The Artifact of Foex (12 page)

Chet glanced over his shoulder to the balcony
where Knife and Fenimore were chatting. Though Knife was not
technically in the room, he supposed Knife was still in eyesight,
which was why Journey hadn’t changed pronouns to the ubiquitous
female. “This is why people are scared of Flame," Chet grumbled.
“It’s because we never know what you’re going to do. Or be.”

“Are
you
scared of me?”

Chet chewed it over a minute. “I’m not sure.
I don’t
think
I’m frightened anymore.” In fact, the
thought of fucking—or being fucked by—Journey in male form was
rather... arousing. Chet found himself growing hard again.

Journey knew it, too. He eyed Chet
speculatively, then deliberately reached over and brushed Chet’s
dick with the back of his hand.

“Oh, Pantheon," Chet gasped, his cock rising
to fully erect at Journey’s touch.

“Fenimore’s forcefulness aside, it seems to
me that you enjoy both men and women. Yes?”

“I—I’ve never...” Chet swallowed. He wanted
to grab Journey’s exposed cock. To, to suckle it, to have Journey
come in his mouth. This was insane. He squirmed under pressure of
having to produce an answer to a question he’d never considered,
except... Chet
had
felt this way before.

“Yes," he finally said. Admitting the truth
hurt.

Journey leaned back and took in his reaction
with a practiced eye. “
This
is why people are frightened
of us: so many don’t know that they’re flexible until we show up on
their doorstep. And in their beds. Some have blamed us—even killed
us—for helping them discover their own innate sexuality. Are you
going to blame me, too?”

“No, mostly I plan to blame Fenimore.”

“That’s all right, then.”

Journey curled up beside him and undulated,
rubbing himself lightly against Chet. Chet hesitated. He wanted to
kiss Journey, kiss him deeply, but did he have the guts to do so?
Oh, Abyss.
Chet climbed on top of Journey and kissed him.
Chet felt Journey’s lips smile beneath his. Journey was writhing
under him, his hands stroking Chet’s hair. Chet drew back to
breathe and found that Journey was in the exact position under Chet
he’d been in as female. His legs were spread and everything.

Yet when Journey spoke, he said, “I want to
be inside of you. Think you can withstand another dick today? I’ll
be far more gentle than LaDaven, I swear.

Chet gulped. His ass still felt sore from
Fenimore’s sundering, yet that had felt so good. Journey might feel
even better. “Um. Okay. Please be gentle with me!”

“I’ll be better than gentle. Roll onto your
stomach,” Journey said as he got up to riffle through his luggage.
Chet complied hesitantly as Journey plunked a familiar bottle on
the bed. “That delightful young woman threw this in gratis when we
were decamping. She said we’d probably need it again, the way we
were going. She was right.”

Despite his words, Journey did not squirt
some of the oily liquid into his hands. Instead he spread Chet’s
buttocks and stared between them.

Chet squirmed, gazing at Journey over his
shoulder. “What are you doing?” Why did it feel so alarming to have
someone study his ass with such intense scrutiny?

“Fenimore really did plunder you open, didn’t
he?” Journey leaned in and—oh.
Oh
! Chet squealed like a
girl as Journey’s tongue pierced his anus. How soft and wet his
tongue was, but this
couldn’t
be hygienic.

“Aren’t you afraid of getting sick?”

Journey chuckled, withdrawing his tongue to
speak. “No. You just took a shower and I’m Flame. Like I said, we
don’t get sick—
any
sort of sick. Just deal with having my
tongue in your ass, boy.”

Chet
dealt
with it. He wondered
whether this was the way women felt. The noises emerging from his
mouth were womanly enough—high pitched squeaks and tiny moans—as
Journey lapped him out. After a time, he drew back and slapped Chet
on the ass.

The pain was sharp and palpable compared to
his ethereal tongue. Chet yelped involuntarily. “Don’t stop!”

“Stop? Why should I stop when you are so very
sweet?” Journey said, diving back in. This time Journey suckled his
balls, too.

Chet was beside himself with pleasure; spread
and sundered. He didn’t know how long he writhed. Minutes, hours,
it was all the same. Occasionally, Journey would draw back and slap
or pinch to make him squeal. Chet could almost
feel
Journey’s grin, feel his enjoyment of Chet’s reactions. His skin
was too small to hold him, and he came without warning, spurting
onto the bedspread with vigor.

“That’s better. Now you’re relaxed.”

Chet realized Journey had the bottle in hand
again. He squirted an oily trail directly onto Chet’s ass: it felt
bizarre and dirty, and Chet reveled in the sensation. He really was
dirty. A dirty little slut, spread before a Flame, ready to take
his dick and fully intending to
enjoy
it.

Journey didn’t disappoint him, but when he
inserted himself, Chet frowned. Journey seemed rather too small,
more like a finger than a cock. Chet didn’t think he was
that
relaxed.

“Um...” he said hesitantly.

“I’ll grow when you’re ready for me.”

As Chet had suspected, Journey’s style of
fucking was completely different from Fenimore’s. He went slowly.
He took his time. He was not afraid to stop occasionally and just
lie on Chet, letting Chet take his full weight. As promised, his
cock began to swell larger after a time. Chet was so absorbed,
feeling the changes of weight and length inside his anus, that he
barely noticed his own dick becoming erect again.

After a time, Journey nibbled his ear. “How
about right there? Is that comfortable?”

“Make it bigger.”

“You’ll hurt afterwards, and I don’t want to
rupture your virginal ass.”

“Bigger!” Chet insisted. “I want to feel
full. Completely full.”

“As you wish.” Journey began fucking him
harder, his penis growing by the minute.

Chet groaned; the dick felt
enormous
. “Okay. Okay. Right there.”

“You’re a size queen, sweetie.” Journey
snickered. He began thrusting in earnest; even pulling his cock all
the way out before pushing—pushing!—back in. Chet came again,
unable to hold back. It hardly mattered what he did. Journey was
enjoying him thoroughly and would continue doing so no matter
how
many times he came. There was a certain freedom in
that.

“Up on your hands and knees," Journey
instructed and Chet pulled himself upright. “Get to the edge of the
bed. I want to stand and drill you like a line driver.”

More oil was applied. Chet braced himself as
Journey fucked him—hard. Chet yelped with each pounding, his hands
closed to fists, gripping the bedcover. Journey threw back his head
and whooped, slapping Chet’s thigh as he came.

“Pantheon, you two are loud. It’s a good
thing we don’t have neighbors in the next room yet," Knife
commented from the other bed. Chet blinked—when had Knife and
Fenimore come inside from the balcony? He and Fenimore were
cuddling naked together, as if they’d just fucked, too.

“Hah.” Journey threw himself onto the
bed.

Chet snuggled up beside him. He gave Knife a
worried glance. “Are you going to fuck me, too?” Every
else
liked his virginal ass, or his once-virginal ass.

Knife chuckled. “I like my lovers to have an
edge to ’em. I especially enjoy self-righteous, cynical bastards,
like certain unnamed parties.” Fenimore, face down in the bed,
mumbled an inarticulate protest at these words. Knife grinned and
continued, “You know, the type who are used to being dominant in
any relationship. I like breaking them like ceroses so that they
whine and shiver under me. No offense, Chet, but you aren’t my
type.”

“Oh. Okay.” Chet yawned, curling beside the
warmth of Journey’s body—male, female, it didn’t matter. He was so
relaxed
...

When Chet awoke, it was dark outside the
mullioned balcony door. The bedside clock read 27:01. Midnight.
Someone had tossed a blanket over his naked body. Fenimore was
asleep on the other bed, and neither Flame seemed to be in the
room. Chet saw an outline on the balcony—Journey? Too small and
short to be Knife, anyway. He threw on his pants and wandered out
to join... her?

Yes, Journey was back in female form. Chet
gazed at her and noticed via the streetlight directly below them
that she was rather more androgynous than before. Though she was
dressed, he could tell her hips were long as a young man’s, her
tits small. No bra. Her face, too, was squarer and less pronounced
female. Thin lips. She didn’t acknowledge him but stared down at
the street. Chet wondered whether he’d done something wrong. He was
about to ask when Journey nodded downward.

“See them, a little ways from Knife? They’re
finally here. I take it they traveled all the way from Eich Che at
your friend’s insistence; you know, Zamie’s daughter.”

How did Journey know Rory’s mom? Abysmal god
affiliates with their inside connections. Chet looked down at the
quiet street. There was a party with loud music a few blocks away,
but this street was silent. It took him a while to pick out Knife
smoking on the street corner. Knife wore his cap tipped at a rakish
angle and had his arms crossed, an attitude that suggested that he
could wait
forever
, if necessary. He looked like a cliché
from a spy novel come to life.

“I don’t see anyone but Knife," Chet said,
rubbing his bare arms. The heat had broken, and he was chilled by
the breeze.

“There. Right in the center of the road.”

Chet rubbed his eyes, uncertain what he was
seeing. It was like staring into a very small, compact black hole.
Only it wasn’t black—instead, it was almost entirely transparent.
The thing
rippled
. “Is that... is
that
a Shadow
Dancer Cluster?”

Journey nodded absently, and Chet scowled.
“Why aren’t they doing anything?” Was this Rory’s family, here and
now?

As if in reply, the Cluster suddenly split
into two. The second ripple resolved itself into a human form in a
flowing grey robe. The figure threw back its hood, and Chet gasped.
It was Rory. He gazed down at her as he gripped the balcony with
white-knuckled intensity. She didn’t seem to know Chet was
watching; she stepped closer to Knife and they spoke quietly.

Chet couldn’t stand it. This was absurd. He
needed to talk to her, to tell her things and make everything
right. He opened his mouth to yell, but Journey grabbed his arm.
Hard.

“Do not interrupt," she hissed in his
ear.

Chet glared at her but closed his mouth.
Whatever was happening was between god affiliates, which meant it
was political. Rory was clearly representing her Cluster, speaking
covertly to a Flame—a Flame
spy
—at midnight. Another
pulp-novel cliché come to life: Shadow Dancers and Flame plotting
dastardly deeds in the dark.

Suddenly, Chet felt anger broil up inside of
him.
Screw all these dium eating, cynodict-humping
affiliates,
he thought with a huff. His rage slammed him like
a high-tide breaker. He was sick of their condescending attitudes
and insider connections. Without thinking it through, Chet turned
and slammed through the open balcony doors, out of the room and
into the hallway beyond.

Journey called after him, cursing, but she
kept her voice low... so she wouldn’t wake Fenimore? Chet didn’t
stop. He could feel the cord to the Raptus grow taut, but he could
also feel Knife up ahead. Such a bizarre sensation to be tied by
the belly to another person, let alone a near stranger.

Stairs, lobby, street. Chet was vividly
reminded he wasn’t wearing either shoes or a shirt. He shivered but
jogged along, little pieces of gravel making him hiss and swear,
yet Knife was just ahead.

Chet slowed. Now that he was out here, he
wasn’t sure he wanted to interrupt Knife and Rory. He’d been pretty
stupid to leave the room, but the anger inside of him still
simmered, and he didn’t want to go back. Chet approached slowly and
stopped just within earshot, standing under the awning of a nearby
building.

“... Pelin can’t do it. You
know
that,” Rory was saying. “The historic records are very clear.
Abyss, apparently you were there, Knife.”

“Indeed. Which means
you’re
going to
have to take all necessary steps to call Aiena, little as I envy
you the task. It was your Cluster—and ancestors—who originally lost
the Raptus, it’s only fitting you fix this. We’ll go slow, drag our
feet. Shouldn’t be too hard; the other Flame Council members are
scattered across Uos, so we can ramble about and take our time.
Just don’t lose us.”