Shapeshifter - 2. If this were the last night on earth

**Kelaste**

Central District lay in dead silence when I pulled into the parking garage beneath the building I was living in. The street lights shone artificially white over perfectly clean streets, the only sound the distant humming of the highway.

My captor rode shotgun, gun at the ready, watching my profile and simply ignoring the view outside the window for most of the ride. When we pulled into an empty parking spot in the parking lot beneath my building, he held out his free hand, and I dropped the car keys into his palm without saying a word. I would not escape this, at least not alive. The realization had been seeping into my mind for the whole drive, paralyzing my thoughts, unable to find a way out of the mess I'd stumbled into. What use would it do anyway? A few hours back I'd thought about dying out of boredom, dying to flee the cage my complicated life had built around me, and now I was afraid of getting shot?

At least with him in my penthouse, I had one last chance to experience the one thing I had always denied myself for fear of my father finding out: sex with a man. If I had to die tonight, I didn’t want to die without knowing how it felt, and the way I reacted to my gun-wielding friend told me he was the one, the right one.

Slowly, I climbed out of the car and watched Mohawk walk around it with empty hands. Where had the gun gone? Again, he lay his arm around my waist, pulled me close, and started walking towards the elevator as if he knew where we'd be going. His calculating, steel-blue eyes took in every detail of our surroundings, scanning for security cameras, exit routes, or audience as he ushered me into the elevator and followed me in.

Head held low, I waited for the doors to close, then pushed the uppermost button labeled '20', and pressed my finger against the scan pad. I tried to ignore the looming presence of my 'guest', but again, Mohawk seemed to have other things in mind than being ignored.

The elevator started to move, and Mohawk looked up at its ceiling, again searching for security cameras. Then his gaze found me, and some kind of dark humor sparkled in his pale blue eyes, bringing them to life.

”Any live-in sweeties I should know about? I'd hate to shoot anyone just because you forgot to mention them.“ His voice sounded hollow in the confined space of the elevator, its usual rough purr flat and without echo.

He moved against my back, again cradling me in his arms to press himself against my arse and put his lips against my neck, like a giant octopus entwining boneless tentacles around its victim. I felt small and very, very helpless against the strength of his arms and the sweet seduction his body promised, always keeping in mind that this guy was armed and would presumably shoot me after robbing me blank. But then again, there was a thread of loneliness in the way Mohawk kept me near, touching me whenever possible, that made me see a spark of hope for survival. Maybe the fact that I was not struggling made Mohawk get closer to me naturally, but there was also a chance that my captor just felt the same attraction that I myself fought against.

"No, I'm alone. No one will come looking for me. No one will miss me. No one will intervene," I whispered, trying hard not to react to the warm, soft lips that rubbed against my sensitive neck.

I hadn't tried to move away, I hadn't even tensed, but instead leaned into the embrace that would mean death for me later on. I was okay with death at some point, but I wouldn’t let him kill me before I had my last wish. I could feel Mohawk get irritated by my passive, almost friendly demeanor, and finally he grabbed my hair at the back of my head to pull it sideways and get better access to my neck. Maybe he was trying to get me to resist, testing the waters for any and all reaction, but I didn’t fall for it. If he thought I didn’t want him to touch me he would stop, and I didn’t want him to stop.

"Good," he finally murmured quietly against the side of my neck, just as the elevator came to a halt. Then he pushed me through the opening elevator doors and let me go at the same time, again leaving me with a sudden craving for human touch.

My apartment building was situated right next to the big, luscious Central Park, a vast space of precisely cut grass and trees that stretched around the Main Plaza like a crescent. The view was great at daytime, but at night it was spectacular - at least for those people who liked their surroundings dark and luminous. The lights of the street lamps looked like little fallen stars, huddling around the park borders as if ready to attack the natural darkness within it.

Two of the four surrounding walls inside the suite were made of polished glass, dampening the sunlight during the day and protecting my privacy at night. The entrance led directly into a vast living room, walls covered in shiny white and black wood casing. Two pitch black leather couches huddled around a chrome and glass coffee table, decorated with petite white cushions. The whole room was illuminated by numerous halogen spot lights, setting highlights and darkened corners like someone had calculated how they had to fall to look right.

A raised area right behind the couches held the kitchenette, complete with a counter to sit and drink. It flanked the living room like a built-in landscape, chrome kitchen utilities gleaming in the harsh halogen light.

A hallway surrounded by opaque glass led away from the living room, leading to an equally vast bedroom with a four post cast iron bed, blood-red bedding covering black satin sheets. The other side of the hallway led into a chrome and white bathroom, big enough to contain another person’s whole flat.

It looked expensive, perfect, and very artificial.

I moved into the suite without looking around, the surroundings all too familiar to spare a glance. There was nothing here that was me, and I hadn’t bothered putting up pictures. It was just the place I went to when I was tired or in need of new clothes, nothing more.

Mohawk on the other hand gawked around with a slightly alienated expression and walked into the center of the living room to take a good look around.

"Damn it, scrap, who paid for all this shit?" he laughed, then dropped onto one of the couches and swung his boots onto the coffee table.

I took off my jacket and pushed my hand against one of the wall covers. It sprang open with a clicking sound, revealing the wardrobe behind the white lacquered wood. I put the jacket inside, kicked off the boots, and closed it. When I turned around and stepped closer, I kept my suddenly darkened mood out of my face. How I hated talking about my family, or my life.

"My father paid for it," I murmured, hoping no further questions would be asked.

"So, your father's a rich bastard?" Mohawk went on, simply ignoring the implication in my voice, while he started picking his nails with the switchblade. He didn't even look up.

"My father is head of Flatlands Inc.," I answered again, hands balled into fists, awaiting the reaction that was inevitable.

Mohawk stood up like a puppet pulled up by its strings. One second he lay there leisurely, the next second he walked towards me, switchblade in hand. His face was astounded, dark, harsh, and the piercing gaze of his steel-blue eyes made me shiver in fearful anticipation.

"You're DeLargo's brat? That particular DeLargo's offspring?" he hissed and grabbed my hair with his free hand to pull my head back and press the blade against my throat. All the humor was gone from his face, replaced by something utterly dark and dangerous, cautioning me to be very careful about what I was going to say next.

"I'm his neglected bastard son," I whispered, as I started to shiver under the pressure of the deadly weapon against my throat. I tried very hard not to move at all, not daring to provoke my captor, but at the same time I had to fight against the urge to delve into memories that concerned my father. Memories of pain, of captivity, glimpses of dark cellars, chains and my father’s ever present deep and angry voice.

“I should kill you right now, right here,” he hissed. There was such outrage in his eyes, much more than at any other point of the evening. Before I had been business only for him and nothing to get worked up about, but somehow the mention of my father had made the whole situation personal. “Your father is the reason I lost everything, everything I ever held dear!”

I wanted to laugh out loud at his words, but the blade at my throat stopped me. Instead, I relaxed in his grip and let his hand carry the weight of my head, either against the knife or away from it, whichever he chose. “I guess that makes it two people whose life he’s ruined,” I commented, and let my disdain for my old man become audible in my voice. I could have taken him killing me for money, nothing personal, but the thought of getting killed because my father’s blood ran through my veins was too much for me to take.

The blade didn’t waver as he stared at me, and I could see his mind weighing the options. His greed was losing the battle against hatred slowly but surely. If I wanted my last wish, I had to act fast.

“I know you’re going to kill me, and I won’t resist. I just want to have sex with a man before I die, that’s all I’m asking for.” I thought about it for a moment, then I added, “and don’t kill me because of my father. Kill me for the money you’ll get for it. I don’t want to die because he’s related to me. I wish he’d never sired me, and he thinks the same.”

Silence spread over the beautiful, artificial room like a thick, constricting blanket as we stared at each other. I couldn’t take it, so I closed my eyes, not wanting to know which option he chose. Then I heard Mohawk growl, and I was pulled forward, pushed to the leather couches, and wrestled down onto my knees, while Mohawk sat down, knife still pressed against my throat. The black leather protested softly under the weight of his angry, tense body.

"You listen now, scrap. Your da' did a shitload of things I'd really love to kill him for. But right now I just got you, so it will be your bloody responsibility to show me you're not deserving to be killed instead of him." His grip tightened in my hair, then he moved the weapon away, and pressed the tip against my temple.

"You are going to suck me off like you never sucked dick before. Or you die without your last wish."

My hands fumbled with the trouser button, fighting against the anxious shaking in my fingers as well as against the fluttering excitement in my stomach. Cautiously, I pulled open the fly of Mohawk's trousers and grabbed inside to pull out his cock, shocked by the level of arousal I was presented with. The fingers in my hair tightened again, pulling me between Mohawk's spread knees, then bending me over and pushing my face down.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself by putting my hands on Mohawk's thighs, and gulped down the nausea caused by the simmering mixture of fear and arousal roaring through my head. I could do this. I had done it right before Mohawk had found me. This was a lot better. I had to do this right.

Mohawk's crotch was shaved and very clean looking, which made the whole situation a bit less disturbing. A tug on my hair made me gasp and open my lips, and at the same second, I got pushed down farther. The tip of his cock tasted of salty pre-cum and soap, reminding me that this man was not one of the dirty old bastards I got my fixes from. Holding my breath, I closed my lips around the flared head, setting my tongue to work.

It was as it had always been - as soon as I tasted the flavor of aroused cock, I got fascinated with the structure, the taste, the reactions of the tool to my searching, caressing tongue. It took only three seconds for me to settle into the moment, then the need took over.

With a low, guttural moan, I let my tongue glide over the glans, tracing the small slit with the tip, then working circles and caressing the retracted foreskin. I could feel the blood flowing into Mohawk's cock, rewarding my attentiveness in the most honest way I could think of - arousal.

As I pushed my head deeper, sucking softly at the hot, silken shaft, I could hear Mohawk's breath speeding up. I didn't look up into the face of my captor, but kept my eyes closed as I nodded my head up and down, slowly working more and more of his thick, hard member into my mouth, sucking and savoring the salty taste of arousal his bell-end gave off from time to time. The knife tip shuddered against my temple, leaving scratches, then blood-filled cuts in my skin, before Mohawk realized he was hurting me and pushed it against my neck instead.

The seeping pain of fresh cuts made me open my eyes wide, then push my head down further and harder, until my nose touched his crotch, the thick length buried in my gullet. Shivering violently, I started swallowing around the hard rod blocking my throat, silencing me except for the hissing, bubbling sounds my breath made while I tried to gasp for air. Blood dripped from my temple onto Mohawk's thigh, and for a moment our gazes locked into each other, my nervous, darkened eyes against the fiercely triumphant steel blue ones of my captor.

When I tried to pull back, gagging and gasping, Mohawk did the only thing I feared. He held me down, pressing my face into his crotch. Panicking, I started to swallow harshly against the intruder in my throat, feeling the twitching that promised Mohawk's release in just a matter of seconds. My captor moaned harshly and filled my gullet with hot, salty strings of liquid, bucking violently. Only then did he let go of me, shoving me backwards with a brutal push that sent me flying. Droplets of cum bubbled out of my mouth and nose as I started coughing spasmodically, rolling onto my side. It took me nearly a minute of continued rasping and swallowing before I could take a clear breath again, leaving the floor covered with flecks of saliva and sperm. There was a peculiar silence that filled the room for a few heartbeats, than Mohawk's voice cut through my roaring thoughts.

"If you think I'm finished already, think again."

~*~

We ended up in the bedroom with me sitting on the edge of the red and black bed while Mohawk stared around in awe. Each and every room of the suite seemed to hold new wonders for the tattered punk, and since his hostage- me- seemed to be behaving perfectly, he now dared to drift into sightseeing now and then.

I kept staring at my keeper, feeling a strange but pleasant contentment in his presence. Shouldn't I have been scared to death? Maybe, but even with the switchblade still present, I couldn't bring myself to really fear him. He was granting my last wish, but that wasn’t all. Even with all that violence, his harshness and his cruel behavior, there was something about him that tickled me, that made me look over his obvious faults, nay, insanity, I just didn’t know what it was yet. Frowning slightly, I brushed my fingers over the burning scrapes the knife had left on my temple, feeling the crusts of blood and the already closing wound. Yes, it had hurt as hell when the knife had broken skin, but I did heal five times as quick as any other person, and it hadn't been anywhere near fatal. A little pain seemed to go a long way with my unpredictable mind. Funny how those things worked out sometimes.

"What's your name?" Mohawk's rasp broke the silence, and I realized that I had been deep in thought for quite some time, all the while he had been staring at me.

Again I blushed, fidgeting a bit before I croaked, "Kelaste. What do you care?" Instantly, I regretted the snapping tone, remembering the position I was in. Blushing even harder, I tore his gaze away from Mohawk and glanced down at my own hands.

"Well, Kel it is then. Take off your clothes, we don't want them to get shredded, do we?" the rasping purr went on, sending shivers down my spine.

I still was rock-hard in spite of my fear and shook off my clothes without hesitation. My cock popped out of my underwear like a happy puppy, teetering a bit as if begging for attention. When I shifted around to drop my pants onto the floor, kneeling near the edge of the bed, I heard a sharp intake of breath and glanced at Mohawk’s face cautiously.

He stared at my lean, milky white body with soft wonder, drinking in the shape of my sleek thighs, the flatness of my abdomen, the slight goose bumps on my upper arms. He looked like someone had hit him right between the eyes with a hammer, and for those few seconds, the dark hate in his eyes seemed to diminish.

A hushed sigh rippled through his body, then he snapped, "Turn around, wrists crossed behind your back! And stop trying to resemble a kicked puppy!" His anger tasted a tad artificial this time.

I turned on my knees, silently obeying while I kept a perfectly neutral expression. The cool satin sheets felt like water beneath my knees, reflecting the gleam of the ceiling lights onto my skin. Staring down at the bedding worth two hundred dollars, I put my arms behind my back, crossed my wrists dutifully and waited for my last wish.

I heard the jingling chime of the belt buckle, felt the bed move right next to my naked feet, felt the puff of air as Mohawk moved onto the bed behind me. I couldn't suppress a shudder when the heavy woven linen of an army-style belt wound around my wrists, binding them so tight it made my fingers swell - but not too tight I discovered, wiggling my fingers a bit. My hands would probably hurt afterwards, but it was a pain I could live with. I had lived through much, much worse things. This, I actually enjoyed.

With a leering grin, Mohawk slapped my upheld ass, making me yelp in surprise.

"You have the sweetest ass I've ever seen, scrap. Bet'cha show it around a lot like today, don't you?" he snickered, kneading my buttocks with both hands, letting his fingers wander ever so softly while he waited for the response.

I had heard my share of dirty talk in my short life, but being complimented in this sort of situation was new even to me. Furiously blushing, I stammered "I-I don't show off! I'm not gay!"

The burst of laughter behind me made me blush even deeper, and I repeated myself with a more outraged note in my voice. "I'm not gay! I like women - LOVE women! I just suck it for hits, nothing more! Why waste money if you can get it for free?"

A fingertip pressed against my back door, drawing slow, sensual circles. Gasping, I jerked forward, trying to escape the odd sensation, but the only thing I got for my act was a hard, biting slap on the ass.

"Hold still, you little shit! Next time you move, I'll make you unable to sit for a week, you hear me?" my captor snarled, then resumed massaging my most private orifice.

The slap shocked me into total stillness. It wasn't so much the pain itself that astounded me but the casualty of the gesture, and my own response. Shouldn't I have screamed bloody murder? The slap had left a nasty sting on my ass, and it hurt like hell, why didn't I jump up, kick, fight?

Still, the finger rotated, stroked, coaxed my sphincter, brought me back into reality and made me wiggle just a bit, but I was careful not to move away. I didn't want to risk another slap, and it did feel good, in a very disturbing way.

"I don't believe you," Mohawk finally decided, then pushed his finger up to the third knuckle into my ass and made me whimper breathlessly. "I think you simply like cock. And I think you like it in every way conceivable to man. I think you suck off dealers because it's a win-win situation for you, isn't it?"

Mortified, I jerked at the belt that bound my arms, desperately trying to free myself. "Don't!" I wailed, while I tried to still my growing arousal with pure willpower. I felt my sphincter twitch in euphoria around the intruder, trying to suck him deeper, reminding me of the pure joy of being touched after the long denial.

"Your body also doesn't believe you," Mohawk hissed, and slowly started to move his finger. The delicate touch, the sensual movement stood in stark contrast to his voice and the soft, dry burning it caused in my backside, and made me shudder breathlessly.

My spinning mind wouldn't form a cohesive response, but I did gasp a harsh "Oh!" when a second finger joined the game, stretching me to the point of real unease. I tightened up and again wiggled forward, but another hard slap stopped my flight immediately. This time he didn't stop at the first one, another row of five smacking, loud slaps on my backside made me gasp, then yelp, and finally scream breathlessly. The fingers in my ass never stopped moving, and suddenly I not only loosened up, but also found myself teetering on the brink of an orgasm I hadn’t felt coming. One more slap on the ass would have been enough to push me over, but he stopped just short of it.

"That's a good boy," the rasping voice coaxed, accompanied by soft, pacifying strokes of his other hand over my burning ass, "just let go. You're mine already, anyway. Give in, show me what kind of kinky slut you are, and I'll be more tender with you, I promise."

Burning shame ripped through me, but the more I tried to resist, the more I seemed to lose the battle. When those stealthy fingers found my prostate, the electrifying rush of arousal made me groan helplessly and buck a few times. That was the breaking point.

With a hungry moan I pushed backwards, closing my eyes to the inevitability of the situation. What good would resistance do anyway? This was what I had wanted, my last fuck on earth, and oh, the steady push of fingers felt so good...

With each shove of my ass, Mohawk snickered louder, pushed his fingers faster into me, and finally grabbed my cock with a hand around my hips. His fingers tightened behind the tip of my swollen member, moving my foreskin back and forth with small, playful gestures until the bell-end was thick, red and wet with pleasure. Never in my life had anyone touched my cock in such a skilled way, it had always been me who had given the pleasure, and pleasured myself afterward. The small touches alone almost drove me wild, but when Mohawk dipped his fingers into the wetness that pearled out of my slit and rubbed his moistened thumb over it, I yelled with pleasure.

And then I came. I couldn't have warned him even if I had wanted to, the orgasm was that sudden and intense it made my eyes roll into the back of my head. My body shuddered violently while I shot load after load, gasping for air, heaving and whining in lust, barely managing to not topple over.

"There you have it. You're gay after all. Just a little slap and tickle, and you're good to go," Mohawk husked, his hand covered with my juice. He pulled his fingers out slowly and opened his pants one-handed. Grinning, he smeared the shameful evidence onto his own pulsing shaft.

I didn't get a moment to regain my senses, however. Right when I thought my twitching, hungering body had stilled, I felt the push of his cum-lubed cock at my sphincter. There was a split second of hesitation, as if Mohawk waited for me to protest, but none came. Then suddenly, there was just the initial burning pain of my anus getting stretched beyond comfort, and the feeling of a hard, throbbing dick intruding my body. My next moan was of pain, a low, harsh groan I bellowed into the bedding, clenching my hands into fists as I tried to swallow down the humiliation and lust.

Mohawk stopped after the initial push, both strong hands biting into my protruding hipbones, keeping me right where I was. I gasped harshly, then sucked in precious air, just to exhale it with another wheezing sound as he pushed again, penetrating me with his entire length. The burning was excruciating, it roared through my spine and my belly like an electric current, but it also only took a few pushes to diminish.

I was shivering violently when I finally managed to breathe again. I had the sickening feeling his cock was shoving my intestines up my throat, and that thought gave me such a strong visual that I started crying and shrieking hysterically. I must have looked (and sounded) like a maniac, tugging frantically at the bonds around my wrists.

A dry, warm hand clamped over my mouth as another strong arm wound itself around my torso, and then I was pulled up onto my knees, onto Mohawk’s lap. He pressed my shivering, sweaty body against his front, cradled me in his arms and rocked me softly, making low, soothing sounds against my neck. I was having hysterics, and somehow this killer was the first person in my life to actually care!

Patiently, he waited for me to calm down, cock still rock-hard and buried deep in my ass, arms around my body. When I finally stopped hiccupping and sniveling, he let go of my mouth, grabbed my limp cock, and started slowly pushing in and out of me. His motions were soft and stimulating in the beginning, sensing my need to get aroused first, and while I still had to fight for breath and against my tears, the sudden change of mood did fit well.

However, when he felt my cock twitch and swell, he pushed me forward again, keeping my ass up with his fingers around my cock and the other hand clutched into my hip. I fell face first into the bedding, moaning softly at the new angle. Every sensual stroke sent jolts of pleasure through my body, heightening the lust and arousal until my lower body cramped in delight. I mewled and moaned, welcomed every blow of his hips with balled fists, but I nearly jumped off the bed when his hand began stroking my cock with his fingers clasped tightly around the base.

The doubled pleasure was too much. My back arched up, and I screamed with sexual delight when I came the second time. I hadn’t known I could do that in such quick succession, but live and learn.

His pistoning bucks never stopped and neither did his hand. My moaning sounded like the high pitched keening of a wounded dog when he finally pushed into me one final time, then shuddered and groaned harshly as he filled me with his cum.

I think I passed out for a few seconds, sinking onto the bedding like a broken doll. I regained consciousness when he pulled out, patted my butt, and stood up to leave the bedroom. I listened to the shower being turned on, to the sound of him stepping under the hot spray of water, and imagined his glorious body nude. I hadn't seen him nude until now, and lying there feeling sore and well fucked, I got very, very curious.

When he came back, he was down to his trousers, his stripe of bleached hair combed onto one side, hanging wetly over his profile. He smelled heavenly of my body wash, and when he dropped onto the mattress to pat my head I felt another jolt of obscene happiness over him being there.

"So, scrap. We're going to play a game of question and answer, and you're gonna do the answering part. If - and only if - I like what I hear, I'll not only let you live, I'll also take you with me, because you definitely need someone to take care of you," he said, smiling at his own plan.

"I don't want to come with you, can't I just answer, and if you like my answers, you let me live and disappear?" I griped exhaustedly, rubbing my head against his patting hand.

I heard the safety switch of his Beretta being pushed, a harsh, low clicking that went right into my spine. Then his hand tightened at the back of my head, grabbing my hair tightly, and he pulled my head backwards and up to shove the gleaming muzzle of the handgun right into my mouth.

"You shouldn’t like what I did to you, and you shouldn’t let yourself be treated like this. Your father must be crazy to let you roam around on your own, you’re lucky you’re still alive if you ask me. So, if I like what I hear, I'll take you with me. If I don't, I'll rip you open and spill your guts with my bare hands. It’s the merciful thing to do because who knows what kind of pervert may get you next time. You understand me?" he declared with that deadly sexy voice of his, not moving a muscle in that rugged face.

I nodded frantically, whining in fear around the weapon.

"Good." He smiled broadly, pulled the weapon back, and pushed the muzzle against my forehead, right between my eyes. "When was the first time you had sex?" he asked, tilting his head to be able to look around his weapon.

"When I was twelve, with my home teacher," I answered. It was a pretty easy question, and I was so glad about it I nearly passed out trying not to giggle frantically.

"Why did you have a home teacher?" he asked, his voice stern and neutral.

Damn, I had hoped he would ask the sex of my teacher, which would have been another easy question, but I seemed to run out of luck. "Because my dad saw me unfit for normal school, with my problems and all," I mumbled, looking at his fingers around the butt of the gun rather than at his face.

"What kind of problems did you have?" he shot without hesitation, voice staying nicely calm.

"I was antisocial and an addict. I took coke and heroin and had a few nervous breakdowns," I whispered, closing my eyes, ashamed again.

"Why did you take drugs when you were that young?"

"My father made me. They were prescribed from a private doctor he knew."

"You can't get drugs like that from a prescription, scrap. You do know that, don't you?"

I stayed silent for a few seconds. He pushed the gun against my forehead, prompting me to answer. "Yes. I know that now. He lied to me, for a long time."

"Why did you have nervous breakdowns, and why did your ol' dad make you take drugs?" He did sound fascinated by that thought, or maybe outraged. It was hard to tell with his face being so chaotic and out of tune with his voice and behavior.

"Because he kept me chained to a wall in a cellar for a few years, and I kind of got damaged," I lied, sounding spiteful, hateful, and really wishing he'd just shoot me right there. No one ever believed me when I told them the true reason, and his questions had rekindled that old death wish, making it burn bright. What I said was actually true, but my father hadn’t put me in the cellar because he hated me, but because I hadn’t been quite human to look at back then. I couldn’t tell him that though.

There was a long silence, and I was shivering with anticipation when he finally raised his voice again.

"Yeah, that does sound like something that old fart would do," he mumbled, then he shoved the gun into my mouth again, pushing it so deep I had to gag and swallow around it. "You come with me. I'll keep you. You wanna die anyway, so you'll do something useful until you do. Nod if you are happy to oblige."

I tasted bile on my tongue as I nodded, but I put my heart into the move. I was so afraid I thought I'd blank out again, but he saved me the trouble. I didn't see his fist coming, it just connected to my head, and suddenly everything went black.