Serpent's Salvation

You know the drill. All of this mythological goodness is property of the author and can't be duplicated in any way by anybody without permission of the author. This story is pure fiction; any resemblance to anything or anybody is in your own head dude. If M/M stories offend you or are illegal for you to view, leave. I love feedback, so email me!

Home, at least temporarily, was one of those plug-ugly communist-era flats that everyone lived in and no one had the money to repair. Sebastian traveled light as a habit, so other than a few clothes and a couple of photographs the place was remarkably bare except for a few essentials he had managed to rent with the place. The ugly sofa was surprisingly comfy, and Rob was quick to stake his claim on it when he came over.

Sebastian wasn't sure why Rob came over at all. Rob had scored a much better place to stay after spending some time and research locating an apartment. They had been adamant about separate places. The one time they had roomed together had been a strain on their friendship. Seb had hated breakfasting with a different half-naked woman each morning, and Rob had disliked Seb's neat freak tendencies.

"Damn Seb. You need to slow down. Pushing yourself like that ain't healthy."

"Healthy? You're eating a donut."

"Maybe so, but I'm not the one with a nosebleed."

Sebastian immediately caught at his nose with a tissue to keep from staining his shirt. So much for a witty comeback. He was relieved to see that the napkin was only lightly spotted. His nose had leaked like a sieve last night. "Did I ask you to come over and taunt me?"

"A few more days of this and your ears will look like cauliflower too," Rob said.

"I'm working out."

"By sparring yourself into oblivion everyday?"

"It's a great dojo. And it relaxes me."

"Yeah. I was just about to say that you looked relaxed."

"Piss off."

Seb wasn't quite surprised when Rob stomped out. He knew that Rob was worried about him, and a bit hurt that Seb wouldn't tell him what was wrong, but what options did he have?

Rob had been scaling back his verbal assaults the last few days, finally lapsing into a pensive silence for the most part. Perversely enough, Seb was both pleased and irritated by this all at the same time. Though if he was to be totally honest, everything was irritating him.

Sebastian flexed his fist, wincing at the movement of his torn knuckles. Four days of working up a sweat at the gym, getting his ass handed to him on the mat, working the heavy bag, throwing bombs, and he still couldn't rid himself of the tension that hounded him day and night.

They were still there.

Dammit

They had retreated some, true, but he could still feel them at the very periphery of his range. All day, all night. Their presence was light and not nearly as antagonistic as before, but stalking was still stalking. He had even tossed around the idea of calling the cops; constables, big men with sticks, whatever the hell it was they had here. He had shit-canned that notion quick. It wasn't like they were a crackerjack force anyway. And just what was he supposed to tell them? He could just imagine.

"Excuse me, I have a crime to report."

"Yes sir. How may we assist you?"

"The psychic alien-hybrid bodyguards of one of your first citizens won't stop followin' me."

The constable raises his eyebrows in amused condescension at the crazy foreigner and reaches for his tonfa.

"No, really!" Seb would say, digging his grave a bit deeper. "And the tragedy is that my stalkers just aren't doin' it for me."

"What?"

"Well, if they're going to follow me and make my life hell the least they could've done was send that sexy stud to do the job."

Sebastian groaned and shook his head, trying to erase the image from it like an etch-a-sketch. He'd be in a loony bin quick. Lately he had been wondering if a loony bin was just about his speed.

He hadn't been able to get that guy out of his mind in the week since their encounter. Less than a minute of goo-goo eyes and he was obsessed. And horny. Horny and obsessed. Did he mention pissed off? Horny, obsessed, pissed off and disgusted with himself. Bleh.

He had even been debating the pros and cons of picking up some guy in a club for sex. It wasn't his style, but he also blamed that on the guys in grey. They must've performed some sort of psycho-sexual cock voodoo on him because his nose wasn't the only thing leaking like a sieve lately. It wasn't normal for a twenty-nine year old to jack off at least four times a day. Not this twenty-nine year old anyway.

He couldn't do it. He had argued with himself over and over but the fact remained that he just couldn't bring himself to find a meaningless screw. He had excuses, good ones. He wasn't sure if his connection to his watchers was two way. What if they knew what he was thinking? He had a hard time even pissing in a public toilet. How could he perform sexually when a group of military-modified psychopaths were in his head doing cartwheels and grading his technique like Olympic judges?

That's what Sebastian told himself, but deep down he knew that wasn't what stopped him. He couldn't fuck a nameless stranger. The only person he wanted to have sex with was The Stud.

He sighed, resting his cheek on his less-injured hand as he curled into the arm of his sofa. Rob had left right after Sebastian's insult, muttering to himself about horse's asses, so Seb could be stupid in peace.

It wasn't the sex. Not that they had had sex. Not even a hi, how are ya, but he didn't think it would be just the sex when they got around to the sex. If they got to sex. It would really help to know who the guy was though because they just had to get around to some serious sex. Alien or not. Hell, Seb was psychic. If The Stud could overlook Seb's little psychic foibles, it would be the height of bad taste for Seb to hold Studly's lack of earthling status against him.

Seb melted into the upholstery, indulging in some goo-goo eyed contemplation. On some level he knew that he would want to kick his own ass later, but he couldn't help it. When he wasn't aggressively keyed up and spoiling for a fight he was mooning around like a teenage girl.

Angry.

Lovestruck.

Violent.

Sappy.

God he was bipolar. And horny, don't forget horny.

The Stud.

He had always felt silly saying the word stud before in a sexual context, having spent much of his life on a farm; but hey, the shoe fit. Oh boy did it fit.

It was mental shorthand for The Most Awesomely Beautiful Hunk of Studly Manflesh Ever, Hands Down, No Argument, No Way, Uh-uh, Period. It wasn't the easiest thing to even think during his masturbation fantasies, and T.M.A.B.H.S.M.E.H.D.N.A.N.W.U.P. lacked a certain something, so The Stud it was.

He sank further into the couch as he summoned up the image engraved on his mind, an easy thing to do since the sofa lacked half the springs it should have possessed. He hadn't taken a photo, but he really didn't need one. He was extremely observant at the worst of times, but this…this was positively pornographic.

Photographic! Photo.

Damn Freud.

He ran one hand up under his shirt caressing his chest and nipples while the other inched down his abdomen and explored the drawstring of his pants. Just who was he kidding? He had seen plenty of porn over the years but nothing; absolutely nothing equaled the image of that beautiful man fully dressed in designer casual.

He undid the tie at his waist as he recalled the bare shadow of firm nipples and solids pecs revealed under soft knit fabric. He tweaked his own with a gasp, wishing that it was The Stud's hand, The Stud slowly removing his pajama bottoms, drawing the waistband over his already leaking cock, fingers lightly brushing the shaft. He moaned in appreciation as the fantasy took over, as he imagined reciprocating the move. The Stud would be big, uncut; beautiful.

He gripped just under the flared crown with his fist, using his thumb to spread the slick pre-cum over the head, imagining a larger hand than his own, one with long fingers dusted with sparse gold hair.

He moved the other hand down his side and over his thigh as he began to work the head of his cock with a twisting movement, lips parting on a soft gasp. He stroked the lean muscles, edging towards his balls…

Ouch!

He had forgotten about his injury.

Fuck.

It really hadn't hurt all that much but it had been enough to let reality intrude, and it intruded like a freight train, decimating his not-so-safe little fantasy.

What was he doing? Sebastian started to leak silent tears, his cock rapidly deflating as his lust was replaced with shame and fear. What was happening to him? He felt completely out of control, and that scared the bejeezus out of him.

He never thought with his dick. He never let anything come between him and his friends. He never let his work suffer because of his personal life. He never beat the tar out of himself on a daily basis to feel more in control. He had never, ever obsessed over a stranger the way he was now.

Especially a stranger that was toying with him in some demented game.

He couldn't go on like this. He just couldn't. He was emotionally raw from the worry and the guilt, and tired from long nights of no sleep. When he ate at all his diet sucked. His own behavior astonished him. He had never considered himself neurotic. Hell, he couldn't even watch Seinfeld because he wanted to throttle everyone involved, yet here he was, putting the entire cast to shame. Where was the cool, consummate professional; the in control, only vaguely bitchy Seb he had lived with for the majority of his existence? Probably at home nursing on his mamma's tit, because this Seb was a mass of nerves.

Something had to change. He couldn't go on like this. It looked like it would be up to him to do the changing. That thought intimidated him, almost made him accept his current status, but it had to be done for his sanity's sake if nothing else. He had an ornery streak a mile wide, and pride wouldn't let him just run away. Neither would his contract.

A half hour later he had a plan. He was shirtless and hunched over the decaf coffee he was nursing, idly tracing the scars in the surface of the table with one finger. He felt dumb as a bag of hammers for even calling his hairbrained idea a plan, but he couldn't think of any other way to gain peace of mind. He was almost terrified of the outcome, envisioning bloody mayhem and ritual murder.

He conveniently ignored the little voice at the back of his mind that said 'and you just might be able to see him again.'

***

Mych wouldn't be the first to admit that Aurel looked terrible. He took a moment to look at his friend and employer, taking in the careworn features. Aurel had lost a little weight; his cheeks were a bit hollowed. Mych felt his gut twist for a moment before he ruthlessly quashed the unwelcome sentiment.

If he had taken the time to consult a mirror, he would have seen the same signs of distress on his own face. The same haunted look in his own eyes. They really hadn't spoken in days, not since the debacle in the car. He only hoped that they were able to bridge the chasm that had developed between them.

Aurel was standing in front of the open wall safe, completely absorbed, staring at what looked like a pendant on a length of cord, twirling it this way and that to catch the light from the fire. When Mych got closer he could see that it was a small silver vial on a leather thong. He backed away abruptly, almost falling in his haste to backpedal, alerting Aurel to his nearness. Aurel gave a small start and looked at him before taking meticulous care to replace the vial in its velvet-lined box. He gave it pride of place in the safe before shutting it and setting the custom lock.

"Silver?" Mych's voice was tight.

"I'm sorry. It's necessary."

"For what?"

"It's necessary." Aurel didn't back down, just stared at Mych in challenge. The only thing that saved Mych from blanching at the cold look was sheer stubborn will and a sense of duty.

"Aurel, he's coming."

"What?"

"He's coming here. Sebastian. We have to lock things down."

"Here? He can't come here." Aurel began to look a little panicked. "My God. Nothings resolved. What is he thinking?"

"He's not. He's already on his way. Neither of the options we have are satisfactory. If we physically stop him or detain him we show our hand to anyone interested enough to be watching. A few of us can cloak, but not on that scale. And if we turn him away from the door-"

"No!" Aurel's response was instinctive. "I mean…" He sat down and buried his head in his hands. "I don't know what I mean."

"If we turn him away he will probably just come back, another flag raiser to an interested party."

"So what are you suggesting?"

"Invite him in."

Aurel felt electricity arc through him at the thought. Sebastian. Here. In his home. A riot of emotion crossed his face.

"But it isn't safe. Not for him."

"And not for us either. I know you don't want to hear it but you pay me to be suspicious. I'm here because you trust me to make the hard decisions concerning your safety." Mych's eyes almost became pleading. "I'm not asking you to shun him forever, I'm just asking you to be cautious."

Aurel's eyes narrowed. "Mates don't betray each other Mych."

"How many mated pairs do you know?"

Aurel looked abashed. "Three."

"Ah, a princely cross-section I believe." Mych ignored Aurel's glare. "Unfortunately the decision has already been made for us and inviting him in is the least threatening solution."

"How so?"

"If…and it's a big if; if one of our own has turned traitor then the enemy knows everything. That means Sebastian is already a pawn in this game and won't suffer any more by meeting you."

Aurel cringed at the thought.

"If an outside source has merely made some assumptions, then they are most likely doing a little recon to see if he is worth their while. If that is the case then the best we can do for him is to go along with his wishes. Let him see the collection, do his thing then get the hell out, just like any other human."

Mych caught Aurel's rapidly developing smile and quickly admonished him. "That means no public displays, nothing. And for God's sake, don't look at him like you did the other day! At least not in public".

"You really think this is a good idea?"

Mych looked exasperated. "Yes. I can't make a promise that they won't try for him because of his abilities, but that could have been an issue, mate or not "

In the space of a heartbeat Aurel had transformed from brooding depression to joyful anticipation. "Thank you Mych. You have no idea how much." He made to jump up but Mych halted him with a stern look.

"Don't thank me yet. Thank me by being careful. Remember, as head of your security, when he's here my word is law in matters of your safety. Our security checks came up clean but you know that means less than nothing. People aren't always bought with money. This could easily be a case of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer."

But even Mychael's stern reminder wasn't enough to eradicate Aurel's foolish grin. "When will he be here? When can I see him?"

"About half an hour."

"Half an hour." Aurel sprang up like a jack-in-the-box. "Half an hour?" He looked down at himself in horror. His shirt was slept in, he could feel several days' worth of beard and he knew his eyes were...

"I look like…like…"

"You look awful. Alex said you looked ridden hard and put away wet; whatever that means."

"I have to hurry and get ready. I don't know what to wear. I need a shower. Do you think he likes cologne?" Aurel was walking to the door, almost speaking to himself.

"No cologne, you can't blunt your sense of smell." Mych wasn't sure if Aurel had heard him.

"I really need a shave, and-" Aurel seemed to catch himself, turning back abruptly and striding towards Mych.

"And I do have to thank you," Aurel said, just before engulfing Mych in an embrace and planting a huge kiss on his mouth out of sheer joie de vive.

As he was leaving Aurel was so preoccupied with his plans he never noticed Mych touching his lips, or saw the single tear that escaped his eyes.