Served With a Twist

by Jet Lupin

  Cut hadn’t heard that, had he?

  “I’m sorry what?”

  “Which part do you need to hear again? The drink request or the shirt?”

  “Why do I need to strip?”

  “Because I said to? That ought to be enough.”

  This wasn’t the first time Cut had to fulfill such a request. He’d done as much for things less important than his own safety. Cut took his shirt off and draped it over the back of the chair. He drew upon his experience from working in the tea houses, places more illicit than Hole ever could be, to ignore the feel of Rami’s gaze branding his skin. He went to the fridge to see if it had anything useful. There wasn’t much, but he found orange juice hiding amongst the takeout containers. He returned to the minibar and made Rami a tequila sunrise this time, heavy on the tequila. This ought to knock Rami on his ass.

  He set the drink on the table and sat on the couch again. His seatmate ignored the drink for now, staring down at it, his brows pinched together.

  “Why are you with my brother?”

  So they were back to this? “I work for Samson, nothing more.”

  “Stop bullshitting me. None of his employees call him by his first name, for one thing.”

  As far as Cut knew, the NDA was still in effect, though, without it he still wasn’t going to admit anything. It was none of Rami’s business, but he had Cut there. Cut had to give him something.

  “I called him Samson at my last job. I don’t do it in the office.”

  “Right. And the two of you got so chummy, you have dinner together.”

  “I think of us as friends. Friends do that.” Though, Rami might not know that since it seemed he didn’t have any.

  “Mock me all you want. But since you’re such good friends, I’m sure he told you about his impending marriage.”

  “Bullshit.” Cut couldn’t stop the word from rushing out. This was exactly what Rami was after all along, to make him lose his cool. Cut gritted his teeth and tried to center himself. “I think he would have told me about such a huge life event.”

  Rami smirked. “You think so? There’s no date picked out. He hasn’t even chosen a partner yet, but that’s more of a formality. If he doesn’t choose soon, father will pick one for him.” He shrugged. “Anyone on the list would be acceptable. One rich dummy’s as good as another which is what I’ve been trying to tell you.” He took up his glass and swirled it, sending the orange and red spinning inside before he took a sip.

  Cut felt like he’d been punched in the gut. It wasn’t beyond Rami to lie, but having met their father, he found it hard to doubt his claims. This whole thing was so archaic. Had he really devolved into bartering his children for favors? He was single-handedly setting the human race back millennia.

  And the way Rami spoke about it… Was he under his father’s influence as well? There might be other reasons for Rami’s behavior, like him being a miserable shit, but a prospective source said misery gave Cut pause.

  “Your father’s that much of a control freak?”

  Rami’s smugness fell away. He stared, unfocused at the wall straight ahead. “He put a lot of money into us as far as schooling, feeding us, clothing us, making sure we had the best of everything. We were never seen as children as much as we were assets. Every note spent was an investment that he expects to collect on with interest.”

  That wasn’t right or fair, growing up feeling like you owed your parents. Cut didn’t want to pity Rami, but he was getting dangerously close.

  “Your dad’s kind of an asshole.”

  Rami rubbed at his eyes, the drink taking hold. He hadn’t even gotten halfway through it yet.

  Tell me something I don’t know.” He stretched out, kicking his feet up into Cut’s lap. If he was expecting a foot rub, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

  Years of a domineering parent messed you up. Cut understood his motives a little better now, but Rami was far from excused for it. And forgiveness was even farther off. How did Samson feel about all this? Did he even know?

  “Does that mean you’re going to marry someone your father chooses too?”

  “I’m the eldest child. Who says I’m not already? Happily so? Don’t you see my partner and my heirs?” He laughed bitterly. “Why ask? You don’t care.”

  Cut really didn’t care, other than to keep the conversation going, but if there was some insight to be gained from Rami that could help Samson, he’d probe a little deeper.

  “So are you married or not?”

  “Not , but I was for three years. I think I’ve got some children out there somewhere. That was a crucial negotiating point for the other family. Children. Me they didn’t need so much. Once our family was linked to another, my job was done. That’s all my father ever needed me for.” He looked towards the shuttered window, not wanting Cut to see what was unmistakably on his face.

  Pain.

  He’d been put through the wringer, so he did the same to Samson? That wasn’t right or fair. Cut didn’t want to feel bad for him, but the frost encasing his heart was melting for him a tiny bit.

  “Why do it? Why not fight back?”

  “Because there’s no point. He has too much and we… He’s everywhere. You can’t outrun him. You just have to wait until he dies, or we die.” He sipped at his drink, some of it running from the corner of his mouth. “I always told Samson to give Father what he wants. Life is easier that way. But all he did was cry and cry after messing up. It was like he was built wrong. He honestly might have been.” He yawned, stretching his arms over head. “He was such a waste of money.”

  Goose flesh raise do the back of Cut’s arms, his stomach suddenly leaden. “What do you mean waste of money?”

  Rami chuckled, snuggling into the arm of the chair. “You mean your good friend didn’t tell you? It’s exactly what I said. He’s a designer brat.”

  Editing genes was a standard prenatal practice. Cut assumed everyone he met had had the junk code erased, the most debilitating and aggressive ailments written out of their blood lines. But, for those who were able to afford it, the edits went further. Skin color, hair texture, height, bone density. If it was a variable trait of human beings, it could be changed.

  Everyone assumed no one would really go that far. There were always the rumors of the super-rich with their designer children, the pinnacle of what the human race had to offer, but no one had ever proven that they actually existed. No reputable doctors performed such treatments for fear of becoming a pariah in the medical world and by extension, the practice was deemed illegal. If Rami was to be believed, it would explain why Samson looked so different from the other Bas.

  “What was the point of doing that? Of messing with Samson?” Why bother him? It was a human rights violation, which carried a heavy penalty. It hardly seemed worth the risk.

  Rami chuckled again, curling up into a fetal pose. “Why does anyone do anything? Because he could.” He drifted off and no amount of shaking from Cut would wake him.

  Did Samson know any of this? Rami insinuated he did, but what kind of parent told their child their existence was a science experiment? That they’d been tailored to suit their tastes?

  He’d put money on Ramzan being the right kind of douchebag. On the off chance Samson didn’t know, was it Cut’s place to tell him?

  Nothing had been answered for him today. He didn’t even know if his ploy had worked. This whole trip had done nothing but waste time.

  Cut put on his shirt and coat, and before he left, he emptied the liquor cabinet into the kitchen sink. This man didn’t need to drink any more anytime soon.

  Cut sat outside of Samson’s residence, on his silent bike, with curfew drawing ever closer. How was he supposed to go inside?

  He shouldn’t have met Rami, should have blown him off and taken his chances. He should have been honest. He wanted to forget everything from the last two hours, but that wasn’t going to just magically disappear. He had to come cl
ean. He’d fucked up. He wouldn’t do it again.

  He started towards the door and it opened before he reached it. Samson was waiting for him on the other side. “Welcome back.” The smile on his face wavered as Cut struggled to return it. “Everything OK?”

  “Yeah... But, um, we need to talk. You have a minute?”

  “Sure. I was making dinner, but it’s all up to the oven now. Let me take your jacket.”

  “No, I’ve got it.” Samson might not want him to stay after he’d heard the truth.

  They went into the living room, and Samson seemed ready to sit on the floor at Cut’s knees. Cut stopped him and made him sit on the couch. He wanted to be eye-to-eye for this. Samson sensed his uneasiness and met it with worry. “What’s going on?”

  “After work, when I said I had an errand to run, I was meeting with Rami.”

  Samson sat up straighter, blinking rapidly.

  “Was that who was texting you in the car?”

  “Yeah. We were supposed to meet for a drink. I thought ‘what’s the harm in one’ if it meant he’d get off our backs? But we didn’t go to a bar.”

  Samson stayed still, his eyes forward, fixed on the coffee table. He dragged in a shaking breath. “Did you fuck him?”

  Cut felt like he’d been struck across the face. “What?”

  “I know we talked about appeasing him, I just didn’t think… I know he’s sexier than I am. He always gets what he wants. He’s taken people from me before, so I shouldn’t be surprised. I just thought...”

  Each word was a knife in Cut’s chest. “I didn’t sleep with him, Samson. I swear on my life, that I didn’t.” Cut took his hands and squeezed. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  Samson whipped around, his eyes misty with unshed tears. He stared Cut down, looking for the truth in his eyes. “OK,” he said softly. Cut didn’t know if he’d found it or if he just wanted to believe he had.

  He rested his hand on the back of Samson’s neck. When he didn’t shrug him off, Cut squeezed. Samson’s eyes fluttered closed. “I would never do that to you. I should have told you about it to begin with. I don’t know why I didn’t. Keeping it to myself seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I thought if I could handle it myself, I didn’t have to get you involved, to worry you. It was fucking stupid.”

  “If you didn’t sleep with him, what did you do? You were gone for more than an hour.”

  Yeah, this all sounded farfetched to Cut, too. “I made him drinks.”

  Samson’s eyes flew open and he raised a brow. “Drinks?”

  Cut told him everything that felt safe to tell. He didn’t consider leaving out the news of the marriage or his status as the product of an illegal medical procedure lying. These were life altering things, and Samson might not have the bandwidth for this just yet. Cut didn’t have the right to up end Samson’s life on top of everything else. One day he might tell him. But not tonight.

  “I understand if you don’t want me to stay. I can get a head start on finding a hotel.”

  “What? No!” Samson slid out of Cut’s grasp and onto the floor. He rested his head on Cut’s knees, and rubbed his legs. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I’d take it back if I could.”

  Samson’s apology made Cut very uncomfortable. It took everything in him not to squirm. He seized Samson’s hands and held them still. “This is on me. I should have told you. Instead I gave you reason to doubt me. I broke your trust. I’m sorry for that.” He let Samson go, and he resumed stroking Cut’s legs.

  “I believe you and I accept your apology.”

  That was it? Cut was forgiven for his misdeed? He was getting off too easy. They might have to figure out a way to square up later.

  They made dinner together, something easy enough for Cut to follow along. The simple act helped to further clear the air between them, some. Samson was back to his normal self, as much as he could be given the current circumstance. It’d be days before Cut felt he was truly absolved.

  In bed they laid together like cousins, chaste, and more than a foot apart. After a few moments of silence, the bed creaked as Samson closed the distance, creeping onto the other side of the bed. He fit himself firmly against Cut’s side, his excitement pressing into Cut’s leg. “I accepted your apology,” he whispered, “But I don’t… fully forgive you yet… You need to be punished.” Samson got his point across despite the pauses. He was as unaccustomed to this role reversal as Cut. They’d both roll with it.

  “What’s my punishment?” Cut was willing to pay any price to regain Samson’s trust. If Samson wanted to take it out on his ass, the way Cut had exacted the punishment he’d asked for, he was more than welcome to do so.

  He slipped a hand under Cut’s shirt, caressing his belly.

  “You can’t touch me.”

  “Ever?”

  “Until I say so.”

  Cut was disappointed, but he accepted it.

  “Put your hands behind your head, please.”

  Cut didn’t know how he’d sleep like that, but he did as he was asked. He found a comfortable position for his arms just as Samson descended on him. His hands were all over, doing the same things to Cut that had been done to him. He lifted Cut’s shirt, and lapped his nipples. All this without once asking permission to touch. Cut’s arm twitched. Not touching him was the hardest thing he’d been asked to do. But if he couldn’t handle this much, how could he ask anything of Samson?

  Samson moved on top of Cut, and, without a word, dragged his shorts down his legs. He took Cut’s length into his mouth, going after him with an intensity that had been absent from their previous sessions. He rolled Cut’s balls in his hand, squeezing and sucking them. Cut squirmed under him, his release coming on faster than he’d ever admit. Samson took Cut’s cock deep into his throat until the tip of his nose brushed against the nest of Cut’s pubic hair. He held his lips tight as he dragged his head back. Adhering to Samson’s rules was pure torture. The dark curls called out to be touched, but Cut resisted. A part of him felt that if he dealt with this punishment, he might truly feel forgiven.

  He rode Samson out, letting him take whatever he wanted from him. Samson muttered things when his mouth wasn’t full of cock that Cut didn’t hear, far too out of his head.

  He barely had the air in his lungs to cry out as he reached his peak, his fingers tingling under his head, his nails digging into his own scalp. Samson froze until Cut stopped throbbing between his lips. He drew back and crawled up the length of Cut’s body. He hovered above Cut, looking him over, before he kissed him, urgent and demanding. Cut tasted his own seed, salty and tangy, hitting the back of his tongue. Time stretched on as Samson stayed over him, making him taste himself. After some unknown criteria had been reached, he laid down, tucking his head under Cut’s chin. “Punishment over. You can touch me again.”

  Cut carefully unfolded his arms, and wrapped one around Samson. He sighed, content.

  “You’re mine,” he said drowsily, as he drifted to sleep.

  Yes, Cut was.

  It was well into the curfew when Cut’s pod buzzed beneath his pillow. The only person who would be trying to reach him at this hour was lying beside him. He couldn’t have gotten more than an hour or two of sleep, so tried to ignore it, but the person kept sending messages.

  Cut snatched his pod off the bedside table and thumbed the screen, squinting at the murky night dimmed colors.

  Oh god, wake up. Do low budget people need more sleep or something?

  Get up.

  This is important.

  Fuck.

  Rami was having a breakdown of some sort, and Cut was inclined to leave him to it. He started to put his pod away, but the next message woke him right up.

  My father is on to you.

  Cut pulled his arm out from under Samson’s head and flexed it until the fingers woke up enough to send a message.

  You sold me out?

  Not on purpose. He messaged me with a lot
of questions, asking if I was fucking you. I asked him why and he sent a still of us on the couch. I didn’t know he had the place bugged. He heard everything. The things I said to you… I shouldn’t have.

  The revelation about Samson was pretty damning, but what was Cut going to do with it? He was a nobody without influence or proof. But what he did have was Samson’s ear. He wasn’t sure what kind of threat he posed to Ramzan now, but his rating had gone up a few points.

  What do we do?

  Lay low. You can’t go anywhere he knows you hang out. Not Samson’s, not your own place, not your jobs. You have to find somewhere else. With the time difference, you’ve got a head start.

  What about you?

  No matter his previous faults, he was being helpful when he could have just as easily left them out to dry.

  He might not be completely rotten after all.

  Thanks for this.

  Rami sent back a picture of a sad puppy.

  Cut nudged Samson until he opened his eyes. There was a chance this was all a trick meant to send them into a frenzy, but Cut would rather be safe and tricked than stay here and be a target.

  Samson rolled over and reached out until he found Cut’s arm in the dark. “What’s wrong? What time is it?”

  Cut checked his pod. “A little before 0330. You’ve got to get up. We’ve got to leave.”

  The bed creaked as Samson pushed himself up. “What’s happened?”

  Cut filled him in as they dressed. To his credit, Samson kept it together as he started packing a bag.

  “I thought we had more time,” he said, emptying the contents of a drawer into the bag. “Can you pass me those shoes? The brown ones.”

  Cut picked up shoes from two separate pairs before he landed on the correct ones and handed them to Samson. “You were expecting this?”

  “My father’s number one interest has always been himself. You were useful to him as long as he could use you. It was only a matter of time before that wore off. I thought we had a couple more weeks, at least. Fucking Rami.”