Maximillian's mirror wasn't the normal sort of mirror, oh no. It looked plain enough - oval, with a beveled edge and small gilt frame, but beyond its simple appearance, this mirror had a gift.
Or should that be the mirror was a gift? A gift with purpose and power.
Purportedly it had been an award for 'manager of the century,' but nobody had mentioned its hidden purpose of spying on Max. Its reflective surface could change to show possibilities and probabilities; dreams and nightmares--just call it the Devil's Nannycam. The gift was a dangerous toy when used unwisely, but Max was too arrogant to believe he'd get the worst of it. "If that punk Nostradamus could do it..."
Mirrors weren't exactly a regular part of Max's daily life. He normally had too much to do, business to handle, gazing in a mirror wasn't something Max did very often. Odd to see himself ... but it was deceptively intoxicating. He was intrigued and had to look. "I *am* the fairest of them all!" Max snorted to himself.
Elsewhere, hidden eyes gazed on the sight. There was someone - something - smiling coldly to see Max's narcissism.
A flick of power was all it took to swirl a mist across the surface of the mirror... Leaning forward to gaze into the mists that seethed within, Max frowned. "You'd think there'd be something interesting in here. C'mon now." He tapped the glass, and started back as the mist began to take form.
The vision developed in shades of gray, marked with lines of deeper darkness. A face much like his own began to form out of the seething mists, but it was not a true reflection. It was distorted, as if it had been reflected in a hundred different mirrors.
One of the little ones, Maximillian thought. Young, fresh-faced, with a wide-eyed innocence that just begged to be smirched. The face that was wavering between murk and light finally cleared into full view, and the doppelganger in the mirror saw Max, not just his reflection staring back at him.
Green eyes locked onto each other, and there was no contest in this staring match; Maximillian felt the shiver in the space-time continuum as his lovely little plaything popped into the here-and-now.
Lt. Cyril Baines gasped as his surroundings changed around him. One second he was in the bathroom he shared with Zuni, and the next he was elsewhere.
He wasn't sure where this was, but it sure as hell wasn't his bathroom, and he didn't know who the guy standing in front of him was. There was something about the eyes that said *old*, and a few other minor differences, but it sure looked like him.
Maximillian appraised his catch with a critical eye, and Baines had never felt as naked as he did right then in his boxers and undershirt. He'd seen some weird shit in his day, but this had to take the cake.
"I don't know what the hell just happened here, but whatever it is that you're selling, I don't want any, and can I please get the hell out of here?" The room seemed hot to him, and there was a vague, musky-sweet odor in the room that hung back from the edge of his senses. He breathed as deeply and unobtrusively as possible, it was enticing.
"Selling? I didn't realize that was what I was doing. Unsettling was it?"
"To say the least."
"Hmm." Maximillian stepped closer to Baines and invaded his personal body space, close enough to hear his heavy breathing and smell the fear that his prize was trying so hard to cover. His chest was rising and falling, and faint sheen of perspiration was slicking the smooth skin.
Max lifted his hand and watched as he dragged a finger from the side of Baines' throat down to the little dip in between the collarbones. He captured a small drip of sweat, and brought it to his lips, sucking his fingertip into his mouth. Raising his eyes, he looked into those of his young analog.
The electric touch left Baines with no doubt about what his captor intended. Suddenly he felt as if he just had to have what was being offered. The hand returned to his shoulder and pushed him down to his knees. Kneeling in front of that fine linen covered crotch; the smell that had evaded him came into full bloom. Baines grabbed the hips and pulled the stranger closer, mouthing the erection through the cloth.
Maximillian threaded his hands through the soft mink buzz-cut, but there was no purchase there. He thrust his hips toward the boy, and was rewarded with a muffled moan. "Suck my cock."
Simply said, with no choice offered, the command sent a thrill shivering down Baines' back. He quickly opened the trousers and had begun to pull them down when they suddenly vanished into thin air. Baines noticed his own clothes disappeared at the same time, but the mirror image of his naked body was begging for attention.
He grabbed the cock by its base and licked a stripe up the dark, pulsing vein to the tip, where he sucked the weeping slit dry of the welling, bitter fluid. The taste spurred a rush of saliva, and with that he slicked up the cock head, slowly sucking it down, down until it hit the back of his throat.
Baines looked up, met the eyes of his abductor and was only slightly prepared for the sudden thrust that shoved the cock all the way down his throat, scraping tonsils and choking him. Tears sprang up in his eyes and wet his dark lashes with tiny diamonds of pain.
Maximillian was in heaven, and the sight of his carbon copy on his knees, with his lips wrapped around his cock was just this side of heaven. Max seized the boy's head with both hands, and began to fuck his own pretty mouth.
This must have been what Narcissus had been looking for. Maximillian was hooked.
Faster and faster he stroked into that willing throat, the tears and anguished moans carrying him away on a cloud of pleasure at the expense of another. Humans could really be so cruel to each other; it was one of their most endearing traits.
The growing lightning in the base of his spine crackled and detonated as he shoved his cock all the way -- as far down the defiled throat of his unter-zwilling as it would go.
Baines took it. He'd never been so abused, and he loved it in some dark way he hadn't realized about himself. The Faceless Stranger had been unveiled.
Maximillian hauled Baines to his feet, and kissed him roughly, sucking his own come out of his toy's mouth. Baines was nearly helpless with his own desire, and he briefly wondered if he could have died.
"Not yet, my little pretty."
Max willed Baines back into the mirror, and watched as the pretty boy stumbled back into his own reality, his fucked mouth and burning erection remembered, but nothing else.
The whole experience with Baines hadn't lasted very long, and it merely whetted Maximillian's taste for more. He waved his hand once more over the mirror, and the mists within its depths began to swirl, then clear ... then slowly another beautiful, yet still distorted, visage emerged before his eyes. Max muttered, "Why would anyone as gorgeous as me be living in a dump like that? And what are those rags he's wearing? A body that beautiful shouldn't be dressed in old jeans and a sweatshirt! I must get this guy into better surroundings and out of those pants."
Maximillian settled back to watch his subject in the kitchen of his native habitat, looking for clues as to what would bring this prey into his fold. His ill-clad object of desire turned to place what looked like a homemade loaf of bread on a nearby table then returned to the stove to check on a kettle. "Gotcha," Max said as he watched the other man gaze into the kettle's shiny surface. The demon watched the man relax and begin to chant, "ooomannnipadmeooooom. Oooomannipadmeooooom."
"Ah fuck, a Buddhist," groaned Max. Then he brightened, and said, "Yeah, that sounds like a worthy goal. I'll fuck a Buddhist this morning. That won't be enough to enlist him on my team, though. What kind of vows has this one taken? They don't swear off sex, which is damn good." Then he smiled and said, "My boy, I'm taking you on a picnic!"
Moments later the mediating man blinked his eyes open and found himself seated on soft grass sprinkled with wildflowers by a babbling brook. A massive oak tree towered over him and, nearby, a blanket lay spread on the grass. He shook his head, as if trying to wake himself, finally catching Max's eye.
"Who, what? Where am I? Who are you? What the hell is going on?" he sputtered.
"Well, hello, my friend. You are exactly where you want to be," Max replied.
"Yeah, this is nice, but who are you? Why do you look like me and how did I get here," the other man asked.
"I'm Max. Don't worry about our likeness; just consider it good Karma, and you got here because you are supposed to be here.
"Okay. I'm Matthew," the other man said. "So I'm supposed to be here?"
"Yes, you are. It's your destiny to join me in a feast," Max said, nodding towards the blanket, which was now covered with a variety of small dishes filled with food. He sat down by Matthew, took him by the hand and pulled him off the ground. "Come, my friend. Let us enjoy the Earth's bounty together."
Matthew allowed himself to be led to the blanket and seated by its edge. He stared at the huge variety of fresh, ripe fruit and vegetables before him.
Max picked up a small bunch of grapes, pulled a few off and offered them to Matthew.
"Here, try one," he said. He placed touched a grape to Matthew's lips and when they opened to accept it said, "there you go. Isn't that good?"
"It's wonderful. It' the best grape I ever ate," Matthew responded.
"It's all wonderful," said Max. He picked up another grape, and rubbed it against Matthew's lips, but before the other man could take it into his mouth, Max crushed the grape with his fingers and rubbed its juice on the luscious lips. Matthew's tongue slipped out and snagged the remains of the crushed grape, but before he could lick the juice off his lips, Max leaned in and pressed his lips against them, gently. Matthew stiffened, but didn't pull back.
"Nice?" Max asked.
"Um ... yeah, nice, but, what?"
"I'm part of the feast," Max said, with a wink.
"Okay, I can go with that. I'm pretty flexible, and you are treating me to a very nice meal," said Matthew. "Hey, there's not any meat in any of this, is there? I don't eat meat."
"No, no," said Max. "Just the most delightful fruit and vegetables Mother Nature can provide."
Matthew grinned and reached for a lovely red plum, while Max helped himself to a juicy nectarine.
"You know," Max said, "this could get a little messy. I'd hate to have your clothes ruined just for the sake of a picnic. Maybe you should take your shirt off."
Matthew hesitated, looked at the plum, which was full to bursting with juice and nodded. He hooked his hands under the hem of his sweatshirt and pulled it over his head.
Max smiled back, appreciatively.
"Don't you think you had better take yours off, too?" asked Matthew.
"Of course," Max said, as he unbuttoned his own shirt.
Matthew lay down on the soft grass by the blanket while Max finished taking his shirt off. "Now, lay back and relax and let me feed you that," Max said, indicating the plum in Matthew's hand.
Matthew complied, and Max leaned over his reclining form, plum in hand. "Hmmmm, you look nice like that, but you would look even better with plum lips!" As he had with the grape, Max pressed the plum to Matthew's lips and after Matthew had taken a generous bite, leaned in to kiss and lick the remaining juice from his twin's lips. Max rubbed the plum on Matthew's chest then lowered his head to lick the sweet and tangy juice. He delicately tongued each of Matthew's nipples, then pulled the right one in between his lips and sucked it into a hard peak.
Max next took another plum from the fruit piled on the blanket and offered it to Matthew. "This is delicious," murmured Matthew, closing his eyes. "It's the best plum I've ever tasted!
"Yes," said Max. "But I have some even sweeter plums for you to suck on." Max slithered up Matthew's body and rubbed his own plums against Matthew's eager lips. Matthew's lips parted and his tongue slipped between them to taste what Max was offering. As his twin lapped at his balls, Max reached down between them and unfastened Matthew's pants then slid them down his legs. Next he plucked a firm spear of asparagus and presented it. While Matthew sucked on the tip of the spear, Max slid his hand towards Matthew's own, rapidly enlarging spear.
Still stroking Matthew's cock firmly, Max slyly reached over to a platter that had been hidden behind a pile of pomegranates and picked out a thin slice of pale beef with two fingers. Just as Matthew's mouth opened to take him in fully, Max draped a slice of the pale, raw meat over his cock. Matthew's mouth closed over it, moaning around the hard cock just as his balls began to tighten and intense waves of pleasure swept through his body. Max groaned above him and shot his hot cum into Matthew's mouth.
His sultry voice reflecting his post-orgasmic haze, Matthew said, "Hey, how come your cum is chewy?"
Max dangled a slice of carpaccio before Max's eyes.
"Oh my God! You made me eat meat?" Max exclaimed.
"I didn't force you," Max returned. "In fact, you seemed to be enjoying yourself immensely at the time!"
"Shit! I'm ruined!" Matthew sobbed.
"Look on the bright side," said Max. "Now that you've taken the plunge, you might as well enjoy such delights whenever you can. And wasn't it the most delicious thing you ever ate?"
"Yeah, yeah it was." Matthew looked longingly at the meat in Max's hand.
Testing, Max shifted backward, further out of Matthew's reach, just to see if the man would follow the action. It might have been the morsel that drew him or Max's still nude form, but either way, Matthew leaned closer.
The game was interrupted by a frown on Matthew's face. He looked down at the blanket they lay upon, reached and held up Max's precious mirror. What caught Matthew's attention however was that the surface wasn't bright blue like the sky above them but rather quite dark. "What's this?"
"A toy ... a weapon perhaps." Max reached to take it away.
"Those aren't the same things."
"That entirely depends on who you are, my dear." Glancing at the mirror, Max was surprised to discover it no longer showed the bleak hovel from which he had plucked Matthew, but an even drearier location. The darkly shadowed gloom of a prison cell was depicted inside the small oval. What little brightness there was in the scene consisted of reflections of moonlight off ice crusting the bars of the cell's tiny window. A single figure huddled in the corner of the stone walled room.
"That's barbaric." Matthew's chin dropped down to rest on Max's shoulder.
Turning his face, Max kissed at the other's cheek. "Shall I fetch him out so he can share our picnic then?" The young man was very likely starving and would provide a wonderful example for Matthew.
"How did you get here?" The question was answered with another one. Max then turned his attention back to the image in the mirror. It took only a moment to absorb the information he needed to know.
"Tom, come to the window." The request was a ghostly whisper inside the cell despite having been clearly spoken in the sunlit meadow Max and Matthew inhabited. Three times Max had to repeat himself, before the figure unfolded and rose.
With his solitary blanket still wrapped tight around his shoulder, Tom shuffled over to the frosty bars. A bit of color glittered in the ice, completely out of place for the time of night and the situation. Intrigued, Tom Andrews peered closer, hungry for color after nothing but browns, grays and black for so many months. Putting one hand on the icy ledge for balance, Tom fell face forward when the entire wall before him melted away as if it were smoke. In fact, he fell face forward right on top of two very warm, very naked men.
Under normal circumstances in Clarkwell prison that would have brought Tom's fists up and swinging, but the heat was too seductive. "Oh God." he said.
"Ouch, none of that ..." Max covered bluish lips with a finger. "It's impolite considering the company." The slight scolding turned to a chuckle as Tom caught hold of Max's wrist and held on, keeping the warmth pressed to his mouth. "So it's heat you're after?" Max grinned. "Ease back, Matthew. I'm going to show you some magic tricks, and I wouldn't want to hurt you ... not by accident anyway."
The fingers pressed to Tom's mouth took on a shimmer of red, almost as if a heat haze had enveloped them, then they flickered into flame. Tom realized too late what was happening and by the time he tried to draw back Max's other hand was tangled quite firmly in Tom's hair, holding him still. Max spread his fingers wide and swept a caress up Tom's pale jaw, then down the throat arched so invitingly before him. Not a bit of actual damage was left behind, but for those brief seconds, Tom's skin had blazed with a pain so sharp that its following absence caused a rush of pleasure twice as extreme.
Tom's entire body shuddered. He inhaled abruptly, only to let the air out again in a low hiss of exhilaration. Just when Tom thought he might be able to focus himself to speak to his tormentor, the sensation came again. A line was drawn, nipple to nipple on Tom's chest. Threadbare fabric vanished in a puff of brimstone-scented smoke. Tom screamed and arched away from the line of fire only to surge back into it a second later, his back bowed toward Max.
"You're hurting him!"
Matthew's protest was acknowledged verbally. "Only a little. He's deathly cold. I'm warming him up. Not to worry, Tom's young... barely nineteen... and his heart is strong." Max's hand swiped down one hip and leg, then up the other. Tom spasmed in his grip but didn't attempt to break free. "You're enjoying this, aren't you, my pretty convict?" Max looked into eyes that would have been like his own had they not been dilated to almost complete blackness.
Max rose to his knees and, grip shifting, he drew the young man's twitching form tight against himself. Heat smoldered between them, but didn't burn. Tom was almost limp except for his arms, which now caught at Max and pulled, bringing them tighter together.
"What do you want, Thomas?"
Lips parted but no sound emerged. Tom's head tipped in an invitation that Max couldn't resist. While pressing their mouths together, Max traced a fiery line down Tom's bent spine. His burning hand cupped one firm ass cheek only briefly, and then he slid his fingers into the cleft between the two. Tom tensed, realizing what was coming, but he didn't attempt to escape it. His legs actually parted under the contact. One of Max's fingers extended, pressed and invaded Tom's body.
If he hadn't been held tight in Max's arms, Tom would have flown apart from the feelings caused by the fire that arced between Max's delving tongue and finger. As it was, he screamed into Max's mouth, a wail that would have done a banshee proud. Tom went rigid. An orgasm he hadn't even felt approaching splattered a sheet of come against Max's stomach. The young man then collapsed, barely twitching as the finger slipped out of his ass, and he was eased backward onto the ground.
Max's eyes actually shone when they lifted to pin Matthew once more. "Tom's hungry too ... though it might take a little time before he can gather enough wits together to tell you that. Perhaps you could take care of that particular need of his?"
Unspeaking, Matthew nodded.
"Good, and give him some meat for pity's sake. The poor boy's half starved. He needs ... protein." Smirking, Max dropped into an artistic lounge. Arousal still tugged at him, but he was patient. Tom needed Matthew more right at this moment... still ... Max sat back up. Lips pursed and he reached for the mirror. If his two playmates were busy with one another, there was no harm in scrying out a third, fourth or even eighth version of this delectable form to toy with.
Maximillian remembered something one of those moldy old philosophers had once said about cause and effect.
"For every event that occurs, there will follow another event whose existence was caused by the first, and this second event will be pleasant or unpleasant, according as its cause was skilful or unskillful. Only when the duality of 'me' and the 'other' is lost, can one truly awaken to the state of non-dual object-less awareness. All that is left is pure bliss and consciousness." (Source unknown)
Well so far his searches had brought him bliss, he thought, and who was he to knock a winning streak. He moved his hand across the reflective surface of the mirror. It shimmered - iridescent, oily. A familiar face glared back at him, upside down, brows furrowed. Lips moved, saying, "Damn it, I thought the Shell guy *fixed* that leak!"
Max was giddy, crazy-high from his previous conquests. "Bring it on, baby," he giggled. "Come on let's see what you got." It was so easy. So *good* to see that angry face go totally blank as it took in new surroundings.
Max slipped his arm around the other's shoulders. "Just a little party, Stevie-baby. You still like to party - don't 'cha?"
The man cleared his throat uneasily. "I have a wife and a child. I don't have time for this-"
Steve's resistance was incredibly annoying. What a downer. Max tried again. "Stevie, look around you - what do you see? It's a *celebration*, lover. We're celebrating *life* here - and you - " Max tapped a fingertip against the man's lower lip - "are the guest of honor."
He stepped back, allowing Steve to survey his lair - the red velvet, the black marble, the thousand candles flickering, the feast at the table, and the figures lounging together beyond.
"Aren't you even a *little* curious, Stevie? Huh?" Max stood behind him and whispered into his ear. "If nothing else, wouldn't you like to know how and why?" He ran his hands over Steve's shoulders and down his chest, smiling in triumph when he felt the man catch his breath as his nails scratched over soft nipples.
"I've seen - seen a lot of things," Steve gasped. The air was heavy with the scent of vanilla and candle wax and something much darker. The curve of Steve's ass seemed magnetic against Max's crotch. Come on, Stevie, just a little closer, he thought. Just a bit.
There was a low groan from across the room and the shadow of one figure kneeling before another, head bobbing. Max felt his pulse race. It was going to be so good. *So good*.
"Send me home. Whatever your name is - whatever you *are*, I want to leave. Send. Me. Back."
Raged flared in Max's mind. Fucker. Pussy-whipped little yuppie fucker messing with *him*? Uh-uh. No way. Did *not* happen.
His caressing hands suddenly clenched around Steve's balls. His captive produced a choked shriek. "Please allow me to introduce myself, Stevie. My name is Maximillian. This is my house you're visiting, and so far you've been a rather rude guest. Now I say, my house, my rules of hospitality. What do you think - you wanna play nice - hmmm?
Steve was breathing too hard to reply. He went totally still, then twisted hard to the right, surprising Max with a sharp elbow jab. Max was rarely surprised by anything, and stood stunned, as bright rockets of pain exploded beneath his eyelids. Then he had Steve over the banquet table; one arm twisted behind his back, the other smashed under his pelvic bone.
Max shuddered with the heady rush of it and spoke low, voice cracking with excitement. "Come on Stevie, see that corkscrew beside you? Grunt once for yes or twice for no."
Steve grunted faintly.
Max sighed, happier that he had been in months. "That corkscrew there, with the red handle, if you don't join the party right now, I'm going to find your little boy, and I'm going to ram that corkscrew right up his little rosebud, hook myself some boy-guts, and tie him to the side of the Brooklyn Bridge with them. Stevie, you think I wouldn't do it? You really want to risk it?"
Max wasn't sure if he could pull it off or not, but he liked saying it all the same. He liked the shiver of horror that racked Steve, and the stink of his fear. The man was clammy under him now, and Max really liked that too.
"Don't. Please." The words were amazingly clear, considering that Steve's face was half-buried in caviar.
"I don't know, lover," Max purred. "I haven't had a kid like that in a long time." This wasn't exactly true. Ten year old junkies were a dime a dozen.
"I'll do anything you want, Maximillian," Steve said. The man's quiet resolution didn't sit well with Max at all. He wanted this one kicking and screaming. Anything? Yeah, anything and then some. All of the above and all of the below. *Anything*. *Everything*.
He grinned and yanked Steve up by his hair. "Anything! Good to know, Stevie. Glad you're finally getting with the program. We'll start slow, because what I think I really want right now, is for you to suck my cock."
Steve's eyes narrowed as he rubbed the back of his head.
"On your knees," said Max.
"And you'll leave my son alone?"
"Yeah. Promise." Max gave Steve his most earnest and tender face. At this point, Max had no intention of leaving anybody left alive - much less alone. He was on a roll, and he was getting better and better. He leaned in, kissed the top corner of Steve's lip, and tasted cold sweat. The lingering bitterness aroused him more than he had thought possible. Max deepened the kiss, thrilling in the taking of that submissive mouth. But the party was just getting started.
He broke away and pushed the other man's head down the crimson satin of his shirt. "On your knees I said, Stevie-lover."
Steve knelt slowly, green eyes watching Max.
"Good. Now take it out." Max reached down and offered the ends of his leather pant laces. "Just pull. Carefully."
Steve wet his lips and pulled, and the leather parted to reveal Max's rigid cock. The man's hot breath on his flesh was almost too much.
"Take it!" He hissed.
The pink tip of Steve's tongue slid from between his lips, and then he began hesitant licking strokes up the side of his shaft. Max bucked at the contact. The man on his knees swirled his tongue over Max's swollen head and it was good. But it wasn't enough.
Steve was falling into a rhythm, and that meant he was distancing himself from the action - no fun at all. Max caught Steve's head between his hands and held it still. Drunk with sex and omnipotence, he pushed between Steve's still-tight lips with his cock.
Max felt almost overwhelmed with frenzied joy. "Open you eyes, lover!" He cried. He thrust hard, confident of the other's total cooperation. After all, this pissant suburbanite, mini-van-driving white boy was trying to save his widdle boy. Max giggled and thrust again, basking in the debauchery of it. And Stevie wasn't a bad cock sucker either - really talented, once you got him over his shyness.
It was as if he had extra muscles in his mouth or something. Strange waves of pleasure rippled over Max. He realized that his own eyes had drifted shut, and was briefly disappointed in himself. Half the fun was *watching*. But it was so good, as thought not just his cock, but his whole body was inside Stevie, feeding off his spirit, Max wanted it to go on forever. But then again, he really wanted to see Stevie's face too.
He forced himself to open one eye as a compromise. It took all of his concentration. When he couldn't understand the image that it registered, he opened the other eye as well. It didn't help. In fact, if Max hadn't been feeling so good, it would have been a serious issue.
The thing was, he had never hallucinated before, so it was rather interesting. He had made a point of trying on every possible human emotion and experience - market research and all - but it had never occurred to Max to hallucinate.
Even as he pondered this, his climax was building. The vision was so freaky; it was kind of a turn-on. Steve's head had melted and merged with that of an elephant. An elephant whose trunk, it appeared had been stuffed with Max's cock. He was fucking an elephant in the nose!
If that weren't enough, the elephant, which was still dressed in Stevie's clothes, had four arms. Three of its hands stroked his legs, but the other was stretched up towards Max and held a ball of golden light.
Max snickered. When this was over, he planned to head straight Downstairs to the Spa of Fire and ask old Siggy to analyze this one for sure. Fuck-an-A.
He closed his eyes again, focusing on the delicious sensations in his body. He was so close, but now he was distracted. While he wanted to come, he also wanted to ride the currents a while longer. And he wanted another look at that gold light. What was that supposed to represent anyway - his soul?
It was just too fucking hilarious. Another shock of pleasure moved over him and this time when he opened his eyes, he met the eyes of the elephant. They were Stevie's eyes. The hand holding the gold light extended toward his face. It was so bright, he couldn't see through it or around it and it to reflect his state of bliss.
Max became aware that the light somehow *was* him, that this elephant-being was offering Max part of himself. In exchange for what? But there was no bargain to be made, no price to pay, for this eternal pleasure at all. It was tempting. It was the best deal ever offered.
Max began to feel weighted down and somewhat sticky, as though he were covered in tar. The golden light dimmed slightly. Wait, he thought. Come back. He was decaying, as rotting fruit decays in the market back alleys in August. He was covered in filth without that light.
All he had to do was accept it. The fees would be waved this time -- and always. The light, the bliss was his. All he had to do was accept it. Max reeled with ecstasy. He could have this, he could. He could.
Oh no. The other side did not play fair at all. With great effort, he opened his eyes, pushed the elephant's extended arm down, and stared into its face.
There was nothing like it on earth, that light, and he could have it. He could have it forever. Tears ran down Max's cheeks. Fuckers would pay for this. He wanted it so much, more than anything he had imagined in his entire existence. Fuck. Fuck.
"GET OUT!" He screamed.
The elephant was silent, but the light grew brighter again. All he had to do was accept it. Max wrenched himself free of the elephant's tusk.
He would never have the light. He would rot and maggots would squirm in and out of his pores. Rats would dine on his eyeballs. But he had only to accept.
In desperation, Max hurled himself forward. He had to stop the light. He felt the elephant's tusk pierce his gut, slice wetly through, and emerge from his back.
The elephant and the light faded out. Max lay on the black marble floor, bleeding and covered in his own seed. Somehow, the mirror had fallen, so that it lay beside him. As he waited to heal, he peered into it again, more wary now.
He turned his head away before an image could form, shutting his eyes against his sudden exhaustion. Soon enough, though, he felt a germ of anger.
[How dare he pull a trick like that on me. Try to get the better of me. I'm the trickster here, damnit.]
Hold onto that, he told himself. Anger, yes. Strength exists in anger... hate alone could keep him alive.
He smiled, pulling the mirror closer. If he saw another - version - of himself, he wouldn't let this one mindfuck him. Oh no, it'd be him doing the mindfuck...
Lips still curved back in a cruel sneer, he opened his eyes and looked into the glass.
An image began to take shape. A now altogether too familiar face, sitting on a chair on a patio of a well appointed home. The man looked positively despondent.
[Oh, yeah. This one's gonna be fun...]
He peered closer. "What's so terrible, friend?" he asked his reflection.
And suddenly, he could see it... like a movie, playing out in his head. A girl. Another girl. Another girl who wasn't dead, but was pretending. A scruffy man telling his lookalike the girl was dead. His lookalike panicking.
Maximillian smiled, as in his head, he saw it all, flashed to him in seconds. The blackmail. The stealing away of Darcy. The invasion of his doubles' - whose name he had gleaned was Dustin Yarma - life. Dustin's increasing desperation.
Everything Dustin had. Everything he'd worked for. He was feeling defeated, lost. He could see it all slipping away, everything he'd thought he had - thought he had earned - because of ONE mistake.
This was something that would restore his wounded ego. Max stepped from the mirror wearing his white suit, his body thickening, his hair lightening as he did so. "Well, well, Dusty boy. Why so glum?" he murmured, with a snide smile.
Dustin looked down at his hands, splayed one over each knee. Not looking up, he said, dully, "Why do you think? What's happened around here in the last few days that would make me happy? I mean, you're still here and all."
"You'd better get used to it, man. I really like it here." Max strode around the table to face Dustin and seized his chin. "Nice shades," he said. "I like them." Whipping them from Dustin's face, he put them on and posed. "What do you think? Are they me?"
Dustin reached out, grabbing for his sunglasses. "Cut it out," he said angrily. "They are not you at all. God." He snorted. "At least let me keep my style, man. You've got everything else, yeah?"
"Oh, no, my friend. Not by half!" Max ducked back away from Dustin, deftly eluding the reaching hands. "I think I want to see how you look without your style, man. Take your clothes off." At Dustin's gape, he gestured. "Come on. Get them all off."
Dustin looked at Max, mouth still agape. He blinked. "You - you're crazy," he said. "What do you... no. No!" he said, sharply. "I won't strip for you. Haven't you humiliated me enough?"
"Of course I haven't, you silly man. There are many things I can still do to you," Max stalked towards Dustin, taking his face between his palms and stooping to place a kiss on his nose. "And I intend to do every single one of them, starting right now, so strip for me, Dustin." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Now!"
Dustin looked at the phone in Minnow's hand. "You're as guilty as I am," he spat, looking balefully into Minnow's face, still recoiling from the kiss on the nose. "You were gonna call the cops, you'da done it by now."
Shrugging, he turned his back on his tormentor. He'd lost so much... would anything be worse?
His eyes widened to almost perfect circles as the being he believed to be Minnow dialed the police station on the phone he was holding. "I want to report a murder," he said sweetly, as Dustin cursed and half rose from his seat. "Yes, of course I'll hold." Lowering the phone, he hissed, "Last chance, Dusty-baby. Drop 'em."
A pause, and then a fever of activity as Dustin shucked his Hugo Boss, his polished leather, his Calvins...
"Very nice, Dusty. Very nice indeed." The gloating voice made Dustin tremble with rage, but he stood in the sunlight, enduring the scrutiny, not knowing what else to do. When Minnow bade him turn round and lean over the rail, he screamed, the fury in his voice inarticulate as he complied.
The invasion of his body was painful and humiliating. The sense that Minnow was fucking him over in absolutely every way driving Dustin to anger that was more murderous than he had ever experienced. Max felt the emotions wash over him and lapped at them, savoring them the way a cat would savor stolen cream.
When the body he inhabited was done, spent, Minnow/Max stepped back to allow the sticky come and blood to run down the inside of Dustin's thighs.
"You're a pussy. You'll always be a pussy. You've always been one, but the difference is that now everyone will know." As Dustin looked around in horror, Mackie was making his way through the house and out onto the patio to join them. As Max faded out, he heard the gasp of horror from Dustin and found himself laughing.
"I think that went rather well," he murmured to himself as he stepped through the mirror into his own apartment once more. "Amazing how little it takes to make me feel better. Now, let me see...."
The satisfaction didn't last long though. Bored, despite all of his recent activities, the mercurial Maximillian once again reached for his mirror that led into the world of his near doubles. "Narcissism is underrated," he whispered, as his hand closed over the object of his most recent obsession, "who'd have thought it could be so intoxicating?"
Blinding white light made Max look away. Annoyance drew his eyes back to the strangely reflective surface and concentration allowed him to identify the scene. It was an exterior view of a tent in a massive snowstorm. "Nice of you to provide the atmosphere," Max said, shaking the mirror a little. "I bet that what I'm interested in is inside, though." Eyes narrowing to reveal a hint of his true ruthlessness, he demanded, "Show me."
A man in far too many clothes to suit Max was huddled in a sleeping bag looking at a well-worn photograph. He had a small, fond smile on his face and that gave his countenance a boyish innocence that contrasted with an air of rugged competence, both of which called to Max's baser nature.
A flick of Max's finger sent a gust of wind through the tent that tore the photograph from the man's hand. Smiling, Max watched his next companion curse and move to retrieve the photograph. The moment his eyes rested on the mirror against which the picture of a tall, lean thirty-something brunette with next to no breasts had blown, Max sighed in the pure anticipation of a predator.
"What the fuck?" Tom McLaren muttered, staring into green eyes of the man who had been looking back at him in his small shaving mirror and was now standing before him wearing a confident smirk that would suit a fighter pilot. Unnerved by the odd opulent surroundings of a banquet table set for two and the smells of roasting meat and garlic, Tom asked, "Who in the hell are you?"
"An excellent question," Max conceded, handing this double a glass of champagne and raising one of his own. "My name is Maximillian Sinclair. You are?"
"A pleasure to meet you, Tom. I hope you don't mind leaving that horrible weather behind for a little while." Smiling at Tom, Max suggested, "A toast?"
With a shrug, Tom said, "Sure, ok."
"To absent loves." Max basked in the play of emotions flying over Tom's face and decided to have some fun.
Touching his glass to Max's, Tom thought of Kara and how much he needed to update his picture of her. As he sipped the fine French beverage, he thought he saw her out of the corner of his eye and the longing hit him as hard as an avalanche. Yet when he turned, there was no one there.
"Is something wrong?" Max asked, eyes wide and brimming with mock concern.
"No," Tom replied. "Nothing, I just thought..." His voice trailed off in an uncertain laugh. "Never mind."
"Did you think you saw someone you know?"
Stunned, Tom gaped at Max. "Yeah," he whispered. "How did you know that?"
"Many do, in this place." Putting a companionable hand on Tom's shoulder, Max said, "I count it as one of the most charming features of my penthouse."
"What's the most charming?" Tom blinked in an effort to wake himself up from this dream. Where else would I have asked such a stupid question?
"This," Max said, reaching out to touch Tom's parka which vanished in an instant.
"What?" Tom asked, gazing around the room in confusion.
"The control." Laughing, Max touched Tom's long-sleeved T-shirt, revealing a form fitting thermal layer of Lycra covering Tom's upper body. "The freedom."
"Are those the same?"
"Opposite sides of the same coin, Tommy."
The familiarity with which Max addressed him made Tom uncomfortable. "Only my close friends call me that."
"I know," Max murmured, reaching out for the Lycra. "A man can aspire, can't he?"
"Sure, look, thanks for the champagne, Maximillian." Another scent reached Tom's ears, an intriguing one that he couldn't quite place. Shaking his head, Tom said, "I appreciate the break from the white out, but I've got to go back."
"Because that's where I belong."
"For the time being, I suppose, but why not steal these few precious moments of freedom while you can."
With the disconcerting suddenness of the opening of a crevasse underfoot, Tom was naked, laying flat on his back in a large bed. His wrists and ankles were bound to the bedposts by lengths of thick, smooth leather. When he caught his breath, Tom glared at Max. "You call this freedom?"
"Of course." Max glided to the edge of the bed, sat down and examined an array of items that were displayed on a bedside table. Selecting a small vial of oil, Max opened it and poured several drops on Tom's chest. Tom had time to ascertain that it smelled of cinnamon before Max said, "Those restraints will give you leave to experience what I can offer you fully, without the interference of petty concerns such as guilt. After all, you're strapped down as tight as the proverbial drum. What choice do you have, really? Why," Max paused to grin at Tom, "none at all."
Working first one nipple and then the other with the oil, Max carried on a monologue in a deep, raspy voice that made Tom's breath catch. "Doesn't this feel good? I've always loved this. How often does someone to take the time and pay my nipples enough attention to sensitize and harden them?"
Tom bit his lip to keep silent. Max's ministrations were maddening.
"You need to take the time to prepare them for the pain," Max said just before he twisted one distended nipple between his fingers. "And the pleasure." Max's breath on the oil heated it and Tom moaned as the sensations rippled through his body.
Twisting the other nipple in relentless fashion, Max asked, "Have you ever been with a man, Tom?"
"One ... once," Tom gasped, amazed to realize that he was more than braced for the heat. He wanted it, craved it, had to have it.
"Does it bother you that I'm a man?" With nary a pause, Max took the most recently abused nipple in his mouth and worried at it with tongue and teeth until Tom writhed beneath him. Lifting his head, Max stared into Tom's aroused eyes. "Do you want me to put some of this oil on your cock, now?" Tom nodded and Max whispered.
"Not good enough, Tommy. Say the words."
This combination of helplessness and lust was outside of Tom's experience. "I want ... yeah, yeah, I want that."
"What, exactly?" Max asked, toying with a nipple, testing Tom's mettle at the fine edge between pleasure and pain.
Collecting his thoughts had never been more difficult for Tom. "I ... I want you ... you to put the oil on my cock, make it hot and ... and suck me."
Chuckling, Max picked up the vial of oil and winked at Tom. "In that order?"
Frantic, Tom muttered, "I think so."
Whistling a happy tune, Maximillian applied the oil and exquisite attention to torturing Tom's flesh with slick fingers. Licking his lips while he worked Tom, Max asked, "And what would Kara say, if she could see you right now?"
Eyes widened and darting around the room, Tom froze. Kara was an old fashioned girl from the Midwest. Kink had no place in her world at all, much less some between two men. What the fuck am I doing?
Then Max blew on Tom's cock and the heat overwhelmed him. All thoughts of Kara fled as Maximillian stoked the heat higher and higher. Finally, Max raised his head and allowed his skilled fingers another turn at Tom's flesh. Poised on the edge of oblivion, Tom stared into Maximillian's eyes. Max raised an eyebrow in question.
Heart pounding, Tom tugged at the restraints and was relieved to feel that they were still secure. "Please," Tom whispered. "Please, do it."
Several swift, sure passes over his erection by Max's mouth drew the orgasm from Tom. His scream faded as Tom lost consciousness.
Smirking in intense satisfaction, Max brushed Tom's hair out of his eyes and kissed him on the lips. "Sweet dreams," Max whispered. "Sweet, hot and devoid of guilt. The very best kind." The fallen angel was pleased to see the smile tug at the sleeping man's lips. "That," Max said, "is my good deed for today."
Turning back to his mirror, he left the sleeping man to his dreams. Despite all of his conquests, he was still eager for more, his lust nowhere near sated. He settled back to see what his mirror would reveal. Slowly the whiteness of the mountain where he had found Tom faded, and instead the surface sparkled with light as though many prisms were focusing the entire color spectrum through the mirror. Then the lights grew fainter and he was able to see clearly again.
Max studied the image that was slowly forming. It was strangely familiar to him... oh yes-- La Galerie des Glaces. Max smiled happily--it had been years since he had visited but the memories he did have were very *fond* ones. Curiously, he looked around, trying to decide exactly why the point of convergence had shifted. The place was a museum now, and there wasn't much for him to do. Nothing perhaps, except wait... and watch...
"Where are we going, Cory?"
"You'll see, Amanda. I have something very special to show you."
"Oooh, what is it? Tell me."
"It's a surprise and a secret--something no-one else knows about."
Amanda pouted prettily and Cory smiled down at the beautiful brunette. She might think she loved MacLeod and MacLeod might be convinced that she had turned over a new leaf, but Cory knew that Amanda would never really change--bless her larcenous little heart, and Mac-baiting was one of Cory's favorite pastimes.
"Right this way, doll-face."
Amanda, however, was entranced by the mirrored hall and began moving more slowly so that she could more fully appreciate her reflection. Cory sighed quietly. He supposed that he couldn't really blame her, but it was annoying.
"We're a handsome couple, aren't we, Cory?"
"We sure are, baby."
A sudden feeling that they were being watched interrupted this pleasant little diversion. Cory frowned in annoyance. If he didn't know better, he'd swear that Mac had caught up with them, although that was very unlikely. Mac was busy trying to settle an estate of his "great-uncle Daniel MacLeod" and would be tied up in court nearly all day. Still frowning, he stared out the windows into the courtyard, trying to locate the source of his uneasiness.
"Cory?" He could hear her puzzled voice from behind him.
"Yeah, baby? What is it?"
"Cory, I didn't know there were any trick mirrors here."
"What are you talking about, Amanda? There aren't any trick mirrors in here."
"Then why do I see your reflection beside mine?"
Cory turned around to stare into the mirror, belatedly realizing that the reflection in the mirror was not his own, but that of something else - something that could be his twin.
Max smiled and realized he had just gained a new playmate. He locked eyes with his unlucky double and stretched out his hand to reel in his catch.
Although Cory heard Amanda's frantic cries, he was powerless to respond as he disappeared through the mirror. He didn't know what was happening to him, but he had a feeling that he was in serious trouble.
Cory fell heavily onto the ground, managing to bang his head on something hard and sharp. He grimaced as he felt a slow trickle of blood and quickly pushed his hair back, straining to look into the bright dazzling light that surrounded him.
"Hello, there, little brother."
Cory was puzzled by the voice--it sounded oddly strange to him. There was something else very odd--he still wasn't quite able to focus his eyes, which added to his sense of dislocation.
"Where... where am I?"
"Why, you're with me, Cory." There was a short pause before the voice continued. "Here, let me clear your eyes for you."
Cory decided not to mention that his sight was rapidly returning--no point in letting this stranger know everything. Especially since said stranger, powerful though he might be, didn't seem to realize this on his own.
"Thanks." Cory hesitated for a moment. "Who are you, anyway?"
"Don't you recognize me, Cory?"
Cory looked closely at the stranger, who he had seen in the mirror. The man did seem to bear an uncanny resemblance to him, but Cory knew that this man was a stranger. Suddenly Cory knew why he disliked the man's voice--it sounded as if he were listening to a message on voice mail.
Max looked on Cory with considerable annoyance. This one was different, but he couldn't explain exactly what was different about him. He wasn't a mortal like the others, and he wasn't an angel either.
"Let me please introduce myself then, Cory. My name is Max, and I am a man of considerable wealth and very good taste."
"Ok, fine." Cory was in no mood to play games, and this guy was giving him the creeps. "How did you know my name anyway? I know I've never met you before."
"Your charming little companion spoke your name several times, you know. It seemed rather a reasonable assumption, don't you think?"
"Yeah, guess so." Cory pursed his lips slightly, wrinkling his forehead in thought. "So, why am I here?"
Max smiled sardonically at his companion. A pretty boy but dumb. Too bad for the toy.
"You're here to entertain me, Cory."
Cory was suddenly on guard as the other man slowly moved toward him, eyeing the stranger with trepidation.
"Don't worry, Cory-boy. You are here to entertain me and I am here to entertain you as well."
Max was suddenly sitting next to Cory, which he did not like one little bit. Cory wasn't a prude and was hardly inexperienced, but this whole thing was seriously creeping him out.
"Move it, Max." Cory promptly shoved Max, which made Max's eyes glitter dangerously. So the toy wanted it rough, did it?
Max promptly pinned Cory to the ground, biting at the jugular. "Bad move, Cory. You really shouldn't have done that."
Max ripped Cory's clothing to shreds with his talons, taking great care not to scratch his toy. There would be plenty of time for that later. Cory fought back surprisingly well; even managing to land several solid blows that caused Max to flinch slightly. Once again, Max wondered just what Cory was. Maybe later, when it was time to play Twenty Questions...
Max smiled as Cory lay still on the ground, panting slightly. The toy looked so very lovely, all nice and stretched out like that: a veritable feast for the eyes. He ran a slightly more gentle hand along Cory's face, taking care that his talons were retracted. Despite his anger, he had no wish to mar that beautiful face that was so like his own.
"Such a pretty boy, aren't you Cory? Just think--we're only getting started."
Cory renewed his struggles but Max merely ignored him, letting him exhaust his strength. The harder the struggle the sweeter the surrender--and Cory would surrender. Max had no doubts at all on that score. Still, this one was putting up a far more protracted fight than Max had thought possible.
Finally, though, Cory lay still under Max, breathing hard. His body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and Max bent his head to savor this new taste.
"Mmmmmm. You are sweet, so very sweet..." Max leaned over to kiss him, gently tonguing his way into Cory's mouth, only to howl in sudden rage as Cory suddenly bit down. This time, Max let his rage have full reign as Cory stared up into bottomless green eyes that no longer resembled his own and was genuinely terrified. He had never faced a being of this sort before and deeply regretted his hasty actions.
Now Max unsheathed his talons once more, angrily ripping into Cory's pale flesh. The blood flowed freely, which only intoxicated Max into a deeper rage. Uncaring of the damage he might cause his toy, he roughly forced Cory's legs apart.
Cory gasped as one of his hips suddenly dislocated. He wouldn't be leaving this place for quite some time, for even he had limits as to how fast he could heal.
Max roughly shoved his talons into Cory's ass, scarcely bothering to stretch the tight muscle, hearing only the scream of pain as he drew blood. Cory couldn't hide the pain in his eyes or face, but Max no longer cared about such trivial details. Max was only concerned with his own pleasure and roughly he forced his oversized cock inside Cory. He screamed once more, as he felt thousands of tiny, sharp barbs piercing the delicate inner flesh, ripping it even further as Max pounded roughly in and out.
Cory felt deeply shamed by his arousal from the brutal treatment and vowed that somehow he would find a way back. There had to be a way back. All he needed was a plan... Then Cory forgot everything else as he suddenly was caught in the throes of the hardest orgasm he would ever experience.
Max was pleased by his toy's response and promptly followed it with his own climax. He fell heavily on top of Cory, slowly morphing back into his typical human appearance. Max smiled as he withdrew, not at all dismayed by the amount of blood and semen. Once more, he began licking Cory this time to heal the many wounds. This toy had the most potential of any he had met so far. Running his hands along Cory's long legs he frowned as he discovered the dislocated hip. Max shrugged slightly to himself--no matter; it was easily popped back into place. Tired and hungry, Max wandered off in search of sustenance while his new playmate slept. That was Max's worst mistake, for Cory was an expert at feigning sleep.
Cory waited until he could no longer sense Max's presence, then cautiously sat up. He looked slowly around, seeing nothing around him except for that big mirror... Without a second thought, Cory ran towards the mirror and dove through.
Mac was worried about Amanda. She had returned from her trip without Cory, and seemed to be oddly withdrawn. Mac was secretly relieved by Cory's disappearance, though. Cory usually meant that there would be trouble, and Mac wanted no trouble on this particular night.
Mac was well pleased by the turnout for his special showing of a rare mirror that had originally been designed by Jules Hardouin Mansart. The mirror was rumored to have been in the King's Apartment, until Louis XIV claimed to have found a tiny flaw in it. Somehow it had survived all these years, and now it was Mac's most prized possession.
Slowly, Mac withdrew the cover from the mirror, basking in the audience's applause. As he turned to admire the reflection, the mirror seemed to suddenly shimmer. Mac frowned, to look more closely at the oddity, only to bowled over by a heavy male body as it hurtled through the mirror, shattering it into millions of tiny silvered pieces.
Mac wriggled out from under the intruder, wondering just what sort of demon he had discovered, only to howl in impotent rage.
"Cory!" he yelled, "What in heavens name are you doing?"
Max was still angry that he had lost his pretty toy, but at least the righteous Mr. MacLeod was going to ream him out. That man took himself, and life, far too seriously. He'd have loved to wait around and see the fireworks when Mac got Cory alone, but he had other ideas that should prove far more diverting. He turned the mirror’s focus once again, leaving Cory for another time.
The mirror reflected a new scene back to him almost at once. He gazed curiously into the room it revealed and waited to see what would transpire.
Victor flicked on the light in his bedroom and strode, with confidence, over to the floor-to-ceiling mirror that covered his closet doors. He studied himself for a few minutes. The dark sunglasses and the 1930's era hat could stay, but the rest of the 'men in black' suit had to go. Victor gave his reflection a lopsided smile as he brought his hands up to his throat and started to loosen the constricting tie.
Mac had insisted that the three of them wear the outfits in order to scare a reporter who had gotten to close to an agency experiment. Victor had to admit that he'd had some fun with the woman. Unfortunately, she really hadn't been able to give them much more than the address to a sleazy, private sex club that the trio liked to hang out in.
Victor plucked the hat off his head and sent it flying to the middle of his bed.
From the other side of the mirror, Max watched the agent with lust and admiration.
'This' conquest would be different than the others. 'This' conquest was mentally strong, with the physicality to match. This conquest would demand all of his attention, of that Max was sure.
As Victor reached his hand up to pull off the dark glasses, another hand, this one barely recognizable as human, stretched soundlessly through the glass and plucked Victor by his Armani collar, yanking him through the mirror.
"What the fuck?" was all the agent had time to yell, before he disappeared from his apartment. At first, Victor thought he was dreaming. How was it that he was standing in his bedroom one minute, then in the next, in some sort of dark, cold realm? He pushed the large hand that held him fast and backed up, stopping only when his sock-covered heels hit a cold, stone wall.
"Who in the hell are you?" he hissed at his own image.
Max smiled, evilly. "I'm Maximillian, Victor."
"Where am I, and why do you look like me? Where'd the Director find you?"
"You're in my domain, Victor, and I've no idea who the Director is." Max moved in so close to Victor that the agent could feel the heat of Max's breath on his face.
"Okay, I get it." Victor said, smiling. "This is a test." All Victor could think of was that this was one of those secret mind-altering experiments that the agency was trying so hard to protect. They had some how drugged him, and now they were going to see how he performed in this fantasy situation. Well fuck the director and her unseen, untouchable superiors. This was probably in the plans all along, screw up some civilians, then see if they could wreak a little havoc on their agents' lives.
"No Victor. It's not," denied Max. "See." He grabbed Victor's shoulders and spun him around forcing the agent to look through the mirror he had been pulled through and back into his bedroom. The hat was still on the bed and the digital clock read only minutes after he had last looked at it. In fact, the minute display changed right before his surprised green eyes. "You're in hell, Victor, and I'm the devil's advocate. You'll do what I want when I want...." Max leaned in and began to nuzzle Victor's neck.
Victor stared, dumbstruck for a few seconds, almost believing his mirror image. He felt the man start to suckle on his neck, and then it struck him. He would definitely really need to be on some good drugs for him to buy that whole 'you're in hell' story line. For all he knew, the guy kissing his neck could be the head of the agency disguised as him. When Victor felt the man behind him bite, then suck hard on his neck, he thought to himself, fuck-it, I'm not failing this test. He came to his senses and whirled around quickly, head butting the man called Max and then kicking him in the guts as hard as he could. When Max went down, Victor ducked right and took off, running.
Max had to give it to Vic; he hid his thoughts well; the sudden violence had come as a complete surprise. "I love a good hunt, Victor." Max murmured as he casually rose to his feet.
He was running down corridor after corridor and passing by closed door after closed door. Despite this, Victor felt as if he wasn't making any progress with his escape. Sweat formed and ran freely down his forehead; perspiration stained the underarms of his white, designer shirt. Every few feet he cast a quick glance over his shoulder, to see if his doppelganger was following; he was relieved when he wasn't.
A muffled cry brought Victor to a halt. He stopped, and listened more intently, trying to decide from behind which door he had heard the cry. His breathing came in stunted pants and in order to cool himself, Victor pulled off the Armani jacket and dropped it to the stone floor. The cry came again, and Victor turned around, moving to the door directly behind him. He grabbed the black iron handle and pushed the heavy wooden door open. He did not immediately enter the room; instead, he flattened himself to the wall, and merely peeked in, taking in as much of the room as possible. He could see a large, four-poster bed in the corner of the room and on that bed there was a naked man with a hood on.
Finally, confident that an ambush was not waiting for him, and partially spurred on by the man's muffled pleas for help, Victor stepped into the semi-dark room. As soon as his body was completely over the threshold, the door slammed shut. Vic spun and tried the handle, but it was no use, he was locked in. Accepting that there was no way out, Victor dismissed the problem and went to the bed. His concern now was for the man. Whoever it was tied to the bed had no way to see or talk clearly as the only holes in the tight-fitting hood were for the nostrils.
With empathy for the unseen man, Victor said soothingly, "Shhh ... it's okay. I'll help you." He fumbled a little with the zipper at the back of the hood, but he managed to undo the restricting leather, wincing slightly when he pulled out the man's hair as he undid the zipper. No one was more surprised to see his own face staring back at him than Victor.
"What the hell...?"
Tom McLaren huffed in as much fresh air as he could. "Thank-you," he whispered hoarsely. "Thank-you for helping me." It was then that he noticed that he was looking at himself. "Who?" he asked, softly.
"My name is Victor." He undid his shirt and pulled it off, covering up the prone man's nakedness. Be it woman or man, the agent could not ignore a person who needed his help. It was in Victor's nature to be a champion to those who needed him.
"I'm Tom," said Tom, accepting Victor name along with his kindness. The mountaineer could see a small knife taped to the inside of his rescuer's forearm.
Victor ripped the tape that held the sharp stiletto down and then made quick work of cutting the rope that held Tom down by his wrists and ankles. Tom sat up, frightened. He didn't know how long he had been a prisoner of Max's, but it had been long enough for the man to use him a few more times.
"Where are your clothes?" Victor asked, massaging the other man's red, welt-circled wrists.
"I don't know," mumbled Tom.
"Put that shirt on," instructed Victor. "That will give you some coverage." He himself was now bare-chested, with the black tie still hanging loosely around his neck.
Tom, unprotesting, stood up on shaky legs and pulled on the garment.
"So nice of you undress, Victor." Max stepped out of the shadows. "It saves me the time of having to do it for you."
Victor whirled around to face the voice, putting Tom behind his back in order to protect the dazed man. "Recovered, have you, Max? Ready for some more?" Victor's words and his bravado did not match the way he felt inside. The way he had placed that kick, Max's ribs should have been broken, the man should not have been able to get up.
Max grinned evilly at Victor and continued to walk toward the duo.
"Bring it on then," said Victor calmly. He pushed Tom backwards towards the bed then leapt at the man whose image was his own and fought the entity with all that he had.
Max had gone from amused, to irritated, to absolutely enraged within seconds of Victor attacking him for the second time. He enjoyed a fight every now and again, but this was getting ridiculous. Max finally called more of his powers into play and used them to overcome the trained agent.
Tom scrambled to the farthest corner of the bed, wrapping his arms around his legs and watched the fight, wishing for his would-be savior to win but knowing that it was futile.
Once Victor had been subdued to stillness, Max conjured a pair of handcuffs with a long chain between the cuffs and quickly snapped them on Victor's wrists.
Maximillian crushed Victor tightly to his chest, restricting the man's air flow. "You..."
He shook a finger in warning at Tom, who was paralyzed with fear of the dark angel, "... go sit in that chair and don't move!" Tom didn't want to move, but Max willed him to get up and go to an oversized wooden chair that had materialized out of thin air. Once Tom was seated, Max instructed angrily, "Now sleep."
Immediately, Tom's head fell limply to the side and he slept.
"Who are you?" asked Victor again; coughing on the blood that was running from the back of his sinuses and down his throat. Why would the Director do this to him? What were they testing him for?
"I told you Victor, my name is Maximillian, and I am a servant of Satan himself. He has seen fit to give me privileges that no mortal man can truly comprehend. I want you, Victor, and I will have you!" Max bit down hard on the top of Vic's bare shoulder. ... "You will not fight me any more. I will see to it."
"Fuck you, buddy, I won't give in to you. You can't make me do anything I don't want to!"
The only reply Max gave to his captive was a demonic laugh, and Victor didn't like the sound of that. From out of nowhere, a three foot long bar with leather cuffs attached to each end descended above the bed. Victor watched, frightened, as the device slowly came down. Then, just as he realized that he was moving, Vic found himself flat on his back in the middle of the bed with his cuffed hands pulled taut behind his head and the chain threaded around one of the iron bars that made up the headboard.
Before he could absorb his position, Max, tucked neatly between the agent's thighs, quickly locked one of the leather cuffs first around the top of his captive's right kneecap, then the other.
"Hey..." Victor came to his senses then, and struggled against Max trying to prevent having his other leg held prisoner in the same fashion; Max won.
Once fully subdued, Max reclaimed the small stiletto Victor had freed Tom with and waved it gently in front of the agent's pretty face. His sizable cock grew when he saw the fear in his look-alike's green eyes. "So Victor, I believe you said something about me not having you." Max gave Victor a frighteningly gentle smile and leaned down to kiss him.
Victor pulled his head to the side, but Max grabbed him by the jaw and jerked his face up, forcing the agent to accept his closed-mouthed kisses. Victor went limp then, not giving Max anything to work with. He simply let the man do what he wanted. Finally, frustrated that he couldn't get no reaction at all, not even a bad one, from Victor, Max let out an exasperated sigh and sat up.
He studied Victor for a second, and then a slow smile broke over his beautiful face. "Oh, I see, kissing your own image does not tempt you." Max ran the knife over Victor's left nipple, and then dug the blade in just below where the soft brown flesh met milky white. Victor hissed in pain, but said nothing. He was determined to make it through whatever kinky test the Director was giving him with most of his dignity intact!
"Perhaps if I was..." Max's face morphed into Li Ann's, "...this girl, you'd kiss me back."
He lowered his head and brutalized Victor's lips.
Again there was no reaction from the bound man.
"Okay, how about...." Li Ann's face changed to the Director's. Still, Max could not tempt nor provoke his prey. "I know."
To Victor, it seemed bizarre to hear his voice coming out of the Director's tiny body.
Max changed from the Director to Mac. "I bet this is who you want me to be." Suddenly it was Mac who was tucked up tightly between Victor's legs. It was also Mac who scraped the stiletto diagonally down the full length of Victor's torso. Leaving a blood trail from nipple to navel.
"Fuck you." Victor gasped heatedly. He was pissed that the Agency would sink this low in their attempts to get a blackmail video of him in order to control him better.
Finally, Max had gotten a reaction he wanted. Anger.
"You can't tempt me Max. I'm not into guys at all, and right now I'm not even into women."
Mac Ramsey's face disappeared, and Max's returned. He grinned and stared directly into Victor's wide green eyes. "An avowed celibate? So much the better. I can just imagine how tight you'll be for me." Max pulled his gaze south and watched mesmerized as Victor's blood formed bright red blood droplets and tracked their way down his bare chest. "Seeing as you refuse to be tempted, I'll just have to indulge myself." Max leaned his dark head down and ran his tongue all the way up the long, bleeding cut.
Max's tongue felt rough, like a cat's, Victor exhaled in pain, but other than that gave no indication of his discomfort, even though his arms and legs had lost all feeling.
Max came out and pounced, jamming a tongue full of B positive into Victor's mouth, forcing the agent to accept his own blood and pulling away milliseconds before his captive tried to bite him.
"So I am getting to you. Good."
Tired of the games, Max stood and pulled off his clothes. He could have made them disappear, and be done with it, but he wanted to see the fear in Victor's eyes as he slowly disrobed.
Max was not disappointed.
The other man's unnaturally large cock scared Victor, although he tried not to show his fear. Now, all Victor could focus on was to getting through whatever it was that Max had planned for him without losing too much of his self-respect.
Once naked, Max stepped around to the end of the large four-poster bed and crawled slowly up the center of it on his hands and knees. He could see, and feel, that his captive was mentally trying to prepare himself for what was about to come, but one could never truly be ready for rape. Max emitted a soft grunt of satisfaction, after he had positioned himself between Victor's wide-spread legs. Without a word of warning he grabbed Victor's ass cheeks and roughly pulled them apart.
First Max readied himself, and then he forced the head of his large cock inside the exceptionally tight opening.
Victor let out one long loud scream at the sudden burst of pain. The burning was like nothing he had felt before. His body, running only on adrenaline, tried to crab up the bed, but the steel-barred headboard guaranteed to Victor that he was going nowhere. His voice gave out finally, after some seconds. He knew that his screams only encouraged his attacker; but he couldn't help it. Victor could feel an unusual amount of slickness between his ass cheeks; a coppery smell hit his nostrils; it was blood.
Max, spurred by the initial cries, ignored his own ache from the un-lubricated entry and brutally forced his whole ten inches inside Victor until he was completely buried, only holding Victor tighter when he grunted and moaned and tried to escape the forced intrusion. As quickly as the screams had started, they ended.
No matter, Max's orgasm was imminent.
Two, three deeper thrusts, and Max started to come. He locked his hips tight and filled Victor with his jism. Victor bit his lip in order not to cry out again, warm blood spilled from the deep wound and ran over his bottom lip and down his whiskered chin.
Finally Max got up off Victor; the agent sucked in a deep breath of air.
As Max undid the restraints around Victor's legs, he talked. "Now Victor, if you promise to be good, I'll undo the cuffs and let you get cleaned up, but you have to swear not try and escape."
"I won't try anything." Victor's left leg was released, and then his right and he eased them to the bed slowly.
Max studied Victor's face for a few seconds. He reached out and scooped up some blood from Victor's lower lip, then brought his finger to his mouth and sucked the blood.
Victor lay there placidly on the bed, not speaking or moving, but simply watching his double's face. He didn't dare think of the knife that lay forgotten on the bed, now safely hidden at the small of his back.
"What's going to happen to Tom?" Victor asked, breaking the tension-filled silence.
"He'll stay here with me." Max undid the cuffs and pulled them off of Victor's abused wrists.
Victor brought his hands down to his side, slowly easing his right hand behind his back. He stretched and made the move seem natural. "What about me?" he asked as his fingers wrapped around the handle of his knife.
"You'll stay with me too. I can't bear to let you go." Max smiled and leaned down to kiss Victor's swollen lips.
Victor yelled, "Like hell I will! I'm outta' here, you mother fucking rapist!" Then he pulled the knife and plunged it directly into Max's heart. The blade slid in easily, Victor knew exactly where to shove the stiletto in. His body had no time to deal with an aching, bleeding ass or throbbing wrists.
Max's eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but he uttered no words Victor pushed him away and scrambled to his feet. Max hit the floor and did not move.
Victor quickly grabbed up Max's pants and pulled them on. The he shoved his feet into Max's loafers and looked all around the room, wondering where the cameras were. He shouted to the blackness above his head, "You can't break me, you bastards!! You can't!" Turning to Tom, he ran to where the mountaineer was sleeping in the chair, hoisted Tom over his shoulders in a fireman lift and ran out the room. He backtracked his way back to the room with the mirror. Once there, he stopped and stared through the glass into his bedroom.
Max, momentarily stunned by the attack, slowly came back to his senses. He reached up and pulled the knife from his heart. He didn't know how long he had been out of it, but it was long enough for Victor to have escaped with Tom. Max stood and willed more clothes. A new set of everything appeared on the bed and Max put the clothes on.
Max found Victor in the room with the mirror, the agent was about to jump through the glass.
"Stop," he yelled,
Victor turned to him. "You can't keep me here. I won't stay. I'll never willingly submit to you."
Max nodded accepting his defeat. Victor, for now, had won this small battle of wills, but Max silently vowed to himself that there'd come another day, and on that day he'd beat Victor.
"No, I won't make you stay. You have won your freedom." Max stared hard at Victor, hypnotizing the agent, freezing him where he stood. He gingerly stepped up to Victor and took Tom away from him. A chaise lounge appeared out of nowhere, and Max put his sleeping captive on it before going back to the unmoving Victor and saying, "Go back to where you came from." Then he pushed Victor backwards forcefully, and the green-eyed mortal fell back through the mirror, landing in a heap on the floor at the foot of his bed.
Max watched his unconscious look-alike for a few seconds, admiring the man's inner strength. Victor began to stir awake, and Max let the mirror go black. He turned and went for Tom.
Victor's eyes fluttered open. He lay on his floor, wondering if the last hour or so had been a dream. He went to sit up, and the pain hit him in waves. He lay back down, groaned and then rolled over to his side. Taking deep breaths, he slowly drew himself up to his knees, then to the bed. From there, he grabbed his phone.
It rang three times before it was answered.
"Hi Mac, it's Victor. Can you come over." Victor knew that if anybody could help him figure out what had happened to him, it was Mac. Still shaking from his ordeal, he agreed to meet his partner. He needed to get away from this room, and first thing tomorrow he was ditching every mirror in the place.
Maximillian was becoming addicted to this mirror. He knew this was something that should worry him, and yet he could not bring himself to cease perusing its depths to find ever more delightful companions, for however short a time he allowed them to stay. The lure of the familiar, yet dissimilar beings that bore his likeness was almost irresistible.
As he delved with his hand once more through the now insubstantial surface of the mirror, stirring the layers to draw forth a new scene, he wondered, not for the first time, if he really had any control over the events that had transpired since his 'award' had arrived. He could not shake the feeling that 'someone' was playing with him, perhaps as much as he was playing with his delightful mirror images. If that was the case he would have to take some action to prove that, come what may, he was nobody's lackey. In the meantime though, he would content himself with savoring the fruits of the mirror's power.
The swirling depths began to still and Max leaned forward to see what would appear. There was little light reflected back to him, even less than had been present when he'd peered into Tom Andrews' cell. The lack of illumination irritated him and he immediately resolved that with a wave of his hand. The area that he saw before him was cold and claustrophobically dark. One man was present, but he was currently preoccupied with emptying his guts onto the floor. He presented an abject picture, collapsed on his hands and knees, choking and retching as a dark substance erupted from his eyes, nose and mouth to pool on the ground in front of him. A wave of nausea washed through Max as he allowed the man's feelings to invade his own consciousness. Clamping down hard on the empathetic link, he focused instead on his double.
Alex Krycek was a mess, to put it mildly. His dark jeans were covered in dirt, his once white tee shirt now grimy and torn. The leather jacket was the one thing that looked reasonably unharmed, but then distressed leather was a look that Max was very fond of. This man, at least, had the sort of dress sense that Maximillian could admire, even if his immediate appearance was not too appealing.
Eventually the retching stopped and the man began to try and move. He groaned and opened his eyes, but the lack of light gave him little worth looking at. He turned his attention to the pool of black liquid in front of him and groaned again. He was relieved to have rid himself of the foul substance, but he was concerned by the fact that he could remember little of anything that had happened to him since he'd met up with Mulder in Hong Kong. He did know, however, that this substance, this 'oil', was not 'natural' and it caused his paranoia to increase. He looked around the room, breathing heavily as he sought to control his fear. Now that his eyes had managed to adjust somewhat to the darkness, he could see that he was shut into a vault. There seemed to be no lighting, no windows, and the only way out was through the heavy door. He tried to move towards it, but found that his limbs refused to respond to his bidding.
Sighing in disgust he looked back again at the 'oil ' It held a morbid fascination for him, both repelling and attracting his attention. Its surface was smooth and glossy, reflecting his surroundings, such as they were. He leaned forward, staring avidly at his own face as it appeared to him in the burnished black pool, a reflection which looked like him and yet not like him at all, and suddenly it seemed as if he was being drawn inexorably down, pulled into a corrupted form of his own countenance.
The fear which sought to overtake him had no time to really take hold as he found himself, for want of a better term, sucked through the dark, sticky and foul smelling deposit on the floor and into a room resplendent with tapestries, oriental rugs and all the accoutrements of a man of wealth and taste. There was a nest of pillows on the floor that beckoned to him, he had rarely felt so fatigued, and he longed to lay his weary body down amid this comfort and rest, yet his brain was cautioning him. Be wary, do not give in to temptation, keep your wits about you, it said.
He had thought he was alone and so he was startled when a deep and husky voice disrupted the quiet atmosphere.
Alex Krycek, welcome to my abode."
Alex turned towards the voice so quickly that, in his state of exhaustion, he lost his balance and found his vision graying out. As he slumped to the floor, barely conscious of the fact that he was actually fainting like a teenage girl, he felt a pair of strong arms catch him, preventing him from landing hard. Then he knew no more as the rushing in his ears grew to mammoth proportions, and his sight shut up like a kaleidoscope.
When Alex came to himself again, he found himself being cradled by the owner of the voice that had addressed him. Taking careful stock of the man, he concluded that he had moved from one nightmare to another. The consortium certainly had a great deal to do with the black oil that had invaded his person, and he had no doubt that they also had more than a passing acquaintance with his 'twin'. A clone no doubt. He shuddered. The implications of having clones of himself at the consortium's beck and call, never questioning any order, were too awful to think about, and yet think about it he must.
His emotions must have shown on his visage, because his clone, who was watching him carefully, gently caressed his face, shooting him a look of sympathy.
"Poor Alex, what a terrible time you have had of it lately," the man said, sounding suitably compassionate, the tone of his voice matching his actions, his expression and his words. "Let me help you regain your strength and offer you some respite from all this tension."
"Oh yeah, and just how do you plan to do that?" Alex croaked, his throat still burning from the oil.
"Well for one thing, we need to get you clean, and comfortable. The grimy urchin look is not really one that you should go for, trust me.
"Trust you?" Alex said. "And just why would I trust you? Who the fuck are you anyway?"
He pushed himself up to a sitting position, pulling out of the embrace of his would be comforter, glaring at him, and trying not to shudder as he realized just how weak he really felt.
Instead of the rage he expected to see reflected at him there was sympathy and a certain amount of amusement in the other man's face.
"My name is Maximillian, and you are quite right. Trusting me, or anyone, is hardly in your nature is it, Alex? I do hope that you will still let me help you however, since you are undoubtedly in need of help right now. But still, the decision on that should come later, for now we should get you cleaned and see to your comfort."
Max stood and offered Alex his hand. Alex looked him over carefully, the man looked to be almost his double, knew who he was, and seemingly knew much about him. Resistance would seem to be more than a little futile right now. Besides which, he had no reserves of energy to draw on, so better to accept whatever was being offered until he was in a position to figure a way out of here. Sighing a little in defeat he reached out to take Max's hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.
Max put a protective arm around Alex's waist and encouraged his new companion to lean into him. Alex acquiesced, with a gentle sigh of acceptance, clearly unable to do anything else at this moment.
"Let's concentrate on getting this grime off you, first." Max said, as he led the way to the furthest side of the room, and through a silver, beaded curtain to the area beyond.
Alex looked around in awe. This was like something from the Arabian Nights; the room was a rosy pink marble from ceiling to floor. In the center was a sunken bath full of sweet smelling, gently steaming water. Tall vases of lilies and lilac were grouped near a bench, soft white towels hung from the bench. Next to it a small table held a bowl of oil, sweet almond to judge by the scent that wafted up to his nose. A strygil lay beside the oil. On the opposite side of the bath there was a large massage table.
The whole room shrieked of decadence beyond his wildest dreams. Only once had he ever beheld a room like it, but never had he been allowed to enter and partake of the facilities within. The air was warm, though not stifling. The overall ambience was one of quiet restfulness, coupled with a luxurious sensuality. Whatever the hell Spender thought he would achieve through this little charade, Alex would cheerfully accept the opportunity to wallow in this hedonism for a while.
He allowed Max to remove his jacket, noting that he laid it carefully and almost reverently on the back of the bench. The tee shirt required less ceremony, and he almost laughed aloud at the look of distaste that crossed Max's face as he dropped it on the floor and kicked it beneath the bench. Max turned back to him to remove his jeans, but Alex was already kneeling to remove his boots and socks.
Max swallowed as he saw yet another of his facsimiles on his knees before him. It was tempting to rush things and force his cock between those luscious lips, and yet he also knew that there was far more to be had here. Alex, despite his caution and secrecy, was easy to read. This one was used to being the toy who was utilized and then discarded, what would be far more enjoyable would be to engage this delectable creature fully in the sexual act. To make him wanton and reckless in pursuit of his own release. To see how he would respond to someone who gave consideration to his needs and desires, rather than merely treating him as a tool. He licked his lips as his mouth watered. Oh yes, he could really begin to let his fantasies have full reign here, and he intended to do just that.
As Alex finished removing his boots and socks he stood. Glancing at his companion he was struck by the look of hunger he saw there. He trembled inwardly as he recognized the carnal nature of that hunger. He had whored for the consortium before, but never had he been given to another without an audience, or a specific purpose, his role having been carefully drummed into him before hand. This was new, and not a little scary. A shudder of desire ran through him, edged with just a little fear. How could he play a role if he did not know what was expected of him?
Max seemed to know what thoughts ran through his head and he placed a calming hand on Alex's shoulder.
"Shhh." he said, placing a finger against Alex's lips. "Don't move, and don't worry about a thing, this is for you, just for you. Let me help you."
Alex's knees turned to water, he almost found himself on the floor again, but Max's strong arms held him close as he pulled him forward for a kiss that melted his spine. The intensity of the kiss set his heart racing. It was as if his soul was being sucked from his body, and every erogenous zone he possessed was on fire. He felt lightheaded and hot, and almost as though he was no longer corporeal. His stomach fluttered as though it was full of a hundred small birds, and it was hard to breathe.
Max released his mouth shortly before Alex felt he could take no more. His brain was screaming for the kiss to continue, but his body was screaming for it to stop. Yet strangely, when Max pulled away from Alex's lips, he found himself leaning forward, seeking more.
"Enough for now," Max said, "more time for that later. Let's get you out of these jeans and into the bath."
He did not even bother with the propriety of undoing Alex's jeans first, he simply grabbed the waistband at the back and ripped the jeans from his new lover's body. Then, without allowing Alex time to think, he caught him up in his arms and descended with him into the steaming bath. Alex barely had time to register the fact that Max was now naked, and yet he had not physically removed any of his clothes, before he was once again engulfed in sensations that sought to overwhelm his senses.
The sponge that grazed his nipples was both soft and abrasive, rousing him instantly. Max's mouth was on his, and he could feel the hard length of his cock rubbing against his buttocks. Alex felt as though he would go insane from the desire that washed through him. His stomach clenched nervously as he sought yet again to understand what was required of him here. If he got it wrong Spender would not be content with merely having him hurt or killed. Sweat beaded his brow, only to be wiped away solicitously by Max.
"Do not worry so, my dearest one," Max whispered, "no one can touch you here but me, no one can see you here but me. You are free to be yourself here, and no one will know but us."
Alex did not know why, but suddenly he believed him. The consortium might be capable of many things, but sucking him through a pool of oil into an alternate universe? And one where such decadence was evident? It hardly seemed their style. If the consortium had been in charge, then this room would surely have been more along the lines of a cold and clinical morgue than a scene from a sensual, even erotic, fantasy. That was it, he decided. This was a fantasy. Well if he couldn't relax and enjoy his own fantasy he might as well be dead. Max might be a figment of his imagination, but that did not mean that Alex could not enjoy the sensations in his body. So he gave up the fight and sighed contentedly as he gave himself over to Max's ministrations.
Max chuckled, this one was really the epitome of all his desires. This was Alex Krycek, who had already secured his place in Hell but who had never realized his own sensuality. How delicious to be the one who could awaken it, to be the first recipient of all that repressed sexual energy. He threw himself anew into stirring the fires of passion that slept within this gorgeous man.
Alex groaned in pleasure, the sound coming from deep within his body, as he felt Max's tongue engulf his left ear. God how could he keep from coming apart at the seams? His whole body shook with lust and he was covered in sweat once again, but he did not care. Plenty of time to get clean later, for now his body and brain seemed to be at war with each other. Not that higher brain functions seemed to be working right now. His body was screaming for release, making him pant and groan in both pleasure and distress, whilst his brain insisted that he would die happy if the sensations never ceased. Being poised on the verge of orgasm like this was he best feeling he had ever had. He would die if it continued and die if it stopped. And Max hadn't even touched his cock yet.
The complete surrender of Alex's body to him seemed to further fan the flames of Max's desire. It was as though all of the sensations Alex experienced were fed directly back to Max in triplicate. The empathic link they had shared from the first time he had seen this man was adding considerably to the whole experience. Fortunately he had no limits to his ability to achieve climax, because he was damned well going to come right now, from the shared sensations, and he definitely did want to get inside this man. Wanted to sear his internal organs with his seed, to mark Alex as his for all time, and make no mistake about it, Alex Krycek would be his to claim come the final trumpet.
Alex and Max shuddered to their completion simultaneously, a white light consuming Alex's sight. The sensations were stronger than either had ever experienced. Even Max had to pause for breath before he began his assault again. Alex made a slight noise of distress, before he gave himself back to Max. He could not have stopped him if he'd tried, nor did he really want to, he discovered. He was still hard, and yet he had never had such an explosive orgasm. The sensations began to build again as Max took his cock in his mouth. His tongue caressing Alex gently and making his senses fly. "God" he said, shuddering, as he felt his toes begin to curl.
This would not take long, he had no control over his reactions, in fact he felt as if he was just one large mass of sensation. He began to shoot his load into Max's mouth, his whole body on fire, his hips bucking and thrusting his cock further into his lover's mouth, and still he came. Max continued to suck his essence in as if he was dying of thirst, and Alex's come was the elixir of life. It seemed as if his climax would never end, he found it difficult to catch his breath, his heartbeat was loud in his ears, his throat began to close up, and he began to panic, perhaps he would die now, and suddenly, fiercely, he knew did not want to. His mewls of distress grew weaker as he began to lose all hope of ever breathing again.
Finally, Max let his cock go free and turned him to lean against the side of the bath. Alex gasped as his cock continued to pulse. The feel of the water against his penis was cool after the warmth of Max's mouth, and he could still feel the phantom of the suction around the head of his cock. His limbs were limp and useless, and he had no idea how he remained upright, or conscious. Max tenderly stroked his back, and the resulting shudder drove Alex's hips back to make contact with the most impressive erection. He wanted that inside him now. NOW. NOW! Or he knew he would explode from unfulfilled desire. And still he was coming.
Max grabbed Alex's hips firmly, clamping him in position, stilling his impatient wiggling. He had been right about this one, once roused to his own desires he was insatiable. When the time came for him to claim Alex as his prize, he would enjoy every moment of the eternity they would share together. Grinning to himself at the images that conjured, he entered Alex, thrusting deep within his body, and reveling in the long drawn out howl of pain and delight that was ripped from his lover's throat.
Max's hands continued to stroke him, the huge cock filled him completely, his whole skin flushed with desire, and his own cock seemingly pumping his life's essence out into the water. Alex no longer knew where he ended and where Max began, but he did know that this was what he was meant for, where he was meant to be. As he felt Max's teeth tearing into his shoulder, and the scalding heat of his come flooding his tight and aching passage, his own cock finally pulsing its last into the fragrant water, he lost himself completely to the blissful sensations with a deep sigh of contentment. He was totally unaware when, with a grunt of resignation, Max withdrew from him and gently pulled his insensate lover from the bath.
It was not without a pang of remorse that Max redressed the delectable morsel in a replicated outfit. Yes even the jacket was not the one that Alex had arrived in. If he had to give his beloved back to the real world, for now at least, then surely no one could object to him keeping such a paltry trophy as Alex's jacket? The smell of his lover had permeated the leather, and trite though it might be, he would keep it with him and breathe its scent in deeply whenever he felt the need. Reluctantly he gestured towards the mirror and returned the comatose Alex to the vault.
He watched as Alex came to, once again in the silo, alone. He could not resist touching his image one more time before letting him go.
"Mine." he said, a little sorrowfully. "But not just yet awhile."
Alex shuddered, the echo of a voice dying in his ears as he awoke, a rush of arousal swamping him even as he fought to remember where he was. Swallowing hard as he took in his surroundings he threw himself at the door, hitting it, gouging at it, begging to be let out.
The pitiful image was more than even Max could bear. He waved his arm over the mirror and used its power to scry around the area outside the vault where his beloved was incarcerated. If he could persuade someone else to release Alex he would not, strictly speaking, be breaking the rules. He grinned as he espied a motley group of men scouting around the complex, looking for weapons. They not might be the most competent terrorists he'd ever seen, but even they should be able to find and release Alex given a little push in the right direction. Max smiled with satisfaction, and pushed.
"Be seeing you later, Alex." he whispered. No matter how long it took, he could wait.
For the moment though he was still intrigued to see what else might be hidden within the mirror. The nagging memory of his words to Matthew about its possibly being a weapon, as well as a toy, tugged at him, but he was having far too much fun to focus on that problem at the moment.
"It's all about sexual healing, isn't it?"
The lazy, throaty voice drifted over Max as he turned to peer into the mutable glass of his award. He remained motionless for a second, attempting not to betray any surprise at the sound of that familiar voice coming from behind him. Idly, he wondered which of the playthings he'd been toying with had come to his senses sufficiently to string a coherent sentence together. Not Tom McLaren - he would be out for a while, the smile on his face a devilish amusement for him, and certainly not Tom Andrews or Matthew. He could hear their groans of pleasure even now as they continued to play together in their own private world of warmth and growing things. As far as he knew, the others had all departed, discarded back into the places where he had found them. That meant ...
He turned slowly, one eyebrow raised in a quizzical expression calculated to be both endearing and arousing. "Well now, what do we have here?"
"I've been watching you, Max, and quite frankly, I'm appalled. I'm seriously contemplating having you reduced to the status of incubus." The speaker, and the face was one that surprised him not at all, was clad in a long white robe with a little blue detail at the neckline, and around his neck, draped casually along his arms, head raised as if to study him with total attention, was the largest snake he had ever seen.
"Oh, please!" Max rolled his eyes as if asking for deliverance, although in his line of business there was, of course, no such thing. "That is so hokey. Lose the snake; the symbolism there went out of style at the start of the 20th Century." He tittered and lounged forward to drape himself over a chaise lounge, where he posed, gathering his thoughts for a battle he hadn't expected, but which would nonetheless bring him diversion.
"Think so, do you?" His visitor's eyes were cold green, ophidian themselves in a manner that Max didn't quite understand. "But the god here goes where he pleases, and he thinks you need his help to get yourself back on track."
"Track? I don't have a track. Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law, remember?" Max relaxed; this was going to be easy. He could quote scripture along with the best of them. It was attention to the legalities that had got him where he was today, and he didn't intend to be deprived of his preferred spot on the say-so of some jumped up look-alike in a dress. "And just who the hell are you, anyway?"
"I'm the North American District Manager; you can call me Philip. I'd have been over to see you before now, but I've had a little trouble down in Mexico that took my attention for a decade or so. I'd heard good things about what you were doing in New York and thought I'd come over and see how you operate, but frankly, I'm appalled. It's got to stop, you know?"
"You're kidding me." Max leant forward, snapping his fingers to conjure a scene for their viewing, intent as the figures that moved within it flickered and changed with each word he spoke. Eagerly, he began to recite his accomplishments. "I can show you figures that prove my approach is the perfect one to take. This whole city is a boiling cauldron of resentment, and you can lay that at my door. AIDS, racial hatred and the disparity between the haves and the have-nots have never been better. We've got more addicts, more homeless, more mean-spirited, selfish, hard liners than ever before, and my ten-year program is coming together perfectly. You've got nothing to complain about. By the year 2010, there'll be bloodshed in the streets, and Dad will be patting me on the back; you wait and see."
"You think that the father of lies will be satisfied?" Philip had watched, as had his sinuous companion, and now, the two of them seemed to commune together before Philip finally turned back to Max. "Frankly, I think that you could have all this over and done with, case closed, by 2005, if you applied yourself to it. You're way too self-indulgent.
"How can you say that when some of the best promoters of Satan's work have come from my ideas?" Max was beginning to become angry now. He drew a breath and told himself to cool it. There would be time. Eternity was nothing but time. Don't lose it now, Maxie boy. You're da man; you know you are. "Look at these. Fundamentalists are the key, and I'm the one that thought of it. There's no tolerance in these guys. They don't bend, and they hate, I've seen to that. Hate's where it's at, man."
"All this is well enough, but you've let yourself get lazy, Max." Philip's robe had changed into an expensively tailored suit, and he lounged on a seat in an unconscious imitation of Max himself. The snake seemed to have disappeared while Max had been orating, and that made Max himself relax even further. Philip's next words, however, made him grind his teeth. "You're spending too much time in pursuing your own ends, and not enough in furthering the great work. When the final trump goes, and we've all got flaming swords in our hands, you aren't going to find any time for fucking yourself over, are you?"
"All the more reason to get a little action now, don't you think?" Max made a lewd gesture and licked his lips. A little angel-ass might make a wonderful change of pace - it would clear the palate for the next morsel on the agenda.
"You need to get with the program, child. Stop all this self indulgent fucking around and turn your hand to some real evil." A negligent gesture left Max spread on the floor with no knowledge of how he'd got there, naked and bound with invisible ties. "I'm here to set you straight; to put you on the right track again." Philip's laugh was cold as sin, and for the first time, Max felt as though he were in over his head.
Watching his duplicate with eyes that were wide and - despite his nervousness - somewhat excited, Max saw Philip stretch lazily, and begin, somewhat histrionically he thought, to peel off the expensive clothing he wore.
The body that revealed itself was familiar to Max - he wore its duplicate every day - but there was a tattoo that set him apart, a snake that began at the top of his assailant's thigh, coiled around and upward around Philip's waist, ending with a rearing head that bared fangs across the flat stomach, behind where the swell of his erection bobbed.
"You need healing, Max." The husky voice was a sneer. Max looked at the evidence of Philip's arousal and licked his lips. No torture, this. Bring it on! Fuck and be fucked; that's what it's all about, buddy boy. A little fertility rite toned up the psychic muscles and no harm done.
When the snake began to boil up from the other's penis, Max's eyes opened a little wider. Very showy, but hardly awe inspiring. "Man, you have some serious problems with inadequacy if you need to boost your performance like that," he rasped, and then gasped as the serpent reared above him, met his eyes, and then plunged into his body, piercing his anus as though there were no barrier at all. Max gasped.
He was filled, and it was cold, colder than the seventh tier of hell. His body felt violated, stretched beyond endurance, as his nerve endings tingled, aroused despite his intention to remain passive.
He could feel the snake moving in his gut; he sensed its coiling folds twine around his spine, enter his cock and abrade it from the inside as he moaned.
"I think I'm big enough to satisfy even you, child." Philip had moved to kneel beside Max, and now he trailed icy fingers down over the quivering flesh of Max's belly, never quite touching the penis that ached and begged for its release. "You've allowed yourself to become too human, my friend. There are more diversions than sex to be explored. Stop limiting yourself this way."
Cold touch within him, cold without, Max submitted to the violation of his body, glorying in pain and pleasure both. When Philip bent to kiss him, tongue plunging down Max's throat, he accepted it, glorying in the taste, the touch, the humiliation of assuming the role of underdog. When at last the cold began to ignite its own spark of heat deep in his balls, he pushed his hips up wantonly, a wordless cry on his lips as he offered himself for whatever the other would do.
Philip laughed, soullessly amused, and Max laughed with him, feeling the pleasure begin to burn in him, cold fire that seared his senses. Pulling Max's pliant thighs apart, Philip pressed inside him, his cock molten lava beside the icy presence that infested him, and the contrast broke the dam that seemed to have formed within. Rolling his head from side to side, unable to break his bonds or change his form, Max came, clots of jism flying from his dick to land, smoking, on the hardwood of the floor, where they became tiny imps that chattered and gibbered as they fled the scene.
Galvanized, excoriated, at last, the piercing sweetness ceased. Max felt his body loosen, relax into boneless contentment, small sparkles of pleasure still fizzing along the skin of his groin as Philip finally withdrew. There was a moment's utter emptiness; as the astral serpent returned to its host, and Max felt somehow incomplete, as though he'd seen something better, and had now lost it.
Philip, clad once again in his expensive tailoring, gazed down on Max with a smile that held no affection whatsoever.
"I hope you learned something, child," he murmured.
"What's to learn? It's all sex. I thought you said you were going to show me a better way. All I saw was sex." There was a whine in his own voice that displeased him. He was more than a child. He didn't beg.
"Ah, yes. That." Philip laughed, and this time the amusement in his voice was a palpable entity. "So you expected truth from the Father of Lies? Shame on you, Maximilian." He turned to go. "That's the lesson, child. Think well on it."
"Hey, wait. Aren't you going to set me free? Come on back here." Max was a little panicky. He couldn't get free, and there were imps all around him. Those little bastards *itched*.
"Oh, I'm sure someone will find you in a millennium or two. Don't despair, my dear. After all, your plan is working well, and there will be significant gains by 2010 ..." As Philip spoke these last words, he was fading from view. As Max screamed a final curse at his tormentor, he had vanished, and with him, the mirror he had been using.
Sighing, Max settled down to await rescue. He did, after all, have all the time in the world to plot his revenge.