Out Of Equilibrium Love Is Heresy

Author's Note:

This is an Equilibrium AU that is similar but different. Unlike my other works, wherein I adhered as strictly as possible to canon, in this work I made improvements as I saw fit, including the creation of a brand new female lead. Enjoy!

*****

A knock at the door jerked my head to attention and away from the neurobiology text I had been reading. I rose quickly from my desk. The knock had been a hard, staccato sound, one that conveyed authority. And there was only one authority that would come knocking on the door of my private residence at this hour: the Sacred. The knock came again before I reached the door, and when I pulled it open, I found a gloved fist poised to knock a third time.

It was the Sacred, two of them. One man and one woman, they stood with spines erect and faces neutral, clad severely in high-collared uniforms. And the cut of their uniforms told me they weren't just any Sacred. No. These were Grammaton Clerics, the highest rank of the highest order of the Sacred. Trained in combat arts, espionage, and interrogation, Grammaton Clerics were the Church's most prized weapons and its most feared enforcers of Holy Law.

Something was wrong.

Had I been capable, I would have been terrified. But thanks to the emotion-suppressing effects of the Prozium II serum, I felt nothing. That night I was using an experimental serum, one I had designed myself. It allowed me a little more sensation than standard Prozium, but not by much. Its numbing effects also made me incapable of gratitude for the perfect poker face that it afforded me.

"Good evening, Clerics," I said tonelessly. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Citizen Aliya Forsythe?" asked the man.

My eyes were drawn to him as he spoke. He had dark hair and dark eyes, framed by thick serious eyebrows and high cheekbones. I found myself fascinated with his face. I made a mental note that my experimental serum evidently allowed some level of sexual response. A serious design flaw and one that was deeply inconvenient under the circumstances.

"Yes," I said. "That's me."

He handed me a document, and the two clerics pushed past me and into my living quarters. I inspected the document as I followed after them down the hall. It stated that there had been an anonymous report of suspicious activity at my residence, and that the clerics were authorized to search the premises. They were already doing so, and I heard something crash in the kitchen. Had I not been on the serum, I would have felt a rush of irritation. Grammaton Clerics were known for their thoroughness, not their respect for private property.

"This is an illicit item," said the male cleric.

He stood at my desk, and in his gloved hands he held the text I had been reading. He didn't look at me as he spoke, he only turned a page casually, gazing at its contents.

"Where did you get it?"

"From the Archive, Cleric," I replied. "I work for the High Office, and I have several indulgences for items such as this to aid my research."

He looked up from the book and gave me a hard stare.

"Cleric Gibbs," he called out, not taking his eyes off of me.

"Yes, Cleric Preston," said Gibbs as she came out of the kitchen.

"Did you check Citizen Forsythe's personnel file for standing indulgences?"

"No, I did not," she said.

"That was a mistake," he said, snapping the book closed, and I thought I could see the barest trace of irritation on his face.

This wouldn't have surprised me even if I had been capable of the emotion. Clerics received a specialized serum, one that I had helped design. The standard Prozium II given to the majority of citizens created a blanket suppression of all emotions. But completely eliminating the fear response was detrimental for reflexes and response times in combat scenarios, so the Clerics were given a specialized serum that enabled them to perform at peak physical ability. That necessarily allowed them a certain level or fear, adrenaline, and cortisol response.

The side effect was that it allowed some mild emotional responses as well. How to individually target specific emotions for suppression was one of the focuses of my research, and the reason I was permitted access to technical publications. It also gave me significant personal leeway, and I regularly designed novel serums to test on myself, including the one I was using now. I did this because I felt that the standard serum affected my neural reward system and made it harder for me to think creatively. But when you started fiddling with neural reward systems, there were bound to be side effects.

Such as my apparent attraction to this Cleric. Sexual contact and possession of materials related to sex, ranging from educational content to prophylatics and pornography, was strictly prohibited by the Church, and were offenses punishable by death. Exhibiting any kind of sexual response could get me arrested or worse.

He had pulled out his communicator and placed a call.

"This is Cleric Preston. I need a list of indulgences active on Citizen Aliya Forsythe's file."

I found that I didn't want to look away from him. The way he moved mesmerized me. As his body shifted beneath the dark fabric of his uniform, it was snug in places and loose in others, giving the impression of strong muscles and feline grace. It was an apt metaphor; what was I but helpless prey attracted to a predatory cat?

He remained silent as he listened to the answer. I saw his jaw flex and his mouth tighten ever so slightly. "Yes, I see. Is that everything? Good. Thank you." He switched off the communicator.

"Cleric Gibbs," Preston said, turning to face her. "Citizen Forsythe is a Class I Researcher for the High Office, and in accordance with regulation, we are required to honor the variety of indulgences on her record as well as afford her belongings extra care. This is the sort of information I expect you to acquire in advance of inspections."

"Yes, Cleric Preston. My apologies for the error," said Gibbs. "It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," said Preston. "And make sure you leave the kitchen in good order."

"That will be difficult," said Gibbs, "based on the progress that I have already made."

"Then I expect you to rectify your 'progress'," said Preston. He turned to me then. "Based on your classification, you are eligible to submit for replacement for any property damage incurred during our search."

"Thank you, Cleric Preston," I said.

He gave me a long look, and it gave me a pleasurable sensation. It was both fortunate and unfortunate that I could feel no fear. It would have made me nervous, but that might have made me cautious.

Looking back to my desk, he resumed his examination of my research materials.

"What is the nature of your work?" he asked, picking up my reading device to look over the papers I had been studying.

"I am a serum optimization specialist," I said.

"I see."

When he said nothing further, it seemed I was dismissed.

I took the opportunity to step into the kitchen and see what Gibbs had done. She was sweeping up a broken piece of crockery, and I made a mental note of other items that she had damaged.

When I returned, I found that Preston had finished with my desk and moved into my bedroom. He was going through the drawers of my bureau, patting down my folded garments, checking underneath them and knocking on the drawers for secret compartments. I came to stand nearby, watching his progress neutrally or perhaps with a hint of pleasure. That is, until he found where I kept my undergarments.

Removing an item from the drawer, he held it aloft for inspection.

"What is this, Citizen Forsythe?" he asked, the item dangling from his fingers.

"It is a women's undergarment," I replied blandly, but I could already feel an ominous blush working its way up my neck to my cheeks.

"It is lingerie," said Preston, looking at me, "and it is an illicit item for which you do not have an indulgence."

The next moment was a blur. He dropped the lace thong and before it hit the floor, he had seized me by the throat and pushed me against the wall. While I could not feel surprise or fear, my body did respond to being touched. I felt my blush deepen. Looking at him, I could tell my pupils must be dilating and that an increase of blood flow to my face would be causing my lips to redden. Things that he would be trained to notice.

"Are you off your dose?" he demanded.

"No," I said. "I am compliant. I am taking an experimental serum."

"You are showing signs of physiological arousal," he said. "The serum, even an experimental one, should prevent a fear response."

"Yes, Cleric, I agree. And it is. What I am experiencing is not fear; it is sexual arousal. It is evidently a side effect of my serum design. A flaw I was not aware of until now, and one that I intend to correct. Immediately."

"Sexual arousal," Preston said flatly, uncomprehending.

I hesitated. Of course. The Church wouldn't teach them about that, would they? Grammaton Clerics received a higher level of education than normal citizens including how to recognize emotions and identify non-adherents. But it would make sense if their training focused largely on negative emotions. He likely understood the mechanics of sexual reproduction and what lust and desire were in theory and as behavior motivators but not much more. And he almost certainly would not have been trained to recognize sexual attraction directed at him. The mere idea was absurd.

And yet, here we were.

During the ensuing silence, he stared at me intently as he held me against the wall. His touch was continuing to affect me. My breath had become labored and my heart rate elevated. I began to find it difficult to keep my gaze away from the perfect curve of his mouth. Attracted to a Cleric. If I had been capable, I would have laughed.

"And I am the stimulus that is generating this response?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "I seem to be highly responsive to you."

"Tell me more about your research," he said, not releasing his hold on me.

"I cannot do that unless you have a clearance level of 1C or higher," I said.

"Cleric Gibbs," he called, loud enough to be heard in the other room. He did not look away from me. "Please wait outside."

"Yes, Cleric Preston," came Gibbs's reply.

I heard footsteps move down the hall and the front door opening and closing.

With his free hand, still not releasing my throat, Preston reached into a breast pocket and removed his documentation for my inspection. He had a 1AA clearance, which gave him access to nearly any information he might desire. The only higher clearances that I was aware of were possessed by members of the uppermost echelons of the Church. The Lord herself had a clearance of 1AAA. Which meant that Grammaton Cleric Preston was as powerful and high ranking as a Cardinal. Why on Earth he was performing inspections, I had no clue. That task should be well beneath him. I realized that this must be a training run for Gibbs. He was her Shepherd. Just my luck.

But what this told me was that no one would question him if he killed me; even my elevated position afforded me no protection against someone so powerful. Only without a fear response available to me, my only reaction was to become more titillated. Power was seductive.

"Cleric," I said. "If you could please release me, I would appreciate it. The level of arousal that I am experiencing is escalating, and it is distracting. I would be better able to answer your questions if you were to give me some physical separation."

Preston didn't hesitate. "No. Tell me more about your research."

I took a deep breath, trying to cool the fire building inside of me. If he was going to kill me there was nothing I could do about it, and the prospect didn't scare me. It would have without the serum; I should have been shaking in terror.

"My research is largely focused on the targeting of specific emotions and responses for serum optimization," I began. My voice had lost its neutrality and my breath was ragged, creating a stark contrast to the formality of my words. "The neurology of the brain is complexly interrelated, and it is incredibly difficult to suppress one emotion without suppressing other emotions or systems. We are not yet able to target individual emotions, only sets of emotions. I am working on that as well as serums that allow for fast response times and reflexes while offering emotional suppression, such as the serum used by the Sacred." My words were overtly husky with excitement, my chest heaving. I took another deep breath in a futile attempt to calm my heart rate. "I am also permitted personal projects such as the experimental serum I am using now, which is supposed to allow me greater creative thought for my research."

In addition to my wild breathing and heart rate, I could feel a heat and a wetness forming between my legs. I was beginning to shake. Looking him in the eye was difficult; it made me want to breathe even faster. But looking at his mouth only made my lips part in anticipation. His face remained stony as he listened and observed me closely.

"But there are side effects," I said, pressing onward. "Surely, you have noticed that the serum you take when on duty allows through certain vestiges of emotion. And clearly my experimental serum has the undesirable side effect of permitting a sexual response. This is an emotional cross-contamination issue with creative thinking that I was not aware of, and it is helpful data to have when I explore a redesign."

"Why were you unaware of it?" he asked.

"It is not something I typically test for," I said. "An oversight I will correct in the future."

"Given your professional position, this can't be the first time that you have been around a member of the opposite sex while using an experimental serum," he replied. "How would you not have noticed it before?"

"Because I am not sexually responsive to all men," I said with an ache of excitement in my chest. "It would seem that I am not sexually responsive to most men. This side effect only came to light because I seem to be exceptionally sexually responsive to you, Cleric Preston."

The admission gave me a thrill, and I felt my heart flail against my ribs.

"You implied that physical proximity heightens the effect," he said.

"That is correct."

He was thoughtful for a moment. "Hold still," he said with an emphatic pause for each word. When I nodded assent, he released my throat.

I remained with my back pressed obediently against the wall as I watched him carefully remove his black leather gloves and fold them meticulously into the waistband of his uniform.

Then he pressed his body against mine, pinning me tightly to the wall. I could not feel shock, but my brain registered the wild improbability of it. The sensation was intensely arousing, and I began breathing so fast that I became light headed. Fear would have made me cautious, but I was only functioning on a limited reward system. What little remained of rational thought was rapidly bleeding away as it shouted dire warnings to me.

"You find this pleasurable," he said.

"Yes," I answered, my voice heavy.

"And this," he said, and he brushed my face with his bare fingertips.

The caress caused me to shudder involuntarily and close my eyes. Before I realized what I had done, I discovered my hands clinging to his back, fingers digging into the powerful muscles beneath his dark garments. I knew the Sacred kept grueling physical regimens, but I had never encountered the results of it so intimately before. His body was exquisite, and I felt my knees go weak.

"I will take that as an affirmative," he said.

I opened my eyes again to look at him. His face was close to mine. I had a powerful urge to kiss him, but the last vestiges of my clarity restrained me. However, I couldn't stop my gaze from falling to his mouth, and I began to salivate at the idea of his lips pressed against mine. His tongue in my mouth. His-

Abruptly, he stepped away from me. I found myself leaning against the wall, dizzy and panting. My knees nearly gave out underneath me, but somehow I managed to stay upright. He bent to pick up the inciting undergarment.

"I am confiscating this," he said, and he slipped it into his breast pocket along with his credentials.

I couldn't help but wonder whether he was taking it for evidence or keeping it for his own personal use, though the latter seemed impossible. And yet, I would have said that what had just transpired was inconceivable.

Without further comment, Preston punctiliously replaced his black gloves and went to the front door to readmit Gibbs. They resumed the search. Our confrontation, if you could call it that, seemed to have ended. I chose to return to my desk to work rather than spend more time with the enigmatic Cleric Preston.

When they were done, Gibbs had located some cooking spices that they confiscated but which were not considered worthy of a formal reprimand. I did not receive a reprimand for the lingerie either, and I noted that Preston did not mention it to Gibbs, at least within my earshot.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Citizen Forsythe," said Preston, and they departed.

And so I was left to wonder who had informed on me.

I immediately canceled all of my private appointments for the next three months. My clients would be displeased, but they knew that I was cautious and appreciated that about me. Sale, possession, and use of antidote, which neutralized the effects of serum, were offenses for which Clerics were permitted to perform summary execution, so both my clientele and I had everything to lose if discovered. And it seemed someone suspected me of dealing, else the Sacred would not have appeared on my doorstep. But who?

More inexplicable was Cleric Preston's behavior. Had I been able to worry, it would have troubled me more than the anonymous tip. I felt a blush rise to my cheeks as I recalled myself pinned between his body and the wall. Preston was trouble: the kind I craved.

***

The next day at work, I ran a search on Cleric Preston. My clearance level gave me incomplete access to his personnel file, but it was enough. His full name was John Azrael Preston, and his list of accolades was extensive. He was the deadliest practitioner of gun kata that the Church had on record, and he excelled at suspect interrogation. The file described his techniques as "creative." I shivered at the thought. He was smart too; his scores in academic testing were in the top percentile. I had outperformed him on the standardized tests but only by a thin margin. I realized that even his name marked him as a deadly instrument of the Church: in ancient lore, Azrael had been God's Angel of Death.

He was clearly formidable and not to be trifled with.

That day, I spent the small amount of time afforded me for personal projects in an attempt to redesign my experimental serum. I worked on it again the next day and so on for the next two weeks, until I thought I might have eliminated the side effect.

Only, I needed a way to test it.

So I did something incredibly unwise: I went looking for Preston. To trifle.

Based on his physical accomplishments, I began my search at the Cathedral. This was where the Sacred went to practice their combat arts. Upon arrival, the first staff member I asked knew who I was asking for and where to find him. Following her instructions, I went to the sparring room gallery to watch and wait for Preston to finish his exercises.

He was holding court, so to speak. He fought bare-handed against three opponents while a crowd of onlookers waited around the edges. When that bought ended with Preston victorious, there was a short break then three more stepped forward to fight him. No one was pulling punches, and though Preston was the victor again, I saw that he was bleeding from several wounds.