Lull

"You have let him go."
      Iason kept his face averted, not answering, but he was toying with the pet ring which had once declared - if silently and discreetly - that that mongrel from the slums belonged to him.
      "You have sent him back." I nodded slightly, obscurely pleased that Tanagra's most favoured son had, finally, listened to reason, if not to me.
      Iason's head swung slowly to regard me, flawless face as remote and impassive as ever, but something hovered at the back of his eyes… I frowned and gestured to a table.
      "Join me."
      He paused for a moment, then paced deliberately to the bench and seated himself. He would not meet my eyes.
      "Iason, have you sent him back?"
      "He is no longer here."
      "And you have removed his ring. I repeat - have you sent him back?"
      "I have… loosened his leash a little."
      I felt a flicker of annoyance tighten my mouth. He glanced briefly at me, his eyes lowering and coming to rest on the ring in his gloved hand.
      "Iason…"
      "It is not your concern, Raoul."
      "It is my concern, Iason. I do not wish to be the one who has to restore your sanity!"
      A faint twitch of his lips, the Blondie version of a smile.
      "I would trust no other to tamper with my mind."
      There is no one else who can move me to irritation. (Why is that?)
      "Iason, look at me." When his gaze remained fixed on the ring, I laid a hand on his shoulder. Momentarily startled, his head came up, azure eyes locked to mine.
      "Why does he mean so much to you? He's nothing more than a pet. A commodity. An… an animal. And not even trained!"
      His face tightened fractionally, and he murmured something, too quietly for me to hear. I frowned enquiringly - but he shook his head, minutely, no more than the slightest stirring of hair.
      "I would not expect you to understand."
      "But I want to, Iason. I may need to if I am instructed to intervene."
      For a moment I truly thought he might speak, explain to me what it was about the little slum-thing that so fascinated him. Then he lowered his gaze to his hands again. Easing off his left glove, he manipulated the resizing function on the pet ring, then slid it onto his middle finger, tightening it until it was a snug fit. He stood as he pulled the glove back on, glancing at me coolly.
      "I believe we have some business to attend to."
      It was true. But it was nothing that couldn't have waited for an hour or two. I followed Iason from the hall and back to his office, aware of an unfamiliar anger - no, not anger, we are too self-controlled, too self-aware, to feel anything as unproductive as anger…
      Frustration, then.
      He will not listen to me.

"You are not paying attention."
      Andrei was frowning at me, the tiny pucker between his fine brows thrown into sharp relief by the light from the dais before us. Refusing to let my startlement show, I inclined my head.
      "My apologies."
      He gestured elegantly to the stage, where three sets of pets were trying to outshine each other with the intricacy of their coupling.
      "They are proving themselves particularly inventive tonight."
      Which was true. However…
      I fixed my gaze on the dais, ostensibly watching the activity there, my thoughts elsewhere.
      With Iason, truth be told. Since my fellow Blondie had sent the pet back to the slum that raised him, Iason had repulsed all invitations to indulge in such amusements as tonight's display. We do not gossip, but his continued absence was certainly causing some disquiet.
      And myself?
      I was forced to admit - if only to myself - that I missed him. Missed his dryly incisive commentary, his elegant, murmured insights into those around us, his…
      I frowned to myself.
      I missed him.
      Iason was… we had been associates for a long time. We knew each other well - or rather, we had done before this nonsense with his pet. I was comfortable with him. I knew the way his mind worked, I knew his probable reaction to a wide range of stimuli, I knew…
      I knew very little.
      I most certainly didn't know how he could let a pet, of all things, influence him so. Watching, without really watching, the pets on the stage, I wondered… It had been rumoured… Had he done that? Copulated with one of the low life forms?
      The thought made me feel momentarily ill. How could one of our class allow himself to be so degraded?!
      And yet…
      I watched the pets on the stage, and wondered.

Life continued as ever, a smoothly blended mixture of challenge, the satisfaction that comes from successfully meeting and resolving challenge, and relaxation. Although in my case the satisfaction was absent.
      Iason was being stubborn. He attended to his duties, as the favourite son of Tanagra should. But after that…
      I was aware of a strange yearning in him. He held it tightly to himself, but I could see it, in the way he held himself, stiffly, unwilling to be affected by anything, in his voice, in his distant, hooded eyes.
      To my surprise it hurt.

Iason was late. This was unprecedented. And we had a meeting to attend.
      His communication devices were apparently all non-operational. He'd either turned them all off - or was refusing to answer. Both alternatives were unheard of.
      I really had no choice. I made my way to his Eos apartment. At my greeting - grumbled as it was - into the intercom he opened the door and beckoned me inside.
      And I halted, shocked, my complaint dying on my lips as the door closed behind me.
      Iason was naked, apparently just roused from sleep, eyes half-closed, hair a pale golden drift around his shoulders and down his back.
      We are made perfect. I gazed at his perfection, the broad shoulders, lean hips, long arms and legs, heavy genitals… Somewhere below my appreciation of his beauty something else was stirring. A wish to… touch him?
      Horrified, I forced it back into hiding.
      One long-fingered hand reached to brush aside the heavy fall of hair over my face. As I watched the faintest twitch turned up the corner of his mouth. A smile.
      "Remove your clothing, Raoul."
      I blinked, startled. What?
      "My… clothing?"
      "That is what I said."
      But we do not appear without clothing in the presence of another. Our bodies are swathed in layer on layer of rich fabric: we do not usually remove even our gloves in the company of others.
      Are we so afraid of touching, of being touched, of feeling, that we cover ourselves beyond the possibility of even the briefest accidental contact?
      "Iason…"
      The hand holding back my hair moved to cup my cheek, and I froze. He frowned, very faintly, his thumb stroking along my eyebrow.
      "I had not noticed… Your eyes are the colour of water under ice…"
      What nonsense was this? I caught his wrist.
      "Your - association with your pet has unsettled your reason. Please dress. We have work to do."
      And he gave me that slight smile again, and withdrew his hand, and dressed, and we made our way to his office, and all things were as they had ever been.
      Ostensibly.

It had been a long, hard, tiring day, but now it was over. And I wanted a drink. Wine, for preference.
      Iason's lips quirked.
      "Wine… I believe I will accompany you."
      It was the first time he had volunteered any kind of sociability since his temporary - yes, I was now resigned to the fact that he would retrieve the creature when he believed the time to be right - release of his pet. Ushering him from the office, we headed for an exclusive restaurant known for its extensive selection of rare beverages: once there we took up residence in a quiet, dimly-lit alcove looking out over the sparkling urban conglomeration spread out below us. And I took the opportunity to examine my companion.
      He was fully aware that I was doing so, of course. After a few second he inclined his head.
      "And what is your prognosis?"
      I regarded him coolly.
      "I believe that you will live."
      He nodded.
      "Good…" He frowned slightly. "Raoul, what is your fulfilment?"
      I blinked and sat back on the long padded bench.
      "My fulfilment?"
      He nodded, once.
      "What makes your life worth the trial of waking up each morning."
      I eyed him warily.
      "What do you mean?"
      He closed his eyes briefly, then gazed at me appraisingly.
      "You spend your days serving Jupiter, in one way or another. For recreation you play chess, or watch the pets perform, or practise kendo…" I started: I hadn't been aware that anyone knew about that. Iason nodded fractionally. "And then you sleep. To wake and resume the cycle the following day. Why?"
      I stared at him, at his beautiful, coolly calculating bright eyes, and struggled for an answer.
      "Because… because it is our duty to do so. And our pleasure."
      The hastily added final phrase was not lost on him. He nodded.
      "And this is sufficient?"
      "Why should it not be?"
      He rested his hands on my shoulders.
      "Raoul, be honest - with me, if not with yourself. Is this what you want your life to be?"
      I had honestly never considered it before. I tried, frowning, to imagine something different, something other than the smooth routine of my life. I couldn't.
      When had I become so… dull?
      Iason was watching me, his eyes glittering.
      "When was the last time anything - excited you?"
      I couldn't remember. With great reluctance I admitted as much. Iason nodded.
      "I have been the same. Such… lassitude…is endemic amongst us. How could it be otherwise? All our wants are provided for." He lowered his eyes slightly. "Why else would we feel inclined to risk Midas?"
      "Because there are still surprises to be found there?"
      "Sometimes."
      I frowned.
      "And a sense of… danger."
      Iason half-smiled, wryly.
      "It is a poor thing, is it not, when we are forced to seek stimulation in the slums. When the company of our own kind is not enough."
      I wanted to argue, wanted to insist that the distractions of Tanagra were enough, that the diversions of the mind were sufficient. But I could not. Iason dropped his gaze, thumb rubbing absently over the ring.
      "All our wants are provided for - save one."
      "And that is what you have found in your mongrel pet."
      "His name is Riki."
      I ignored his comment. I will not dignify the creature with a name. It was with great reluctance that I spoke of him at all.
      "He… fulfils you."
      Iason took a sip of his wine, considering.
      "In a sense, yes."
      "In what sense?"
      He eyed me, curiosity glinting in his eyes.
      "Why do you ask?"
      Why indeed? I would not confess to personal curiosity.
      "Iason, anything that affects you affects Tanagra."
      "And as a good son of Tanagra you must ensure nothing interrupts its smooth running."
      Was that mockery in his voice? Surely not. I nodded.
      "And you wish to know what I have found in Riki."
      This prevarication was accomplishing nothing. I allowed asperity to tinge my voice.
      "I have just said so. Explain, Iason."
      He smiled. I had the impression he was enjoying nettling me.
      "It would be far easier to show you than to try to explain."
      I stared. Had he really said that?
      "What do you mean?"
      One hand reached out to touch my face under my hair, brushing down my cheek, fingertips trailing delicately down my neck and across my shoulder then down my arm to rest against my wrist below the level of the table. His voice was a low murmur.
      "I want to show you what it is like."
      I swallowed. Remembering standing in Iason's apartment, my skin tingling under his touch…
      "What do you mean?"
      He sighed, almost silently.
      "Do not pretend to be obtuse."
      "You want us to… have… sex. Like the pets do."
      He shrugged very slightly.
      "It is the only way to appreciate the act."
      My stomach clenched at the idea.
      "No."
      Iason quirked an eyebrow. I was sure he had expected me to say yes: Iason isn't used to being gainsaid. The hand over my wrist tightened fractionally, his fingers moving to stroke my palm. I did not resist. Nor did I respond. After a moment he laced his fingers through mine, pressing gently then pulling his hand away, fingers sliding over my skin. His lips twitched.
      "A pity."
      He raised his glass, draining the wine, then rose to his feet and inclined his head, expression cool.
      "Until tomorrow."
      I watched him walk away, watched heads turn as he passed. Iason Mink. Beautiful Iason. Jupiter's favourite. The most powerful Blondie in Tanagra. Mongrel lover.

Later, in my own apartment, I lay on my bed, frowning at the ceiling.
      Why had I said no?
      Well, that was obvious. The idea was obscene. The elite did not indulge in something so base. It was below us. It was for the others, the lesser beings. Not us.
      Until Iason rescued a mongrel from the slums.
      And now…?
      Things had changed.
      Why had I said no?
      Was I afraid of censure, the opprobrium of my peers? Such things are unknown. As long as we are discreet, no one dares question the private activities of Blondies.
      And thought about alone, with no distractions, the idea was - intriguing. After all, we are made perfect, male, with male organs that fulfil only one of their functions in the normal course of events.
      Why had I said no?
      I fell asleep still wondering.

Iason was distracted the following day, and I did not know why. He spoke little, curtly, his actions perfunctory, and returned home as soon as possible.
      I was concerned. I went after him. And he bade me enter.
      In standard black bodysuit with the white open tunic he prefers over the top he looked… less imposing, I suppose. Certainly more relaxed. And bizarrely - because I don't normally think anything of it - I felt overdressed. Iason gestured me through to the balcony and poured two glasses of some sort of spirit, something I had never heard of, fiery and smooth at once. He regarded me over the edge of the glass, hair rippling in the evening breeze.
      "Why have you come?"
      I hesitated, taking a sip to hide my uncertainty. He waited in silence.
      "Is anything troubling you?"
      He raised an eyebrow.
      "A direct question! I'm flattered."
      I couldn't see why. I shook my head.
      "Iason, I am concerned. Today…"
      He crossed his arms, head tilted enquiringly.
      "… you were… not yourself."
      It was an inane thing to say, but Iason nodded fractionally.
      Then put down his glass and prowled to stand before me, ungloved hands raised and resting on either side of my face for a moment before moving down to my shoulders.
      "Yes, I am troubled. I miss my pet. I miss him beside me in my bed, I miss his mouth, I miss the small sounds he makes when I move within him." He leaned closer and whispered against my ear, his warm breath ghosting against my neck, making me shiver. "I miss his arrogance, his rebelliousness, the sensitivity of his skin, here," he pressed his lips to my neck, just below my ear, "and here," the corner of my mouth, "and here…"
      His mouth lowered to mine, the brush of warm, firm lips a shock that forced mine apart. He took advantage, the tip of his tongue lapping gently at the inside of my upper lip.
      I shoved him, hard, stepping back and raising a hand to my mouth, shaking.
      "…wh… what…?"
      "It's called a kiss, Raoul. It indicates depth of feeling, of trust, between partners."
      "It's…"
      I rubbed at my lips.
      "It's obscene."
      "Did it hurt you?"
      "No…"
      "Did you find it unpleasant?"
      "Yes!"
      He smiled, eyes narrowed.
      "Unpleasant, or just unfamiliar?"
      "I…"
      The objective rationality in which we take such pride came to the fore. No, it had not been unpleasant. It had most definitely been unfamiliar, however. I lowered my gaze, unwilling to answer. Iason reached to place his fingertips under my chin, gently forcing me to look at him. His eyes were hungry.
      "You are very beautiful, Raoul. And I trust you. Come with me."
      He led me, unresisting, back into the apartment, pausing for a moment to quickly and competently divest me of my outermost layer of clothing. And my gloves. He raised my right hand to his mouth, kissing the palm lightly then gazing at me through his lashes.
      "Graceful hands. I would like to feel them upon me."
      I should, of course, have said no. I should have bade him goodnight and left while I still had some measure of dignity, some control over the situation.
      I did not. I allowed him to lead me to his bedroom. Why, I still have been unable to fathom, even with hindsight. Perhaps something deep within me had wanted this all along. Perhaps I was jealous of his pet. Perhaps I thought this would be a way to help him, to assuage the loss he felt. Perhaps I was simply curious. The fact remains I stood in that luxurious room in soft, muted light and allowed him to undress me.
      He stood back as the last item of clothing pooled at my feet, stood back and ran his gaze slowly the length of my body then back up to my eyes, his own darkened with what I soon came to recognise as desire. His hand reached out to me, fingertips stroking slowly along my collarbone then down my chest, hovering over my nipples and moving further down, coming to rest over my groin…
      I was trembling. I had only ever touched myself in order to wash or dress: what Iason was doing… it felt as though his fingers trailed fire, or maybe ice, something that seared along my nerves. A roiling heat was gathering in my groin.
      Iason knelt before me, between my legs, hands sliding up my thighs to cup my buttocks firmly, then licked delicately along the underside of my erection… I could feel my legs shaking, my breathing become erratic as he took me into his mouth.
      The feel of it! Hot and wet, the hint of teeth as he began to suckle, tongue sliding from side to side, the tip vibrating against my shaft…
      I vaguely remember my head snapping back as I came, then slumped bonelessly over his kneeling body as white fire filled my vision and my legs gave way.
      He supported me easily, allowing me to slide to kneel in front of him, then pulling himself upright and lifting and carrying me to his massive bed. As my heartrate began to slow, I gazed up at him, panting.
      "I… am not… a pet…"
      He kissed me. The mouth that had so recently brought me such unbounded unexpected pleasure settled on mine. The taste of myself on his tongue. He pulled back and smiled.
      "Never that. We will be equals, or we will be nothing."
      As I nodded agreement, he slid out of his clothes then began to feast on my body, tasting and nipping, licking and sucking, one hand cupping my quiescent genitals then slipping further down, stroking between my legs. As his teeth settled over a nipple, I felt a finger push inside me…
      "Iason!"
      I struggled upright, yanking on his arm to pull him out of me.
      "What are you doing?"
      He kissed my shoulder, then my jaw. Perhaps apologetically, perhaps not. I frowned.
      "That is what the pets do with each other, isn't it?"
      He nodded.
      "It is something very special."
      I eyed him warily.
      "And have you ever allowed your mongrel inside you?"
      He paused, then shook his head.
      "But you are not a pet."
      "So you will allow me to reciprocate."
      He hesitated. The idea was obviously not a comfortable one. I stroked his face.
      "Equals or nothing, Iason."
      He sighed and lowered his eyes.
      "Very well."
      I nodded.
      "But not tonight."
      His head came back up, eyes pained. Somewhat hesitantly I stroked down his body, the smooth, flawless skin, wrapping my hand around his engorging shaft and rubbing my thumb over the head. I smiled.
      "Tonight…" I dropped my head to kiss his penis, "tonight, let me try this. Tell me if I do anything wrong."
      We learn fast. Lying between his legs, repeating to him what he had done to me - with the occasional embellishment that came to mind as I played him - it was not long before he grabbed my hair and pushed my head further down, wrapped long legs across my back, and forced himself uncomfortably deeply into my throat, hips jerking as he came.
      And as, licking and sucking, I slowly pulled myself up onto my knees and gazed down at him, I saw something I would be prepared to swear no-one else had ever seen, not even his pet. Iason, pale skin flushed, lips parted, eyes closed, sprawled in sated abandon across his bed. Panting and completely satisfied.
      Oh, the sense of power the sight afforded! I smiled to myself. Oh, the possibilities…

I awoke before Iason - that was to become standard in our relationship - his head nestled on my shoulder, his arm across my chest, his leg across my thigh, our hair tangled together, shades of morning sunlight on the pillow. I kissed his forehead: he stirred, sleepily, and pulled himself more tightly to me. Iason Mink, most powerful elite in Tanagra. In my arms.
      Mine.
      And erect, and soon gasping his orgasm against my chest as I discovered what my fingers could do to him. When he had regained his breath he rolled on top of me, kissing me deeply, the novel sensation of his tongue against mine, his groin against mine, hips rocking as he gripped my shoulders, the sheer erotic novelty surprising me into my own climax soon after. He sighed and moved to lie beside me, resting on one elbow, fingers stroking my lips.
      "Raoul…"
      I kissed his fingertips.
      "Iason. Good morning."
      He smiled and kissed my cheek.
      "We will be late."
      I pulled myself into a sitting position.
      "Then we had better bestir ourselves…"

It was three days before we enjoyed each other again. And that set the tone for our whole affair. We did not live together. We alternated apartments. We were discreet, our outward relationship the same as ever - well, perhaps a little warmer, a little more companionable, but not enough to raise any suspicions. We slept together every four or five nights. We explored each other, discovering what gave pleasure, what did not…
      I watched pet shows, memorising their tricks and techniques and later experimenting on Iason's responsive, sensitive body. He proved to be talented and eager to explore. The first time I allowed him to take me was an evening of mixed pleasures. It was painful - to start with. But Iason was quite obviously, if silently, overjoyed, his expression blissful, his body trembling. Afterwards he pampered me, gently bathing my body and almost tenderly bringing me to a shattering climax with his mouth and fingers. But Iason never fully enjoyed being penetrated, always preferring to dominate: to my relief I found I was happy in either role - but made sure, nevertheless, that we alternated equally.
       Perhaps that was my mistake.
      I had been sure he'd forgotten about his pet - he hadn't mentioned the damned creature for four months. We were comfortable with each other, each finding release and relief in each other's bodies. And I was happy, deeply, silently so, and I believed Iason to be happy as well. I managed to convince myself, on the increasingly frequent occasions when, after he'd come, his expression hovered on the verge of dissatisfaction, of loss, that something else was troubling him, something that could not impinge on what we had built for ourselves.
      When he told me he loved his pet I thought I would shatter.
      Oh, the façade held, of course - Jupiter forbid that a Blondie should ever be seen in public in less than full control of himself! And there had never been any suggestion of love between us. We do not love.
      I should rephrase that. Iason loves. But he does not love me.

He had the pet returned to him, and I was no longer welcome in his arms. Or maybe I was, but I did not know: I ended the affair before the mongrel returned. I will not share. We worked together as ever - even the closeness that our short-lived relationship had engendered remained. It was, after all, all I could now hope for from Iason, and my pride is sufficiently broken to admit I needed that.

I suppose I could have sought out another partner, from the other elite. Not a pet, though, never a pet. But I did not. I had had the best. I did not want to diminish Iason's memory with something less.
      I survive. I serve Jupiter as well as ever - if not better, since I now have nothing else. I make sure my days are filled, with work, with what leisure pursuits I enjoy.
      I survive.
      But my nights - my nights are lonely…

© 2003 January 13^th Joules Taylor

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Tanagura.org

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