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The Ties That Bind	By : ElegantPaws Category: +. to F > Ai no Kusabi Views: 5761 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Stating the obvious, I do not own Ai No Kusabi nor do profit from this little endeavour other than the sheer joy of clacking the keys and doffing my cap in reverence to Yoshihara Rieko for creating such complex and intriguing characters.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
The Ties That Bind

By: ElegantPaws with all due deference to Yoshihara Rieko

Edited by: Ainzfern

Key Pairing:   Iason/Riki, Raoul/Katze

Rating: Mature

Parts:               WIP – 2 of 7

Reviews are fuel.

Chapter Two – The Ghost of Jealousy

The deafening thrum of his heartbeat with each step down the narrow, sparsely lit hallway adjoining the public gallery had his senses on full alert, even as they rapidly moved towards the vaulted ceiling that welcomed the light of day in the main galleria, which would have to be traversed first.

Iason stopped abruptly and looked about, pale irises wholly indifferent to the surroundings, yet speculative of the odd passerby.

Though indistinct to the ear of the average mongrel, the hushed, well modulated voices and softly affected titters in response gave Katze pause, as he scanned his surroundings instinctively with a narrowed glare.

Fight or flight, a natural response in Ceres when in alien territory, was not merited here considering present company. The distinctive echoes and clicks of well shod feet, some ambling, some quick of step, and still others slow of gait as store windows were perused while traversing the marbled walkways hither and thither, made his palms itch. The dealer’s long fingers caressed his breast coat pocket, the feel of the cold metallic silhouetted giving some semblance of comfort to nervously twitchy digits.

He hated the surreptitious glances, more so focussed on him.

What the fuck he wouldn’t give for a smoke right about now, or to be safely ensconced back in his neck of the woods, where he had some semblance of control of his immediate environment. It had been a very long time since he had been in the open like this. Back in the day, this would be a daily tour as Furniture, but it was different then.

Feigning indifference, pale amber eyes gauged the interest levels of varying blank, set facades, who despite their best efforts were discombulated by the sight of the ex-Furniture, accompanying his former Master, their leader, who appeared to be headed to the Sanctum of Sanctums, and with THAT mongrel, no less.

His lips quirked at the irony of his current circumstance, no doubt he wore a similar expression as the Galleria’s patrons in his sharply contoured face and flat dead stare.

Without questioning he needed a smoke. This kind of tension was doing a number on his spine far worse than any little standoff or gun play with a rival, attempting to foolishly supersede his authority.

Where the fuck was Donovan when he needed him? No doubt fucking that dimwit, Guy, better yet, what of him with the recalcitrant golden curls? How pissed was Raoul right at the moment, not being answered with each insistent vibration of the Com? Donovan knew what to do under these circumstances, but not Raoul.

Elites did not do well with being ignored, even for their own good; complications, everything he never wanted or needed.

The dealer stifled a chuckle, causing Iason’s head to wipe round and glare accusingly at the wrath-like being at his side.

“Something amuses you, Katze?”

The dealer stood his ground with a blank stare, subtly taking the measure of the powerfully built male who returned his perfectly supercilious vacant stare to his surroundings, deigning to give a perfunctory inclination of his head to selected members of his brethren and the occasional citizen worthy of some semblance of note.

“No your Excellency, just a fleeting thought, not worthy of mention,” Katze offered noncommittally.

It was neither the time nor the place. It would be the talk of the day for many that they were acknowledged by their leader. The stories of the encounter would be embroidered and importance given to the fleeting glances exchanged in the moment as chests puffed with pride and spines bent in deference where applicable.

Iason remained motionless by his side.

Katze knew better than the rest why they had stopped so abruptly mid stride. There was nothing even vaguely deferent in that perfectly patrician countenance, or the slight throb at Iason’s right temple.

Communion, all be it superficial, was taking place; new instructions perhaps.

His heart tripped in his chest with fear. Fuck he needed that cigarette, maybe even a Black Nocturne if things got bad. Yeah, hindsight was always twenty-twenty. He’d stopped carrying them after that fateful day at Dana Bahn. There would never be an easy way out for him; another ironic twist of fate, he mused absently regarding the inhumanly flawless profile. It was the slow blink of a speculative icy blue that brought the dealer out of his reverie.

Iason had been staring at him again and from the querulous look, for some time now.

Discomforted by the flicker of knowing he saw in the Elite’s gaze, Katze’s eyes wandered to his own feet before venturing upward once more, taking in the elegantly, though sparsely, appointed galleria of muted metallic curved spirals that gracefully climbed into gilt tipped spires that cast a rich blinding hallow the further they climbed upward towards the cavernous ceiling.

“Quite a feat architecturally, Sir Mink, considering their real function, the listening devices are exquisite.”

The cloistered seating arrangements and abstract relief sculptures that surrounded the waterfall was a stroke of genius in more ways than one, considering this almost cerebrally ascetic accent cloaked in plain sight the single most powerful listening device in the Commonwealth.

Iason sniffed and lazily looked up impassively. “Functionality, Katze, need not preclude an aesthetically pleasing form. You more than most, clever mongrel, should appreciate this aspect that is Amoi.”

The dealer’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. Point taken, your Excellency.”

Many had fallen prey from a seemingly casual exchange and were none the wiser of betrayal.

A space of respite and open secrecy, as Iason once observed.

Fortunately for the majority who called Eos home, the conversational gambits were trite. No more than idle and oft times traitorously witty verbal barrages meant to amuse their fellow indentured kin, while blissfully unaware of their servitude to the quiescent thrum that filtered and catalogued their musings for posterity.

Amber eyes cast down the long gray blue hallway to right, where none walked and large cathedral doors stood, shimmering darkly in a cobalt blue tinged haze from beneath the unguarded portal where the quiescent thrum resided for want of better words.

Katze involuntarily shivered recalling the first time he had encountered the omniscient being in the form of the blue screen of death and the fallout of his own less than idle curiosity about Amoi’s beginnings.

His brows furrowed in memory.

Iason could have killed him that day without fear or favour but chose not to; odd considering his usual wrath when betrayed, but something had come over the Elite’s expression mid arc of force whip. The question he had asked had been strange indeed. Of time, skill and cunning. He remembered now the peculiarity of Iason’s expression as the mongrel watched in rapt attention the gradual descent of his Master’s arm. The warm wet flow of his own blood, coursing down his collar, secondary as the Elite suddenly sat across from him, irises dilated, dark in their surmise, wholly indifferent to the blood spattered carpeting, much less the individual in question.

It stung. It burnt, like a brand as the Furniture tentatively worked his jaw being forced to answer on bended knee. To this day he still remembered the sticky feel of it. The coppery scent of the living fuel as it cooled and the salty taste upon his lips, all indelibly imprinted to memory.

“Katze?”

The dealer dismissed the errant thought of his own possible demise, returning his focus to the moment as seen and away from the omnipresent being that held their collective fate in a loose, silken tether.

Why had the light source dimmed about him? The dealer blinked and shuddered, realizing he had been tracing the scar once more. He felt the grasp of a firm palm upon his elbow, leading him forward towards the hall.

“Answer me.” Was that annoyance mixed with perhaps not fear, per se but genuine curiosity as the grip intensified and he was lead more forcefully towards the beckoning hallway.

His heart began to race. He could not catch air as fractured images passed beneath sight, almost as if in a dream.

“Focus, Katze. We have no time for your games this morning.”

From this rarefied vantage, a resplendent vantage that offered every imaginable luxury to appease the five detectable senses, he was being pulled from his immediate surroundings.

The dealer felt hollow as his inner sight dulled and his eyes narrowed, as his own head began to throb in time with each step they took. It wasn’t concern he soon realized that he heard in Iason’s tone.

They had become a spectacle.

He closed his eyes and picked up the pace, matching Iason’s suddenly longer strides, his own breathing becoming harsh in his own ears. Still voices intruded within his hearing, though the cadence of the beat he heard within grew more strident and fractured.

‘Focus, Katze, focus or all will be lost.’

That was not, Iason’s voice.

Adrenalin began to flow through his veins. He knew the signs well of that chemical compound that shunted violently through every capillary unleashing previous unavailable stores of energy, clearing the dull thrum that had clouded his mind, returning him to the present.

It was morning. Business as usual for those frequenting the public space designed for the privileged citizenry and their keepers, the Elite. Nothing more; nothing less, he thought turning preternaturally golden eyes upward to the domed ceiling as it whisked past, verifying what he had just overheard said by a corpulent, wholly effete entity taking his newest tethered acquisition for her morning promenade.

She had been the source of the earlier tittering.

Indeed clear blue skies above and playful dapples of sunlight guiding their steps.

He blinked slowly and looked up at the Elite. Weird, they were moving rapidly but unlike his steps, nary a shadow was cast on the resplendently golden being propelling him down the sepulchral hall.

The daze was returning, the echo of myriad voices fading in their wake, funnily enough the unusual pair appeared to be heading in a similar direction and keeping up nicely.

Katze noted Iason’s suspect diffidence in his fleeting acknowledgement of their existence. It was a total bitch sometimes keeping up with those extraordinarily long legs when they had a mind to go somewhere in an indecent hurry. How the fuck did Riki do it? Then again, the kid preferred to saunter as a rule.

Unbidden a lazy smile came to Katze’s face as he furtively looked up at the pre-occupied Elite, determined to get to down the exceptionally long hall or so it seemed. It hadn’t looked that far before?

He was glad of that hand that held him up currently, even if it was cutting off the blood circulation to this lower arm.

Why did he feel like this? Oh yeah Riki, that’s who he’d been thinking of. That little fucker was good at control, even if he did it out of sheer cussedness. What was more, Iason adjusted. Never once had Katze seen Riki break a sweat trying to keep up with his Master.

That tether went both ways, whether Iason recognized it or not.

Katze snickered audibly exacting the Elite’s ire as he abruptly stopped and glowered, the fleeting glimmer of worry returning to narrowed ice blue eyes as he pulled the mongrel into the nearest alcove.

“Have you been imbibing?” Iason hissed.

He could feel his teeth rattling about in his head. Why was Iason shaking him? Better yet, what the fuck was his face doing so close to his?

“No, your Excellency,” the dealer practically snarled, his amber eyes becoming opaque with rage as he stiffened reflexively, warding off any further intrusion into his physical space.

A pale brow rose as the Elite slowly looked down at the long fingered hands pushing against his chest. “Unhand me immediately, Katze if you wish to retain use of your limbs. Unlike Sir Am, I do not covet this manner of intimate contact.”

The harsh grip lessened about his elbows, allowing for space. Both men turned upon hearing the excited whispers of the duo that had stopped to view the contra temps with atypical interest evident in their prurient gaze.

Those two were not Amoian.

Perhaps vacationing from some far flung part of the Commonwealth, he might have purchased her here though. It would explain their circuitous route and impolite fascination. No one came down these hallowed halls, at least not voluntarily much less openly stared.

Amber eyes returned to the beautifully turned out female in fawn coloured silken robes.

He could be wrong though, Katze thought, judiciously falling behind Sir Mink a few paces as they strolled once more down the hall, pretending nothing untoward had occurred.

No detectable movement behind. Katze felt her stare, more than that of the male. He turned, never missing a step in Iason’s ever widening stride that was verging on indecent haste.

She did have the requisite petulance so prized in Academy bred chattel; exquisitely self-possessed, save for the attentions of their patrons.

He watched furtively beneath thick amber lashes as she fingered the stones about her ample cleavage, drawing further attention to the glimmering ruby red, multi-faceted adornment. It was mesmerizing, almost pulsing, giving warmth to the preternatural ivory of her flawless skin.

Katze chuckled at her smug moue about less than full lips as they began to drop behind.

For one brief moment their eyes locked. Those dark eyes were iridescent in their intensity, akin to the jewels. It must have been the stones, a trick of shadow and light. Her irises gave off an eerie vermillion hallow, quickly veiled of knowing intelligence, the moment, Sir Mink abruptly turned.

Yep. Quite the shift, Katze mused, that gaze was no longer speculative but dull and fixed as both bowed deeply and began their retreat.

The dealer sighed, stifling a snort. She was flirting, that was all. Amusingly enough her behaviour had been observed by her bejewelled owner, who strove to maintain his own vacuous expression, tightening his grip on her flowing sleeve as he pulled indelicately at her elbow.

Just for a moment Katze found himself weighing her market value and assessing her longevity in that particular household. It was just a function of time before familiarity would lead to boredom and she would be on the black market for resale.

Despite the narrow eyed glare he felt levelled at him from above his left shoulder and that of the impotent annoyance evident in the jiggle of her owner’s triple chin in censure; Katze winked at her and inclined his head decorously when they rounded the corner and disappeared.

She may well be his current prized obsession, but on Amoi, life was about the acquisition, not the keeping. Any day now, there would be a new and improved model for display and purchase.

Katze’s gaze fell to the businessman’s chubby feet. He just could not bring himself to look into those porcine eyes, no matter how he willed his own mind.

One auburn brow quirked at the anomaly of barely there sandals and ridiculously painted toes which were revealed when he bowed unctuously, seeking favour with the ramrod straight Elite at his side before wisely veering to a safer venue away from the rapidly shortening temper of Amoi’s leader.

Katze’s skin tingled beneath his coat at the sight; naked feet. It felt like an electric current coursing through his nervous system, making the hairs at the base of his skull stand on end. He blinked in shock at the familiarity of the feeling engendered at the sight.

It would be a year at best then to auction for her. As venal as the rotund male obviously was, he had made a shrewd purchase in her. Females kept their value that much longer in their rarity on Amoi.

A truly exceptional specimen, deceptively strong of build and surprisingly tall considering the preference for the willowy of frame that best conformed to conventional fashion. Possibly fecund, equally anomalous; where did he purchase her?

“Katze?”

The dealer blinked brought back to the cold reality of the moment to find those same piercing blue eyes boring into his still quizzical and now thoroughly disturbed amber.

“The inquisitive female appears to interest you a great deal?”

He shrugged, noticing for the third time that Iason had reached for his Com with growing frustration etched in his profile each time he studied the screen.

“Marketable merchandise should never be overlooked, your Excellency.”

“Indeed. If you are quite done assessing her future earnings on the secondary market, might we ...” Iason’s jaws clamped shut mid sentence as his Com began to blink once more in his gloved palm.

“Kid’s never been known for his patience, Iason. How many times is that now?”

“And your insistence on stating the obvious is equally irritating, Katze. Five if you must know.”

“He won’t stop until you answer, your Excellency. He’s a pushy little fuck, when his gut tells him something’s up, particularly with you.”

Iason’s frigid stare meant to deflect any further conjecture, failed miserably.

Never once flinching, Katze maintained his steely gaze, resigned amusement playing about markedly softened eyes studying him patiently before finally lowering his head, assuming his usual diffident stance of hands in pockets as he turned towards the doorway ahead.

“He’s worried, Iason. Put him out of his misery and yours for that matter. Let’s get this over with. This has been the longest walk of my life.”

Katze could feel those hooded eyes speculatively following the progress of his squared shoulders as he approached the dark foreboding portal.

“Irrational. You are all irrational.” Iason, murmured, uncomfortably aware he was left to follow where the mongrel led. No, in fact emphatically no, he was told by the omniscient hum within his head. He was to remain outside the sanctum’s confines. His presence was not welcome; a first.

Raoul’s Katze looked inordinately fragile in that moment; a most disconcerting thought that is until one took in the rigidly feral countenance of that scarred, aquiline profile. They were a stubborn lot with strange drives.

Duality; strength and fragility in diametric opposition; mongrels were a conundrum. How often had he seen the same stubborn look upon Riki’s face when challenged?

Stillness reigned as shimmering shafts of cobalt light flooded the walkway without when the doors quietly opened, stealthily absorbing his frail silhouette but not the booming resonance of his voice in the cavernous hall where his final words echoed as if in admonition.

“That’s how we are when we love something, or someone, we wish to protect. Try to remember that, Iason. Forgive him. He forgave you a long time ago.”

Disquieted, Iason stood observing the shifting stream of light beneath the closed portal with only a shroud of darkness for company.

~~~TTTB~~~

Thump! Thump! Thump!

The tapping was incessant and one might venture to add exceedingly irritating.

It did not help that the source of the constant, driving tattoo was threatening to exacerbate an equally rare occurrence for the Head of Medical Sciences, a migraine of epic proportions. Those unprepossessing boots had become an unwanted fixture atop the scarred antique coffee table.

The mongrel would not, or perhaps, could not keep still, further marring its already challenged surface. There were hours of buffing in his immediate future if the offensive footwear continued to accost its surface with sporadic, jarring dissonance and scraps.

Raoul sighed and tapped the keypad once more in an attempt to ignore the close to frantic fidgeting of Iason’s pest and the microbial life forms he surmised that were contently ensconced in every worn crevice of the worn leather. No doubt said life forms were plotting a coup d’etat of their own, if he didn’t employ immediate sanctions on behalf of the low table.

“Riki?” Raoul intoned sonorously, waving a gloved hand in lieu of explanation. “If you don’t mind?”

The dark mongrel looked up into somewhat malevolently predisposed green eyes noting their general trajectory with embarrassment.

He was agile. Raoul would give him that, and looked suitably penitent as his feet hit the thick pilled carpeting. No, it had to be his imagination that particles of dust came up in their wake.

“Sorry. Just pre-occupied,” Riki offered apologetically before standing abruptly and zippering his jacket. “You keep tryin’ and let me know. I’m heading for the club. Donovan has to know something by now.”

Raoul felt his ire raise, along with the pulse within his temples at the mention of the minder’s given name. “Surely he would have called, had there been news?”

Riki’s furtive gaze flew to his boots as he twisted his face and nodded. “Yeah well, okay. Listen, you’re not his favourite individual at the moment. Kind of messed up the natural order of things to his mind,” the mongrel raised his hands apologetically, “so even if he knew something, he wouldn’t rat out Red to you. No offense. They’ve had each other’s back a long time.”

The supercilious tilt of a stubborn chin and thinned lips were the only answers Riki needed to make his own exit.

“All this sitting around shit and waiting, doesn’t work for me, Raoul. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know, but I’ll bet anything their together. Just can’t figure out why...yet.”

Author's Note

Hope you enjoyed. Thanks for your patience. Hope you enjoyed.

EP
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The Ties That Bind