said, “It’s a spell. For protection. For you.”

“A…spell?”

“Magic.”

Urna had heard the word. It was heretical. The Lux railed
against magic, didn’t they? It was a part of their doctrine. Urna had never
paid a whole lot of attention. He had been content to work for the bastards.
Until he’d decided to run away.

He watched Bongo a moment, unable to make any sense of what
the man was doing. This was magic? It looked harmless and pointless to him.

Finally Bongo set aside the crystal. He lifted himself onto
an elbow and planted a quick kiss on Urna’s cheek. It wasn’t an overture to
more sex.

“So, I’m protected now?” Urna asked.

“It’ll help.”

“Well, thanks, then.”

Bongo studied him a moment. It was quite cozy, the two of
them snuggled in this bed, in this quiet loft. Bongo said, “I could tell you
more about it.”

“About magic?” Urna wasn’t especially interested but
supposed he would listen. He’d owed this man that much courtesy, he figured.

“About our beliefs,” said Bongo.

“Our? You mean the Virge woman you mentioned?”

Bongo laughed. “No, not her. But there are others who
believe what I believe. We think magic beats technology. We think the Order of
the Maji is stronger than the Order of the Lux, and that we’ll defeat them in
the end. We believe in a second Safe that’s located on the other side of the
world. It’s called the Farsafe. And we hope one day to go there and live free.”

* * * * *

The Shadowflash had failed him. Aphael Chav brooded on this
fact, sitting on his throne-like chair beneath the skylight, feeling the warmth
and power of the sun, which seemed to shine specifically for him—even though
this was deep night and the sun wasn’t in the sky. White brows pulled together
over a stern face.

“Damn you, Rune. Couldn’t even find your one true precious
lover, could you?”

He muttered this aloud, indulging himself. He’d have done no
such thing were anyone else in the long chamber. He never revealed thoughts
like this to others. As Toplux, he maintained an image. He was indomitable, he
didn’t allow setbacks to daunt him and he always won in the end. Always.

The sexual relationship between Rune and Urna was an open
secret. Aphael had no view on it himself, other than to acknowledge it as
another factor that was supposed to keep the two men in line. Tie them to each
other, tie them to the program.

He had been strongly hoping that the Shadowflash Rune would
quickly locate the Weapon Urna, and that this whole unfortunate episode could
be drawn to a close before it got out of hand. Now, no doubt, Urna was well
beyond the confines of the Lux city. The Guard had thoroughly combed it, much
to the distress of its wealthy and politically powerful inhabitants. There
would be consequences because of that, Aphael knew. The Order of Lux would be
nattering at him, demanding—well, no one
demanded
anything of him, but
those overly dressed ninnies would be quite insistent—that such disturbances
never occur again. Nobody liked having Guard units pouring through their
streets.

But the effort had been necessary, if only to establish that
the wayward Weapon had indeed fled.

Rune could accurately sense his colleague at a distance
of—what was it?—one mile. It was a remarkable ability. Superhuman, really.
Beyond anything the other Shadowflashes could manage, no matter how many
stimulants the doctors pumped into them.

The Safe, it was said, comprised only five percent of
Elyria’s total surface, but that was still a massive area. One man conducting a
search of it, no matter how extraordinary his abilities, was virtually
pointless. By now Urna could be almost anywhere.

One day, the military medical technicians would discover
just how it was that Rune could do what he did. They would break the code. They
would be able to read the Shadowflash’s internal workings like a topographical
map, so the Toplux had been assured many, many times. Progress was being made.
Technology would solve the riddle. Once they knew Rune’s secrets, they could
duplicate him, create as big an army of super-soldiers as Aphael liked.

The same held for Urna, those doctors said. They just needed
to make further tests, study the subject a while more.

Well, that was going to be a little difficult with Urna no
longer available, Aphael thought grimly. And what would happen when the
specialized drugs they were giving the Weapon cleared from his system? Would
his memories come back in full force? Aphael had also received assurances that
this wouldn’t occur. Urna’s early memory storage capacity had been permanently
damaged.

Assurances, though, were one thing. How reality played out
was another. Had Aphael Chav asked any of the officers in charge of security
whether anyone from the Shadowflash/Weapon program could ever escape the
facility, he was quite certain he would have been told no, unequivocally.
Absolutely not. Never.

And yet Urna had gotten away. He had even made it seem easy,
which particularly nettled the Toplux.