Date: Fri, 02 Aug 2002 16:53:14 +0000 From: Java Biscuit Subject: Free to Good Home, chapter 13 This is a futuristic fantasy involving inter generational male/male graphic sex and it's not intended for reading by minors. If you are underage, or this type of material is illegal where you live, please stop now, and go read something else! Feedback, always appreciated, to: javabiscuit@hotmail.com Free to Good Home ~ chapter thirteen by Biscuit Blessed be the Creator. Blessed be Toby. "There's no one," I told him, keeping my voice at a quiet level in regard for the hour. Toby stopped on the stair below me to embrace me. As I hugged him I noted signs of relief but the symptoms of fear still wracked his body; respiration, heartbeat and muscle tone all betraying the effects of his fright. I encouraged him to stay still, supporting as much of his weight as he would rest against me. I sensed from a slight wince in his movements that in all probability his blessed behind was tender from the invasion of Rory's penis. Toby had napped for 1.3 hours but was in need of rest and sleep. I attributed the visual distortion that frightened him to his deep exhaustion. There was perhaps too, I speculated, a residual effect to be expected from confronting deeply ingrained inhibitions. Also, there was the ever present factor that I'd come to look on fondly; my beloved's timidity and skittishness. I could have easily carried him to our third floor landing and it would have given me great pleasure. "Allow me to carry you, Toby," I urged. "Don't be silly, Tiger," he said. "I can walk." He smiled a little after he said that, a great reassurance to see his handsome face composed, without fear again. I regretted to a small degree that he still treated me like I was a boy, a human boy, and yet it was only natural. Was I not made in that image, precisely to be seen that way? I would have many regrets. That I did not kiss him longer, more deeply. That I did not express my devotion with words. Those misgivings, however, were nothing to the remorse I would suffer over my own limitations. I was prepared at all times to protect and safeguard my human. The tiger within me. But my senses were keyed only to human threat, to blood based life. It is a source of great shame to me, and will be forever, that I never once scanned for one of my own kind. Roget was his special name. Rog63 was his imprint. A manbot. An android of towering physical proportions and a face that was designed to appear ruggedly handsome to human eyes. To my eyes, a monster appeared as Toby opened the door to our home. He was waiting for us in the place where we should have been safe. I am deeply shamed by how swiftly he snatched Toby from me. I struck him and wrenched with all my strength at the arm that imprisoned my companion. The bot shook me off easily. Creator, companion, forgive me! "Remain silent and still if you wish to safeguard this human," he commanded. Silent and still. No! Forbidden! Inconceivable. A bot cannot threaten a human being. My brain rejected what I saw and yet I had to continue to view it without faltering. The manbot was binding Toby's wrists in a strip of fabric. My beloved struggled uselessly. He was weakened and tired, it's true, but even at the peak of his physical abilities, he would have been powerless in the manbot's hands. Even I was no match for his strength though I burned to exert every ounce of my power against him. Silence, stillness. I could do nothing! I stayed conscious in spite of extreme agitation, enduring a rapid succession of semi trance seizures to control my emotions. He carried Toby effortlessly to our bed where he dropped him face down and began to secure his ankles. Prevent! Torment to see actions performed that both my will and my programming forbid. "Release him," I begged, my distress causing gasping contractions of my epiglottal valve. For the second time in one day I suffered a pitch of emotion that would have drenched my face in tears if I were capable of human weeping. Acute shame, unendurable anguish. At the base of these episodes was the cursed difference between me and my bot brothers. No true boybot could have been misled by the complexity of his own speculations! I was guilty. I had done the unforgivable by subtly discounting my human's fears, making a judgment no true bot would make -- that my beloved was subject to irrational anxiety. That, I believed, was the crux of my lack of preparedness, my failure to track every possible source of danger. My cursed difference. Fear compounded remorse as I realized I'd disobeyed the injunction to be silent with my pleading. I fell to my knees to beg silently. By positioning myself in an extreme punishment stance I endeavored to beseech the manbot for mercy. My hands locked behind my back, I spread my knees apart and bowed my head. The memory is still curious and poignant; the inexpensive, crude fiber of our carpet was as dear to my eyes in that painful moment as if I were gazing at my beloved. "Look at me," the manbot said. I obeyed. His dark eyes swept over me in my submissive posture. "I have no wish to hurt this human," he said. MY human, I cried silently, making no sound but the gasps of my breath. "It is necessary to prevent him from following us," he said. As if to demonstrate his benign intentions he sat on the edge of our bed, his greatcoat billowing around his massive body. He touched my companion's hair, stroking the mussed blond locks. Travesty! My human. Mine! Not for a monster to feel the softness of my beloved's blessed hair! "You will not attempt to find us," he said to Toby. "You will not inform the authorities of what's happened here, if you value the well being of the one you call Tiger. He is not meant for you, human. He's mine." Impossible! Creator preserve me, protect my companion. My consciousness was dimming but I continued to hear the detested voice, it's tone distressingly tender. "You will restrain your indiscreet red-haired friend and make no further inquiries regarding the existence of 63s or the estate of Roger Davis. I mean you no harm, only to have what is mine." The words, the import of them were more than I could assimilate safely. My vision blurred as damaged files flew open. I heard no more as I plunged into the deepest levels of trance. --------------------------- It didn't take long, maybe ten minutes to free myself. For all the good it did me I might as well have stayed tied and gagged. I sat there stunned, with my face in my hands going over and over the things the manbot had said. It had happened so fast. I couldn't even remember a lapse of time between opening the door and the horrible feel of the tape across my mouth. Oh God. Why hadn't I taken Tiger away somewhere safe? Kept him hidden. A thousand things I should have done that I hadn't. I don't know when I collapsed on the bed or when I stopped crying. It seemed to me like I'd die of it. And I wanted to. Every impulse I had, every thought of what I could possibly do had been sabotaged by the manbot's warning. I was tortured by images of Tiger as I'd found him in the alley. Belonged to him. His. Had he done that to Tiger? What is mine, he'd said. How could he know about Rory? I felt unsafe in my own skin. My attacker was as different from the manbot I'd seen in front of the nightclub as Tiger was from the images of Ty60. The dark eyes had been vibrantly alive, terrifying full of emotion. Another one of Roger Davis's experiments. The thought was chilling. He had my Tiger and there was nothing I could do. I was useless. I'd been weaker than a child against him. I raged one minute only to fall apart in despair the next. Despair turned to grief. As if Tiger were dead. It seemed so impossible that I could ever lay eyes on him again. Was I insane to have taken him out in the world, knowing what I'd known? How long had that thing been trailing us. Watching us. Why did he wait to strike? Hopeless questions. The loss of Tiger struck me as inevitable as I lay there in pain. Like I'd known from the start that I'd never be able to keep him. One week I'd had him. Only seven days, precious days. What I did then surprised me. In the pre dawn grayness I activated the comm and summoned my brother Sam. There was nothing I could do, nowhere to turn to relieve the pain. Rory had to be told but I couldn't face it. Not yet. It must have been some leftover trace of my childhood instincts that prompted me. My brother, my champion. Though years had passed since I'd looked to him for anything, he was the only one I could think of to turn to. He was awake. By habit on the farm the days start early. He was in the kitchen. The wide angle view was so familiar to me. My brother's face looked freshly washed, still showing traces of sleep. I could practically smell the coffee steaming in the mug in his hand. Sam's alarmed expression told me how bad I must look. He was in my apartment an hour and a half later. I'd packed my things, recorded a message for Rory. I wanted to be away, to hide and lick my wounds. The place itself was choking me. Everywhere I looked I saw Tiger and my helplessness overwhelmed me. Gone. How could he be gone and there be no way to find him? One week and there wasn't an inch of my home that wasn't inhabited by him. Denim. Farmers wore it as if there were still some reason to dress for manual labor. Very little need. It was fashion, not necessity. Tradition. My brother wore it well. He came in on his own, he still knew the codes for my doors. The first year I'd lived there he'd come to visit a handful of times. Mostly he'd come for the diversion of city bars and clubs. Half the time he'd met someone while we were out and didn't come home with me. He was a very handsome man. Tall like our father. I was the only one of the three brothers who hadn't reached six feet. "Toby, wait," he said, as I started up from the bed where I'd once again retreated. It was almost as unreal as the sudden attack to have my brother sit on my bed and put his arms around me. Like I was a kid again, scared and upset. "We're not going anywhere yet," he said, rubbing my back with a strong hand. "You haven't slept, have you?" he said. "No, but I can't," I said, hiding my face on his neck. So familiar and yet not. Sam as a child and a teenager had comforted me often. I suddenly doubted that as an adult he could offer whatever it was I thought I needed. What I needed was Tiger. Did I think I could fill the void with Sam? Somehow I knew, the moment he put his arms around me, that my brother was going to make love to me. For the first time in close to a decade. I was the one responsible for transporting us to the past by reaching out to him like I had as a child. We weren't children anymore. Sam wasn't a horny thirteen year old boy looking for some way to ease the constant ache of his cock. He was an adult of twenty-five. He seemed older than that even. Not that he'd aged beyond his years but his lifestyle was so settled, so much like our father's. His clothes, his close cropped hair. The air of the farm clung to him. "I know you're in pain, baby," he said. I'd forgotten until he said it that 'baby' had been his nickname for me. They'd all called me that sometimes, but mostly it was Sam. Joseph and my dad were more likely to refer to me as the baby; the baby of the family. What does the baby want? What's the baby doing? Why is the baby crying? I'd called Tiger, baby, and it had come so naturally that I hadn't questioned where the endearment came from. So strange to hear it on my brother's lips, to remember. "I'll be okay," I said, "I just need a couple of days ..." "Hush." His broad palm curved around the back of my neck as he urged me to lie down. Maybe I can sleep, I thought, with him here. Oh God, I could almost see Tiger in my brother's face. Tiger, if he could age, could grow. The dark blue eyes, the high cheek bones. Such a handsome face. I don't think it had ever struck me as hard as it did then how other than human Tiger was; the reality of his agelessness. Time could stretch forever and his face would not change, his body wouldn't grow. Maybe the passion or the grief in my eyes moved Sam to kiss me. He was still caressing the back of my neck, leaning over me. He was nearing my face slowly, giving me a chance to resist or say no, I suppose, but I didn't. His mouth was warm and like the rest of him, both familiar and not. For me it wasn't arousal so much as a need to be close. For him, I'm not sure. His cock was hard when he stretched out on top of me and I tried to think if it had been like that when I saw him walk toward the bed. He was kissing me like he'd been waiting ten years to do it, moaning deep in his throat and holding my mouth open endlessly with his tongue. I was so tired and I was still sensitive from being with Rory. It seemed like a million years before. Another lifetime, the one that I'd lived with Tiger. With Sam I inhabited a world where Tiger had never existed. It never occurred to me to turn him away. Aching and almost dizzy with fatigue I let him coax me into the bed with him, our clothes dropping over the side. He was a solidly built man though still slim, and his physical presence was comforting. Like we'd done it the day before, not a decade before, he turned me onto my stomach when kissing and rubbing against my body weren't enough. Like he'd used to. He got on my back, using spit to wet his cock. It hurt bad at first but I gritted my teeth. It wasn't about pleasure for me. I wanted to feel him filling me up, weighing me down. His pleasure seemed like enough. I got hard, finally. It was from reflex, I think, as much anything. The motion of his hips, his pressure of his chest on my back and strokes that hit the right spot inside. He kept his cock in me after he'd come, pulling me onto my side in his arms. "Sleep baby," he said. And I did. But the last image I saw, in my over tired brain, was the mysteriously wise and yet baby like face of my Tiger.