Date: Thu, 4 Jan 2007 08:04:09 +0000 (GMT) From: Writer Milos Subject: thor. - chapter 2 thor. An epic by Milos Part 1: Resonant Disc =========== This is my attempt at crafting a post-apocyliptic world and incorporating homoerotic elements. I can't say much that hasn't already been said in the way of warnings, but if you are offended by gay themes, or love between boys and men, please don't read further. If these themes are illegal in your area, please don't read further. If you would like to drop me a critique, please feel free to send an email to writer_milos@yahoo.co.uk. This work is completely, and very obviously, fiction. Take the rest with a grain of salt. --Milos (Written exclusively for the Nifty Archives) =========== Chapter 2 There is a strange, mechanical banging every morning as each disk, from bottom to top, stops and begins rotating the other way. It's an intentional sound that serves to wake everyone in a unit up at the same time. As I lie on my side, looking out this cold portal, I can see the first embers of the morning sky on the horizon; a neighboring city, shining metal, sits in my window for half a moment, then leaves my view the same way it came in. A sad reminder of this war lies in this bed, curled up in a ball with his arm slung over my hips. The rotation stop doesn't even cause him to stir. I move my gaze from the top of his head back to the portal, and watch the lingering night descend. I think about my priorities, what I need to do. Before last night's excitement, all I remember, for now, is that the division general wanted to see me today. I also have to find a way to explain Thor to his superiors. I edge out; the boy coils up in my sheets, an unsightly bump on my bed. I pull off my shirt and my skids. The cold air is unpleasant to the skin, and some mornings I swear I can see my breath. I find a set of regulations in the cabinet and put them on. I decide to deal with Thor later, and try to make an exit as quietly as one can in this situation. Slowly, I make my way to the main corridor and bring myself to the main steps. Three flights later I am on the top level. I walk into a large, open rotunda; the ceiling is glass. Far above, there is a another disk that's bigger than the one I live on. I walk to a small desk where a female officer sits. She looks up from her screen. "Madger is expecting you." She nods over her shoulder, and I start for the door. Inside is an office that looks like a situation room with a large metal desk and a man in his late thirties. This man has less than 5% body fat - he is a soldier in every sense of the word, and as generic as they come. His hair is high and tight, he always smells crisp and clean, and he has a jaw that looks like it could cut glass. This man gave me everything. "Madger, Sir?" I stand at attention. He looks up at me with his steel blue eyes and stands up to greet me. "Irryn. You know better than that - at ease." He sits back down and indicates the chair on the other side of the desk. He looks at me expectantly. I take the seat, "I got the Zurich file decrypted. Having some problems with the pan-asian codex, though." "Aren't they all still universal?" "Shite, I don't know. I think someone is layering another language under a different character set." He slowly gets to his feet and walks to the window. He stands silent for a moment, then looks over his shoulder. "Want a drink?" He walks behind me, "Your file says it's your birthday." His meaty hands land on my shoulders and give them a squeeze before moving on to my chest. "Sixteen. My boy's a man." I lean my head back on his chest, "All brass tacks, innit mate?" William Madger. American. He served in several now-dissolved special forces teams. He was shot in the knee, shattered the bone, was relocated. Right now he keeps track on our transients while training a special devision among them. When I came here, I was all of about nine. Under his eye I worked the field for two or three years, and since I could read, he pulled some strings and had me trained as a scribe. It didn't all come without some strings attached. He unbuttons my pants, and lifts me effortlessly so I am sitting on his desk. He rips off my pants and tears the skids right off my arse. He leans down and takes a long, slow whiff off my middle. He takes my balls into his mouth and brings my legs over his shoulders. I can feel the air from his nose on the back of my dick. His tongue traces from the back of my balls, slowly down the crack of my arse, and right into my hole. For ten minutes I am in ecstasy while he tongue-fucks me. He's got his hand wrapped around my cock. "Madger-" I grit my teeth, about to release all I have. He wraps his lips around my dick and sticks his middle finger up my butt. I blow my load and he swallows it all. I am laying on my back, breathing like a dog, with the general's finger buried in my arse. He pulls it out and licks the ming off his finger. "Happy birthday," he says nonchalantly. I pull my pants back on, and hold my broken skids up. "Don't worry, I'll see to it you get another pair." *** I get back to my domicile after stopping for a few morsels at the general store. Shoved half under the door is a thin package; apparently too thick to make it in. I tear it open and find myself staring at several pairs of new skids. Small. That sadistic prick. I push open the door and find Thor sleeping exactly where I left him. I close the door and latch it quietly and, when I turn around, find him standing against the back wall. I jump back at the play on nerves; I didn't even hear him move. The package I was carrying hits the floor. He watches it hit the ground, other worldly, then looks at me. It's scaring the shite out of me. "You okay, mate?" I take a step forward and he tenses up. Jaw and fists clenched; from his gut he releases a grizzly scream through his teeth, like possession - his eyes are on fire. I stop, scantly breathing. He is bawling, like a commiserated moan - no tears, just a feeling of abandon and the sharp pain - quivering like a stabbing - eyes so focused; distant. He's not here with me. "Thor. Thor." He snaps to with a light squeak from the back of his throat, and falls back to the wall. A small stream of blood runs from his right nostril. His feet come out from under him and lands hard on his side. "...Pabbi..." I come to his side and pick him up. He wraps his arms and legs around me, breathing into my neck. "It's okay, love." I sit him down on the bed, but he refuses to unwrap. "Have a sit, mate." After a few moments, he lets off. I grab a small breakfast ration I have in my leg pocket and hold it up for him. He looks at it blankly. "It's nosh. Take it; I got it for you." He takes it hesitantly and takes a small nibble off the side, crunching it placidly. "We've gotta get you to your commander." I stop and think. I unwrap one of the pairs of skids I got. "Here, these should fit you." He looks down at his lap, and with the ration still in his left hand, reaches down with his right and rips the paper tab, causing the nappy to fall off his body. He leans back and sticks his feet out toward me, wanting me to put them on for him. "You're a big lad - you can do it." He puts his legs down and sits there half naked. He takes another bite from the ration. After he is finished, he jumps down and struggles with the skids- putting them on backwards at first, then putting both legs through one opening. After a few moments of fidgeting, he manages to get them up around his waist. "Come on, then." I wrap my blanket around his shoulders and lead him out the door. I take him to the transient wing, which is currently empty. I go to the officers lounge - someone is always there. A young PA answers. "Irryn?" "Erm, hey Helge. Got a small issue here." Thor peers at Helge, keeping mostly hidden behind my legs. "Thor, you little shit." "Somehow he ended up in my quarters last night after wetting himself. I took care of him." Helge looks at me sharply. "Why wasn't he taken to the infirmary?" "You know how it is when you get here, mate. He had a bad dream or something, and that old guy was working the desk. And, you know how much of an arse your commander can be when he gets woken up." He looks at Thor. "Go get changed. Now." Thor shuffles past him. Helge smacks him across the back of the head. "Hurry." I step forward "Hey! That's not kosher." Helge stops and looks at me. After a moment of grinding his teeth, "Your involvement in this matter is no longer required." He turns to walk away from me. "Helge." He stops. "He had an episode." Helge turns to face me, feigning interest. "What was it?" "Don' know. It was like he was having a walking nightmare or he was sleepwalking. I said his name and he started screaming. Got a bloody nose and fell over; came right out of it." I pause, "The kid's had it pretty shitty. Don't you think you should at least have someone check on him?" "Everyone here's had it shitty. It's post traumatic stress, I guarantee. If you'll excuse me, I have some pissed bed-sheets to change." He walks off. Somewhere in the dorm, I hear a hand impact skin in a slap. All I can do is walk away. I return to my room and sit on my bed. I feel strangely distant. Rather than dwell over it, I open my closet door to get my laundry detail out of the way. The air-vent is sitting on top of a small pile of laundry. That explains how he got in here - but why me? Sitting in the corner is a shoddy pair of skids. I pick them up - still slightly dank - and feel along the legging seam. Curiously, I take a light sniff. The light aroma of piss - not too strong - the slight but not too unpleasant pong of a boy two or three days unwashed. I feel my pervy cheeks flush. I put the skids in my night stand drawer and try to forget it. I put my laundry in a canvas sack. There's too much to do today for me to just sit here...