Roser held her hand up, stopping Flynn. “Not microbial batteries. If your mod is that good, then we want people back every few months to have the batteries replaced."
"You like the idea?” Flynn said, and he sounded disbelieving. Both of them had expected Roser to need far more persuading. Perhaps she had an extensive toy collection...
"It will have to go to the board, but go ahead and make up some prototypes,” Roser said.
"There's a problem,” Bailey said, speaking for the first time. “We did some testing, put the mods into a volunteer, and he's gone missing."
"Missing?” Roser said. “To another corporation? Did you let someone walk out of here with prototype mods in them?"
"Immigration grabbed him,” Bailey said. “We've located him, but Immigration will deport him, even if we pay the fine, unless SirenCare petitions for him to remain."
Roser reached for the phone on her desk. “If he's still got the prototype mods in him, then we'll do that,” she said, “unless he's lost the mods, if those fuckers in Immigration have cut them out of him."
Flynn glanced at Bailey, while Roser spoke with someone in the legal department. “Relax,” Flynn mouthed at Bailey.
Bailey unwound his fingers from the arms of the chair and nodded.
Roser put the phone down. “Legal will meet us at reception."
"We can handle this,” Flynn said. “No need to take you away from your desk."
"Do you think that SirenCare is going to buy an illegal from Immigration just because the pair of you say so?” Roser said, standing up. “SirenCare is well aware that the pair of you are not ideal employees. However, ideal employees don't invent potentially addictive mods,” Roser added, and colorbursts twinkled across her cheeks.
* * * *
Movement in the dorm disturbed Quint, dragging him awake. He sat up, shaking his head to wake himself, eyes burning in the overhead lights.
Around him, other inmates were being shaken awake. “Are you Jack Quinton?” a guard asked Davo, in the bunk below Quint's.
"I am,” Quint said, reaching for his shirt, at the foot of his bunk.
The guard looked up, holding his scanner out. “Prove it."
Quint held out his arm, where the tracker bulged under his skin.
"Move,” the guard said.
Quint jumped down from his bunk, his heart pounding with fear. Bad things happened to people the guards took away.
Unless...
Quint didn't dare let himself hope that Bailey had come to get him.
He walked out of the dorm, into the corridor, where another guard pointed. “That way, and quickly."
Into the elevator he went, Quint's stomach lurching with the movement.
"Where am I going?” he asked the guard.
The guard shrugged. “Dunno, I just got told to find you and take you to processing."
Processing? Quint's knees sagged, and hope burned through him, so he had to grab at the elevator wall.
He was shoved through doors, weapons pointed towards him, and then he stumbled out, into a waiting room.
Bailey and Flynn stood there, Flynn holding hard on Bailey's arm, and Quint gasped.
Flynn shook his free hand, universal symbol for negation, and Quint bit at his lip and didn't bolt across the waiting room and into Bailey's arms.
A corporate woman, her face disapproving, said, “Is this him?"
"It is,” Flynn said.
"Check he's still got the mods."
Flynn pushed Bailey behind him, and Quint had to look away from Bailey's face, before either of them started crying.
"Hi, Quint,” Flynn said casually. “Mind if I have a look at the work?"
"What?” Quint said, but Flynn's look was an entreaty.
Quint could play along, try not to fall apart, act calm.
"Sure,” Quint said.
Flynn looked down, and gestured. “Perhaps you could undo your clothes, flop it out?"
Was Flynn talking about the skin pocket Bailey gave him?
Flynn undid his trousers, letting them drop to his knees, and reached for his balls. All the holes from his piercings had closed over, but he'd still not got used to the weight of the jewelry being missing.
"Penis,” Flynn hissed.
The corporate woman stepped up, saying, “Is there a problem, Dr, Flynn?"
"I rather suspect Mr. Quinton would prefer not to have his penis examined by a roomful of strangers,” Flynn said.
The woman made a dismissive noise and peered down at Quint's cock, examining it.
"Are those bumps the mods?” the woman asked, poking one long fingernail at a bead just below the head of Quint's cock.
"Yes,” Flynn said.
Quint had no fucking clue what was going on, or why Flynn, of all people, should think that a bead that Quint had had for years was of any interest to that woman, but he didn't say anything, not if there was a chance Bailey could get him out.
"Count them,” the woman said. “Make sure they're all there. How many did you put in?"
"Seventeen,” Bailey said. “There're seventeen."
Flynn ran his fingertips across Quint's cock, counting out loud, and the woman looked at Quint's face for the first time. “Do you like the mods, young man?"
"Um, yes, ma'am,” Quint said. “Though I think they're better for my partners."
The woman's eyes went wide, and she looked back down, at where Flynn was counting the beads on the underside of Quint's cock.
"Oh,” she said.
"All there,” Flynn said.
"Get him out of here then,” the woman said, looking over her shoulder at another corporate type. She pointed at Quint, and said, “You are not to wander off. You now belong to Dr. Flynn, until he tells you otherwise."
The woman walked off, following the other corporate types, and Flynn grabbed at Quint's shoulders. “Pull your trousers up, and come and sit down. It's going to take them some time to do your paperwork."
Quint nodded, dragged his trousers back up, and let Flynn lead him over to where Bailey was sitting, his hands shoved under his arms, face blank.
"Bailey?” Quint said, sitting down beside him. “What just happened?"
Bailey swallowed. “I, um, we couldn't get you out, so we told SirenCare you had experimental mods in you. I think they're buying you, right now."
Quint touched his fingers against Bailey's forearm. “Is this real?” he whispered. “Am I getting out?"
Bailey met Quint's gaze, and something in his eyes made Quint's chest hurt, just a little. “It's real,” he whispered.
* * * *
The stitches in Quint's arm scratched and stung, where the tracker had been hacked out by one of the Immigration clerks, but Quint didn't care. He kept his hand clenched around the forms in his left hand, the precious papers that said that, despite him being an illegal resident, SirenCare wanted him, and he could stay in the country. His other hand, hidden between their thighs, pressed fingers against Bailey.
He couldn't say anything, not with all the SirenCare corporates in the vehicle, but he could touch Bailey.
The woman looked back between the seats, her face hidden by her filters. “Get him clean,” she told Flynn. “And check him over medically. I'll want a report on the mods on my desk in two days."
Flynn nodded. “Yes, Dr. Roser,” he said. “As soon as I can."
The vehicle drove through security gates, past a checkpoint, and underneath the SirenCare tower, out of the afternoon sun and into deep shadow. Dr. Roser and the other corporates got out of the vehicle, walking off across the basement garage without looking back, and Bailey let out a shaky breath.
"Let's get you into the shower,” Flynn said. “And then find you some food."
Quint had to be helped to the elevator, past rows and rows of SirenCare vans and ambulances. Bailey's hands, strong and steady, kept hold of him in the elevator, and then they led him to a shower block.
At a shower cubicle, Flynn said, “I'm goin
g back to work. Want me to book a theatre spot?"
Bailey nodded, pushing the cubicle door open for Quint. “Shower,” he said. “I'll go find you some clothes."
Quint caught hold of Bailey's hand. “Theatre?” he said. “And can't you stay with me?"
Bailey closed his eyes briefly. “Surveillance,” he murmured. “We can talk at my house. Go and shower, make the most of corporate water."
The shower, blissfully hot and generous, streamed over Quint, washing away dirt, sweat and pain. His eyes leaked, too, because he was free, and Bailey had come for him.
Chapter 7
It took time to get Quint out of SirenCare. He had a meal, and then a medical examination, with Flynn poking and prodding Quint. There were consent forms to sign for the next day's procedure, ostensibly so Flynn could check the mods, but in fact to insert them for the first time.
Finally, in the early evening dusk, Quint and Bailey walked out of the concourse, and onto Oxford St. On the train, in the crowded carriage, Bailey wrapped his arms around Quint, hugging him for the first time. Quint buried his face against Bailey's neck, and if Bailey felt moisture dripping onto his shoulder, soaking into his tunic, he didn't mind.
He held Quint's hand as they walked up the hill from the train station, to Bailey's house. “I sent a message to Frood,” he said. “So he knows you're safe."
"Thank you,” Quint said. “Thank you, for everything you've done."
At his front door, Bailey said, “Please, Quint, there's no need to thank me. Flynn put his job on the line just because he's my friend; he deserves your thanks. Watch, for the code. I retrieved your retina scans from Immigration, so the system should recognize you."
"The code?” Quint asked, as Bailey pushed his front door open.
The door slammed shut, the system rearming itself with an audible click, and Bailey touched Quint's face, strange without the piercings, where scar tissue had formed over one of his horns. “The code,” he repeated. “You live here, now."
He leaned forward slowly, and Quint gulped. Bailey closed his eyes, letting his lips brush against Quint's gently, and then settle on Quint's mouth: warm, sweet, and very much alive. Bailey had been holding himself together for too long, fighting every instinct, and now he had Quint safe and home, he couldn't do it any longer.
Quint gasped, his mouth opening, hands grabbing at Bailey. Quint's mouth was unfamiliar without his piercings, but the rest of him felt the same, wrapped around Bailey.
They stumbled into the big room, falling onto the couch, mouths joined, tongues sliding together.
Quint's hands found Bailey's trousers, pushing them down roughly, while Bailey dragged at Quint's borrowed scrubs. Quint wrenched his mouth away from Bailey's, gasping for air, and something fabric tore. Quint's weight pushed Bailey into the couch cushions as he fumbled, then blinding pressure took Bailey, and he cried out in relief and joy as Quint jammed into him.
Sudden and hard, far too much to bear, Bailey shouted, and Quint began to drive into him. Quint's face was screwed up, mouth gasping, cheeks wet, and Bailey lost control, shouting and scratching at Quint, coming so hard his whole body shook, feeling Quint coming, too.
Quint didn't stop, just kept on fucking Bailey, his belly sliding against Bailey's cock, spreading come across their bodies, scraping and dragging. His beads pulled and slid, too, rolling against Bailey's arse, while he kissed Bailey over and over.
The next orgasm took Bailey slowly, building heat through his entire body, and when Quint picked up his pace, stroking hard and fast, Bailey came with Quint's mouth locked over his, stealing each gasp.
Quint collapsed forward, falling onto Bailey, and Bailey hugged him.
* * * *
Quint clanked his beer against Bailey's and gazed out across the city. Naked and sweaty, come drying on his belly, Bailey threw his arm around Quint's shoulders. The roof tiles were still warm under Bailey's bare arse, and the distiller hummed faintly through the night air.
"I missed you,” Bailey said. “More than I could bear."
Quint looked at him, Bailey could tell by the way his shoulders moved. “I think I'm very glad of that."
The smooth darkness of the harbor was disturbed by red and green lights gliding across the water as a sail tanker slid through the night. A mosquito bit Bailey's arm, and he moved enough to slap at the insect, then put his arm back around Quint.
"Tomorrow, when I put those mods into you, I'm microchipping you,” Bailey said. “So this never happens again."
Quint chuckled, in the darkness. “Fine by me,” he said. “Do I get to chip you, too, so I always know where you are?"
"Sounds equitable,” Bailey said, and Quint's head settled on his shoulder.
* * * *
The room was painfully white, sparkling and clean, and the person bending over Quint was wrapped in mask and visor.
"How do you feel, Mr. Quinton?” a female voice asked.
Quint flailed for a moment, trying to work out where he was. SirenCare, with Bailey.
"Thirsty,” Quint croaked, his throat rough and sore.
Something plastic pressed against his lips, and the voice said, “Drink."
Cold water, clean and fresh. Quint wanted to drink forever, slaking his thirst, but the nurse took the drink away. “How is your pain?” she asked.
Pain?
"It feels numb,” Quint said. “Maybe a bit sore. My face hurts."
"That's where the doctors removed your false horns and implanted the osteoblast stimulators. Here are your doctors now,” the nurse said.
More faces, with masks and visors, appeared over Quint, and then Bailey pulled his mask off and pushed his visor up.
"Hey,” Quint croaked. “How'd it go?"
"Bailey stuffed it up, and we had to cut your penis off,” Flynn said, and then Bailey hit him.
"It went well,” Bailey said. “Don't believe Flynn. How's the pain?"
"Numb, hurts a bit,” Quint said.
Flynn waved a hand, and the nurse appeared again. “Give this man the good drugs,” Flynn said.
"Yes, Dr. Flynn,” the nurse said.
"Doctor?” Quint said, trying not to giggle. “Why's Bailey not a doctor, too?"
"He's a cutter,” Flynn said. “Uneducated and ignorant, he just makes holes in people. I understand them."
The nurse fiddled with his arm, and Quint felt like he was floating, on a clean, crisp cloud, something wonderful flowing through his veins. His cock didn't hurt, it didn't even throb. Bailey leaned over him and whispered, “Go to sleep. I'll see you when you wake up again."
Quint closed his eyes, the room rocking gently around him. “Good drugs,” he whispered.
* * * *
Quint looked around the room he had to himself, and tried to work out whether the image on the wall really was a window, or just a screen. “I want to go now,” he said, while Flynn and Bailey peered at his groin, unwrapping dressings.
"Quint, you've just been modded, take it easy,” Bailey said, without looking up.
"I went drinking after I'd had the beads put in,” Quint said. “This doesn't hurt like that."
Bailey did look up that time. “I've wired experimental mods into your nervous system. We need you to work out how to use them, and to monitor you while you do."
"How do I use them then?"
Bailey shrugged. “Alright then,” he said, unwinding the dressing completely from Quint's cock. “Watch yourself, try and work out where the implants are, and try twitching that area."
Quint looked down at his cock, which was bruised and a little swollen, with tiny stitches beside each new bead. He focused on the top bead, the one just below the head of his cock, what he thought of as the killer bead, because of what it did to people when he fucked them.
He could feel the bead, as distinct from the pain around it, and he twitched it mentally.
"Fuck!” he shouted, clutching at the sides of the bed, as tiny vibrations shook his cock, sending the best fucking
feeling rushing through the pain.
Bailey pressed a latex-clad fingertip against the bead.
"Try and make it go faster,” Bailey said, his eyes gleaming at Quint.
"How the fuck do I do that?” Quint shouted.
Bailey shrugged, so Quint just concentrated on the feeling, on making it stronger. The vibrations picked up, other beads joining, and Quint groaned and grabbed at his cock with both hands, trying to stop the feelings. He rolled onto his belly, both hands under him, as his cock pulsed and purred and throbbed. It hurt to be hard, so soon after the mods had been put in, but the pain was nothing to the pleasure slicing through him.
"That's gross,” Flynn said. “Really disgusting.” He sounded very pleased with himself. “Want me to step out of the room for a moment?"
Quint dragged one hand out from under himself and flapped it at Flynn. He didn't mind if Flynn stayed; it wouldn't be the first time he'd come with Flynn in the room. What he'd die for was some quality time with Bailey.
Bailey's hand pushed underneath Quint's hip, his fingers found Quint's cock, working around Quint's own hands.
"Is that good?” Bailey asked, and he was leaning right over Quint, his mouth against Quint's ear.
Quint bellowed, his come spreading across the sheet beneath him, the good feelings mixing with the pain, winding around the hurt, Bailey's hand over the top of it all, stroking him.
"That's repulsive,” Flynn said. “Deeply offensive."
"Shut up,” Bailey said, over his shoulder, and then his voice dropped as he spoke to Quint. “Can you work out how to turn them all off now?"
Quint, between gasps, tried to feel around inside his body, to undo whatever it was he'd done to turn the beads on, while the vibrations screamed through his groin.
"Try thinking about another part of yourself,” Bailey suggested.
Quint, trying not to panic, concentrated on his hand, where it clutched at the hospital bed mattress.
Hand. Fingers. He wiggled each finger in turn, screening out his cock, and the way the beads were trying to shake themselves out of him.
The vibrations lulled, then stopped, and Quint buried his face in the mattress, his eyes closed, too weak to move.
Behind him, Flynn said, “Don't you dare touch anything until you've washed your hands."
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