Blue, Part III

Michael O'Shaughnessy

It was early morning. Singahl was outside working on a metal sculpture when Adrian LaPorte bounced down the rock jetty to the cove. He hailed the artist.

Singahl pulled off his protective helmet and killed the welder in a spray of sparks.

"Hallo, Singahl. Did he behave himself?"

"Hello, LaPorte. He's been the model of servitude." He masked his sarcasm behind a neutral expression. He pointed to the jetty across the cove. "He's over there. There's a little trail right along the water's edge."

Adrian squinted into the sun. He could see Pete in the distance, doing something at the very end of the far jetty. He nodded. He trotted down the beach and found the rough trail along the side of the jetty and followed it out toward the point.

Pete was skipping stones across the water, out toward the open sea. He hadn't looked back toward the cove and didn't know Adrian was there. Adrian paused, hidden by a craggy boulder, and watched him.

The sun was directly behind him so he was only a black silhouette. Adrian could see there was something different about his head - his hair was shorter... and it curled... Something glinted erratically on one of his legs. Pete threw another stone and watched it skim the water, counting hops. Then he turned and squatted to look for another rock, and Adrian got a better look.

His skin was deep brown. The indigo tattoo started as tendrils around his ankles, wound up his calves to burst into leaf on the outsides of his thighs. A secondary tendril wound over the top of each thigh to insinuate upward and disappear into the dark hair between his legs. Adrian found himself holding his breath, following the fantastic blue jungle with his gaze, as it curled sprouting more leaves on Pete's flanks, sending shoots up toward his middle, ending on both sides with double leaf buds reaching for his navel, like supplicant's hands. The main branches curved back along his ribs and flourished up and forward over his chest, made curlicues and more ramifications along his collar bones and sent the finest shoots up along his throat to curve around his jaw and disappear into the hairline behind his ears.

Raising his eyes at last to Pete's face, Adrian released his breath in a long, soft exhale. Singahl had made a mask, asymmetrical, a sinuous leaf over each eye twisting outward, giving Pete a fey, Pan-like appearance.

Adrian realized his cock was full and hot. His heart pounded. Several thoughts jumbled together in his head at once.

Does he know he looks like a god--

Singahl's done it, he's put Pete's soul on his skin--

It was totally unnecessary, I already knew his beauty--

If he asked me this moment I'd do anything, I'd even set him free--

Suddenly nothing in the Universe mattered as much as what Pete would do when he saw his Master. Shaking with fear, Adrian moved out from behind the rock. Pete looked up -- Adrian saw those eyes flash out from the deep blue mask like molten gold --

Pete smiled.

Adrian's brain spun.

Pete stood up, and Adrian saw that he wore on one thigh a band of beaten gold, wrought as a fine, intricate filigree. It glowed against his dusky skin. Adrian stood there staring at him, struck speechless.

"Hi, Adrian, you're back. Have a good trip?"

Adrian said something.

"Well, what do you think?" He spread his hands and looked down at himself, back to Adrian.

"That -- that band --" Adrian stammered.

"Singahl -- Master Singahl made it. He said it's for you. Want me to take it off?"

"No, no. Just stand there a moment. This is more than I expected."

"Too much? You don't like it."

"Does it go on over your back? Turn around."

Pete turned around. The design snaked from his flanks over and down to meet at the top of the cleft of his buttocks, then a single, straight stem followed his spine upward until it opened into a single joyous flower between his shoulder blades. Leaves and curled tendrils from his chest overflowed over his shoulders; one twig dipped down to splay a cluster of leaf-buds over the middle of his left shoulder blade.

"It's incredible," Adrian breathed. He was already seeing more in the jungle than just leaves and tendrils. Over one triceps a tiny winged creature fluttered. A small mole on Pete's ribs could be might be the eye of some little animal hiding in the vegetation.

"It took him six days," Pete said. He still couldn't tell whether Adrian was pleased or not. He turned to face him again, and waited.

Adrian stepped close to him. It's the eyes-- He reached across and pulled Pete against him. Pete felt his erection, and put his hands on Adrian's waist. Adrian pulled at his hips, pressing hard against his belly.

"I missed you," he murmured, "And then I come back to this - I'll have to give up my business, all I want to do is be inside you, forever." He pulled Pete's head back and kissed him. Pete opened his mouth and took in his tongue, and the familiar feel of Adrian's body, his need, washed through him and shook him with lust. He sucked at Adrian's tongue and they stood, their bodies rubbing hard against each other, until Adrian gave a deep groan and pushed him away.

"So you do like it?" Pete asked.

Adrian took it all in again -- the brown skin, the sensuous design, the gold, luminous on his thigh, his eyes, and he nodded. There was nothing he could think of to say. "Like" it? I gave Singahl a slave and he gave me back a god. And this god is still mine to do with as I wish--

"Come on, we're going for a walk." He led Pete back to the cove. There he told Singahl they'd come back in awhile, and he took Pete back over the rock wall into the jungle. When they were far enough along the path that they could no longer see the ocean, he stopped and looked around. A little way off the path there was a small clearing under one of the larger trees. He took Pete's hand and led him there. Adrian leaned his back against the tree and finally looked Pete in the eye again.

"I want you," he said simply, but with such heat that Pete went to his knees in front of him.

He ran his hands up Adrian's thighs to the hard ridge at his lower belly, and moaned. "How, Master? What shall I do?"

"Suck it," Adrian whispered. "Oh, Pete, I could climax just looking at you, put your mouth on it, use your tongue -- oh God!" he cried aloud when Pete slipped his mouth over it. Looking down he saw this masked creature sucking at him, his jaws working, and felt the hot liquid tongue stroking his most sensitive skin, and his mind whirled again. Two lines like threads of fire pulsed down the sides of his cock and they consumed his being.

Pete's hands pulled Adrian to him, his lips met his body and Adrian's cock pushed against the back of his throat. He felt Adrian working, thrusting, the tension mounting, and his own need flared. He sucked harder, and his body sagged against Adrian's legs. Those legs suddenly turned to steel, matched the hardness in his mouth, and Adrian took a huge breath and then the dam burst and his cock pumped, spurting, pushing gasping growls from his chest.

Seconds later he dropped to the ground, pawing, pulling at Pete's cock, rasping, "Put it in me, you like it that way, please yourself, take me whore, don't wait, don't hold back, give it" So Pete tore Adrian's slacks down, off, and mounted him. He spit on his palm and wetted the head of his cock with the saliva-semen mix, and clumsy with lust he drove himself in. Adrian clutched at him and wrapped his legs around his waist, still gasping, "Do it fuck me fast come as quick as you want --" and for once Pete did, pounding and pulling against the tightness.

It was one of those times when every thrust was a blast of pleasure so intense that it surely had to be the one -- then the next one even more intense, and the next --

"Ah Master!" he cried, It's still here-- "God Adrian!" It's his excitement's got me so hot-- "Aw Jesus!" This is--

"Come, Pete, come inside me --"

This is--

Adrian took his face between his hands and held him so he could watch him climax.

Ach, fire! and it came, shooting from the core of his belly, rattling his body, slacking his face, watering his joints. He fell down to lay on Adrian, heaving for breath.

Adrian put his arms around him. After awhile he said, "You're still mine, Peter?"

Pete thought of how Adrian had dominated the weeks with Singahl even though he was absent, and said, "Never anyone else's, Master." Adrian made to sit up, and Pete moved aside. Getting his pants on, brushed, zipped, Adrian snorted, "Hardly dignified, balling in the woods," and Pete chuckled. "But I couldn't wait, I had to have you alone, the first time. Think Singahl would like to watch me fuck you?"

"I don't know, Adrian."

"I want to watch him put that monster of his inside you. Think he'll hear of it?"

"Have to ask him."

"I'm thinking we'll stay a few days. Lounge on the beach. See how you handle the two of us at once."

Pete didn't answer at once. The idea of both of them at him at once made his guts creep with pleasure. "I'll do my best, Master."

Singahl was glad of the chance to have Pete around for a few more days, even if he had to share him with LaPorte. He hid his delight from Adrian, though. He didn't consent to keep them on until Adrian offered to pay rent while they were there.

He took them around the island, showing them the best tide pools for swimming, sharing recipes for the different varieties of fish they caught. The first night they returned to his cove after dark. He led them into his cave and turned around, wondering if LaPorte would still chain Pete up when they went to sleep. That thought was abruptly interrupted.

Adrian had Pete in front of him, held close, facing their host. Adrian's hand stroked Pete's chest, the other moved down over his belly to linger suggestively near Pete's groin. Adrian saw Singahl's quick inhale of surprise, and cocked an amused eyebrow. Singahl peered at Pete, trying to see how he felt about what LaPorte was so obviously proposing. Pete's eyes were smoky, looking at Singahl with a sweet resignation that both aroused and saddened the Snubb. The arousal quickly became evident.

Adrian resumed his slow caress, and Pete's body responded. He leaned back against his master and let his consciousness drown in the physical.

Later he would recall only snapshots of memory of that first night. Adrian holding him upright at the same time burying his cock hard up inside him, and Singahl on his knees in front, kneading his genitals inside the eager wetness of that cavernous mouth. Pete was overwhelmed by the sensations. He looked down once at his body, Adrian's hands and fingers digging into his flesh and Singahl with his great eye shut, moaning around Pete's straining cock, and Pete's head snapped back like he'd been slapped but it was orgasm flying through his body blowing sounds out of his throat that he only dimly heard himself.

Later or earlier he was on his knees before Adrian, who held his arms and watched Singahl approach him from behind. He gave Singahl instructions, encouragement to penetrate slowly, farther "all the way, Singahl, stars it's huge, put it in him"

and Singahl's overheated groans and his cock throbbing and pushing, stroking while Pete gasped in pain and lust. Adrian watched, getting hotter and harder himself, until Singahl started thrusting in earnest, then said, "Suck me, Pete," and somehow he timed his own climax so both broke in a frenzy, together.

Another night they put him on the bed (Adrian let Pete sleep with them, to Singahl's relief) between them, held his arms and legs spread out with theirs and they played and teased him for hours. Adrian ended up watching Singahl fuck him again, pleasing himself by masturbating Pete in time to Singahl's rhythm. When Pete had recovered Adrian had him suck him off for Singahl's viewing pleasure.

The atmosphere of these days and nights was languid and gentle, except in the heat of lust, and it was all because Adrian was, mysteriously, honoring the aversion he sensed in Singahl to abusing Pete.

Pete and Singahl built elaborate sand castles on the beach and Adrian played sidewalk superintendent, making jokes and inventing lurid stories to go with their constructions. Once Pete realized they'd been laughing through most of an afternoon.

The nights continued to be unseasonably cold, and the skies unusually cloudy, though there was still some sun. Then one day the heat built up and a wall of cloud loomed on the horizon. The sea grew grey and choppy.

"How's your cave in a storm, Singahl?" Adrian asked him. "Watertight? Or do you have to move out until the sea goes calm again?" They were sitting around drinking island beer in the beach chairs outside the cave.

"I've got a sealing door that takes exactly forty-five seconds to activate," Singahl told him. "Gift from a happy customer."

"Good! Then let's sit here and watch the storm come in."

So they did, for an hour or so. The wind whipped up. Adrian was feeling the beer. The impending storm's fury compounded, and the air itself felt electrified. They were buffeted by the sheer noise of the thunder, and strafed with splatters of rain. Adrian got up and toddled through the wind to the water's edge, and engaged in matching his voice to the thunder. They followed him down, laughing at him. "Such an ego," Singahl sneered.

"Pitiful little storm!" Adrian roared, "Think you're so mighty on this neglibigle -- dammit, negligible -- grain of sand! Come get me, Water Gods, if you can! You scare the natives but you don't scare me!"

"You've had too much to drink, Master," Pete smiled at him. "Come on, let's go inside, you're getting soaked."

Adrian shook off his hand. "T' hell with that. Lightning strike! Lookit that" he pointed at where, halfway to the horizon, crackling veins of purplish light rent the sky and stabbed the waves. "I pissed 'em off, I did!" He threw back his head and laughed.

"Come on, Adrian, it's not safe standing out here now," Pete pleaded. "There's lightning everywhere --"

"Goddammit, unhand me, whore!" and Adrian shoved him away, lost his balance and sat down hard on the wet sand. Pete staggered a couple of feet and

--the world went white, ozone burned their nostrils --

-- when the world came back Pete was lying on the beach.

Adrian stared stupidly at him. Singahl got to him first. He was motionless. There were no burns, no blood. Only his eyebrows had been singed away, leaving pale naked ghosts of themselves in his brown face. But there was the stink of burnt hair and the dreadful smell of cooked meat. Singahl felt Pete's throat. He looked at Adrian with a shocked face.

"He's dead," he said; wonder before horror. "How can it be?"

"Christ," Adrian muttered, feeling the beerbuzz fade. He crawled over to Pete and shook him. "Oh no, Pete, not now." He moaned and looked at Singahl. The artist's face was twisted in grief. "Oh no..."

Adrian sat there for awhile, the rain pelting down on them, then got up and walked away leaving Singahl holding Pete's hand. He wandered up and down the beach as the storm grew, then came back. He put a hand on Singahl's shoulder and said, "Let's get him inside, eh? It's no safer out here for us than it was. Come on." And he picked Pete up and led Singahl back into the cave.

The giant sat down against the wall, on his bed, and held up his arms for the slave, entreaty on his face. Adrian gave him over. Singahl folded Pete up in his arms and buried his face in his hair. Adrian looked at him for a few minutes, then decided making some tea would be a good thing to do. He kept himself busy at it for quite awhile, giving the Snubb privacy in his grief. He brought a mug of tea to him, and Singahl took it as though he didn't know what it was, and just held it. Adrian sat down next to him.

"It's not fair," the Snubb said, ridiculously.

"'Course it's not," Adrian agreed.

Singahl looked at him. "Look at you; you don't even care."

"Not true. I just don't show it much. You, though, I can see --"

"I loved him."

"I know. I saw it these past few days. So did I."

Singahl snarled. "You're a bloody liar. I know what you did to him. You've been on your best behavior here--"

"There are many ways to love."

Singahl subsided, thinking about that. He stroked Pete's arm, where the tattoo curled down around his forearm. "It's not fair," he said again.

"Your masterpiece will be a legend," Adrian told him. "Enough tourists saw it here, they'll be talking about it for years. Too bad I didn't get a holo of it."

"Fuck the tattoo!" Singahl cried. "Don't you know what you've lost?"

Adrian regarded him, savoring a new human emotion - sympathy. He thought about telling Singahl that Pete would be revived soon, but immediately rejected that idea. What would be the point? Put Pete through the tattoing process again? For what? It had been an ephemeral art work; had Pete been a normal mortal it would have died with him eventually anyway. There was no good reason to reveal the secret. It was, perhaps, more merciful to let Singahl go through his grief and emerge with his loving memories of Pete.

No, it had been a vacation for Pete and his Master, and now it was over. Adrian realized that knowing the way Pete had looked would always be only a memory, no holos, made it all the more poignant for him. It was a little ramification of human psychology that pleased him.

"I have to take him back to my ship," he told Singahl gently.

"Why? Why don't we bury him out here on the beach? He loved it."

"It... has to do with the internal resource recycling system."

Singahl still looked questioning.

"You really don't want to know."

Singahl sighed. "You can't go back right now, anyway."

"Yes, I can. The shuttle handles these storms like they don't exist. I can stay for a little while longer, but the sooner I get Pete back to the ship the better it will be. Not much margin for error in space, you know?"

Singahl accepted that. Adrian let him hold Pete until he was ready to give him back.

"Here," Adrian said, and he slid the gold band off of Pete's leg. "Why don't you keep this? I have lots of holos of him, you don't have anything. It's a lovely thing. It was a fine gift and it looked perfect on him.

"Your work surpassed excellent...

"I'll never forget it...

"...Thank you."

Singahl handed Pete over and took the band. He got up to follow Adrian out the cave door, but Adrian stopped him. "Maybe it'd be easier on you if you just stayed here, hm? Why watch us walk away?"

Singahl agreed, and when Adrian had departed he sat back down on his bed, handling the golden band and staring into the night. The pain in his heart seemed like to kill him, but toward dawn he discovered that from it had come an idea for a sculpture.

Maybe work would help...

Pete awoke in the ship, in the Love Nest as usual, in Adrian's arms. The difference this time was that he had no idea what had happened. He was surprised to look at himself and see he was pale again, and the tattoo was gone. Before he'd revived Adrian had also reattached the golden chain to his back. It was at once a cold act, and a kind one, for at least Pete didn't have to endure the attachment process, only the healing one.

He didn't speak of the vacation until Adrian brought it up days later. He thought of Singahl with sorrow and gratitude, and wished him well. When the subject came up, he thanked Adrian for his kindness and congeniality during their stay with the artist. Their routine of business, the pain and the pleasure, had resumed, but Pete felt he owned Adrian that much.

On Adrian's part, he didn't think much about Singahl. What he remembered was when Pete had told him he'd never belonged to anyone else. And the look of his gold-brown eyes shining out of the leafy blue mask.