2300: What We Cannot Speak Of

Posted: May 14, 2013 by Kelly in deathmatching, league, stories

It feels like he dozed off only minutes ago when the intercom buzzes, announcing a visitor. The lights go on a few seconds later on the ambient night setting that he can control with his voice. Mike Kwon sits up sleepily in the unfamiliar bed and rubs over his eyes. /What the hell?/ “Who is it?”

“Lon Singh here. Can I come in?”

He blinks. The beautiful female Game announcer is pretty much the last person in the world he expects right now. He has to fight in the Asian League finale in less than six hours. What the hell does she want from him? “I’m not quite decent,” he says, while he touches the command to open the opaque glass sliding doors to his quarters. “Is there an emergency? Did I do anything wrong?”

He cannot for the life of him imagine what could be up. Pre-League dinner had gone off without any problems. He’d mostly teased Len Moon all night; but despite her crippling shyness she seemed to take it like a champ and had made some decent conversation with him. He’d been trying to get a rise out of the quiet young woman to see why she was such a favourite to take the championship, but she was just that; quiet, reserved, shy. Her smile was even kind of sweet. And yet she was also an expert marksman who killed because it came easy to her. Like a hunter, coldly taking out prey. He’d seen the vids; and rhyming those two images with one another had been most entertaining during dinner.

Lon Singh had been in the room as well, making the rounds and talking to the contestants. He’d seen her look at him, smile at him. But Lon Singh seems to smile at everybody. Flirting comes easier to her than breathing. She’d sat at the head of the table in this slinky black dress that left little of her gorgeous curves to the imagination and… she is still wearing that dress as she steps into his room. “I don’t mind if you’re not decent,” she says with a playful smile on her pretty features. “And no, there’s nothing wrong.”

“How can I help you, then?” Mike asks, just to be polite. She’s one of the two people who will be in touch with him while he’s in the Arena. In a way, she represents his link to the outside world, his sane voice in the madness of the Arena. She’ll talk to him, announce the other deaths. Maybe his as well. It’s better to stay on her good side.

She sits down on the edge of the bed, completely relaxed and confident as she leans in his direction. Her artfully curled dark hair tumbles over her shoulders and draws his attention to her cleavage. Dear God, she’s stunning. “I have a proposition to make,” she says and she smiles like an angel.

He knows immediately what she means. “I have a girlfriend.”

Lon laughs softly. “She’s not here and you might die tomorrow. She doesn’t have to know.”

He watches how the ambient lighting caresses her curves. It’s distracting. “The cameras are watching.”

“The cameras only broadcast what I want them to broadcast. Don’t worry Mike, this will be our little secret.” She is nearly purring and /God/ it might be the sexiest thing he’s ever heard in his life.

He tears his eyes away from her cleavage and looks at her face. “What, you asked Khan ‘please kill the cameras in Kwon’s apartment, I’m off to fuck him’?”

“Oh, Mike. I like you, you’re pretty, I’m up for a fuck if you are. Simple as that. Don’t overthink it.” She laughs. It’s a true laugh, full of mirth and warmth. She throws her head back and her neck is exposed. He wants to suck on that slender neck, her glorious tits. He can feel himself growing hard.

/I’m probably going to die tomorrow and one of the most beautiful women on this side of the globe wants to have sex with me. Why the hell am I hesitating again?/ There’s one last fleeting thought of Seia, sitting at home. They’ve been together for four months and she’s always known that his days are numbered. She’s always known that he’ll enter the Arena tomorrow. What’s a fuck with the beautiful League announcer compared to that?

He smiles at Lon Singh. “Right now the only thing I’m thinking is that you’re wearing way too many clothes for that to happen.”

She grins at him. A lurid grin full of promises as she kicks out her high heels, pulls her dress over her head and carelessly tosses it in a corner. She isn’t wearing any underwear and her body is as beautiful as he hoped, as beautiful as what the prettily cut dress was hinting at. Better, even. She moves over the bed to sit next to him. “Better?”

“Oh god yes,” he breathes, tugging off his own boxer short and t-shirt. He only has eyes for her as he pulls her close and kisses her passionately. She tastes like cherry; it’s probably her lip gloss, but it fits her. Her lips are soft and she’s obviously an expert kisser; enough to lose himself in it completely. His hands find her breasts and she moans into the kiss.

Their lovemaking is urgent and passionate at first, but after they’ve both had their first climaxes they slowly ease into another round, and that one is slow, almost tender. It leaves them both completely spent.

The ambient light has brightened in the time they’ve been busy – it’s the promise of morning that’s lighting up Mike’s quarters. Lon lies with her head on his chest, her hand resting comfortably on his shoulder, leg draped over him. They are both somewhat sticky and completely languid with afterglow. Her dark hair is damp and tangled and her makeup is smudged, but to him she looks more beautiful than ever.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you,” Mike says, smiling into her hair. It tickles his face and neck, but he refuses to move. “Wearing me out with mindblowing sex so I’ll die in the Arena. I bet you’ve got money riding on my defeat.”

She chuckles softly and looks up at him, mischief sparkling in her dark eyes. “You’ve got me. Sorry about that.”

“Bitch,” he says good-naturedly.

“Gullible,” she counters just as good-naturedly. She thoughtlessly traces patterns with her fingers on his skin. The light reflects on the tiny gemstones in her nails. “Seriously though, you will be fine. The stimms should pick you right up if you’re exhausted. We don’t want contestants to be tired, and many of them do not sleep the night before. Too wired, or too busy fucking. Like us.”

“Do you always fuck the ones you like?”

“Only the pretty, gullible ones.”

He laughs and yawns, an odd combination. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I.”

“You did. But honestly, I’d like it if you’d survive the day. I wouldn’t mind doing this again sometime.”

“Same,” he rumbles, before he dozes off to sleep. It’s the last bit of sleep he’ll be getting for a long time.


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