Юн Ли - Revenant Gun

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

JEDAO HAD A list of things he hated about being a revenant. The inability to sleep, however, came near the top of the list. He lingered in the dimly lit room not out of choice but because his anchor, the blond Hafn boy, had fallen asleep on the couch after the latest round of sex.

Kujen had gotten up already and was sitting on the edge of the couch, splendidly nude, as he scribbled notes on a slate. “You’re about to say something,” he said without looking up, “so you might as well get it over with.”

“I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you, Nirai-zho,” Jedao said with a hint of sarcasm. “I was only thinking of how satisfying it would be to report you to Kel Command.”

“Wouldn’t do you any favors,” Kujen replied, unperturbed. “Half the hivemind is still convinced that it ought to throw away the key and leave you in the darkness forever. Which could still be arranged, if you’re feeling masochistic.”

Jedao said nothing. Kujen liked needling him about his fear of the darkness. He was well aware that his vacation from the black cradle came thanks to Kujen; that his unusual degree of freedom during this jaunt was another such gift. When Kel Command ordered him chained to an anchor, Jedao ordinarily had no influence over the anchor except to speak to them, a voice that no one else (but Kujen) could hear. This time, however, Kujen had adjusted the bond so that Jedao could exert a certain degree of control over the body.

Kujen set the slate down on a table next to the couch and leaned back, bonelessly folding into the crook of Jedao’s arm. Jedao was ambivalent about considering the Hafn boy’s body “his,” since strictly speaking, the boy hadn’t had any choice in the matter. But the strengthened anchor bond meant that he could feel what the body felt, as though—almost—he inhabited it himself. Kujen had been at pains to demonstrate the benefits of this.

“Considering how hard Kel Command worked you in life,” Kujen said, his voice throaty, “I should think that you’d welcome a little vacation.” He twisted and resettled himself, kissing Jedao’s jaw and earlobe in a lazy meandering line.

The body woke; Jedao used its voice to speak. He still hadn’t gotten entirely used to the clear, pure tenor, or the telltale foreign accent. But of course, Kujen had selected it for its beauty, including the beauty of its voice. “If Kel Command thinks to inventory the black cradle while we’re out here, we’re fucked.”

Kujen shrugged. The motion translated itself to Jedao’s arm. Kujen’s proximity, the lithe brushstroke perfection of his limbs, had its usual calculated effect, and Jedao’s cock began to harden. “My double can handle that,” Kujen said. “They won’t catch on. Besides,” and he reached over to nestle a hand in the curling blond hairs at Jedao’s chest, “you really must learn to enjoy a chance to relax when you have the opportunity for one.”

“Next you’re going to be telling me that you’re doing this for my benefit.” Jedao held still with an effort, although he couldn’t do anything about the wild pounding of his heart. Kujen couldn’t be unaware of it.

Kujen’s eyes widened. “But I am, my dear. Even you can only withstand so much sensory deprivation.” He hoisted himself up to straddle Jedao, nudging him to the side so that there would be enough space for his knee. (It was a wide couch, but still.) “We’re promised to each other, aren’t we? Which wouldn’t do me any good if you went mad in the black cradle between assignments.”

“You mean between assignations,” Jedao retorted.

“I said what I meant,” Kujen said, mildly enough, but his fingers dug into Jedao’s skin, leaving marks.

Jedao tensed, resisting, despite pleasure and the memory of pleasure. He closed his eyes.

“Stop thinking ,” Kujen murmured right into his ear, inescapable. His hand moved; moved again. Jedao’s teeth clenched against a moan. “You can hate me tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that. We’ll have all eternity for that, after all.”

“I’ll never forget what you are,” Jedao said, still with his eyes closed. If he didn’t look, he could pretend that it was just sex, no obligations, no complications, rather than the latest ploy in a game unfolding over centuries.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Kujen said, unperturbed. Little by little he moved down, leaving a trail of touches like moths’ wings, and a while after that he began to use his mouth.

I will not forget , Jedao thought in the last dissolving moments before surrendering himself. As Kujen worked, Jedao entertained himself with thoughts of killing the other man. A blow to the side of the head. Strangulation, although Kujen’s body was, inconveniently, the stronger one, so forget that one. Putting out the eyes with his thumbs. Messy, but what death wasn’t? And Jedao had dealt his share of ugly deaths.

“Oh, is that what you’re thinking of,” Kujen said in barely a whisper, right on cue. “You’re so predictable, my dear.”

Jedao would have cursed himself for being so obvious. But the beautiful thing was that here, now, it didn’t matter. It had no bearing (so he told himself) on the schemes that the two of them came up with, or wielded against each other.

And even better: as despicable as this was (the latest atrocity in a long litany), Kujen really, truly did not care; would never care; would never judge. It was the headiest seduction he could offer. Which was as well, because Jedao wasn’t in any position to say no.

SIX MINUTES AFTER his anchor dismissed Jedao, Kujen took direct control of the man’s body and walked him into one of the inner chambers, then sat him down. Kujen hadn’t had to resort to this in a long time. The movements lacked a certain grace. Half the point of maintaining Nirai Mahar as his anchor was to luxuriate in Mahar’s beauty. But it was good to remind Mahar that every indulgence came at a price.

Kujen waited for Mahar to realize that he had relinquished the puppet strings. The minutes ticked past. At last Kujen said, in a voice that only Mahar could hear, “You might as well tell me what’s upsetting you so.”

“Why would I be upset?” Mahar said in an amiable voice, but after sixty years yoked to each other, Kujen wasn’t fooled. “I’d rather fuck a squid than touch that thing.”

Mahar hoisted himself out of the chair. Kujen let him. Mahar made for one of the walk-in closets with its array of outfits in black, gray, silver, the occasional splash of foam-colored lace.

(“You’re allowed to wear colors as long as it’s not a ceremonial occasion, you know,” Kujen had once said to Mahar. “What are they going to do, demote you?” Mahar had ignored him.)

“I would have thought this kind of prejudice beneath you,” Kujen said mildly.

“I know it’s not his fault,” Mahar said, nostrils flaring. “All the same, I don’t want to bed him. Even if it’s an easy way for you to string him along.”

“Yes,” Kujen said, “he probably had this whole elaborate rationalization worked out for why thinking with his dick was a clever stratagem. Nine hundred years and it’s nice to know human nature never changes.”

Mahar yanked one of his favorite shirts off a hanger, crumpled it in his hands, and dumped it on the floor. Within short order, a pile of mangled shirts occupied the space next to his feet.

Kujen waited. He had long experience waiting, the first thing you learned as a revenant.