War_Apocalypse

by JC Andrijeski

  Guilt touched his light as he thought it, even as he glanced at the desk where Dorje’s headset and a pile of his books still sat.

  When he reached the room’s door, Wreg was already there. The muscular seer took the bag off Jon’s shoulder with his good hand and slung it over his own.

  “Get the books, brother,” he said, nodding towards the bed. “The hotel staff can manage the rest. As soon as you decide where you want it.”

  Jon nodded, and started to comply, when he stopped, looking at Wreg.

  “I don't need my own room,” he said. “I don’t know why I said that.”

  A pulse of pain left Wreg’s light, even as he glanced around where they stood.

  His eyes, too, lingered on Dorje’s equipment on the desk, drifting past books to a section of clothes hanging in the closet. He nodded after another moment, his throat moving in a thin swallow before he inclined his head to one side, looking back at Jon.

  “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” he said, his voice tired again. “You don’t have to give me an answer today, Jon.”

  Jon frowned slightly, but only nodded.

  After the barest pause, he walked to what had been his side of the bed and knelt on the green carpet. Squinting under the bedskirt, he found the pile of sketch books and began tugging them out from under the bed. As he stacked them one-by-one on top of the bedspread, Wreg walked closer to the bed, letting out a low grunt.

  “You really hid them down there from Dorje?”

  Jon shrugged, pulling out the last one and brushing off his hands as he climbed to his feet.

  “Yeah. He was pretty pissed off about the whole Feigran thing.” Hesitating, Jon added, “…and about you. I didn’t want to fan the flames.”

  “He told you about me?” Wreg stared at him, openly startled. “Dorje did?”

  Jon gave him a disbelieving look. “Told me? How dumb do you think I am? You two fought right in front of me. Was I supposed to not notice that? Or ask him about it?”

  “So he told you he’d filed a formal complaint against me?” Wreg said. “To Nenz and the Council, accusing me of an attempt at poaching? And that he made me vow… in front of witnesses… to stay away from you?”

  Jon stared, holding one of the filled-to-overflowing notebooks against his chest.

  “No,” he said. “What the fuck? There was some kind of legal thing? Seriously?”

  Wreg snorted. He started to fold his arms before he winced, remembering the injury. Letting his arms drop back to his sides, he rolled his eyes.

  “There are laws against poaching among seers, little brother. With good reason. In this case, mediation ruled it hadn’t been deliberate on my part, which pissed Dorje off, I think… but they required me not to act on it.”

  “Not to act on what?” Jon was still staring at the tattooed seer. “Dorje took you to some legal mediation thing because you were attracted to me?”

  Wreg sighed, as if in defeat, running a hand through his hair.

  “I forget sometimes you are new to this thing… that you were not born seer. If you can wait until we get up to the room, I can show you with my light. It’s not likely to translate right if I just tell you.”

  Jon paused at the door, fighting confusion as he tried to decide how to react to Wreg’s words.

  Watching him, the Chinese seer smiled, then sent a pulse of heat that caught Jon off-guard. He felt Wreg react to the look that must have risen to his face, right before the seer looked away. Shielding his light, Wreg made his expression neutral, but not before Jon felt a pulse of something else off the tattooed seer.

  Whatever that was, it felt like pain, too, but a different kind of pain––along with a grief that bordered on anger.

  Wreg added sourly, glancing away, “Let’s just say I never quite forgave Dorje for refusing to get a private construct for the two of you.”

  Jon felt his throat close. “Wreg. Jesus––”

  “––Jon,” the seer added, cutting him off. “I never blamed you. You weren’t the problem. I knew that, even before I knew you. My light was just ahead of my mind. Trust me, it got harder as I got to know you. Not easier.”

  Only half-understanding this, Jon frowned, but didn’t answer.

  He continued to watch the seer until he realized Wreg was waiting for him.

  Walking past him and heading for the door to the corridor, he pushed it open without waiting, then held it for the other man. Once Wreg was through, Jon let the door swing shut, exhaling with relief as he followed the seer to the elevators.

  Truthfully, he hoped that was his last time in that room.

  When they reached the closed elevator doors, Jon adjusted the books in his arms well enough to jam his thumb down on the “up” button.

  The doors immediately opened. Stepping on after Wreg, Jon found himself watching the seer again, in spite of himself.

  When Wreg noticed his stare, Jon saw caution rise to the older man’s eyes.

  “What?” Wreg said finally. “Did I say too much again?”

  Jon shook his head. “No,” he said truthfully.

  “Then what?”

  Jon shrugged, feeling his face warm. “Honestly? I was wondering if you’d let me order you around for a change.”

  Wreg looked over, his eyes holding a flicker of surprise as he reappraised Jon’s light. Jon saw a whisper of more predatory interest, right before heat expanded off him, briefly flooding Jon’s light. Wreg suppressed it pretty quickly, but not quickly enough to prevent Jon from having a stronger reaction in his groin, or to suppress a returning flush off his own light, hot enough to warm his skin.

  He smiled when Wreg looked away.

  “I take it you like that idea,” he said.

  Wreg shrugged, his voice similar in tone. “I’m not adverse.”

  Jon nodded, once, seer-fashion, shifting his weight and trying to hide his erection by moving his arms to keep hold of the awkward stack of sketch books and loose drawings.

  “Fine,” he said.

  “Fine,” Wreg repeated, nodding once.

  When Jon glanced at him again, Wreg was watching him with narrowed eyes, examining Jon surreptitiously with pale flickers of his light that were probably meant to be too subtle for Jon to feel.

  He felt desire there, enough that his body reacted again, and not just below the waist.

  When they hit the sixty-third floor, Jon motioned for Wreg to leave the elevator ahead of him. As he did, Jon found himself scanning the seer just as surreptitiously as Wreg had him. As he’d suspected, the arm was paining him a lot more than he’d let on.

  Jon followed Wreg to a door at the end of the right-side corridor.

  He couldn’t help being relieved it was pretty much as far away from Revik and Allie’s as it could be, and still be on the same floor.

  Watching the seer fumble with the key card with his good hand while balancing the gym bag on his shoulder, Jon felt a sudden rush of that nausea-pain feeling, strong enough that he felt Wreg’s reaction at once, even before he turned his head.

  For a moment, the seer only looked at him.

  Then the door lock clicked and his attention returned there as he used his hip and hand to push it open. Jon followed after him, still fighting that pain feeling, which seemed to worsen the more he watched Wreg. A twinge of guilt hit him as he wondered why it was hitting him so hard now, when the other was clearly in physical pain, not the other kind.

  Wreg must have heard him.

  He gave a short laugh, even as Jon followed him into the new room.

  “It just means you’re more seer, brother,” he grunted, glancing around the room as Jon used his foot to finish closing the door with a click. “You can probably feel I need light. I’m in pain, so you’re feeling that. Also…” He shrugged with one hand. “Seers tend to open more when they’re injured. The needing of light is a turn-on for most seers.”

  He glanced at Jon a second time.

  “Nenz and his wife. They first got toget
her when he was injured. We seers are suckers for open light that needs its own. It feels good to give light, too. Maybe you want that, as well.”

  Jon nodded, but didn’t voice his own thoughts on the subject.

  He felt that openness Wreg mentioned, as well as what lived beneath it. A softer vulnerability lurked there, so different from what he usually felt on the other man, even at his most open and affectionate, it was making him hard whenever he got near Wreg with his light.

  Walking to the middle of the room, he distracted himself by looking around, then gazing out a long bay window that normally would have showed a view of Central Park aiming west, if not for the storm. As it was, he couldn’t see more than the edge of the neighboring Plaza Hotel, and the stretch of street abutting its entrance.

  Gazing down at the empty streets and overflowing gutters, Jon felt a flicker of apprehension in his gut, different from the pain.

  “I guess we’ll know if anything goes down nearby,” he muttered. “When they come for us with the torches and pitchforks, I mean.”

  “Only if they come at night,” Wreg said.

  When Jon glanced over, Wreg averted his eyes, also looking around the long room. That vulnerability still wafted off his light, tangible enough that Jon felt his tongue thicken.

  “I hope this is all right,” the seer added. “They wanted to keep the bigger suites for conference rooms, storage, livestock, that kind of thing.” He gave Jon a quick look. “You might not have an option, you know, in terms of being housed on a higher floor, brother. You’re a security priority now. More so than me. Nenz made that clear.”

  Jon grunted, not so much at the last thing, but at the idea that the room might not be big enough. He glanced around it a second time.

  The suite was larger than his last flat in San Francisco, complete with what looked like a real kitchen, a full living room set by the fireplace, a kitchen bar with stools, an office, a dining area, and a separate bathroom for each of the two bedrooms. The living area looked bigger than the one in the suite Allie and Revik shared, and flipped in the other direction.

  Jon walked around the narrow alcove wall and found a second sitting area, too, with a feed monitor across one wall, a second fireplace and two computer stations with what looked like VR capability.

  “Yeah,” he muttered drily. “This really sucks.”

  Setting down Jon’s bag, Wreg walked up behind him, pointing at the monitors.

  “I figured you’d need those. That Dante kid is a hacker junkie. We’ve already got her working on tracking down Shadow’s next location.”

  Jon nodded, not speaking.

  He paused in his appraisal long enough to drop the sketch books on the table by one monitor, but Wreg snapped his fingers at him, motioning him over to another segment of wall.

  Picking up the stack of books, Jon watched as Wreg opened a wall safe, one-handed.

  Once Wreg finished with the complex-looking lock––a lock that probably had some kind of Barrier key attached to it, if not several––he opened a thick-looking organic door to reveal a wall safe with dead-metal walls.

  “Not entirely dead.” Wreg glanced up as he motioned for Jon to shove the sketchbooks inside. “Boss put a few surprises in there, too.”

  “Revik, you mean?” Jon frowned. “He must have done it before we left, then.”

  “Yeah,” Wreg sighed, finishing the thought for him. “Before that Shadow fuck short-circuited him or whatever.”

  Jon watched Wreg re-lock the safe door.

  “The key cards to get in here have DNA sensors now, too,” Wreg commented.

  “DNA sensors?” Jon stared at him. “What would happen if someone without our DNA tried to use them to get in?”

  Wreg gave him a wry smile. “We can code in others. The boss and the Bridge and Balidor have access everywhere. So do I, pretty much.”

  “So? What would happen to someone else?”

  Wreg’s face remained unreadable. “Don’t lend out your card, brother.”

  Jon looked at him, then snorted. “Right.”

  Wreg shrugged, using his good hand as he straightened from his crouch in a single move, still managing it gracefully, despite his injuries. He left the office alcove to return to the main room, using that gliding gait of his, and Jon followed.

  “Nenz has one of these safes in his room, too,” Wreg added. “Adhipan wants us to store weapons up here, since we could potentially be cut off from the armories. He and his team have more on the floor below this one, but we could get cut off from there, too.”

  Wreg bent to pick up Jon’s bag, but Jon stopped him, taking it from his fingers, even as he motioned the other towards the couch.

  “Just sit, okay?” Jon said, a little exasperated. “Jesus.”

  “I need a shower, Jon,” Wreg said, remaining standing.

  “I got it.” He motioned towards the couch a second time. “Seriously, man. Sit. Have a little faith in your ex-cousin, semi-seer, jailbait boyfriend for a change.”

  Wreg grunted, but Jon saw another of those predatory looks glance across his expression. He sank into the couch, still wearing the military fatigues and boots.

  “Boyfriend, eh?” the seer said.

  Jon clicked at him.

  Ignoring Wreg’s reaction to his stare, he appraised his body and light, trying to decide how far he could push the other before he literally collapsed. Remembering again that Wreg had been deployed a good two weeks ahead of the rest of them, and that he’d led frontal assaults on two separate Black Arrow work camps and injured himself on top of it, Jon frowned to himself as he entered the larger of the two tiled bathrooms.

  Looking at the giant shower and the two sinks, he opted for the third option once he remembered the organic bandage was supposed to be waterproof. Sitting on the edge of the massive sunken bathtub, he flipped on the water, setting the temperature with controls on the side, along with soap and oil and whatever else.

  Once he had everything roughly where he wanted it, he walked back into the other room, and found Wreg sunk into the couch, his head leaning on the back cushion.

  He looked exhausted now, and pale.

  Studying his face, Jon decided sex could wait.

  “Like hell,” Wreg grunted.

  Jon ignored that, holding out a hand.

  “Just a little longer, then you can sleep. Promise.”

  He tugged the seer to his feet, and found himself staring again at the high-cheekboned face, realizing he had nicks and cuts near his hairline, too, along with a bruise on his neck, on the same side as the gunshot wound. Remembering the bruise he’d glimpsed on Wreg’s back in that dimly lit tent in Argentina, Jon averted his gaze, tugging the seer along by his fingers.

  He found himself remembering what Jax told him about Wreg hiding in windowless rooms for the entire duration of the submarine ride from New Jersey, and chuckled.

  “Laugh it up,” Wreg muttered. “Wait until you get stuck under a few thousand tons of water in one of those death traps.”

  “So you are reading me.” Jon brought him into the bathroom. “…and not only when you hear the word ‘sex’ go through my mind.”

  Once he got him near the double sink, he pushed Wreg backwards so that he was leaning against the marble counter.

  “Enough that I have a hard-on, little brother,” Wreg said.

  “Yeah,” Jon said. “Too bad you’re going to be too busy sleeping to use it.”

  He began undressing the taller seer. He felt Wreg’s light react as soon as he unhooked the first strap on his vest. The seer started to do the same to him, but Jon pushed his hands away, taking care with the wounded shoulder.

  Looking up, he frowned at the dark eyes.

  “I mean it, Wreg. You said I could order you around, right?”

  Wreg nodded. He leaned his weight against the counter, right before he closed his eyes.

  “I thought you meant while you were reminding me how long it’s been since we’ve fucked.” He grunted when Jon
finished unfastening the catches on his vest, pain emanating off his light. “Fucking Albany was torture… sharing those goddamned beds like a litter of cats. I thought Nenz was going to fuck his wife anyway a few of those nights.”

  Jon grunted, rolling his eyes. “Thank the gods he didn’t.”

  “Amen to that.” Wreg massaged the back of Jon’s neck. “Speaking of which, do you really think I’m going to get in there with you and not try to get you off, brother?” He jerked his head towards the pond-sized basin. “You are seriously deluded.”

  “Who says I’m getting in with you?” Jon said.

  He pulled the vest carefully off the other man’s shoulders before starting to undo velcro straps on one of the several gun holsters strapped to Wreg’s upper body.

  Jon got all of the armored and explosive bits off his body and clicked at him, unfastening the front of the seer’s shirt even as he motioned with his head towards the mini-armory on the floor.

  “Balidor was worried we might not have enough firearms up here?” he said, giving a half-snort. “Does Balidor even know you and Revik?”

  Wreg laughed, wincing as Jon got the shirt down over the bandage on his arm. Jon reached for the seer’s belt and felt a hot pull on his groin, dense enough that he paused in what he’d been doing, right before he tugged at the tongue of Wreg’s belt, a little harder than necessary.

  “Cut it out,” he muttered.

  Bending his knees, he began unhooking the straps on Wreg’s boots, conscious of the pain coming off the seer, even more tangibly now, although Wreg didn’t move from where he leaned against the marble counter, his hands planted on either side of the sink.

  Wreg just stood there, in fact, until Jon smacked the calf of his leg.

  “Lift,” he told the seer.

  Jon tugged the first boot off once Wreg complied, peeling the reinforced sock off his foot as well. He went to work on the second boot, yanking that one off faster than the first. Wreg lifted his weight off that foot without being asked, but when Jon finished getting off the boot and sock and straightened to his full height, the seer caught hold of his shoulders, his light pulling on Jon’s. The seer’s body softened as he pulled Jon closer.

  “Don’t you want to give me light, little brother?” he said, his voice gruff. “Come in with me. Give me light. I promise I’ll be good.”