See Part One for Disclaimers
Chapter Four
Cheri took a deep breath, a firm grip on Rayden's hand (as though this was going to keep him from doing anything he really wanted to do) and activated her portal. Well, he didn't bolt. That was good. She hoped. She pulled on his hand gently and took him through the portal into a busy place that was the clearance area for those coming and going from Time Base.
Cheri smiled over the name. It was short, to the point and descriptive. Like the Organization and Le Chapeau Noir (known to those of English extraction as: The Black Hats), it was not lack of imagination that named it, but the almost horrifying universality of its necessity for existence. Time Base was a guardian of the time lines -- to date. It wasn't there to criticize or fix or evaluate, just to make certain that someone else, and there were such a lot of idiotic someone else's, didn't meddle. Good and evil become relative terms when millennia are the measures of the deeds.
Rayden stood, frozen on the entry platform. Whatever he had been expecting, this metal walled, sterile, busy environment wasn't it. There was so much life here, so much the opposite of where he had been and even of Cheri's mountain retreat.
"It gets quieter if we move out of reception," Cheri told him, correctly interpreting the lack of movement.
He swallowed and nodded, kept a firm grip on her hand and went with her. She was right. The corridors leading away from the entry area were much quieter, although there was still a lot of coming and going. She led him along until she came to -- well, well. There was a door with Cheri's name on it. She keyed in her locking combination. The door slid open. The lights came on. The room looked no different than she remembered it. She suspected that the head of this organization had expected her return. She drew Rayden into the room.
It wasn't a very big room. It contained a mahogany roll top desk with matching chair, a daybed made up as a sofa for now, and a lot of shelves with books and artifacts piled on them. (This was rather than "displayed". Cheri had never gotten around to organizing them for a "displayed" look. Instead, they rather looked as though she'd unpacked boxes onto shelves and left it at that. Which was pretty much what she'd done.) She walked over to the desk and opened it. The dustless surfaces gleamed, the flat screen for the computer built into the surface held one blinking cursor light. She pulled out the drawer beneath and touched a key. The screen came to life with a greeting and the relative time within Time Base. A soft laugh escaped her.
Rayden was watching her closely. He was so far out of his depth it was frightening. OutWorld -- well, in some ways he had deserved OutWorld's retribution. He understood what it was and why it was happening. EarthRealm -- that was home -- had been home. Memories threatened to overwhelm him. Sorrow to break a god's heart welled up to drown him. Friends, those who had trusted him --
Shimmer. "Hello, Cheri. Who have you brought with you? I can't seem to find anything on him in my data files." The voice was liquid, silver bells and rippling water. The owner was also silver. She was a shade taller than Rayden, slender to the point of anorexia -- only it seemed to be due to the extreme fragility of the underlying framework rather than illness -- and clothed in shimmering, shifting silver translucence. Her face was ancient, timeless, her eyes paler silver in a face only slightly darker than her draperies.
Rayden hit his knees without thought. He knew of only one entity that radiated the power this one did and looked remotely like this. He lowered his head in honor. "Lady," he breathed.
The vision blinked. She reached out a three fingered hand and almost touched the gray hair. Her face reflected many things as she drew knowledge from him. "Oh, my. No, Lord Rayden, I am not She whom you think me. Please, rise." Such a gentle, knowing voice. He looked up into her face, then got to his feet. She smiled, gentle and maternal.
"Mother, Lord Rayden, God of Thunder -- from an earth variant called EarthRealm. Lord Rayden, the leader of Time Base, known to all of us as Mother."
"Lady," he acknowledged the introduction. OK. Not the One, not the Eldest, not the Creator of All; but so close. So very close.
"Be welcome. You have had a difficult time. There are places here, and places we can access, to help heal. Give it some time and we will talk." She turned her face to Cheri. "You are well? Of course, you do not come to us when you have problems."
"Well, I never seem to have problems coming here would solve, y'know," Cheri reminded her with a touch of a west Texan twang in her voice.
Mother smiled. "No. Always the independent way. You know where to find me." Shimmer.
"I am not the first god you have met."
"No. But that doesn't mean Mother is one." Cheri refrained from mentioning that technology you can't explain equals magic. Mother was -- Mother.
Everything went along pretty well until Cheri and Rayden dropped into the canteen for dinner. Cheri really wasn't planning on meeting anyone she knew. So much for best laid plans. The first thing she heard was a laconic West Texas drawl that belonged on the back of a knock-kneed horse in 1872. (the author *is not* going to transliterate this drawl, you may supply it yourself.)
"Well, as I live and breathe, Cheri Yuconovich."
Cheri froze at the tortured delivery of her patronymic. "'Lijah. Shit." She then considered the effect this reaction might have on the thunder god at her side. Oh, well. Better late than never. She turned to face the extremely tall, lanky gentleman who had called her name. He was unwinding himself from the chair he occupied in a leisurely fashion that belied the incredible speed with which he could move when absolutely necessary. There was a welcoming smile beneath his trademark handlebar moustache. (No beard.)
Rayden regarded the man and then Cheri, but his attention was taken by the Nordic blond gentleman still seated at the table he had shared with 'Lijah. Grant Faulkner, once a field agent for the opposition, was quietly dangerous looking. From the golden goateed Vandyke beard and moustache he affected to the deliberately pale colors of his clothing, he projected an underlying strength and danger that vibrated resonating notes within Rayden. The two regarded each other as 'Lijah gathered Cheri into a hug that she returned.
"Elijah St. Peters, Ray-den --" She noticed Faulkner and Rayden noticing each other. "Just get here?"
"Just sat down to eat. Join us?"
With a feeling that a lion's den packed with starving lions might not be as dangerous, she agreed and went with 'Lijah. Rayden followed, his dark eyes never leaving the unbelievable blue of Faulkner's. ::If the electricity gets any thicker, I'm flipping a breaker,:: Cheri thought. Then again, it was seldom that anything got to Faulkner. Hmmmmmmmm.
Rayden found himself alternately attracted and repelled by Faulkner. He relaxed under the flow of easy conversation passing between 'Lijah and Cheri. He even found himself following the conversation, yet his eyes kept coming back to that piercing gaze. Oddly, Grant was feeling the same. There was something about this Rayden that made him uneasy, yet drew him like a magnet. And, of course, there was Cheri.
Cheri and Faulkner had met, face to face, many times, over the course of long and lucrative careers. Usually, he was on the losing end when they met. Cheri was just too straight arrow about keeping things status quo, as far as major time lines were involved, to do anything other than unhinge his major schemes. Not that he would come away empty handed, just not as full as he had wanted. He had hated her. Yet -- There was always that "yet". For whatever reasons, when things had really fallen apart on both of them, she saved his life at risk of hers. Debts accrued. Tag, you're it. That had lasted until he had finally looked at the uncaring attitude his employers took about the time lines they looted and had understood why Cheri was Time Base and not Council. Means were frequently the same, but the ends were always different. Good or bad, the time lines needed to remain unchanged. What had happened, was. What was to happen, well, that was a different matter.
Cheri had recruited Grant Faulkner, pulled his nuts out of the fire (somewhat literally) and handed him off to Mother. She had recruited Elijah as well. And now it looked as though there was another recruit on the way. His eyes flickered up to meet Rayden's. He caught his breath. So much pain, so much longing, so much -- so much hunger; but not physical hunger. It was the psychic hunger of the emotionally starved. Mother knew that Faulkner had once worn that look. Mother was, in some ways, Faulkner's goddess. He had no other.
They repaired to the Time Base saloon after dinner where they imbibed far more alcohol than was good for any of them. Grant and Elijah plied Rayden with every alcoholic concoction known to Time Base, fit for the consumption of anything remotely approaching warm blooded humanoid. Rayden got drunk. He was happily fuzzed when Grant asked the fatal question.
"What the hell is OutWorld?"
Rayden told him. He told him about Mortal Kombat. He told him about Shao Kahn. He told him about a god who blew his responsibilities and ended up in OutWorld for a millennia, the plaything of his enemy. Cheri and Elijah kept the drinks coming. The pain, the terror, the hurt stayed at a distance. It was Faulkner who surprised them by commiserating with tales of his own to almost match the ones Rayden told. No one had ever heard those tales. No one outside of the little circle heard them now, Mother saw to that.
Cheri was stunned by what she was hearing. Maybe she really was a weirdness magnet. She looked at Elijah. Solid, down to earth and a sympathetic ear. She could see the anger roiling beneath his placid surface. He would keep it under control. There was nothing he could do to see justice done for either man or god, not now. But if there ever was -- Holy Hannah!
~*~*~*~
Rayden got to his feet, swaying slightly. He hadn't been this drunk in -- in -- his mind fumbled. A long time. Cheri and Elijah moved to steady him, but were slightly behind Grant who slid a shoulder under the thunder god's arm and an arm around his waist. Rayden gazed into the slightly out of focus blue eyes. He smiled and waggled an admonitory finger at him. "You're drunk," he confided.
Grant let a smile warm his face. "I think we're all drunk."
Rayden considered this seriously for a moment. "Good," he pronounced with a grin. "Good." He swayed again.
"I think it's time for bed," Cheri injected. She flushed slightly under the trio of gazes that were suddenly fixed on her. She coughed. "OK, drag the brains out of the gutter, gentlemen. Sleep."
"Oh, yeah. Right," Elijah agreed. He wasn't weaving, but he wasn't anywhere close to sober, either.
Rayden staggered and nearly took Grant down before Cheri slid under his other arm with a sigh. Great. A sloshed god. Maybe he'd just go to sleep. The quartet wove through the hallways back to the quarters they had been assigned. Cheri ignored the occasional fondle of her breast the thunder god was indulging in. She tried to ignore it. Her belly was not doing well with this idea, the muscles kept tightening in anticipation.
She got Faulkner and Elijah to the suite they shared. The door slid open and the three of them rolled in, Elijah bringing up the rear. Cheri disentangled herself from Rayden who collapsed onto the couch with Grant. She made a face at them and made certain Elijah made it to his own bed. He did, collapsing bonelessly on top of the covers and beginning to snore immediately. Cheri closed the door behind her.
Grant and Rayden had started to untangle themselves when they both became aware of the immediate proximity of each other. Faces barely an inch or so apart, they had found themselves gazing into each other's eyes, lips parted, both sort of lost in the other's eyes. Rayden's thigh rested between Faulkner's. He could feel the swelling bulge of the other's shaft. He shuddered slightly. He wanted to pull away, to move, to leave, yet there was nothing he feared in that startled gaze.
Faulkner was aware of his attraction to the god. He was repelled by his physical reactions, and yet -- there was something in that plasma sparked gaze above him that drew him, made him want to pull the other to him, to hold him, to soothe the hurts, to -- ever so gently their mouths met. Soft exploration of sensitive skin deepened until they were molded against each other, mouths demanding more of the heat they generated.
Thud.
Cheri struggled not to laugh. Grant and Rayden fell apart as they hit the floor between the couch and the coffee table. They noticed Cheri and colored furiously. Her smile reassured them.
"I'm going to bed, guys --"
Blue and dark eyes met, an impish grin curving Rayden's mouth. He got to his feet and twinkled to the door ahead of Cheri.
"Why leave?" he asked huskily.
"Well, the two of you -- uhm --"
Grant was still lying on the floor, propped up on one elbow. He was regarding the thunder god and Cheri quizzically. He wasn't unaware of Cheri as a woman, it just hadn't ever occurred to him that -- that she -- a very befuddled brain hamster in an out of kilter exercise wheel shrugged its shoulders and went to sleep. Grant got to his feet and joined the two of them. He stood behind Cheri, just beyond actual touch. She could feel his heat. She could see the glow in Rayden's eyes. She looked around at Faulkner. Oh, boy. The last time she played crème filling -- Cheri giggled a little hysterically, threw an arm around each man's neck and kissed each in turn. What the hell.
Cheri turned off her defense systems as two hot mouths worked down the sides of her neck. The temperature of the room rose several thousand degrees. Rayden's mouth found hers, seeking, demanding, his tongue a welcome intrusion while Grant's hands and mouth were busy sliding her out of her shirt.
Twinkle.
Grant and Cheri gasped slightly at the sudden transport to the horizontal. Grant's lips replaced Rayden's on hers. Electric tingles trailed down her shoulders to her breasts. Rayden's hot, wet mouth suckled at her nipples until they were hard, her breasts swollen, her belly muscles tight in anticipation. Her fingers were busy at work on the fastenings of Grant's clothing, when they were capable of doing anything more than holding on.
Where Rayden's skin was smooth, satin, Grant's was marred by old scars. His back was a ripple of scar tissue left by someone's whip. Rayden's eyes flared at the scars. His hands, already urging both his companions towards their needs, were gentle as they stroked the skin. Grant gasped. There had been little real sensation in his back for so long, it was like having all the nerve clusters suddenly discover something wonderful at once. They kissed again, deeply, demanding. Cheri took a breather and with a mischievous grin, took each in hand. They shuddered at her touch on their already engorged shafts. Then shuddered again as she applied her mouth and tongue to the head of one and then the other as they knelt on either side of her.
Grant pulled her up between them, Rayden skinning her denims down her pale legs, leaving her in black cotton panties and nothing else. Grant held her at arm's length and really looked at her, letting his eyes take in her porcelain skin, the firm small breasts, the curve of her hip, the forest of silken black hair at the juncture of her thighs. He ran his hands over her sides, down the curve of her ass, then pulled her to him. His shaft fit between them, the base rubbing against her swelling, throbbing mound.
Rayden's hand slid between her thighs from behind, slid into her wet slit, into her. He slid farther forward to pull Grant's shaft down, guide him across her swollen clit and into her. He slid in slowly, completely. Rayden caressed her breasts and nipples while steadying her between them. Slowly, Grant began to thrust into her, driving deep into her receptive depths. She leaned her head against Rayden's shoulder, working with the rhythm of Grant's thrusts. She reached around Grant to hold him as he kissed Rayden, the taste of the god heady in his mouth, in his body. The intensity of the feeling sent him shuddering into release, his seed hot within Cheri. If not for her arms around him, and Rayden's he would have fallen backwards onto the floor.
Gently, Rayden guided them onto the bed. Their arousal and release F eeding his own desires, his own needs. Their sweat slicked bodies filling his senses. He was only vaguely aware of Cheri's sliding from between them as she pushed Rayden back down on the bed so she could slide between his legs, her hands holding his shaft, pulling, tugging, urging it to stiffen. Then her mouth engulfed the head, sliding her lips halfway down the shaft, her tongue swirling round the head, enticing, enchanting, urging, sucking -- Grant's hands traced pathways down his flanks, across his chest, teasing his nipples into erection, tightening his belly, heating his groin.
He trembled between them. He had given pleasure many times, but seldom had he been pleasured as these two were doing now. He slid his arm under Grant, pulling the lighter framed man to him. Their mouths met again, demanding, tongues tangling and teasing while Cheri urged the god onward. Her fingers teased his scrotum, caressing and fondling his gonads. She lubricated her fingers and slide across the sensitive skin behind the sac, accepting the deep thrust this engendered, she slid her fingers around to slide between Rayden's cheeks.
She could feel the electric reaction; she pulled away and stepped up the sensations on his rigid cock. Grant had also sensed the stiffening, the touch of panic. He used his mouth to sooth, to pull Rayden's attention to himself, away from the misstep within their union. Unexpected that a god who had essential initiated this tryst would be shy of -- of what? Rayden groaned and surrendered to his orgasm in a shuddering loss of tension. Cheri gulped once, and gave up. Gods obviously came better equipped for such things than most mortals. He flooded her mouth and the creamy cum ran out the sides and down her chin. She came up for air laughing.
"That was an orgasm," she murmured to no one in particular. Somehow, it struck her companions as funny and they all ended up laughing.
Faulkner reached for her and pulled her between them, nestled so that her curves melted against them. Lazily, the two men set about seducing her. She closed her eyes and released herself to the sensations of two pairs of hands and two mouths on her skin, her breasts, taking turns arousing her clit, both hot and demanding as they became aroused themselves.
Grant traced delicious circles around her anus with his tongue, lubricating the entrance and making her squirm between them in such a lovely fashion. He made certain she was ready, the head of his cock resting against the opening, slowly, so tantalizingly slowly, he entered her until he was completely inside. His thighs separated hers, leaving her open for Rayden. With equal slowness, the god entered her, buried himself within until her wet black curls were intertwined with his pale short hairs. He timed his thrusts so that they were slow, deep, filling until her own pelvic motion indicated he should comply with her need. Soon, they were in constant motion, Cheri wanting, demanding, gasping her desire for both of them.
Cataclysm. The universe exploded and reformed around them. Rayden and Grant stiffened and shuddered, pulsing within her simultaneously and sending her over the edge into an orgasm she wondered if she would survive -- and if she didn't -- well, that canary eating grin was going to be hard to explain at the pearly gates.
They lay, exhausted, tired, complete, entangled in each others arms, both of them still buried within her. She kissed each of them, gently; relaxed between them and went to sleep. Grant and Rayden followed suit.
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