Priest and Pariahs

by J. Alan Veerkamp

  A short pause lingered as Arbor studied the shirt in his hands. He shrugged gently, his brow arched as he commented without looking at Priest. “I still don’t see what you see in him.”

  Priest shook his head. “He’s just a friend.”

  “Costa McQuillen seems awfully snotty to have any real friends.” While Arbor appeared cheerful, a subtle tinge of bitterness, beyond his natural sarcasm, underlined his tone.

  “That’s not fair.” Discussing Costa with Arbor caused Priest’s pulse to race, making him jam items into his duffel a little rougher than intended. Everything was going so well. Why did Arbor have to go there? Priest couldn’t tell Arbor the whole story. Costa’s situation wasn’t his to share.

  “I can’t possibly imagine what you two have in common. What do you do when you hang out with him?”

  Impatient with the topic, Priest blurted out his response. “I don’t know. I guess we just screw around.”

  And as soon as the words left his mouth, Priest knew it was the wrong thing to say.

  Arbor didn’t stop grinning, but the light behind his smile dimmed, becoming polite and no longer intimate. Gone in an instant was the warmth and connection they’d shared for the last twenty-four hours. Priest’s involvement was no secret to Arbor, but after this wonderful break, the reality didn’t need to be thrown in his face.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Arbor shook his head. “You don’t have to explain anything.”

  “But—”

  He raised a hand to stop Priest. “There’s no ring on this finger. Whatever reason you’re friends with Costa is really none of my business. Come on, let’s gather up. I think I’m ready to get back on board now.” Arbor put the last of his effects into his bag. “I wanted to thank you again for keeping me out of jail after that whole thing in the bar. I really appreciate it.”

  The acknowledgment was perfunctory and its cool manner tugged at Priest’s chest. All the excitement and closeness they shared was unraveled in loose threads on the floor and he had no idea how to weave it back together. One thoughtless comment and he’d fallen back into the state of an acquaintance. He could feel it.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “YOU CAN HOLD out a little longer.”

  Shivering in a cold sweat, Costa nodded into Priest’s side as they lay back on the bed in Costa’s quarters. With an arm around him, Priest tried to give Costa an anchor to focus through the pain and cravings wracking his body. He tried not to flinch when Costa’s delicate hands twisted his shirt in knots, fisting his chest hairs inside.

  The Calm dispenser sat in his hand to keep it out of Costa’s reach. It felt far lighter than it should and there were another four weeks until they arrived in Omoikane. There was no way this stash was going to last, even with strict rationing.

  They had fought for control of it earlier, after Costa made Priest promise not to let him have any for another four hours. Costa lasted one hour before the fight began. Priest managed not to hurt him, but he had to hold him down until Costa burst into tears.

  The breakdown was so out of character, Priest almost gave in. Maintaining his composure was a source of pride and having it fall apart in tatters had to be the highest form of shame. So instead, they lay down and Priest held Costa as the withdrawal took its toll.

  The hard shadows under Costa’s eyes—sported when they spent time in holding—were now on his face at all times. Priest knew the craving for his meds was strong even back then. Costa simply had a better supply to keep up appearances. Now, he was crumbling.

  “You may need to go see Doc Bosch. He can probably synthesize your meds.”

  The fierce shake of Costa's head scrubbed against his side. “No! No doctors. I don’t want anyone else to know.”

  “He can help—”

  “No, Priest! I’ve never met a doctor that can be trusted.” A hint of panic colored Costa’s voice beyond his symptoms. His hands cinched the fabric in them tighter, causing Priest to wince.

  “But, Costa…”

  “Please, Priest.” A soft sob escaped Costa as he pressed deeper to muffle the sound. “I will be perfectly all right.”

  “But you’re in so much pain.”

  Little by little, Costa’s voice became wearier. “It will be worth it in the end. There’s just too much muddled up inside my head right now. Once we arrive at Omoikane, I can put it all right.”

  “What does that mean? Costa?”

  The hold on his shirt relaxed as Costa drifted away into an exhausted, fitful sleep, ending Priest’s questions. As usual, Costa kept a tight hold on his secrets. His trust of normal people was limited, and it was an odd miracle Priest knew as much as he did.

  The lights panels were dimmed, bathing the room in a murky haze of shadow. Every piece of tech that could reasonably be shut down without alerting Mrs. Claus was inactive, leaving only the cyber-green clock numbers on the outer wall. It marked an eerie digital silence to ease a portion of his suffering. Costa admitted the constant flow of the Santa Claus’s systems was becoming harder to keep out of his head. What was he going to do on Omoikane, a techno-saturated planet? Priest couldn’t see what good could come of it.

  He couldn’t leave. Costa couldn’t be trusted right now with his own stash and Priest couldn’t completely hide the fresh scratches on his arms he endured during the struggle for the dispenser. They would fade soon—none of them were severe—but it gave him another reason to stay right where he was. With nothing better to do than lie back and provide comfort, Priest sighed as his mind wandered in the quiet.

  Things were so much better on Gamma Centauri with Arbor.

  IT HAD BEEN a week since launch and Priest had barely seen or spoken to Arbor beyond pleasantries while passing in the hall. Somehow, they had both been busy with ship duties, keeping their schedules from being more compatible. Even so, when he did manage to catch Arbor for a moment, the conversation was stilted and uninspired.

  Priest knew Arbor was deliberately avoiding him, and the knowledge made his world dull. Worse, he could see the hint of sadness in Arbor’s eyes when they did run into each other, and it made Priest feel like complete shit.

  He was the master of ruining things.

  Checking the time code, he noticed a few hours had passed. Reminiscing over Gamma Centauri had eaten more time than he realized. It seemed a shame to wake Costa, nestled against him. At some point, he finally fell into a peaceful rest, probably the first he’d had in a while. But the lunch service was beginning, and Costa would need his dose before going into public, to prevent an unexplainable incident in case he lost control again.

  The doses weren’t lasting as long as they used to and Priest was aware Litmus had made a stronger batch than Costa had been using before. The fact didn’t sit well. Costa’s tolerances were going up, along with his hunger, but with the need for privacy and the ship’s safety at stake, what could they do?

  “Wake up, Costa. You need to eat.” Priest nudged Costa, whose grimace at being disturbed was almost comical.

  “Go ’way.” Costa pushed away from Priest and rolled over. Priest didn’t see a reason to argue. He climbed out of the bed and stretched the kinks out of his back after being in one position for so long.

  “Then I’m going to the Mess Hall. I’m hungry and I have the afternoon shift. And I’m taking your meds with me.”

  Costa’s eyes sparked awake. “The bloody hell you are.”

  In a flash, Costa spun and sat upright, his darkened eyes narrowed. Seeing Costa come to life over his medication brought out a wave of disappointment. The drug was becoming more important to him than his basic needs.

  “I’m going to need a dose if you expect me to function properly around others.” Costa wet his lips as his eyes fixated on the Calm dispenser still in Priest’s hand. “I’ve held out long enough.”

  Priest sighed. “All right.” He wished Costa had the strength to go without for a change. Hopefully, once he concluded his business on Omoikane,
he could start reducing his dependence. It couldn’t come soon enough.

  Unfortunately, they had little choice. Three days ago, they tried to skip doses to conserve the supply and Costa lost control in a lift. They were nearly trapped and the emergency systems almost removed the oxygen to quell an imaginary fire it detected. That was more than a little scary. Mac was going out of his mind to determine the cause.

  Keeping this secret was becoming harder to manage each day.

  Costa shifted off the bed, his natural grace wearing a harsh edge, which grew with each passing day. Mesmerized by the little black cylinder, he closed the gap between them. A visible tremor cascaded through his body as he held himself still, forced to wait.

  If this were a different scene or some form of roleplay, Priest would have been enjoying himself. Having this gorgeous man kneeling, supplicating himself, should have triggered any number of Priest’s smuttier impulses.

  Priest held up the dispenser, while Costa obediently opened his mouth, his fluttering hands surrounding Priest’s wrist as if he were frightened the dose might be missed. Pressing the button, a single, careful drop landed on Costa’s outstretched tongue. He immediately closed his mouth and eyes, waiting for the effect to take hold.

  Long minutes passed as Priest watched closely, waiting for the dark creases marring Costa’s beauty to ease. But nothing happened. In fact, the furrow between his eyes grew deeper.

  With his eyes crushed shut, Costa begged. “It’s not enough, Priest. I need one more.”

  “Are you sure? There’s only so much left.”

  The quake in Costa’s hands reached into his voice. “I need to quiet the ones and zeroes. There’s so much noise, I can barely keep from lashing out, and my control has been slipping. I don’t want to risk hurting anyone. The one drop simply isn’t enough anymore.”

  “All right.” Priest sighed. “But just one more.”

  Costa nodded, his eyes still shut, as Priest hesitantly administered a second dose, hating himself for giving in and hating himself for questioning his desire to take care of Costa.

  This time the harshness in his face eventually leveled and Costa took on an appearance Priest could only describe as relief. When Costa opened his eyes, the wanton desire coming off them was palpable. Still kneeling, he grazed his fingers along Priest’s thighs, a wolfish grin curling his lips.

  “This is so much better. Isn’t it, Priest?” The subtle touches progressed into firmer massage and Priest found himself pressing into the heat pouring off Costa’s palms.

  Costa licked his lips. “Since I’m already on my knees, perhaps you would be so kind as to take my confession?” A soft, lecherous chuckle issued forth. “Bless me, Father, for I am about to sin.”

  Priest cursed at himself as his body responded without his permission. His cock hardened as Costa kneaded the fly of his trousers, working up to his belt. It had only been a week since Gamma Centauri and he had never felt so lonely on board. The Santa Claus always had willing playmates to ease the tension, but this went beyond that. He needed to be touched. He needed to be pleasured. It would take nothing to snatch a fistful of Costa’s hair and guide himself into that eager, moist mouth. It would be good. It would be satisfying.

  But it wouldn’t be with Arbor.

  “Shit. Stop.” Before his member could be pulled free, Priest gripped Costa’s wrists and shifted his hips backward. Costa had already dismantled his belt and the buttons of his fly. “No. This isn’t right.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to do this.” He stepped out of reach and restored his clothing.

  Costa’s brow twisted with incredulous shock. “You can’t possibly be telling me you don’t find me attractive. That growth in your trousers tells a different story entirely.”

  “I never said that. I’ve always found you attractive. Problem is it doesn’t go both ways. You don’t really want me. You never have.” Costa’s face melted into some macabre blend of surprise and fear, with widened eyes and slackened mouth. “And I can’t keep letting you use me that way. It’s fucking with my head too much. I still want to help you, but I don’t need to be seduced for that.”

  Costa’s lower lip quivered as his eyes glistened. It was unnerving. Despite being smaller in stature, Costa was always a pillar of confidence, even when the drug cravings tested him. Now, he looked hopelessly fragile as Priest finally recognized the foreign expression haunting Costa’s visage, and it had nothing to do with the Calm.

  Shame.

  “I’m sorry, Priest.” Costa’s voice broke for a moment. “I never thought you’d stay near me without the encouragement.”

  “Every time we’ve been together is just the side effect from street-made Calm, isn’t it?” It was less of a question and more of a statement.

  Costa nodded, leaving the room in silence. Moments later, his eyes narrowed. “How would you know about that?”

  “I did some research of my own. You’re not exactly giving out more info than what’s on a need-to-know basis.” Actually, Arbor had done the research, but there was no reason to tell Costa. He could keep a few secrets too. Since leaving Gamma Centauri, he spent his quiet evenings reading through all the data and para-human history Arbor sent him. A lot of the pieces didn’t make sense yet—there was so much information to sift through—but he was sure it was only a matter of time.

  Closing his eyes and clenching his fists, Costa inhaled and blew out a controlled exhale several times, settling himself. When his eyes opened again, all traces of his lust had vanished, or were hidden under his standard facade.

  “I don’t have much experience with trusting normal men. They tend to only want one thing.” Costa stood upright, testing his balance. He smoothed his clothing as best he could, looking more like himself again. “It’s not like you at all to walk away from a shag.”

  “Yeah, well, it surprises me too.” Priest growled at himself in disbelief. He looked down. His erection was subsiding and he was nearly decent to be seen in public. “I need to head down to the Mess Hall. If I miss lunch, I’m screwed until they bring us our meal on the bridge at the end of dinner service.”

  “That’s probably a good idea, as long as you don’t mind the company. I’d like to be out of my quarters for a bit and I’m sure I could stand a bit to eat.”

  They walked down the corridors in relative quiet, Costa keeping a closer proximity than usual, causing him to occasionally brush against Priest. He looked more vulnerable, and Priest couldn’t be sure if it was a result of the rigors of controlling his haphazard abilities or having to admit he seduced Priest for his help. Costa held his head high, but Priest had learned enough about him to see the flaw in his armor. A minor shedding of his confidence belied the inner strength he portrayed. It was subtle—a soft twitch of his jaw, the thin line of his mouth. For the first time, Priest felt needed beyond the station of a loyal serf. They were alone when the lift doors closed. Costa’s shoulders sagged a fraction, and he leaned against Priest for support.

  If only Costa had needed him from the beginning things might have been different, but now he wanted someone else entirely.

  They exited the lift, Costa once again strong and aloof, and the pair ran into Arbor leaving the Mess Hall.

  A rush of alarm and elation rushed through Priest’s chest. “Hey, Arbor.”

  Arbor’s vision darted between the two men. “Priest. Costa. I see the two of you are still getting along.”

  The response was cool but polite. Arbor looked well, but his eyes were dull, the spark animating them no longer shining. It pained Priest to know he was the cause. He wished he wasn't standing next to Costa.

  “Yeah, well, what else is there to do?” Priest winced. What the hell was he saying? It was exactly the kind of thoughtless remark that turned off Arbor in the first place. Could his cheeks burn any hotter?

  Arbor flattened his brow and looked away. “We all need our entertainment. I’d hate to think you were doing without.”

  The aw
kward stillness stretched out, with neither man willing to look the other in the eye. Priest couldn’t think of what to say. He wanted to apologize, but was afraid more stupidity would fall out of his mouth and make matters worse.

  Costa rolled his eyes. “I love a good juvenile drama as much as the next man, but is there a point where we can get something to eat? I’m suddenly famished.”

  “Please, Priest. Feed him already.” Arbor scanned his eyes up and down Costa’s body. “He looks like he could use a meal. I’m sure his kind burns calories faster than normals.”

  “Arbor!”

  Costa raised his hand with a haughty sneer, dismissing the comment. “It’s all right, Priest. He’s simply lashing out before anyone else can make a joke out of him.”

  Arbor answered the jab with one of his own. “A pariah ought to know.”

  Priest grabbed Costa’s arm and stepped between the two men. “Stop it, both of you!” Mustering the least aggressive tone he could manage, he pleaded with Arbor. “I’d like to talk sometime. Alone. Soon.”

  “I…I don’t know. I’ve been really busy lately—”

  “Please.” Priest knew he was seconds away from shameless begging, but it would be worth it. Arbor hedged, his eyes shining and his feet shifting. His supple mouth, which Priest had become so familiar with, opened slightly as if he were ready to answer.

  Mrs. Claus’s synthetic voice prevented Arbor’s response. “Private com for Mr. Kittering.”

  “Mrs. Claus, please forward it to my handheld.” Arbor pulled his pad from his shoulder bag and quickly read the screen. “I need to go. It’s Mac. He’s going crazy with all the system anomalies we’ve had lately. He’s very possessive of Mrs. Claus and stresses when she has problems.” Arbor gave a scathing look to Costa. “I have a few theories on what’s the cause.” Looking around to see if anyone was nearby, Arbor returned his pad to his bag. “I’m not about to cause a scare through the ship if I’m not sure there’s a real danger. Not everyone needs to know everything that goes on.”

  The surprise on Costa’s face was unexpected. His rigid stance softened. “You haven’t spoken to anyone about me?”