Category: Trev


Gone

The rain came. It would not stop.

Trev pointed the pistol at Sal’s head. She didn’t move.

Without blinking, he pointed the pistol at his head. He pulled the trigger.

Voices rang. Boots chattered.

Sal stared. Trev was gone.


Trev: Driven by unspeakable shame, he inexplicably heads back to see Sal. Rain slashes his face as a vicious wind whips a steel gray sky. He doesn’t notice.

Mairi: Unconscious on the cold floor, her head in a small pool of dark blood. She tried to stop Trev from going. He punched her in the face.

Emy: Her new found sensitivity to sound is driving her insane. She is currently floating her agitated arse in an isolation chamber. She holds her brooch in her hand, realizes she can no longer see her mother and starts to punch the side of the chamber. No one can hear. Blood drips from her knuckles. She starts to smile as salt stings her open wounds.

Cait: Sitting in the study with the Commander and Tom. She has been informed of the circumstances and looks on as the Commander outlines his plan. When the Commander mentions Kyra, Cait stands up and yells, “I will not have that bitch in my house!” Ariel appears in the doorway and all three adults turn in unison toward the small child.

Kyra: On her way to Duckhead. She is the plan. She sits in meditative silence on the private transport oblivious to the multi-hued lights flashing by.

Von: Refused to take no. He is with Kyra. His left hand has a firm grip on his right. It shakes anyway.

Rog and John: Making idle conversation. The Matutinal Mercy has not yet been delivered. The room is ice cold. Neither notice.

Yul: Still in hospital. Too high to wonder why. Too low to care.

Kieran: Closely watching events unfold.

The Unknowns: Closely watching Kieran.

Stains of Scarlet

Trev woke. He showered. Shaved. Ate breakfast. Returning to the restroom, he spend the rest of the morning puking his guts out. When there was nothing left to vomit, he worked his abs until they ached with dry heaves. His throat burned with his own acid. He tried to blow his nose. The smell refused eviction.

“You okay in there,” asked Mairi as she banged on the door in her silk robe and bare feet. She wore nothing underneath. Her red hair, like the rest of her, looked pert.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” His response seemed oddly strained.

“Trev? Open the door.”

“I said I’m fine. Please leave me alone.”

Mairi quietly leaned forward. Putting her ear to the door she heard nothing but her own breathing. “Trev? Oh my Janus!” She felt it first. Something warm, slippery yet sticky, not water, thicker yet thinner it felt at the same time. There was a moment, a gap, between the scarlet ribbon slipping under the door and between her toes and the recognition of something terribly wrong. The gap was less than a second but seemed long enough for a thousand thoughts to race through her mind.

Trev coughed, a cough deep, a cough sounding more like gurgling than the dry heaves of a moment before. The sound of Mairi’s voice seemed distant, reminding him of his mother calling his name at the pool as he swam underwater. He didn’t want to come up. He was in another world now. Land and sea. How could one understand the other? And so he floated on waves of consciousness untouched, feeling a gentle pulling as if the hands of Janussaries (Hynerian angels) were carrying him away.

Mairi pounded on the door. “Open the door. Now!”

She couldn’t touch him now. He was in the water. She wouldn’t follow him into the deep. He felt warm. Hues faded to pastels and sound lost all range of high and low. He was in the flow now and the flow would take him wherever the flow went.

Mairi’s heart raced. Taking a step back, she hurled herself against the door, her feet bloody with the life of Trev, cells dying in step with hope. Images of stains filled her mind. Stains of the body, stains of the mind, stains of the soul. Janus she hated stains. Her small lithe body was as feather pounding rock against the door. Falling to her knees in step with tears down her cheeks she began to sob as mothers sob for children, her head heavy in her hands as if guilt were lead. In anguish she cocked her head to bang the object of resistance and fell forward as the door swished open and where there was one bloody body upon the cold stone floor, now there were two.

Outtake #2: Ministrations


The boat (bed) gently rocked to and fro in waters (sheets) clear (clean) and calm (fresh). Trev felt the warmth of a breeze kiss his neck and, like fingers subtle, brush the hair from his forehead. The movement soothed, lifted, lightened and dissolved burdens as salt in water. Somewhere off in the distance, faintly, a bird called, echoes as pebbles dropped into the limpid water, each a siren call to sink deeper into the arms of nature. The sun shone bright radiating a penetrating heat as rays, upon skin taut, nestled home, giving forth life from distance measured by minds in ivory towers.

If his eyes could have rolled any further into the back of his head, they would have. Silence pervaded except for a single sound, a steady lapping of water against the hull, rhythmic like drums on a dry plain (or rain on the roof), heat rising in the distance, sounds (memories) of times past just out of reach. Louder banged the drums, just out of sight. Steady the beat on skin pulled tight, a beat that bespoke of education, of intent, of plan. Trev pushed his head into the pillow. His hips rotated with a mind of their own. He watched with sensation, seduced by forces beyond his understanding, forces of nature before and after, without beginning or end, forces that would ebb and flow.

From within a warmness grew, radiating from center outward. Legs tensed. Arms followed. Mind focused, spun, rose and sunk and still the lapping of educated friction, a sound seductive, marched on, relentless in firm purpose. Breathing increased. Lips opened and spread, softening to the tune of digits divine. Tongue flicked and smile melted into the intoxication of surrender taken. Time gave way to timelessness. Gravity took recess. And, as if by magic, the wonder of neither this nor that rose from darkness to light.

A presence hovered, not seen. Intuited. Not questioned. As cream flows, richly, inevitably, up and forward as soldiers at the whistle. Hope springs and fear pushes. United. Birth greets death as dawn emerges from night.

First Time


Ed note: Title is a triple play. In a literal sense, this is the first time Mairi kisses Trev. From a story point of view, this is the first chapter literally written in the comment section of the preceding chapter. And, this is the first time I have used an image previously used in the story, albeit with a slightly different hue adjustment. Enjoy.

Trev’s breathing stabilized, a good sign thought Mairi. Spreading her fingers like a web on the underside of his head, she lifted with the care of a mother lifting her baby while with a gentle skill that belied her training, secured a blindfold with her right hand. As egg to crate, she lowered his head on the soft pillow, a sight, she thought, more delicious and tempting than it ought to be.

Chatelaine training taught that smell, of all the senses, caroused with memory and the moments to come, she knew, would be moments of healing that would need to be cultivated far beyond the moment of capitulation. Placing small warming tablets on either side of the bed, the sensual aroma of willowbrush gently rose as if awakened from sacred slumber. Breathing deep, she closed her eyes, and a thousand images flashed before her mind like cards shuffled. With each out breath, the images slowed until the one she needed, the one she wanted, appeared in clear focus, floating in subservience.

Slipping back into bed, her legs, smooth and neither too long nor too short, ran the length of his, her toes taking the measure of his sigh inducing muscle of youth; her hands traced lightly his wounds of days past, her eyes marveled at his chiseled jaw and angular cheek, looking more like marble than flesh. Her lips found his, the warmth, the softness, the slippery wetness, the firmness, the intensity, the passionate energy as her eyes closed and the soft warm light reflected off her eye lids reminiscent of a dual moonrise on the beaches of Valla. Her hair fell into his face, her thumbs to his temples; and her lips moved beyond skill, sucking, biting, gliding, teasing, suckling, wrapping, brushing, pushing, molding, of breath shared as moans escaped.

With lips locked in a living dance as angels or devils might in a moment of reprise, Mairi breathed her mind into his, a mind tender in abuse, aching for embrace, fearful of hurt. As a warm blanket covers a cold and frightened child, she gently began to massage his centers of pain and memory, milking them of power, kneading stress from neurons inflamed. As her tongue traced the row between his lips so did her mind dance and dart to soothe concern and hold fear at bay long enough to wrap her intent around his desire as tongue around a lollipop.

Trev’s mind begin to response and Mairi went deeper. Later Trev would write this in his journal:

Then I think about her slipping into my mind and what a good mind-frail would be like and I imagine the most delicious and intense wet dream, the utter stickiness, the musky-sweet aroma of release, taken with a caress of neurons in ways the hands can only admire. I imagine her chest heaving with life, rising with curves divine, creating their own eclipse; and in the shadow of my surrender, a tenseness rendered with the crack of a whip, the slap of a glute, the exhilaration of being rode, hard.

The kiss has an energy that sends a shock from lip to eye and stirs emotion in the gut as only first love can. Lights swirl as flesh paints with passion upon flesh and hands talk in touches like feathers on silk. Her tongue narrows and darts with a playful precision and I follows her lead to places shared by few and desired by many. The bed seems to sink, to envelope us as if the sheets rose as waterfalls port and aft. Golden hide graces porcelain digits as spoon to warm honey and endearments announce as gates open and trumpets play for an audience of two.

I lean my head back and press hard into my pillow, as if to brace myself that all before me could be but a dream. She lifts her chin and looks down from the bottom of her eyes, her regal nose triumphant, her lips slightly parted, glistening with lust raw and pure; and with a feline arching of back, tosses her short auburn locks and closes her eyes as curtains between acts. Her tongue glides over her pert upper lip as her hips settle into position, moving and rotating as if greased, as if control was quartered not granted.

With Considerable Effort


With considerable effort, Mairi carried Trev into her quarters, his neck hanging limp in the valley of her left elbow, and gently placed him on her bed. He looked younger than he was, or was it innocent and childlike; she couldn’t quite decide. His hair was matted and his eyes looked crusted with sleep, at least that is what she tried to tell herself. The idea that a grown man had cried the tears she knew he had cried, in shame or pain or, as she knew, both, knocked at a door of her heart she would rather not unlock.

His tunic, once white, looked more like a painter’s canvas of dark gray’s and textured browns and the buttons were mismatched as if manipulated by fingers rushed and too large for the task. Flashes of fists and kicks struck like lightning and faded just as quick leaving ghostly imprints in her mind. With care, or haste, she could not recall, she slowly released each button, pealing back his shirt. His nipples looked bruised and slightly swollen with ruddy concentric rings that implied stimulation gone wrong. A strange whey paste-like substance flaked to the touch and visions of forehead straining against leather, of veins bulging as eyes narrowed in the smiling windows of another’s wickedness sent a shiver up her arm and into her chest.

Lifting first the left arm and then the right, she eased Trevor’s shirt from his dirty shoulders and tossed it to the floor. Reaching for the warm wet cloth from the wooden bowl on the side of the bed, Mairi cocked her head as if the mere position could somehow soften the touch of rag to skin and communicate care and love. Her eyes watered as each pass of cloth removed a layer of yesterday from Trev and overwhelmed her own mind with screams and terror mixed with pleasure and slaps as piece after piece of his ordeal danced with horrid grins before her still burned out mind.

Black water filled the bowl as rag released pain into the cleansing basin. Moving with tenderness, she unbuttoned his trousers. Pulling from his ankles, she removed the soiled garment and tossed it to the side of his discarded tunic. The back of his legs showed reddish purple welts, each a testament to a cruel darkness. Sliding her pristine copper nails under the waistband of his shorts, she pulled them gently over the firm tautness of his young flesh. She had never seen Trev nude before nor had she ever seen such a magnificent body abused and beaten so mercilessly. Falling to bended knee, Mairi placed her hands upon his cold and trembling chest and whispered supplications of forgiveness.

Wiping salty petition from her eyes, Mairi examined the focus of wickedness past. What was flesh and what was blood, was not easy to surmise. With strokes tender and grasp light, Mairi washed and caressed his divine manifestation with the punctilious care of the discalceate before alter. Her hands lingered, letting her warmth become his and as blood begin to flow, her mind throbbed with his agony in step with the rising tumidity in her hand. She sighed, of relief or surprise, she would not say. He was magnificent in repose, his battered body bent but not broken, bruised but not forgotten. Why she had never noticed him before, in this way, she could not explain.

With a fresh bowl, she went to work again with her cloth and from head to toe, cleansed his body as if the healing waters would absolve her guilt, each pass of cloth a prayer. When she was done, she stood, and releasing the bow that held her dress in place allowed it to fall to the floor as a parachute to ground. Nestling Trev’s head to her warm bosom she placed her right leg over his tender and abused agent of masculine surrender as her fingers combed his hair and pulled him tight. Tremble responded to tremble as cold melted into warmth and the story of Mairi and Trev intertwined as strands of rope, giving strength and comfort in union.

Commentary: With Considerable Effort

Soundtrack for this chapter: Un Giorno Per Noi (Josh Groban)


Ed note: The following bits and pieces surfaced on the flight yesterday. They may or may not have happened in the story. The image is what I call “Place Your Bets,” an allusion to which bits below you think really happened.

Internal Affairs visited Cait. They wanted to know where John was. Said something about a chip.

Mairi finds Trev. He’s a mess. Camera pans away with Mairi holding Trev in her arms like a frightened child, her hair blowing in the wind. She is wearing a long pleated skirt with a mustard colored blouse offsetting her auburn locks.

Dr. X discovers that Châtelaine’s undergo three months of training to communicate with their eyes.

The signal Rog recognizes comes from Kyra’s Zing Tao ring.

Taren is forced to destroy the ring, and under duress has to do it in front of Kyra.

This unleashes a side of Kyra never seen and she destroys the entire compound.

When no one is left alive, she collapses in a heap as a light is seen around her–Kieran.

When Mairi finds Trev he has blood caked on his upper lip, his eyes stare unblinking, lifeless; he can’t form coherent words or thoughts. His body feels strangely cold and he trembles uncontrollably.

Mairi puts hands on his head, closes her eyes and has flashes of his mind. She cries, something a hardened Châtelaine would never do.

Kyra spares Taren, barely. The number of dead in the compound count into the hundreds as she moved of body and mind.

Von said it was the most terrifying and beautiful birth he had ever seen.

Emy couldn’t talk about what she saw for months.

Mairi feels guilt at encouraging Trev to sow his oats.

BC is pissed Lil’ let Trev go and not kill him.

Kieran holds Kyra as Mairi holds Trev–tells her he has someone that wants to say hello, someone that did not take the last ship out of dodge.

John writes in his journal that “After the Kyra Incident” he is losing his moral compass with Cait.

Mairi looks to the heavens and cries out, “My Janus, what have they done to you.” Tears streak down her cheeks and she looks back down at Trev’s blank stare and through her tears she utters, “My dear child.” She wipes his hair away and shaking her head says, “How will you ever forgive me?” She is rocking back and forth as a mother might rock a frightened child to sleep.

“Papa?”

Kieran says she can’t directly connect with him but that he can act as a conduit.

Message from Papa: “We can still get there from here.”

Von: (Looks at Rog) I hope you brought some snoot?
Rog: I did.
Von: Good Hynerian.
Rog: I drank it–all.
Von: (deadpans)
Rog: But I have a plan.
Von: Yeah?
Rog: Looks at John.
John: What?
Von and Rog: (Start laughing)

I Love You, I’ll Kill You by Enigma is the Soundtrack for “The Kyra Incident.”

Interview from Earth:

T: Can you explain what happened?

K: Taren’s hammer was like a pickaxe. The down stroke to Papa’s ring broke, and I shiott you not, to my mind’s eye, I saw it as clear as day, but broke layer upon layer of inhibition and doubt while harnessing a synergistic melding of practice, theory and application that took years of pieces and in an instant painted, how would you say it, a Mona Lisa.

T: Wow.

K: Don’t ever say that word again in response.

T: Okay.

K: (starts laughing) I’m just shiotting you. Bring more whiskey–nine glasses.

T: (just smiles)

Ratchet Me This


The badious leather table supported Trev’s torso, his feet and hands secure in their respective stirrups, his eyes fixed at a forty-five degree angle to the floor. Between torso and stirrups were smaller accoutrements to support the legs without hinder. Designed to allow access to those parts deemed necessary while fully supporting the client at hand, the table was the instrument most requested within the house. Trev was not given that option.

Sal slowly turned a smallish luteous wheel under the table and Trev heard a series of audible clicks, what sounded like the screech and clap of a metal ratchet. Each sharp click matched the throbbing in his chest as he realized his legs were slowly being spread. Exposed and hanging, fearful and wanting, mind racing, heart pounding. “Keep breathing my delicious,” said Sal as her hands took the measure of tightness firm. “First time, I see.” If Trev could have turned his head he would have seen her creamy smile, rich as lust, brimming with purposeful anticipation.

Trev tried to speak, his lips moved but no words came forth. She had placed a small round silver device, no larger than a dime and somewhat cool to the touch, on the back of his neck that held the vocal cords at bay. As her fingers begin to probe, his fear of the unknown, a fear tinged with lustful expectation, gave way to a flood of emotion too complex, too muddled, to convoluted for this drugged mind to sort. Yes and no, right and wrong, shame and lust wrestled such that where one was the other soon took its place.

“Relax my pretty. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can, and I will.” Trev tried to speak again—nothing moved but the bulging veins on the side of his neck. Sal moved to the head of the table, allowing her nails to lightly trace a path from tumid tautness, over the roundness of hill and the curve of valley to the device. Circling the metal with her finger she said, “You’ll speak when I’m ready to hear you call my name and beg for more or is that curse my birth, defame my mother and pray for mercy. Besides, the room is sound proof, Lil’ has turned off your comm and no one knows you’re here. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but I have a very strong feeling that you didn’t tell anyone you were coming here.” Sal’s nails bit into the back of his neck drawing forth a small crimson worm that fell with gravity to the cold cobbled floor below. “Now shut the frail up and do what I say.”

Trev closed his eyes as if shutting out the world would make it go away.

“I don’t often get this privileged. Give yourself to me, and, well, we may have a mutual experience. Resist,” Sal hesitated, “well, let’s just say I’d rather see you walk out of here. But make no mistake; don’t much matter to me either way.”

Categories: Story, Trev, Sal

Breathe


Sal held her grip, neither firm nor slack but just held it as one would hold a beating heart, listening to life throb, luxuriating in dominion as queen to slave . Leaning forward, naked curve on naked curve she bit Trev’s lobe, her long black hair falling as curtains on either side of his auditory orifices.

“Breathe. Just breathe.”

Trev sunk deeper into intoxicated clarity, a sensual landscape beyond the vial, beyond letters and art, beyond words or even images; bound not of leather and steel but of essences of body and mind unspeakable.

“Better,” whispered Sal, an aroma of lust on her long tongue as permissive hands and fingers began again to move with intent of pure unadulterated presentness.

Categories: Story, Trev, Sal


Trev, prone, naked and secured by ankle and wrist, swallowed the fifth sip, with a little help from Lil’s firm hand fisting his hair. Sal moved to his prostrated rear and slapped her tight and taut boy like a farmer slapping a side of beef. His flesh was warm, unlike her own species; and he had an instrument, full and ripe, alien and exotic, that seems to pulse and throb and hang with a certain sense of living heft as if his heart were in his arse rather than his chest.

Mairi sat with the quiet patience of a weary cat in a sunny window, content to let Yul sleep as long as she liked. The operation, the doctors had said, somewhat nervously, had gone better than expected. More tests would be run later, they said. So she sat and rubbed her head but succor eluded the feeling of being sunburned from the inside of her skull. Dr. X promised she would heal, fully. She still thought he was a complete bastard.

John played the signal again. Rog listened. John looked. Rog listened some more with the look of a school boy trying to convince his teacher he knew the answer when he really didn’t. John played it again. Rog, blessing his own hide, yelped for effect, and did a little dance; his eyes shown with recognition fueled by hope. John just shook his head.

Ariel crawled into Cait’s lap, the soft light of a reading lamp holding the pair in the warm repose of mother and child. Cait held back a sigh as Ariel nestled in tight to her chest, pushing her little head and primrose hair into the twin softness of living pillows. Turning the page, she read slowly, trying to lose herself in the story, trying to crowd out the anger in her heart until she heard her daughter sigh and she realized she had not turned the page for quite some time.

+My dear friend, we meet again.+

Kyra opened her eyes as one to light after many days in a cave. There was a voice, but no one was there. She looked for Em and Von but they were not there either. The room was white and rather bright, the edges fuzzy and from somewhere in her heart, she would later swear, was a taste of things past and a remembrance of things to be.

Kieran? Is that you?”

Categories: Story, Kyra, Trev, Mairi, Yul, John Discovery, Rog, Lil’ Twilight, Ariel, Cait