I'm a writer and artist living in the American Southwest, aka 'the Blast Furnace'. I've been playing in the same science fiction & fantasy secondary-world setting for 25 years, but erotic romance has opened up exciting new horizons. I'm short, middle-aged, and in love with a technomage...all else is subject to change without notice.
Prince Valier gives suicidal escaped-slave Moro another option than leaping off a skyscraper - a few hours of meaningless rough sex, while Moro is infected with Val's lethal symbiont. Neither man expects Moro to survive, or become the one man in the galaxy who can tame Val's darker urges.
"Great Cama," whispered the target. "You killed them?"
Dogleash kicked the incriminating light deeper into a corner between the turbine and another raised access hatch, then bent to check his handiwork. One broken neck, one crushed throat. No heartbeats. "Y-yes," he said, face heating as he stammered.
"Are you going to kill me?"
"Wh-wh-why?" Dogleash's body shook and twitched with the effort to speak. He stared as the thugs' target eased into the lit corner.
"Seems to be the night for it." The young man shrugged. He was dressed in flowing gray and amber fabrics. The fight had ripped his long coat and the collar of his amber tunic. He carried no obvious weapons. A heavy black metal and plastic-web technician's belt cinched his slim waist, myriad pockets and tools bulking out the belt.
Young, Dogleash guessed. Early twenties. At least seven inches shorter than Dogleash's own six-foot-one frame. The youth's rounded bronze face contrasted with shoulder-length, feathery pale-gold hair and grayish-gold eyes. Kott would have ignored him at a bonders' auction as being too small to fight. He was pretty enough to be someone's bed toy if his clothing and manner hadn't screamed freeborn and rich. He reminded Dogleash of an owl he'd seen in one of Jost's old picture books.
The strange young man stared up at Dogleash with a mixture of doubt, worry, and startled appreciation. "Er," he said. "Sorry if I interrupted anything." He blushed, the golden-brown skin turning deep rose on his cheeks. "I should be going. There are probably more of those maniacs somewhere below. They left float-cycles just around the turbine, if you want to steal one."
Dogleash cursed time, ducked back around the turbine, and glanced toward the arena skyscraper. No hue and cry yet, no lights piercing the garden. He returned to the corner, pointing at the youth, then away into the city. "Y-you. G-g-go," he said. "I-I-I j-jump."
Owl-boy grabbed Dogleash's shaking arm. "Jump? You don't have any float-gear! You'll die!"
As if to an idiot, Dogleash nodded. "Wa-want t-t-to."
"Ah," said the youth. As if just noticing it, he frowned at Dogleash's collar. "A bonder. With a bad master?"
Dogleash nodded again, shrugging out of the youth's grip. The wind and the black night wouldn't wait much longer.
"Hold up," said Owl-boy, placing his sturdy body between Dogleash and freedom. "You just saved my life, and all you want to do is die?" At Dogleash's exasperated glare, the youth smiled crookedly. "I think I was sent to help you."