Not Another Hero
An MM Romance in Space
by
Wendy Rathbone
Not Another Hero – MM Romance in Space Copyright © 2019 by Wendy Rathbone and Eye Scry Publications.
A publication by:
Eye Scry Publications
http://www.eyescrypublications.com
ISBN:
TITLE: Not Another Hero – An MM Romance in Space
Author: Wendy Rathbone
Cover by: Wendy Rathbone
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Piracy ruins lives.
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For Della
Always my hero.
Chapter One
The Powers That Be (PTB) used to send technicians into space and an occasional scientist. All that came of it were boring lectures and the ability to repair busted satellites. Financing for further space travel was slow to come. But they fixed that eighty years ago. Now they send Heroes.
The definition of a Hero is less flattering than the generic term. We’re glorified porn stars. Actors sent out here with a space opera script of mostly sex scenes. We are filmed twenty-four/seven. We’re expendable, we’re highly sexed, and we’re stupid. Most of us are failed artists with nothing left to lose. As well as an actor, I am a lazy, bad poet who loves to gaze into space. Who better to send off to other worlds? With us, there is the element of sexy drama without the fear of losing some mind valuable to society.
When the PTB signed me up I’d been doing mostly summer stock Shakespeare for no pay. I was a nerdy actor but with a pretty face and managed some good reviews. By some miracle the PTB liked my audition for them and hired me. They changed my name from Weldon Philbert to Stirling Kane, paid for a trip to the most famous flesh-carving institute, Scat Fat, where forty pounds of excess flab was removed in order to make my body lean and perfect, and bought me a whole new Spandex and pleather wardrobe. PTB promised to publish all the bad poetry I wrote out there in space if I turned out to be worthy entertainment.
Now, with twenty-five years of experience and fifty-three missions behind me, I still look like I’m in my mid-twenties and I’m famous. I command my own ship, and everyone who works for me is a Hero, too.
Lacrosse, my ship, houses eight. I sit at her helm and don’t do much, since everything is auto-computerized these days. I stare a lot at the stars with a pensive gaze. It’s a part of my job, and I’m paid very well for it, thank you.
This mission, we’re off to Jupiter for hydrogen samples and I can think of no ship better qualified than mine for the task. Since Jupiter has no solid surface, we won’t be landing. But then, you knew that. It doesn’t take a scientist to understand those dynamics.
Though fifteen other missions have probed that stormy world, no one has ever gone as close to the planet as we will. Our low altitude probe, complete with diamond-headed bore, is supposed to dive deeper and faster than any other. If it hits solid mass, it will drill. Compressed hydrogen, I’m told by the computer, can be a bitch. Beneath that, someone in the PTB department is hoping to hit rock, and subsequently strike it rich. Diamonds, maybe? Hiding there since the beginning, when our solar system stirred and flared?
“I doubt it,” Danielle Blacque tells me when I pose the theory to her over lunch.
I blink and lean forward dramatically. I can’t help but flirt with her. Not only is it in this voyage’s job description to do so – the more sex we have on these trips, the more recordings of our journey the PTB can sell to the masses – I love sex almost as much as the stars. Unfortunately, she appears not to be interested in anyone but her brother, Drac, who happens to interest me more, actually, but it’s only been a week in space so far and I’m trying to save the best for last. He’s that hot.
“There’s nothing but iron in the center of that planet, if there’s anything,” she replies, ducking her head to avoid my kiss. She pokes at the damp mash on her plate. After all these years of advancements, human beings still cannot make decent fare for long-voyaging that doesn’t look like tie-dyed toothpaste. We have the ingredients to cook, and sometimes I do. But most of us are pretty damned lazy.
“How do you know?” I ask.
“Because I read up on it.” Her pale blue eyes roll, the long lashes shadowing her cheeks. “Unlike some Heroes, I can read, you know.”
“Oh. Of course.”
“This mission is just a waste of time and money,” she adds out of the corner of her beautiful mouth.
“Never!” I argue, pretending to stare hungrily at her breasts through the sheer, red silks of her brassiere.
Don’t judge me. This is in the script. I’m supposed to be a dick and pressure her for sex. I’m supposed to leer at big breasts and tight asses, at bulging crotches and flexed muscles.
Danielle is wearing designer PTB red lace leggings, that red top, and nothing more. She looks about twenty-one. She’s actually in her late thirties.
“Our missions are never a waste,” I tell her.
“I know. I know, we do it for the love of the stars,” she says.
“You sound like you’re becoming disillusioned.”
She shrugs. It’s cute. Even though I prefer men, we’re all bisexual in this script. I’m a method actor through and through. Who am I to deny a great body?
My groin tightens against my tight leather bodysuit.
“Maybe I am,” she says.
She gives no indication she’s interested in me. Sometimes it takes time to settle in on a new voyage. To be comfortable with your fellow holo stars. But it’s hard not to feel a tad dejected.
When she leaves I sit for awhile and stare at the sloping, silver bulkheads.
This is going to be a long four months.
Chapter Two
In the playroom I lose myself in a holo, a live-mystery simulation.
A young boy on a Martian satellite colony has just been murdered. It’s my job to chase down the suspects. I have too many choices to keep track of, and my attention span has always been short, one of the reasons I became a poet and not a novelist. But it’s fun anyway.
I get easily side-tracked by virtual hot fudge sundaes and a willowy young man born in space whose heart would burst if he ever set foot on Earth. He may or may not be a suspect. I don’t really care because at this point I’m aroused and I’d much rather fuck than solve a mystery.
He’s like a bird in my arms, naked and willing, his bones brittle and light. The half-grav of the satellite is almost too much for him as my body pushes his against the velvet cover of his bunk. He’s a rarity, now that the new ships have their own Earth-like artificial gravities, and a sweet tenderness wells that I’ve never felt before.
In this sim, one of the most advanced I’ve seen, not only can you taste the hot fudge on the sundaes, you can smell people. This man smells like rain and wind, tart on my lips everywhere I kiss him. He has a thin,
strong cock, hard as stone against his stomach, and I can even feel the dampness at its head where I press my thumb. I imagine it will taste of rain as well, and I am eager to find out as I rub my palm against his smooth-as-marble shaft.
Just as I get to the point of wishing away my own clothes, wanting to feel him against me skin to skin, the computer image wavers and freezes.
“You have failed to track the next clue in the time allotted,” a whispery, androgynous voice states from beyond the frozen scene. The beautiful man in my arms shimmers, a warm mirage fading to clear air. “Nod for retry. Tilt left for abort.”
After failure to flirt with Danielle, and now, having just wasted two hours of sleuthing only to have my hard work wiped from memory, I am feeling none too rational. I neither nod nor tilt. Fuck this game! Fuck the computer’s commands.
This is the second time this game has done this to me. I rip off the headset and fling it across the room. It hits Armstrong Vaughn hard in the crotch. I didn’t even know he’d entered the playroom.
“Oops.” I slide out of the sim-chair just as he’s removing his own headband. He stares at me, dark brows meeting in a frown.
“What?” he says, picking up my unit from his lap. “You mad at me?”
“Sorry, I thought I was alone. It just flew right out of my hands.”
“Well, Captain, I think you’re taking these games a little too seriously.” His voice is deep, like chamber music.
“There are only three things I take seriously.”
“Me, too.” White teeth flash against dark pink lips. “The stars, life, and…”
“Want to discuss it further in my quarters?”
“You are desperate,” he replies.
He’s right. I’ve been horny for hours. And honestly, I’ve been doing all I can to distract myself from thoughts of Drac. Unreachable Drac. Drac who rarely leaves his quarters.
He’s the one I want, and the script is very mysterious about him. We have a lot of leeway in our scripts to ad-lib. The script gives us suggestions for hook-ups and drama, but we are allowed to switch things up, exchange roles if we so desire, and add our own dramas. We’re pros, so it’s pretty much up to us to give a good show. We are all famous for our performances, so there is no question we’ll be fine.
But Drac is new. And I want to conquer that greenie so badly I can taste it.
This is going to be a slow-burn, damn him to Hell. I can tell. But all right, then. I can be patient.
Armstrong gets up from his chair and follows me into the ship’s corridor where the hum of the engines is like a soft purr. I love the sound.
All frustrations aside, I absolutely one-hundred percent love my job.
*
Armstrong Vaughn takes me into his mouth with a powerful, wet suction. I’ve had sex with him three times on this voyage already, and he’s always a lot of fun. But my thoughts are on Drac as my fingers weave through his many, tiny braids.
My cock is so hard and his mouth is so hot. I thrust up. He lets me, taking me deep into his throat. Gods, it’s good.
I pull out leaving just the tip against his lips and catch my breath. Then I thrust again. He goes with my rhythm. He knows I am trying to make this last, but he is relentless with the sucking. My whole body tingles.
“Wait!” I gasp and pull out. Again, my cock touches just his lips. The bastard sneaks his tongue out and wiggles it against my slit.
I feel a surge of pleasure.
“Damn it! Fuck! You didn’t just do that!”
When I push back into his mouth, my cock swells. Nothing can stop it now. I am bursting. I come in sweet throbs, filling his mouth.
He swallows, licking his lips after, then frowns at me. “You are so critical in bed,” he complains.
“What?”
“You didn’t like what I did?”
I chuckle and smack him on the flank. “I loved it!”
“What?” He bats his eyes. “This?” And he leans down and licks the head of my cock.
I smack him again. “Give me a minute, will you?”
We don’t age fast in space. We’re all between thirty and fifty, but still young, still with the uncontainable energy of twenty-year olds. When we need them, we get the surgeries and the drugs that keep us virile and horny.
But with all that I still need a break between orgasms. I never got the enhancement that enables multiples because there were too many side effects I didn’t like, one being neuropathy of the genitals. Five percent of men get that from the procedure. That means your cock burns. All the time. Possibly for the rest of your life.
No thank you. Not necessary. I’ll just drink a bottle of water and doze for five minutes, then I’m good to go again. I’ve always had a naturally high libido anyway.
While I’m recuperating from my powerful orgasm, I suck on Armstrong’s cock. It’s longer and fatter than mine, but I’m not jealous. We’re all different. I like his cock, but mine’s fine, too.
I can only get my mouth half-way down his length, but he is used to that. There really isn’t anyone who can take the whole thing into their mouth. It’s just too big.
I slobber on it for awhile; it’s like candy to me. He tastes spicy, earthy. Like a little piece of home in space.
He makes a lot of noise, moaning and groaning, moving his hips. That and the purr of the air processors in the bulkheads are like security to me. I’m where I want to be. He’s enjoying himself quite well, but he doesn’t come.
And I know why.
He’s waiting for me to come round again. He wants to be fucked.
Well, I can handle that.
I’m hard again. He’s beautiful, and having my mouth on him is lovely. My cock wants to play again.
I moved off him and sit back.
With bright, brown eyes he sees my shaft bobbing up. He grins. “Ready?” he asks.
Hell, yeah. I am.
Without any urging from me, he turns over and sticks his ass up. So pretty and tight, the brown skin gleaming.
I grab the lube and play with him, making sure I get it everywhere, even on his balls. He loves that. And I think: Would Drac love that?
Damn, I cannot get that dude off my mind.
My fingers find their way inside Armstrong and he hisses “yes” over and over as I stretch him. My forefinger finds that wonderful, internal spongy bump within and strokes. I press a little harder.
Armstrong gives a little yell. I reach around to feel his hard cock swelling.
“It’s time,” I say. “You ready for a pounding?”
“Please please! Do it hard. Fast and hard. I want to feel you sliding in and out as fast as you can. I want to feel your hips slam my ass.”
He’s like that. So verbal. His approval rating is high. His fans are screamers themselves.
I’m good in bed. Not to brag. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. But I’m not into the really rough stuff. Still, I can accommodate this fellow just fine. I love to piston fuck a willing hole.
I add another dollop of lube, then press the head of my cock against him. He’s more than ready. He’s eager. He pushes back against me and my cock head pops through the tight ring of his stretched hole.
After that, I slide in easily, especially since he’s helping a lot by pushing back fast.
He starts his yelling. “Oh, oh, oh!”
I grab his hips for balance, stroke in and out of him once, twice… just to get a feel. Then when I am ready I speed things up.
His voice encourages me.
I press against him, then pull out.
I should probably explain at this point that everything we do on this ship is filmed. There are little nano-bot cameras everywhere. Embedded in the floor, in the furniture, in the bulkheads and ceilings. We even have them in our eyes. We can turn those off, though, for sleep or using the head. Three rapid blinks and they go off. Three more and they’re on again.
I pull out and stare at my cock just to make sure the fans get a good look. It’s dripping an
d super hard. I’m a proud man, so sue me.
I plunge back into Armstrong’s waiting heat. He tightens around me on purpose.
“Bastard,” I grunt.
“Critic,” he banters back.
Now I’m ready to rev things up. My thigh muscles flex as I fuck faster. I picture the jiggle of my tight ass, the concave flex at the sides as I take him over and over. Every muscle in me is taught. I hope it’s pretty and the lighting is good.
My cock loves this, but it’s not as sensitive since I just came. I can make it last now. I’m in great shape. My muscles are strong. I can fuck him like this for probably an hour if he wants.
He wants.
We fuck in all sorts of positions with Armstrong on his back with his legs in the air, or on his side, or standing at the foot of the bed bent over, but on his knees is best because I can mold him to my will. For just under one hour we fuck before we drop, exhausted, into mutual puddles of sweat. We had simultaneous orgasms. Mine ripped through me. So good. Now we are damp and covered in sweat, but who cares. He lies back on the bed and talk, not wanting to move, our muscles like liquid.
“Have you heard the latest rumor?” he asks, still gasping. His fire-dark eyes gleam.
With my cheek pressed against his warm, outstretched hand, I ask, “Which one?”
“Well, I heard from Hunter who heard it from Sigourney. They say someone on board is a scientist masquerading as a Hero. Supposedly Sig overheard it Earthside at the bon voyage festival. This plot’s definitely not in the script. Or the job description.”
“This is the first time I’ve heard it,” I say. I sit up, still shaky, and scoot back to lean against the heated metal bulkhead where the bed lines up. From here, the view over my bunk and out the view screen is a treasure trove with my enhanced magnification screen. The texture of stars is silken; it makes the bulkheads glow.
Not Another Hero Page 1