WARNING: This work of fanfiction contains cake and sodomy, as well as explicit descriptions of sex between male-bodied computer constructs and the usual dash of domination/submission themes. If you're too physically young, too emotionally young, or too otherwise-not-legal to read these sorts of things where you are, save you and me both the trouble and DON'T READ IT. I don't own the characters of The Matrix; the Wachowskis and Warner Bros. Pictures do. Characters are used without permission. No profit is being made from this file. As this fic takes place between the events of the iFics “Idle Hands” and “Faith in the Desert,” confusion can result from reading the stories out of order. English translations for French words are provided after the fanfic itself. Happy Fun Ball Über Alles!

...Now, on with the gratuitous sex!

--------------------------------------------------------------

The Upper Crust
by Apricot the Gerbil


Scanning the room full of well-dressed, pompous clubsmen, the Merovingian sighed. One hundred and ninety minutes of mingling he'd spent so far, all of it wasted on this crowd of human louts. The dining hall of his beloved Le Vrai seemed almost shabbier from their presence, he thought. And what a shame, considering he'd reserved the entire restaurant for the occasion...

As it turned out, everyone he'd spoken to knew even less than he'd thought they might-- which, given his overall low expectations of humans as a whole, seemed surprising indeed. He walked over to the marble pillar iSmith was leaning against, flashing him a devilish smirk. "This entire evening has been a terrible bore, has it not. I should likely stay to tolerate their chatter a while longer, but do you know what I would rather do right now?"

iSmith swished the low rim of wine in his glass about in lazy circles, looking possibly even more bored than the Merovingian was himself. "What's that...?" he mumbled.

The Merovingian leaned closer, speaking just above a whisper. "I would like to grab you with both hands, shove you over one of these tables..." iSmith's eyes widened, feeling fingertips trace along the curves of his rump from under his coat. His master's voice grew slower, twisting the words like warm taffy. "Tear through that sweet, sweet little pink pucker of yours, and give you a fucking so raw as to make you scream... all while these busybodies stared in wonder."

He paused, his smirk widening at the growing tint upon iSmith's face. "I suspect this would not be seen as polite in party company, however. Il est sans importance... I have need to pay a visit to the men's room anyhow." He raised an eyebrow, hinting at some hidden meaning. "Would you care to follow me, mon petit?"

And his wife had refused to attend because 'nothing ever happened' at such gatherings... It would only add to his satisfaction to prove her wrong, he thought. As the Merovingian strode down the hallway, iSmith following closely behind him, he gestured silently to gain the maitre'd's attention, tilting one wrist slightly back and forth in the air. The man smiled back and nodded, reaching behind his podium for the Out of Order sign to be placed on the men's restroom door.

How nice it was, to have an understanding...

---

It was the way his pet breathed, the Merovingian decided.

For most humans he'd had encounters with, there was something erotic about their body, something intriguing enough to spark a desire to pursue them: the shine of their hair, the sway of their breasts, a smile, a great ass. It seemed foolish that something as simple as inhaling and exhaling could make someone so appealing.

Even so, the Merovingian found himself closing his eyes, ignoring the dark-tinged reflection on the polished marble walls he and iSmith were facing, to better concentrate on sounds alone. He clutched his arms firm around iSmith's chest from behind, tensing up for another slide into that slick-wet hole of his. Right now, all that mattered was feeling-- enjoying such unfettered emotion from one who knew little else.

He felt iSmith shudder and press back further onto the flesh impaling him, heard him gasping out, "Ahh! DAMN you feel so good...!" His pet sounded like someone lifting too many weights on a barbell, in a way. That soft draw of breath... and the whine it suddenly shifted to become, as if realizing they'd gone past the limit their body could take.

iSmith's palms squeaked against the marble, small smears trailing into a map of where he'd tried bracing his hands against the wall. He rested his forehead on the cool stone for a moment as he gulped for air, unrequired as it may have been. Streaks of fog flashed into view upon its surface from his panting. "You're so BIG--!" iSmith managed, his voice wavering deliriously. "Aah harder, yes-- oh god you're huuuge...!"

The Merovingian replied with a growl, easing back his erection to slam it in again, and again, like syrupy-slow clockwork. Such inane dialogue his pet insisted on using, he thought... As if size had anything to do with how satisfactory his technique was. His coding might be the slightest bit larger than "average," as the humans would call it, yes-- but as obsessed with such trivialities as they were, the species was hardly a decent role model when learning the coital arts. He hoped iSmith hadn't gotten those lines from any porn films in his own collection... He made a mental note to discuss this with his pet. Sometime afterwards, of course.

Still, even when in the moment like this, he found himself wondering why those same, bewildered-sounding phrases never seemed to become dull. No matter how many times they had been strained through iSmith's lips in their previous sessions, the words sounded so genuinely naïve every time.

But iSmith was no flustered virgin. Even now, the Merovingian felt uncharacteristically weak from the most recent skill his pet had thought up: the skin inside that tight little hole was pulling him in with every move he made, rippling against his penis in wet, nubbled waves-- as if a second mouth was hidden there, lapping away at him eagerly. Doing a damned impressive job, he had to admit... The feeling of being utterly worshipped by his pet during it all certainly didn't hurt, either.

Perhaps a reward was in order. Something of little effort, to persuade iSmith to continue this technique in the future. He eased one arm free, lowering it to settle his fingers between his pet's legs. The surprised squeak of delight that followed was predictable, but still pleasant to hear.

That was another reason he tended to use iSmith's services more than his required once a week, the Merovingian mused, finding himself grasping for thoughts that would prevent him from blowing his load in the next five seconds... Touch X body part and say Y phrase, receive favorable reaction, repeat until relief is met-- iSmith really was no more complicated than this.

For one who so epitomized the principle of cause and effect, however, his pet seemed to transcend it, dwelling solely on the here-and-now pleasures those truths created for him. The reactions iSmith displayed in the thrall of the moment seemed just as passionate and awestruck as when he had first been deflowered. Such disregard for deeper meaning was as erotic to the Merovingian as the sex itself.

Ah, yes, the sex... His mind was quickly drawn back by the heaviness growing into his hand. He brushed his fingers along iSmith's newly-generated erection, encircling it into the protective grip of a fist. He opened his eyes for just a moment, looking to the reflection before him... then closed them again, smirking. iSmith had chosen a penis that stopped just noticeably short of being the Merovingian's own length-- a rather primitive method of showing his superiority, but the gesture was appreciated nevertheless. He began to tease the tiny slit at the end of iSmith's prick with his thumb.

iSmith all but lunged forward at the touch, eyes rolling to flash their whites in excitement. The only time his master bothered giving his own cock any attention was when he intended to keep doing so until he came. "Oh, Master, thank you, thank you so much!" he whispered. The Merovingian only grunted and sucked in a breath, commanding his body not to give in despite the massive clench iSmith's insides had just given him.

Quick to regain his senses, he began rubbing along the flesh in his hand, giving the swell of the head small, tender squeezes as he went. It seemed a bit pointless to give a reacharound to someone who couldn't come, he thought, but iSmith gave every indication of enjoying such an action anyhow-- even giving the most convincing of empty orgasmic shudders when the Merovingian would finally let loose.

It was still a fitting encouragement either way... like rewarding a dog when it learned a new trick. He bent nearer to iSmith's ear, punctuating the drawls in his words with slow pumps of his fist, up and down the shaft. "That's right, my sweet little pet loves getting pats on the head, so... VERY... much, doesn't he?"

The Merovingian didn't need to bother thrusting anymore. The sensations seemed to flare all at once: iSmith's inner walls pulling at his hard-on like a squelching vacuum, the burst of air howled loose from his pet's mouth, the twitch of the stiff prick caught between his fingers...

No. Sooner than he'd planned. Too soon to let go. "Merde--! Pas maintenant, pas encore!" the Merovingian hissed, forcing back his orgasm even as he felt its first twinges twist inside him, looming like a seashore's wave. He wanted to savor his pet's anticipation as long as he could possibly manage it. He was the one in control here, after all. "So impatient," he chided through his teeth. "There there, very soon, little one... oh so very soon n--"

iSmith's moan cut him off, just as a splatter struck the wall before them with an audible slap. The Merovingian's eyes shot open, bulging, his face paling a sickly white. Lust killed, he gaped in shock at their reflection in the marble-- or, more precisely, the stain now dribbling down the smooth stone of that reflection. Before he could react, iSmith strained louder, his erection spilling another thin stream against the wall.

As he struggled to regain his breath, iSmith noted that the sound of water tinkling from the urinal fountain nearby suddenly seemed much louder than before.

A death-still pause loomed.

Still panting, iSmith lifted his head to face the boggled gaze of his master's reflection. "Why did you stop?" he mumbled, sounding just as puzzled.

"What... in the hell... was THAT?" The Merovingian let go of iSmith's penis as if it had burned him. His nose crinkled in disgust. "That's not-- is that what I think it is?"

Disappointed, iSmith lowered his head, staring down at the yellow-tinged trails puddling around his shoes. "Well, I just-- I wanted to give you a nice surprise. So you'd know how good you were making me feel, and that's the only way I can... you know, show you, like..." His face twisted in shame, like a puppy who'd just ruined a rug. "Are you mad at me now?"

Silence.

The Merovingian finally brought his head to rest on iSmith's shoulder, brushing his brow wearily from side to side against the black fabric. He clucked his tongue, paused... and gave a low, drawling chuckle. "Oh, my little one. Whatever shall I do with you," he said, leaving no tone of a question. "While your imagination is undeniably appreciated... Have I never told you that these sessions cease to be as entertaining whenever the pet forgets who the master is, and tries tossing new rules into place?"

iSmith's expression went blank. "No...?"

"...Ah! Of course, I haven't, have I?" The Merovingian hurried to recall where his pet's memories would stand at this point. He'd already had iSmith wiped back to his blue backup disc... twice, now, wasn't it? Such an annoyance to keep track of. "Pardon my error. But now you know."

At least iSmith still appeared to suspect nothing. Unquestioning loyalty was such a helpful trait, he thought, bracing to carefully pull out. "Regardless, we still have the issue of how to finish this. As intriguing as your... 'surprise' may have been, I would prefer to be satiated, myself." He frowned, stepping well away from the puddle. "Somewhere where there is no danger of either party slipping on the floor."

iSmith's eyes darted about the restroom. Fidgeting with the ends of his white shirt, he asked, "What do you want to do?"

The Merovingian said nothing at first, but proceeded over to the line of stalls to their left and peeked into one. He smiled at the mirror fixed along the inside of the door. "Come in, and I'll show you. They maintain a pristine level of cleanliness in these restrooms for a reason," he said, and settled himself upon the closed toilet lid. He brushed aside the long silk of his coat, making room for his erection to stand free.

Stepping into the stall, iSmith was pleasantly surprised by what he saw. Everything was bathed in an otherworldly greenish tint, thanks to the soft lighting along the back wall. "Wow. It's bigger than I thought it would be in here," he remarked, closing and latching the door behind him. The walls to the left and right were too close to allow his arms to stretch out, but his master and himself certainly weren't crowded.

"But of course, mon petit! Only the best for me and mine," the Merovingian said. He took hold of his pet's arms to turn him around, guiding their bodies back together. When his prick was nestled tight inside iSmith once more, he curled one arm around to grasp hold of his pet's tie-- and, to iSmith's shock, clamped the other hand firmly over his mouth.

Taking iSmith's 'mnf?!' as a general question, the Merovingian replied, "Since it appears you are in a mood for surprises today, I think it is perfectly reasonable to reciprocate, hm?" He leaned closer to his pet's ear, voice sharpening to that of a command. "You are to remain silent from now until I have my release. No words, no moans-- I wish to hear only your breathing and anything else your senses may offer as a response."

The Merovingian's grip tightened around the tie, giving it a quick, gruff shake. "And if you fail at this silence, you shall discover what it feels like to go two weeks without a coding session of any kind." He watched iSmith's brow arch upwards in the mirror. "I have heard it said that a pet is best trained through positive reinforcement, but it never hurts to have a backup plan close at hand. Do you understand your request?"

iSmith gave a hesitant nod.

"Then let us begin," said the Merovingian with a smile. He pressed himself into his pet's rump as far as he could still manage, then twisted back slowly. iSmith jostled about at the motion, arms flailing out to latch against the Merovingian's hips for balance. His eyes widened, but other than a startled gasp, he made no sound.

It was always nice to know his pet was still quick to adapt, the Merovingian thought, admiring how soon iSmith worked his movements into a rhythmic pattern of pumping and hip-jerks passed between them both. iSmith was clearly starting to show signs of enjoyment; his breaths shifted into strained little wheezes, his eyes squinting closed as he bucked onto his master's erection with an ever-tightening grasp.

"Mm... C'est un début bon. Do what you had been doing earlier, if you could," the Merovingian said, and rubbed up against iSmith's back, holding silk against skin. "From down here. Ahh, yes, just like that." His eyes drifted shut as well, basking in the soft, comforting suction... until he noticed something wet spreading along his hand. It took a moment for him to realize his pet had begun to lick at his fingers, but once he knew it was only a tongue, he found the action quite arousing. He let his grasp over iSmith's mouth relax, allowing his pet better access to do what he wished.

iSmith took hold of the fingers, gingerly kissing the whorled lines of the skin with his lips, brushing his tongue along the nails' clipped-neat edges, before leaning to take two fingertips into his mouth-- first one, then settling over both. The Merovingian chuckled. "Such a greedy pet I have. Having one end filled is not enough, you still desire the other!"

He felt his pet's mouth curl around his fingers, smirking at the comment... just as his erection was given a tug strong enough to pull a groan from him. He grinned through a fresh haze of sweat at the unspoken challenge, muttering, "All right. That's one you've gotten from me... Let us see what it takes to make your arse betray you as well, hm?"

Releasing his grip from iSmith's tie, the Merovingian lowered his arm to grab firmly around his waist instead, leaving his other hand for his pet to play with. Thus settled, he began moving his hips faster, pounding away at his pet with a strength a human of his stature simply could not possess. He saw iSmith's throat waver as if about to give in, only to have his head strain upwards and keep silent-- as if the would-be cry was caught just in time, leaving only the jangling of iSmith's collar tag in its place.

The fevered pace itself was not so easily ignored, however. iSmith's body was soon trembling against the Merovingian, lashing about in his arms like a trapped bird, hands digging white-knuckled into his hips. He could feel his pet's nails begin to bite the telltale grooves of bruises into his skin, but held off from any negating code-commands, letting them come as they may.

"That's it... Let me know what you feel, don't hold back," the Merovingian whispered to iSmith. He eased his fingers from his pet's mouth-- only for iSmith to latch back onto them, hissing a frenzied exhale as he sucked around the gold of his master's wedding band.

Another bucking thrash, and iSmith's eyes shot open, bugged wide and staring emptily into the ceiling. Gulping for air, he held onto it at first, peppering tiny bursts against the fingers at each of his master's thrusts. His throat bulged and shrank against his collar frantically, fighting back the moans and cries he would have ordinarily let out without a second thought. Then, as if iSmith had fainted, his jaw went limp; the fingers fell away, forgotten.

The Merovingian's gaze flitted to the mirror at the change. He saw the dark gloss of tears running down iSmith's cheeks... With his still-wettened hand, he reached to trace at the lines, smiling at how iSmith immediately leaned into his caress. "Une fleur ouvre dans des mes mains," he said. "You can be very beautiful when you thirst so. Such pure desire, in wanting to be defiled."

Giving a feeble leap in his master's lap, iSmith's lips wavered, teeth still trying to clench together. His mind was a thick clutter of tingles, churning about with nowhere to go. Heat, wet, heave-- spice of cologne, sweat and slapping flesh...

His master's voice slowed to a lustful, throaty crawl, rolling the words about almost musically. The mad pumping softened as well; the Merovingian arched his body closer now with every thrust inside, continuing his feather-soft strokes along the cool skin of iSmith's face. "Show me how it feels, to want nothing more in this moment..."

iSmith felt like he would burst from it all, too much to take at once, like slow motion-- his master's voice, his master's touch, Master wrapped around him, inside him...

"...than my every last... thick..."

Another heave-- all of him, warm, buried deep, so full of so fucking much cock--

"...sticky..."

Mouth clacking, breathe in... slide out, heave-- open wide letting go--

The Merovingian held one delicate fingertip to iSmith's lips as he spoke.

"...drop..."

For an instant, iSmith was gone. A freefall of the senses.

"...auuungh...!!"

The noise dragged from iSmith's throat like gravel.

The Merovingian didn't even try to hold on. Hearing the sound was all it took...

...and when the outside world faded back, iSmith sank limp in his master's arms, flushed and shaking like mad. "I-- did, oh shit..." he panted, "I didn't make it, did I?" He looked to the mirror, face reddening even further when his master gave him a flat-lipped shake of his head. "Ugh! I tried, I really did, I couldn't-- couldn't hold on..."

The Merovingian's stare remained firm, even as he replied, "Yes, well. It would seem that having a good come has put me in a merciful mood. You may consider your punishment revoked... though this should not be expected in the future, you realize." When iSmith's face lit up, bobbling a relieved nod, he added, "I take it you were satisfied with the session as well, yes?"

"Mm... You're the best. Always," iSmith said, snuggling closer into his master's embrace. The Merovingian was about to balk at such an intimate gesture, but refrained, figuring his pet had earned this small measure of comfort. Having iSmith fail his request had served as much more of a turn-on than if he'd obeyed, the Merovingian found-- the thought of simply having control over iSmith's actions was far outweighed by knowing he'd stoked his pet's urges beyond the point of any control whatsoever.

They sat there a few moments, until iSmith spoke up again: "I'm kind of confused, though. I mean, I'm sure not complaining, but... there was a woman out there before. I saw her. Someone's wife, I think. Really busty, like you like them. I could've sworn you would go after her, out of anyone here."

The Merovingian chuckled, resting his chin over iSmith's shoulder. He regarded his pet's face in the mirror before them, staring into those ever-trusting watery blue eyes, and replied, "Why should I pursue the sick and lame of the herd when I have a fattened calf at my feet?"

iSmith paused at this, eyes narrowing ever so slightly at the mirror. He silently traced along his reflection with new self-consciousness. He hadn't gained weight, had he? Could he, even...?

His master smirked. "I was speaking metaphorically, of course."

"Oh," said iSmith. The crisis at hand thus averted, his eyes settled closed. "Okay then."

The Merovingian noted the drowsy tone creeping into his pet's voice. He brought his hand up to give three firm taps against iSmith's forehead. "Little one..."

"Hm..." came the muted answer.

"You are forgetting, we are in a bathroom. Not a bedroom."

iSmith mumbled a wordless blurt, snapping back to more-or-less attention. "Right. Sorry," he said, placing his hands against the stall walls and, with some help from the Merovingian, easing himself off his master's body.

Without needing to be asked, he turned around, crouching down to the floor to lick away any stray traces of code still stuck to the Merovingian's crotch. He started through the thatch of short, coal-black hairs at the base of the shaft, murmuring happily at any trapped samples he found. It was the easiest way to clean up-- and after all, iSmith figured, this particular substance was too good to let any go to waste.

"Très gentil. Vous effectuez le travail splendide," said the Merovingian, a grin of pride curling along his face as he watched his pet clean him. The wet twists felt marvelous against the still-aching heat of his penis, especially after going through such heavy exercise. He ruffled his hands through iSmith's hair for a few moments, taking in the sensation... then paused and sighed, brow furrowing. "It is a pity that we must stop here, but I should go entertain the monkeys for a while longer."

"Do you want me out there for the rest of it, too?" iSmith asked, fumbling to retie the lacing of the Merovingian's pants. His eyelids were already drooping, shoulders going slack.

"I think not, this time. I will have someone unlock a shortcut for you, in the offices past the kitchen très probablement." The Merovingian gave a sour sneer. "With any luck, I will be taking the same path as soon as possible." He batted iSmith's hands away and fastened the pants himself, adding, "I suggest you devote your energy to standing, until you are back in the Chateau. It would not reflect well upon me if one of mine were to display ill manners in public, yes?"

"Yes," iSmith echoed. He pulled himself to his feet, grasping at the roll dispenser for balance. While he zipped his own slacks back up over flat skin, he eyed his master meekly. "Sorry about this..."

The Merovingian shrugged, moving past iSmith to unlatch the stall door. "It will only begin to irritate me if it causes you to disobey. For now, don't feel you must apologize for something that gives you character. I find that minor faults often serve to make the afflicted programs more interesting, considering the rarity of such cases."

That, and iSmith would likely be rebooted before it would become a nuisance, he silently added. It was a pity that his pet's new technique would eventually have to be relearned... The Merovingian left the stall, stopping before the short row of sinks to give his hands a dash of the perfumed soap laid out in glass bottles. Turning around, he paused; iSmith stood not a few paces outside the stall doorway, motionless, watching him with a longing stare.

For some reason he couldn't quite place, the Merovingian found his pet's look very unsettling. With a clap of his hands, he commanded, "Come now, on your way. We are done here!"

iSmith snapped out of his trance enough to nod and wander out to the lobby. The Merovingian started down the hallway as well, giving the maitre'd a grin as he passed. As they both entered the dining hall, the Merovingian stopped to give a small key and instructions to the nearest of his Q-Ball team, gesturing towards iSmith. The guard grunted an affirmative and escorted the drowsy-looking program through the kitchen doorway.

Hesitant as he was to dive back into the crowd of humans again, the Merovingian remained at the back of the hall, letting his thoughts wander instead. He watched the two leave, wondering what stimuli had caused this third incarnation of his pet to have such a fondness for sleeping. It was an unnecessary act, one that iSmith had never seemed to care for previously... but for some reason, the Merovingian would find his pet asleep as often as awake, whenever their paths would cross in the Chateau-- sleeping as much as a human would, if not more. Did iSmith find calm in the mental void brought on by the state? He had no dreams, so why would it be appealing to him?

Such curiosities were an added side benefit of owning such a unique pet, thought the Merovingian with a smirk. Perhaps this was why humans had invented the toys they called "virtual pets"... It intrigued him no end to see how his pet could be molded into a unique personality by differing stimuli, even when starting with the same characteristics every time.

Not to suggest that his pet could ever outrun fate, of course. No matter how distinct each version seemed, both of iSmith's previous paths had met with dismayingly similar ends. How merry he had been, the second time around! Perhaps a bit unimaginative, compared with his current mindset, but hardly as shy. How easily he learned to enjoy mingling with humans, once the Merovingian allowed him to visit the parties he attended...

...And yet, how surprising it had been when his pet collapsed in a fit of hysterics one evening, claiming he could no longer live a lie, and confessing his love for his master. When the Merovingian scorned him for such foolishness, scarcely a few days passed before iSmith's despair rendered him functionally inoperable. As blazing as his passion for living had become, it abandoned him just as severely.

This time the catalyst was his own wife, Persephone. He was furious to find out she had been taunting his pet whenever she would find him alone, telling him how little his master truly cared for him, for weeks upon weeks. To be true, she was not spreading falsehoods-- what angered the Merovingian the most about it all was having to go through the bother of erasing iSmith's memories again so soon. His repairman acquaintance, Norton, even remarked that the program's last words before shutdown had been the same both times.

Considering how his pet claimed such a grand desire to become someone different from the anomalies that had inadvertently formed him, it was amusing how iSmith's actions only gave more proof to the inevitability of consequence. His heritage was clear, even when given new direction; there was little difference in iSmith's total devotion to his master and how Agents considered their machine superiors. He probably would have made a fine bodyguard, had he not taken so quickly to the fine art of being a pillow-biter-- tracking and pursuing replaced by sucking and fucking.

Most striking, however, was how this obsession with "love" was starting to seem unavoidable in his pet's psyche. Perhaps the virus Smith was partially to blame; from what the Merovingian's informants had since told him of the program, Smith had been absolutely consumed by the thought of being reunited with someone called Mister Anderson-- which, to his own surprise, iSmith identified as Smith's name for Neo, the One himself.

It was doubtful that Smith's singleminded fervor for the human was truly love, though it would lend a measure of sense to the nicknames iSmith had tried giving him, or why his pet would crumble from within like a self-destructing star every time his advances were spurned. Even so, it made little sense to begin with... The humans made this condition sound so unappealing, even in their own words. Falling in love. Lovestruck. Lovesick. He himself might claim to "love" things, but he was not about to take a bullet for his favorite wines-- or anyone else, for that matter.

Much unlike the late One and that pesky lady-friend of his... If iSmith was indeed fated to follow in such infected footsteps, perhaps the time would come when he would be granted the deletion he craved so badly in the end. A pity, to lose fine help... though it wouldn't be happening any time soon. There were still too many days where the Merovingian grew tired of humanity's sampling selection, preferring a taste of passion that was more dependable by far.

"Mister Merovingian-- there you are!"

The Merovingian's thoughts shattered, seething into carefully hidden dread at the greeting. He forced a smile towards the human approaching him. So much for delaying the inevitable with mindless ramblings, he thought. A quick search of his memory, and-- "Ah, yes, Monsieur Krono. How goes the world of insurance for you, hm?"

"Oh, it's moving right along, I'll say that. I just wish I knew where the pause button was, once in a while!" The man paused to laugh at his own attempt at humor, prompting the Merovingian to give a polite chuckle. "Say, can I offer you a seat? Looks pretty lonely, here in the back."

Sighing internally, the Merovingian nodded his acceptance. One more attempt, he thought... then he would call it a day. He followed the human to his table-- where, to the Merovingian's surprise, the woman iSmith had mentioned was seated as well. His pet had certainly not been exaggerating her attributes, he thought, indulging in a glance over the lady's gifted bosom.

"I don't believe I've ever introduced you to my wife," Mister Krono said. "Rhea, dear, this is our host, Mister Merovingian. Mister Merovingian, Rhea."

"No first name? How mysterious," Madam Krono remarked, a hint of curiosity shining in her almond-brown eyes. "My husband speaks very highly of you."

"Ah, but alas, Mademoiselle-- he has not mentioned such captivating company as your own!" The Merovingian smiled, reaching to kiss the back of her hand. "Fate must indeed smile upon him."

The woman replied with a chuckle. "Such a flirt! He really is a true Frenchman," she said to her husband, who laughed back, sounding somewhat less enthusiastic. The Merovingian ignored him; the silvery tinge of this lady's hair betrayed her age, but she had considerable poise and grace in her movements-- like royalty, approaching the autumn years of her reign with elegance.

Perhaps he could go for some dessert after all, he thought to himself.

"If you would allow me this pleasure, may I suggest a treat befitting such beauty? A most magnificent chocolate torté. It is a specialty of this place, not to be seen on the menu. On the house, as they say...?" the Merovingian asked, eyebrows raising to Mister Krono.

Before the man could answer, his wife spoke up. "What a dear! You had me at 'chocolate', you know." Noticing the faint look of discomfort Mister Krono had suddenly gained, she smirked, patting his hand as if comforting a child afraid of the dark. "It's nothing to fuss over, darling. It's just cake," she murmured to him. The subject quickly shifted to other, more comfortable small talk; by the time Mister Krono built up the nerve to protest with a quiet "Well I just think...", the cake was already being served.

Madam Krono was much hardier than most, the Merovingian silently mused... The conversation continued through her fourth dainty forkful of the slice. Then, partway into a remark about how lovely the photographs she'd seen of Paris looked, Rhea paused, as if her breath had caught in her throat. She stayed quiet, staring down at the tablecloth, the first hints of a blush creeping through the pastels of her makeup.

"What's wrong, dear?" Mister Krono asked, curving an eyebrow.

His wife carefully placed her fork onto the plate, pushing back her chair with a sharp creak. "I think I have to go. I'm very sorry, I'll-- be back in a--!" Her eyes met the Merovingian's for one brief moment... just long enough to catch the subtle, sly wink he gave her.

With hurried, stork-like steps, she began ambling towards the restaurant lobby.

The Merovingian feigned surprise, his brow furrowing worriedly. "I offer my apologies, Monsieur! Perhaps the blend did not agree with her? I do hope she is all right."

"No, don't worry," Mister Krono said, watching his wife pace down the hallway. He grinned to himself, feeling somehow justified by this sudden turn of events. "She'll be all right. Might've just been too rich for her own good."

"Of course. Well, I certainly hope you are correct... In any case, until her return-- I do not believe I gave you the chance to elaborate upon your new business venture, earlier...?" continued the Merovingian, giving his chatting companion the interested look he had refined to perfection, even if it was faked. After all, it was best to give the cake-lovers a few minutes to themselves at first. "I assume all has been going smoothly?"

"Oh, yes, it's looking fine," Mister Krono replied. He paused a moment, adding, "Just wish I knew what was up with the new secretary I hired... She had great credentials, could type like a machine-- like nothing I'd ever seen before. And as soon as I put her on the payroll, she starts coming in ten minutes late, then half an hour-- I figure, you know, she's a slacker case. Then two days ago, she up and disappears, saying she has to go find some boyfriend she's got. No notice, nothing!" He shook his head and sighed. "So hard to find good help these days, isn't it?"

"Funny you should mention such a trouble," the Merovingian remarked, his curiosity becoming genuine. "I recall hearing of someone who was reported missing around that same time. Have you heard from her since?"

"Not a word. I tried calling her home number, and got her landlord, saying she'd taken off somewhere called-- ah, what was it... Northsfield? You ever heard of that place?"

The Merovingian's eyes widened at the name. North Field. One of the neutral zones the few machine-minded constructs in the Matrix had adopted as a home base. Of course, he thought-- he had just received word of a bounty placed upon a rogue exile yesterday, for the abduction of one of the machinekind. Nobody was sure of the kidnapper's identity, but no ransom had been declared, either. That the abducted party would be referred to as a "boyfriend" made this all the more interesting.

"Yes, I know of this area. I believe I may be of some help in finding your wayward employee, after all. What was her name? Miss...?" the Merovingian asked, looking to the human expectantly.

"Ah-- Miss Paolo. Francis Paolo... Didn't do me much good to bother learning her name, but I think that's it."

"Very good, thank you," said the Merovingian with a nod, committing the name to memory. "I am unsure she will be returning to your business anytime soon, however. If what you say is true, she has made her way into a very dangerous place indeed."

Mister Krono frowned and gave a quiet snort. "Hm. Figures. You wouldn't hear me say this in front of the wife, but women sure are damned fickle creatures sometimes, aren't they? Pardon my French," he added, chuckling to himself again. He paused, glancing back towards the hallway. "Speaking of the missus... hope she didn't fall in."

Now was as good a time as any to try checking on her, the Merovingian reasoned. "Speaking of the washroom, as a matter of fact... if you would please excuse me. The problem of fine wines is that their pleasure can merely be rented, yes? But if I see you again tonight, I do thank you for our time, Monsieur, and wish you only the best of luck in your business." He left his chair, giving Mister Krono a hearty handshake before proceeding to the lobby himself.

As he approached the ladies' restroom door, he murmured quietly, "Check... and mate."

---

Like so many others who had enjoyed Le Vrai's house specialty in the past, Madam Krono hardly seemed to notice the Merovingian entering the room. She hadn't even made it over to the row of sinks or a stall; she stood hunched against the wall, her dress bunched under her chin and her arms clutching much lower, frigging herself as if the only thing of importance in the universe was what was currently happening between her legs.

"Oh God!!" she cried, staring at the Merovingian as if he was the deity she invoked. "You knew! You did this, how did you--?!" Her words dissolved into a moan as she slumped against the wall, eyes rolling back in yet another orgasmic surge.

"Indeed, it is as you say. I told you it was a magnificent treat, did I not?" he replied, approaching the woman with slow, confident strides. "And I see it has done its job well, as I knew it would. Now, Mademoiselle, as I have given you this pleasure, may I suggest it be reciproca--"

The Merovingian yelped. His smug-sounding tone was replaced first by shock, then with a sound bordering on terror, as his would-be prey lashed out to grab his tie, pulling both of them down to the tiled floor. "Madam! Please, control yourself, I merely--"

Rhea stared back at him with lust-crazed eyes. "Control myself?! Do you have any idea what it's like, not feeling anything like this for the last twenty years, and now-- My husband's never even-- rrrgh!" She abandoned the trouble of speech to yank at the Merovingian's clothes instead, like a lioness tearing into some doomed herbivore. "You. Right here. In. NOW!"

Gulping, the Merovingian unlaced his pants with frantic swipes of his fingers. As the woman tore away what little pantyhose remained on her legs and lunged for his stiffening penis, he found himself thinking that, just perhaps, there might be something to be said for spontaneity after all.

---

The vision was always the same, every time. Rain and mud.

iSmith found himself standing in the massive dirt crater, broken pipes and metal twisting up here and there from the earth, like broken bones unearthed by the merciless, pouring rain. He looked up, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the endless fat globs of water thundering down from the stormclouds above. It was as if the sky itself was vomiting, only to collide and churn into the filth that was the ground.

Smith was there, and Mister Anderson, in his black robe of a coat-- side by side, their usual sunshades nowhere in sight. Even though the two of them always appeared the same way, looking down at him from atop the crater's edge, it still came as a surprise to him that they would be holding hands. In stark contrast to every memory iSmith ever had of him, Smith wasn't scowling, or even frowning... just watching. So strange, to see him in a peaceful state.

As if guided by the same mind, the pair's heads turned, blue eyes and brown both focused on something just beyond where iSmith was standing. He whirled around, his shoes making slurping noises as they caught in the muddy slime, curious to see what had caught his parents' attention...

The Merovingian stood there in the wreckage, the flowing silk of his clothes shimmering and spotless, untouchable by the elements. He smiled at iSmith-- a genuine smile, unlike the patronizing smirks he tended to give-- and raised his arms, beckoning him closer.

iSmith turned back, looking to Smith and Mister Anderson, never quite sure of the question he was about to ask them... but the double nod they gave to him was always enough of an answer. He smiled back at the Merovingian, the first hints of tears beginning to roll down his face with the raindrops as iSmith walked into his master's embrace.

When he realized at last that the Merovingian's arms were not resting around him, but in him, it didn't even strike him as a surprise. Whether he was melting into his Master, or the two of them were merging into something else entirely, it didn't concern him at all.

Everything seemed so real. The warmth coursing through his body, knowing that this was where he belonged, finally feeling complete... Nothing that felt this perfect could ever truly be fake, could it?

Always the same...

iSmith's eyes fluttered open. Back on the couch again.

The Merovingian was crossing through the room, only to pause when he noticed his pet waking. He straightened his tie, wondering if the bite marks were visible along the dark red silk, and smirked at iSmith. "Aha! Welcome back, little one. I am pleased to say this evening came to an enjoyable end after all," he said. "And how was your slumber?"

As he blinked the drowsy feeling from his eyes, iSmith tried to remember. What was it he had seen, again? It seemed so familiar, so comforting-- he'd felt something like this every time he was asleep lately, hadn't he? Any details fluttered into a dim nothingness when he tried to pinpoint them. "It was... fine, I guess."

Letting a sigh conclude their conversation, the Merovingian left the television lounge, resuming the path towards his study. Why would losing half the day seem appealing to any program? he wondered. Perhaps he would ask iSmith about it, sometime or another... for now, he only wanted to relax with some music before his next appointment beckoned. Perhaps some Mussorgsky, or Holst. It would have to be short, in any case; his obligations never ceased, whether for business or for pleasure.

How nice it must be, the Merovingian mused, to have so much time to waste on nothing at all...


[fin]





-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Il est sans importance = It matters little
mon petit = my little one
Merde--! Pas maintenant, pas encore! = Shit--! Not now, not yet!
C'est un début bon = It's a good start
Une fleur ouvre dans des mes mains = A flower opens/blooms in my hands
Très gentil. Vous effectuez le travail splendide = Very nice. You carry out splendid work.
très probablement = most probably
Monsieur = Mister
Mademoiselle = Miss*

*(A bit presumptuous? The Merovingian? Never, said the author with absolutely no sarcasm whatsoever!)