by H. E. Trent
“How the hell did you manage that?”
“Headron made it. Brands make a difference in sales.” He shut the gate.
Headron met Trigrian’s gaze.
“That’s a lot of credits,” Headron said, deadpan.
“I’m certain you’ll put them to good use.”
“Beyond what goes back to the household to compensate for supplies and fuel, I have no clue what I could do with them. In Buinet, the Terran government skimmed ninety percent or more of our income. We barely had enough to cover overhead.”
“I’m sure that once the government here gets up and going, they’ll expect you to pitch in as you’re able, but for the time being, you should give some thought to…what’s that phrase?”
“If it’s idiomatic, don’t turn to me for an answer.”
Trigrian laughed. “I think the phrase is ‘feathering your nest.’”
“Huh.”
Headron liked that phrase. The words actually made sense, and had meaningful context. He could see making a nice nest for him and Esteben to sweetly coax Erin into. They’d let her put her fingerprint into the works so it was something of her own, freely given—not taken, as she’d likely suggest. She didn’t want to take things from them, but they could still give her what she needed.
He rubbed his chin, pondering. “I suppose finding some place to live that isn’t in your home is something of a priority.”
“I don’t mind the crowd, Headron. The home was always noisy when my parents were alive, and having so many safe and familiar bodies around is comforting to me after Murk and I spent all that time in hiding. But you are going to need some space to sprawl.”
“Some place to put my ovens,” Headron said with a chuckle.
“I think I know the perfect spot, unless your yen is to move closer to Little Gitano.”
“I have no particular yen for that. Surprisingly, I’ve grown tolerant of all the inconvenience of being in the countryside. I like having room to roam.”
And places to slip away to for a moment’s peace, when he and his companion—or companions—needed one.
“Then if you’d like it,” Trigrian said, “there’s a flat place about a hundred meters from the creek where nothing will grow because of certain mineral deposits in the soil. If you’d build a residence there, I’d have no objection.”
“You’d let me build on your farm? Truly?”
“Before you assume I’m being entirely too generous, I would charge you for the honor. A reasonable charge, of course. I’ve discussed this with Murk and Court. We believe that allowing the population within the farm barriers to surge somewhat would be sensible. There’s safety in numbers, and we’d like those numbers to be comprised of people we trust to be good stewards. Certainly, we’d construct some simple roadways and get you connected to the electric grid on the farm. We’d share all those resources. You’d simply have your own private roof over your head. We plan on making the same offer to Herris. I suspect, given his occupation, he would prefer to live in town when he’s ready to settle.”
Headron put a hand over his heart and bowed slightly. “I’m honored. Thank you.” Humbled, really. There was no better a gift a Jekhan man could give to his family than a safe place to live.
My own space to run a business? To live and to thrive.
To expand, perhaps, if his uncle ever turned up and needed a place to root. Jiros hadn’t been country dwellers in many generations, but Headron could convince the man of the setup’s appeal—of the liberty, the privacy. To really owning something.
He could start his family off on the right foot, as the Terrans might say. They could forge some sense of normalcy on a chaotic planet.
He leaned forward and extended a hand to Trigrian. “I believe I will take that offer, pending…”
Trigrian chuckled and shook his hand. “Pending approval from your lovers.”
“You know the scheme.”
“I doubt Esteben would refuse. Beshnis know good deals when they hear them. Your concern will be Erin.”
“A large enough concern, indeed.”
“Beshnis may be frustrating, but McGarrys will put you through the wringer until you convince them to stop.” Trigrian’s look was pointed. “Make her stop.”
“How?”
“Your woman. You figure that out.”
If only it were that simple.
Esteben pulled open the right side door and climbed into the flyer. “All set.”
Trigrian motored the door down and got the flyer off the ground. “Did you wipe out all his profits for the day?”
“Even if I did, he’ll earn them back and more when everyone in town finds out where all of Headron’s bread is tomorrow and the next day.” He settled low onto the bench and crossed his legs at the ankles. “He wanted me to promise not to solicit anyone else in town with future pallets, but I couldn’t possibly make that deal. Exclusivity arrangements rarely work out in my favor.”
Trigrian deactivated the interior lights and got the flyer up to a safe flying elevation. “I’m sure Allan wouldn’t have been thrilled to hear he’d been cut out of future deals.”
“Mm-hmm. He’d be exactly the sort of person who’d contribute to the founding of a bread black market in Little Gitano. Terrans are very serious about carbohydrates. Seems like an illicit vice, sometimes.”
“I’m just glad we were able to do something with the dough,” Headron said. Like Esteben, he settled lower in the seat and allowed his tense body to relax.
Such a long day.
He planned on having a long soak in the bathing room as soon as he could get settled for the evening.
“Now you’ll need to figure out where to install your oven for the interim,” Trigrian said.
“What do you mean, interim? What’s wrong with where the oven is now?” Esteben asked.
“Headron may be making a move soon.”
“To where?”
Trigrian chuckled. “Ask him.”
Esteben’s spine went as rigid as Erin’s mop handle, and he stared at Headron out the corners of his eyes. “Are you going somewhere, dum?”
Dum. It was an old, old word from Earth that had lost meaning over time like everything the Tyneali touched. It almost always meant “man,” in the most generic sense. Coming out of Esteben’s mouth, there seemed a certain implied possessiveness—like my man.
Wishful thinking.
Headron may have been reading too much into his tone.
“Possibly a bit closer to the mountain range, is all,” Headron said.
“I see. And what’s out there?”
“A little plot of flat land suitable for new construction,” Trigrian said. “What do you think? A home in the Jekhan style or one of those Terran-style behemoths that come with fully furnished basements and verandas? I think I’m picturing a hybrid, with the bakery attached. Perhaps Owen could help with the layout. He seems to have a knack for those technical sorts of things.”
“You’re giving Headron land, Trigrian?”
“It’s mine to give,” Trigrian said. “I believe my father would have done the same.”
“I don’t doubt that. Your father was a very reasonable man. What does Murki have to say about the gift?”
“Murki had no arguments. I believe he consented with you in mind.”
“Me?” Esteben pointed a thumb back at himself. “What have I to do with this?”
Everything.
Headron slipped his fingers into the cuff of Esteben’s tunic sleeve and pulled the other man’s hand over to his thigh.
He wouldn’t ask for touch. He wasn’t that submissive. But, he could show a sign of concession. He could show that he wanted to move forward and take what Esteben was offering.
Leadership. Decisiveness. Strength.
All things that Headron needed and had been avoiding seeking out.
He cleared his throat. “I…believe your brother is convinced that you need constant monitoring and that having you within the p
erimeter as opposed to off the farm would net him less stress.”
“Oh, is that what the bastard thinks?”
“I’d bet on it.”
Without looking away from Trigrian, Esteben pressed his large hand farther up Headron’s thigh, squeezing as he went, and those thigh muscles may as well have been his lungs.
“I’ve rarely deigned to take the counsel of my younger brother,” Esteben said dryly. “Why should I be so willing now?”
Headron couldn’t breathe—couldn’t even press his lips together to shape words.
Further still, until the meaty part of Esteben’s palm tamped Headron’s cock tight against his belly.
“Because he’s extremely intelligent,” Trigrian said.
Headron hadn’t answered, and Trigrian had probably assumed that the question must have been directed to him.
Thankfully, Esteben redirected his grip, and Headron could think clearly again.
“This is yours.” Esteben handed over a slip of paper bearing some figures scrawled onto the front along with the restaurant’s official stamp on the back and a signature Trigrian couldn’t make out.
“What is this?”
“Purchase receipt. That’s the credit amount transferred into your account. I hope that’s your account, anyway. That was the only one that could possibly be yours.”
The number was indeed Headron’s. Like COM addresses, deposit accounts had predictable alphanumeric conventions. They were easy to deposit funds into. Transferring funds out, however, took a bit more work.
“Yes, that’s mine,” Headron said, and he couldn’t help but to stare slack-jawed. He’d never had a deposit of that size before.
“Some of that should be yours,” he said as he tucked the slip into his tunic pocket. His uncle would never believe that sum, and he wanted the proof to show him. “You did the selling work.”
“Perhaps I did some haggling, however it doesn’t make good sense to skim commissions off you when the funds go to the same household, correct?”
Headron looked at Esteben head-on then. He needed to see him without the filter of periphery. He needed an answer he didn’t want to have to ask the question to get.
Esteben inched his hand across the bench and gripped Headron’s thigh again. He put his hand over Esteben’s, and asked, “To be clear, you consent to the arrangement, then?”
“The…arrangement?” Esteben whispered, head canted. He moved his hand farther up Headron’s thigh, slowly, possessively gripping the flesh.
“Yes, the arrangement. You’ll live with me, correct?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Does that suit you, or—”
“I believe I said ‘the same household.’ Was I not clear?”
“I find that making assumptions, in general, is unwise.”
“What would you have me tell you?”
“Tell me what you want from me, and I’ll try my best to graciously concede.”
“I want you to enthusiastically concede.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“No?”
“I don’t believe I’m wired for so much enthusiasm.”
“Find some.” Esteben leaned in, breaching Headron’s personal space one scant inch at a time.
Headron graciously let him.
Esteben’s hand was at the back of Headron’s head, angling him closer. His gaze was on Headron’s lips, and Headron was so ready for a taste.
But Trigrian cleared his throat.
Hissing, Esteben straightened up, but kept his hand tangled up in Headron’s messy hair. “Hold your enthusiasm for just a bit. It would seem Trigrian doesn’t wish to be a spectator.”
“Trigrian simply doesn’t wish for you to fog the windows,” Trigrian said. “You can wait five minutes.”
Esteben gave Headron’s hair a sharp, delicious tug.
Five minutes had never seemed like so long.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Well, holy hell,” Erin said in response to Court’s query via her COM band. “The network is actually working. Owen’s going to brag about this for days, I’m sure.”
“Nah, he’ll just smile in that smug way of his. It’s a pretty big deal, though. Being able to communicate with each other more easily on the farm’s network is a good first step to improving communication with folks who live farther away. I’m sure he and Esteben will figure something out once Esteben gets hold of his contacts. Where are you right now?”
“Walking toward the barn and trying to find my damn staff. Have you seen it?”
“No, but how hard would it be to find another stick?”
“That wasn’t just a stick. That staff was made from a mop I tripped over when I first got here. I was angry at it at first, and then I realized that handle was Terran wood. Terran wood is harder than the Jekhan stuff.”
“When’s the last time you used it?”
“Before dinner, I think. I chased some kind of stub-legged bug out of the gathering room, and then I think I went outside. That’s why I’m heading to the barn. I went out there to see if any of the hens had laid.”
“Did they? I don’t remember there being any eggs in our dinner.”
“No. That fucking red one pecked at me when I tried to get my hand under her butt, and the others haven’t gotten onboard with the concept of earning their keep just yet.”
“You might want to check Red again. I’ve been craving an omelet all day.”
“Okay, preggo. I’ll see what I can do, but all bets are off if I can’t distract her enough, or at least hypnotize her with my dulcet voice or some such shit. I’m not practiced at this farm girl thing.”
“Mimi would be able to tell us what to do with her. Besides battering her and deep-frying her, I mean.”
“I bet. I’ll be trying to get a call out to her as soon as the satellites are synced just right. Huh.” Erin stopped in the barn’s open double doorway. Too many lights were on. “I’ll call you back.” She immediately went into defense mode, clicking her COM signal off and ducking into the shadows on the other side of the doorway.
She scanned the room for anything she could use as a weapon, just in case whoever had turned those lights on was still there, and in case the culprit wasn’t one of the farmhands.
But as her pulse thrummed in her ears and her fight-or-flight instinct ramped up, her gaze settled on the open doors of the flyer.
She remembered, then. They’d gone out—Trigrian with Esteben and Headron.
She clutched her chest in relief and let out a tittering breath.
“Dodo birds must have left the lights on.”
She moved to the flyer, shaking her head and holding out her arm in preparation for pulling the left door down, but then she heard the sharp intake of air and the moan.
She stopped dead in her tracks.
Is that…
She didn’t want to know, but had to see for sure.
Whoever had made that noise wasn’t Trigrian. She’d seen him in the house before she’d gone on the quest for her mop stick.
That left two likely suspects, neither of which she’d seen for most of the day.
Her brain was wary, but her feet moved anyway.
Three quiet steps later, and she saw reddish blond hair and a broad back bent into the door and over the bench.
Esteben.
He turned his head, looking over his shoulder, and she froze, eyes feeling incredibly wide as her lungs seized.
If she’d moved a couple of inches to the left and craned her head just so, she could have seen clearly what he was doing with his pants off and with one knee on the bench, but she didn’t want to see.
Or at least, she told herself that.
“I’d know your scent anywhere, kham. Why bother with stealth?” Esteben asked. He shifted a bit, and there was another sharp intake of air.
Not from him, though. Headron.
“We have an audience,” Esteben said to him.
“Should we tell her this isn’t what it l
ooks like, or can she see too well?”
“I don’t think she’s seeing enough.” Esteben grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the flyer’s spacious back. “Kneel there.” He pointed to the spot beside where they’d dropped their pants and, apparently, she didn’t move quickly enough for him because he unsheathed himself from Headron’s ass and personally positioned her. “Our women generally don’t watch this particular act, but if you share my bed, you should become accustomed. Do you object?”
She gave her head a very slow shake as her gaze settled on Esteben’s hands and their vigorous plying of Headron’s cheeks.
“So, this is happening,” she whispered. “You two really are…”
Esteben leaned down and covered her mouth with his. He ate whatever gibberish she was going to speak and soothed her tongue’s inherent compulsion to wag.
She curled her fingers into her thighs and swallowed the moan that had been building in her throat. Kissing always led to other things, and she wasn’t a participant in the intercourse at the moment, just a watcher. Voyeurism had never been one of her kinks until then.
Esteben pulled away, but not before sliding his fingertips across her lips and whispering, “We have plans for you.”
As badly as she wanted to query what those plans were, her curiosity took a backseat to her fascination with the way Esteben moved. When he fucked her, she didn’t pay nearly as much attention to the subtle things. She wasn’t concerned about his technique when he was inside her because he knew how to lay pipe, and that was all that mattered.
But being able to watch, she could see exactly how ordered his attention span was. Every touch seemed to have a specific purpose, even if it was simply to satiate his tactile curiosity.
She could see the way he pushed himself slowly back into Headron, and how Headron’s eyelids fluttered closed. She could see the way Esteben grabbed Headron’s hand when he fisted it into the sturdy cloth of the seat, gently massaging the palm until Headron opened his fingers again.
She could see the way Esteben rocked his hips while tracking his palms up and down Headron’s spine, and the way he went deep and hard when Headron was breathless and begging, and the way he went slower when he quieted.
Esteben paid attention. He gave what was needed when it was needed, and Headron let him.