A Mote in God's Eye
"Come in," he says, ushering me over the threshold. "Make yourself comfortable."
I don't have to be told twice, moving across the rented room like I'd been there before, which I have. Oh maybe not this particular room, but if you've seen one seedy hotel room you've seen them all. I drop my short leather jacket onto a chair near a small table, noting with surprise the mini-bar set up nearby. Okay, so the place is a little better than most, but to me, it doesn't make much difference. Four walls, a ceiling, and a bed - that's all I really need. And if I'm desperate… well, I don't even need those things.
I move to the window, pushing aside the heavy, dusty curtains to peer through the grimy window down at the street. I've watched the last few years of my life pass by many such windows. Tonight, from my vantage point, I could see a young mother hurrying down the street, head down to avoid any eye contact, child in one hand, a bag of groceries in the other. Across the street, a couple was arguing. The man shouts something at the woman, rearing his fist back to strike her across the face hard enough to send her to the ground. A few feet away a pair of bored prostitutes look on in disinterest. I sigh as I watch, knowing that the life down there is my life. But for tonight at least, I am up here, in this room, and not down there.
"Would you like something to drink?" he asks, throwing his coat over mine on the chair and moving to the mini-bar.
"Vodka if they have it," I reply, suddenly mesmerized by the neon red motel sign on the building across the street. The bottom "L" flickers like a moth beating its little wings furtively against a pane of glass.
"Aren't you a little young to be drinking?" he asks.
I shrug but don't turn around. "Aren't you?" I shoot back. He doesn't reply. I didn't expect him to.
A clap of thunder rolls in the distance. I glance up, noting with surprise the dark clouds that have rolled in, blotting out the stars. I don't think I'll ever get used to the unpredictability of weather on Earth. It's much simpler in the colonies, with rain scheduled at regular intervals.
The first few drops spatter against the window. I stare at them in fascination, tiny crystal beads appearing from the heavens. I've seen rain before, but there's something different about it on Earth… something wild and free…
An arm wraps itself around me, dangling a tiny, clear bottle in front of my face. I take it and allow myself to lean back against the broad chest of my companion. He wraps both his arms around my bare waist and nuzzles my hair. I open the bottle and drain most of the contents in one long swallow. I shudder, feeling the alcohol burn its way down to my stomach. He takes the bottle from my hand and places it on the window sill.
The rain comes down harder, beating a steady rhythm on the window pane. His hands caress my midriff, causing my stomach muscles to flutter. I suck in my breath, rolling me head against his shoulder. My eyes slide shut as he places his lips on my neck, suckling a spot just below my ear that makes me squirm. Any other john would already have me bent over the bed, shorts around my ankles and pounding away at my ass, moaning obscenities into my ear. But not this one, never this one. This one is different… and I think I hate him for that.
His hands slide under my cut-off tank top, pushing it up to expose my chest. He teases my nipples, pulling on the little silver hoop pierced through the left one. I hiss and shudder as tiny shocks of pleasure run down my spine to my groin, causing my skin to break out in thousands of small bumps. One hand wanders lower, fingers trailing down my sternum. The hand hesitates at the waistband of my vinyl shorts, teasing the skin just above the zipper.
"You feel good," he whispers, deftly snapping open the single button and sliding the zipper down as far as it will go to slip his handinside.
I shiver and gasp, my knees suddenly weak as he wraps his hand around my burning length. "You always say that," I breathe, writhing under his touch.
"And I always mean it," he replies.
He stands there, stroking me into a frenzy, trying to wring all the sounds from my throat that he can. He told me once that he got off on listening to me moan. Since then I try to stay quiet, but he knows my body too well and delights in finding new ways to make me vocal.
He rubs his thumb around the head of my cock, and I moan in response. I can't help myself. He nips at my earlobe with his teeth. I tilt my head to allow him better access. He bites down harder and I hiss in pain.
"No blood," I remind him as he continues to nibble.
"I wouldn't dream of it," he says, tugging at my nipple ring.
Suddenly I find myself turned around, back pressed against the glass. My shirt is ripped over my head and flung to some dark corner. I gasp when my bare skin touches the cold glass. But then his mouth is on my shoulder and I forget that I am cold.
"You taste good tonight," he says against my skin as his mouth trails across my shoulder and up my neck.
"Do I?" I reply breathlessly, too distracted by his mouth to pay much attention to his words.
"Mm-hmm." He lifts his head to look at me. I stare at his eyes as he stares at my mouth. Those damnable blue eyes… how I'm beginning to hate blue eyes.
He moves as if it kiss me, and I turn my head away. Call it cliché if you like, but rule number one on the streets is don't kiss on the mouth. Kissing on the mouth is something too intimate to be shared with a stranger. You risk becoming too involved with kissing. It's kinda funny actually. For a hundred bucks you can stick your tongue in my ass, but no amount of money will let your mouth near mine.
Of course, that's never stopped him before. He reaches up to grasp my chin in one hand to pull my head back around. He forces me to look at him. I lick my lips in nervous anticipation. The movement draws his attention, and before I can even breathe, he swoops down, our lips crashing together as his tongue forces its way into my mouth, searching for mine.
With any other guy, I'd have fought him off. But not him. Never with him. Damn him.
Our tongues slide across each other, vying for control inside my mouth. How long we stand there kissing I do not know. When he finally pulls away, giving my bottom lip one final tug with his teeth, the rain outside is coming down in buckets. I can feel it drumming against the window at my back.
He brushes an errant lock of hair away from my face before bending to lap at my collar bone. My head lolls back against the glass as his mouth travels lower. He pauses for a moment to flick my nipple ring with his tongue. I moan, clutching the window sill with both hands. He lowers himself to his knees and I allow my head to roll forward to watch him.
He makes quick work of the black boots I am wearing, unlacing them with a deftness I still find amazing. He runs his hands up my stocking legs, over the shorts, to slide both hands into the open fly, pushing the material over my hips and down my legs. He lifts my legs to pull them free, then slides the material away where I hear it crash against the wall. His hands hover at the top of one of the fishnet stockings I'm wearing, tracing the skin there. I shiver.
"Aren't you going to take them off too?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "No. I like the way you look in them." He slides his hands up to grasp my hips. My breath catches in my throat as he stares at me like a man starving.
"I want to taste you," he says.
"Wh…whatever you want, baby," I reply breathlessly. "It's your money."
He scowls. I smirk. I know he hates it when I remind him of what I am.
Holding my hips firmly so I can't move, he leans forward and runs his tongue over the very tip of my cock. I slump further down against the glass, my legs suddenly giving out on me. He shifts his grip on my hips to keep me held up. I raise one arm to brace myself against the window. My other hand buries itself in his soft hair. I try not to make any noise, but I am lost in the sensation of his mouth on me. I can't hear anything but the pounding of my heart and the rain outside.
He sucks me like an expert. If I didn't know any better, I'd have said he was the professional, not me. He licks me under, over, taking me whole in his mouth. I bite my lip until I taste blood. The coppery tang only manages to excite me even more. My breath catches, my spine arcs. Vaguely I wonder if anyone outside can see me here, caught in the throes of passion against the window. But then all thought flees my mind as he uses his mouth to bring me to the edge. My body trembles, my balls tighten, and I know that any moment now, I'll be lost.
"Nngh, stop," I say through clenched teeth, tugging at his hair. He ignores me, continuing to work me with his mouth and tongue. My hand moves to his shoulder. "No. Stop, please." He shrugs my hand off and sucks even harder. "No, I… ahhhh!"
My protests die on my lips as my body lets go and I come in his mouth. I hear myself cry out as my body shakes against the glass. A tingling warmth spreads through my body as he sucks me dry, and for a moment my vision blacks out. I feel myself fall forward only to have strong arms catch me, lift me up and cradle me.
When my vision returns, I find myself being lowered gently onto the bed, sheets already pulled down in preparation to receive me. He kisses my forehead as he lays my head against a crinkly pillow. He stands back up, and although I can only make out his silhouette against the dim light coming in through the window, I hear him remove his own clothing in the darkness. A moment later he joins me on the bed, flesh sliding against flesh, drawing me close until our limbs are tangled and he rests half on top of me.
"Why did you do that?" I ask, trying to ignore his mouth on my neck. "Why didn't you stop?"
He reaches for my braid, yanking off the band at the end. "I said I wanted to taste you," he says, nuzzling my chin.
I put both hands on either side of his face and lift his head to look at him. "You know I don't like it when you do that. I could be sick. What if you caught something from me?"
I shake my head. "I don't think so. But you know what I do. I don't get checked every day."
He drives a leg between mine and presses it against my groin, causing my eyes to roll up in the back of my head. "I'm not afraid of death," he breathes into my ear.
I smile ruefully at that, remembering the boy who wasn't afraid of death either. "What are you afraid of then?" I can't help but ask.
He doesn't answer right away. Instead he runs his fingers through my hair, unbraiding it and letting it fall loose over our bodies.
"There's only one thing I'm afraid of," he says, almost too softly to hear.
"What's that?" I ask, nearly too afraid to hear the answer.
"Not being able to feel this way again."
He kisses me, slow and gentle. I close my eyes and kiss him back, allowing myself to forget for a moment who he is, who I am. For a moment I am fifteen again, and in love. For a moment - only for a moment.
He shifts so he lays on top of me fully. I gasp, breaking the kiss, as his cock rubs against mine. He settles himself between my legs and begins slowly grinding his hips against mine. Within moments we are both panting, writing against each other almost frantically.
With a groan, he pulls away. My body aches from lack of contact. He reaches under the pillows to grab a long, slender tube. He must have placed it there earlier. Either that or the lube fairy made a little visit while we were busy at the window. He reaches back up and pulls the pillow out from under my head so that I lie flat on the bed. He kneels up and motions for me to lift my hips. I do and he slips the pillow underneath my body, propping my hips up on top of the pillow.
Leaning over me, he kisses me again, then slowly makes his way down my body, exploring every plane, every hollow, every swell with mouth, teeth, tongue, and lips until I am reduced to a quivering mass beneath him. I moan my pleasure, having long since given up on trying to stay quiet. Everywhere he touches me tingles and burns. Goose bumps rise on my skin, and my body begins to tremble as he moves over my cock once more.
"I should be the one doing this to you," I mumble, clutching handfuls of sheets as he massages my balls.
"Like you said, it's my money." He licks the full length of my dick. I shudder unconsciously. Whatever he wants to do - the customer is always right after all. Usually I'm the one doing all the work. But with him, it's different. It's always different.
Having fully tasted my cock earlier, he moves lower, tonguing my balls, making me gasp in pleasure. He moves lower still. For a moment nothing happens. My breathing becomes ragged in anticipation, then stops altogether when his tongue laps at my hole. I lose all touch with reality then, my world suddenly reduced to the wriggling wet muscle squirming its way into my body. I shout, tossing my head back and forth against the sheets.
His tongue disappears only to be replaced by a lube-slicked finger. My body clenches involuntarily around the intruder and a sharp twinge of pain breaks though the fog clouding my brain. I swallow hard and force myself to relax. Any tearing could keep me off the streets for days, something I can't afford to let happen.
He stretches me gently, inserting one finger, then two. Gradually I begin to relax. It doesn't take much. You learn to relax quickly in this line of work. I indicate my readiness by pushing back against his fingers. He pulls them out and sits up on his knees between my legs. Lifting one of my legs, he kisses my knee before sliding off the stocking and tossing it over his shoulder. He repeats the action with the other leg, then leans down to kiss me on the mouth.
I wriggle beneath him, silently voicing my impatience.
He sits back up and grabs the tube again. He squeezes some of the cool gel onto his hand, then tosses the tube aside. Grasping his cock in his hand, he strokes himself, readying himself for me.
Small moans fall from his lips as he rubs himself. I grasp my own cock and give myself a few quick strokes, watching him watch me. The gleam in his eyes as we touch ourselves makes me even harder. I don't bother asking for a condom… he wouldn't want to use it anyway.
Before I know what's happening, he grasps my hips and rolls us until I'm on top, straddling his waist. My hair tumbles over my shoulders to pool on his chest. I blink down at him.
"Ride me," he commands, still grasping my hips.
I nod and slide down his body, positioning myself over him. He lets go of my hips with one hand to grasp his dick and ease it into me as I lower my body.
I slowly lower myself until he is fully seated inside of me. He allows me to take my time, to adjust to him being inside of me. Not many would do that.
My eyes close. He caresses my hip, not making any demands of me. In some ways, that's almost worse then the guys who just yank my clothes down and fuck me. I don't want him to care. It reminds me too much of the boy who used to care - the boy who broke my heart.
I raise my hips and slam myself back down his length, the sudden sharp pain helps block out unwanted memories and feelings. A strangled breath escapes my throat. I repeat the motion again and again until the pain transmutes into the slow burn of pleasure. He uses my hips to help guide me, angling me so that each time I bring my body down onto his he hits that place inside of me that makes me see stars.
I move faster. My entire lower body begins to glow. My hands wander over my body as I ride him. I reach down to grab my dick only to have him push my hand away. I whimper, but comply, throwing my head back as sweat starts to form on my body. How must I look to him? Skin glistening, head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open in pleasure. How does he see me in the throes of passion? Why do I even want to know?
The world spins away as he flips me backwards. I open my eyes to find him above me, staring down at me with a look of such intensity in his eyes that for a moment I'm afraid. But then the moment passes and he's kissing me. He rolls his hips, wringing a moan from me. He catches the sound in his mouth and offers one of his own. A hand lifts my leg over his shoulder; the other wraps itself around his waist of its own accord.
For a second, he doesn't move, resting still inside me, over me. Then the moment is over and he's like a jackhammer, slamming in and out, over and over, again and again. The room echoes with the sound of flesh meeting flesh and the small gasping sounds dripping from our throats, only to be drowned out as thunder booms overhead.
The force of his thrusts pushes me across the bed so that my head hangs over the edge. I let my head fall back so that the room is upside down. A slow, delicious burn begins to spread throughout my entire being. His mouth is on my neck, sending little shocks of pleasure down my spine, straight to my groin.
My mind starts to become detached as a white fog begins to cloud my thoughts. From the angle I'm in, I can see the wall adjacent to the window. The wall is bathed in red from the sign outside. Dark red droplets stream down the wall. For a moment, all I see is blood. My life has been bathed in blood. It should be no surprise that I see blood now. Then I realize it's the shadow of the rain drops on the window. Yet all I see is blood. It fills my vision even as a bright light begins to fill my body.
He moves faster still, causing miniature starbursts of color to explode behind my eyes. A rough hand grabs my dick. I scream. He pumps. I come - long and hard and loud. I'm drowning in a sea of white light and blood. For a moment I think I'm on fire. Then I hear my name being shouted and feel a jet of warm, sticky liquid being emptied inside of me. And yet he continues to move, the aftershocks of my climax overwhelming me until I can't see, can't breathe, can't hear. I am lost - and I'm not sure if I care.
When I come to, he has collapsed on top of me, breath coming in ragged gasps. He's pulled me up so that my head once again rests on the bed. He's still embedded deep within me, but I know it won't last.
It won't last…
He shifts on top of me, raising up on his arms to kiss me. This time, I turn my head so he ends up kissing my temple. My one moment of blissful unawareness has passed. I don't want to prolong it with an act of intimacy that reminds me of what I can't have.
He heaves a little sigh, then moves to roll off of me. I wince as he slides out of my body. For a brief instant I have to resist the urge to wrap my legs around him and hold him in place. But I don't and I am left feeling strangely empty.
He pulls me around so we lay with our heads on the pillows which he has put back into place. I lie on my side, facing away from him so he can't see the emptiness in my eyes. He spoons up behind me, pulling the covers over our bodies and entwining our lower limbs together.
Outside, the storm continues to rage. We lie in silence, listening to the cacophony of thunder and rain. If it weren't for the small caresses he ghosts over my skin with his fingertips, I'd have said he was asleep. But he's not and so I wait for the question, a question he always asks and one I never want to answer.
For a while he says nothing, and I allow myself to hope that maybe he won't ask it this time. I should have known better.
"Why won't you let me take you away from all this?" he asks.
I sigh and stare out the window. "You know why."
He turns me to face him. I don't want to, but I don't resist either. He places a hand on my cheek and rubs the pad of his thumb over my lower lip.
"Remind me," he says, staring at my mouth.
I close my eyes. "What would you do with me? Lock me away in some tower while you ride back to your princess? I can't live with that."
"But you wouldn't have to live like this."
"This is what I am." 'What I've always been,' my mind adds, 'in my heart if not in practice.' But I don't expect him to understand.
"But it doesn't have to be," he replies softly, now running his hand through my unbound hair.
"No, but it's what I *choose* it to be. All my life I've allowed other people to choose my path for me. Now it's my turn… and this is what I've chosen for myself. It may not be glamorous, but it's what I am." I am halfway surprised by my own words. I've never told anyone that before.
"Yes, but… aren't there other things you can do besides…this?"
"Why? You jealous?" He doesn't answer. "There are. But this way… this way makes me so numb that I forget for a while how dead inside I feel."
He is quiet for a while. "Someone hurt you once, didn't they?" he asks, almost too quietly to hear.
I turn over again, not wanting to look at his face any longer. He places his arms around me.
"Yes. A long time ago. I was in love with someone once."
He becomes deathly still. "What happened?"
"What usually happens. There was this girl. He left me for her."
"Was he in love with her?" he whispers.
"I think he was in love with the ideal of her," I reply.
"So much so that he chose duty over love," he says, making it a statement rather than a question.
"She needed him more than I did," I say. I let out a small laugh. "In a way I almost pity him. Trapped between a girl he loves too much to be with and the boy he didn't love enough to hold onto. It must be a hell of an existence."
"Sounds like he's a damn fool," he says shortly.
"Sounds like we all are," I reply.
He says nothing more and a moment later steady, even breathing tells me he's fallen asleep. I, too, allow my mind to drift, not quite asleep yet not fully awake. I allow myself this one last moment of contentment before I must take my leave of the little sanctuary this run down hotel room has provided, and return to my life.
I listen as the storm increases its intensity. Another kind of storm rages inside of me. Part of me wants to go with him, take him up on his offer and leave this life behind me. But the other part of me, that part that is in control, refuses to allow me to do so, for I know I'd be selling more than my body. I'd be selling my soul. I want it all or nothing. I want something I can never have, so I cannot allow myself to give in to temptation and leave with him. I drift off to sleep, dreaming of a life with him and my death by his hand.
I awake a few hours later, blinking to regain my sight in the cold darkness before false dawn. He has rolled away from me to lie on his back on the other side of the bed, still deeply asleep. Carefully I ease out of the bed and begin to feel around in the dark for my clothes.
I dress quickly in the darkness, wanting to leave before he wakes up. I don't like the awkwardness of good-byes, and it would be better if I were gone before he could make his offer again. It becomes harder and harder to turn him down. One of these days, I fear I will allow him to take me away. That is the day I fear most, for that will be the day when I lose myself completely.
I pull on my boots after having found and donned my clothing. Moving to the window so I can have a little light to see by, I prop one foot on the sill and use the light from the motel sign across the street to lace them up.
I finish both boots quickly. As I tie off the second one, the sign across the street catches my eye. The "L" in the motel sign has burned out in the night, leaving the word "MOTE" burning in the darkness. I smile wryly. That's what I've always been - a mote in God's eye. An irritating annoyance to be flushed away and forgotten. I glance at the man on the bed. Perhaps not totally forgotten. But it would be less painful if I were.
I leave my hair unbound, my hair band having been lost somewhere in the darkness. I move to the table to grab my jacket off the chair. The money lies fanned out on top of the table. I hadn't noticed it there before. I stare at it for a moment. It's too much, but then again, it always is. I never know if he's honestly trying to help or if he's paying off some kind of guilt. Either way it makes me feel cheap - cheaper than I already feel anyway. I never take more than I'm owed, however. I'm not here to help him ease his guilty conscience.
I reach for the money, but hesitate, my hand hovering above the carefully laid out bills. I look back over my shoulder to the man on the bed. A lump has formed in my throat and I know - I *know* that next time he asks me to go with him, I won't have the strength of will to say no. And I can't allow that to happen. I'll fade away, locked in that tower of his. If he can't devote himself fully to me, I can't be with him. I know I'm being selfish, but I've lost so much in my short life… I couldn't bear to lose him too. Better to give him up now than to watch him drift further and further away from me over time. For I know that's what he would do. It's not in his nature to be overly sentimental and give up duty for love.
Damn him. And damn me for wanting it.
I slowly draw my hand away from the money. I know what I have to do.
I have to leave.
I have to go somewhere where he won't find me. Easier said than done, but by not taking the money, I hope he'll get my message. I'm saying good-bye.
I hug my jacket to my chest and take one last long look at the man on the bed, memorizing his face. He rolls over in his sleep and clutches the pillow I had been using to his chest.
"…love you…" he murmurs in his sleep, nuzzling the pillow against his cheek.
I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding, vision suddenly becoming blurred as tears sting my eyes. I wonder who he's dreaming about.
I walk quickly to the door and open it as quietly as I can. I walk through, but can't help to glance over my shoulder one last time.
He looks so beautiful, lying there bathed in the red light streaming in through the hotel window. Beautiful… yet dangerous.
"I love you, too… Heero," I whisper with a heavy heart as I slowly close the door and walk away, leaving him and my heart behind me…