Title:Black Moon Rising

By: ElegantPaws with all due deference to Yoshihara Rieko

Edited by: Ainzfern

Key Pairing: Raoul/Katze and who knows there is the sacred couple!

Rating: Mature

Parts:WIP – 1 of 5

Reviews are fuel.

This gift is dedicated to A_ngua and I hope it pleases.

Chapter 1 of 5 - Black Moon Rising (Post OVA)


It was a rare occurrence indeed for Katze to be chauffeured, though he could well afford the luxury and then some. Tonight he indulged in being ferried from the pristine splendor that was Tanagura's towers of power to the slums of Midas for this meeting.

Quite the contrast he thought, rolling the window down a fraction allowing the pungent scent of free running sewage, unwashed bodies and death, ever present, secreted in corners yet hidden.

Narrowed eyes, of the most unusual hue, contemplated the twin moons of Amoi which graced the midnight sky. Their glow as always, constant, benevolent and entirely indifferent to the spectacle below and the furtive movements of Ceres unnamed, uncared for denizens who preferred the cover of night for their predation.

Those many years as Iason Mink's Furniture had taken their toll beyond the telltale scar well hidden on his cheek by rich, thick auburn hair. He thumbed the scar absently. Once a raised and angry gash from ear to stubborn jaw line now nothing more than a line of demarcation, a constant reminder of his own emancipation of sorts.

The black market boss slumped back into the plush comfort of worn leather allowing the vistas to pass beyond smoked windows while he contemplated his next move and the coming meeting with Guy, Bison's de facto leader.


Sometimes there were inherent disadvantages to being the Syndicate leader's second in command, foremost confidante and friend. This was one such instance, Sir Raoul Am, mused ruefully, internally bemoaning his plight as he left the Party in hot pursuit of that overly opinionated and far too smart for his own good mongrel.

Katze had a bearing and intellect beyond his station.

Iason, of course, had been oblivious. The going's on of his household staff held no interest for Jupiter's most favored child.

It would seem to Sir Am this had always been the way. There was something about the red-head that had set his teeth on edge. Obedient to a fault, he would give him that. Still, there was that lingering look he would give, when he thought himself unobserved, that left no doubt as to his true nature and strength of will; a will that needed to be broken, in Raoul's opinion.

Dark green eyes twinkled coldly recalling the night when Katze had irretrievably overstepped his bounds. To think the use of a com unit had proved the red-head's undoing.


Katze idly noted the car slowing and his partially open window rising as a protective measure. Crashing glass, loud shouts and the hiss of hover bikes revving in unison, brought Katze from his own internal musings as he watched the crowded walkway move en mass towards the din, like lemmings.

He tapped the separation and it slid down with a quiet hum, revealing the driver, who was already on the com, providing information for the security detail of Midas.

Leaning forward, he waited for Stee to finish with the logistics. Katze folded long arms across the pane that separated them and casually glanced at the rear view with a smirk.

"Mr. Katze, as you see, there appears to be an obstruction ahead. Want me to take a different route to the club?"

A wry smile curved pale, full lips. "Nah, we're all due some entertainment, Stee," the red-head chuckled motioning towards the rear windscreen. As Katze anticipated the former Pet flinched, recognizing the Syndicate crest of the car not two lengths behind.

The wholly incongruous, sedately resplendent sedan stood out like a sore, ungloved thumb in the poorly lit streets of the slum. Katze eased his long limbs back and lit a cigarette.

"How typically, Elite, Sir Am," he murmured, turning fully to acknowledge the occupants of the steel gray vehicle while tapping his phone and placing it against his ear.


Forgiveness, compassion and empathy were not traits Jupiter chose to instill in its genetically engineered castes. These highly emotive and wholly objectionable aspects of the human animal's nature had long outlived their usefulness, even for the dregs that roamed the streets of Ceres and served as fodder.

Kill or be killed was the rule of the days and nights here.

Some pretense of order had to be made of course, while culling the herd of the more obstreperous amongst them, but none too much. In fact, the more cunning members of Midas' citizenry had the rare privilege of serving as ground forces to the Elite within the society.

A passion for murder and a basic need to bully was requisite.

Katze checked his watch and began to count under his breath, expertly flicking the butt into the open paneled ashtray in front of him.

"Brace yourself, Stee," and then as an afterthought he added, "Defense shield."

These words had barely left his lips when the martial sound of booted feet and primed lasers fired into the frantically fleeing crowd of onlookers. The car rocked from the percussive blasts that hit full force then evaporated upon contact with the holographic shield, illuminating the occupants within.


He was completely out of his element and Katze knew it.

Raoul could count on one elegantly gloved hand the times he had been to Ceres, including this one. The last time, unfortunately, being two years before in an equally clandestine meeting with the black market broker. One had to be honorable, even to the lowest of the low.

The phone buzzed irritably and the foremost scientist of Amoi continued to ignore it, on principle. They had been spotted, not that Sir Am was trying to escape detection, exactly, but the utter front of the mongrel in advising him to have his driver raise shields was beyond bearing.

"The bloody cheek of …"

"Sir Am?"

"Raise shields, if you haven't already."

"Yes, Sir Am."

The Blondie's artfully draped lock of honey gold hair shimmered in the flash of lights without as his windscreen was tapped respectfully amidst the din that slowly faded leaving the street eerily quiet where both cars were still parked.

He knew those long, tapered fingers, anywhere.

Raoul's eyes narrowed in contempt. Even the Ex-Furniture's refined and quite naked hands irritated him. It was unseemly the way he used them at times.

"Now what…" he shook his head and huffed irritably, extending one elegant, gloved digit to release the door.

He intended to give the mongrel a piece of his mind, now that the general excitement was apparently over for the evening. Iason would also feel his displeasure later.


Guy's bright gray eyes opened wide as a face familiar to him was thrust against the shielded window of Black Moon.

The shocked eyes of an adversary's pleading for help as he took his final gasp and red gore gushed from his trembling lips, hints of pink tissue spattering his mouth.

"Fuck," Luke looking away and swigged his stout, just a bit shaken by the sight.

"Lung blood," Guy offered dispassionately before raising his tankard in mock salute and grinned maniacally at the bloody trail left in the body's wake.

The guard lifted his visor and superficially checked the current state of the fresh corpse with a kick to the ribs before moving on to his next victim further up the street, leaving the body to curved figures who moved forward out of the darkest recesses and efficiently, quietly, picked the body clean of valuables.

"We should've taken bets tonight on the body count."

Guy's handsome, dark features grew stony as he turned to face the rag tag members of what was left of his gang. Bright, vaguely psychotic eyes, scrutinized those slouched against the plush booth, most half cocked in varying states of drug or alcohol induced stupor.

Bison's leader snarled in warning.

"Katze wouldn't approve, Guy. That's his territory," Luke slurred chalking his cue before downing the last of his stout and looking for the attending furniture for a refill. "We don't need him on our ass."

Luke had spoken out of turn.

The brunette smiled and cracked his knuckles threateningly, tossing a wealth of dark, chestnut hair over broad shoulders.

"Come 'er, Luke."

Guy's sudden rages were legendary. He was going to take it out on someone and it looked to be Luke.


Raoul was not buying it for a minute. Not the smooth, masculine register that rang pleasantly in his ears, nor the modest downcast eyes, and certainly not the artfully bowed head as though still in service.

"It is safe now, Master Am."

"What is the meaning of this, Katze?"

The Elite noted with satisfaction the thinning of well curved lips into thin slits and mild tension in the stubborn, pale jaw line.

"If you would be so kind as to follow me to my club, we can discuss this further without prying eyes?"

Raoul's saturnine features registered the artfully inclusion of possession and pride in the statement.

"And why would I want to do that, Katze?"

"Then why are you here…Sir. If not sent by my former Master?

It was not lost on the Blonde Elite, how long it took the red-head to add the honorific, however sibilantly. Katze stepped back, allowing a decent amount of space between their bodies.

Raoul rose from the vehicle and towered over the lithe, expensively dressed male whose intriguing eyes were still veiled beneath thick auburn lashes.

"Look at me, Katze."

Their discrepancy in height and breadth pleased the golden Elite as he leaned down close to the red-head's ear.

Raoul's warm breath ghosted across his neck; the unintended intimacy sending involuntary spasms down the ex-furniture's spine. It unnerved Katze to realize how much he craved touch, any touch, even that of a most despised enemy who took every opportunity to remind him, in no uncertain terms, he was nothing.

Katze closed his eyes as cool, clean silken strands brushed his scarred cheek.

"Watch that tone, Furniture. Technically, you are no longer a possession of your former Master, but that does not give you carte blanche to challenge your betters, regardless of favors done in the past."

A gloved hand meandered, over lean, taut hips and eventually found purchase with a low masculine chuckle.

"You are mongrel and damaged goods at that."

The hand fondled him clinically, achieving the desired result.

"You got your reward, don't push it. You're too old to be of any real value or anyone's Pet."

Katze watched as the self-possessed being walked on ahead of him toward the club, entirely unhindered as those about him scattered in justifiable fear. It was never a good thing when a Blondie made an appearance in the slums of Midas. Death always followed.

The red-head's jaws tightened in impotent fury as he crushed the barely open pack of cigarettes in his pocket and followed, dutifully.

"Bastard…" he ground out between clenched teeth, more angry with his body's betrayal than anything else.


Author's Note

Well, that is part one. I hope you enjoyed. See you exceedingly soon. Let me know what you think.