Amen Ra

The Egypt's bathroom was a holdover from when the club had been something else. I suspected
at at one time, it had been a very small hotel. The main room downstairs, with it's low bar, had been modified from the registration area. It was just big enough for people to dance, if they weren't too busy lounging around like Cleopatra. I wondered if anyone else I knew was down there. Syrus couldn't be too far, if Jackal was here. Namir might be too, if there was enough amusement to be had. She seemed to turn up in all places to surprise me. That's what family is for, I suppose. The bathroom was a single room, at the end of a hall of doors. Design told me that each one held a room with a bed or two in it, any and all possibly occupied. They'd have a small shower stall in a closet in them, possibly a sink too, for washing one's face, brushing one's teeth - keeping one's fingers clean. The full bathroom was here, one each for men and women, a single bathroom, with a single toilet, a full sized tub. I pushed the door shut behind me, pushed on the lock until it caught.
The alcohol caught me there, and I did actually stop to use the toilet, standing and peeing until I was done. Maybe that's what did me in, but I figured it couldn't hurt to do something like that when Jackal may or may not be listening outside. No use trying to crawl down a fire escape with a full bladder. Someone downstairs turned the music up, it became all thudding bass upstairs. The soap was shaking it's way across the counter as I washed my hands. My blue eyes caught my own in the mirror, underneath an ill-kept fringe of bangs. That was the style now, sun bleached hair left shaggy and spiked in disarray. Everything in the bathroom was tan, even the towels left in a pile, beige, though that must have meant that they got stolen often. Somehow I doubted that a few stolen towels would sink the Egypt.
More and more, I suspected the trap. I felt the noose tightening around my neck, dove for the window. It was open, it was cool air in my hands when he caught me, arms firm and familiar around my waist, dragging me back as I sought to fling myself into oblivion. Death would have been freedom until morning, I could have escaped that way, carted off to a morgue. Instead it spun away, out of my fingers. My tail bone hit the edge of the counter, still wet from where I'd washed my hands. His body was bigger than mine, bulkier. It was just as hard under all that black suit, just as tense as I'd expected. Jackal growled at my neck, his face in close for the combat, and for a moment, the too-sharp teeth of death filled my vision. Was this death, tonight?
The door was still closed. My eyes turned toward it in a call for compassion from the world, my back bending to sharp angles around the edge of the counter. Someone come in, -anyone-, but I hadn't heard the door open, and I suspected, sinkingly, that it was still locked. I felt teeth in my fingers, and realized belatedly that I'd put my hands up to paw at his face, try and press him back, fighting more like a dog than he. It brought me back as much as the crash of the soap to the floor - the bass had shaken it a full journey across the counter. He caught hold of my wrists in my moment of distraction, wheeled me like a marionette caught up by it's own tethers to it's puppet master.
The jar of the counter's edge driving into my belly set my breath spinning away, left me coughing and weak for just the moment that the Jackal needed. Never let it be said that he is not a good hunter. He knows what to do with pray once he's caught it, but it was the catching that was difficult. Syrus had set this snare on this street, and now it was just Jackal there to finish the job, catch me up, bind me still, and bring me my death. My hands are slipping on the drops of water scattered on the faux-marble counter top, tan on creme on sand, and it's only the wall that catches them, leaving me stretched and vulnerable.
Death will be now.
It's a surprise for me when nothing appears in his hands but my belt. He's panting hot against my ear, his body full along mine, one knee catching inside of my thigh, pushing it so that only my toes can catch the floor, my hips grinding the edge of the counter so that I grit my teeth. I expected a knife, a gun, a garrote, instead it's just a familiar stretch of leather, a familiar buckle, wrapped around the back of his hand once, before he settles that hand on the counter, close and intimate. I can feel his shoulder at mine, the slide of his upper arm along my side, and his other hand, the one not in my field of vision, is going back to finish what it started. There is bass pounding under my fingers when the zipper gives way.
"Just a little death tonight, Kei," Jackal's voice is more a growl in my ear. It's true, this is death too. A far kinder death than falling two stories to the street, even though it's a trap. His black suit is hard contrast to my lazy blue shirt, covered with small Hawaiian flowers. I never was a stylish dresser. His fingers are so cold on my cock, his skin a shock of cool that seems to suck the heat from my own. It's the cold that's so arousing, the sudden shock that catches my mind away from the hammer of the bass, lets my cock stiffen in his fingers even after thousands of years should have stolen enough novelty from me that it was uninteresting to have sex anymore.
Admittedly, it was. Or perhaps, I just didn't know where to look for novelty. Creativity was never my forte, instead I followed a simple pattern. Day, and then night and death. I rise every morning to fight. I suppose if I was creative, I would have found a way to win, long ago. Instead I was losing, right here, to fingers that were only growing warm with heat they'd picked up from my own body. I was losing to the heft of Jackal's body along my back, the teeth that I could feel at my neck, bared back, and so pointy. He wanted to bite me, he was growling, but he wouldn't go that far. He couldn't. If he'd done it, he'd have been unable to stop himself from killing me.
And then the trap would have been for nothing. I'd have flown free, spread wings, thundered
across the plains of the , an, and risen the next morning in a body who's eyes were as bright and blue as the sky. I'd be a thousand miles away. Instead, they'd just stop my heart. I could feel my breath carrying my voice with it, wordless, whimpering, as my boots toed for traction on the tile floor. The corner of the counter was sharp against my hip, bared down to my thighs where my pants had caught, the width of my spread legs larger than my waist. I could feel his erection too, clothed but straining, just there against my inner thigh. I got the feeling that ibe fbe freezing. Cold as death. Hadn't we done this before?
Oh yes. But I'd been on top.
Jackal's body at least took heat. There are those of us who will never warm, no matter how much they slough from my body. His fingers were almost warm now, but it was too late, damage had been done. He had me, and wasn't about to give me up. Having power over me, I'm lead to understand, is a wonderfully addictive thing. It never lasts long, and it's always a teetering balance, but when it's there it's like blocking the sun with your fingers, and proclaiming that it was yours now. There are few who have accomplished it - I sensed that Jackal was just starting to enjoy the feeling. I sensed that this would not be the last rushed fiasco, with me stooped over the sink, my far hand now spread along the dip of it's basin, legs wide while he drew up to get rid of his own pants. I sensed it all, as surely as if I'd smelled it, like the sandalwood smell that engulfed me when his skin - freezing and mine - so very hot - laid bare against each other at last.
Jackal was not without forethought. His hands were slick with something that he left the bottle of on the counter, where it too began to crawl slowly under the thunderous power of the bass below. His cock was slick with it too, in an instant that I could not have recalled had I tried. Slick and cold, and mercilessly wonderful. Like just melted ice, melting inside of me, surrendering it's cold to my heat. It's wonderfully erotic to be cooled, you know, if you're hot all the time. I imagine the same could be said of being warmed, Jackal was not in any state of mind to be asked, nor I in one to do any asking. My breath roared in my ears, the bass roared in my ears, but Jackal, for all of his earlier noise was simply silent as he pushed deeper, his thrusts hard, and me not one for mercy.
It was over with a mess on the cabinets, wet on my thighs, warm from my heat but quickly
cooling, Jackal's weight on my back, and my heart pounding, pounding - so close, like the dawn on the horizon. My heart stopped. I died. I fell, and then there was simply bliss.