He felt her climb into his bed behind him, her arms careful but
strong against his shoulders as she worked her way in behind him. She
cradelled his upper body with hers and his body sobbed all the harder.
"Ahh... ahh..." she said softly "Poor fledgeling Angel wrapped in your
funeral shroud, your wings still only buds, and your voice muted by your
fresh escape from mortality." The harsh sobs softened slowly and she
held him close. It hurt, but he was used to those near him hurting him,
and it gave him a solid hold on his body's existance. She gave him a
gentle kiss on his cheek. He shivered and wondered what the price would
be for the touch of gentleness; but it felt so good to be held.
Against his inclinations, Julio slowly found himself relaxing
into her body. He turned his face into her throat. Julio felt the
flesh of his face catching, scraping against her, the small sounds of
the damage he did to the satin of her shirt. Some of the scabs pulled
away, accents of sharp, hot hurt against the background ache, but he
didn't stop. She didn't flinch, didn't draw away from his
self-inflicted damage. She only held him closer, kissed him on his face
as he felt his blood stain her satin shirt and soft skin. He nuzzled
his blind face against her throat and felt the soft skin of her throat
and even under her chin catch on his scabs, breaking a few more away.
The pads across his eyes felt strange against the empty sockets.
A soft, wet warmth licked at one of his opened wounds. His body
twitched in startlement at the touch of her tongue, then stilled. The
metallic acid trickle against his nerves caused him to shiver and the
speaker moaned as faintly as a building bowing to the wind. She sighed
next to his ear and he found that he ached with an emotion he could not
name; but it was no longer grief.
For a long, long moment, she just held him.
Julio fell asleep for a while and woke to find her still there.
He stirred a little and she shifted her hold a little. He sighed a
broken sigh. He wanted to keep his scars, he wanted to remember this,
wanted to always remember being this broken, and to take that memory
with him when he went to kill Bacchus and his gang. But how to ask for
that? She had said that she was going to remake him, would his wishes
have any affect? Which would be the best way to ask? Finally, he found
his voice again, but his body shook even as the speaker spoke flatly,
"Crystalsama, may... may your... humble slave... Julio keep his
scars?"
"Kick this drek! What in hell happened to my razor- slick
flashboy? Humble, fucking slave, where'n hell you slot this shit,
boyo?!" Terror overwhelmed him at her angry tone and it took a couple of
seconds before it sank in that she wasn't saying no. That her angry
tone had been as mock playful as her earlier Hoi.
"Wha... What?" He was furious, shaking again. Knowing that she
was mocking him didn't help at all. He had laid himself wide open for
that, but he couldn't blow it. Couldn't let his temper get in the way
of something that meant this much to him.
The cold tone softened, "By St. Dimas, boy, where did you learn
that?" She kissed him again.
"Learn what?"
"The 'slave' shit."
Confused at her change in subject, he struggled to remember the
training, "From those that loved your tapes and took me." Her arms
closed hard on him, so hard he gasped and writhed in her grasp. Then
remembering, he writhed the harder.
"Stop that." Her voice was so hard, he knew that he had lost.
With that knowledge, he lashed out, there was nothing left to
lose anymore, "Askin was moot. Crystal's only virtual. Julio took it
from VR to RNR. Boytoy from dayone. Body, mind, and soul. Whips,
knives, chains 'n pains. Made *real* cream 'n' scream." The speaker
then commenced to scream.
He expected a slap, a blow, a whip, something to stop that awful
sirened scream. He expected her to try and out scream him, to shake
him, or destroy him as she had promised she would and could.
Instead, a single, warm droplet hit his contorted cheek. A
droplet that burned when it struck his open wounds. Then another.
The scream faltered and died away as Crystal gently but surely
moved away. He could feel the shaking of her body, hear the trembling
of her breath as she cried. He felt satisfaction at that, proud that he
had hurt her at all, after how much she had hurt him. But it didn't
feel good, it didn't feel nearly as good as when she had been holding
him.
Her voice was very quiet. "I'm sorry. I don't think this is
going to work out. I'll have the best of replacements installed as
quickly and as well as we know how.
Then you'll be free to do as you will. I..." Something in Julio snapped
as her voice broke, "I know that this will not make up for what happened
to your life..."
"Please..." whispered the speaker.
"What?"
"Please no."
"I'm telling you, you're free."
"Don't *WANT* free."
"I don't want a slave."
"Why questions?"
"I want someone who chose to stay with me."
"Why threats?"
"So you would know what you were getting into."
"Why me?"
"The I die for you."
"No... I thought I died for you?"
Laughter, hesistant, but real, "Sorry, you died by the IDIE4U,
my car. In my tapes..." another hesitation, "In my tapes, those that
die by my car become candidates for my Angels."
"Angels?"
"Like Saraquael and Michael, Rafael and Raguel. People who are
around me when I die."
"You die?"
"You've never seen one of my tapes, have you?"
"Black Delights. Say no more."
She sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed and stroked his
face, careful to avoid the scabs, "There's much more to it. I'm the one
who dies in those tapes. The object of them has always been my own
experiences while I die, or just before. The Angels and I do some short
SM work for my warm ups and because it pleases them and I. I've never
called my Angels slaves. I've never taken an unwilling Angel and I've
never, ever in my life obliderated a personality as yours sounded like
it'd suddenly been wiped."
"When we found you, you scared me, Julio. You really frightened
me."
"You'd spook at ME?" The speaker couldn't get the amount of
incredulity that he wanted into the voice, but he doubted that he could
have gotten it into his normal voice.
"Yes."
"Why?!"
A long, long silence. "Maybe this will work."
The speaker squawked when it hit its rails. "TELL ME."
"I was frightened that you'd lost what made you you. I don't
want a trembling mindless slave that asks me if it's O.K. to take a
shit. I was so delighted with your sheer obnoxiousness, especially with
Saraquael always running off into the woods for a week-long fast or off
to another party. Michael's wonderful in a fight and with a whip, as
sensative a listener and watcher as I've ever wanted, but he's about as
talkative as a tree." She paused and chuckled softly, her voice changed
slightly.
"Rafe and Rage are sweet, but more sweet on each other than me.
But when I looked at how much damage had been done to you, I... I was
afraid that some of you would be wiped, had been wiped and shaped to
some other's whim. When you started talking that slave shit, I..." she
hesitated, sounding lost. "It scared the shit out of me, thinking that
that is what I might end up being someday if I let the pain get past
me."
"When... when you rubbed against me, I realized that you knew
pain the way that I know it. That the edge of it, the touch of it can
excite you as it touches me. You accept pain in a way I've only ever
known in myself. Or that's what I thought until I saw your fake
writhing after that hold. It was like catching someone in a fake
orgasm, I couldn't know if the earlier ones really pleasured you or if
you were only trying to act in the way you thought would please me.
Were you faking?"
The words caught in his throat. Pleasure in pain? Never. Pain
hurts, that's all. He could accept it when he was made to or when there
was money on the line, but like it? While he was still thinking about
it, she leaned over and the wet warmth of her tongue stroked to life
that aching trickle of metallic sensation. His breath caught, his
aching muscles tensioned, and that faint moan sounded again through the
speaker. She stopped, the speaker stopped.
Her voice was intent, "No, I guess you weren't."
He was trembling, "No. It *hurts*, I don't like to get hurt.
I'm not a freak. I only did it for the money. They'd pay me ten Kay
for one night on a pillory. Buko bucks and since I could take it, I
did."
"Why did you rub your face against me?"
"Trash the silk."
"Really?"
"Boo."
"And when I wasn't scared? What did you feel?"
A long silence. Julio wanted her to go away, wanted to go to sleep, to
get away from her and her uncomfortable questions.
"Tell me, please. Or at least tell yourself."
"I... I don't know..."
"I love you." That one surprised him and hurt more than he
thought it could.
"Liar."
"Liar."
In unison, "Pants on Fire!!" They both cracked up.
It hurt to laugh, but it felt good too. At that thought Julio
quieted. "I... I'll slot it for a shot." He felt terribly tired.
"O.K. then." She stood up, "You still want to be mine?"
"Yes, oh yes, oh Mistress of my mind and body." The phrase came
off the speaker with the cadence of a child's nursery rhyme. He was
pleased with that.
"Fuck you." The playful hardness was good to hear again.
"I certainly hope so."
"Be careful of what you wish for..."
"I've always wanted blue eyes..." "...you may get what you ask
for."
"... so I don't *look* like I'm fulla shit."
A long pause, "I think I'm going to be sorry about this."
"Oh."
"Maybe not..."
Then he remembered, "Mistress..." at the humph, he quickly
changed his tone. "Lady..." another humph, "Crystal?", silence,
"Could..." he caught himself tensing again, "could I please keep the
scars?"
"Keep them? Why?"
"I... I don't want to be just a pretty boy anymore."
A long silence, Julio wished he could just curl up with his
tiredness and not have to fight for what he wanted so hard.
Something in Crystal's voice brought an ache to his throat,
"No... you're no longer a boy. Keep the scars. It would please me to
have my Angel Gabriel so marked."
"Gabriel?"
"You think it fits?"
"I... I don't know. What was Gabriel?"
"An Angel, whose name means `God is my strength'." "God's A
Soft.
Played 5 straight."
"You would be my angel, not God's."
"Oh."
"He's also the angel of vengeance and death."
The smile hurt, splitting skin, "No shit."
"No shit."
Gabriel was smiling still when he fell asleep.
- ----------------
- ----------------
A small Spring thaw...
Some people do it because they love to and for their own enjoyment.
Some people do it only for that special One.
Some people do it for those that they love.
Some people do it for their friends.
Some people will do it for anyone that shows their appreciation.
Some people do it for money.
So it is.
I finally figured out that I make enough money working to write any way
and when I damned well please. Took me long enough...
Hmmm... if anyone really wants to find out how or what form Gabriel's
revenge takes, I've got it mapped out in my head; and I'll promptly
decapitate the story for anyone that shows their appreciation...
chuckle...
Phyllis
- ----------------
Copyright 1992 by Phyllis Rostykus. All Rights Reserved.
phyllis@amc.com or li%polari@uunet.uu.net
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