Date: Thu, 6 Jul 2017 13:00:54 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Ravens Claw 6

See original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritaria/ravens-claw/) for
warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights
reserved. Includes sex between young-adult and adult men. Go away if any of
that is against the rules for who/where you are. Practice safer sex than my
characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of
future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html
to keep the cum coming.

*****

Jackson and Paul had their heads together and were whispering furiously on
tactics. The looks that Jackson had given Aaron made it abundantly clear
who his target would be, but it was equally-clear that Paul had the same
prey in mind. Vinny was less dejected now but still ostracized by the
team. Overall, though, the mood was upbeat, and looking at the swinging (or
bobbing) dicks, there was an incredibly-apt pun in there as well.

*****

Raven's Claw 6: The Art of Romance (N2)

By Bear Pup

*****

Vinny was dying inside a little at a time. He had resolved to do everything
in the homework, which meant getting someone else off. He looked around at
the guys, none of whom seemed willing to meet his eye and Vinny quailed at
the thought. He finally decided to approach Bobby who was just coming back
from the food machine. "Um, Bobby? Can I, um, can I talk to you while you
eat?"

Bobby looked at him, thinking how lost and terrified the normally-cocky
bruiser was. Even with the guy's constant taunts, he didn't really have it
in him to crush the kid any further. He jerked his head and the two went
into the alcove across from the door. The Social Room was shaped like a
T. The long, thick axis contained the furniture and screens, and let onto
six rooms, four of which they knew to be bedrooms. You entered the space
from the hallways through one bar of the T, with the food machine to your
right and the long axis to the left. Both the entry area and the alcove
across offered some modicum of privacy, at least enough for a soft-spoken
conversation.

Bobby started eating his sandwich and drinking his smoothie. He just cocked
an eyebrow and Vinny sputtered a moment before getting himself under
control.

"I. Uh, I'm really sorry that I used to be so nasty to you and all."

Bobby mumbled around his food, "Used to? When did it change?"

Vinny swallowed the bile that brought into his throat. "T-T-T-Today. I."

"What are you getting at, Vinny?" Bobby watched as a tear formed at the
corner of the normally-unflappable bully's eye.

"C-C-C-Can I... Can I get you off?"

Bobby couldn't help it. The laugh escaped before he could squash it. He
saw, though, how much it had cost Vinny to say that, and just how
brutalizing his own laugh had been. He swallowed his bite. "No, Vinny." The
tear actually fell and Bobby realized just how hard it was to be a
heartless prick. "But, Vinny, I'm sorry I laughed. Tell me why you asked me
of all people?"

Vinny couldn't look up at the younger, beautiful teammate. "N-N-N-N-No. It
will make it worse," he mumbled.

"Ya know, I don't think it will."

Vinny shot him an eye-blink glance then away. He was approaching his
breaking point and knew it, but who else could he talk to? "Bec-c-c-cause
you're the one I'm least afraid of."

Bobby rocked back like he'd been slapped. It was seriously the last answer
on Earth he could ever have expected. "Vinny? But you're NEVER afraid,
dude. I've never seen you afraid."

Vinny finally looked up to see if Bobby was baiting or mocking him and only
saw genuine confusions and, he prayed he was right, a little compassion as
well.

His voice was small and young, utterly devoid of Made Man accent and cocky
assurance, the voice of a lost child in a terrifying world. "No. I've never
let anyone see. But I'm so, so scared. I've always been scared. And now,
everything I thought I knew is wrong and everything, everything," he
hiccoughed, "everything is all fucked up and I don't know how to fix it."

Bobby sat, stunned, and waited until Vinny composed himself. "Vinny, I'm
not gonna lie to you man. You really did fuck up with some of the shit you
said since, you know, since they brought us back from whatever. But you
know damned good and well how to fix this."

Vinny's head popped up, "Huh?"

"Man up, dude. Start by being human to us. Start by apologizing, and then
prove you mean it. Stop being Vinny for a change. Be whoever is
underneath. I don't know who that is, but there's got to be a human in
there someplace."

Vinny stared for a long, long time as Bobby finished his meal. He coughed
his voice back into operation. "You're right. I'm. I. I am really sorry."

"Dude, I am the *last* one you need to apologize to. Other than the
fag-fest comment when Ned and I realized we were both alive, you haven't
fucked with me. There's two people you seriously need to make it right
with. I'll tell you what." Bobby said, considering. "I won't tell you I'm
gonna let you put your hands on me, at least not yet. But you make it
right, or at least start to, with Ned and Matt and I promise I won't laugh
you off if you ask again."

"Matt? Why Matt?"

"Jesus. You really don't know how big a fuckwad you've been, do you? You do
everything but spit whenever he's nearby. You make it clear that you only
tolerate him on the team because of the AC and you think he's weak and
useless. You think he doesn't see that? Christ, Bianchi, pull your head out
of your ass."

Vinny just stared at Bobby, jaw working without a sound.

"I'll tell you what. Since I know for a fact that neither would let you get
close enough to say boo, I'll get whichever one you want to start with to
come down here. And I'll make sure they listen for a minimum of a
ten-count. Orrrrrrrrr, you can rot in the bully-barred hell that you've
made for yourself. Offer expires in Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six."

"Junior! I mean Matt."

Bobby shrugged. "Wait here."

Bobby went to Matt who was trying unsuccessfully (but lusciously) to
recreate that pose Sean had given him. He had a small audience and was
enjoying it. Bobby walked up and spoke softly. "Matt. Can you do me a
favor? No, not THAT favor. This one is gonna be a lot har-- more
difficult." Bobby caught himself just in time and could see that Matt had
been ready to pounce on the pun.

Matt shrugged. "Sure."

Matt froze like a statue when he rounded the corner with Bobby behind
him. Vinny was there, leaning nervously against the wall in front of the
padded bench. Bobby knew it was terror and shame, but Matt clearly read the
other's face as fury. He spun to flee and gave Bobby such a look of
betrayal that Bobby had to speak.

"Matt. Give Vinny a chance to talk, then you leave. Okay?"

"What's he gonna do to me?" Matt was clearly and understandably expecting
to get his ass kicked.

"Nothing. I swear." Vinny's voice was heart-wrenching to hear. The calm,
arrogant bravado crushed to oblivion. Matt turned slowly. "I just wanted to
say how s-s-s-sorry I am.  I've, I, uh, I've been a prick and a, a, a..."

"A bully and an asshole? That what you were going for?" Matt's voice was
brittle, still expecting a fight of some sort.

Vinny just hung his head and nodded miserably. Matt spun to face Bobby,
fury and confusion battling for control of his features. "What the fuck is
this about, Wagner?"

"Vinny has decided he'd like to try joining the human race. I, just me I
mean, I think it's fair to help him out a little. At least until we find
out if there's a human under all that." Bobby lowered his voice until only
Matt could possibly hear. "The tables are turned, Matt. The bully is the
one cowering in a corner. I... I thought I'd like it. But it makes me a
little queasy. Does it really feel good to you knowing that you can crush
him like he did us?" He let Matt look at Vinny. "You don't have to help,
but I just think I want to prove that I'm better than he was, than all the
bullies were. That I had the chance to kick his nuts to pulp... to make him
cry like a girl... and *I* said no."

Matt turned back to Bobby and scowled. "You are a Grade A dick, you know
that? I've dreamed of... never mind. Just... never mind." He pushed past
with one last, loathing, near-murderous look at Vinny, but Bobby knew he
had won at least enough that Matt would get out of the way if he didn't
actually help.

Bobby wandered out and found Ned trying to cajole Aaron into a quick 20
points. Aaron, though, was trying to decide which seduction was getting to
him more, Paul or Jackson. "Ned, a word?" Ned sighed, knowing he'd lost
anyway.

Before they reached the other end, Bobby stopped him cold, and
whispered. "Ned, you gotta trust me on this, okay?"

Ned looked perplexed. "I thought you wanted to, you know, have a few points
of fun?" He smirked.

"I want that in the worst fucking way Ned. You have no idea." Ned's smell
was doing incredibly things to Bobby, just as his own beauty was about to
undo Ned's control. "But I need something a lot more difficult right
now. Okay?"

Ned was openly worried now, as well as aroused. "Of course, Bobby. You know
that. Anything."

Bobby sighed and pulled Ned around the corner. After a single glance, he
threw off Bobby's arm. "No! Fuck that!"

"You said anything."

"I fucking lied!"

"Vinny? Ten count!"

"Ned. I. I'm sorry. I fucked up real bad. You covered for me even after
what I d-d-d-did. I know you won't forgive me, but can you let me t-t-t-try
to be better?"

"No! Not just no, FUCK no!" He whirled, "And fuck you for tricking me into
listening to this prick whine at me. Get off me, Wagner." He stormed back
to the other end of the room, getting a lot of stunned stares as he vented
fumes of pure rage.

Bobby turned to the openly-crying Vinny and sighed deeply. "Well, that was
a flat loss, but at least the other match will go to the judges. Stay here
for a while. Pull yourself together. Decide who and what you're gonna be. I
won't get in your way, and if you stop being a prick I'll even try to
help. Best offer I got, dude." He reached out and patted the grieving Vinny
on the shoulder and returned to the group at large.

Paul's wrist DINGed and he sighed. It was clear that Jackson was gonna
score on Aaron after all and the best he could do was retire
gracefully. The DING gave him the excuse he needed. He pulled himself
together and willed every single muscle into place, rolling his walk down
the middle and attracting plenty of licked lips and attention from those
not already committed (or those already complete). He pulled something that
he thought of as a fruit burrito out of the machine just as he heard the
snuffle.

Paul turned to see Vinny, face to the wall, clearly either crying or just
finishing a jag. Paolo thought back and could not recall a single time,
ever, when Vinny let anyone see him cry. Even the time he and an opponent
fell wrong and everyone, including Vinny, thought his knee was gone forever
-- not a drop. Paul took a bite of his whatever and sauntered over. Vinny
looked up, then did a double-take. Paul saw undisguised lust there for a
moment before something, something ashamed or desperate, shut it down.

"Dude, you look like fuck. What up wit dat?"

Vinny looked down. "I'm a bully and a prick and an asshole."

"Well, yeah. Like, duh."

Vinny looked up and saw the smirk and tried his own wan smile. "And I don't
wanna be that anymore."

"Tall order, camarada, that's a lot of undoing to be doing. You finally
getting it into your head that our pussy-centric world ain't there no more,
boy?" Vinny nodded miserably again. "And since you called every swinging
caralho on your own damn team a faggot pussy, you thinking it might be
tough for you to bounce back?" Vinny nodded again. "Yeah, you got a
problem. What you gonna do about it?"

"I tried apologizing." Vinny's voice was flat and dead. "I don't know what
now."

"Well, I got an idea. You got the colhoes to show you in this for real? Get
you-self together and come in there and ask to jack me off, right in front
of ever-body. Then do it. And first person ask you to let him do you, say
yes and you moan like a fuckin whore. Maybe then they listen you
apologizing. Tell you this. You can't *lose* no more respect, camarada."

About ten minutes later as Paolo posed and was just getting Ned's
attention, Vinny walked out. His signature strut was missing, but in its
place was simple determination. He was going into a ring with someone he
knew was gonna kick his ass all over the mat, but he was up for it.

Paul and Bobby, ears already tuned to listen for it, could hear the tremor
of real fear in his voice, but they doubted anyone else could. "Yo, di
Silva, you gonna let me milk you dry, camarada?"

Paolo smiled. "And why I do dat ting?"

"Cuz I'm a-gonna make youse scream for mercy then scream for more, big
man." Vinny knelt between Paul's stretched legs. "Youse up for dat?" Paul
chuckled.

"You got eyes, caralho? How much more *up* you want me?"

Vinny reached up and began to quite simply make love to Paul's dick with
his hands, letting them roam around his teammate's body until he really did
have the Brazilian moaning. Everything else in the room stopped as they
watched Vinny, his face transformed from arrogant bully to driven, focused
stud milking and massaging the ripped, tanned teammate into a frenzy. In
about seven minutes, Paolo began to cuss a blue streak in his native tongue
and blew like a cannon, complete with roar.

Even Paul was stunned and it showed on his face as Vinny stood and ran his
hand through the mess on Paul's smooth belly. He brought the hand to his
own erection and gave himself a couple of slow strokes. "Damn, you really
are the stud" Vinny smiled down at the gasping Paul, "and smooth as fucking
butter to boot." Every single eye followed Vinny as he lazily laid back on
a different couch, still stroking softly, and grabbed a digidesk.

Ned's eyes were narrow and Matt's wide, but Aaron was calculating. He
walked up and said, "You take as well as you give, big man?"

"Oh, fuck yeah. Aaron, do me and I will make yose fucking night."

Aaron leaned into Vinny, determined to test this to the limits. He knew --
well, he was pretty sure -- this was an act and he was going to break
it. Aaron captured Vinny in a kiss and felt the tremor as Vinny
instinctively tried to pull away then overrode the reaction. If anything,
he kissed back harder, moaning into it. Aaron set to work. Having already
cum explosively thanks to Jackson's skilled work, he could focus and find
all of Vinny's hidden buttons.

Vinny had never been touched before, except for Ben that day, and his
nerves were on fire. Like a switch thrown, the moaning act vanished,
replaced with involuntary whimpers and whines and cries of pleasure as
Aaron worked magic on his body. Far, far too soon, he started to moan
higher and higher and used both his arms to lock Aaron's head in the kiss
as he screamed in exultation into his teammate's mouth, blowing like a
firehose and bucking like one as well.

When he came back down, Aaron was still locked in his embrace, looking a
bit shell-shocked and waiting for the vindictive Vinny to return. Instead,
Vinny pulled him gently close and looked into his eyes. "Youse are fucking
amazing, man. Fucking amazing," before bringing him into a new and tender
kiss.

*****

Leo damn near crowed in joy, but stifled his reaction as he looked around
at the tense, fierce faces in the glow of the monitors. He had his
headphones on, but still couldn't escape the pervasive mood of the
room. Rob and Wilkins were both at stations, and both were sweating. Devon
was so tense that, with his incredibly tall, thin frame, he looked like a
bow-string ready to snap. Howie, though, Howie was the determined calm in
the midst of the circus.

They'd brought Assistant Coach Matt Sparks, Senior, affectionately known as
that Sick Fucking Bastard, out of forced unconsciousness just minutes
before, right when the cocktail of hallucinogens went into full swing.

From the AC's perspective, he floated from a sea of nothingness to one of
blackness and silence. The difference was subtle, but profound. He was in a
strange position with no clear understanding of up or down, and his limbs
wouldn't move or at least not that he could tell.

In fact, he was in a suede sling, immobilized at nearly every joint with
bindings that, even were he not stoned out of his mind, he still would have
had a hard time feeling. Over his entire face was a full-vision 3D visor
with soft puffs of skin-temp air keeping them from steaming up. What they
showed right then was a textured black-on-black world. The
slightly-modified Shure headphones isolated his auditory world just as
perfectly.

The AC gradually became aware of soft and distant sounds. A heartbeat, a
rattle, simple musical notes, a baby's laughter. He smiled contentedly as
Wilkins peered closely at the readouts. "He seems to be
susceptible. Starting the visual." The AC's world slowly took on depth and
color. Images were vague, but every color was intensely-crisp and rich. The
sounds were disjointed but strangely clear, distinct, bell-like. It was a
Fischer Price world of simple shapes, pure sound and powerful colors. A
toddler's world. Scents came and went quickly; grass, a rainstorm, bacon,
earth, salt spray. He was suspended in a world over which he had no
control, not even to turn and look at other things. He was happy about
that, though.

"Pfwewwwwwww. Okay. I've got some basics. Stressor colors and scents,
relaxation triggers, a few that are pretty clearly fear-related. Where do
you want him, Howie?"

"Give me relaxation colors and the mildest stress triggers. Devon, you're
up."

The AC heard someone calling in the distance but couldn't make anything
out. Several voices came and went, then a woman's voice was there with a
high timbre and a brittle sound. "Aunt Mary? Is that you?" The men in the
control room shared satisfied glances. It was working. They got several
other names, all of which were actually throw-aways. Mild stress was not
useful.

"Let's try for maximum relaxers and safety triggers." They only got three
names from that, Peter, Gloria and Mr Painter.

"Okay, give me some fear, Wilkin. Devon, next set, please." They got a lot
more names this time, including Momma and Daddy and Uncle Rick along with a
dozen others. "Okay. Devon, isolate those voices only and play them in
quick succession. Wilkin, give me max stressors all across the
board... now."

The AC was in terrible trouble but he couldn't recall what he'd done. He'd
been bad. So bad. He could hear his cousin coming for him. "No. NO! Bad
Randy! Don't do that!" Then his Momma's voice and he cowered screaming he
was sorry, then his pulse quickened and he cried out, "Please, Uncle Ricky!
Please let me but please don't do THAT!" He almost wept with relief when
things went back to calm and steady and peaceful, back to safety. Then to
dimness. Then to darkness. Then to nothingness.

Daniel finally spoke. "Okay, guys. We have what we need. Let this batch of
meds work out of his system and give him at least eight hours of actual
sleep. We'll hop him up first thing in the morning. Howie, tell Ben he's on
his own for the AM session and, yes, I know he's pulling a triple with the
overnight. I have a feeling, though, that he just won't mind that much."

*****

Jackson was in shock as he watched Vinny do the unthinkable and really lay
into a kiss that for all the world looked sincere and loving. He jumped a
foot when he felt a small, sad, timid voice in his ear. "I'm sorry about
yesterday. I tried really hard when I did that for you and I'm kinda bummed
you didn't really like it that much."

Jackson flipped over. "What you talkin bout, white boy?" Matt's face was
sad and pouty.

"You never, you know, even looked at me after. I'm sorry I did it wrong,
Jackson." Matt sighed tremulously and walked off and Jackson stared,
dumbfounded at that amazingly-beautiful ass writhed away from him. He was
on his feet in an instant and easily caught the other boy. He spun the
smaller kid around and dropped to one knee.

"Matt, baby. Don't say shit like that. You did great. I mean great." Matt's
lip trembled and he looked into the giant black man's eyes through long,
seemingly-wet lashes, as if he'd been crying.

"You d-d-d-don't have to pretend. I know I'm not, you know, Aaron..."

"Huh?"

"Well, Aaron got you all hot and everything. And you looked like it was
Christmas when he let you, you know, get him off.  And I get it. After you
two had each other th-th-th-this afternoon. I'll try and get better. I
p-p-p-promise. Just don't, you know... just give me a chance again?
Please?"

Jackson was beside himself. His mind echoed with his own words, 'I always
pay with interest, baby.' Matt, well, Junior then as far as Jackson had
known, had damned near extracted his gonads through his cock with the best
hand-job of his life. And now the poor kid felt like Pampers that Jackson
had shit in and thrown away. He grabbed Matt who was just turning away.

"Don't you do that, baby. Them was assignments, kid. You did things I never
thought about, baby. You're magic, honey. You know that."

Matt sniffled miserably. "Don't lie to make me feel good Jackson. I mean,
soon as they announced assignments, you and Paul were all over Aaron like
cats on cream. You n-n-n-never even *looked* at me." Deep sigh. "Never
mind, just promise you'll let me try again some time?"

"You kidding? I'd give a dozen Aarons for one touch from you, baby. You
gotta know that."

Matt's face shone with a glimmer of hope that died instantly. "It's okay,
Jackson. I get it. If you meant it you'd have already asked me to do you
again. But I promise, swar-ta-god, I really will get better and you'll like
it next time."

"Baby! Baby don't say that. You can have me just by snapping a finger,
Matt. You special you are. You magic. You want this big black thing, you
just whistle."

"I don't know how to whistle." Jackson's heart leapt at the vaguest hint of
a smile.

"Come on, give me a touch now, baby. Just a little? Just a taste?"

"You're just teasing me. I feel bad enough, Jackson, without that."

"No. God, baby, look. You got me leaking just thinkin of your sweet hands
on me. Come on, baby, make daddy feel good. I'm begging here, honey. You
gonna leave your man with blue balls? Ain't nobody else getting this load."
Matt tentatively reached forward and Jackson let out and exaggerate moan of
delight that echoed across the room.

Rob laughed loudly in the control room and Leo looked up, the only one left
after the AC work was over. A cocked eyebrow and Rob pushed him the
footage. Leo started to giggle, then roar. "Damn. That little white boy's
got both Guilt Trip *and* Makeup Sex down stone cold and Carter ain't even
taught that lesson yet! Dude, this in one hell of a subject group!"

*****

It was a bit unsettling to hear the animalistic howls of ecstasy echo
through the room as Matt turned Jackson into a blubbering mass of orgasmic
flesh. Ned went up to Bobby and nudged him. "Can we talk?" They peeled away
and found a corner to sit in near the utterly-ignored Protectorate News
Feed screen, volume all the way off. Bobby was cautious and more than a
little unhappy. Actually, he was pissed at the way Ned had thrown him off.

"Bobby, I'm sorry. The Vinny thing? We roomed that first, horrible
night. And he was such an evil prick I, I, I cried myself to sleep,
Bobby. You gotta understand. I can't just let that shit go."

"So, well, what? Until they m-m-m... ma... make us get
h-h-husbands... we're *stuck* here. With each other. A team, Ned; you
remember the whole team thing? And you just, what, want to stew in it? He's
one seventh of our entire universe, Ned. He's a prick and a bastard and
he's bullied me a fucking hell of a lot longer than you, but so what? I
can't be miserable and hateful forever, Ned. I just can't. I'm sorry. But
you know something? You know Matt? The guy that everyone on the team
including YOU has dissed and that Vinny took every opportunity to cut? HE
can get past it. HE can man up. HE can deal, Ned. Fuck. Never mind. Forget
it. I'm done."

Ned spun Bobby around as he tried to march off. "Bobby, I'm sorry. You're
gonna hate me forever and I don't fucking care. I've wanted to say this
since fifth grade. I have wanted... wanted *you*, Bobby, ever since we
met." Bobby's eyes got wide. "There are guys I jacked off over," he chose
not to mention that the leading suspect was Bobby's brother, "but you are
the only one I *dreamed* of. I hate Vinny with every cell in my body. I
hate him so much it makes me want to puke, Bobby. But if you want me to cut
Vinny slack, I-I-I-I'll really try. I can't promise, Bobby, but I'll try."

Bobby flicked his gaze from eye to eye. "You wanted... me? Back in fifth
grade?"

"FUCK! Out of all that, THAT is the part you pick? GOD! Yes, Bobby, I have
been q-q-q-queer for you since before I even knew what my dick was for. Is
that what you want to hear? That I'm a fucking queer? I am, Bobby. I
really, really am."

Bobby's voice was low and thoughtful. "N-N-N-N-No. I d-d-didn't want to
hear you say you're, well, that. I've wanted since, HA! fifth grade for you
to say you l-l-liked me. To admit that I lo... l-l-l-- FUCK IT, that I
loved you. It was never sexual, well, fuck; now I've got to question that
too! I never *thought* it was sexual. I just wanted to be around
you. Wanted to hear your v-v-v-voice. Wanted to have my arm over your
shoulder or yours over mine. Wanted that... that, well, that
closeness. FUCK! I am making no sense at all."

"No, Bobby, you're not only making sense, you're making me happier and
sadder than I ever thought I could be. Happy that you wanted it and sad
that I never had the g-guts to tell you, to ask you. Well, I'm asking you
now. Can I, oh God, can I t-t-touch you, Bobby?"

"Every fucking day, Ned."

It wasn't elegant or artful, but the two were suddenly making love to each
other with their hands. There was no screaming, no posing, no howls of
ecstasy. A few minutes in, Bobby found himself kissing away the tears that
were flowing freely from Ned's eyes. With a great, gasping sob, Ned
exploded then, coating them both in his slime. The slickness was all it
took for Bobby to follow suit a few strokes later.

*****

"I'm so really sorry, Paul. I wanted that to be you, you know." Paul
started at Matt's tiny, sad, worried, crushed voice. He'd been watching the
clumsy lovemaking of Ned and Bobby that, for all its lack of elegance, was
somehow far more erotic and alluring. "I thought, you know, after this
m-m-m-morning in the shower, that you... that you'd see how much I wanted
you and let-let me try again."

"Huh?"

"But then you d-d-d-didn't even really look at me again. You just kept
staring at, flirting with, Aaron. And then you let Vinny," Matt's voice
dripped with venom and loathing; Vinny had made it his mission to make
'Junior's' life hell, and Paul had never interfered, "get you off. I am
really sorry. You were so nice to me that I thought, that I tried, that
I... and you... but I'm just not good enough yet. D-D-D-D-D-Do you think I
might be as good as Aaron one day? As good as that fucking b-b-bastard,
V-V-V-Vinny?"

Paolo's mind was blown so completely he started speaking in Portuguese
before catching himself. "Vinny is a nothing, Matt. You know that. I did it
to help the man out, nothing more. And you are already better than Aaron."

Matt reached up and gently touched the side of his hero's face, voice and
posture radiating grief and sadness. "I love you for saying that, but it's
okay. I get it. I just wanted to say I'm sorry for letting you down."
Before Paul could react at all, he was walking away, his rolling ass
setting fires inside Paul that he didn't even understand. Matt's
resignation and mourning fanned the flames to a conflagration.

Matt felt the breath leave him as his back was flung against the wall. He
was instantly wrapped in the arms and body of Paul, his hero and protector
for the previous year who had him in a kiss for the ages. Paul pulled back
and growled. "Never say that again, my filhone. You are my puppy -- mine,
you hear me? I may be a dawg and play the field, but you are the puppy I
will always come back to. You hear me, filhone? You feel what you do to
me?"

Paul ground his rampant cock into the soft belly of the younger guy,
relishing the whimper it brought. Matt looked up, "C-C-C-Can I, um, can I
t-t-t-touch it again?" Paul growled ferociously in Matt's ear and Leo and
Rob both shared a raucous laugh at the predatory smile of triumph in Matt's
face. To two young men began to writhe like snakes, right there against the
wall, Paul flushed with his conquest having no idea how well and skillfully
he'd been snared. Regardless, it was a vocal and energetic union, and no
mistake.

*****

"Okay, got it. No trouble. You know I'd be in the gym in the morning
anyway, and it's no trouble taking the guys. You gonna be okay, Howie? You
look thrashed, man." Ben was sitting on the counter drinking a cup of
gahwah, the thick, black sludge redolent of cardamom traditional from his
youth. He nibbled dates to balance the acrid and intense boiled coffee.

"I'll be fine. The Sick Fucking Bastard gets to me. Everything we find out
shows just how jacked up this guy is, and I know we've gotten nowhere close
to figuring out how badly he screwed up his kid. Keep an eye on Junior --
well, Matt now -- while you're around. I worry about that kid."

"You got it. So, what's new on Sicko? What's the delta?"

"Wilkin regressed him pretty well, we think, and it's pretty clear his
psychosexual demons are from far, far earlier than I ever expected. I guess
at some level, the bastard is also a victim, but he's a rotten one to the
core and no mistake. Anyway, I'm off. I need some good sleep to get ready
for tomorrow."

"Okay, but take care, my friend. Don't let his sickness poison you,
Howie. Promise?" Howie nodded and smiled sadly, then headed out of the
break room. Ben watched as the massive man left, looking sad, sure, but
sexy as all fuck. He'd gotten a detailed play-by-play from Rob and his own
ass twitched at the thought. Ben was mostly a top, but for Howie?
Fuck. Anybody would drop trou and spread 'em for that hunk.

Ben sighed, shot the rest of his gahwah, shuddered, and headed back to the
Social Room. It was getting close to time for Room Lock and he would need
his strength for Aaron, assuming the stories were to be believed. He
entered quietly, unnoticed. No wonder, he smiled, as the overwhelming scent
of teen jism smacked him in the face.

Paul and Matt were locked together, literally dripping cum as they
continued to writhe and wriggle into each other against the far wall. Bobby
and Ned were locked in a tight kiss with Aaron looking on in open
bewilderment as Jackson stared, in turn, at the delectable Aaron. Vinny,
for the first time Ben had ever seen, was smiling softly and contentedly,
languidly caressing his cock and balls.

"Gentlemen," Ben said softly but clearly. Paolo and Matt came apart with
the sound of a plunger suddenly extracted from a stubborn drain; Ned and
Bobby turned their faces without losing a single square inch of skin
contact. "I'm guessing there's about a forty-five minute span before
Room-Lock. Remember that the reminder from your band will only give you a
thirty-minute window. From the smell in here and the amount of drippage I
see, I'm thinking that some of you might want a nice long shower before
that? I'd suggest facilities, then a rinse. You have just about enough
time."

The guys all smiled, blushing, but made their way across the hall with
plenty of locker-room banter and good-natured ribbing. As he'd predicted,
they were not even halfway through when the bands all chimed at once
announcing the thirty-minute warning.

Ben made his way to the room he'd share that night with Aaron, who came in
shyly perhaps twenty minutes later. "I know it's got to be a terrible
shock," Ben said in his slow and comforting voice, "but how are you doing,
Aaron?"

Aaron sat and stared at the floor for a minute then looked up. His lip was
trembling but his voice was fairly steady. "I'm in shock, I
guess. Everything I ever learned is wrong. More than wrong; it's upside
down! And the way the guys look at me. It's scary. I, well, honestly? I
never thought of guys that way, but now? Well, now it's not that bad. But
having them so obviously thinking that way about *me* is... I don't even
have words."

Aaron got up and walked slowly over, putting one hand on Ben's arm. In a
very soft, tentative voice, he said, "Is it true, what Sean said? That I
can t-t-touch guys without even asking?"

Ben had gasped at the touch, his entire body suddenly focused on the spot
on his arm where Aaron's fingers lay. He looked up into Aaron's face and
nodded, then took his other hand and ran it along the boy's flank. Both
sighed.

The frenzy of Sean's lovemaking the night before had left Aaron almost
shell-shocked. The exquisite tenderness of Ben, though, blew his mind in
completely different ways. As with Sean's energetic drive, Aaron found
himself flowing into the gentle lovemaking of his
husband-for-the-night. The orgasms -- there were two for each -- were
wondrous, but little more than chapter-markers in the overall bliss of
hands and skin and lips. They heeded the voice calling for sleep, but
ignored the suggestion of separate beds.

*****

The door had just closed behind Vinny and his eyes were still adjusting
when he heard Matt say, "Please, Vinny. Please don't hurt me
tonight. Please?" Matt's voice was a small, timid, pleading thing. With
Paul and Jackson, there had been artifice and calculation. Now there was
only raw, pleading fear. It was clear that he believed Vinny's earlier
contrition was just a ruse, something to get him by until he could really
get Matt alone for the first time since waking in this terrible/wonderful
new world.

Vinny stared at the obvious terror on the younger guy's face and felt his
heart break yet again. It was, frankly, more than he could take. He sank to
corner where floor and wall met his bed and curled into a ball, trying
desperately not to cry again. He sat and rocked for a while, vaguely
hearing the bed shift across from him.

"Vinny?" The voice was tiny, scared, worried. "Vinny? You okay? You sick?"

"YES!" Matt jumped back a couple yards, shaking. "YES! All right? Yes! I'm
sick. I'm a sick fucking bastard and a bully and a useless piece of
shit. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? Is that what EVERYONE wants to
hear? To hear me admit it? Well, you got it, kid. Vinny is a worthless,
sick, evil fuck. Okay? Now just, just, just... just leave me alone." He did
cry then, unable to keep in the self-loathing and pain any longer.

"Y-Y-Y-Ya know what I always wanted? When someone -- well, usually you --
said something so mean that it kicked my balls in?" Matt's voice grew
closer, slowly. Vinny didn't look up, but yelped and jumped when he felt a
hand on his shoulder. "I just wanted someone to say, 'It's gonna be okay.'
Well, Vinny, I don't know what's happening to you, to us. But it--it's
gonna be okay."

Vinny looked up, red eyes fierce and lost and terrified. Before Matt could
react, Vinny has locked his hand around Matt's arm and pulled him down
hard. Matt screamed in shock and fright, then gasped when Vinny entire body
curled around his smaller frame, clinging to Matt so ferociously that it
both scared and awed the younger teammate. Vinny rocked them, sobbing,
saying nothing, but clutching Matt like the last parachute on a plummeting
plane.

He waited a long while, then muttered, "Uh, Vinny? The, uh, the floor is
cold? Can we, you know, get in bed?"

Vinny, beyond the scope of words, finally tugged the unresisting Matt with
him and got them under the covers of his bed, still cradling and clutching
desperately.

Matt laid there for a long while, thinking of... nothing. His last real
thought as he drifted to sleep in Vinny's embrace was, 'Matt, what the fuck
have you gotten yourself into now?'

*****

Perhaps the strangest room that night was at the far end. Paul and Bobby
just stared at each other, each shocked beyond mere words at all that had
transpired that evening. After the longest time, both just snuggled into
the covers and were out like a light without hint of passion or need.

*****

Not so much in the next room, though. Jackson was smiling slyly. "You gonna
tell me what's up between you and Bobby, Ned?"

Ned cocked his head to one side. "Um... no. No, I don't think so."

"Good. So, you horny still? Wanna fool around?"

"Um... yeah. Yeah I do."

As they wrestled and tickled and teased, Ned suddenly burst out
laughing. Jackson pulled back, bemused. "What's that about?"

"I'm really sorry, Jackson," Ned chuckled, "but a phrase just got stuck in
my head. 'No, of course romance isn't dead. Why do you ask?'"

*****

Abdullah bin Assam was up early and used his digidesk to enter a single
line and shoot it to Daniel, 'Not a fluke. Holy fuck!' Aaron began to stir
next to him and the tightly-muscled man just watched. When the youth
finally came fully awake, there was the obligatory moment of Morning
Amnesia before his eyes cleared and he smiled up at Ben who was propped on
one elbow to get a better view of the young man. "Morning, sunshine. How do
you feel today? Sleep well?"

Aaron stretched and yawned, dragging the sheet off him completely,
unveiling his morning wood like a new statue outside a library. "I've never
slept better in my life, Ben. And I know why, too." He leaned up into the
older man and kissed him softly, then deeper until it became a passionate
embrace. Ben melted into the young, lithe, powerful body, moaning in
surrender.

He tried to think of a time when he'd felt such overwhelming need and
desire, and not just the desire to take, but the intense drive to give this
kid more pleasure than he could imagine. Ben recalled the intensity of
passion in his youth as every cell of his body screamed in the hormone
swamp of teen sexual obsession, and that felt... close to this. When he'd
first come to Raven's Claw and experienced the effects of Redmond's and
Wilkin's separate sexual magics, it certainly created a nearly-insatiable
hunger, but still, this was utterly different.

He guided Aaron on top of him and used his superior strength to match their
bodies so each writhe, each wriggle, each hunch would maximize Aaron's
pleasure. Forcing the young man's glans through the deep crevasse next to
his balls and scraping the shaft with his own hair-drenched
bollocks. Gripping the boy's ass and petting it to increase the
stimulation.

That is when the thunderbolt finally struck. It wasn't that he wanted Aaron
to have as much pleasure as he himself enjoyed; he thirsted for Aaron's
pleasure *itself*. His own pleasure was, at best, a nice bonus. His body,
mind and soul demanded without respite or evasion that he please his young
lover to the exclusion of all other considerations. He flowed into that,
allowing it to take over.

Every moan or whimper he dragged from Aaron was now a tiny orgasm for
Ben. A smile was a benediction; a bit lip, a glory; each shudder, a
validation of Ben's very existence. When Aaron finally came, he felt every
drop of seed hit his belly and chest and exploded in his own release,
utterly consumed and fulfilled at once, as if he had completed his magnum
opus. And instantly, that incredibly accomplishment was erased with a
single thought: 'More. Again. Forever.'

Ben was never really able to understand how he got them out of that
bedroom; how he pried himself away from Aaron's all-ensnaring power, but he
did after only two orgasms apiece. Shaking visibly, he pulled Aaron to the
door, letting go of his treasure only through a lifetime of training and
dedication. The Protocols were specific; staff must let go and actively
encourage subject-to-subject interplay whenever outside the bedchamber.

I turned out not to be quite as complicated as expected. They emerged into
the Social Room just as Paolo did. Even without the sensors of
Monitor/Psych, Ben could see Paul's nostrils flare and eyes light with
fire. Aaron blushed but allowed Paul to slowly come up, kiss him gently
and, as if it were the most obvious choice in the world, take him by the
hand and drag him toward the showers.

Bobby emerged moments later and his jaw dropped. Ben thought of what his
powerful but short body must look like after a night of Aaron: Sweaty,
grimy, cum-drenched, disheveled, wild-eyed, scruffy. Bobby saw the same
things but only had a single adjectival phrase: Sexiest man ever. Bobby
moved forward like he was controlled by faulty springs and froze just
before touching the small god of a man.

"It's okay," Ben cooed, "Touch me if you want. Anything you like, you
beautiful, stunning, wonderful young man." Bobby was on him like a starved
dog and they cuddled and caressed and stroked and teased their way to the
showers.

The brothers, Aaron and Bobby, were intensely-aware of what Paul and Ben
were doing to and with their bodies and especially that they were side by
side in the showers. Bobby had always wondered if he were gay, especially
when he saw Aaron naked. Aaron had never really had such thoughts, but had
always been worried about letting his little brother see him aroused. Any
such ideas -- all ideas of any type -- vanished as Paul and Ben, as if at
the direction of a maestro, let their soapy hands touch cocks and assholes
at the same time.

Travis nearly came in his shorts as the four writhed in the warm, sudsy
water. But that was not the only attraction that he was desperately using
to avoid seeing the work that Rob and Howie were doing next to him,
assisted by Wilkins at the third console.

*****

Devon had worked through the night with his voice actors, scattered around
the globe. There were six that they'd highlighted, three that echoed with
positive energy for the Assistant Coach Sparks and three that echoed with
dread and fear.

Peter was voiced by Lance Gorton and sounded young which was his
specialty. His voice was soft and strong. Gentle. Caring. The friend upon
whose shoulder you would cry.

Gloria was a bit bubbly and was played by, ironically, Gloria Evers. She
was a middle-aged widow but played the teen stereotypes perfectly and
reliably.

Mr Painter was a gruff, black voice played by Mohan Lincoln. If not for
recent developments, he might have been called an 'older Mr Huxtable' type,
the patient and loving grandfather or father-of-a-friend.

They had lucked out with Uncle Ricky, the strongest reaction in stress and
fear where the AC also spiked with sexual need. Orland Miller, a
Monitor/Psych guy over in the Induced OCD unit, had supplied the initial
voice samples on which Sparks triggered. Daniel had gotten Orland
temporarily assigned to their unit for the week.

Momma would be voiced by Evangeline Wilson (no relation to Rob), a veteran
voice actress who specialized in people who would be right at home saying,
"But you *are*, Blanche! You *are* in that chair!" or, "And your little
dog, too," or, "No wire hangers, EVER!" or, " As I told you, Mr. Potter,
naughty children deserve to be punished," or even, "Just say no to drugs."
In this case, a whining and vindictive sound dominated.

Lastly, Coach Young was played by William Jonathan Smythe, a British actor
who had made a career of ruthless schoolmasters, lieutenants and fathers,
always the villain and proud of it.

The four had started around three in the morning. 'Matty' drifted up from
nothingness into blackness again, at peace and comfortable in the strange
and unknowable place. Slow, dark colors gradually filled his vision and the
silence took on a texture as well. Blue and green and red so deep as to be
nearly indistinguishable from a velvet black moved languidly. It was night,
and he had been scared.

Peter: It's okay now. What happened, Matty?

"Oh, God, Peter. I did it again!"

Peter: What? Why?

"He LET me! You don't understand. I need it so bad. And just as, as, I
can't say it! Momma knocked and Unc-c-c-c-cle Ricky started yelling at me,
saying he'd been asleep. Calling me everything. And Momma took me home and,
oh Peter. It hurt so b-b-b-bad."

Peter: Why keep doing it then?

"NO! NO! You don't understand. I have to. And he always explains that he's
only allowing me to do it to help me and it disgusts him. If anyone finds
out how much I n-n-n-need it they'll sent me to a, a, a hospital. So he has
to pretend neither of us wanted it or it was an accident, but then he, he
always make it right next time. If there's a next time." The guys in the
monitoring room shuddered as the AC, regressed to adolescence, wept. "He
said, he told Momma he never wanted me near him again. What do I DO?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote the rest of that scene, breaking through Matty's
life to find the key to the pathologies and perversions of Assistant Coach
Matt Sparks, Senior. I can't bring myself to actually publish it. This is
not a tease; the result was sickening and not at all sexy or
stimulating. I'll summarize the findings instead.

Matty had been obsessed with his uncle since his early youth. Around
puberty, he began acting on those obsessions. Uncle Ricky subtly encouraged
him while at the same time condemning him and throwing the boy on the
not-so-tender mercies of his sister, Matty's Momma. The cycle escalated
continually until Matty was convinced of his reprehensible sickness. Uncle
Ricky took every possible liberty with the boy in often-horrific,
humiliating and destructive ways, with his sister there to cover (and
punish Matty) for each episode.

Matty found refuge with Peter, his best friend, for much of the first year
of abuse. Peter tried to intervene and eventually called the Florida
Department of Children and Families. Uncle Ricky, though, was not new to
the hideous game. An 'anonymous tip' led the DCF to check Peter's family
computer.

Peter's folders and those of his father were stuffed with thousands of
child porn pictures, mainly of pre-pubescent boys. They found a note as
well, written from father to son reading, 'Get Matty to play or get rid of
interfering Uncle.' The father went to prison, Peter to reform school and
Matty was left with no one. Uncle Ricky explained that he, Matty, had
destroyed their lives by infecting them with his perversion.

When Matty found Gloria, the retribution was much quicker. She went to the
police. Two days later, she was brutally raped and the family moved away,
never letting Matty see her. Uncle Ricky again explained how Matty had
brought this on his friend. Mr Painter, Matty's neighbor, became a
sympathetic ear, but refused to get involved having seen what had happened
to Peter and Gloria. He listened and gave useless advice about trying not
to be so sexy or attractive or alluring to his uncle. How to make himself
small and quiet and avoid the situations that led to Matty's 'failures' and
'backsliding'.

The final straw, though, was Coach Young. Matty was a born athlete,
talented in several sports. His idol was his JV coach, a rough and tumble
Brit who was both strict and effective, and seemed to care deeply about
'his boys'. Matty finally worked up the courage to approach his respected
and beloved coach who heard him out, then raped him for "teasing and
enticing him beyond endurance." For the next two years, not only did the
abuse by Uncle Ricky continue, Coach Young used Matty brutally and, after
every rape, forced the boy to confess to deliberately seducing and
molesting his Coach, often on video, and whipped him severely.

By 14, the newly-named 'Matt' took back control of his life. He was big and
strong enough to fend off Uncle Ricky, who had slowly lost interested in
the aging boy anyway. Coach Young no longer had easy access since Matt was
now in High School, and Matt sealed himself off from any other men since
help did not exist and exploitative sexual abuse was his universal
expectation. The pattern had been set. Under Matt's iron control was an
insatiable and cruel lust, coupled with an absolute conviction of his own
culpability but also superiority, as he'd found a way to subdue and conquer
those drives.

His sexual conquests in college were uniformly brutal and degrading. He
found Lillie, herself a victim of childhood sexual abuse and their
codependence produced Matt Sparks, Junior, as well as the woman's overdose
when the boy was only seven. Sensing weakness in his own son, the AC had
done everything in his power to crush the budding sexuality of 'Junior'.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Howie had a haunted look in his eye by the end of the hours-long session
and all of the men had either puked or wept (or both) at several
points. About the time the guys were eating breakfast, the ad hoc Sick
Fucking Bastard Committee reconvened.

"Is there anyone here," Howie asked in a defeated voice, "who can honestly
think of any way to correct or even moderate the AC's pathologies? Yeah, I
didn't think so. I see no option here but to break the man and rebuild him
as a traditional ego-suppressed, subservient slave. I thought we'd moved
past that, and I honestly believe that we have protocols that will produce
mentally-stable, productive, talented, loving men for the sexual-slavery
marketplace, but I think we have to acknowledge that there are some who
simply cannot be rescued. The AC is the model of that type."

Daniel spoke up, "I think that is a fair summary. But let's not lose sight
of the essential fact: We have nothing here but upside. The Sick Fucking
Bastard was well on his way to destroying his son just as he had his wife
and countless 'lovers' before and since. He would go on destroying lives
for as long as he remained capable. We can stop that. It doesn't make the
task less abhorrent, but perhaps it makes it less of a karmic burden." He
dismissed the guys, shaking his head. A small pilot light in his brain
still burned, though. He looked at the image of the brutal, magnificent
bruiser and thought again, 'What a slave to own once broken and rebuilt, to
have kneeling and begging... begging to be used...'

*****

The AC's son, Matt, awoke slowly and sighed deeply. His dream was so
nice. He was wrapped in a warm embrace, comfortable and sexy and happy. He
froze when he realized that it wasn't a dream, except for the happy
part. His breath shortened as he recalled that he was wrapped in the arms
of a boy who had relentlessly tormented him since he arrived at High
School.

Vinny felt Matt stir, having been awake and in a torment of his own for
hours. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Matt, listen to me before you
get up, please? I was a horrible person. I don't want to be him
anymore. Please, don't forgive me. I couldn't take that. But can I try and
make it up to you somehow?"

Matt didn't turn, but took a moment to feel Vinny's strong and powerful
embrace. His musky and alluring aroma. The tremor in his voice that spoke
of emotions that Vinny had never before shown to anyone. Matt spoke to the
pillow, not to the man-child holding him.

"What you did hurt me, Vinny. It still does. You can't unsay things. No,
shut up. But, fuck only knows how, you got *Bobby* to believe that you mean
it, and he's the best of us. Don't worry about me forgiving you; unlike
Bobby, I am not a saint. But," Matt too a long, deep breath and let out a
near-mournful sigh, "I won't get in your way and I won't shut you
down. Until you h-h-h-hurt me again, I'll try, Vinny."

"Can we start with that?"

"What?"

"I d-d-d-don't want to be Vinny anymore. I always felt like I was playing a
part with Vinny. Maybe, well, maybe Vinny was the mean one? Maybe if I
s-s-s-stop being V-Vinny, I can make it work?"

"Then who do you want to be 'toof guy'?" Matt dropped the last two words in
Vinny's Made Man accent.

"Can I, you know, do what you did? Just drop the nickname entirely? Maybe
just be... Vincent?"

"I can handle that." For the first time, Matt turned to his bedmate. These
were heady topics but they were both teens waking from a night's sleep and
Matt could not pretend that Vinny's rampant cock hadn't been jammed against
his ass-cheek. "First question I've got, though... Does Vincent fool
around?"

Vincent's eyes brimmed with unshed tears but his heart nearly burst at the
question. His voice was soft, fragile, worried, hopeful, "Only if you'll
let him?"

The newly-minted Vincent proved to be a formidable and talented lover,
especially to the shockingly-horny Matt that morning. He pulled two loads,
the first copious and the second long and drawn-out, from the stunned young
man who only got into the action slowly and brought Vincent off only
once. Matt tried to apologize and Vincent simply kissed him
slowly. "Consider it partial payment for being the ultimate prick. By my
count," Vincent smiled slowly, "I only have to bring you off six billion
and seven more times before I break even?"

*****

Jackson slowly came up from a vivid and utterly-amazing dream. Some chick,
he couldn't recall which, was doing the dirtiest, filthiest, most amazing
things to his prick. "Oh, uh-uh-uh-uh. Baby. Baby don't stop. Please don't
stop. Uh-uh-uh."

His eyes flew open when Ned's voice replied, "Hadn't planned on it stud."
The shock of that should have sent him to softsville instantly. A *guy* was
messing with his prick? A fucking *teammate*? Fuck! Instead, the thought
sent him into orbit and he unloaded explosively.

"Damn, that was a fucking load and a half! Dude, what were you dreaming
about?"

Jackson looked at the smaller hunky white kid, and growled, "You..." before
hitting every 'Sexually-Charged Zone' his hands could find while smearing
his own baby-batter into Ned's cock and balls, gradually building the
movements into a frenzy and driving Ned to a shattering, screaming eruption
of his own. Jackson's deep voice was now in the quivering boy's ear as he
came down from his orgasmic high, "It's always you, baby."

*****

When the guys had finished their morning ablutions -- all of them felt
compelled to shower for aromatically-obvious reasons -- they gathered back
in the Social Room. All had finally fished munching one breakfasty-thing or
another and chatting. They gathered on the benches where Ben and Sean stood
ready to address them. Vinny, however, raised his hand. Sean nodded to him.

"Um, first, I, um, um." Matt and Bobby, who'd been sitting on either side,
each kicked him. "Ow! Um," the next came out as if it were a single, long,
desperate word, "Vinny-was-a-grade-a-prick-and-evil-to-boot-
I-don't-want-to-be-him-anymore-
I'm-Vincent-and-want-to-be-on-the-team-again?"

They all took a moment to figure out where the spaces were supposed to have
been between the words. Paul grinned and said, "Prove it and I'll buy it."

Jackson chimed in with, "Whatever works for you, dude. You wanna be
Vincent, you Vincent. You wanna be a prick, you Vinny."

Aaron shrugged and nodded. Ned stared, furious. He caught Matt's glare and
Vinny's desperate and sincere look, but it was Bobby's look of
disappointed, confused, almost-betrayed sadness that broke him. He took a
deep, shuddering breath and followed it with a long sigh. "I don't know
this Vincent guy, but he's welcome to join the team. I'll give him the same
shot as every newb." His jaw, though, was working hard from side to
side. He was livid and hurt at Bobby's apparent shift in loyalty, but he'd
loved the guy since they'd met and would, honestly, do anything Bobby asked
not to see that disappointment pointed at him again.

Vinny/Vincent was bright red and breathing hard when he finally sat, but he
raised his hand again. Sean's eyebrows went up even further.

"Um, can you tell me where the razors are? I couldn't find them and I'm
gonna look like a cheap Wolverine soon." With a shared gasp, Aaron, Paul,
Matt and Ned shot hands to their chins.

Ben stepped forward, "You don't have to worry about that. You won't grow
facial hair again unless your First Husband asks to have the inhibitors
removed once you're married." A soft murmur in the key of 'wow' ran through
the group. In actually fact, simple laser hair removal had been done on all
the guys and they'd be growing hair again in a few months. By that time,
though, they'd already be married / bought / adopted from the Raven's Claw
program by the highest bidder and beards would be the least of their
concerns.

"So on to points," Sean finally continued, "When you ended your day, Top
Dog was Matt, Stallion was Ned and Stud was Bobby. Considering the points
earned by Room-Lock last night, those standings only change in one way. Ned
is replaced by Aaron for Stallion, leapfrogging his poor brother
Bobby. Check your digidesks for more specifics." The order was Matt, Aaron,
Bobby, Paul, Ned, Jackson and Vinny. Jackson felt frustration build as he
tried to figure out how to climb the chart.

"Slight change-up today. Aaron, Jackson and Bobby, your bands will chime
momentarily with a Move signal. Simply follow their direction. I think you
have some simple medical follow-ups, something all of you will have many
times as you move through the protocols."

*****

The three shared a look. Physicals were ubiquitous and none of them really
minded. The standing joke was it's just as easy to piss in a cup as a
urinal, so what's the big deal? Medical, however, was a long and far cry
for what they expected.

Three large cylinders awaited them, not noticeably different from the ones
in Avatar or Aliens any other Sci Fi flick. They were upright and a
technician had each of them step into a 'pod'. They were instructed to hold
tightly to a pair of bars and make sure their feet stayed firmly planted on
the base.

"Um, are we, um, allowed to ask questions?" Bobby's very small, very scared
voice asked.

"Of course." The tech's distracted reply was thick with an accent that
might have been German. "It will not interfere with ze readings."

"W-w-w-what about all those, um, Protectorate whatsits?"

"Ah! True, true. The sensors are amazink. But there are certain thinks,
especially chemical analyses, that are much easier and more-accurately done
outside za body." He proceeded to put a butterfly-tap in the vein where
blood was drawn in all three, then hook that to the pod. "Blood, urine,
breath and semen are uniquely difficult to measure outside a controlled
laboratory." The slightly-hard la-BOR-a-TOR-y along with the accent flashed
a single phrase through the minds of all three boys, 'Herr Doktor
Frankenstein'.

"S-s-s-s-semen? YIPES!" The tech attached what for all the world looked
like a fleshlight to his dick.

"So sorry. Are you sensitive zere?"

"N-No! It's cold!"

"Ah. Of course. A zouzand yearz of medical knowledge and there are only two
temperatures for any instrument, too hot or too cold. Same with dicks, only
too big and too small. Sorry, I forget how new you are to ze
Protectorate. I did not mean to shock you. I recall when a colleague talked
to me not long after Arrival Day on the language used by the Raven's Claw,
'the whole world is now a locker room'. It must be quite a shock. Anyway,
time to start," he said, having finished attaching the penile collectors to
each guy.

"If you are able, please product a urine sample. Simply let go. You cannot
splash." Each of the boys thought it would be utterly impossible, and each
was rather surprised how easily the piss came. They couldn't see each other
at all which nixed pee-shy and the tube seemed to... well, almost beg for
it. Since they'd all relieved themselves earlier, there wasn't much, but
apparently it was enough.

"Okay, gentlemen, please keep your hands on ze bars. I will tilt you back
slightly to make the rest of this easier. As I do, a mask will come down
zat will seal around your neck. A screen will cover your field of view. It
displays non-random colors and patterns and is useful in detecting certain
subtle problems with the body's electrical system. Ze mask collects all
your exhalations. You may be familiar with the concept from athletic
conditioning that measures your rate of metabolism. Zis is similar but
measures very much more. You will also hear soundz."

The pods smoothly tilted back until they were at 45° and a soothing
rhythm of light appeared to fill the entire universe. Soft sound could be
heard but remained indistinct as subtle vibrations moved through the pod
itself. Small tingles or pleasant shocks could be felt in various places
and the colors swirled and combined beautifully. It was, honestly,
incredible.

"At times," The voice came through the same invisible speakers as the
background sounds, "I will need to take a sample of sweat you produce at
various places on your body. I will touch your knee like zis, Jackson;
Aaron; Bobby." He touched each of the boys in turn.

"I will zen rub a collector, usually a swab or a pad, across some part of
you, usually near your crotch or pits, but some in other areas. Nothing
that happens throughout za test can or will cause pain in any way, and it
cannot damage you. Quite ze opposite, in fact! Please be as vocal as you
like as some of za tests will be very enjoyable. If you are concerned,
please call out to me. You may call me Frank or Doktor." That did little to
settle the nerves of the guys, but the colors, sounds and sensations were
making each feel a little lightheaded.

Frank Didinger flashed a big thumbs-up to the camera. Rob initiated a
routine and Dr Wilkin, exhausted but essential to this piece, played the AV
controls like a jazz improv master. Sub-second flashes of primal shapes
began to feed through the swirls of color, too fast to be consciously
recognized but still impactful. He calibrated quickly on the three and then
started feeding in the programmed images of males and females in various
sexual and non-sexual poses.

From the perspective of the guys, all the rhythms seemed to click and the
cock-sock started doing... amazing things. Against a wonderful background
of pleasure would come fleeting spikes of sensual or sexual delight. Some
were nice and some were almost-delirious in their sudden power.  Most fell
between those poles. All of the guys had long ago forgotten the entire
concept of a medical test and simply rode the crest of pleasure, moaning
and crying out as they came just sooooo close to cumming... for a while.

Bobby again was the first to speak, "Fa-Fa-Frank? I think it'ssss, a, not
workinggGGG!"

"And vy is zat, Bobby?"

"B-B-B-B-B'cuz it won't let me, you know, f-f-f-finishhhhh!"

"Ah. I see ze problem, let me open comm to all three of
you. Zere. Gentlemen, Bobby has pointed out that I might have left you with
a falze imprezzion. This test is not solely about collectink samples. It is
testing many of your body's responsez to stress by keepink you very close
to completion. Don't vorry, it is still extremely pleasurable and ze
release will be quite... potent."

Jackson was the first to move from cussing and fuck-noises to a demand for
the Doktor. "Frank! Frank! Why can't I move my hands?" He sounded slightly
panicked.

"Gentlemen, please do not try to move your handz from ze bar. Jackson has
just noted that he is unable to do zo. Zis is correct and is for your own
safety and the accuracy of the tests. Please simply relax and do not try to
pull away."

Wilkin smiled at that. It was actually funny in a way. By using a highly
targeted e-stim method, the fingers themselves were locked in their grip on
the steel bars, preventing any 'manual intervention' the boys might try to
reach orgasm before the tests played out. Ironically, these muscle-studs
were uniquely unable to break the bonds. Someone with virtually no hand-
and forearm-strength could have simply pushed down and broken the
connection; against their own robust and powerful muscles, Jackson and his
friends had no such hope.

Frank was suddenly a whirlwind of activity as various sensors demands sweat
samples from a dozen areas on all three young men. Jackson had simply been
the luck of the draw as a control, since he had clearly shown himself
susceptible to Aaron's 'influence'. Bobby was essential since he was both
Aaron's brother and (truthfully) far more sexually attractive in abstract
measures and yet created no noticeable sexual-obsession in others.

Aaron's previously-unrecorded effect on other men, if it could be isolated
and lab-replicated, could become the greatest single pharmaceutical triumph
since Sildenafil in the nineties. The angina medication failed miserably to
impact hypertension and heart disease in its field trials but a side-effect
was noted: many of the men had lasting and extremely-satisfying
erections. Within a decade, under the name Viagra, it was pulling in two
billion in sales *each year* in the US alone since it helped men ensure
they were able to pleasure themselves and others. A drug that guaranteed
that someone *else* would do virtually anything to pleasure *you*? The
profits would be incalculable.

Bobby had another purpose as well. He had tested as mostly-gay, probably
around the 85th percentile in the complex Raven's Claw scoring
system. Built partially on the obsolete and naïve Kinsey Scale, the
multi-dimensional RC Score viewed self-perception, role-perception,
physical, romantic, emotional and other responses as tensors for a
biologically- and gender-identified male (they had not worked on other
sexes yet). Those were used to create a multidimensional 'shape' that could
be defined and described. Each shape could then be graphed by its
'projection' onto various scales like sexuality, role-alignment,
malleability, etc.

For the simplest, sexual inclination, 100% would be a man who could only
really reach a maximum sexual response with a hyper-masculine and
hyper-sexual man. A 1% would view every traditionally-masculine trait as a
turn-off and overt sexual interest off-putting. In the high eighties -- and
considering the reactions from Ben, Sean, Jackson and Paul -- Bobby should
have spent every day since puberty trying to find a way into Aaron's bed to
please him at any cost. Yet it was clear they had never sexually interacted
at all. Aaron's 'talent' would be useless if most humans were simply
immune.

Jackson, Bobby and Aaron didn't know or care about any of that. All they
knew is that they were having the longest, most-sensational,
most-frustrating and, when finally allowed to reach completion,
most-amazing, fucking-mind-blowing, explosive orgasm they'd ever
imagined. Jackson and Bobby actually passed out on their own and Wilkin
only needed to give Aaron a tiny nudge with the C2/C3 implant to turn him
off as well.

The techs unhooked the boys and turned the massive set of samples over the
Dr Miles Redmond, Ravensclaw Inc.'s biochemical genius. The three boys were
cleaned up then gurneyed to one of the 'mystery' room off the Social Hall,
one with a bed equal in size to two over-long queen-sized mattresses. They
were tucked in and allowed to pass into REM sleep naturally. They'd be
awakened before the rest of the guys transitioned from the Gym to the
Classroom... adding a little time for post-sleep play if any of them were
up for it.

*****

Vincent again drove himself relentlessly in the gym. For the first time,
though, it was with the encouragement of his teammates. Even Ned
fist-bumped him a couple times after especially-intense push-throughs where
one spotted the other. Today, with Jackson otherwise occupied, was an ideal
day for the Protectorate version of weight training, Muscle-Mass
Enhancement, something that Jackson needed about as much as a fish needed
tap shoes. Matt was pathetic but dedicated, refusing to give a single inch
to his weaker muscles; Vincent was a machine. Paul and Ned were both
impressed and worked their best not to be outdone by the other two.

Vincent kept coming back to Matt, though, getting him to push through *one*
more rep, that *one* last press. Ben smiled. It was a common pattern at
Raven's Claw. The toughest and most resistant to the entire myth would
crack and, for reasons not clearly understood, get more support from the
weakest subject than all the others put together. At least three such sets
in the past had to be sold as 'bonded pairs' at the end of the program, and
it was looking as if Vincent and Matt might end up there as well.

In the previous cases, it had been clear that their cores had been tied so
tightly, and without a clear understanding of why, that separating them
would have diminished their value to less the cost of the program
alone. Per Protocol, the team would work hard to prevent further bonding
between the two, maximizing the individual value of each subject. Silently,
Ben hope they failed. Vincent -- tough, ready, pragmatic, fierce, intense
with a big, brash physique and dark color -- and Matt -- determined, loyal,
idealistic, vulnerable and loving with his quick grace and towheaded looks
-- were a great match for each other, and for any man strong and rich
enough to acquire and care for them.

For the first time ever, the post-gym shower held no new surprises. They
showered each other, Ned assigned to Matt and Vinny with
Paolo. Muscle-exhaustion and the combined drop of eleven loads between the
four guys in just 24 hours limited the intensity of sexual expression. The
same was true as the guys sleeping off the epic cum.

Jackson snored himself awake which amused Aaron who'd woken earlier. One
gurgle-roar was finally loud enough that Jackson went, "Gnh? Huh? Whzzat?"

"Your snoring woke you up, dude."

Jackson scratched his sweaty nuts then ran his palm over his face, froze
for a second as his action penetrated, then smiled and huffed his scent
even deeper. 'Ya know, I could get used to this,' he thought. "I don't
snore, you asshole. Other people snore."

"Trust me, preto, you snore like mule with gas." Aaron started running his
hands idly over the ebon giant's ropy muscles. Jackson sucked in a shallow,
almost inaudible gasp and Aaron froze. "You, uh, don't mind, do you?"

Jackson turned and purred, "Never one bit. I wish people had always just
touched me, you know. I love touching." He ran his hand over the
silky-smooth white skin of Aaron and felt himself chub up.

He jumped at a viscous pinch to his nipple. "You know there's three people
in this bed you obnoxious lunk." Jackson curled toward Bobby and let his
long arm trail down the beauty's back and play with the top of his
ass-crack.

"Fuuuuuck," he growled, "I'm a mirror-Oreo, a thick layer of black cream
between two tender white cookies. Damn, that's nice." The two brothers were
lightly stroking and admiring the thick muscles. Bobby's hand found the
chubby snake and flipped it up to Jackson's belly. "Sorry, white boy, I
think that ride is out of order. Try some other part of the
carnivalllllllllyeahhhhh," he groaned as both Wagner brothers started
strumming his nipples. Aaron licked along the giant's jawline and sighed.

"Sorry, guys, but you need to get up and about."

Jackson laughed at the disembodied voice. "I jus' finish tellin honky here
that getting it *up* ain't gonna happen. Go way!" Aaron and Bobby snickered
as well.

In the control booth, Rob grinningly triggered a recording he'd had Leo
make the day before for just such a situation. A thick, incredibly-loud,
gangsta-ghetto bellow rang through the room, "Take you fuckin' paws off'n
dat white boy BUTT and get you lazy black ASS outta dat bed. Don' make me
be telling you twice! You hear me, son?" All three of the guys jumped a
foot. "That work better for you Jackson?" Rob's calm and quiet voice
returned. The three dissolved in laughter and finally pulled themselves,
all of them chubbed but not railed, to the door.

"Wait a minute!" The voice was Aaron's. "Where did we get rooms with beds
that fit, like, twelve?"

Rob's voice was teasingly-aloof, "Some mysteries are not yet for you to
know, little boys."

"Fuck the 'boys'. Actually, yeah. That's exactly what I had in mind,
really. How do I get me one of these?" Bobby's cocky, cheeky retort had Rob
snorting in laughter before he could mute the microphone and he just went
with it.

"I'll work on it, kid. God knows you only got laid, um, let me check, five
times in the last 24 hours? You poor, poor deprived boy. Now get your asses
over the classroom before I have to get mean."

Still flirty, Bobby retorted, "Do you worst, Mr Big Brother." A low,
muffled, needy moan, the sound of a wounded animal trying desperately to
get eaten more quickly than he already was, echoed briefly through the
room. Jackson and Aaron looked at each other nonplussed, but Bobby turned a
vivid crimson and, grabbing them both, rushed the door. "Um, yeah, we need
to get over there, like, now." Bobby was the only one who knew the sound to
be his attempt a couple nights earlier to swallow Matt's entire cock in a
single piece as his own was being sent into a heaven of
previously-unexplored pleasure by Matt's amateur fellatio.

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 31 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 22 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 24 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Lake Desolation: 16 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Shark Reef: 9 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/
Culberhouse Rules: 6 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/
Raven's Claw: 6 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/

Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love (5 installments)
.../incest/in-gods-love/