As Breath (Part 1) - Equilibrium
The Prozium cartridge shifted against Preston’s waist, silently accusatory as he strode among the ruined buildings. He wiped his hand on his tunic, still convinced he could feel the puppy’s saliva. He had brought it food and water, but the creature seemed to crave affection more than sustenance. The pathetic, piercing yips as Preston walked away had him seriously expecting enforcers to appear from the shadows, descending on him with passionless violence. Even now he felt an irrational prickling at the back of his neck, as if unseen eyes followed his path.
Was it the lack of the drug that made the Nethers so menacing today? Take the drug, part of his mind whispered, Things will be calm again. Predictable. Clear. Partridge’s face flashed through his mind. The regret in his eyes. The resignation as he faced his death. His suicide. A surge of anger shook Preston, leaving him breathless. Partridge hadn’t even tried to defend himself. Hadn’t tried to avoid Preston’s bullet. Just made the slow, deliberate move to raise his gun, forcing a response. Damn him. This had been a man capable of shocking speed and power when he chose to use them. Preston had seen him take down more than a dozen armed sense offenders at a time, smoothly sliding between bursts of gunfire, spinning and twisting and shooting until bodies littered the floor around him. For a man so quick and deadly, the surrender to execution was both dispiriting and incomprehensible.
Dispiriting. When had he ever had to deal with feeling dispirited? Why was he resisting the soothing call of the Prozium? He had never felt so unsettled, so bewildered, so sad when he was taking his regular interval. Why was he risking execution himself just to feel awful?
Because feeling anything is better than feeling nothing, he heard. But he heard it in Partridge’s voice. Was this why Partridge was willing to die? Was the experience of emotion, for however short a time, worth the rest of his life?
A heavy cost, the voice whispered again. I pay it gladly. Preston shook his head quickly, trying to dispel the twinge of grief. Perhaps these feelings, painful and uncomfortable as they were, were better than the gray sameness of a life dampened by Prozium.
Mary O’Brien thought so. Because you can’t feel it, you can’t know it. But it’s as vital as breath. The intensity of her eyes had unsettled him from the first, even more so since his discovery of the relationship she and Partridge had shared. Had they been “in love” (such a foreign and exotic concept) or just sexual partners? They must have had something beyond a physical relationship to provoke the spitting fury of her attack when she learned that Partridge had died at his hands.
The factory door squealed as he pulled it open. Just another abandoned building, the dying sunlight spiking dimly through the dusty glass. Preston began his sweep, sliding silently through the cluttered interior, ostensibly searching for sense offenders. And what will you do if you find them? the Partridge-voice asked irritatingly. He couldn’t kill them, obviously. Perhaps he should look for enforcers, instead. His body was restless, eager for struggle and violence. It would be a welcome release. But his release would cost the lives of his opponents. They were murderers, of course. But guilty of nothing more than he himself had been. If he judged them worthy to die, then how could-
The thought was never finished. A shape blurred out of the darkness and Preston barely got his hands up before a thumping blow to his solar plexus knocked the air out of him in a rush and his limbs went numb. He gasped and struggled weakly as strong hands hauled him through a door and shoved him roughly against a wall. His own hands were raised above his head and he felt cold metal snick shut around his wrists and he was caught.
“Sloppy, Preston. You should have checked that door before you went past it.”
Impossible. The voice in his head was suddenly in his ear. Preston blinked away the fading spots in his vision and looked in shock at the face that had been haunting his dreams. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, but Partridge was still standing in front of him, close enough for Preston to feel the heat of his body. A closely-fitted T-shirt of a muted plum color hugged his torso under a heavy denim jacket and faded blue jeans encased his slim hips. His hair, normally carefully combed into a smooth cap, looked tousled and windblown. So odd, to see Partridge looking casual. But it was unquestionably Partridge.
“You’re dead.” Preston said stupidly.
“Now, Preston. Obviously I am not dead.”
“I shot you. I killed you. I saw your body …”
“You saw what we wanted you to see.”
“We?”
“The Resistance. I knew my days were numbered. I could feel the eyes upon me. I knew I hadn’t been able to hide completely the fact that I was feeling. So I had to die.”
“But you …”
“A full explanation would take more time than I’m willing to give right now, Preston. Accept my continued heartbeat and we can move on.”
“But … the morgue … they showed me your body.”
Partridge smiled. “Yes, I heard that you had requested to see my body. We thought of telling you that it had already been incinerated, but I confess … I wanted to have a little fun.”
“Fun?” He flushed at the memory of the choked apology he had made to the corpse on the table.
“Yes, Preston, fun. It’s another one of those emotional experiences that you have yet to enjoy.” He looked at Preston measuringly. “And I wanted to see if you had gone off your interval yet.”
Preston just stared until Partridge sighed. “Really, I’m amazed you didn’t figure it out then and there. When is the last time you saw a corpse with hard nipples? Bloody freezing on that slab.”
Preston’s jaw clenched. “Why did you make me shoot you?”
The amusement faded from Partridge’s eyes. “Because I hoped it would have an effect on you. I always saw the emotion in you, even through the Prozium. And I knew you would have the strength to do what needed to be done, once you began to feel.”
“I’m not … I’m not feeling.”
Partridge’s eyes hardened. “Shall I bring you a mirror?”
Preston didn’t speak.
“I told Mary to keep that out of sight. But she couldn’t bear to keep everything beautiful hidden away.”
“You gave her all those things-“
“And now her love of beauty will mean her death,” Partridge continued without pausing. “Unless Father and his regime are overthrown in time to save her.”
“Is that why you’re doing this? You want me to save your lover?”
Partridge’s voice rose in anger. “Of course I want you to save her. If you can. But that’s not why I’m doing this. In the whole grand scheme of things, Mary doesn’t matter in the least. Neither do I. Neither do you. It’s the human race I want you to save, not just my favorites.”
“And you think I can be the downfall of Libria? I’ve spent my life serving Libria. What makes you think I’d destroy it, even if I could?”
“Because now that the Prozium isn’t deadening your humanity anymore you can see what a mockery Libria has made of it. Humans weren’t meant to live without feeling and I think you realize that already, even as little as you’ve experienced.”
“I told you I’m not feeling!”
“Oh, you’re not? You decided in a logical fashion to slaughter half a dozen enforcers in defense of a puppy? You coldly and dispassionately try to rescue sense offenders? That isn’t anger I see in you now?”
Preston lashed out, handcuffs biting viciously into his wrists as he kicked upwards. Partridge’s dodge was fast enough that the foot just skimmed by his hip instead of connecting solidly with his groin as Preston had intended. Before he could aim a second kick Partridge stepped in close, tangling their legs together and pinning Preston bodily to the wall.
“What do you want from me? Why am I here?” Preston’s voice shook with rage and frustration and he bitterly damned his inability to control his new emotions.
“You’re here because I think you’re ready to work with us, Preston. Ready to fight the manacles that are binding our entire society.”
“Manacles? The only manacles I feel are the ones you put on me.” Preston yanked furiously at the handcuffs. “The manacles you’re talking about never felt like this. Is this how you want everyone to feel? My life without Prozium is …” His eyes squeezed shut before they opened again to stab accusingly. “I used to be calm. I used to understand who I was and what my purpose was. Now there’s nothing but confusion and anger and grief and fucking nightmares!” His voice rose to a shout and he glared into the eyes only inches from his own.
“I know it’s hard.” Partridge was maddeningly calm. “I went through the same turmoil. But have you felt nothing good?”
“Nothing,” Preston spat, although he knew he lied. He could still hear the music when he was quiet.
“Perhaps I can help.”
“You can help by releasing me. I find nothing good in being shackled to a wall.”
“Do you know,” Partridge said as if Preston hadn’t spoken, “I often look back at the revolution and find it incomprehensible that the human race allowed their feelings to be taken away from them. Not the negative ones, although I no longer believe that there’s any such thing as a ‘bad’ feeling. The good ones. Joy Wonder. Laughter. Love. Sex. How could any feeling human imagine life without them?”
“We still have sex, Partridge. We haven’t stopped reproducing.”
“Reproducing,” Partridge smiled humorlessly. “To you that’s the only reason for sex. Just a way to populate the earth. Not because of the intimacy or the love or just because it feels bloody fantastic.”
Preston was silent.
“You have two children. I’m betting you’ve had sex a handful of times. When your application had been approved, when you had taken the medication to counter the Prozium just enough to achieve an erection. And conveniently, the combination of drugs puts a haze over your mind. You don’t even have clear memories of it, do you Preston?”
Preston tried to remember. Bare skin. Quickened breath. The heat and the strain and the release. But it was all cloudy and jumbled. Much more clear were the headache and nausea of the following day.
“It was …” What could he say? It was wonderful? Was it supposed to be wonderful? Was it supposed to feel different than it had?
“Would you like to know, Preston?” The question was a whisper of granite and silk in his ear. “Would you like to know what sex is like when it isn’t smothered by that damned drug?”
Preston froze as Partridge’s lips grazed his ear. “What are you- what do you mean?”
Partridge pulled back until their eyes met. For a long moment they stared and Preston’s heart began to flutter with something like panic, although he didn’t know why.
Abruptly, Partridge’s mouth came down hard. Preston struggled, trying to pull away from the mouth and hands that were suddenly foreign and terrifying. He tried to twist away from the kiss, but Partridge held his head in a steely grip, hard fingers pulling open his jaw. A hot tongue licked its way into his mouth and plunged deep.
Preston bit down angrily, catching the tongue between his teeth. A grunt of pain and Partridge pulled away, a fleck of blood on his lip.
“Get the fuck off me!” Preston snapped.
Partridge ignored him and swooped in to fasten his teeth on Preston’s ear, nipping sharply in retaliation and then sucking hard.
Preston gasped. All the blood in his veins was surging through him, heating his skin. Partridge licked and sucked at his neck, simultaneously crowding close and grinding against him.
“Partridge! You can’t … oh, God …” Preston’s futile struggles became sporadic. His brain couldn’t hold a thought as his senses were bombarded with more feeling than he could comprehend. The breath rasping in his ear. Stubble scratching underneath his jaw. The handcuffs scraping at his wrists. His own heart crashing against his ribs. Hands stroking up and down his sides. The hot mouth sliding wetly over his neck and throat. Partridge’s hips, moving rhythmically against his own.
He realized dizzily that his penis was hard. Achingly hard, in fact. When had that last happened? He remembered a morning erection a couple of years ago. Unexplainable and a bit disconcerting. A cool shower had taken care of the problem nicely.
But this was … this was agonizing. He felt ready to explode. A loud moan burst from his throat and his hips thrust forward of their own volition to rub his hard bulge against the answering hardness of Partridge. His face burned with humiliation.
“Yes,” Partridge whispered. “Let yourself feel it.” Partridge’s hand slipped beneath Preston’s tunic to the fastening of his trousers, unbuttoning and unzipping before Preston understood what was happening. But on the heels of the exquisite relief of pressure on his erection came a fresh wave of cold panic and he struggled wildly.
“I can’t! Please …”
“You can.” Partridge shoved in tight again and his hand slid firmly over Preston’s penis, encircling and stroking gently. Preston squeezed his eyes shut and tried futilely to keep his body calm as his penis was stroked and massaged. He could feel the calluses on Partridge’s thumb as it rubbed across the head, spreading the moisture that leaked from the tip. Unconsciously, his head tilted back, giving Partridge greater access to his neck and teeth scraped obligingly over his hammering pulse.
And then, to Preston’s bewilderment, that torturous mouth ceased its work and Partridge slid to his knees.
“What are you doing?” he asked desperately.
Partridge didn’t answer, just put his tongue- his tongue- to the tip of Preston’s hard shaft.
“Oh, fuck-” Preston’s head fell back against the wall and his hands clenched tight on the rail to which he was cuffed. He felt the fabric of his sleeves tighten against his bunching muscles. Partridge’s lips were gentle and his wet, slippery tongue slid over and around the head of Preston’s penis, licking and sucking. Preston’s breath came in huge gasps, his hips drove forward helplessly, and abruptly his penis was engulfed in scalding heat.
“Oh …” He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. He heard a stitch in his right sleeve pop. His hips pistoned wildly, but were quickly pinned to the wall by strong hands.
“Please…” It came out in almost a sob, which changed midway to a moan as Partridge began a strong, steady suction, bobbing his head up and down rapidly, swirling his tongue over the head on every upstroke. Preston felt his testicles draw up tight against his body and knew that something was going to happen, something had to happen, this excruciating bliss couldn’t possibly-
Partridge hummed around his erection and Preston shouted hoarsely as everything seemed to shatter inside him. His hips jerked in Partridge’s confining hands and the mouth in which he was enclosed suddenly filled with even more slippery heat. He twisted again, mindless in his need to escape the exquisite agony, and desperate to prolong it at the same time.
Partridge swallowed around his quivering shaft until it was spent, gentling his mouth, sucking softly until Preston’s moans turned to pain instead of pleasure and he withdrew.
Preston’s knees buckled and only the handcuffs kept him up. He gasped at the bite of steel into the abraded flesh of his wrists and struggled to get his feet under him again. Then Partridge was up and lifting him, pinning him to the wall with his own torso while his hands calmly tucked Preston back into his trousers and refastened them.
Breathing hard, Preston stared at the floor past Partridge’s shoulder.
“Preston,” A soothing hand cupped his jaw and lifted his face until their eyes met. Preston blinked rapidly against the sting of tears but, oddly, his earlier humiliation did not return.
Partridge leaned in and kissed him, making a slow, lazy business of it, and this time Preston allowed it. His mouth opened readily and his breath caught as he tasted the salt-bitter flavor of his own seed coating Partridge’s tongue. He sent his own tongue exploring and, with a muffled chuckle, Partridge accepted it, letting it lick past teeth and gums and delve deeply into his mouth. For long minutes they kissed, breathing heavily, tongues sliding back and forth, teeth scraping softly as Preston immersed himself in the sensation.
But finally, reluctantly, Partridge freed his lips and slid his cheek alongside Preston’s to whisper, “Do you understand what they’ve taken from us? Feeling is all that allows us to connect with each other. We’ve all been in our own little prisons all this time, not even understanding that there’s anything outside ourselves. That isn’t living. It’s just existing.”
Preston rested his forehead on Partridge’s shoulder and took in a deep, shuddery breath. “I don’t know … I can’t think …”
Partridge stepped back. “Then go home and think. If you want to find me again, come to the church. Day after tomorrow at sunset.” He reached up and pressed a key into Preston’s hand, holding tightly for a moment. “You can betray me, if you wish. I’ll be alone. If I’m going to die again, it might as well be in the same place.”
He turned to leave, but hesitated. “And Preston … I have a feeling we’re not the only ones trying maneuver you in this direction. Someone might be setting you up for a fall.” His eyes dropped to the ground for a moment and his voice became a whisper. “Don’t tell Mary you saw me.”
Then he turned and left, the inky darkness swallowing him in seconds.
*****
I wrote this years ago. Only the second or third story I ever wrote, actually. And it took me forever, plus I kept losing the disk I had put it on or else the computer would hiccup and I'd lose everything I'd been working on for hours or whatever. Drove me up the wall.
But here it is and I figure it's time to toss it out into the big old world. Hope there are a few people who actually saw the movie out there.