Out of Equilibrium: Love is Heresy

The serum was still active in my bloodstream, and I was able to calmly consider my options. I elected not to struggle; my probability of escape seemed low, and it might just get me dropped then kicked a few times for the trouble. So, I remained limp and waited, listening.

I was set down on a hard surface, and I heard the sound of boots on metal and vehicle doors closing. They must have realized I was awake by now, but no one spoke to me. I couldn't be sure how long we drove, but when we stopped, I was bodily carried to another place, and set down on another hard surface. Footsteps receded and a door closed, then there was silence.

The bag was still on my head, and my hands were bound but not my feet. I pulled against the ropes on my wrists to no avail, then stood carefully and made a circuit of the room with my shoulder pressed against the wall. It was small and empty as far as I could tell. I located the door and turned my back to it, bending over to grab at the handle with my hands, but unsurprisingly, it was locked.

I sat and sucked the fabric of the bag into my mouth then worked to chew a hole in it, hoping I could get a look at the room. This was also in vain; the room was completely dark.

After that, I sat in quiet contemplation of my fate long enough that the need to urinate became painful. Finally, I stood up and kicked at the door and yelled, but there was no answer. I was about to relieve myself despite being fully clothed, when I heard the bolt of the door slide open. Someone unbound my wrists and removed the bag from my head. It was two guards. One kept a weapon trained on me while the other set several items on the floor, including a bowl, a container of water, a bucket, and a small hand-crank powered lamp. They left without saying a word.

I fumbled in the dark to turn on the lamp. Then I used the bucket to relieve myself and set it as far away from me as I could. I inspected the bowl, which turned out to contain a thick, cold soup. I debated if it might be poisoned but, considering that my captors could forcibly inject me with whatever they wanted, such subterfuge seemed unnecessary. I ate the soup and drank some of the water then turned out the light and lay down to sleep.

When the last of the Prozium metabolized out of my blood stream hours later, I woke up with an elevated heart rate and an urge to weep. Without antidote serum withdrawal was miserable, but the emotional exposure to my circumstances was worse. I let the tears run silently down my cheeks and tried to go back to sleep on the hard floor. I was restless. I dreamed of Preston and darkness. What felt like an eternity later, I was awakened by the door opening. More water, more soup, and my bucket was exchanged for an empty one.

Then darkness again.

I tried to sleep as much as possible. I wasn't being abused with violence, but not knowing why they held me or how much time had passed was deeply frightening. And I'd seen studies on solitary confinement in the Archive. The outlook for my mental health wasn't good if they kept this up for long. I tried speaking to the guards that came at intervals, but they didn't respond.

I would guess that three or four days passed in this manner before my hands were tied and a bag was put over my head again. This time I was led up several flights of stairs, a guiding hand on my arm as I stumbled occasionally. They sat me in a chair and tied me to it, then the bag was removed.

I blinked at the light and looked around. It appeared to be a large room in an empty warehouse. But its only contents were myself and the woman who sat opposite me. She was spare, grey haired, and handsome. The only adornment she wore in an otherwise completely non-descript outfit was a bright red stain of lipstick. Heresy.

"Welcome, Aliya," she said.

"I don't feel welcome," I replied in a surly tone.

"That's understandable," she said, watching me closely. "How do you feel?"

The question made me angry. "Displeased," I hissed vengefully.

The woman laughed. "You've had practice being non-compliant," she said. "Good. The rumors were true."

"What rumors?"

"That you deal antidote and take it yourself."

"I don't deal," I said. "And I'm disappointed to hear people are saying these things."

"Yes, I know. Indiscretion is such a dirty thing," she mused with a small smile. "I'll be direct. I want you to make antidote for me. And specialized serums."

"Why?" I asked. "And who are you?"

She stood slowly and moved close to strike me hard across the face. The blow was calculated, methodical. "No questions," she said with a cool tone. "You will do as I say, and you will not ask why. And if you do not obey, you will die."

Now, I was really angry. And just as something perverse inside of me had led me to seek and provoke Preston at the Cathedral, so too, I felt goaded onwards now.

"Why?" I asked again.

She struck me again, harder this time, and my upper lip split. I cursed as blood began to flow down into my mouth and spots of it dripped into my lap. I spat blood at her and glared.

"You make a poor choice," I said, fury burning brightly through me, overriding my fear. "You are no different than the Church if you demand obedience without understanding. Even if you succeed in destroying the Lord and her minions, which I shall assume is your goal, you will be no better. Just different."

She struck me in anger this time, and I think she would have continued to beat me if a door had not opened. Quick, boot-clad foot falls entered, and she stepped out of my view. There was an agitated whisper and she left the room.

I turned my head as far as I could. I appeared to be alone. I struggled against my bonds but they were fast. My face throbbed. It felt stiff, as though my skin had been frozen then cracked like a porcelain mask. I was beginning to shake, and I wanted to cry. Tears began to roll down my cheeks. But since only my hands were bound to the chair, I found that if I rocked forward I was able to stand awkwardly.

That's when I heard the sounds of gunfire. My heart beat faster at the thought that it might be Preston coming to save me. But there could be other Sacred too, and they would not flinch from collateral damage. I didn't want to be sitting tied to a chair when a stray bullet found me or when someone pulled the trigger before they realized I was a non-combatant.

I waddled awkwardly to a column and began to smash the chair against it. The sound of gunfire grew louder, but now I could hear that it was laced with shouts and screams. I redoubled my efforts, but the chair was stubborn.

The door slammed open. I looked up to see the woman with the red lipstick running toward me and several well-armed soldier types at her heels.

She grabbed me by the hair and brought a knife to my throat facing the door. The soldiers came into formation around her. Two knelt to take aim at the entryway, through which Preston strode with weapons drawn, my glorious and terrible Angel of Death. The soldiers began to fire, and I screamed the word no, howling despite the knife against my throat. Moving through the forms of the gun kata with deadly, feline grace, Preston let off a rapid succession of shots, and suddenly, only the three of us remained.

"Shall we negotiate?" he asked coolly, face stony and weapons still raised. Nothing had ever been so beautiful.

"What do you want?" the woman asked.

"I want Citizen Aliya Forsyth released to me unharmed and to leave here without contest."

"What do you want with her, Cleric?" asked the woman, a tremble in her voice.

"She is my lover," he said simply. "And if you harm her further, you have my word that I will leave no one here standing. I will execute you then any and every one of your forces that I can find, without hesitation."

It sounded as though the woman choked. "Your lover? Surely you jest."

"Clerics don't jest," he replied.

"Clerics don't screw either," she retorted.

"GIVE HER TO ME," Preston shouted. His face contorted and his body shook with the force of it. There could be no doubt that he was off the serum. Then his voice became low and quiet in a way that was even more terrifying. "I am already a dangerous man when I have something to lose. Take from me the only thing in this life that I still value, and you will not live long enough to regret it."

"Do you not live to serve the Church?" the woman shouted.

I could hear how uneven her breathing had become, and the blade at my throat shook.

"I do not," he said. "I am Fallen. As proof and a gesture of goodwill, I will give you this." He holstered one of his two weapons and pulled out a recording device, projecting its image onto the floor. I gasped when I realized what it was. The woman gasped too.

It was us, the recording of the first time we had intercourse. I didn't think he had a copy.

He let it run for a moment, the image of our entwined naked bodies playing out across the uneven warehouse floor. Then he shut it off and threw the device at her feet. "Now let her go. I won't ask again."

The blade nicked my skin, and I felt a trickle of blood begin to flow. Then it was withdrawn, and I felt her cut me free from the chair. As soon as I was loose, I ran to him. He embraced me with one arm but he didn't lower his weapon, and the sound of it going off so close to me was deafening.

As he pulled me towards the door, I turned to look back. He hadn't killed her. He had shot her in the leg.

"Why did you do that?" I asked.

We were running now, hand-in-hand. He was alert, listening for footsteps, his gun at the ready.

"I don't like what she did to your face," he said. "But I want her to live and use the recording. It's time."

"Time for what?" I asked.

He didn't answer. He just got us out of there.

***

I didn't know where we were, but I didn't care. I trusted Preston. If he thought we were safe, that was good enough for me. He had brought us to a small set of living quarters with a bathroom but no kitchen or windows. That last was probably for the best.

Once he barred the door, he led me to the bathroom and carefully examined the cuts on my face. I could see the anger in his expression, but he said nothing. He had a small field kit and he began to clean and dress my wounds.

"Why did you give her the recording?" I asked. "She'll publish it. Neither of us will ever be able to go back to our lives. We're ruined."

"You were never going back anyway," he said grimly. "When you failed to report to work, your absence was noted, and a very thorough search of your quarters was conducted. I was able to find and hide the recording, but your antidote supply and prophylactics were discovered. I was given instructions to find and execute you, and I wasn't the only one. I feared that I wouldn't be first to find you."

I didn't have a response to that. The news that my life as I had known it was over left me in shock. Not to mention the fact that he had willingly sacrificed his.

"I hid a copy of the recording at work," I said.

He nodded. "We are fortunate they did not find it and discover my complicity. But that won't matter soon enough."

When he had finished his ministrations, he picked me up and sat me on the counter next to the sink. He pulled my knees wide and settled himself between them. I was caught off guard. After being abducted, held captive, beaten, and having my world shattered only moments ago, sex had not been on my mind. And with how I stank from my confinement, it was hard to imagine him thinking of it either.

"Are you seriously in the mood?" I asked, looking at him in surprise. "Now?"

Despite all that, when he looked at me with those serious, dark eyes, stark against his pale face, I shivered with blooming excitement. Such was his power over me.

"Aliya," he began matter-of-factly. "It has been four months, two weeks, two days, and roughly fifteen hours since I have been inside of you. And I just single-handedly fought my way through a small army of Insurgents to reach you. 'Mood' does not begin to describe it."

He grabbed my hips and pulled himself against me. A tremor of pleasure and longing rolled through me. He couldn't kiss my split lip, so he brought his mouth to my neck. He ran his tongue over me, and I shuddered and let out a low moan.

When he spoke again, it was a growl. "I am in such a state of desperate need that I cannot see straight." He ground against me, and I could feel his erection. "I have felt as though I was dying, not to see you, not to have you, not to taste you. Love is horrible, and I will not rest until I have buried myself deep inside of you and heard you cry out my name in a state of ecstasy. But," he said, and he leaned back to look at me, "we are going to wash first. Neither of us is in a palatable condition."

He undressed me carefully, but it was only my face that had suffered injury. When he undressed himself, I gasped to see the wounds on his body: bruises, scrapes, burns, and cuts. He was caked with blood and filth.

"It's alright," he said. "None of it will require medical intervention."

We washed each other in the shower, something we had never done before. As I soaped him gingerly, I realized that I had spent far more time feeling his body than looking at it. He was so beautiful, sculpted and covered with scars. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, and I began to cry.

I had no words to describe the way I was feeling, and I didn't fight it. But it felt like I was falling apart.

Preston gently took the soap from my hand, rinsed us, and shut off the water. After guiding me out of the shower, he dried both of us and led me to the bedroom as I continued to weep. He pulled back the covers and we lay down together. Wrapping his arms around me, he said nothing to stem the flow of my tears, offering only his embrace and his silent support.

Despite the storm of emotions buffeting me, the feeling of his powerful body wrapped around mine made me want him. I reached a hand down and took hold of his cock. He let out a sigh of pleasure at my touch. Then he took hold of my hair and, gently but firmly, pulled my face to where he could see it.

"I don't understand," he said. "I thought tears and sexual desire were mutually exclusive."

"I can't explain it, but that doesn't matter. I need you."

That he understood. He reached his hand between my legs and began to rub me with his fingers. I was already wet. I couldn't comprehend my body's machinations, but it was clear what it wanted.

"Do it now," I whispered.

No further encouragement was needed. He reached for something beside the bed, and I saw that it was a prophylactic. I couldn't help but smile at the idea of him packing them as he prepared to confront a horde of insurgents. He put it on and rolled on top of me, settled his hips between my thighs, and he pressed himself into me. I bit my lip to stifle a cry of excitement, inadvertently disturbing my cut, and I whimpered.

"Be careful, my love," he said, and he kissed the corner of my mouth before burying his face in my neck.

He began to thrust, and the feeling of his hardness inside me was an excruciating pleasure. There was a sweet relief to being clean and in a bed, and my skin was cool with evaporation where his body was not pressed against mine. My desire for him was so ferocious that I wished the moment would last forever, and yet, I was impatient for its culmination. The intensity of my longing and this conflict within made me weep more.

My Angel of Death. Mine. He was with me and inside of me, and all the fears and emotions that I had been suppressing during my confinement melted and flooded out of me in a rush.

The grinding of his pubic bone against my clitoris was starting to build me toward climax, and I shifted to intensify the sensation. I dug my fingers into his back as he rhythmically contracted, the tension growing slowly but steadily. And though I continued to weep, I knew that the moment was getting closer.

"Yes, Azrael. Harder," I whispered, and when he began to move forcefully, I felt the orgasm take me.

It was as though I burst out of a shell, suddenly light and free, my heart expanding beyond my body. Preston kept going. His skin was hot against mine, and the movement of his powerful body prolonged my climax, stretched it. It was as though time lost meaning. I quaked and contracted, a marionette beyond any conscious control. Then I felt him begin to jerk and lose his cadence, and I knew he was coming with me. I opened my eyes to see the look of bliss on his face, and it made my throat tighten with emotion. Then the final spasm took him, and he collapsed on top of me.

We lay panting for a few moments, our chests pressed together, and I could feel his heart beating against my skin. He withdrew and lay down next to me, pulling me into his arms. I had finally stopped crying, and all that was left was a dull, heavy relaxation.

As I began to drift off to sleep, I asked "Azrael, what are we going to do?"

He made a sleepy mmm sound. "We're going to destroy the Church."

"I never saw myself as a revolutionary."

"But you are. You became one the moment you sought me out at the Cathedral. And I became one when I showed up at your door again. We're just going to finish what was started."

"So many have tried and failed."

"They weren't us."

I was too satisfied and too exhausted to be afraid, but I knew it would come later. For now, I was safe, curled against my Angel of Death, my love and my lover, and the only thing to do was to surrender to sleep in his embrace. We would begin the new chapter of our lives when we awoke, together.

END