Guest Post: Legion and Lover (6/6)

by Seuzz

The prickle of cool air on his face brought Vincent back into full consciousness. But he kept his eyes closed even after the towel had come off. "You get rid of those nurses," he murmured.

"It's just us," said the technician.

"'Cos this is off the books, you know."

"I know. And I'm erasing the data the moment you're out. No one will know it's you under your new face."

"Good. You hear from my man Trevon?"

"He'll pick you up at four."

"We'll be done by then?"

"It's not yet midnight now."

"Mm. I thought I drifted off longer than that. How's everything look below the neck?"

"Good. Are you ready for me to start working on your face?"

Vincent only smiled in reply, and smiled more widely at the dabs of alcohol to his jaw, chin and temple. Even the needles -- usually the part that bothered him -- prickled with promise.

* * * * *

"Turn," said the technician, and pressed a fingertip against Vincent's chin. He shifted his head fractionally to the left. "Look up," she said.

"Do you always keep your eyes shut," Tito asked.

"He hates the face," said the technician.

Vincent didn't contradict her. He couldn't, since his face was completely numb. It had to be, or else he'd scream as the sculpting pen took off most his cheek and jaw along with half the beard. He heard them flop onto the sheet that covered his body. If he could have opened his mouth and felt with his tongue, he'd have discovered he had no lips.

Feeling had returned below the neck, however, and he lightly scratched at himself. He kept his hands off his cock, but the mere act of touching himself had put a little new life into it.

He was aware from under his lids that the technician's hands were brushing across his face, and he pictured her movements to himself. Now she would be adding some modeling flesh to his jaw and stretching of it over his cheek. Now she'd be slicing off his nose and the replacing it with another, which she would sculpt into its new and proper shape with a heat pen.  Now she'd be removing the pins she had screwed next to his eyes to change the shape of the sockets. Now she'd be scraping at his temples.

It surprised him, though, when it came time for her to work on his eyes, and he had to open them to look up at the ceiling. She deadened them with drops and let them glaze over, which was a mercy since he didn't want to see the needle plunging into the iris to change their color. But there was no missing it when she tore his eyelids off -- like small Band-Aids -- and glued new ones in.

The work gradually came together. The penultimate major step was to wash off the dye that changed the color of his face; the last was the addition of a new thatch of hair, fitted tightly onto his scalp.

After that there was only detail work -- the dabbing in of tiny freckles and the insertions or removals of small hairs -- before she polished him from top to tail. It was almost six in the morning -- twelve hours of work -- when she revived his face with one very large injection that turned everything raw and prickly for a few minutes. She had him practice with his new face muscles for a few minutes before declaring the process complete. Vincent felt very fresh as she pulled the sheet off him, but the techie looked exhausted. "I am so glad we don't make this a regular procedure," she said.

"Not even for more money like we scraped together for you?" Tito asked. She shook her head.

Vincent got up slowly from the chair. Still he dodged looking at himself in the mirror, though he couldn't miss the slender form out of the corner of his eye. "So, how do I look," he asked Tito, spreading out his arms and turning on a bright smile.

"Like the love child of Lambchop and the Antichrist," Tito retorted. He snorted. "I'm still not sold on this, but I suppose you know best."

"I do, Tito. For thirty years I've been taking care of myself and others. It's time someone took care of me." He fluttered his hands in the air. "And with luck I've bought myself a good fifteen years of pampering at least."

* * * * *

Vincent heard the hotel room door open, and heard Ryan call his name. "Are you in here? Is my anniversary present in here?"

"Just a minute!" Vincent called back.

The bathroom door handle rattled. "Are you decent?"

"No, but you can't come in anyway." Vincent leaned across the counter and took one last careful look in the mirror. He was not used to looking at this face in a mirror, so it seemed wrong to him, and for thirty obsessive minutes he'd been over it and over it to make sure each detail was perfect. Where he thought he saw a flaw he corrected it, for a few weeks of close study -- the kind he was used to doing for an impersonation -- had taught him all he needed to know about the mysterious tool kits that Ryan had mastered. Vincent now fluffed his bangs, turned around twice to make sure the shirt and jeans hung just right, then flicked off the light and opened the bathroom door. "Babe," he called. "You in the --? There you are."

And there he was. Ryan. Sitting on the edge of the bed. His mouth dropped open. Vincent turned around twice. "Am I adorable?"

Ryan's Adam's apple bobbed a couple of times before he found his voice. "Uh, yeah. Naturally." He started to turn very red. "This is the surprise? My anniversary present?"

"Uh huh. I remembered what you said a long time ago. Everyone has a double, and you'd love the chance to fuck yours. So?" He bent over and smiled -- a smile he had spent the better part of the morning practicing so that lips and teeth and eyes conveyed just the right degree of manic insolence. "Do you want to fuck me now, or wait till you get home?"

Ryan stared and blinked and rubbed his eye. "This is just so unexpected. Er. Vincent."

"Yes?"

Ryan sucked on his upper lip, then shook his head. "I'm just -- Wow. I, uh, I guess I look better than even I think I do." He swallowed again. "If that's me, don't I look young!"

"Young, and supple, and delicious." Vincent covered Ryan's mouth with his. "You want to unwrap your present? Let me give you what you've been giving me all these years?"

Ryan's nostrils flared. "Uh -- Sure!"

They peeled each other's clothes off and ran palms over each other's flesh and felt each other up and down every surface and crevice with their fingertips. They tasted and explored each other with their tongues. So tightly did they intertwine, and so closely did they mimic each other, that it might have been difficult at times to tell if there was one body or two writhing and thrusting on the bed.

And the entire time, Vincent was true to his word about giving Ryan a taste of himself, for he faithfully mirrored everything his lover did, as though practicing intensely to master the part.

When the windows had grayed into dusk and they lay exhausted against each other, Vincent spoke. "I have to confess something, babe. I cheated a little with your present."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I got you the younger model."

Ryan raised his head. "What do you mean?"

"I gave the Plastics technician some of the old studio portraits we had of you, and I also had her shave some of the years off the modeling pens. Uh, the reason you think I look so sexy, is that this is actually your body from when we first met."

Ryan said nothing. Vincent took advantage of the silence to lean over the side of the bed and pick his jeans up off the floor.

"Well, I understand the thought," Ryan said in a very tight voice. "But I also have to say that it's a really asshole thing to confess to."

"You think so?" said Vincent as he drew the needle from his pocket. "Then I won't tell you the rest of what I'm going to do." And he plunged the needle into the side of Ryan's neck.

He then pulled a large body bag from the bathroom and spent two minutes bundling the corpse of his boyfriend into it. After that he placed two calls, one from the room phone and the other from Ryan's cell. That done, he packed up the bathroom kit and his own clothes into a small suitcase, and put on the clothes Ryan had been wearing: a Hawaiian shirt -- open to the midpoint of the breastbone, to show off the smooth chest -- knee-length jeans cutoffs, and sandals. He turned around and around to admire himself in the mirror, and was still casting envious and appreciative glances toward his reflection when a soft knock heralded the arrival of Team D. Vincent activated the clicker that exploded the acid inside the body bag, then stood on the balcony with his back to the room while the disposal team bundled the bag into a bin disguised as a room service cart. After they left, he checked the time, and when another ten minutes had elapsed he picked up all his stuff and took the elevator down two floors, to knock at the door of another room.

By now the practiced grin felt very natural on his lips and cheeks as the door opened. "Do I look wonderful?" Vincent exclaimed as he pushed inside. "I swear that spa took five -- No! Ten years off my face!" He dropped his bag and spun around to show off. "Tell me I'm adorable! Oh, tell me!"

"You're adorable," said Cesar, and pulled him into an embrace. They kissed a very long time, and Vincent broke it off only when he spotted a money clip next to the TV. It held at least two thousand dollars.

"Is this mine?" he exclaimed as he seized it and hugged it greedily to his chest. "I think it is, I think it is!" He laughed and stuck it into his front pocket when the gangster shrugged ruefully.