Arrival

by Michelle Robbins

  When Liam leaned slightly to bring his head out from behind the shade-creating forest of other heads. Mike felt the lash of Liam’s angry glare.

  ::That’s right. You. Gonna ignore me all day? Dickhead.:: Dickhead? Mike reacted to the implicit challenge the way he reacted with all challenges. He stepped up. But since he was trapped warming a chair with his ass, he did so the only way he could. Mentally.

  Mike leapt onto the mind-link and took control with the ease of long experience. Beauty swept through him like a summer’s rainstorm. He tasted the hunger Liam held in his heart, felt the remembered pleasure they’d found in the kiss, and brushed aside the annoyance he felt from being ignored with little effort.

  Liam, new to unspoken communication, had no defense against Mike’s raw power and experience. Sexual heat leapt between them as Mike introduced him to what “dickhead” meant to the Urilqii.

  * * *

  He grabbed hold of Liam’s ears to hold him still and pushed his cock between Liam’s lips, between the teeth, onto the tongue, and deeper…deeper…to push past his gag reflex zone. Liam arched his back and extended his neck in a reflexive reaction to breathe past the pole of fuckmeat shoved into his mouth.

  Liam choked, his throat closing around Mike’s dick, and the pleasure caused stars to sparkle behind his eyes.

  ::Ahh, yes…suck me, babe. Suck me hard.::

  Instead, Liam twisted in his grip and pushed against his hips.

  Wet snivels matched the rhythm of his thrusts. Tears wet Liam’s cheeks as he whimpered and strained backward.

  Fuck.

  Clearly, Liam hadn’t been deep-throated before. Mike eased back and cursed himself for an asshole. Terrorizing the guy wasn’t the goal. He’d only wanted to—

  Liam’s hands curled around his thighs and held tight. He drew on Mike’s penis with an astonishing eagerness that threw Mike into the fire.

  Liam sucked his cock like a broken airlock sucked air. The intense sensation sizzled down Mike’s spine and settled into the small of his back. Helpless to stop himself, he rocked his hips rocked forward. The pleasure was so intense he threw his head back and groaned.

  ::Harder,:: he urged.

  Liam complied by sliding his hands across his thighs to clutch his ass. There he located the small portal between the cheeks with a finger. He massaged and caressed. That finger danced a delicious tempo in time to the exquisite sensations delivered by the hot mouth and determined suction.

  His brain turned to mush and slid down the conduit between his spine and his dick with numbing sweetness, filling his balls with nothing but sensation. His knees locked, his muscles seized, and a fork of lightning blazed along his—

  * * *

  “Belay that!”

  Mike jumped and jerked free of the fantasy. His mind still spinning, he struggled for control. Across the room, Liam’s face was slack and his expression dazed. A humiliating realization arrived.

  He’d jumped on Liam’s untrained mind-link without bothering to strive for privacy. As such, that bit of heated contact between him and Liam had been broadcast cabal-wide. A cultural gaffe he hadn’t done since pre-adulthood.

  The cabal’s commander was on his feet, red-faced and sweeping a formidable frown across the seated Urilqii personnel— who smiled and stifled chuckles—before leveling a glare at Mike that could have blistered metal. Mike strove to look innocent and unconcerned. Tellingly, the tips of his ears had warmed from what he suspected was a blush.

  The Envoy, who’d been speaking into a microphone, turned to face the interruption. He raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

  “My pardon, Mr. Robertson,” the E’ssennet commander said and resumed his seat. “Please continue.”

  Mike stared at the flooring between his boots and refused to look up when he felt the Envoy’s gaze slip across him and heard him chuckle. Mike clenched his jaw and prayed for invisibility. He resigned himself to disappointment when his boots didn’t oblige his wishes and turn transparent.

  “Let us retire to the side hall,” said the Envoy. “Refreshments are there and we have the rest of the night to get to know each other. Please. Enjoy the evening.” ::But maybe not the way Mike was thinking.::

  Mike refused to cringe, at least not outwardly.

  “Dismissed to the side hall,” someone barked to the volunteers.

  A rumble of chairs, boots, and voices swelled. The group tromped in the direction indicated.

  Their commander had orders for his Urilqii. ::No mind-link at this venue. They’re too new and too vulnerable. Medical, prepare to test. Intelligence, locate the volunteers who are both capable and willing. Dismissed, and keep in mind these are volunteers and we’re guests on their planet. Demonstrate respect and courtesy.:: Mike couldn’t stifle this wince.

  Steve laughed.

  CHAPTER 5

  Liam stood beside the buffet table and scooped a pile of crispy fried potatoes onto his plate. The buffet boasted a mouthwatering cornucopia of food offerings, for both his people and Urilqii, and this wasn’t his first time through the line. Fortunately, no one seemed to care. In fact, he wasn’t the only one making multiple paths up and down between the tables. However, he was one of the few willing to try Urilqii food.

  The bread-and-meat canapé-looking things were tasty. He piled them on his plate alongside the potato wedges. Caught in the act of being a greedy ass, he shared a wink with the alien on the other side of the table. The guy had three cheeseburgers piled on his plate, so Liam wasn’t embarrassed.

  Sharing cultures? He was down with that.

  Not so much down with the light beer offered as a beverage, though. He much preferred a good stout, but hey, his options were limited. A guy took what was available and affordable (meaning free), especially after those weeks he’d spent at boot camp.

  However, he selected a soda instead.

  He noticed a chunk of soldiers standing in a corner and glowering at the table. Nothing on their plates or in their hands was anything but “good ol’ American” food. Liam rolled his eyes. Why the hell had xenophobes volunteered? Asshats.

  Finished scoring his latest foray onto the buffet, Liam wandered back through the small chamber as he munched, an unopened can of Coke tucked into his baggy pocket. The table he’d used before had been tugged against another one and now boasted a chunk of laughing soldiers, five of his guys and three Urilqii.

  He’d earlier noticed the alien soldiers—no, the cabal— made a concerted effort to meet and greet the volunteers—er, members of the embedded platoon. They laughed and smiled and offered welcomes in both languages. Liam had wandered close enough to a couple groups to overhear anecdotes about life in the far reaches of space…and in the cities and suburbs of his world.

  He hadn’t remained, though, once the usage of “that guy” started up. He could blow off some of the guys, but at every mention of the term the Urilqii in the groups would give him a look, the one that made him worry they could read minds. A creepy feeling, he thought, and it was doubly so whenever it became obvious a grin threatened to escape the polite expressions.

  So, he was alone, as was his norm, when he spotted his bearded Paradiso dance partner among a cluster of other Urilqii men.

  Chuckling, the guy stood beside a table, one boot on the chair and a plate of food balanced on one palm. Beside him sat an opened container of whatever the Urilqii were drinking this evening.

  Buzz Lightyear light beer? Either way, Liam’s reaction was instantaneous. His breath caught, his heart leapt inside his chest and his dick stirred, all of which only pissed him off.

  Liam forged a path through the crowd with single-minded determination, vowing all the while to make Gorgeous regret the game of indifference. Liam was stuck with “That Guy” for what looked like the rest of his life, so the very least Mike could do was acknowledge his existence.

  Liam came to a stop at the table and plunked his plateful of food beside the space beverage with a satisfying slap of plastic-on-metal. All eyes turne
d toward him. He didn’t mind, though. He was ready to break off some shit and deliver it with both barrels.

  “So,” he snapped, “you gonna keep pretending I don’t exist?”

  Gorgeous paused his chewing, evidently startled by the challenge. “What?”

  The Urilqii alongside him melted away into the surrounding crowd, every one of them wearing an expression that hinted at amusement.

  “You heard me.” Liam scowled. “I’m here, goddammit. Don’t ignore me.”

  “Ah…” A long exhalation of understanding. “You think that I’m Mike”—he extended his hand for a handshake, which Liam took on reflex— “but I’m not the First Sergeant. My name is Master Sergeant Steve, head of the liquid teams.”

  “Liquid teams?” What the fuck did that mean? But more importantly, he’d blasted the other guy. Hell, what a humiliating mistake. The food in his stomach became a hard, painful lump.

  “Uh…sorry… I thought…”

  But the guy knew what he’d thought.

  A smile blazed across Steve’s face, causing Liam to blink.

  Good Christ, he needed to register that as a lethal weapon. Maybe if he was good—very, very good—Mike would smile at him like that.

  A guy could only hope.

  “No worries,” Steve dropped his hand and took up his drink.

  Tilting his head back, he took a gulp. After swallowing, he wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “We weren’t introduced, but I was there when you and Mike danced.”

  The words “and kissed” went unsaid, but the small lift to one side of Steve’s mouth was enough. Liam felt himself redden. He cleared his throat, shifted on his feet, and strove to find something intelligent to say.

  “You had one of those glo-bright mohawks?” That was the best he could come up with.

  Steve laughed, a sound of husky amusement. “Yes, I wore one. The Bal’zaren System, in fact.”

  “The what?”

  “The where,” Steve corrected. He took another swallow of his drink and returned the container to the table. “Your mid-summer festival happened to coincide with our Festival of Victory. Hence, we celebrated wearing the hair maps.”

  “The what?” Liam said again.

  Steve plucked a canapé from Liam’s own plate and bit into it with a grin. “We celebrate our victories against the Targolt by wearing the maps of the star systems we’ve liberated in our hair at Festival. It’s sort of like we’re displaying snapshots of our awesomeness for all to see.”

  “Oh.” Liam still didn’t know what to say. “Cool.”

  The way these people spoke of visiting other star systems, like taking a trip to Disneyland or an airplane to Tokyo, blew his mind.

  “What system was Mike wear—” Liam’s memory shifted, then clarified. “Wait. He wasn’t, was he?”

  The question wasn’t immediately answered because Steve was engaged in a battle with his beverage. He sipped…or tried to. A frown marred his mouth when he pulled it away and scowled. He tilted his head farther back as he tried again. No luck then either, apparently. He pulled it from his face, frowned harder and shook it, and lastly squinted into the can’s mouth with one eye.

  What he saw didn’t appear to please him. With a defeated sigh, he crushed the container with his fist and set it back onto the table before returning to the conversation.

  “No, Mike didn’t celebrate,” Steve said.

  “Why not? Designated driver or on duty?”

  “The weight of responsibility weighs on him these days.”

  Liam couldn’t stop himself. The words just tumbled out of his mouth. “But he danced and…and kissed me.”

  That wonderful, full smile blazed across Steve’s face. “Yes, he did, and wasn’t that amazing?”

  Liam’s throat closed. He cleared it furiously and tried to form an answer. When that didn’t release the constriction, he pulled the can of Coke from where he’d stashed it in his fatigues and popped the top.

  He swallowed a desperate amount and reflected how “amazing” was a fair description of what had happened, except he’d add “delicious” to the mix. Had Mike felt the connection?

  Had Mike reveled in the heat and the fire between him like Liam had? That formidable erection wedged against his ass as they danced told him Mike had.

  He lowered the can and wiped his mouth with his forearm sleeve. He stared at the floor and tried get a handle on the emotions crashing through him. Christ, how can he be ignoring me? It hurt.

  Where was the fucker anyway? Hiding? And what was with the beards?

  “The facial hair indicates battle-readiness,” said Steve. “And he’s over there.”

  Startled, Liam jerked his gaze from his boot tips. Was his curiosity that obvious?

  Steve gave him a wink and sideways nod of his head. Liam followed the gesture and located Mike standing with the base commander and the Envoy. The commander spoke with what looked to be an animated energy and waved his index finger in Mike’s face. It might have been his imagination but he thought Mike looked embarrassed.

  An ass-chewing? For what?

  He glanced back to the man beside him, who had followed his gaze and was also observing the discussion between the base echelons. Something that might have been annoyance furrowed his brow. Jeez, the resemblance between Steve and Mike was downright unnerving. It was inevitable, but yeah, he asked the stupidest question in the world.

  “You two twins?”

  Steve refocused on him. “I’m not familiar with that term.”

  “You know”—but apparently Steve didn’t— “two kids to one mother.”

  “Ah. I understand. Multiple births. We also have that.” He snatched one of those long, hot and seasoned tuber things from Liam’s plate and ate it in two bites.

  “They’re my favorite,” he offered as an explanation.

  “Fries are a staple of American life.” Liam ate one himself. He noticed the pile looked smaller than he remembered. Had Steve filched some earlier without him realizing?

  Steve winked at him again, and Liam wondered if the guy was also a mind-reader. That would be embarrassing, as well as hilarious, considering the hot-as-hell sex scene he’d fantasized about at orientation.

  “The term for multiple births is ‘twins’?” Steve asked.

  Liam yanked his attention away from the dick-hardening memory and focused on the conversation with an effort. “For two, yes. Three are called triplets.”

  “Hmm.” Steve set aside his plate and folded his hands on his knee. “What is the maximum litter size?”

  Liam chuckled. “Litter size” was technically correct, and yet so incredibly weird to hear.

  Steve dropped his foot to the floor and shifted his weight, crossing his feet at the ankles as he perched on the table’s edge. He wore tanker-style boots, Liam realized. It wasn’t laces threaded through grommets that held them in place, but instead, ankle and arch bands of whatever the Urilqii used for leather and Velcro.

  Liam remembered the question asked. “The largest number I remember seeing on the news was eight babies.”

  “Huh,” Steve mused. “And to think only eight made the news…”

  He had to be kidding, right? Jeez, eight… “Who came first? You or Mike?”

  “Came first? Oh, I see.” Steve matched him smile for smile. “I arrived on time. Mike, however, kicked his way out seven minutes early so he won the race.”

  He thought about Mike and the driving intensity he’d faced in the depths of those amazing starfire eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “He’s a competitive assclown.”

  Together they laughed, then simultaneously slanted a glance toward the topic of their conversation. It came as a surprise to see Mike frowning in their direction, his face a thundercloud of annoyance. Steve cleared his throat and became fascinated with the remnants of his dinner. He picked at the food bits still on the plate and munched, engrossed.

  Behind Mike, Mr. Robertson—er, the Envoy—commanded the c
onversation. He made languid gestures to emphasize whatever point he was making. The base commander listened with grave concern and nodded at infrequent intervals.

  Neither of those two seemed to notice or care they’d lost Mike’s attention.

  Liam thought about the embarrassment he’d made earlier. He’d prefer not to repeat the mistake. “How can I tell you two apart?”

  Steve spoke around a mouthful of food. “It won’t be hard once you reach full immersion, but—”

  “Full immersion?”

  Steve adjusted his sentence. “When we become more familiar to you, it won’t be hard at all.”

  “Because you smile and he doesn’t?”

  Steve barked a laugh. “It’s true he’s a bit dour these days.”

  They again slanted a guilty glance across the room, this time to be treated to the vision of Mike’s backside as he stormed toward a set of swinging doors. Soldiers of both species dodged out of his way. Liam couldn’t imagine the expression Mike wore to make that happen, but it must have been a doozy.

  As flounces go, he thought, that was a damned good one.

  “But until then,” Steve resumed the conversation, “the uniform will tell. Mike wears a blood-stripe on his wrists. I do not.”

  Liam checked out Steve’s fatigue shirt and found, yes, there was no strip of red around his wrist.

  “Of course,” Steve continued, “there are the differences in body art. Those can only be spotted when he’s”—a silky, deliberate pause— “naked.”

  Hunger streaked through him, drying his mouth and twisting his guts. He glanced toward Mike, more out of reflex than anything, and discovered the guy had vanished. The doors swung back and forth in a diminishing tempo, as if someone had slammed through them.

  A three-note whistle pierced the air, sounding a pattern that pulled Steve’s attention. Liam followed the sound and saw the base commander waving his arm in a gesture he didn’t understand.

  Steve did, however, because he straightened away from the table.