Published by Mojocastle Press, LLC 

Price, Utah 

  

  

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental. 

  

  

Through Neon Eyes: Promise - Part Two 

ISBN: 1-60180-026-6 

Copyright ã 2007 Michael Barnette 

Cover Art Copyright @ 2007 Red Threads Art Circle 

All rights reserved. 

  

  

Excluding legitimate review sites and review publications, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. 

  

Copying, scanning, uploading, selling and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission from the publisher is illegal, punishable by law and will be prosecuted. 

  

Available online at: 

http://www.mojocastle.com/ 

  

 
  

  

  

  

  

  

Also By Michael Barnette: 

  

All Hellos: A Mojocastle Trick 

  

Mercykill: Shattered Melody 

  

Through Neon Eyes Series 

  

GameNet Series 

  

Legend of the Autumn Wind: Wind of Change 
  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

Through Neon Eyes: 

 Promise - 

Part Two 
  

  

  

Sleek, with the build of a dancer—or a martial artist—the blond man reclining on the bed had his eyes closed, shoulders leaning on the headboard, legs crossed at the ankles. The Medusa tangle of braids draped around his shoulders lay still, the bells at their ends silent. 

Bells that gave him his street name. A name that was the only one he could recall most days, at least since the gun-battle that had nearly taken his life. From the bits and pieces he remembered from his existence before then, it was just better that way, as far as he was concerned. 

He was relaxing there, with his sleeping lover at his side, listening to his fuckbroker screaming through the palm-sized satphone—an old model no longer used by the corporate world, but typical of those found in the Liberty City Freezone. He was waiting for her tirade to wind down so he could get a word into the conversation. The gunwhore was managing to keep his own temper under control because she wasn’t really mad at him. Not really. 

But she showed no signs of relenting, the woman calling him every foul name she could think of, indignant that he’d failed to carry out the contracted killjob that he’d taken. Or rather, she was furious because the corporation who’d hired him was now trying to strong-arm her into ratting him out and telling their corporate thugs where he could be located. 

Katerina wasn’t a fool. She would never rat him out to a corper. Not when he was the classiest piece of ass she owned. 

He was also the most dangerous piece of ass she owned. 

And he was her highest priced piece of gun-toting ass, at almost twenty-five thousand in hard-earned cash for a single night. 

An amount the man lying beside him in bed had paid for his services for a single night, not the two her highart moneyboy had been gone. 

Jessman had gotten more than he’d bargained for, but then again, so had Bells. 

Bells opened his eyes and took in the handsomeness of the dark-haired man’s face. He liked the way Jessman looked, his face composed of hard, masculine planes and angles, and a mouth that just begged to be kissed, or filled with a cock. Right now, Jessman was peaceful. Lost in the deep, trusting sleep of someone who’d lived his life in the cradle of safety provided by a corporate enclave. 

The hand not holding the satphone reached out, came to rest on a warm shoulder, fingers caressing gently over smooth skin that had never known the kiss of toxins, been exposed to tainted rain, or the searing light of the sun through a cloudless summer sky. Bells found himself wanting to disconnect the call and wake the dark-haired researcher by kissing him. And the kiss he had in mind didn’t involve the man’s lips. 

Just the casual thought of taking David’s cock into his mouth got Bells instantly hard, and he smiled slightly before turning his attention back to his fuckbroker and her tirade. 

He slipped into the language of the streets as easily as he drew breath. “Katerina, slow down. You gonna pop a vein, and what that get you? Just dead. This sure as shit ain’t worth that, is it?” 

But her vitriol continued unabated, her anger directed more at the corporation than at him, though he was catching hell for getting her into the mess in the first place. Of course, the way he saw it, she’d been the one that had tipped them off that he was going to see Jessman. By the way of thinking out in the LC, that meant part of the blame was hers too for getting him involved in an off-color deal with the corpworld. He thought about hanging up, but that was only guaranteed to get her even more pissed off at him than she was, and that he didn’t need right now. Not when her clients in the corporate world were his main source of income since he’d tried to quit the killjob business. 

It had been totally stupid for him to agree to Megalli-Loran’s terms in the first place, and he realized the pressure Polycyber was putting on him was the direct cause of that stupidity. He owed his life to them, and they wanted to be paid back in cold, hard currency. 

Falling in love with David... Well, that was his own stupidity. 

Yeah boy, you blond all right. Got youself into a nice fuckmess here. Now you best find a way out of it before someone do you or your prettyman dead. He let his gaze roam over Jessman. It was stupid, but the emotion he felt for the man couldn’t be denied. 

Sighing, he put the phone down, Katerina’s voice spewing out of the tiny speaker. He went into David’s living room to raid the small bar, poured himself two fingers of expensive bourbon and stood sipping the mellow liquor and considering his options. 

There were all too few, really, and most of them involved dealing with the situation threatening Jessman in a head-on confrontation with the corp bastards that wanted his lover dead. 

Dangerous. Damned dangerous. But what wasn’t when you lived in the Free? 

And he hated feeling as if Megalli-Loran were holding them both under the gun. 

By rights he was the one that should be holding the gun on any threat to his lover or himself. That was what being a gunwhore meant. Being a zonewarrior.... Well, that just made it more imperative that he take care of his own messes. 

And this was a serious mess, no question about that. 

He took another sip, felt the warm heat of the high quality booze as it slid down his throat. Nice. Smooth. Unlike the broken-glass bite of the shit they could get in the LC. That was closer to battery acid than liquor. 

Sighing again, he tipped another finger of bourbon into his glass and walked back to the bedroom. He could get to like it here, and that was bad, too. 

Bells returned to his place on Jessman’s bed and set the glass on the nightstand. He could still hear Katerina from the phone, but her invective was winding down, the woman’s anger running out of fuel. He picked up the satphone and asked, “Done?” 

“Yeah, I done screamin’ for now, ’less you got some other dumbass thing you want to tell me you done.” 

“Good,” the blond said, voice hard-edged, the usual dulcet midrange of his speaking voice vanishing into growling anger. “Now it’s my turn.” 

“What you mean your turn, Mister Smartass?” 

“Shut! The! Fuck! Up!” 

The woman went silent on the other end of the phone. 

“Right. Now you listen to me.” His words were delivered in a soft as velvet tone, the cadence more like that of a corper than a zoner, the depth of his anger made more pronounced to his fuckbroker by that sudden change in language coupled with the tone he used. They knew one another, and he could imagine the shock he knew would be on her coffee-and-cream-colored face. 

Knowing he had her attention, he switched dialects. “Stone come here, an’ now he meat dead. You put it out in the Free anyone touch my moneyboy or my fucktime playmates, and I make them dead as meat too. I ain’t gonna stand for my clients being killed by no one for no reason that ain’t my own. You got me?” 

“Yeah, I got you. But you get this, that corp want that man dead, and they mean to have what they want. No terms. You got me?” 

“I done guessed that shit. That be my worry. You know I handle my own biz. Right now you biz is to let people know anyone mess with my money, I come to dance the apocalypse with them. They want dying, I give it to them no charge.” 

“’Kay, I put out the word, but you be best to worry ‘bout your own sweet ass, babe. Them corptypes playmates ain’t worth the sweat off you balls. They leave you out to dry you become a problem, an’ you know it. An’ you newest moneyboy, he ain’t no different.” 

“Yeah, I know. But without moneyboys and cashbitches there ain’t no money, an’ I have to go back to being a zonewarrior. You gotta admit gunwhoring is better than that bangbang get you dead shit.” 

“You right about that,” the woman agreed. “An’ when you ain’t playin’ games, you pretty ass make more hard cash than any three other boytoys. ‘Sides, you still owe me big-time favors, an’ I don’t wanna lose those. Better I let them ride and use ’em when they do me some good. I’ll do what you want, an’ get word out. Hell, all I gotta do is tell Lacer and he’ll carry word to everyone. Man’s worse than a dog, yappin’ all the damned time, an’ he don’t never shut his face.” 

“Yeah, he can talk.” So do you, for that damned matter.  “I’ll grant you that Lacer’s better than a newsfeed, so I be cool on that an’ you just tell him.” The blond glanced at his lover, hearing a slight change in his breathing. Awake now, and probably overhearing the conversation he was having with Katerina. Trying to conceal the fact that he was listening in on their conversation. 

Bells only half heard Katerina, who’d kept talking while he wasn’t really listening to her. Nothing new about that, he thought, unable to completely contain his wry smile. 

Bells sat there, watching the man in the bed with him, considering what he wanted to do with and to David. There were so many possibilities, if only David had gotten over his close brush with death. 

And he still owed Jessman a reward for actually getting him off with that blowjob. 

 “...I mean, what the fuck you doin’, Bells? You take a killjob, you don’t do him dead, then you call me to say don’t charge for you time wif him? What fuck up wif you? You drugging up, or just sufferin’ a case of dumb?” 

“No, Katarina, I ain’t drugging up, and I ain’t suffering from stupid.” Okay, so I am, but damned if I’ll admit that to you.  He brushed his fingertips over Jessman’s shoulder, hand moving downward in a slow caress. If falling in love with the man you were supposed to kill wasn’t stupid, then he sure as hell didn’t know what would qualify. “All you need know is I got reasons, an’ they my own. That’s no biz to you.” 

There was silence in which he could hear her harsh breathing, the woman furious with him for the way he was speaking to her. Or maybe it was his refusal to allow her to charge Jessman for all the time he was spending in corpland. She wanted money for the use of his body and she wasn’t getting it, which meant she wasn’t very happy about anything he was doing at the moment. 

Bells continued to caress the researcher, testing Jessman to see how long it would take before he admitted to being awake. 

“Nah, it ain’t ’kay, but you do what you like anyhow. No sense in me getting’ frazzed over it. Bitchboy that you is, what I gonna do anyhow, you don’t come back this side of The Wall? Not like my raggedy-ass self can go over there and drag no scrawny whiteboy back to the Free where he belong. Just you remember where you money come from, prettyboy. Piss down on me, babe and you best find a new fuckbroker, cause I won’t be played like that. You hearin’ me, Jingle-boy?” 

He sighed. She only called him Jingle-boy when she was really angry with him, which was something he tried to avoid, needing her goodwill in order to have access to her exclusive and high-paying clientele as he did. 

Be a gunwhore, or go back to killing full time. 

He preferred getting fucked to getting shot any day. 

“My, ’pologies, Katerina. I know I been doin’ you wrong last couple a days, but, mama, your babe is just thinkin’ ’bout the future. Man’s on the ladder and he’s gonna make us both some sweet profit, I promise you that.” 

He heard her sniff, probably snorting some drug or fighting off one of the ailments common on the street. Possibly both. Or maybe she was just dismissing what he’d said with a zone-born person’s typical disregard of anything that sounded too good to be true. Jaded. People in the Free were diehard cynics by age two. 

But he also wasn’t someone who made hollow promises. 

David was on the way up, even if the dark-haired man didn’t realize it at the moment. 

He moved his hand and wrapped his fingers over the curve of Jessman’s shoulder, feeling natural muscle, the corper’s skin soft and pleasing to the touch. His cock twitched, and Bells smiled slightly, amused at his own reaction. He was more amused when David discarded the pretense of being asleep to turn over and lay his hand over the bulge under Bells’ leather pants, the fingers stroking along the rigid length. The touch was seduction as the hand slid down to cup his balls. He spread his legs slightly to give the other man better access for his teasing exploration. 

“I tell you what, get you narrow ass back this side of The Wall as soon as fuckin’ possible. I got clients you ain’t servicing, and you ass is contracted to me. Don’t you forget that, Jingle-boy. I ain’t gonna be done bad by you, I don’t care what kind of money you promisin’ now. When I got it in my hands, then we can talk. ‘Til then, you best remember how much you ain’t like killin’ for your pay. You hearin’ me, Bells?” 

“Yeah, I hearin’ you, Katerina. I hearin’ you perfect clear.” He was too, but his mind wasn’t really on what she was saying. Not when Jessman was busily making him think of other, more interesting things. Things like turning the man over on his belly and fucking him until they both came. 

Not that he’d do something so fast and simple with Jessman. No, he liked tormenting his boy and making him beg; it got both of them so very hot. 

“Good. I see your prettyboy face tomorrow, or you whole take from this last job is mine. Ought to take it all anyhow, for you not doin’ that killjob. Makes me look bad, an’ I sure as hell ain’t happy ’bout that.” 

He bit back the flash of anger he was feeling over the whole thing, ready to tell her to go get fucked with a razor-wire-wrapped dildo, but he held his own anger in check. Pissing her off would only do more damage to his rep, and it would leave him with no easy and clean way to make money. Being a gunwhore was a whole lot easier and a damned sight cleaner than handling the nasty end on a string of killjobs, or a smash and grab data hit on one of the local corporations with the results— if any— divided up by whoever survived. 

Two of those little heists were more than enough in his lifetime, the risks not worth the dubious results. And killjobs had a way of getting deadly complicated with no warning. 

Just like the whole mess with David. 

Jessman had moved and was slowly unbuttoning Bells’ pants, making it part of the foreplay the way his fingers stroked across his aching cock as each button was unfastened. 

“I gonna see you, or you gonna get disemployed?” 

“Be in to see you tomorrow.” 

“Good. Bye, babe.” 

“Bye, Kat.” 

He hit the button to end the call, tossed the phone aside, shoved the man away and pinned him to the bed. 

Startled eyes, dark as chocolate, stared up at him. 

“What you doin’, corpman? You ain’t thinkin’ ‘bout tryin’ me, are you? You thinkin’ you got what it take to start fuckin’ me?” He was teasing the man, playing a little game. Roleplaying. But he was being who he really was for a change. A zoner, rather than the prettyboy gunwhore he’d been for Jessman. 

A very dom prettyboy, but not threatening. Well, not too threatening. Not since he’d decided he liked having Jessman alive. He wasn’t considering killing him, as he’d been that first night. For those first few hours. 

No, what he wanted from the corper was an hour or so of inferno-hot sex. 

He grinned. 

  

Jessman heard the broken dialect of the street flowing from the beautiful man’s lips and couldn’t help but stare. David realized for the first time he’d never heard a trace of the Freezoner accent in his lover’s speech. Or more precisely, he hadn’t heard it until Bells’ confrontation with the other zonewarrior in the hallway earlier that night. 

Remembering that encounter made Jessman shiver with terror. 

Bells let him go instantly, as if reading his mind. “Shhh... it’s okay, David.” 

And there it was again, the transformation in Bells’ manner of speaking leaving Jessman stunned. The accent came and went with startling ease, the swift here and gone trying to tell the researcher something about his lover’s past. 

A professional, his gunwhore, this beautiful boy who was really a man. His Bells— and yes, he found that he was beginning to consider that the gunwhore as his property, even though he knew he had no claim on the smaller man. None. Especially since looking at their relationship, if either of them could be called property, it would be him. Bells was his master, and the blond had complete control over him. 

Which was just fine, as far as the researcher was concerned. 

“You all right?” Bells asked him in his too-sexy voice. Jessman nodded, amazed at how readily Bells seemed able to fit into any situation, like some cyberenhanced chameleon. He’d presented an image of dangerous beauty when he’d first arrived in Jessman’s apartment, and David had initially thought he was just a corpborn kid trained to act the part of a zoner. 

He’d been wrong, of course. His lover wasn’t just a corp-trained gunwhore. He was a genuine zoner, a warrior off the kill or be killed streets of the Liberty City Freezone. 

Someone who’d come to kill him had died right outside his door, murdered by the deceptively beautiful killer in his bed. 

He reached up and caressed the younger man’s face, stared into the cobalt flame of a gaze no more natural than the boy’s too-perfect beauty. 

“Yeah, thanks to you.” 

“Ain’t nothin’ but my job,” the blond replied, lapsing back into zonespeak. 

“Well, to me it is,” Jessman said as he lifted his head to kiss Bells. 

So long as he was with him, Jessman knew he would be safe. 

Thoughts of keeping Bells there, getting him admitted to the enclave as a permanent resident, having him made his legal companion, crossed Jessman’s mind. 

But something like that wasn’t easy to accomplish. 

And it took a great deal of money. More than David was likely to see in a few years’ time, even if the project he was working on succeeded. 

His thoughts drifted, a pleasant daydream forming that had him in a position to afford such an expense. He could picture Bells with him. The perfect gunwhore companion to a corporate research executive, able to speak like the most cultured of enclave-trained escorts. He’d be equally at home if they ventured out of the corporate world, able to make the gutter rats of the Zone understand him, should David ever decide to play the risky game of going into the Free for a night of dangerous fun. 

It wasn’t the sort of fun Jessman would actually want to partake of. No, he’d had his one taste of that, and it had terrified him. 

“You sure you ‘kay, Jessman?” 

The researcher put his arms around Bells’ neck, smiled up at the gunwhore, nodded. “I’m okay. I was just thinking about... what happened earlier.” 

“Stone?” 

Jessman nodded again and found himself watching the blond’s mouth. Like the rest of him, it was alluring, sexy. He pulled and instead of the blond coming down to him, he found his own pull lifting his torso off the bed, the slender man steady as steel as he knelt over Jessman. Their lips touched. David’s cock, already hard, twitched as the blond shifted his position slightly, setting off the bells in his hair. Jessman moaned in reaction and felt his paid lover smile, amused. Balanced on one hand and his knees, he felt the blond grip his erection and give it a few slow, teasing strokes. 

He groaned, hips thrusting against the hand gripping his dick. 

“You sure you’re all right, then?” Bells asked as he nuzzled Jessman’s ear, then took the lobe between his teeth and bit down very gently. 

“Just...what if they send someone else?” he gasped out as warm breath ruffled his hair and teeth nibbled their way along the edge of his ear. 

“Ain’t nothin’ to worry ’bout,” Bells murmured, lapsing back into the dialect of the LCFree. Jessman found himself staring into those too-blue neon eyes of Bells’ as the blond regarded him, face reverted to that expressionless stare so common to the young killer. But his lips were warm, soft, the kiss possessive as he claimed Jessman’s mouth, the researcher taking a grip in the braids at the nape of the blond’s neck and holding on as if his life depended on it. 

The blond let go of his cock, and he almost whimpered at the loss. But the zoner’s body pressed down on him as the kiss intensified, a thigh pressing between his legs, warm leather touching his prick. He rocked his hips, wanting more sensation, solid contact to help get him closer to completion. 

The kiss ended. Still gasping for breath, Jessman said, “You’ll leave. What will I do if they send someone else?” His hand was still locked in Bells’ hair. 

The blond raised himself up, looked down at David, cobalt neon regarding him. “You don’t worry ’bout that. Ain’t no one gonna touch my boy.” 

Jessman’s heart thrummed at the words ‘my boy’ coming from Bells’ lips. He swallowed, knowing he was reading more into those two words than were probably meant, but he couldn’t help it. He’d liked the sound of them. He was Bells’ boy. There was also something very amusing about being called a boy, when he was a good ten years older than the zoner. 

“But you’ll leave,” he countered. He knew he was trying to convince the blond to stay, but he’d overheard Bells promise his broker he’d return to Liberty City tomorrow, and he didn’t want him to go. “What will stop them from coming after me, or sending another zoner to kill me?” 

“Me. They gettin’ told anyone mess with my moneyboy, they deal with me. Ain’t no one gonna bother you. That a guaranteed for sure thing, not some don’t mean nothin’ hot air.” 

Jessman let go of the braids in his fist and sighed. Bells might be sure that his threat would protect him, but Jessman wasn’t so certain. “You’ve got that much rep?” he asked, wondering if the threat would be enough to keep other zonewarriors away. He also remembered the way Stone had reacted to the younger man’s presence. He’d been terrified of the blond. 

But it hadn’t stopped him from trying to kill Bells. 

“Yeah. I got a rep. Badass gunwhore me. Get called a bitchboy mos’ days. Don’t take no shit from nobody or no one for no reason.” Bells turned his head to touch David’s fingertips with his lips. A tongue darted out to slide suggestively along the index finger before it was sucked gently into his mouth. 

Jessman groaned, his cock ready, his body willing, his mind gone to mush. “Are you going to fuck me, or are you just planning to drive me mad?” 

Bells laughed, the tones sweet and thick as honey. He let David’s finger go and said, “Yeah, corpboy, I gonna fuck you good. I wanna hear you scream,” he added as he leaned down to nip Jessman’s throat, his breath warm and scented with the bourbon he’d been drinking. “I like hearin’ you beg for my cock, Jessman. Good for you that I did. Kept you alive, din’t it?” 

Jessman shuddered at the meaning behind the words. The gunwhore had liked hearing him begging for release that first time, and that was the only reason he was still alive to worry about other zoners coming for him. 

If he’d reacted any other way.... 

He held on tightly to Bells. “Fuck me, please.” 

“Yeah, we get to that,” the dulcet voice whispered into his ear, still speaking in the language of the Free. “But I wanna play wif you firs’. I wanna taste you, I wanna hear you really beggin’ for what you want.” 

The researcher just sighed when he found that he was no longer holding the blond, the zoner gone, the song of the bells in the man’s hair telling him his lover had moved away from the bed, even if all he could see was the ghostly blur in his optics. 

Bells was lust incarnate and complete sexual frustration all rolled into a package that held Jessman’s attention in an emotional grip that went right for his groin. 

He sat up to find the gunwhore looking under the bed of all places. 

The slender man stood, the teasing hint of a smile quirking his mouth. Jessman couldn’t help but stare, the expression on the gunwhore’s face rocketing through his mind to coil like a serpent of pure lust in his balls. 

It took him a couple of heartbeats to notice the small duffle bag in Bells’ hand. Jessman frowned. He’d never seen the bag before, and he wondered where it had come from. Bells must have brought it, but...I don’t remember seeing it. Of course he also had no memory of being brought back to the NeuroTech enclave from their little jaunt into the LC FreeZone. Bells must have hidden the duffle there the night he’d brought Jessman home. 

The blond snapped his fingers, pointed to a spot near the edge of the bed. 

Jessman understood the command—he’d used it himself in a simvid or two. Obediently he crawled over to the blond, lowering his head to his master. His stomach fluttered, heart starting to pound. Nervous excitement. Anticipation. Cock hard and throbbing to the rapid beat of his heart, he waited. 

Wordlessly Bells set the bag down and, gaze on the researcher, slowly opened the zipper. Face unreadable, he continued to watch Jessman as he reached inside. 

Jessman stared, wide-eyed, his mouth going dry, the pace of his heart skipping to an even higher rate of speed as Bells pulled the first object out. Something black, and very familiar. Narrow braids black as sin falling from the handle, the cat o’nine was held in front of him so he could look at it. He’d learned to enjoy the stinging kiss of that whip, learned to dance to the music of the Sweet Sisters to the cat’s caresses. 

He swallowed hard, starting to rise to touch it. He didn’t have permission, and David stopped himself. Without permission, he feared to touch. This could very well be another of those unspoken rules he’d rather not risk breaking. 

Jessman found himself flushing with pleasure when Bells—his master—offered him one of those quirky half-smiles, acknowledging he’d been right not to touch what didn’t belong to him. 

He was learning. 

Bells proffered the whip, holding it in front of David’s face. He understood what he was supposed to do, and bowed his head to kiss the whip. Another thrill of pleasure filled him when Bells cupped his chin in one slender hand and gave him a kiss. 

“Good boy,” the blond murmured against his mouth and Jessman shivered from the sound of that voice, from the praise, the silver tones of the bells and the nearness of the whip. 

The cat fell open and was flicked up to trail along his shoulders, down his back in a caress that brought an involuntary moan from Jessman, his cock jumping, precum slipping over the heated head. 

Bells’ lips were still touching his when a firm hand encircled his dick and his whole body shook with the bolt of white-lightning sensation, of pure desire that ignited in his groin and blazed across his awareness. He groaned, his lips trying to latch hungrily on his master’s mouth. 

The hand let go, Bells pulling back to regard him with a look that left him reeling with desire. It wasn’t a look of cool dispassion; it was a smoldering, lust-fueled stare. 

Braided leather moved down his back to tickle at the crack of his ass. Jessman had to struggle with himself to remain where he was, to keep from lifting his butt in the air and begging for his master’s cock, or the kiss of Sister Pain. 

He closed his eyes, bowing his head to the man who all but owned him. What has he done to me? Jessman asked himself, hardly recognizing the man he’d become in these last few days. He’d always thought he was the alpha type, manly, in charge, in control. But one taste of the Sisters, one run-in with the blond gunwhore and he’d become a willing devotee to a need so powerful he would do anything, including toss aside all traces of masculine pride, just to get another taste. 

It was a sure sign of addiction, no question about it. 

A cool hand touched his cheek, slid down to gently tip his head up. 

He opened his eyes to neon cobalt. The face of an angel that hid the mind of a man capable of reducing him to the whimpering wreckage of unconstrained passion. Bells brushed a finger over his lips, and Jessman’s stomach was suddenly full of butterflies. 

This was also the man who’d refrained from killing him. Kept another zoner from shooting him dead not so long ago. 

He trembled under the lash of too much emotion. 

Passion. Terror. Love. 

Tears welled up in his eyes, were kissed away as strong arms enfolded him in an embrace. 

“Shhh...” Warm across his neck, hands sliding along his back, soothing reassurance. “Remember my promise.” 

Jessman dared to put his arms around the slender man, the muscles in his arms bunching, straining. He knew he was unable to hurt the gunwhore, so he clung to him as tightly as he could manage. 

The hands that caressed him went from soothing to enflaming as they ventured down to his ass, stroking the curve of his buttcheeks, teasing along the crack. 

“Master...please...” Jessman gasped as one slim finger slid into the crack, touched the sensitive skin of his anus. 

The blond laughed, the sound as musical as the chiming bells in his hair, but lower, and sexy. 

Warm and firm, the lips that kissed him sent a flash of desire through his body that swept away the shreds of his fear and left only the blaze of lust that burned in his balls, turning his dick into a bar of scorching hot flesh. Their tongues moved together in a languid exchange that intensified, both men gasping, Jessman holding tightly to the smaller man, not wanting the contact of their mouths to end. But the kiss did end, a hand taking his chin in a gentle but firm grip that forced him to look at Bells. 

“No one’s gonna hurt you, David. Don’t be scared, ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to you.” 

“That’s not...what’s wrong...” 

“Then what?” The blond’s gaze was searching, his expression questioning. 

In answer, Jessman touched the strands of the cat o’nine tails. “This has changed me so much.” 

“Ah...” Bells breathed in response, “Yeah. It do that to everyone. Sisters is like that.” Bells picked up the nine-tailed whip. “Never pictured youself yielding to another man, did you?” 

“No,” Jessman admitted. 

Bells smiled slightly, nodded his understanding. “Few men do. At first.” 

“What about you?” 

Bells shrugged, “Me?” He gave Jessman one of those odd little smiles, “I’m from the Free. You never know when you gonna to die. You just do what feels good, an’ hell with worryin’ ’bout stuff that don’t matter nohow.” 

“Oh.” Jessman sat there, playing with the braided tails of the whip. 

“Bet you never thought pain could be a good thing, did you?” 

Jessman shook his head in the negative. 

“’S what I thought. You learnin’ a lot of new shit now, huh?” 

Jessman couldn’t help the soft laughter he gave at that question. “Yes, I certainly am... Master.” 

Bells smiled. “You too pretty to kill, Jessman.” He leaned in, kissed the man with slow thoroughness, possessive, yet gentle. 

When it was over, Jessman looked up at him, eyes wide, full of the trust he was giving this man: gunwhore, zonewarrior, his lover. Paid or not, it hardly mattered. He belonged to the gunwhore now as surely as the gunwhore himself belonged to his broker. 

Bells caressed his face. “You still wanna play, or you wanna think shit over?” he asked as he put the cat down on the bed, where it lay coiled and waiting for use. 

Jessman glanced at the whip, then at the bag on the bed, curious about the contents. He couldn’t help wondering what else might be concealed in its depths. “Play,” he replied. 

“That what I thought,” Bells murmured, leaning in to kiss Jessman, their tongues entangling, the researcher left gasping, aching for his lover’s touch, hungry for more than his kisses. “You like playin’ wif me?” 

Jessman nodded. 

Bells smiled, and Jessman’s heart thumped in response, his cock jumping at the lustburn singing across his nerves. 

“Good. I make you a proper sub fucktoy yet, Jessman.” 

The words stopped the breath in David’s throat, and he shuddered as his mind wrapped around what that had to mean. Anticipation of new pleasures and games with the zoner added to his arousal, excitement heating his entire body, reddening his cheeks. 

Cobalt eyes watched him as the blond reached into the bag to pull out several bottles of what looked to be flavored sexlube, followed by a small package of warming oil. 

The researcher trembled, mouth gone dry, prick exuding a steady flow of precum, each crystal droplet sliding over his lust-darkened cockhead. 

It was all Jessman could do to stay where he was, on his knees, waiting, his gaze going from the blond and the bag that held more of the unknown to the tight coil of a black cat o’nine. He was looking at the whip when he caught motion from the corner of his eye and saw the blond pull a black leather collar from the bag. 

He swallowed, knowing where that collar was going. 

Cool fingers brought the collar around his neck and fastened the buckle just tight enough to make him feel it. He couldn’t help the shiver, goosebumps rising on his skin as the gunwhore placed it there. 

A hand touched his shoulder, pushing gently and he sat back on his heels, understanding yet another of Bells’ silent commands. 

Bells positioned him, touching, tapping until Jessman was sitting on his heels on the bed, shoulders back, head at a respectful angle, cock jutting between his spread knees. 

He was starting to feel like a show dog, and even that had the power to send a flare of heat through his body as he let the man control his every motion. 

The blond leaned close to Jessman, lips touching the researcher’s ear, his breath sending a shiver through the larger man as he whispered, “Beautiful. You was born to wear a collar.” 

Jessman didn’t know whether to be angry or embarrassed by the gunwhore’s unusual compliment, so he remained quiet, waiting to see what would happen next. It was exciting and also terrifying to allow the other man to have so much power over him, but he knew he wasn’t going to put an end to it. To the contrary, he wanted anything the blond chose to do that didn’t result in real injuries. 

Jessman groaned as Bells reached between his thighs and took a firm, yet gentle grip on his cock. The hand stroked slowly, teasing. Enough of that and Jessman would lose control, and his load, too. 

“You wearin’ that collar so easy. No objections? You okay being my pretty toy, David?” 

“Yes.” 

A golden eyebrow rose. 

Jessman felt a blush rise on his cheeks, the reaction a shock to him. Yet another change made by the too-attractive man who had him by the balls...and heart. 

“Yes, Master,” he replied, lowering his head. Simvid experience told him how he should act, even if he’d been the one on the receiving end of the sub’s obedience rather than being the sub himself. 

Jessman’s eyes closed as Bells gave him another kiss, the researcher surrendering to the moment, heart pounding, skin dimpling as he shivered in the cool air, his skin hot and damp with the heat of passion. It was all so good, the touch of the hand gliding smoothly along his shaft. Combined with the feel of the collar at his throat, it left him breathless. 

A tiny voice at the back of his mind cried for rationality, tried to demand that he push the blond away, take charge of the situation the way he would have done in a sim. 

But the greater part of his mind was only too happy to have things the way they were. 

Jessman lifted his arms to put them around Bells, only to have the hand on his cock let go, the blond taking both his wrists in a firm grip. 

“No touching until I say you can,” the blond warned as David’s arms were forcefully lowered, hands pressed firmly to the bed. “Those stay there, or no more playin’, David.” 

The grip and the way Bells was looking at him convinced Jessman that he should obey this time, so he nodded his acceptance, saw the gunwhore frown and said, “Yes, Master.” 

The smile that graced his lover’s face was reward enough for his obedience. 

The hand wrapped around his prick moved slowly, teasing. He groaned, the sound muffled by Bells’ mouth as he slipped his tongue into Jessman’s mouth, the dark haired man returning the kiss with an eager hunger. 

Tongues slipping together in a dance of passion, it was all Jessman could do to keep his hands at his sides and not try to pull the slender man into bed. He wanted to touch and being denied that ability, being forced to sit and let Bells do whatever he wanted to was just another aspect of this whole new world of sexual experience for Jessman. All of this was so new that each new demand, each departure from the norm added to the desire raging within the dark-haired man. And the fact that only his own discretion restrained him, kept him from touching Bells, left him fighting the urge to disobey. 

The slight weight of the collar around his neck was a reminder of what he was to Bells. 

Submissive. 

Pet. 

A gunwhore’s very own fucktoy. 

The kiss ended and Jessman found himself shaking from emotion, the effort to stay just as he was, passively accepting what Bells did to him even harder than it had been a moment ago. 

“You likin’ this, David?” 

Jessman nodded. “Yes... Master.” 

The smile again, and Jessman’s chest felt tight as Bells said, “Good. I’m likin’ it too. 

“And now we gonna play a bit more.” 

Jessman groaned at the sensation, another shiver rippling through him as the leather strap was buckled around his cock, identifying the strap as a cockring. 

“You ain’t gonna cum too fast this time,” Bells informed him. “Hope you wantin’ to play for more’n hour.” 

Jessman nodded. “Whatever you want.” 

“Yeah, you right ’bout that. It’s whatever I wan’, ain’t it? An you gonna do what I want, ain’t you?” 

“Yes, Master, I’ll do anything you want.” 

Neon-bright eyes regarded Jessman for a moment, “You sure ’bout that?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, we gonna see, ain’t we?” 

Bells picked up the bag and turned it over, dumping an assortment of black leather straps, glittering silver chains, handcuffs, and a larger assortment of anal plugs and dildos than Jessman had ever seen outside of an advertisement for one of the bigger pleasure stores. 

“I wouldn’t want us to get bored,” Bells said, the zoner accent totally gone. 

“I... ummm... see that,” Jessman replied, feeling the heat in his face as he realized the blond had come prepared to pleasure him in any way he chose. From the looks of the assorted items, Bells had a lot of plans. 

And he’d been planning to stay for a while too, if the pile was any indication. 

Bells was watching him intently. 

“So, umm...now what?” Jessman asked. 

Bells shrugged, but Jessman could see a fragmentary smile on the zoner’s lips, one so slight that he didn’t think most people would notice it. He was already becoming good at reading the nuances of expression on the younger man’s face. It was a face he could have happily watched every hour of every day. 

You’re such an idiot. In love with a man you can’t have. One who probably thinks you’re the best meal ticket that’s ever come along. 

But do I really care if that’s all I am to him? Do I really care, so long as he keeps coming back to me? And of course, he knew the answer to that was a definitive no. 

Jessman couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have this cool killer’s love, his devotion. 

Abrupt as the pounce of a hunting cat on its unsuspecting prey, the researcher was still blinking in shock as he found himself flat on his back on the bed, the weight of the gunwhore over him. His arms were pinned over his head, held in the vises of Bells’ hands. They seemed too small to have such strength—like the man himself—and he supposed that in the natural world in which any human was born, they would have been. But there was probably nothing natural left about the polymer-gel-enhanced man holding him. 

“You gonna play wif me, Jessman?” 

The way he was being held, arms over his head; his thigh between the apex of the blond’s legs; the hard bar of an erect cock pressing against him; the feel of leather; scent of gun oil, leather and bourbon; a firm thigh pinning his own cock to his belly; the harsh tones of zoner speech wrapped in the dulcet voice... Together, the wealth of sensory input was almost too much for the researcher to handle. His cock pulsed to the beat of his racing heart, wanting to let go in the mindmelt-fury of orgasm. And over each individual scent, sensation, urge was the ringing sweetness of the man’s trademark, the tiny objects that gave the man his name. 

It was too much for the man who only had the experience of simvid and far more tame lovers. Yet at the same time, it was far from enough. He wanted more, could never get enough of the man pinning him to the bed. 

“Master...” he moaned it, pleading, begging with a single word. 

Lips trailed over the side of his neck, kissing, teeth nipping, creating the tiniest flash of pain that was gone too quickly to be more than the ever-frustrating teasing. 

Jessman groaned and threw a strong leg over his lover’s hips, trying to hold him closer, seeking more friction, the harder contact of leather and flesh that would let him cum despite the leather strap binding his dick. It was there to force him to another kind of obedience to the blond, his ability to have an orgasm under the gunwhore’s control. 

“Bad boy.” A warm murmur in his ear, a warning nip on the tender earlobe. “Tryin’ to get off without no permission get you in trouble. That what you want? A bit of punishment to make you hot?” 

“I want to be fucked,” Jessman replied, tone more a demand than a plea. 

“You always in such a damned hurry,” Bells said as he kissed down David’s shoulder, the tip of his tongue darting out to glide across the firm line of a collarbone, following it back to the man’s throat. 

“And you drive me insane with all the teasing.” 

A velvet chuckle was followed by, “I aim to please.” 

“Then fuck me, dammit!” he demanded. 

“No. I ain’t ready, and neither are you,” was Bells’ reply. 

Bells’ mouth was locked on his throat, sucking, giving him a taste of new pain as he bruised the flesh. 

Jessman tried to rock his hips, wanting, needing. 

But he wasn’t getting. 

Fast as summer lightning, Bells was gone, leaving him with the ache in his neck and the agony of his balls. 

He blinked, seeing the ghostly images in his eyes. They hadn’t even cleared away when he felt hands on his hips, and the world spun as he was flipped onto his belly. So much power wrapped in his lover’s slim frame. Jessman was still amazed by what the small man could do, how easily he manhandled him as if he were far smaller than his six feet of solid muscle. He’d put a lot of effort into how his body looked. Hours at the gym. Bells handled him as if he were a lightweight. Or a child. Yet it was Bells himself that had the look of a teenage boy. 

His lover’s beauty and the sound of the damned bells in the man’s hair had been too much for Jessman to handle. He’d wanted him from the instant the gunwhore had stepped into his apartment. 

And that need, the hot lust he felt for the zoner was only getting worse, growing in intensity with every smile, caress, kiss, taste and thrust of cock the gunwhore gave him. 

A cold shock, wet and chill, hit his ass and his mind recognized what it was. Lubricant. 

“Maybe this settle you down,” Bells said to him. 

Something almost as cold as the lube was pressed to his ass, something hard, but it wasn’t a leather-clad dick. He turned his head, but didn’t quite manage to see what the gunwhore was doing because a firm hand shoved down between his shoulder blades. 

But he could feel it. The maddeningly slow pressure of something hard and tapered nudging at his tight anus. He relaxed, let whatever it was press inward. It was bigger than he was accustomed to, the width burning slightly as it dilated the ring of his anus. Then it hit the spot, white stars burning across the darkness as his eyes closed and his butt came up off the mattress. He groaned his pleasure, spreading his legs wider as the butt plug was seated firmly. Muscles tensed, pushed, his belly quivering, fighting the intrusion. It felt so good, the slight pain as his body found it couldn’t expel the invading object only adding to his pleasure. 

“You like that, don’t you?” 

Jessman’s only answer was a moan, the spasming of his own internal muscles making the large plug press against his prostate. He rocked his hips to get friction on his cock, the motion making the plug move. He gasped as another shower of meteor-spark pleasure flashed across his vision. 

A hand came down on his ass, keeping him from moving and he gripped the bed sheets in frustration. 

“We’re gonna take this a little slower, Jessman. I don’t want you cummin’ before I say you can. You understand me?” 

“Y...yes...Master,” he gasped out, wanting another taste of the pleasure he’d just gotten. He was also wondering what the blond was going to do to him this time. Strangely, Jessman was almost afraid to find out. Every time they fucked he changed in some way, becoming more willing to relinquish his will to the other man. David was only too willing to grant the gunwhore total control of his body, mind, and yes, even his very soul if that was what it took to keep Bells there with him. He didn’t ever want to lose this, or give it up. 

“You like what I do to you, so I don’t want to disappoint.” 

“You never have,” David managed to choke out. 

“No, and I ain’t gonna start now.” 

Jessman wanted to fuck the sheets, wanted to feel the plug as it stroked his insides, find the pace that would bring him to release. The hand on his ass dared him to try. 

For a few seconds Jessman remained motionless, obedient to the hand. But was that what Bells really wanted, or did he expect him to disobey? Was it the excuse Bells sought to really give him what he really wanted? 

He wavered, unsure of what he should do. 

Defy him and be punished, or obey and see what Bells has planned. Which does he want? What do I want? It was a real poser of a question. 

The gunwhore’s hand slid up his back, following the line of his spine. Jessman shivered as the man’s short nails raked his skin, the plug in his ass nudging the spot and sending a warm flash through his lower body. 

He gave an experimental thrust of his hips into the bed, felt the hand press into the center of his back. Another warning, but the resulting pressure did things to him. Pushed his cock into the covers, shifted the plug in his ass. Pleasure, teasing, taking him a fraction closer to release. 

It was a warning which Jessman chose to ignore this time, giving another thrust into the bed covers. 

“So you gonna be bad, huh?” 

Jessman didn’t answer. He did shove his cock into the blankets, rocking to feel the plug in his ass flash pleasure through him, bright as a laser’s light. 

There was another kind of flash, like a brand of red-hot metal on his ass. Bells’ hand coming down hard on a butt cheek. 

Punishment. 

His entire body jumped, which caused his dick to jam into the bed, his ass going tense, dragging the intruding rubber across his prostate, pulling a groan from him. 

He could feel the heat of the handprint, the skin burning. 

And, God help him, it was incredible. 

“New game,” Bells said right before his hand came down on David’s ass to leave a twin to the first hand print on the opposite side of the researcher’s butt. 

Jessman’s whole body tensed a second time. “Yes, yes!” he cried out, wanting another taste of the Sisters. Their pain, and the pleasure they brought. 

Fast as thought, two more slaps were delivered to his ass amid the song of his lover’s hair. 

It hurt. It hurt so bad. 

Flame burned in his vision, through his body. Heat gathering in his balls, streaming from the touch of the hard rubber inside him. 

It was so much worse than simvid. In vid, he could have gotten his release. 

But Bells was relentless. 

Giving pleasure in small increments, mixing in the sharp flavor of pain, teasing, punishing, rewarding. Probably getting hot listening, watching what he was doing to Jessman, watching his reactions. 

David understood what the man was doing in a pleasure-pain moment of total clarity. The games of dominance and submission, the seasoning of pain given to him, the slow teasing— they were as much for Bells as they were for him. Jessman recalled the way Bells had fucked him the first time. Joined by the link, minds and bodies locked in an act of sexual frenzy he couldn’t forget, but would never remember with the complete lucidity of their encounter in the shower that morning. The link between them that first time made the experience too intense, the kiss of the Sisters too new, the melding of living minds, living bodies more than his mind could retain in full detail. 

But there were glitter-bright parts he recalled. 

Bells getting off on the soaring mix of pain and the intense pleasure of fucking and of being fucked fed to him from Jessman’s own body. 

A hand cracked down on his ass, fire coursing along his nerves, restrained cock throbbing, aching, solid rubber stoking a fire of a different kind. 

  

Bells studied the hot-pain glow of Jessman’s reddened ass and bent down so the ends of his braids brushed across the firmness of the researcher’s butt, letting the chill metal of the bells in his hair, the softness of the grey feathers play across the heated skin. Close as he was now, he could actually feel the heat rising from the abused meat of David’s ass. 

He gripped a few of his braids and flicked the ends across the battered flesh, watching the muscles twitch, hearing Jessman’s impassioned groans. His own cock aching, wanting to be embedded in welcoming heat. The warmth of David’s yielding flesh. 

Alarming as it might have been to him just a day ago, Bells no longer sought to deny what he felt. Not to himself, anyway. But it was a whole different game when it came to admitting it to the man who had awakened his passions and gotten past those barriers. Walls of dispassion he’d erected in his mind, his soul, fortifications designed to keep him invulnerable. Jessman had assaulted the fortress he’d built around his heart, and torn it down as if they’d been nothing but paper. 

Attachment to people was dangerous. Like the attachments he had with Loreli, her daughter Jayzee. Vulnerabilities. Liabilities. 

Weaknesses. Exploitable if an enemy was determined enough, carried enough enmity in his veins to take it out on the people around Bells. People who might not have the guts to dance the flying lead tango with him. 

They were vulnerabilities. 

But both of them could defend themselves, had other protectors, other people they could depend on to keep his enemies at bay. 

David had only him. 

But it was far too late to put the genii back in the bottle. 

And right now he didn’t really want to consider the host of possible repercussions that might come about from his involvement with a corper. 

He trailed the braids over Jessman’s ass, going lower, flicking a bunch of feathers over the darker skin of David’s scrotum, the wrinkle of flesh between the division of ass and balls, hearing his lover’s cries. His own cock was oozing precum, and he had to fight the urge to turn Jessman over to shove his cock into the man’s wet mouth, or pull the plug from Jessman’s ass and fuck him. 

There was time for either one, but there was also time for other interesting diversions. 

He crawled farther onto the bed, knelt so that his own cock was hovering over Jessman’s behind, let a drop of precum fall. Using just the tip of a finger, he spread the slick fluid over Jessman’s butt, taking it as far as it would go. 

Jessman’s groans were wordless pleas, sounds that begged him for additional pleasure. Or perhaps it was pain that his lover requested with those maddening cries, his needy gasps and moans. 

Either way, Bells was only too happy to oblige. 

He shifted position, bent down to blow gently over the hot skin again, the rising heat warming his face. 

Jessman’s answering moan brought a tiny smile to his lips that became a devilish grin as he leaned down farther and blew gently. 

The pleased cry that came from his lover made the smile he seldom showed Jessman even brighter. Still grinning, knowing that David couldn’t see him because he was facedown, Bells crawled slowly up the long, lean body, his braids dragging over David’s ass, up his back until he was straddling the taller man’s hips, his leather-clad ass hovering over the man’s butt. 

He lowered himself slightly, letting a bit of his own weight rest on David’s ass, knowing exactly what that action would do to the plug jammed in there. How it would add to the heat of Jessman's abused butt. 

The sharp groan and the way Jessman’s hips bucked under him, followed by yet another sound of pleasure, was the only assurance he needed that his latest sexual assault was having the desired result. 

He pressed down a little harder and was rewarded by a breathless cry. 

When he started rocking gently, moving the plug, David went still and Bells watched as both of the man’s hands gripped the sheets. 

“You like this, but it still ain’t enough, is it?” 

“Nooo...” was the tense reply. 

He leaned forward, braids jangling, brushing along Jessman’s torso, across his shoulders to whisper into the dark-haired man’s ear, “You want me? You want my cock?” 

“Yesss...” was the hissed answer. 

He licked slowly along the edge of Jessman’s ear, breathing softly over the dampness, relishing the shudder of desire that rocked the solidly-made form under him, sent a tremor of answering need through his own body. 

David’s moans were intoxicating. 

“Pleeease....” 

Bells rolled off the other man, lay on his back, head turned to regard David, no trace of his earlier smile remaining, knowing how bland his expression was despite the raging inferno of lust heating his body. “You want me to fuck you, seems I’m wearin’ too many clothes.” 

The response was instantaneous, Jessman coming up off the bed to reach for him, the man fumbling with the unfamiliar buckle of Bells’ gunbelt before it opened, the leather slithering from around his hips. A hand brushed his erection, David’s effort to unbutton the leather made clumsy by the lust-tremor in his hands. 

Bells watched him, saw the desperate need, the willingness to do anything, everything he desired. 

The buttons yielded to Jessman, the man gripping the waistband and drawing them down his legs. His cock leapt free of the restraining pants. The cool air hitting the head of his prick was like a jolt of electricity through him. 

David’s mouth when it closed over the exposed flesh was good enough to draw a quiet moan of appreciation from him. He closed a fist in dark hair, his other hand stroking down a shoulder, closing on firm biceps. 

He was hyper-aware of the leather harness over his body, the leather wrapped around his dick, deadening some sensation, adding the feeling of constriction. 

The pleasure of Jessman’s mouth was removed, and his legs were pushed wider, David getting bold. The researcher moved into the space between his thighs and Bells let him have his moment of fun until a large hand closed around his cock, stroking it hard enough to overcome the reduction in sensation the leather caused. 

“Yeah, you is a real bad boy, Jessman,” he said, ending it on a pleased sigh. “But you ain’t gonna get nothin’ but that plug in your ass if you keep doin’ that.” 

He watched as Jessman leaned down, kissed his belly, licked his way upward. 

It felt good. Damned good to let the other man play. To let him get in some teasing of his own. He closed his eyes, letting the flames build, enjoying how the man worshipped his body with touches of his mouth, his tongue and hands. 

Only too late did he realize that Jessman had removed the plug from his ass, the man swinging a leg over his hips with the intention of going for a ride. 

He took Jessman by the hips and dumped him onto the mattress, rolling aside, off the bed to stand staring at the researcher. 

Bells wasn’t mad, though. David’s attempt to get what he wanted amused him, brought a faint smile to his lips that he couldn’t completely hide behind his typical demeanor of cool zonewarrior dispassion. 

Dark eyes stared at him, frustration and fear warring on the man’s face. 

Bells gave Jessman a better glimpse of his smile, watched the fear drain away. But the frustration, the desperate need for release was clearer. A genuine smile crossed the gunwhore’s mouth and he crawled onto the bed, hands pushing David to the mattress, gazes locked. 

“Oh, yeah, you is sure a bad bad boy, Jessman. Tryin’ to get what you want like that. Clever boy, that’s what you is. But you ain’t in my league, babyboy,” he told the corper as he leaned down, brushed his lips over Jessman’s jaw, nipped his earlobe. A tiny bit of pain to punish, to pleasure, to tease. “I didn’t give you permission to take that nice toy out your ass, now, did I?” 

“No...Master,” was Jessman’s near breathless reply. 

“You know what happens to bad slaves?” he asked, pulling on the collar around Jessman’s neck with his teeth, reminding him that it was there. 

“N...no, Master.” 

He could hear the racing beat of Jessman’s heart, feel the hammering pulse under his lips as he kissed Jessman’s throat right beneath the place where the collar rested. 

A taste of fear. Something unknown. Something dangerous. Predatory. 

He knew he awakened all those things in Jessman. Had smelled and tasted fear. Reacted to his cyber-enhanced speed the way a man would react to having a tiger in the room with him. 

It was a heady enticement, part of what drew him to Jessman. That power he had over the man. The fear he could cause, even though he’d never really harm the researcher. Never do anything that would damage or injure him. 

He’d thought about it that first night. Thought about how he’d kill the man to satisfy the contract with Megalli-Loran. But the way Jessman had taken to the kiss of the Sisters, the way he’d cried out, begged, demanded had awakened something in him. Something he’d long thought dead. 

Compassion. Mercy. Desire. 

Love. 

Exactly when or how any of it had happened, he couldn’t say. But somewhere between whipping David and fucking him, he’d lost himself. Lost any desire to do murder, make money off the handsome man’s death. 

So here they were. Lovers. And Bells knew he would never want it any other way. 

Jessman’s body moved under him. “Master... please...” 

“Hmmm....” he murmured into Jessman’s ear, the tip of his tongue sliding over the curve of the man’s ear, darting in, a warm breath following. 

Beneath him, David shuddered, whimpered. 

Submitting. Giving. Accepting. 

Perfect. 

His. 

Bells crouched, turned the other man over, moving so he straddled the taller man’s hips, his leather crisscrossed pelvis pressing the sensitive flesh of the researcher’s cock. He grabbed the man’s wrists, forced them over his head. Dick to dick, he held Jessman pinned to the bed, stared into the man’s dark eyes, watched the passion-touched beauty of the man’s face. 

He rocked his hips slowly, rubbing his leather-covered cock against the other man’s naked flesh, feeling the underside of Jessman’s prick against the precum slickness of his own exposed cockhead. 

“God...” Jessman groaned. 

“Nah,” Bells murmured, “just a gunwhore.” 

David’s choking laughter brought another smile to his face. 

“Bitch.” 

“Yeah, that more like it,” he said, struggling to maintain the speech of the Freezone as his own level of arousal mounted higher. Cock touching cock, sparring. 

It wasn’t enough, but he wasn’t ready to surrender to his own desire. 

Not just yet. 

He wanted to hear Jessman beg for his cock again. 

  

“You’re going to make me insane,” Jessman moaned as he tried to free his arms, knowing how futile that would be even before he made the attempt. 

“Insane with lust? Yeah, I think that might be fun, make you beg me for what you want, like you did when I had you in the Web back at the Fractured Mirror.” 

 “Haven’t I begged you enough?” Jessman asked as he struggled for freedom. The pressure of the leather-wrapped cock pressing his own erection was yet more tactile frustration. Hard enough to make him want, not hard enough to give him what he needed. 

“I dunno, have you?” the blond asked. 

Jessman smiled. “Probably not, from the sound of it.” 

“You learnin’, I give you that.” 

Their faces were so close Jessman was tempted to turn aggressor and kiss the zoner. He refrained, only to feel the blond’s mouth close over his in a kiss that scorched him in a flashfire of lust to the ends of his very toes, his whole body aflame by the time Bells broke the kiss. 

They were both breathing hard, cobalt and chocolate gazes locked, faces flushed with desire. 

Futile as it was, Jessman tried to free his wrists from Bells’s grip, making a bid at escape, to take control and have what he wanted from the gunwhore. A dick in his ass, or his prick sunk in the narrow butt of the blond. It was no use, the deceptively slim blond restraining him with inhuman ease. The ease of a heavily enhanced warrior against human flesh. 

“You bein’ bad now. You wanna be punished?” 

The softly-spoken query and the struggle was increasing Jessman’s desire, the friction across his cock combining to take his needs to a feverish pitch. “Fuck me.” 

“You always in such a damned hurry,” Bells stated. 

The blond’s braids were tickling him, the cool touch of the bells, the softness of the feathers just another layer of sensation to pique his senses, increase his arousal. 

Professional. Gunwhore. 

Bitch certainly knows what he’s doing, Jessman thought as he tried to throw his legs around Bells’ hips. 

The hands left his wrists, but by the time he realized it they were pinned firmly to the bed again, and the insides of his thighs stung where he’d been slapped, punishment for violating the unspoken rules. 

“Yep, you bad to the bone,” Bells murmured in his ear. “Good thing for you, I like it when you is bad.” 

David was just about to make another protest, another effort to escape when warm lips began to kiss their way down his chest, the tip of his tongue flicking over a lust-tightened nipple, silencing any protest, ending any thought of trying to escape. 

“I think we ready for more now,” he heard the blond murmur right before he was spun over by the hands that had held him immobile. He felt the hands gripping his hips and dragging him to his knees. Teeth closed gently on his ass, biting, but not leaving a mark. 

Still stunned by the suddenness of it all, he let the blond position him as if he were nothing but a doll. A toy. He was pulled back to a sitting position, the blond at his back, a hard cock pressing into his spine, the butt plug shifting around inside him, sending bursts of electric pleasure through him. He could feel the leather-clad cock pressing his ass, the gunwhore’s breath warm on his shoulder, teeth nipping as he moaned. 

Fingers closed in his hair, tilting his head back, a hot, greedy mouth closing over his, the silken head of a cock brushing his hip, a hand closing around his prick, stroking slowly. 

He was falling, floating, a myriad of sensations, pleasures; the dull burn of his asscheeks, the breathless kiss rendering him unable to think, to resist. All he could do was accept, feel, submit. 

The kiss ended and Jessman found himself gasping for breath, dizzy from need of oxygen. Or maybe the power of the kiss had stolen every bit of breath from his body. 

Either way, he was quite content to lean back against his lover and let Bells do whatever he chose, the hand on his erection proof that the teasing was over. 

Precum drooled from the head of his cock, only to be swept away by the blond’s thumb. Jessman groaned, grabbed a handful of braids, held on tight. He wanted release, but he also wanted Bells to stop what he was doing so they could fuck. The anal plug filling him felt good, but it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted a living cock, Bells’ cock, thrusting deep inside him. 

He was shoved forward, the feeling of how he’d gotten there—the fading pressure of hands hitting his shoulders—only registering after his hands hit the bed and his legs were pulled wide, ass neatly presented for his master’s pleasure. 

His master. 

The collar around his neck proclaimed what he was. 

Slave. 

Pet to a gunwhore. 

Fucktoy to a zonewarrior. 

He was all those things. 

And he wouldn’t have changed it for all the power and prestige in the world. 

Hands caressed along his flanks, and he turned his head to find the blond’s cobalt gaze locked on him, lust making them flash bright as summer lightning in the dimness. 

“Mine,” the zonewarrior said as he reached between Jessman’s legs to grip his balls, the tips of his fingers brushing along the base of his cock. He moaned, rocked backward, bumping his ass into Bells’ pelvis, feeling a hard prick glide along his inner thigh, feeling dampness, slick precum. 

“Yeah, definitely mine,” Bells repeated. 

Skillful fingers rolled his scrotum, Jessman groaning, trembling with the building need to cum, so close, so far from completion. Head dropping low, he could watch that slender hand as it touched him, drove him wild, made him want. 

“Fuck me! Please fuck me, master!” 

Dulcet laughter, soft chiming, a hand striking his hip, the sharp crack of sound, the pain entering his mind, a cock invading his ass, the burn-electric pleasure of the Sweet Sisters invading his senses. 

“Master!” escaping his mouth as the cock drove inward. Bereft when it departed. 

A pause, torture, loss, wordless plea passing through parted lips, body trying to follow the hard shaft, desperate for its return. 

A hand closing around his own aching cock, firm, demanding. 

Owner and pet. 

Master and slave. 

Penetration. Deep. Hard. Fast. The lean body of his lover slamming against his ass, cock driving in, wrenching a cry of bliss, of heaven from his panting mouth. Inferno heat blazing through him. Crucible of forever change, the final melting of a man into a new form. 

Proud man to willing slave. 

The shaft of his master’s desire went deep, not only the physical one, but also the psychological, altering his perceptions, stealing thought, all will away from the man being fucked. Owned. Enslaved. 

Higher his soul soared, carried on the winds of a passion storm raging through him, driving him along, helpless slave, willing victim of passion. He fragmented into a million shatter-rainbow sparks, his shout echoing off the walls as he achieved penultimate joy. 

Panting, shaking from the violent fuck-storm of emotion, David collapsed onto the bed, barely cognizant of anything beyond the scope of his own sated flesh. 

Eyes closed, he felt Bells lay down beside him, a hand gently stroke his sweat-damp brow. 

Gentle. Tender. 

A lover’s touch. 

Jessman shuddered, refusing to think about anything, letting himself be lost in the moment. Lost in the dreamy unreality of make-believe-he-is-mine-and-pretend-I-am-his. 

Pretend we’re in love. 

Forever. 

Arms enfolded him, held him close, and he let himself drift along through the twilight mist, following the glow of what-if that gave him Bells as his lover. His love. 

  

Bells held Jessman, his own body still tense with need, listening to David’s ragged gasps gradually slow. The researcher was relaxed, and within moments he was drifting toward sleep. 

Debating whether to take his problem in hand, Bells decided against it, the ache in his groin close to unbearable, but his resolve stronger than his flesh, even that most demanding part of his flesh. 

He let Jessman sleep, lying there, holding the bigger man, letting his thoughts wander to what-ifs and vain hopes of a future. A future that could never happen. 

What would it be like to live here with David? What would it be like to have him as my lover? To have him like this, asleep in my arms every night? What would it be like to be able to wake up by his side every morning? To kiss him and be able to say, ‘I love you’ with impunity before he leaves for work? 

He shifted position slightly, felt the hard jab of reality, the cold steel of a revolver in its holster digging into his hip. 

Well, you won’t ever know, because none of that will ever happen. 

But God, how he wanted it. Wanted love, real honest love, with and from this attractive dark-haired man. 

Blond moment, he told himself harshly. 

A soft sigh, Jessman wiggling closer, still mostly asleep, an arm crossing Bells’ chest. 

Not something any of his clients had ever done, that small act of tenderness. Even asleep, Jessman could disarm him, throw him off balance and make him have so damned many stupid, foolish, completely mind-fogging thoughts. 

And God help him, he wanted Jessman as his lover with an intensity so powerful it was hard to breathe, the tightness in his chest constricting his breath, making his heart pound, lighting a few of the indicators at the bottom edge of his vision. 

So love had the same effect as physical stress on his enhancements. 

The irony brought a smile to his lips. 

Yeah, being in love is certainly stressful. Damn. There has got to be a way to make this work. There has to be. Even if he doesn’t love me, I still want to see him. Shit... Want, hell, I need to see him, to kiss him crazy and fuck him blind. 

He stroked Jessman’s damp hair, heard the soft murmur of pleasure, smiled because it reminded him of a cat’s purring. 

The hand resting on his chest twitched, fingers brushing across one of his nipples. He couldn’t quite restrain the tense groan as the touch sent a searing heat into his groin and made his cock jump. 

Beside him Jessman’s lax body tensed, heartrate returning to a pace that said he no longer slept. Dark eyes regarded him, a hand wrapped around his cock. “You didn’t cum, did you?” 

Bells gave David a quirky smile. “What do you think?” 

A frown turned Jessman’s mouth downward, the hand stroking slowly, grip firm on his cock. “Do you want this? Or do you want something else?” 

“This is...good...” Bells let his control go, the roiling heat coalescing in his balls telling him it wouldn’t take much more. He’d been close when he’d lost Jessman to the inevitable force of arousal made to last longer than the researcher could tolerate. 

Jessman kissed him and he parted his lips, allowing the penetration of another man’s tongue into his mouth with a sigh. 

A thumb swept across the head of his cock and his hips came up off the bed with the blaze of intense pleasure that rocketed through him. The touch was repeated, this time with more pressure, the pad of the digit finding the tiny slit, pressing, gathering precum that was swept over the soft skin. 

Body tensing as the passion built, Bells’ hands found Jessman, caressing, urging him on, the kiss growing more feverish. 

The grip around his cock combined with the pressure and stroking drove Bells, taking him up then dashing him down in an instant of unrelenting frenzy as his cum spattered over his belly. 

He was still struggling to breathe when he felt the delicate tip of a tongue lapping at his stomach, cleaning the semen away. 

David. His David, lapping the evidence of weakness, the power of a slave over his master away from his master’s body. 

Bells wanted to say the words. Wanted to admit the truth. 

He kept his silence, and caressed the man’s dark hair. 

  

To his dismay, Jessman’s stomach rumbled, his body letting him know that he could not actually live off sex, regardless how much he might want to try. 

The blond frowned. “Hungry?” he asked. 

Jessman smiled. “I guess so. But it’s late, and I need to get some sleep.” 

“Well, you need to eat too, so come on,” Bells ordered as he took David’s hand and pulled. 

Reluctantly Jessman followed his gunwhore to the kitchen and took a seat, watching, amused, as his lover opened the freezer, took out one of the frozen meals and tossed it into the micro. He punched a few buttons and while the meal started to cook, Bells stalked toward him. 

Jessman couldn’t do anything but sit there and stare. Clad only in the black leather harness, the wild tangle of braids falling across his face, he made a surreal contrast to the too-bland appearance of the kitchen. 

The researcher’s heart started to race as the boy stalked toward him. He knew Bells wasn’t as young as he appeared to be, knew it, but the way he looked as he crossed the kitchen took David’s breath away and made his limp cock twitch to partial life. 

The blond reached Jessman, his hands falling on the man’s broad shoulders as he straddled Jessman’s lap. Firm asscheeks pressed and the tight wrapping of leather over the blond’s balls pressed to his cock. 

Jessman had thought his body was done for the night, too exhausted from the loveplay they’d already engaged in. He discovered he was wrong when his cock tightened at the contact of the firm ass, the leather that encased Bells’ scrotum, his racing heart filling it, resurrecting the flesh. 

A mouth touched his throat, teeth nipping and he laughed as he slid his arms around the sleek killer in his lap. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” 

Bells teeth nibbled along his shoulder. “Nah, I ain’t want you dead. You too much fun livin’ and breathin’, Jessman,” he murmured as he rocked his hips. 

“You are such a bitch.” 

The dulcet music of the blond’s laughter hit Jessman in the pit of his stomach, his dick thrumming to the sound of the gunwhore’s voice, and the even softer chiming coming from his hair. 

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Bells replied as he slipped from the chair and dropped to his knees in front of Jessman. Cobalt eyes, neon brilliant, looked up at the dark-haired researcher. “Good thing for you, too. I just love the taste of cock.” 

David didn’t even have a second to prepare himself, the warm heat of a slippery tongue sweeping along the full length of his erection. He groaned as Bells engulfed the head, lapping at it delicately with just the tip of his tongue like a kitten with a bowl of cream, his lips firm, holding his cock just below the end of the glans. 

Teasing him. But that was what Bells did. Teased, then took him on a mind-melting journey into a realm of pleasure more intense than any he’d ever experienced with the whores of Megalli-Loran, NeuroTech or even in the simvids. 

Jessman knew he had it bad. Lust. Love. Emotion overrunning him until he could hardly breathe from the intensity of feelings. 

And what did it matter if he loved a gunwhore? 

He could hold the secret inside himself. Keep it and savor the taste. Sweet. Salty. Dangerous. 

Like the taste of Bells himself. 

  

Bells sucked until he was sure Jessman was ready, then got to his feet and slipped into Jessman’s lap. Keeping his weight on his feet, he gripped Jessman’s cock, watching the man’s expression as he lowered himself down, seating the hard shaft between his ass cheeks then taking a seat in the man’s lap, hips tilted forward. 

“You been good,” he told Jessman, seeing the shocked, excited disbelief as what he was doing fully registered on the man’s face. 

He took Jessman’s right hand in his and guided it to his own semi-hard prick. “You play with this, an’ I’ll make you feel good.” 

He saw Jessman swallow, nod, the hand closing around his cock in a fist so tight it hurt, made him sigh in pleasure and thrust into the circle of fingers and palm. 

“Yeah, you learnin’ how to please me. You bein’ very good, Jessman. Very good.” 

Giving the man a smile he braced his feet, started to rock his ass slowly, his butt cheeks gripping Jessman’s dick. He saw the researcher's eyes widen in shock and smiled. “No one done this with you?” 

The dark head shook in denial. “No.” 

“Well you learn somethin’ new every day, so I heard,” Bells told him as he rolled his hips. 

Taking a good grip on the back of the chair with one hand, he touched David’s lips with the other. “You got such a kiss n’ fuck mouth, Jessman. I like thinkin’ ’bout how you sucked my dick earlier. You mouth hot and wet on my cock.” 

He felt the corpborn man shudder at his words, felt the swell of the cock between the cheeks of his ass as the man’s hips tried to move with him. 

“Nah, you sit still, Jessman. Let me do the work,” he murmured as he brushed the pad of his thumb over the man’s lower lip, another ripple of lust seizing the bigger man beneath him. 

He liked the power, the way he could make David dance to the lustsong he played. Dominance and submission. Of power and powerlessness. 

It excited him. It excited Jessman. Became a pleasurable game for them both and no harm done. Not to him. Not to Jessman. Not really. 

All he’d done was expand the man’s sexual horizons. 

And Jessman certainly wasn’t complaining. 

No, not at all. 

In fact, Jessman was moaning, appreciative of what he was doing to him, giving to him, showing him. 

Bells stepped up the grinding of his hips, flexing muscles in his back, belly and thighs to get the right contact, the right speed. 

From the gasps, groans and the fuckblush forming on Jessman’s cheeks, the researcher was having a very good time. 

And that was what it was all about, giving them both a good fucking time. 

  

This was something he'd never suspected it was possible to do, something Jessman had never had done to him, not even in vid. The gunwhore was treating him to yet another sexual experience he'd never forget. Something else that made him want the blond, not just for a night, a string of nights. No, he wanted to keep the younger man. Keep Bells as his lover for good. Pay him to stay, make it worth his time to never leave. 

There had to be a way. 

Jessman groaned, the intense pleasure, the newness of how it was being achieved making it even sweeter, his hand closing on Bells’ prick. Dragging on the restraint of the leather that bound the blond's cock, he pressed down on the head with the firm pad of his thumb playing across the silken skin the way he’d done in the bedroom. 

“Yeah, just like that,” Bells said, his voice rough with pleasure. 

The motion of his hips was driving Jessman rapidly toward climax, the researcher stroking the blond's cock rapidly, trying to bring Bells to orgasm with him. 

Jessman could feel how close he was getting, the unusual manner in which Bells was pleasuring him hurtling him toward climax at a frenetic pace. 

The blond changed the angle of his body in Jessman’s lap and the researcher felt the head of his cock nudge into the tight ring of the blond’s anus. The second time he slid in, feeling warm wet heat, the flesh of the zoner’s body accepting his cock. 

“You been good, Jessman. I thought you deserved a taste of what you want,” the slim gunwhore said, right before his firm lips closed over Jessman’s in a kiss that came on like a conquering horde, stealing his breath, overrunning his senses, turning what cognizant thought he still retained into a churning sea of mindless need. 

He pumped the cock in his fist, hard and fast, his own dick wrapped tightly in the gunwhore’s yielding body, the silvery glissando of the bells in the blond’s hair becoming a hymn to love and passion in his ears. 

A shudder passed through the blond in his lap, the prick in his hand spasming hard as Bells came, semen spattering his belly, the dulcet voice groaning in ecstasy as the tight glory of the gunwhore’s ass clamped down on his own straining flesh. 

It was too much. His mind blanked out, white-haze filing his vision, a sound, harsh and sharp echoing off the light fixtures overhead. His own scream of release sounding strange, unfamiliar in his own ears. 

Sobbing for breath, Jessman pulled the zoner close and held the slim form to his sweat-slicked body, Bells’ arms dropping over his shoulders, his head resting against David’s cheek. Cool bells and beads pressed to the side of his face, a tuft of grey feathers tickled his jaw. 

They were both gasping for breath, Jessman’s heart racing as if he’d just spent an hour in the gym doing a hard and fast series of exercises. 

He smiled, sated, relaxed, just enjoying the pleasant sensation of being able to hold the man in his lap. Bells was heavier than someone of his slim build and stature should be, but Jessman didn’t care if his legs were starting to go a little tingly. The moment was too precious to surrender because of something so inconsequential. 

He could feel Bells relaxing, his breathing slowing much more rapidly than Jessman’s was. More clue to the extensive modifications that had been done to the man in his arms. Enhancements like that cost a great deal of money, and that made him wonder who had invested so much time and cash on a gunwhore, a zoner living in the LC. 

And that line of thought made him wonder exactly who the man in his arms was. 

Common street born scum didn’t have the blond’s beauty. His apparent education— he was perfectly able to speak as concisely and with such perfect diction as any corpborn citizen, something no true zoner from any Freezone would have been capable of doing—or such a wide variety of skill sets as the blond seemed to have. 

A soft sigh— was it contentment, sexual fulfillment or something else?— ghosted across his cheek. 

He turned his face into the Medusa fall of braids, breathed in the scent of his lover; leather, sweat, the tang of gun oil, the distinct musk of sex and sin clinging to the blond. 

A breathless sigh shuddered out of him, his arms tightening around the gunwhore in his embrace his need for the zoner expressed in a wordless appeal, a silent prayer to whomever might listen. Please find a way for this to last. Please let him love me as I love him. Please, God, please don’t let him leave... 

Bells slipped off his lap, and the prayer died unfinished. 

Jessman just stared at him, amazement, awe, near worship in his dark eyes. 

“That was...” he shook his head, unable to find anything to say that would explain how that brief moment, the instant his cock had slid into the gunwhore had felt. 

“Maybe we do that again sometime,” Bells said, giving Jessman one of the little smiles that always wrenched his heart. 

“I’d like that,” Jessman agreed, willingly because it meant the blond would stay, come back, be with him again. 

“Good. Call it a date,” the blond said and actually winked at him, the tiny act sending a pang of longing through the researcher’s heart. 

He wanted Bells the way a starving man craved food, the ache in his own belly not even close to approaching the ache in his heart, the love he felt for Bells. 

“Now maybe we eat, then go back to bed. What you think about that?” 

“Sounds good,” Jessman grinned. 

Bells turned and sauntered toward the refrigerator, the motion of his slim hips drawing David’s gaze with the same intensity a moth was drawn to a flame. 

He was still breathing hard from their last sexual escapade when he noticed a red light blinking on his EnCoSet. He frowned. Red meant it was an urgent message, yet the system hadn’t told him about it. 

Then he remembered telling it to turn off its communication mode. 

He sighed as Bells opened the freezer and started rummaging through the frozen meals. He looked so domestic, so tranquil standing there in David’s kitchen that he got up and walked over to watch. 

But that blinking red light wouldn’t let him get lost in daydreams of having the gunwhore as his live-in lover. 

“EnCoSet, please play urgent message.” 

“Yes, Mr. Jessman,” the softly feminine voice replied. 

There was a tiny pause, then the voice of Jessman’s manager burst forth from the mechanism. “Jessman, I don’t know what sort of brainfart you had today, and frankly I don’t care! I’ve just had a good look at your lack of team effort and failure to do anything for an entire day. This isn’t the sort of thing that goes unnoticed here, regardless of what that other company you worked with might have allowed you to get away with.” 

David visibly wilted as the diatribe continued. 

“If this is your idea of working toward a goal, then you obviously aren’t the researcher for this, or any other job here at NeuroTech. We had high hopes for you because of your record with those other people, but I see we misjudged. Be in my office at ten tomorrow morning. Don’t bother to report to your lab.” 

“End of message,” the EnCoSet stated soothingly. 

The researcher stared at the machine in horror and would have collapsed to the ground in shock except a strong arm and a solidly muscled body were there to keep him on his feet. 

“My God...” David choked out, looking at the blond, his face showing the devastation that the news had wrecked on his emotions. He’d gone from a sexhigh to the pit of deepest despair in the span of a few moments. Coupled with the prior shock of nearly being killed by Stone, the man’s psyche had been strained to the edge of sanity. 

He followed numbly as Bells guided him to a chair in the kitchen, the deceptively slender blond handling him easily, but with a gentleness that would have surprised him if he’d been in any mental condition to be aware of such details. 

The horror of being fired, shoved out the nearest exit with nothing more than the clothing on his back sent a frission of horror through the researcher. 

If NeuroTech threw him out...what options did he have? 

Megalli-Loran might take him back. 

If he could reach them before someone they’d hired managed to kill him. 

But they might not, and then where would he be? 

Out on the streets. Out in the Freezone. 

Maybe he could convince another polymer gel company to take him in as a lab assistant. No matter what else happened, he still had his degrees. 

But how long would that take? 

And Megalli-Loran still wanted him dead. 

Without a job, how could he pay his lover, what would make it worth Bells’ time to stay with him? 

Certainly not just the sex. 

Then it dawned on him that Bells wouldn’t stay with him because he himself would have no residence. Nowhere to call his home. 

But Bells must have a home. Some place he called his own. 

Would the gunwhore let him stay there? 

And if he did, what would the price be? 

Maybe he could become a whore. 

A soft, somewhat hysterical giggle was torn from him at the thought of a corpborn man with three degrees becoming a whore in the Freezone. 

He had a doctorate in cybermedicine, and accompanying degrees in biochemistry and polymer gel technology, and here he was actually considering becoming a common prostitute just to stay alive. 

  

There were tears in the dark eyes, tears that spilled over dark lashes, and Bells brushed them gently away. 

“This isn’t the end of the world, David.” 

The man laughed, the sound harsh. “Isn’t it? I’ve just lost my job! My God, I may have to live...out there.” 

Bells knew where ‘out there’ was to Jessman. The LCFree. His own home. 

While the thought of it terrified the corporate born and bred man, it was just home to Bells. Dangerous. Polluted. But it was home. 

And there was no way in hell he’d want David out there with him. 

“Not going to happen,” he said to David, gripping the man’s broad shoulders and trying to catch his gaze. But Jessman wasn’t looking at him. 

“David, they aren’t going to throw you away over one lapse in judgment. They might threaten to do it, but they won’t. They wanted you badly enough to grab you from Megalli-Loran, they won’t just dump you onto the street over a day of work missed.” 

“But they’ve taken my lab away.” 

Bells caressed Jessman’s cheek, “Maybe, but I wouldn’t be too worried. Just think about it for a moment. They want you scared and willing to work even harder to keep what you’ve got. Taking everything from you right now would mean that the effort you and your team have already put into what you’re doing will be wasted. That’s money gone and no gain for the expenditure already made. Do you really think they’ll do that?” 

He could see the fear on Jessman’s face and had a good idea what the man was thinking about. Being thrown out of the corporate world, thrown out on the streets like so much trash for pickup. 

What David didn’t realize was that Bells would never let that happen. 

Even if it meant he had to kill people, he’d do it to assure David’s safety and happiness. 

And maybe that was one of the answers. 

A few dead bodies strategically left in a few corporate offices he’d choose with surgical precision. A killjob physician excising a malignant tumor from David’s life. A few curt notes of warning. 

Nothing he couldn’t handle for the man he loved. 

“David, look at me.” 

Dark eyes lifted, Jessman obeying without thought. 

Bells smiled, his expression softer than anything David had ever seen, and he touched his lover’s face in a gentle caress meant to soothe. “Don’t worry. It will work out, I promise.” 

Jessman sighed, obviously still remembering the anger in his manager’s voice. “I want to believe you, but,” he shrugged. “But I made a very serious mistake today.” 

Bells caressed Jessman’s face, leaned down to kiss him their lips melding together; a promise spoken with a lover’s silent assurances. 

Their lips parted, Bells regarding the man he loved with a mix of tenderness and fiercely protective kill-em-all, sort-it-out-later passion. 

If this had been the LC, if David lived out there with him, that’s exactly what he’d have done. Washed the fear away from his lover in a bloodbath of violence, of unrelenting protective destruction. 

But this was corpland, and he had to tread lightly here, make the point with the cutting edge of a laser scalpel, not the hell and be damned hail of lead he’d have used in the LC. 

But what David needed most right now was reassurances. Support. 

He needed to believe his world wasn’t going to come crashing down in ruin. 

Even if it was probably a lie. 

“They wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of stealing you from Megalli-Loran if they didn’t think you were worth the effort. Everyone has an off day. Tell them it was something you ate.” 

Bells saw the bittersweet smile that curved Jessman’s mouth at his mild teasing. “It’s more like something that fucked me.” 

“Yeah, but you don’t want to tell them that, do you?” 

“No,” David replied, laughing a bit, the mood forced. 

There was no lying to a heavily enhanced zoner like himself, and he understood that David was as probably aware of that fact as Bells himself was. 

“I don’t think they’d take that well,” the dark-haired man added, sighing and turning his gaze up to regard him. 

“Me either,” Bells admitted, reaching out to touch the worried face that looked at him with such soul-twisting sorrow. Cold rage filled Bells, the desire to do dead the people who threatened this man, his love warring with the rational half of his mind. The half that told him there were other, less bloody-handed ways to deal with such things. 

But the desire was there all the same. The Dark Lady always at his shoulder, Her unholy chill gaze watching him as he unwittingly worshipped her in rivers of blood. Savior to some, merciless devil to others. 

Bells shivered, knowing the cause, refuting it and blaming the cold air of the room for the chill that swept over him. 

He offered the gunwhore a wan smile. “You’re not worried about this, but it’s not something that should worry you, is it?” the researcher asked him. 

Bells debated the answer he would give the other man. If he said too much he could give away exactly how he felt about Jessman, and he didn’t want Jessman—or anyone—knowing what an idiot he was. On the other side of the double-edged blade that was the situation he found himself in now was the fact that saying nothing would do just as much harm to Jessman’s frayed nerves. And the middle road was going to be like threading through a minefield. 

So what else is new? 

The Free dialect was gone, dropped so he could speak to David more sincerely than the zonerspeak permitted. “David, you’re a client.” Pretty middle ground there, he thought as he tried to tread on careful verbal ground. “And the loss of any client is a pretty serious business to me.” He sighed, leaned back against the kitchen table and crossed his arms over his chest, the room’s chill starting to seep into his skin as the sweat dried along his back. 

Like David, he needed to eat—a Cyclopean yellow light was staring at him from the corner of his vision—but there were other things to handle, first and foremost being Jessman’s rollercoaster emotions which had to be brought to a satisfactory stop. Just how he was going to manage that he wasn’t quite sure, but he had to give it a try since he was the one who’d started them into motion in the first place. 

“That’s all I am to you, isn’t it?” 

The bitterness in the man’s voice shocked Bells to the center of his being, revealing another facet of the ride the man’s emotions were taking. 

It wasn’t the answer he’d hoped for, and while it wasn’t uncommon for a client to form an attachment with a gunwhore, it usually took weeks, months for something like that to happen. 

And yet... Could it be possible? the gunwhore wondered. 

But that was one road Bells wasn’t ready to set foot on. Not until he was sure, maybe not even then. 

Bells stood there, silent, thinking, not sure what to say. 

“Hell...” he muttered and dropped into Jessman’s lap, not caring that there was cooling semen on the researcher’s belly. His lips locked over Jessman’s in a kiss meant to sear, to drive fear, worry, thought from the man’s mind. 

Jessman responded to the kiss, his arms encircling Bells, holding tight, a soft sob vibrating down his throat from the distraught man. 

A sob that tore at Bells’ heart, brought the icy rage back, made him desire to hurt anyone that would cause David such pain. He wanted to make David’s boss and the Megalli-Loran Corp pay for the sin of hurting what was his. 

He broke the kiss, stared into the dark eyes, brushed a fleeting tear away, saying nothing he would regret, hoping Jessman would understand without hearing the words Bells wanted to say. Without hearing I love you whispered with breathless passion into his ear. 

  

David saw something in the way Bells was looking at him, in the gentle expression on the blond’s face that made him think of.... love? But no, that wasn’t possible. It was his imagination carrying him along on the wings of a dream that couldn’t, wouldn’t ever be real. 

“You just relax, Jessman, I’ll get you something to eat.” 

He nodded in mute acceptance, not really hungry with the looming threat of his lost job, the too real fear of being on the street, homeless and alone weighing on his mind. 

The gunwhore pulled a second frozen meal out of the freezer, pulled the corner of the box open, took the cooked meal out, shoved the new one into the micro and punched the buttons.  He stood there waiting for the second meal to cook, his back to Jessman. 

Watching it was surreal, the blond’s every move graceful as a dancer, his body encased in the leather harness, his long blond braids, flashes of blue sparks from the beads, silver glow, soft chiming like a dark elven prince stepped from some fantasy vid into his kitchen. 

Bells pulled a wad of paper towels from the roll over the sink, wet a couple then approached him, the seductive sway of his body only adding to the otherworldly quality of the scene. 

He’s so damned beautiful. Enhancements, cosmetic and physical, none of it real, natural. No one, man or woman, was that perfect, that incredibly attractive. But the combination of sleek body, unnaturally handsome face and Bells’ way of moving were a combination that left David stunned to speechlessness, awed by the man, ready to fall to his knees at the blond’s feet and worship him like a pagan god. 

But was he a god of lust, love or something much darker, more dangerous? 

A knot, hard, hurting, formed in David’s chest. 

Not a god of love, but a god that he had to love. One he couldn’t live without. 

His sun. The light that swept away the darkness from his dreary existence. 

Or was Bells his own fallen angel come to him with the temptation of lust, leading him into sin from which there would be no redemption? 

Jessman didn’t know. All he knew was his life lay in ruins because of his own lust for the blond. Yet, he was alive because of that same man. 

Numb, he sat and watched Bells approach. 

The wet paper towels were used to wipe away the drying semen that clung to his belly, the touch reminding him that he was naked and cold. Bells’ lips found his in a kiss pure as love while his free hand tangled into David’s hair, fingers clenching, hurting just a little. And like that, the chill was gone, warmth flushing his cheeks, heating his body, making his dick twitch in an agony of need it was too spent to rise for, no matter how his mind might want it otherwise. 

“Don’t worry about tomorrow. It will all take care of itself. I promise, David.” That voice he loved, a voice that sent a thrill through him, made him want to believe with all his heart, the words said oh-so-softly into his ear as Bells cleaned the cum and sweat from his body, gentle as a mother with her first babe. 

“But...” 

“Shhh... Listen to me. Don’t worry. Please?” 

Jessman nodded dully, and a damp hand forced him to look into eyes of neon, bright as summer lightning. The blond’s expression was hard, his voice edged with steel. “I said I’ll make it right,” he stated just before the hard mouth closed over Jessman’s in a kiss that burned like a red-hot brand all the way to his limp cock which twitched, tried to raise its head but lay where it was, too exhausted to make the effort. 

Or perhaps David was just too numbed by fear. 

The kiss ended, Bells regarding him silently, face barren of expression, blank of anything. Even the little Mona Lisa smile that so warmed Jessman’s heart was absent. 

And his heart wanted warmth. Wanted to believe in the cobalt-eyed gunwhore. 

Amid a discord of sound, Bells left his side, returning a moment later, wrapped in a harsh jangling, the music of his braids angry enough to make Jessman flinch as a glass of whiskey was pressed into his hand. 

“Drink it. Relax,” the blond grated out, harsh, angry, the cobalt eyes gone a stormy grey, the change registering on Jessman who could not for the life of him understand how it could be done until he remember an advertisement for Misuko Rainboweyes—based on an anime—that changed colors with on the chemicals in the bloodstream of those people who possessed them. 

But they were terribly expensive, and he wasn’t sure that cobalt blue to grey was one of the color shifts he’d seen advertised. 

The harsh expression softened, voice matching it as Bells said, “Go on, drink it, David. You need it.” 

Jessman took a sip, coughed, sat there while Bells washed him with the paper towels. After another sip, Jessman downed the liquor, feeling its heat spread through him, driving out the chill. 

  

Bells sat down on his lap, put his arms around him, stared into his eyes. 

“Now you listen to me, David,” the blond began, his tone brooking no argument, permitting no refusal. “Are you listening?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.” Bells took the empty glass from him, set it on the table at his back, then draped his arms over the researcher’s shoulders, relaxed, fingers brushing along the breadth of David’s shoulders, gently starting to kneed the stiff muscles, trying to ease the man’s tension. Waiting for the shot of whiskey to alleviate some of the anxiety from the overwrought man. 

The defeated and despairing frame of mind that had claimed David was bothering him, making him furious and frustrated all over again, not at Jessman but at the people who’d hurt him. 

Killing David’s boss here at NeuroTech wouldn’t solve the problem, even if it would make him feel a whole lot better to get rid of an asshole who’d hurt his lover. But it wasn’t really a viable option, and might go a long way to adding to David’s troubles with the NeuroTech management. No, only one thing would fix this situation and make things right for Jessman. But that was something he’d have taken care of later, when David wasn’t around to see it. 

Right now he had to break the melancholy that had sunk its venomous talons into the man. There’d been more than enough fear, more than enough terror for Jessman tonight and for many days and nights in the future. 

No, David didn’t need more fear. What he needed more than anything was something to reassure him, to rebuild his confidence in himself. Bells was to blame, at least in part, for the despondent man seated in front of him. He’d torn him apart emotionally, prepared to kill him at the end. But he’d relented. Not done the job he’d set out to do. 

Now he had another job. Restoring Jessman’s confidence, his self-esteem, building something stronger from the ruins he’d made of the man. 

And Bells would see that happened, one step at a time, starting right now. 

“Now, listen to me. I mean this. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, David. I promise. All you have to do is believe. Can you do that, just for tonight? Can you believe in me?” 

Bells could see the man thinking about what he had asked. The worry and unhappiness, common sense warring with the wanting to trust, to believe in someone other than himself. 

Jessman sighed, nodded. 

It wasn’t the ideal answer, but few things in life were ever ideal, including the situation he’d put Jessman in, or the situation he found himself dealing with, his own gone-wild emotions driving him to do stupid things. 

Things like contemplating taking care of the loose ends threatening Jessman over at Megalli-Loran. Someone needed to handle the whole mess with MCL, and he was the only someone who’d care enough to do that. 

Things like setting the mess Jessman was in at work to rights. 

Dangerous things. 

His whole life composed of dangerous, deadly things. A veritable land of razor-sharp decisions, choices written on a bullet, options that came from the barrel of a gun, the edge of a knife, all of it wrapped in sin committed to survive until survival itself was tantamount to sin. 

Behind him the micro binged, letting him know it was time to stir the food and reset the time. 

But he didn’t move. 

Instead he kissed Jessman, tenderly, passionately, desperately. If there was a God, if there was any justice in the world beyond that gained by the gun, Jessman would understand what he didn’t dare say. 

I love you, David. I love you with all my heart. 

  

Jessman responded in kind, arms going around him, sobbing in relief, praying that the blond really would make things right as he’d promised, that somehow everything would be fine by morning. 

For long minutes they sat there, kissing, hanging on to one another as if they’d been lost at sea and rescued after a great trials of mind and body, endurance tests of their very souls, Bells stroking David’s hair, whispering gently, not of love but of hope until Jessman’s tears ended. 

“Let me heat your food. You need to eat,” the gunwhore said. 

He nodded, sighed, wiped his eyes, feeling like a complete fool for crying, for agreeing to believe in the blond’s ability to help him, save him from the doom of losing his job. 

But I agreed. Now I have to give him the benefit of that agreement and let him have the chance to live up to it. Though how he can, I don’t know. 

And it was that not knowing that tore at his nerves. 

The blond reheated their meals and brought them to the table, taking a seat beside Jessman. He put one hand on David’s thigh, the researcher realizing he was trying to be reassuring, trying to console him even now. 

Jessman watched as Bells made short work of the food on his plate. He found it hard to eat, forcing himself to chew and swallow, fighting to get the meal that should have been flavorful but tasted like cardboard down his unwilling throat. 

Bells left the table, the empty whiskey glass in his hand. A moment later he was back to place the glass down. “You looked thirsty.” 

His hand was shaking when he picked the glass up, took a swallow of the fiery liquid. It burned its way down his throat, spreading warmth through him. Warmth he desperately needed, chilled to the bone sitting naked in his kitchen. 

They finished their meal in silence, Jessman still finding it difficult to swallow the food with the looming threat of tomorrow hanging over his head, his very own Sword of Damocles stealing his enjoyment in the gourmet meal he was mechanically eating, taking his pleasure in Bells’ presence away. But the whiskey was helping. He started to relax, despite his misgivings. 

He pushed the remnants of his microed meal aside, unable to finish it. A hand closed around his wrist, and he was gently guided out of the chair. 

Bells rose on his toes, his lips closing on Jessman’s in a gentle kiss that rocked the man with its tenderness. 

Could he...feel the way I do? Could he be in love with me? But no, that was a foolish thought. One he kept asking himself far too many times in the last hour. 

Wishful thinking. 

He'd be without a roof, without a job, without any hope, and Bells would go back to his home—wherever that was in the Freezone—none the worse for the time he'd had spent with Jessman. 

A hand caressed his cheek, fingers closing in his hair, forcing him to look down at the blond. 

“Don’t be afraid, David. I promise things will work out.” 

Mutely he nodded, accepting the gunwhore’s words. It was easier to believe now, and he wondered if it was because Bells had gotten him drunk. 

The gunwhore took him by the hand, guiding him back to his bedroom, and all Jessman could do was follow the gliding sway of the blond as he walked, his gaze glued to the sleek form of his lover’s body. 

Upset and tired as he was, he found that he wanted another taste of sex with the younger man. 

Bells stopped at the door, the blond turning. He reached up, his hand closing on David’s face drawing it down for a kiss. The researcher tasted bourbon on the younger man’s tongue, bourbon he hadn’t brought to the table. Jessman wondered if Bells had been drinking just because he wanted to, or because there was something bothering him, something making him as unhappy and scared as David was. 

Stupid thought. He couldn’t imagine Bells afraid of anything. 

No, not fear. Never that. Not his nerves of steel gunwhore. Bells just had a taste for expensive liquor. 

The kiss ended, leaving Jessman at a loss for anything to say, or do. 

“Come on, David, let’s go to bed.” 

The blond took his hand again, led him into the room, urged him into the comfort of his bed, crawled in beside him. 

Hands stroked his body, awakening his slumbering cock to semi-hardness. He couldn’t help it; he moaned, aroused, just drunk enough not to be so terribly afraid of what the morning would bring, enough booze in him that he trusted Bells to solve the problem of his probably lost job. But he wasn’t so drunk he couldn’t get hard. 

“Could you help me get out of this...sir?” Bells asked as he touched the buckles that held the harness on his body. The tone was that of a boy speaking to a man. A boy, not the zonewarrior who’d emerged that night with his power and control, his commands, his demands. Complete submission. Total obedience. Punishments that thrilled and chilled Jessman. 

It was a startling return to the same deference Bells had used when he’d first met Jessman two nights ago. A lifetime ago for the researcher, so much changed in such a short span of time that it almost seemed a dream, his former existence burned away by the kiss of the Sweet Sisters. 

The blond sat there, head down, cobalt gaze averted from Jessman. 

Sucking in a breath, Jessman realized he’d stopped breathing the moment Bells had turned into that beautiful boy for him. Why, he didn’t know. More to the point, he didn’t care what had brought on the change. Boy to man, man to boy, the transformations were always amazing. 

Regardless of the role Bells took, Jessman wanted him. Wanted him so bad it hurt. 

“Will you help me, sir?” 

Jessman reached out, finding a buckle with fingers that shook. One by one he released them, freeing the slim blond of the encasing harness. He sat up, kissed satin smooth skin, swept his tongue over a pale pink nipple, the gunwhore doing nothing to aid him, his hands draped over Jessman’s shoulders, fingers caressing the nape of his neck, lips touching his shoulders. 

He got the harness off, peeling the leather off the boy’s erect cock gently before wrapping his right hand around it. 

Bells moaned into his ear, boy’s voice, soft, needy in his ears. So different from the man who’d been fucking him. 

One and the same. 

Jessman kissed him, taking the lead, laying the boy down on the bed. A boy as pliant and submissive as any man could want. 

He broke the kiss, stared down at the beautiful face, at the neon-bright eyes looking up at him. Same face. Same eyes. Yet...not the same. There was a more open, trusting expression on Bells face. Chameleon-like, he’d changed before Jessman’s eyes, and the man couldn’t help but marvel at such consummate ability to act out a role. 

No wonder the boy—the man he knew as Bells—commanded such a high price. The ability to be what the client wanted, anything the client demanded would make him a pearl beyond price among the whores, gun using and not, out in the Freezone. 

Naked in his arms, out of the harness and flat on his back, Bells had become a boy, giving him the chance to be a man. 

Half-drunk though he was, Jessman understood what the blond was doing. Trying to restore his self-confidence, trying to help him get over the fear of what tomorrow might bring, of the terror that MCL might send someone else, someone better than Stone to kill him. 

Jessman couldn’t help himself, tears filled his eyes and he lifted the gunwhore into his arms, holding him tightly, grateful, and even more in love. 

  

Feather light, Bells touched the crying man’s face, brushing away the tears, kissing them away gently as he ran his fingers through Jessman’s hair. 

“Don’t cry, sir,” he murmured, no trace of the zone accent in his voice, keeping his tones well modulated, non-threatening, absent of even the slightest trace of command. 

Jessman needed a boy right now, not a man’s harsh demands. 

And Bells would give David what he needed to restore his faith in himself. He’d torn the man’s mind apart, introduced him to the Sisters, made a slave out of him. 

Now it was time to start remaking a man from the broken pieces. 

He wrapped his legs around the man’s hips, clinging to him, acting out the role he’d taken on for Jessman. His hands stroked along his broad shoulders, down the man’s well muscled back, sought out the lines of the his powerful thighs, touching, showing his appreciation for Jessman’s body, for the hungry mouth on his with quiet moans, whimpering gasps. 

Bells had also discovered just how much he’d relished having Jessman’s big cock inside him, and he was eager for another taste of it. 

But only a taste. 

Much as he wanted it, and Jessman probably craved it, now wasn’t quite the time to give completely in to what they both wanted. 

Their mouths locked together in a hungry kiss, Bells taking and giving, their tongues sparring, wrestling in a battle of passion in which they were both winners and there was nothing to lose. 

“You are so beautiful,” Jessman growled out, the man sitting back to look at him, hands touching, the thumb and forefinger of one hand pinching one nipple hard enough to hurt, hard enough to pull a gasp from Bells’ parted lips. 

“Thank you, sir,” he replied softly, the lids of his eyes lowered, a boy’s respectful reply, a boy’s humility. 

Fingers brushed across his lips and he kissed them, opened his mouth and took one of them in, sucking gently, his lips firm around the digit, tongue doing an erotic dance over the tip, along the sides. 

He heard Jessman groan, the oral stimulation of the researcher’s finger innuendo that no one could have mistaken. 

A hand locked in his hair, the finger slipped from his mouth with a soft pop as the suction broke. 

Eyes still half-veiled by his eyelids, Bells followed the pull on his hair, kneeling, his face pushed down so that the head of Jessman’s cock bumped his lips. 

“Suck me.” 

“Yes, sir,” Bells murmured in compliance as he opened wide and took the entire length of the man’s prick into his mouth. 

This time Jessman’s groan of pleasure sent a shudder through Bells, the sound becoming liquid flame in his balls. He loved everything about David. His scent, spicy with a tang of musk; the deep rumble of his voice as he spoke, as he groaned in ecstasy; the feel of his body, strong muscle, solid bone and sinew with no trace of the rolls of fat most of his corporate clients carried about their middles, making them soft as dough. 

David was something special, unusual, someone to be cherished, to own and be owned by, to love. 

Eager to please, he sucked, a hand curved around Jessman’s balls, the other one curved around one sturdy thigh, caressing the crack of David’s ass, his enhanced strength fully able to hold him in the awkward position without need of a hand pressed to the mattress. Not even the hand that David placed between his shoulders to steady himself caused Bells any undue strain. He was reengineered to such a degree that David could have stood on his shoulders and he wouldn’t have been strained by the weight. 

Precum, sweet and flavorful, spread across his tongue and he moaned at the taste, relishing the uniqueness that was David. 

He worked the flesh in his mouth, the balls in his hand, heard the man’s groans and moans of pleasure, feeling Jessman’s body going tense as he neared orgasm. 

“Stop.” The researcher’s voice was a desire-roughened growl. 

Obediently Bells stopped, sat back and looked expectantly at Jessman. 

Hands gripped his upper arms, drew him close, Jessman’s mouth closing over his in a rough kiss as he was lain back onto the bed, Jessman half on top of him their mouths still fused together in passion. 

Jessman’s hand closed on his cock and he arched into the tunnel of the man’s strong hand, letting David hear the needy whimpers, confidence-building cries of desire to stroke the man’s bruised ego. Expressing his desire for the man, his love in the only way he dared. Healing the damage he’d done. 

It was working, Jessman’s tears were gone, his handsome face alight with... what? Insatiable desire? Unadulterated lust? Or was it something more than that? Some emotion far more tender? 

You want it so much you’re starting to imagine things that aren’t there. You’re a gunwhore, a boy-slut, zonetrash. He doesn’t want you. Not the way your fool self wants him, so give it up. 

But the man’s caresses, the way he kissed, the firm yet gentle grip around his cock was more in keeping with two men making love than a client wanting to fuck a paid prostitute. 

Illusion or not, imagined or not, Bells let himself fall into the golden haze that was Jessman. Light filling the darkened corners of his soul, illumination and warmth, melting the ice of indifference that had lain like chains around his heart. 

There would be no going back. 

And he didn’t care. 

Bells wanted, needed and planned to have Jessman however he could, whenever he could, and damn the consequences. 

And anyone that stood in his way...well, it would be better for their health if they didn’t. 

  

Beneath him Bells was squirming, writhing in pleasure, his cock pulsing with the rapid beat of his heart, hard with desire, slick droplets of precum glistening on the head of the cock in Jessman’s hand. 

Slim hips rocked to the motion of his hand, thrust for stroke, buck and clasp, the golden body damp with sweat, the gunwhore’s hands clutching at his shoulders, cobalt eyes almost closed, lost in the sensation. 

And that made Jessman think of the harness, the leather that wrapped Bells’ cock, cupped his balls. Reduction in sensation, fewer sensitive nerve endings exposed to direct stimulation. 

Was it to make the gunwhore last longer, was it because even that had not evaded the enhancements done to the blond, or was it for another reason? 

Whatever the reason, the boy was crying out, twisting on the bed in a paroxysm of unrestrained desire, pleading wordlessly for release. 

Jessman stroked faster, harder, felt short fingernails dig into his shoulders, the blond arching into his touch, once cold features suffused with rosy passion. 

Beautiful. Dangerous. Totally desirable. Excruciatingly fuckable and David could never get enough of the boy, the man. Cold-eyed killer that was no man’s plaything, dominant and dominating. Whimpering boy-toy, his to kiss, hold, fuck. 

Two sides of one coin, two aspects of one astounding man. 

Bells. 

A slim hand reached between them, gripped Jessman’s aching dick, latched onto it with the desperation of a drowning man clinging to a life preserver. 

“Please, sir, please...” 

Jessman didn’t have to ask what Bells wanted, didn’t need to hear more than that. He let go of the boy’s cock, lifted his hips and slid his cock home in the willing flesh, seeing bright neon as he thrust fast and sure into the welcoming embrace. 

He grabbed Bells’ cock, stroking fiercely. 

“Fuck me, sir. Fuck me!” 

Hips pounding into Bells’ ass, balls slapping the narrow butt, David bellowed his release, not caring if his neighbors in all directions heard his triumphant cry. 

The slender blond convulsed, semen spattering the flat belly, wetting Jessman’s fist. 

He let Bells go, lay down beside him, his mouth closing possessively over the blond’s before he brought his hand to his mouth and licked his fingers clean. 

Bells smiled at him and David’s heart melted as the boy snuggled against him. 

Content, satiated and tired, David closed his eyes and was soon asleep. 

  

Bells held the man close, listening to his ragged breathing, his own harsh gasps, his body wrung out from the repeated bouts of passion he and David had enjoyed that night, the last one— his own surrender of a sort— having drained him totally. 

What he had with David was good. Worth fighting to retain. 

He considered the difficulties that awaited his lover over the previous day’s lack of work. 

The man could lose his position as the head of his little research group and with it, the tiny bit of prestige he’d gained by being forcefully hired by NeuroTech and being given his own lab and team. 

It could mean the end of his job too, and in a way, Bells felt responsible. At least, he considered the fault to be his. He’d been the one who introduced Jessman to the Sisters, who’d turned the dark-haired man’s life upside down and probably ruined his chances among the corporation that had gone to so much trouble to forcefully acquire. 

If what Jessman meant to him was worth fighting for, then it was worth giving away a few of his close held secrets. 

Not that he had many to share with his memories a blank from his near death experience. 

But it wasn’t totally blank, and he resolved to share the one bit of information he had that might help this man in his arms. 

His lover. 

He pulled the exhausted researcher closer until Jessman’s dark head was pillowed on his chest, smiling at the contented murmur the larger man gave as he settled comfortably against his side. 

Yes, David was his, and damned if anyone or anything was going to threaten what was his. 

  

* * * * * * 

  

Jessman woke up alone, and discovered he didn’t like it. He wanted his gunwhore, his incredible boy-man with the cold killer’s eyes and chameleon-like role transformations there with him. He stared at the place in the bed where his lover had lain sleeping. A hand touched the pillow that still held the impression of his lover’s head, but it was cool, no trace of warmth remaining. A muted sound, a dulled chime came from the sheets and he reached beneath them to find a lost silver bell from his lover’s hair. 

It brought a smile to his face and he shook the bell to hear it ring, amused when his cock twitched. 

He’d always associate the jingling of a tiny bell with mindmelting sex. 

Maybe Bells was in the kitchen. 

He slipped out of bed. Not even worrying about putting on his robe, he left his bedroom in search of the blond. 

But he was gone. 

The mess from last night had been cleaned up. Even his papers from work were neatly stacked on top of his coffee table. 

He sighed, glanced down at the papers to see something he didn’t remember. 

A line of the formula he’d been working on for several weeks had been crossed out with red pen and a neat hand-drawn asterisk placed at the end of the line. At the bottom of the page was an equally precise asterisk along with a line of mechanically precise handwritten formula. 

He stared at it, working the information out in his mind, the light of understanding dawning on his face. 

Stunned, he dropped onto the couch, the shock of the chill leather on his ass and balls not enough to snap him out of the ‘eureka’ moment the neatly written line had created. 

Yes, it’s right. It will work, but... 
He stared at the paper. 

There was only one person who could have done this. Only one person that had access to the paper he’d brought home from work. 

Bells. His lover. 

But how in Hell had a gunwhore, an uneducated, barely literate man from the Liberty City Freezone, known the answer to something so complex? He had a PHD in cybermedicine with additional degrees in biochemistry and polymer gel technology, and the exact gel formula that would achieve the results he wanted had eluded he and his team for weeks. 

And now a zonewarrior had given him the correct mixture? 

In the sane, ordered world he lived in, it wasn’t possible. 

In a simvid, it could have made a wonderful plot twist. 

But this wasn’t sim, it was reality. 

So exactly who was this enigmatic man, the gunwhore he knew as Bells? 

How could he admit to his bosses that a gunwhore from the Freezone had given him the answer, ending his research weeks, perhaps months, ahead of schedule? 

It hardly seemed possible, much less plausible. But then, it wasn’t meant to be. 

It was a gift from his lover. One that would assure his place with NeuroTech as a top researcher with all the benefits that entailed. 

Benefits that would mean more money for Jessman, and an even more stable haven for his zonewarrior lover. 

No, Bells hadn’t intended for him to tell his bosses where the solution came from. 

Nor did Jessman believe he’d learn how the blond knew the answer. 

Bells was a man with a past. A past that Jessman would have given a great deal of money to discover. He was equally certain that no amount of money could get to the bottom of the mystery of the blond gunwhore he loved. 

His zoner. 

His Bells. 

Smiling, he put the paper down on the stack and rose, eager to get to work despite the impending meeting with his manager. 

But he wasn’t worried about that anymore. 

As his lover had promised, he’d made it right. 

Jessman could walk into his manager’s office with confidence, and the knowledge that he would still have his job, no matter how angry the guy might be. He had all the answer he needed right there, written in a neat, precise hand. 

Yes, he’d get a wonderful bonus out of this; his reputation at NeuroTech would be spotless. 

And, just maybe, he get enough to buy out a certain contract from the fuckbroker Katerina. Might even be able to ask his superiors for permission to keep his lover at the enclave. Permanently. 

Laughing, giddy with relief, heart full of love’s golden glow, Jessman headed for the shower. 

Today was going to be a great day. 

  

End: Part Two 

  

  

  

Michael Barnette 
  

  

Michael Barnette grew up in the wilds of Miami, Florida where he enjoyed the nightlife and wide variety of cultures, but not the late night driveby shootings. Deciding on a change of pace, Michael moved to Athens, Georgia where he’s lived for several years. He misses the ethnic food in Miami, he doesn’t miss the driveby shootings. 

  

The last two years he was in Miami, Michael went from being a poet to writing short stories. One of the short stories he wrote, Zoner, was also the first gay erotica he’d ever written. Set in his cyberpunk world setting—which takes place in a future variant of Miami—and using characters established from an unfinished novel he was working on, he submitted the story to Circlet Press. The story was published and has been well received in the gay community, garnering a Spectrum Award nomination in 2003, while the anthology, Wired Hard #3, was a finalist for the Lamda Literary award that same year. 

  

Seeing the popularity of erotica—and finding it much easier to sell than poetry—Michael changed his writing focus in 2003 and started researching the types of erotica popular with readers. 

  

The rest, as they say, is history. 

  

 
  

  

  

  

  

Next in the Through Neon Eyes Series: 

Breakthrough 

  

Another Exciting Series By Michael Barnette... 

  

Mercykill 

Book One: Shattered Melody 

Now Available 

  

  

Mercykill is on their way to fame as the newest metal band to hit the big time in Japan. But from fame to crushing sorrow takes but an instant. 

Can the band recover from senseless tragedy and together salvage their lives from the ashes of despair? 

 
A Shattered Melody... 

  

  

“Shhh...” Akira murmured, stroking Takeshi’s hair. He felt the loss too, felt the pain, a deep ache that hurt worse than anything he’d ever known. 

He’d liked Kita a lot. Loved her, really. She’d been the older sister he’d never had. The friend he could go shopping with, trade secrets, laugh with. Share his love of men with and not feel shame that he was more gay than bisexual as he pretended. Okama. In love with Kei, who she willingly shared with him on those infrequent occasions the older man would agree to make love with both ‘girls’ at once. She’d been the only woman who’d ever had sex with him, and who he’d ever considered it with. 

And she was gone. 

No, not just gone. She was dead. 

He bit back the sob, but it was no use. Takeshi, his beautiful, strong Takeshi—their Kei—had heard it. 

The man sat up, reached back and took Akira’s hand, guiding him around until he could pull Akira into his lap. He held their Hana tight, face pressed into his hair, hair that still carried the blue streaks of dye from their performance last night. The tears came then. Hot, full of misery, and not even the comforting embrace of Takeshi could stop them. 

Both men cried their loss, sharing a hurt so deep that it forged a bond between them stronger than that of almost love they had shared before this awful tragedy. Stronger than the bonds of friendship, adversity and their passion for music had already formed. 

His lips found Akira’s, the kiss needy, desperate and he responded, clinging to his lover, pressing close, seeking what comfort they could offer one another in a world turned upside down. In a world without Kita, who’d meant so much to all of them. 

Hungry and hurting, they kissed, their tongues sliding in a dance of brittle-need lust, tasting salt tears and fear, honeyed passion and bitter sorrow. 

Breathing hard, hardly breathing, Takeshi broke the kiss to look into wide, chocolate-brown eyes. Eyes full of tears, need. Desire. And... Takeshi didn’t want to see more, didn’t want to accept what had always been there, his love for Kita blinding him, her death giving him the ability to finally see what he should have seen before. Something that had been there always, 

Love. Pure. Freed of restraint and desperate. Wanting. 

He pulled Akira closer, held him and rocked him gently, kissing his soft hair, giving instead of just taking for once. Showing the younger man that even though he’d never said it, he did love him. 

He didn’t know when it had happened, and it hardly mattered. What mattered was the truth. 

He’d loved them both, but he’d never said those words to her. Never spoken them. Kita knew, though. She’d always known how it was between all of them. 

And now she was gone. 

All he had was Akira. Sweet, beautiful Akira. 

  

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