The Eye of the Storm
by Cin

The Eye of the Storm

by Cin

What the hell was he doing here; Canaan hated the crowds, hated being around the stuffiness, the heat, and the scent of sweat from male bodies writhing around each other. He shuddered at the thought of being in the center, in the eye of the storm; with no place to go, no chance to get out. Oh no, this wasn't for him, not his place, not his time.

He was here on a mission and once that mission was done, he was gone, back to his tranquil space, back to his slower time. Feeling the throb of the electronic beats blasting through the sound system above them, he couldn't even hear his heartbeat; it felt as if the music was beating it for him, thump-thump thump-thump with a rapid staccato flow.

If he could be anywhere right now he'd be in his sand garden, sitting in the center on his flat black rock, even rows raked around him, meditating, or even just enjoying the silence around him. A man could think with such silence. A man could have many an epiphany with such silence, whether it be his or the world's.

The laser light flowing over everyone's heads in an array of colors only added to the cacophony around him. The lights gave off what used be called buzzes from drinking. Canaan didn't know which was worse, the way the ancients had used alcohol to leave their cares and troubles behind when grouped in such ways, or the lasers that would touch your mind and give you the buzz you sought. Canaan kept to his dark booth having made sure that the lasers wouldn't touch him in anyway.

Of course if you didn't choose to have the touches, all you had to do was make sure you wore the patch on your throat and you were safe, but Canaan, of the pessimistic nature, never trusted those patches when in this Timeframe. In his Timeframe things had progressed with a much better eye to safety. He'd overheard a fellow TimeRunner once jokingly call his Timeframe; the land of stuffiness. But that was ok by Canaan; he liked his stuffiness, his order, and his peace. So what if it could get a little tedious at times. So what if maybe he looked longingly at other Timeframes. Overall from his experiences, there was no better place than his particular Timeframe.

He looked down at the nearly invisible flesh-colored band on his wrist, the seeker was tracking his particular quarry, somewhere in that storm of people, and from the looks of it, and his own bad luck, the quarry was smack dab in the center. In the eye, which meant he'd have to push his way through all those bodies, pressing against him, making him claustrophobic.

He sighed, looking around for an excuse not to have to go after his quarry, or simply admitting to himself, that he was stalling. Canaan was good as a TimeRunner, he did his job well, bringing back those that broken laws and skipped to other Timeframes. Overall his looks added to his job, especially as the Timeframes he was assigned to, dealt in male dominated societies and beauty was the ideal, the sought after commodity to own.

Canaan didn't think about his looks all that much, except when it helped him do his work. He wasn't a vain man, with his long black hair that he tended to keep in a braid. It was easy to work with when braided in its four strands and blended into one large one that fell down his back. When loose it swung past his ass, and had a very natural curl to it all. If he had one vanity that was it; his square jaw and high cheekbones covering golden skin, and his thick lashes and electric blue eyes meant nothing to him. Just something he'd been given at birth. But his hair, that he cared for and took great pride in.

He stood up resolute in the fact that the sooner he met with the quarry the sooner he could get this over with. He'd never lost a quarry yet and he wasn't about to now. Smoothing down the golden material that clung to his physic, a moue of distaste crossed his lips, he took a step into the slithering mass of bodies. If this was called dancing, he'd rather not do it, but a job was a job. He felt hands slide over all of his body and could only be glad that the clinging material while seemingly glued to his skin, also insulated and kept the worst of the touches from actually hurting in any way. It was one of the reasons he'd chosen to wear the haile.

The haile was a special synthetic blend of plant and fabric, alive and yet not, it gave its wearer protection against the elements, while also insulating heat or cold whichever the body of the wearer needed. Perfect for the raves. He'd tucked the braid into the one-piece suit and now was very glad he had, as patrons wanting to rub themselves against him would have used it to keep him in place.

Canaan was glad he was able to use his strong mental shields, if not, this place would have driven him mad. Being a touch empath had its good points, but in places like this it was a very strong strike against him. The insulation of the haile also added to his protection as hands moved over his body, nothing was sacred, it felt like some form of group sex.

He felt so many hands kneading his ass, while others cupped his balls, and still others petted and groped his cock. He hated this, gritting his teeth and making no eye contact. Making eye contact in a place like this was tantamount to saying yes take me to the back rooms and fuck me raw. And that was certainly not his intention.

He lifted his right wrist as best as he could to try to discern where his quarry actually was. Seeing that the seeker had actually pinpointed the prey a few yards in front of him, he continued to push his way through slowly.

He had a mental image of what the quarry looked like. Short hot-pink spiky hair, very pale almost translucent skin that glittered, and the man tended to wear dark eye make up to make his silvery eyes stand out further. Right, in a place like this, that was the norm.

He was half a head taller than most of the people in the club, and that gave him a slight advantage in looking for that hot-pink hair. Zeroing in, he tried to move even faster to get to the quarry, but the bodies pressed in on him further making it difficult.

Just as he was about two people away from the quarry, he felt a jolt to his system, seeing images of two bodies locked in a passionate embrace. Tongues sliding over ridges and planes, fingers dipping within darkened heat, slippery skin, whispered moans of encouragement. It was enough to stop him in his tracks and leave him panting slightly, his body heating up with what felt like promises of pleasure. He looked around almost panicked that he was seeing this.

One of the bodies was his, but that wasn't possible, he didn't have a lover at the moment. Looking down he saw a darker skinned hand pressed against his hip. Following the hand up the arm, past a square shoulder, he was helpless to keep from not looking as he moved his eyes past sun-browned skin stretched over a strong jaw, full sensual lips, and very high cheekbones, past a very straight if rather long nose, into the most intoxicating eyes he'd ever seen, a pure aquamarine, like a tempest at sea.

He was lost in those eyes, forgetting about his quarry, forgetting everything but the man standing in front of him, and the visions behind his eyes, they were getting more intense as he stood there absorbing what the man was giving him.

It didn't occur to him till later that with his haile and his shields the man shouldn't have been able to project to him. All he knew was he wanted what the man was offering, wanted as he hadn't wanted in a very long time.

And it'd had been a long time for him, his last relationship had failed because of his being gone constantly on bounty hunts in different TimeFrames. The life of a Time Runner wasn't all that glamorous as some made it out to be. It was constant surveillance, with random bouts of high danger and loneliness. He'd become accustomed to that but it still didn't change the fact that it could get to a man, no matter how you got used to it.

What the man promised here with his touch and his eyes, and the smile he wore, Canaan found he was helpless to say no to. The hand on his hip moved away for just a second and in that second he could breathe again, his heart rate having picked up speed. He didn't want to stop and think, wanted to let himself feel, let his empathy take over. And so when a hint of rational thought, the word quarry popping into his mind's eye, he ignored it all, blocked that off instead, and followed the man holding his hand, looking as lost in a daze as most of the patrons on the dance floor.

It seemed to him that his trip from the throng of dancers went much quicker then when he'd been moving on his own in there. Or maybe it was just his eagerness to be whatever the man wanted of him that gave way to that illusion. It didn't matter none of it did. All that mattered was what he could see behind his eyes still, skin upon skin, heat, pleasure, all rolled together in a sort of movie almost.

Movies were something the ancients had indulged in, you'd watch them on screens, but now, now they could simply project them into your mind if you wanted, hook the right patch, and you were flooded with the choices on what you wanted to see. He very rarely indulged himself, liking audio over visual. But this visual, this he could really like.

He must not have been moving fast enough, the hand holding his tugged slightly, impatiently almost. That was his cue, if his rational mind were going to take over, this would be the time, and for all of two seconds he did resist, thinking of the job, the quarry that was probably still in the middle of the dance floor. But a scene flashed, one of them kissing, almost sweetly, and he was lost once more.

He pushed through the last of the people dancing, their grabbing hands no longer bothering him; he barely registered them, following along with the man before him almost blindly.

They walked down narrow hallways; bodies leaned up against each other, moans, whimpers, and the sound of wet flesh meeting flesh, the different scents of sex giving way. It made him uncomfortable, made him acknowledge that he didn't like the idea of public sex for himself. And he could only hope that the man in front, the man with the broad shoulders, and golden razored-cut hair wouldn't ask it of him that they possibly were going to some private room. Because he had no will to say no, and if this was what the man asked of him, he was sure he'd follow through. His body was making all the choices here, overriding his mind.

Every so often Razor, as that was what Canaan began calling him in his mind, would look back and smile at him with those sultry eyes. And Canaan would be lost in those orbs all over again.

They came to what looked like the end of the long hallway and there on the left was a black metal non-descript door. Razor opened it and pulled Canaan in, then as soon as he had pashed the threshold, Razor closed and locked it and pulled Canaan into his arms, hungrily kissing him, hands beginning to move over his body, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

Canaan reached up, wrapping his own arms around Razor's neck, fingers playing with barely there stubble before sliding up further to the shortened hairs.

Tongues danced around one another, sliding and seeking. Canaan couldn't remember the last time he'd been kissed with such voracity. It was as if Razor were trying to delve into his throat, into *him* tongue first. But it was so incredibly arousing. Whimpering Canaan pushed himself against what felt like a very hard muscled body, one that was the same height as his. It hit him, but then odd thoughts usually tended to hit at the oddest moments, that he didn't have to crane his neck downward or upward, all he had to do was tilt it.

He could feel Razor trying to find buttons, or a zipper, or even Velcro so as to remove his haile. The man would never find what he was looking for if Canaan didn't help him, they didn't have haile's in this TimeFrame. He reached with one arm behind him and hit the little button there under his neck and the back came open the way Velcro did but without a sound.

A grunt of approval was all he heard before he felt those heated hands on the skin of his back, following the path of his spine. He whimpered as his legs felt like they'd give out, pushing more of his weight onto the other man. He couldn't help it, it felt too good.

Not once was the kiss broken as he began to feel the coolness of air on skin uncovered, all the while Razor backed them to some destination behind Canaan. So lost was he in the tide of passion, that he realized only when he was lying on a bed that the haile had all but come off, it was down around his knees, and he laid there spread almost wanton where he'd landed on the bed.

Razor wasted no time, pulling the last of that material off, leaving the black calf boots on, Canaan was secretly thrilled that his boots were left on; always getting a kick out of that, though not many of his lovers had ever done that. When he felt Razor's body against his own, he was even more thrilled to feel the other man's clothing still on. It was heady, to be stripped bare while the other male was still fully clothed, almost illicit. And while Canaan was all that was control, over himself and his surroundings as much as possible, it was only in bed sports where he could let go of his control, serve rather than be served.

Feeling what he thought were iron buckles over a leather vest, and leather pants, he rubbed himself against the man and the material with a little moan.

Wrapping his arms and legs around Razor, he kissed him, sucking on his lower lip, running his tongue along corner to corner, while he rubbed on the other man with his fully engorged erection. His eyes fluttered closed as he felt Razor's hands sliding up and down his sides, down his hips and over muscled legs. Canaan kept himself in excellent shape, it was almost a requirement for the job he did, but what he felt from Razor's body was pure rock hard muscle, the man must be a fanatic about his workouts.

Canaan had never been with someone with more muscle than he had, and it surprised him while also excited him. He was rolled over suddenly, left to sit atop the other man's abs. All of this was a new experience with Canaan, he had always been the initiator, the one basically doing all the work, and it had never bothered him, he still let go of himself enough to enjoy what was going on, but this, this was different, it felt more intense than anything he'd ever encountered. It probably would have left him unnerved if he hadn't been so heated.

Rolling his hands down the vest he had worked open, he could feel row of muscle after row of muscle along the man's stomach. He leaned his head down, inhaling the scent of musk, and a hint of sage. It went straight to his head and he licked a path to a maple colored nipple, which he then wrapped his lips around and sucked.

Razor seemed to like that as he gasped and ran one of his hands up Canaan's back grabbing at the thick braid and wrapping it around his wrist. Canaan smiled to himself and sucked at that pebbled nipple even harder, then laving it with his tongue as if to soothe.

His body shivered at the man's husky groan. Canaan didn't even know what the man's voice sounded like, but from the deepness of the groan, he'd hazard a guess that it was deep like a well, and as fine as wine.

Razor's hands moved from Canaan's back down to cup his ass, pulling over the clothed erection. Canaan let his hands move from Razor's chest, down to the buttons on the pants, fumbling slightly in his need, causing Razor to chuckle softly.

Canaan looked up into those aquamarine eyes, eyes like a sea during a storm, blues and greens almost seeming to swirl together and for just a second time stood still, as if Canaan were having one of his epiphanies while meditating, but with a breath it was gone, and he felt those fingers probing gently down the crack of his ass.

His fingers had finally done the job, undoing fabric and reaching for the hard heated flesh that popped out. Grasping it in one hand, he used the other to push back the pants as best he could. Both men let out moans simultaneously as one stroked and the other slipped a finger within.

Canaan pushed back onto that finger, seeking more, wanting more, eyes closed; his face carried a look of hunger.

Canaan felt Razor's hand; the one with his braid wrapped around it, pull him toward the man's lips and eagerly began kissing him again. He didn't feel the ties being undone on his braid, or the fingers combing through to undo said braid, all he felt was a cascade of silk on his back suddenly. His eyes grew large, he'd never had his hair undone by anyone but himself before, and it felt incredibly intimate.

Almost too intimate.

Razor must have sensed the bits of confusion coloring the passion because suddenly Canaan felt as if he weren't being just kissed; he was being consumed by the other man. As if his thoughts were being purposely pushed aside to go with just what he was feeling. Kissing the other man, Canaan could feel his pleasure, his delight with Canaan's hair, his need and hunger, but couldn't sense anything further. This was strange because Canaan's power usually gave him a hint of the other person's mind and he got nothing from this man.

All thoughts went by the wayside as Razor pushed Canaan's ass upward, pushing him toward his mouth, and Canaan's whole body shuddered in anticipation. He moved till he was straddling the other man's head, shivered when he felt that tongue slide down the underside of his cock, lick at his balls, and then leave a wet trail along the flesh between his balls and anus.

Canaan could hardly breathe with how good it all felt, he was consciously trying not to smother Razor's face and just sit down, but oh it was hard to think beyond how mind-numbing good it felt. And when he felt that tongue penetrate him, his legs spread as wide as they could trying to entice Razor's tongue even further.

He was given what he wanted, almost humping Razor's head with how good it felt, his head thrown back, his hair a curtain all the way down to Razor's chest, who rubbed it into his skin, while his other hand gripped Canaan's hip keeping him from slamming into the man's face.

Canaan reached down to stroke his cock trying to keep with the rhythm of the thrust of his hips. He gave up little moans, whimpers, cries, panting, as his heart rate seemed to run forever.

When he felt himself get just shy of orgasm, he was quickly flipped off, landing on the bed in a bit of a daze. He was quickly picked up by powerful arms and made to stand on all fours, his hair covering his face, insulating him in darkness. He'd barely come out of his daze, when he felt the other man behind him, with a slow push seat himself fully, balls to ass.

Canaan felt so incredibly full, the slight burn tempered by the fact that Razor was reaching around and stroking his cock for him along with teeth on the back of his nape.

So this is what it felt like to be possessed was his thought as Razor soon began to thrust, pulling almost all the way out, only to thrust deeply, each time picking up a bit more speed.

Each thrust was hard, and was soon fast and Canaan loved every minute of it.

Razor was nearly silent but for the occasional grunts, and soft moans here and there. It was a bit unnerving. If it hadn't been for Canaan's empathy, he'd have begun to wonder if the pleasure was all one sided.

Canaan was sure he'd have bruise marks on his hips from the man's tight grip, each of them thrusting to meet the other, like the ocean crashing against the rocks.

Canaan could hold back no longer, and no sooner than he'd thought that, felt himself in the grip of the storm, Razor changed the angle of his thrusts, hitting that one sweet spot and making Canaan cry out loudly as he pulsed in Razor's hand, fluid spilling out.

The tightness of Canaan's body as he'd come gave way to Razor's own orgasm and the more muscular man roared as he came. Canaan had another odd thought of wild animals at hearing that roar.

The muscles in his body shook and wouldn't hold him up any longer and he fell onto his belly, onto the bed, Razor who still had been holding his cock in his hand fell with him, not wanting to pull out, or so it seemed to Canaan, as if the other man were savoring it alll.

They laid there for what seemed like hours, and yet it had only been minutes before Razor slowly pulled out and Canaan had to lift up slightly for the man to get his hand out from under him.

Canaan watched as Razor got up from the bed, his own fluids on the man's hand, and flushed as Razor licked his hand clean while watching him with an almost possessive look to his face.

He opened his mouth to speak, his thoughts running a mile a minute, but Razor leaned down and kissed him silent, leaving him slightly bemused while he watched the other man dress.

Looking at him, he wasn't what Canaan usually would have chosen for himself, as Canaan tended to pick smaller, prettier lovers. This man, like himself was all male, and then some, and Canaan found himself smiling at that.

He was just about to ask what this had been, or what would happen, when he realized Razor was standing at the door, his hand on the doorknob watching him with a smile. Canaan sat up quickly one hand outstretched, a look of confusion on his lips when Razor held his finger to his lips in a gesture of silence and walked out the door.

Canaan was left to wonder about the most mind blowing sex he'd ever had and why he had the certainty that he'd see the other man again.

Hurriedly he cleaned himself up and got dressed, looking down at the flesh covered seeker, when he realized that his quarry had gotten away.

He grit his teeth wondering if he'd been had.