Safe from Harm

"Tell me again why we're hiring these… faggots."
       "Canvas wants them."
       "I'm sure Canvas wants them," the large-framed Englishman was snide, "but she's a performer, she knows dick about security."
       "She knows people - she's got an instinct for it. Just once will you stop trying to second guess her. Trust her, Frank, she knows what she's doing."
       Frank Bowman, a man who'd grown wealthy managing the career of one of Europe's premiere performance artists, shook his head in disgust.
       "We've got to take these threats seriously!" he cast a derisive glance at the beautiful - effeminate more like it - pair of leather-clad bodyguards standing impassively in front of him, "These two -"
       "These two - " Peter was losing patience with Bowman's rudeness and it bled through into his voice, " - come highly recommended -"
       "I'm sure they come highly frequently with each other -"
      The Australian chuckled maliciously.
       "You know, Frank, I'm beginning to wonder if you haven't got some homosexual issues that need looking at."
      Bowman bristled.
       "What do you mean? I'm not a fucking queer!"
       "Are you sure? The way you go on when you're confronted with anything 'queer' smacks to me of 'the lady doth protest too much'." Peter smirked, enjoying the older man's discomfort. "Are you sure you're not curious about taking it up the arse?"
       Frank, flushed dark crimson with anger, took a step towards his tormentor…

"Peter, why must you tease Frank like that? You know it's not good for his health." Canvas, nee Sonja Lindstrom, had come into the office, she smiled fondly at the two men. "Why must my two favourite people always be at loggerheads?"
      Bowman shot a venomous look at the solid Judo instructor before smoothly turning to his 'star'.
       "Ah, there you are, honey, just in time to meet Shincho and Akami."
      Canvas stepped forward, smiling and extended her hand.
       "Thank you for coming, Shinju - Okami," she put the slightest emphasis on the correct pronunciation of their names as she shook their hands in turn. "Would you like some tea?"
       "Thank you," Okami the taller of the pair, inclined his head.
       "I'll get it." Peter said, ambling off to the small kitchenette to one side of the office suite.
       "Please, sit down." Sonja smiled, indicating the expensive and stylish, but comfortable, deep burgundy leather lounge chairs arranged around an equally stylish and expensive glass topped coffee table.

Sonja sipped her fragrant jasmine tea and studied the bodyguards sitting opposite her while Frank went over the details of the assignment with them.
       They were very… aesthetically pleasing, the pair of them, and balanced, Shinju's willowy, almost delicate beauty off-set by Okami's taller, broader more masculine presence. On the surface, Shinju seemed to embody the feminine side of the partnership. Thigh length, glossy dark hair and expertly applied make-up to highlight his wide, dark eyes and sensuous mouth couldn't disguise the obvious - to Sonja at least - strength in that slight body; she wondered how many people had been caught off guard by his 'girly' looks only to find themselves in deep, deep trouble. Okami's hair was a shade or two lighter and fashioned so the shaggy tips brushed his neck halfway between chin and shoulder. His grey eyes gazing steadily out from behind a long, spikey fringe, put her in mind of a wolf, a dominant male surveying his territory.
      Sonja knew the bare bones of their working history - they'd been together professionally for about five years, primarily as bodyguards working in Europe and Japan. Shinju and Okami had the reputation of being an efficient and deadly team which Sonja didn't doubt at all having seen, even in this short space of time, how they moved with and around each other, each of them always aware of where his partner was, what he was doing. They knew each other intimately, she wondered -
      "Excuse me," Sonja broke in over her manager's monologue, "are you lovers?" Neither of the bodyguards seemed surprised by the question.
      "Yes," Okami said with a slight smile, grey eyes glittering, "but not while we're working."
      "Makes sense. I make a point of not sleeping with my employees - I wouldn't want anything personal to hinder their performance." Sonja demurely sipped her tea, watching them over the rim of the fragile, porcelain cup, "Once the contract is finished, however, is another story..."
      Okami remained impassive but Shinju's eyes made a lazy inventory of the woman sitting in front of him, his gaze lingering on her face and the swells and curves of her body. Sonja fancied she could see the sexual energy crackling between the three of them, then Shinju grinned warmly, impulsively, like a little boy and the tension almost disappeared. Almost, but not completely; the performer could feel the remaining tendrils of it shivering down her spine.
      Hopefully she wouldn't require their services as bodyguards for too long.

Shinju and Okami hadn't looked at each other during the exchange, and had made no overt move, but Sonja could swear there'd been a flash of communication between them. There was no obvious cyber-ware, did that mean - ? She tilted her head enquiringly.
      "Are you psionic?"
      "Not so you'd notice," was Okami's laconic reply. Sonja would have pressed the question but Frank made an impatient noise and forced the conversation back to business.
      "And the final term of the contract is that neither of you will use recreational drugs or alcohol while you're 'on duty', and - " the manager finished with heavy emphasis, "you're going to be 'on duty' 24/7 until this is sorted out. Agreed?"
      Again, Sonja noted the slight pause between the bodyguards, then Okami nodded.
      "Agreed."
      "Excellent," Frank pushed two copies of the paperwork towards the pair, "now if you'll sign these, I'll authorise the initial payment to go into your account…"
      Sonja uncurled from her lounge chair, standing and stretching with an unconscious grace.
      "I must rehearse now, Frank."
      "Good girl, of course you must, the Blackbird Club performance is only a week away. How's it coming, by the way? When do I get to see what you've done?"
      Sonja laughed.
      "How long have you known me, Frank? You'll see it when I'm happy with it."
       "Just so long as you're happy with it before that gig." The manager stood up and shook hands with the bodyguards. "Welcome aboard. Don't let her out of your sight."

Canvas's studio, and Bowman's office, were housed in the ReicherHaus, a large, well guarded structure in one of the corporate fairylands of Berlin. ReicherHaus was home to numerous companies and businesses, all of which paid a premium for their share of the secure space, and the prestige that went along with being able to afford it.
       Sonja used an electronic key tag to open the door to her studio; there was a subdued 'beep' then the door cracked open a fraction of an inch.
       "Here we are." she smiled, ushering her new bodyguards in. "You're privileged, you know, I don't normally let people see what I'm working on until it's finished."

Shinju and Okami weren't psionic, but they did have a secure radio link with each other. Tiny receiver/transmitters had been planted in the parietal bone of their skulls, near their ears, enabling them to communicate subvocally. Essentially, they *thought* what they wanted to say then the device linked into their ear-drums would pick up the vibrations (the eardrum having been found to make no differentiation between what was heard and what was thought to be heard) and then the transmitter would send the signal to it's partner receiver. The radios had a top range of twenty klicks though that dropped to between two and five klicks in a built up area; at five feet the reception was crystal clear…
      *Omigod, we're going to see Canvas while she works!* Okami's excited subvocal *voice* completely belied his outward impassiveness as he and Shinju stood together against the far wall of the studio.
      *Cool it, fan-boy,* Shinju smirked, *you might actually smile or something.*
      *Screw you, philistine, this is brilliant! She's a fucking genius!*
      *She's a client, don't get so carried away by the thrill of it all you forget that.*
      *Did I tell you about the time I got to see her perform at that place in London?*
      *Only about a ga-zillion times.* Shinju's *voice* was rueful.
      *Heh, well it's not my fault if you don't appreciate art…* Unseen, behind Shinju's body, Okami's hand drifted to the small of his partner's back. *So what do you think? Once this contract's finished…?* The suggestion was delicately put, Shinju could be… possessive, at times.
      *We'll see.*
      *Just think about it,* the bigger man's *voice* dropped to a sultry purr as he palmed one of Shinju's small, tight arse cheeks through the black leather, *you could fuck me while I fuck her.* Okami's long fingers followed the seam of the leather pants down between his partners buttocks to press against the opening to the smaller man's body. *Or I could fuck you while you fuck her.*
      Shinju quivered, minutely.
      *'kami, don't tease, not at the beginning of a contract when we don't know how long it's going to go for.*
      *Sorry.* Okami didn't sound sorry at all; he lightly caressed Shinju, then withdrew his hand, his attention refocusing on their client. *Great, looks like she's about to start.*
      Shinju humphed.
      *Oh, I can hardly wait.*

Sonja Lindstrom couldn't be called beautiful; striking, exotic perhaps, but not beautiful. She was as tall as Okami, a couple of inches over six foot, with a slender, well-muscled body that suggested hours of dedicated training. Sonja had inherited her height from her Scandinavian father, but her eyes weren't the crystal clear blue you'd expect from someone of Nordic descent, instead they were a rather muddy, dull blue and her shoulder length hair was a nondescript mousy brown. Her high cheekbones and slanted eyes she got from her Finnish mother, along with her single-minded determination to be the best at whatever she set her sights on. Until she'd badly broken her leg in a skiing accident when she was eight, Sonja had had her heart set on being a champion skier, competing in the Winter Olympics and competitions all over the world. She'd been devastated when the doctors told her that her leg was too badly damaged to regain it's full strength and range of movement - this had been twenty years ago when osteopathic surgery was still comparatively primitive - she'd never get to competition fitness again. The young Sonja had been determined to prove the doctors wrong, and helped by her indulgent parents, she set about finding ways to get herself over this hurdle.
      One of the things she did in an effort to strengthen her leg, was dance and somehow, somewhere along the line Sonja fell in love with the medium. Her dreams of being a star athlete gently slid away to be replaced with dreams of being a prima ballerina. There was a major problem with her height though - Sonja had blossomed early, hitting six foot by the time she was fourteen - she was too tall to be considered for a position in most dance companies… So she changed tack again, and concentrated on becoming a solo performer which, combined with a discovery of artistic talent, led to the idea of using her body not only to dance but as a moving work of art, drawing and painting on herself, the images complimenting and enhancing the music and movements. And thus, 'Canvas' was born…

In the studio, Sonja stripped and tied her hair back into a short ponytail before stretching limberly, warming up thoroughly before beginning the rehearsal. Once she felt she was ready, she slipped the chip containing the control program for her sub-dermal tattoos into the discreet socket set into the nape of her neck, pre-programmed the sound system for the co-ordinating tracks, then stood poised in the centre of the room.
      As she danced Sonja watched herself critically in the large mirrors placed all around, checking that the shifting colours and images strobing over her body were in perfect unison with the music.
      They weren't - and the artist swore viciously, stamping her foot in irritation.
      "Ms Lindstrom?"
      "What?" she snapped at Okami's enquiry, then grimaced. "Oh, sorry, I forgot you were there. It's nothing," Sonja waved him off, "just a problem with the synchronization. It's off by a couple of beats and I'm frustrated - I thought I'd got that fixed..." Sonja muttered, stalking over to a shallow cabinet set against the wall. She pulled out a mini-pad computer and plugged the jack into its port next to the chip socket, then promptly forgot all about her impromptu audience as she spent the next couple of hours going over and over and over again the recalcitrant patch of programming.

Shinju made an impatient *noise* at the display he'd just witnessed.
      *Temper temper, Canvas.*
      *Artistic temperament, obviously.*
      *'Artistic temperament'? No, just bloody… snippy.*
      Okami smirked briefly.
       *Pot – kettle. You should hear yourself when your eye-liner doesn't do what you want it to.*
      Shinju ignored that.
       *How much longer is she going to be? It's gone lunchtime…*
       *Told you you should have had more than just coffee for breakfast.*
      The smaller man growled.
       *Well if someone had stopped fucking me long enough to get something to eat…*
      Okami's *chuckle* was caressingly rich and vibrant.
       *I love you too…*

Sonja grinned triumphantly - the last run through had been damn near perfect, for a change - and now that she'd whipped the software into line she could enjoy the performance. It was a wonderful piece of music she was working with, written for her by a very promising ambient composer after a beautifully sensual summer weekend they'd spent together in Nice. So far Dylan Walston hadn't got the critical attention he deserved, but hopefully that would change once she'd brought his work to the attention of the world.
      Sonja froze and blinked, suddenly noticing the two unfamiliar people in her studio. Ah, that was right, her bodyguards.
      "I'm going to have a quick shower then we can eat, OK?" Sonja swung one of the mirrors away from the wall - behind it was a small ensuite bathroom, "ReicherHaus has a fantastic café."

"What are your plans for the afternoon?" Okami asked her once she dressed again.
      "Food, then a few hours at the gym - I can sign you in as my guests if you like and you can have a work-out yourself. Peter's cooking dinner tonight so I must be there for that. He's a brilliant cook…" she threw over her shoulder at them as they exited the studio.

Canvas enjoyed her food, that was for certain. Shinju and Okami watched the performer take a sensuous delight in every mouthful of her lunch. And it was good fare; ReicherHaus Cafe obviously went to great pains to provide the best available for their clients. Given the prices charged, it would've been criminal for the management to do less.
      *I love a contract with an 'expenses' clause.* Shinju swallowed the last mouthful of his coffee (organic, dark roast Brazilian – worth more per pound than some drugs) and sat back with a satisfied sigh.
      "Did you enjoy that?" Canvas grinned at him.
      "Very much. Do you eat here everyday?"
      "Mostly for lunch when I'm rehearsing; otherwise I go out. There are some lovely restaurants in the area."
      "Might be best to avoid those," Okami's voice was a low rumble, "for the time being."
      Canvas pouted.
       "If I must."
       "You must," the taller man pinned her with a look, making her shiver with something not quite fear, not quite lust, "if you're serious about us protecting you."
      For a split second, Sonja's eyes reflected the unease she mostly managed to keep hidden.
      "I wish this was over, I feel so – constricted." she whispered.
      Shinju leaned forward, elbows on the black marble table.
       "Bowman has people on it, though?" In his briefing, Canvas's manager had mentioned in passing that 'professionals' – not the police, he stressed – had been hired to track down the person or persons threatening his 'star'.
       "'The Best', apparently." Sonja's smile was bitter. "Though he won't tell me the details. He doesn't want me to worry – says it might interfere with the 'artistic process'."
       "Do you want to know what's going on?" Okami asked, serious.
       "Yes," Sonja whispered fiercely, "then I might at least feel like I have control over my life."
      Okami considered her for a moment, his gaze flicking to his partner.
       "We'll see what we can do."
       "Thank you." Sonja straightened up decisively. "I need to stop by the apartment before I go to the gym. Bring your gear with you and I'll get you settled in."

Sonja's apartment was part of another secure complex, close to the heart of the city and within walking distance from the ReicherHaus. The bodyguards hadn't been impressed when Sonja wanted to walk home.
       "This sector of the city is well patrolled by it's own security," she sighed, "and this is the last of the fine weather. Please let me walk, I need to feel that life is safe and normal - if only for a little while..."
       Shinju and Okami reluctantly agreed, after making sure their client understood that from now on there would be no walking anywhere…
      Sonja lived on the third storey of the five storey building. She introduced her bodyguards to the porter - an affable looking man young man who was in reality one of the highly skilled security team who saw to the residents' protection. The bodyguards and the porter silently took each others measure, then Franz bowed slightly and smiled with genuine warmth. It looked like they'd passed muster.
      Sonja's apartment was tastefully decorated in neutral woods with splashes of colour and it's large windows made the most of the dull autumn light. As they'd expected of their luxury loving client, the furnishings were expensive and comfortable and the entertainment system was - discreetly - the best technology available. The apartment wasn't huge, but it was spacious and the view of the Tier Garten from the main living room was lovely.
       *This must cost a fucking fortune!* Shinju was appreciative. *Wonder if we'd ever be able to afford a place like this?*
      *On our salaries?* his partner was rueful, *In about twenty years. Unless - * he smirked as his hand circumspectly stroked down Shinju's spine, * - you take up Peach's offer to pimp for you.*
      Shinju leant into the touch.
       *We'd make more as a double act,* he sniggered, then forced his *voice* up a few octaves into a flutey, feminine simper, *and you could protect me from the nasty clients who wanted to take advantage of my delicate self!*
      Okami briefly pressed himself warmly against his partner's back, dropping a quick, nuzzling kiss on the top of the smaller man's head.
       *Heh, like you'd need my help with that?*

Sonja hadn't noticed the fleeting moment of intimacy between her bodyguards.
      "OK," she gave them a brief tour of the place, waving a graceful hand at each area in turn. "My room, Peter's room, bathroom, kitchen - obviously - living room and here - " she pushed open a final door leading to a small, cosy little bedroom, " - is your room." She frowned. "There's only one bed, I'm sorry, I hope that's not inconvenient."
      Okami smiled slightly, dumping his scuffed leather carry-all onto the wide bed.
      "There'll only be one of us in it at a time."
      "Pity." Sonja murmured, then smiled brightly. "I'll get changed and then we can go."

'BodyWorks' was an exclusive gym run by an expatriate American couple. It was about ten minutes away, by taxi, set in the middle of one of Berlin's more expensive shopping zones. Sonja signed them all in, exchanging friendly greetings with the reception staff, then she by-passed the door leading into the well-appointed and airy gym behind the reception desk, heading instead to an alcove at the back of the passage where the elevator was discreetly tucked away. She punched her personal code in to the security key-pad, and within a few seconds the elevator arrived. The upstairs gym had an air of dedication about it. All of the equipment was top of the line, the space was well insulated from the noises of the downstairs gym; everyone here was quietly serious, absorbed in their own programs - and most of them were nude.
      In the unisex change room, Sonja stripped and stowed her clothes in a locker, blithely unconcerned about the presence of her bodyguards who had politely declined the invitation to a work-out this time. Shinju and Okami made themselves inconspicuous in a corner - from which, incidentally, they had a good view of the entire floor - while their charge settled down to several hours of focused training.

Peter was indeed a 'brilliant cook' they discovered later that evening, between the four of them polishing off all of the delicately seasoned beef and dumpling stew, warm home-made bread rolls and a mountainous apple pie with a crust that melted away in their mouths. There was plenty of coffee and tea and spring water, but no alcohol of any description. Sonja and Peter, it transpired, were teetotalers, neither did they smoke or use drugs. Sonja's philosophy was simple, her body was a precision instrument and she would treat it with respect. Over the course of the evening, the bodyguards found out a lot about Sonja and Peter's - firmly platonic - relationship. They'd known each other for over ten years, first meeting when Sonja had joined his judo class, just as Canvas was beginning to make a name for herself in the avant garde artistic community of Berlin. Peter was Sonja's sensei in more than just martial arts, he was her friend and mentor, and at ten years older than her he was like trusted and loved 'big brother', someone who would have no hesitation in protecting her, even if that meant protecting her from herself.
      Sonja and Peter both retired early, before 11 p.m, leaving the bodyguards with instructions that they could help themselves to anything they needed.

Okami volunteered for first watch - staying awake while Shinju got a few hours sleep. The taller man let his gaze roam wistfully over his partner's slim body as Shinju shed the leathers then slid between the clean, crisp sheets of the bed.
       *G'night, ju-chan,* Okami smiled, turning away.
       *What? No good night kiss?*
      Okami glanced back, and groaned. Shinju's thighs were spread apart, his hips and half-erect sex clearly defined under the sheets. His hands were behind his head, back arched a little in a wickedly subtle posture of submissiveness. Shinju's dark eyes were bright, and his tempting mouth was curved up into a knowing half-smile.
       *Well?*
       *Bastard,* Okami scowled, *we're working.*
       *I know,* Shinju undulated, rubbing himself against the bed linen, his lips parting as he aroused himself, *this is payback for that grope in the studio.*
       *Just wait 'til this contract's finished.* Okami said with a dark smirk. *You're going to be bound, and teased and fucked and not allowed to come for days…*
       Shinju grinned.
       *Promises, promises.* One fine-boned hand stroked down his chest to disappear under the sheets. Okami followed its progress with a kind of hunger, swallowing audibly when Shinju began stroking himself.
       *You can watch if you like,* the smaller man purred, breaking into a grin when Okami growled and stalked out of the room, only to return a scant second later to bend down and kiss him with a heart-stopping roughness.
      *Just you wait, sweetheart.* Okami tweaked a dark ivory nipple, hard, making Shinju moan and squirm. *Just you wait.* He gentled the kiss, nuzzling his partner's lips.
       *G'night,* Okami said, and left Shinju to it.

The following three days were carbon copies of the first. They rose early, breakfasted, then Sonja spent several hours in the studio before a leisurely - late - lunch, followed by a few hours in the gym then home again for dinner, bath and bed.
       It was kind of dull, but the bodyguards knew better than to relax their vigilance. They'd managed to get Bowman to give them the details of the harassment his star was being subjected to, then they passed on these details - and what little progress the private investigators had made - to Sonja.
       The performer looked in dismay at the copies of the letters that had been sent to her, the letters she'd never been allowed to see because Frank regularly opened all her mail that came via the office and he only showed her what he thought she needed to know. Sonja was staggered to find out just how long the 'problem' had been around. As far as she'd been aware the threats had begun less than two weeks ago, but the first letter, which was merely abusive, had been sent a couple of months ago. The next letter came three weeks after that and then the letters came closer and closer together until they were an almost daily occurrence. The death threats had started a fortnight ago; that was when Frank had given her the sketchiest of details about the problem, assuring Sonja she needn't worry about any of it, he had it all under control but maybe she'd better have some bodyguards, just as a precaution.
      Why hadn't Bowman said something earlier?
       "'Fucking whore'? 'You're going to die, slut!'?" the performer was stunned by the venom behind the words, she looked at her sensei in confusion and fear. "Peter - ?"
      The judo instructor held her hand, stroking a thumb over the top of her wrist reassuringly.
       "You're protected, Sonja, you can't let this sicko get to you."
       "I know," she drew in a shuddering breath, "but why would this person hate me so much? What did I do to them?"
       "If we knew that, we'd be half-way to nailing the bastard." Peter kissed her hair. "I hate to sound like Frank, but - don't worry about it, it's under control." He cuddled her. "You're safe."
       Okami nodded.
       "All of the letters have been sent to the office, none to your apartment. It's a safe bet they don't know where you live."
       Sonja sighed, somewhat reassured, then she pushed herself away from Peter.
       "You're right, I can't afford to be distracted now," she kissed the Australian's cheek. "I'm performing in three days."

It was the morning of the day before the performance and Peter called the bodyguards aside for a quiet word while Sonja was in the shower.
       "You've got your work cut out for you today."
       "How so?" Okami asked.
       "I've known Sonja for a long time," Peter was grim, "and she has a sort of ritual she always follows the day before an opening."
      The bodyguards were listening.
       "Sonja will rehearse hard this morning, then she'll have an enormous lunch, then come home and spend a few hours bathing and relaxing. Then this evening she'll go out and get fucked senseless by a total stranger…"
       Shinju blinked, then smirked.
       "Nice for some."
      It was obvious Peter didn't approve of his flat-mate's method of relaxation.
       "I've never seen the attraction in anonymous sex," he scowled.
       "Where does she go?" Okami frowned.
       "Usually out to a club or something," Peter sighed, "only this time I've talked her into at least thinking about ringing some of her regular fuck-buddies and going to visit them, rather than picking up a stranger."
      "Good idea." Okami nodded. "Be easier to keep an eye on her."

The day unfolded exactly as Peter had predicted. Sonja wore herself out rehearsing, then her bodyguards watched as she put away more food during lunch at the ReicherHaus cafe than either of them thought humanly possible. Not surprisingly, the performer needed a nap that afternoon and all was quiet until just on dusk when she emerged from her room, only to disappear into the bathroom for a couple of hours.

Sonja floated in the hot, rose-scented bath water, breathing deeply and evenly – consciously relaxing against the nerves she could already feel building. She was looking forward to the evening, but was undecided about her plans. Normally she'd be gearing up for some hot, fast sex with some faceless person/s wherever she wound up, but, she could see the sense in Peter's idea. It was probably safer for her not to be amongst a crowd of strangers right now; her bodyguards would be better able to protect her with less people around. And ultimately, the basic idea was to get laid, wasn't it? It didn't have to be with strangers. She grinned and reached for her cell-phone...

"Dieter? It's Sonja."
       "Sonja, darling!" Dieter's high-pitched voice oozed campness. "How are you?"
      "Good, thanks, lovely. Look I need a favour."
       "Ja, of course, anything!"
       "As you know, I'm performing tomorrow night –"
       "At the Blackbird Club, ja –"
       "And I normally go out the night before –"
      Dieter chuckled, he was familiar with Sonja's pre-performance routine.
       " - but this time it's not really practical for me to do that..."
       "Ah! Say no more, darling!" Dieter enthused, "I have some friends visiting from England that I'm sure you will love!"
      Sonja grinned happily.
       "Thanks, you old queen, I knew I could rely on you."
       "You flatter me, liebschen," Dieter simpered, "so, we will be seeing you later on?"
       "Count on it," Sonja smiled, and hung up.

Dieter was the black sheep of his old, noble German family, the eldest son who years ago had run away from the orderly, predictable life mapped out for him to live in bohemian decadence in one of the older, seedier parts of Berlin. Sonja had known the middle-aged art dealer for a long time; he was one of her original 'backers', one of the first to spot her potential and risk the capital to promote her. Dieter was fond of saying that he'd 'discovered' Canvas.
      The German was a consummate party-giver, Sonja had spent many hours in his company and while she'd never slept with him – Dieter was flamboyantly gay – he always had the most interesting friends...

"Sonja!" Sonja found herself engulfed in a forceful, silk and linen embrace.
      "Hello, Dieter," she returned his hug, smiling ruefully - going by his rather sweet scent he'd started with the party-poppers long before she got there.
      "I'm so glad to see you," Dieter, square-jawed and unmistakably Aryan, straightened up to his full broad, impressive six-foot-six height. He finally noticed the two men that had come up to his penthouse apartment with her.
      "Your companions," he touched his tongue to his upper lip, "have they come to play also?"
      "No," Okami smoothly stepped in before Sonja could answer, "we like to watch."
      Shinju *sniggered*.
      "A shame." Dieter raked the pair of them with an appreciative leer before turning back to his guest and throwing a muscled arm around her shoulder, "Come and meet my friends."

While Dieter made the introductions, the bodyguards made themselves comfortable on an exquisite - probably original - Regency sofa upholstered in a rich, deep-red silk brocade that sat against a wall in the massive, opulent, master bedroom. The dealer's guests at this time where a man - young, lean and fashionably shaggy - and two women, a strong looking, raven-haired gymkhana-junky and a delicate little negress with almond eyes and finely angled features.
       *That little cocoa-jin was never born female.* Shinju smirked, and sure enough once the party had started she was found to have a decent sized cock underneath the red leather mini-skirt.
      Sonja appreciated sex in the same way she appreciated food; she sampled everything, savouring tastes and sensations and getting lost in the sensory overload. It was very arousing to watch the intricacies of coupling the group achieved. At some points it really was a case of not knowing where one person ended and another began. Fortunately there was ample food and drink on hand for the bodyguards to refresh themselves with during the marathon session.
       *OK, I'm impressed.* Okami grumbled after several hours - you could only watch someone else fucking for so long before it got tedious, *Can we leave now?* He noticed Shinju was still intently observing the action.
       *You're not recording this, I hope, that'd be highly unethical.*
      Shinju smirked.
       *I was tempted at first, but no. 'Sides, I don't think I've got enough memory on board to get it all!*
      The smaller man was referring to the high-quality audio/visual recording chip currently loaded into his neural interface socket. The chip was linked to a specialised camera replacing one of his eyes and to a miniature microphone in the corresponding ear. It was a brilliant piece of tech, very discreet; it was only when you got close enough - i.e. nose to nose - to him that you might notice his pupil functioned more like a standard camera's aperture than was natural.
      Eventually the party began to wind down as the false dawn weakly illuminated the overcast sky. Sonja was the first to flag, but then she was the only one who hadn't been using artificial stimulants to keep herself peppy. The performer drowsed – sated and languorous – on the sidelines, rousing herself enough to stroke or nibble any body part that strayed close.
      *I suppose this is where we extricate our client and get her home?* Okami stood up. *I'll hook her out, you ring a cab.*

      Okami retrieved the few, scanty pieces of clothing Sonja had been wearing when she'd arrived, and helped the drooping woman get dressed.
       "Don't forget this, liebschen!" Dieter drawled with a fuzzy smirk; he was holding up a brief scrap of pale-blue silk, Sonja's underwear.
       "Keep it." Sonja giggled tiredly. "I'll sign it if you like – could make a fortune auctioning it." She yawned, swaying into her bodyguard – he was very solid under that soft, black leather, she thought muzzily, warm too. "G'night, Dieter. Thanks. There'll be tickets at the door for you as usual."

The bodyguards took their client downstairs to the bullet-proof glass encased foyer to wait for the cab, Sonja half-asleep on the padded bench, leaned contentedly against Okami.
       *Got company.* Shinju observed, *Outside, grey merc. Driver's watching.*
       *You getting image?*
       *Yes.* Shinju growled irritably. *I'm not so tired I'd forget that.*
      Okami put his arm around Sonja and leant down to nuzzle her hair. She stirred sleepily.
       "Wha- ?"
       "Shh, Sonja," he turned his head so his face couldn't be seen by their observer, "someone's watching us – don't look – " he firmly held her chin with his free hand, locking eyes with her and smiling softly; to all outward appearances it was a gentle, intimate caress. "If it's our man, we don't know for sure he's aware we're your bodyguards, so – " he lowered his head, softly brushing his lips over hers, " – we'll let him think we're simply your… friends."
       He kissed her again, lingeringly, and Sonja moaned into his mouth.
      "I wish I wasn't so tired..."
      She shivered as Shinju joined in behind her, the smaller man teasing fingertips down her cheek and neck, meandering over her shoulder and down her back to her buttocks, all the time keeping a surreptitious 'eye' on the car outside.
       *Watcher is not impressed.* Shinju smirked, the telescopic function in his camera was giving him a clear view of the driver's furious and disgusted expression. The bodyguard stroked the underside of Sonja's thigh, grinning as the watcher gunned the merc's engine and took off down the street, tyres squealing. Shinju snapped a few last frames as the car disappeared.
       *Get the registration?* Okami pulled away from Sonja.
       *Yup, don't be surprised though if it's a rental.*
       The performer pouted at Okami.
       "You stopped."
      Okami smirked lop-sidedly.
       "Our friend's gone, no need to keep up the pretence."
       "But I liked the pretence..." Sonja's pout deepened, then she grinned and yawned, "Ah, I'm too tired anyway." She rested her head against Okami's chest, eyes drifting closed. "We can finish this when you're not my employees..."
       Okami looked questioningly at Shinju over his client's shoulder. The smaller man arched an eyebrow.
       *We'll see.*

Within half an hour of them getting Sonja home, Shinju had downloaded the images he'd got of the man and the car, and hard-copies were in the hands of the apartment's security force, the investigators Bowman had hired and the management of the Blackbird Club. Then the bodyguards took it in two hourly turns to get some sleep until Sonja awoke around two the next afternoon.
       "Good morning," Sonja grinned lazily at her bodyguards when she wandered out of her room.
       "Good morning," Shinju smirked, "feel better?"
      Sonja giggled and stretched.
       "Much. Is there any coffee?"
      Okami handed her a mug of freshly brewed liquid caffeine.
       "Before you go to the club for the final rehearsal, the premises are going to be checked - thoroughly."
       "For what?" Sonja's eyes widened.
       "Anything that looks like a threat." Okami said flatly. "There's a team assembling now, Bowman organised it but we'll give the place the once over too."
       "Thank you." the performer said quietly, she glanced at Okami, "Do you – do you think anything's likely to happen – tonight?"
       "Probably not," the tall man assured her, "but it doesn't hurt to be prepared."

Something had been found at the Blackbird Club, a small metal case – like an old style cashbox – tucked away in a dark corner beneath the central dance floor where Sonja would be performing. In it was a chunk of powerful plastic explosive and a radio-controlled detonator. The leader of the team surmised it had been there for a little while, there was a fine layer of dust over the metal case.
      Bowman made the decision not to tell Sonja about it, saying – when she asked – that the club was all clear, which, technically it was. Shinju and Okami gave the club the once over as well before they let Sonja in – not that they didn't trust Bowman's team, but Sonja's safety was their responsibility. When the bodyguards were satisfied there was nothing to find, they escorted their client inside.

The rehearsal had gone well and Sonja was pleased. After a long, refreshing shower she sat in her dressing room chatting with Peter and nibbling fruit from the enormous gift basket that had been waiting for her there. She'd laughed nervously when her bodyguards had taken it apart before letting her have any of it.
      "Just call me paranoid." Okami had smiled devastatingly at her, effectively distracting Sonja from her concerns.
      It was an hour 'til showtime...

Sonja, naked, her hair slicked down flat to her skull, warmed up in the dressing room - Peter had just left to take his seat, after giving her his traditional hug for luck.
      "Nervous?" Shinju grinned at Sonja.
      "Always." the performer was focused and sombre.
      "Five minutes, honey!" Bowman ducked into the room. "Punters are all very positive, and the recording units are ready to go."
      "Thank you, Frank," Sonja kissed his cheek, "what would I do without you?"

Canvas stepped out into the spotlight, riding the rush of adrenalin and pleasure generated by her audience's enthusiastic applause. She smiled, breathing it in – she lived for this...

Even though her bodyguards had watched Canvas rehearse daily for a week it was nothing compared to the actual performance.
       *Holy fuck,* Shinju breathed in awe, mesmerised, stimulated, aroused - and completely sucked in to the world Canvas was creating with her art.
       *See?* Okami didn't take his eyes off the performer.
       *Holy fuck...* Shinju said again; if he didn't know better he'd say Canvas was a projecting empath, but she couldn't be, not with all the hardware she had on board – this was just good old-fashioned natural talent. But, they were still on duty... Regretfully, Shinju dragged his gaze away from Canvas and quickly scanned the crowd. No threat indicated there from any of Canvas's adoring fans, except – wait, there at the back, someone who's face wasn't reflecting their thrill at seeing the performer... Shinju activated the telescopic lens in his camera, kicked in the low-light filters, bringing the man's face into sharp focus. It was the driver of the grey mercedes from last night; disgust and outrage contorted the man's plain features into something ugly.
       *Shit, 'kami, he's here!*
      Okami was instantly alert.
       *The watcher? How the hell did he get past security?* the tall man frowned, *Get over to him, I'll let the slack-arses know.* Shinju nodded and slid away as Okami reached up to flick the switch on the discreet radio head-set he was wearing, bringing him into instant radio contact with the club's security. Keeping an eye on his partner's progress, Okami berated the head of security.
       "Yes, he's here, in the club! For fuck's sake, weren't you people watching?!"
      He gave them the man's relative position then keeping the connection open so he could monitor their progress, Okami divided his concentration between watching Shinju and scanning the area around the stage for potential threats.
       Shinju had almost reached their target, slipping quietly through the enraptured crowd, a couple of the security grunts were also moving into position, the three converging on the one then suddenly the world tipped sideways and Okami was slammed into the floor as a blast ripped through from somewhere to the side of the audience. There was deathly silence for a second… and then there was pandemonium.

*Shinju! Shinju!* Okami scrabbled up from where he'd landed, shaking his head to try and clear the ringing. He looked at the stage, it wasn't too badly damaged but Canvas was lying in a limp heap at the edge; the music had stopped but her subdermal tattoos were still scrolling over her body, glowing weirdly in the dust-filled dimness. Reacting rather than thinking, ignoring the noise and chaos in the shattered building, Okami dove towards Sonja. He quickly checked her for injuries - she was unconscious but nothing was broken as far as he could tell - before scooping her up and bolting for the rear entrance.
       *Shinju! Fucking answer me!* Okami kicked open the rear door to the club, carrying Sonja out into the cool night air, away to the other side of the street, laying her down on the damp pavement behind a parked car: if there was another explosion, the body of the vehicle would hopefully absorb any of the force that came their way. Okami shrugged out of his leather long coat, carefully wrapping the performer in it and making sure as little of her bare skin as possible came in contact with the cold ground. In the distance he could hear the sirens of the approaching emergency vehicles.
       *Shinju!*
       There was no reply.
       *Shinju!*
       Not even static.
       *Shinju,* Okami *whispered* hoarsely, *if you fucking die I swear I'll find a way to reanimate your corpse so I can kill you myself!* The cool, level-headed bodyguard was distantly surprised to find himself shaking, that his face was wet with tears. *Answer me, dammit!*

*..... motherfuckingpussbucket… *

*So you're alive then?* the sarcasm couldn't disguise the dizzy relief in Okami's *voice* and he grinned ferally listening to the stream of invective coming from his partner. Okami knew from experience if Shinju was being this inventive with his cursing there wasn't much wrong with him, it was only when he was quiet that there was a problem.
       *Jesus, 'ju, you scared me half to death!*
       *Oh, I'm so sorry, Okami,* Shinju's tone was withering, *I'll try to remember next time I'm caught in an explosion to make you my first fucking priority! Prick…*
       *Are you all right?*
       *Cuts and bruises only - I was well clear of the epicentre.*
       *Can you move?*
      There was a pause then some more swearing.
       *Not yet. I'm pinned by something.*
      *Oh shit - *
       *Don't get yer knickers in a twist, I can still feel my toes.* Shinju paused again; Okami could hear the ambulances and fire trucks arriving. *About bloody time!* Shinju grumbled. *Is Sonja, OK?*
       Okami glanced at the woman beside him, she was still unconscious.
       *She's out but fine, I think.*

Knowing that his partner and his client were more or less safe, Okami was able to think of other things, like – how the hell had they missed the second device? There was no point blaming the club's lax security, or the team Bowman had organised, he and Shinju were just as much to blame for missing it as they were. He frowned at the performer, she should be seen by a medic but he didn't want to move her yet, or leave her alone while he got help… Sonja groaned and stirred, blinking up at him in confusion.
       "What- ?"
       "There was a bomb in the club –"
      She struggled upright.
       "A bomb!? Is anybody hurt?" she tried to stand, "I have to help, this is my fault -"
       "You can't help!" Okami snapped, dragging her back down to the pavement, "Stay here, let the experts deal with it."
      Sonja nodded dumbly, sitting huddled under the leather coat; she jerked her head up, looking around wildly.
       "Where's Shinju?"
       "He's still inside but he's fine." Okami sounded calmer than he felt. Sonja sighed in relief then she panicked again.
       "Where's Frank? Oh my god, Dieter was in there! And Peter and Julienne, and - and - " she burst into helpless tears. Okami wrapped strong arms around her and held her while she cried. Shortly though he said,
       "We need to get you some medical attention, Sonja." He gently disentangled himself from the distraught woman, "Can you stand?"
      Sonja wobbled to her feet, clutching at his arm for support. Okami helped her properly into his coat, tying it closed with the leather belt. Her subdermal tatts were still strobing in time with non-existent music.
       "Sonja, can you turn the tatts off?" She nodded and the colours abruptly disappeared; the night was suddenly darker.

It was ordered chaos at the front of the Blackbird Club. A large crowd had gathered behind the temporary barriers to watch as the club's patrons were evacuated and the injured ferried off to hospital. Astonishingly, there'd been no resultant fire from the explosion, and so far, only two covered bodies lay neatly together to one side.
      Sonja looked at the scene with dismay.
       "Oh my god, this is my fault."
      Okami squeezed her shoulder.
       "Come on, let's get you seen to."
      Sonja sat benumbed as the cheerful medic checked her out, giving a running commentary in German that Okami was just able to follow. In short, the medic said she didn't seem to have any injuries but recommended she go to hospital anyway for a thorough check. Sonja shook her head absently, she was scanning the faces of everyone who came out of the building.
       "Ich muss meine Freunde finden."

Okami was also searching for a familiar face. While he and Shinju were in constant radio contact, Okami knew he wouldn't relax until he saw his partner again. It seemed like an eternity before he glimpsed Shinju - being supported by one of the rescue workers - come limping out of the bomb site.
       "Go to him," Sonja said softly and Okami was suddenly aware of how tightly his jaw was clenched, how his nails were digging into his palms, "I'm all right here."

The rescue worker tactfully stepped aside when the tall, wild-eyed man strode towards them and pulled the smaller dust-covered male to him in a rib-cracking hug.
       *Gently, lover!* Shinju protested with a grunt, *I don't want to survive an explosion only to be broken by you!*
       *Shut up.* Okami buried his nose in Shinju's hair, *I was worried.*
       *I'm all right,* Shinju wrapped his slim arms around Okami's waist and hugged him, tightly.
       *You need to see a medic - *
       *Don't you even think about picking me up!* Shinju snarled a warning. *I can walk.*
      Okami studied his partner through narrowed eyes, then grinned.
       *Fine. Walk. Exacerbate any injuries you have got. See if I care.* However he didn’t give Shinju the chance to protest about the supporting hand under his arm during the short walk to the ambulances…

The toll of dead and injured from the blast was remarkably low. Of the four hundred or so people in the club five were dead and only twenty people needed to stay more than a day or so at a hospital. All of Sonja's friends were accounted for, most with nothing more than a few scratches, except for Dylan Walston, the composer, who was one of the dead.
       Bowman had been furious, threatening legal actions left right and centre because none of the 'experts' had discovered the second device. His blustering was stopped short when the Berlin police said they were prepared to open an inquiry as to why they hadn't been informed when the first device had been found.
       As for the bomber… He'd been dragged alive out of the club and put under close guard while his minor wounds were tended. Sonja, eyes blazing, confronted him before either her bodyguards, her manager or her sensei could stop her.
       "You! It was you who's been sending me the letters! Why did you want me dead!"
      The man - not young, not old, indistinguishable from a multitude of similar specimens - took a moment to place the furious woman in the leather coat, then he sneered.
       "You are a whore! You display yourself shamelessly! It is people like you who have destroyed the moral fabric of our society!"
      Sonja gaped at him in disbelief.
       "You wanted to kill me because I perform naked? Is that it?" she screeched and took a swing at him, only just missing because Peter grabbed and pulled her back. "You set those bombs because of that?!"
       "Me?" the man was stunned but he recovered quickly, "That - " he flung an arm out to point at the ruined club, " - was none of my doing! Though I can only applaud if God in his wisdom saw fit to punish the prostitute and her clients!"
       Sonja growled inarticulately and lunged at him, only to be pulled up short by Peter again. She struggled for a few seconds in her sensei's grip, then stilled abruptly.
       "Why were you at my performance tonight?" she demanded of the man, "Why did you pay to see me 'display myself shamelessly'?"
      He looked uncomfortable.
      "I was witnessing for myself the degradation of the spirit you force on your audience…"
      Sonja crowed triumphantly.
      "Liar! You wanted to see me dance naked! You wanted to see my body! Hypocrite!"
      At that point Peter dragged Sonja away before she could have another go at the flustered and embarrassed man.
      Shinju frowned up at his partner.
      *OK, so if he didn't plant those bombs, who did?*

The subsequent investigation into the bombing revealed that the second device had been secreted inside a support strut in the wall of the club; it hadn't been as powerful as the first but the devastation would have been total if both had detonated. And Sonja's 'anti-fan' was found to be telling the truth, he hadn't planted the bombs. There were fingerprints discovered on the casings, belonging to an employee of the club who had been dismissed a few months ago after his thieving had been uncovered. The 'disgruntled employee' as he was described by management, had died in a road accident before he got a chance to detonate the bombs, it was sheer luck that someone's radio transmitter or mobile phone hadn't triggered the explosions before now. That the second one had detonated during Sonja's performance was nothing but a tragic coincidence, and - as Peter pointed out to the guilt-struck performer - if she hadn't been under threat, the club wouldn’t have been searched and the first device wouldn't have been discovered. It could have been worse, even more people could have been killed.
      Sonja was immensely relieved not to have been the target of the attacks, but she still arranged for another performance of her new piece - as a tribute to the dead composer - and bullied her manager into organising it so all the proceeds went towards the families of the dead from the Blackbird Club...

Their contract had finished, all the payments were in their account, the bodyguards were free to go.
      *Time for a holiday.* Shinju stated as they cleared their few belongings from the spare room in Sonja's apartment.
      *Got anywhere in mind?*
      Shinju shivered; the temperature seemed to have halved over the past few days.
      *Somewhere warm.*
      Okami grinned and wrapped his arms around his partner.
      *Somewhere private. There's some teasing I promised you if I recall.*
      Shinju chuckled and tilted his face up towards his lover.
      *Heh, you'd never be able to not let me come for days, you like seeing me come too much.*
      Okami's reply was stopped by a tap on the bedroom door.
      "You're ready to go then?" Sonja asked, her eyes brightening at the sight of her bodyguards – ex bodyguards - cuddling.
      "Yes." Okami inclined his head.
      "Oh, right then," the performer's face dropped, "Look, can I take you out to dinner anyway? As a thank you?"
      The men looked at each other.
      *You know what's going to happen if we say 'yes', don't you?* Okami said, grey eyes twinkling mischievously.
      *Yes.* Shinju grumped.
      *We don't have to say 'yes', but - * Okami smirked, * - we've already seen her in action. Could be fun? And I like the idea of being in her while you're in me.* Unseen, his hand dropped to caress his partner's hip.
      *Heh.* Shinju *sounded* smug. *Does this mean you're giving up the idea of not letting me come?*
      *Hardly,* Okami's smile was coolly assertive, *I'll save that 'til we're alone.* He released Shinju and turned to face Sonja.
      "Thank you, we'll be pleased to accept your – " Okami paused to run his eyes over the woman in a very unprofessional manner, " - invitation…"

© 2003 February 1^st Lutra

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Darkside