Strain

by Amelia C. Gormley

  He heard the moment when Rhys awoke, the catch in what had been deep, even breaths, the soft snort, the sudden tension as awareness came flooding back to him. He lay stiffly on his cot, his back to Darius, refusing to roll over. Did he hope to con Darius into thinking he was still asleep? Did he want Darius to go away?

  It would help if he could coax the kid into being a little less reluctant. Rhys’s body was willing enough, but then he’d been a nineteen-year-old virgin last night—of course his body was willing. But the fact that he’d only agreed to this because the alternative was dying wouldn’t ever sit right with Darius.

  You did what you gotta do, man.

  Really? Then why’d you get so fucking horny the moment you went all Dom Hardass on the kid last night?

  Because it had been months since he’d fucked anyone, that’s why, and ages since he’d gotten his hands on someone as soft and sweet as Rhys. The people of Delta Company had either claimed each other or weren’t compatible for whatever reason. In fifteen years of being an exclusive company, they’d tried pretty much every combination that could work. The ones who were inclined toward commitment—the ones who weren’t played musical beds at will—had made it.

  And Darius kept to himself except for the occasional tension-relieving fuck because the ones who might be attracted or attractive to him didn’t work on other levels.

  He stared at Rhys’s thin back, wondering just how long it would take the boy to quit playing possum and roll over. The window was open, but the night breeze had barely cooled the spartan cubicle masquerading as a bedroom. Rhys had started with his blanket pulled up to his chin, covering his nudity, but in his sleep he’d pushed it down to his hips while his T-shirt had rucked up, so that the only thing hidden was that cute, skinny ass of his.

  It would be easier for Darius to convince himself he was a better man if he weren’t so fucking certain that ass would feel like heaven clamped around his dick.

  There were disproportionately few female Jugs, so almost all the males had learned to be flexible in their preferences, which meant they all carried lube with them everywhere. He had it there in his pack. Hell, it was on the list of items the reclamation crews routinely scavenged. So he could have that ass right this minute. He could roll Rhys over, pull the blanket off him, and just plow right in. The boy was his for the taking, however much circumstances had coerced his compliance. Darius could drive his cock into that tight, sweet ass, seed him, and tell himself he was doing Rhys a favor.

  He wanted to do it. He wanted it. That was the worst part. He knew heightened aggression was a signature of the Alpha strain, but sometimes he wondered if the virus hadn’t also had its effect on the moral centers of the Alpha recipients. Not to the extent of the revs, of course; Jugs weren’t mindless animals. But it was tempting to believe that animal-like strength, agility, and endurance had the side effect of bestial urges for gratification in all forms. His people certainly were a hedonistic lot, after all, every one of them prone to living hard, loud, and lusty. Sometimes it took a concerted effort to remind themselves of the things that kept them human.

  So yeah, he wanted it, but he didn’t want to traumatize the kid. Forget the six weeks or however long Rhys would be anyone’s meat until they knew whether or not he would live. If they successfully infected him with the Alpha strain, he’d be one of Darius’s people for the rest of his life. Rhys needed to start thinking of Delta Company in terms of being a safe place, a family. That was worth exercising a bit of patience, however strongly Darius’s instincts demanded otherwise.

  “I know you’re awake, boy,” he rumbled. “You can quit pretending.”

  Rhys rolled over reluctantly. From the way he clutched the covers at his hips, Darius was willing to bet he was trying to hide some morning wood.

  Darius smirked and shifted onto his back, taking way too much pleasure in seeing Rhys’s eyes widen.

  Rhys licked his dry lips, looking away from the rise over Darius’s hips. “What should I call you?”

  “Something wrong with my name?”

  “No, except it feels weird when you’re always ordering me around and calling me boy.”

  “I order my people around and they call me by name.” He flashed Rhys a grin. “Though if you wanna call me sir I won’t stop you.”

  Rhys blushed and tried to cover it by burying his face in his hands.

  “You got a toothbrush?”

  Rhys nodded, lowering his hands to reveal a grimace. “Yeah, but it’s in pretty bad shape. We haven’t had toothpaste here for years, and we ran out of baking soda last winter. I’ve been trying to make do.”

  “Sometimes that’s all you can manage. I’ll see if anyone is carrying a spare. If not, we’ll get you a new toothbrush on the road when we move out, and you can use the toothpaste from my kit until then.” Darius rolled from his pallet to his feet and grabbed his rucksack, slinging it over his shoulder. “Come on.”

  It was worth the tiny kindness to see Rhys’s delight at having access to real toothpaste. No one should look that ecstatic to be brushing his teeth. Darius’s mouth twitched with amusement at the whole passel of innuendo that came to mind watching Rhys spit masses of creamy foam, humming happily all the while.

  “When you’re done, we’ll hit the showers.” Darius tucked away his own toothbrush after he was finished, pulling a carefully wrapped block of soap out of his pack.

  In an instant, Rhys’s exuberance dimmed. “We?”

  Darius lifted an eyebrow, letting his eyes travel possessively up and down Rhys’s body. The sooner Rhys got comfortable with that, the better.

  “Any reason we shouldn’t?”

  Rhys dropped his gaze miserably, crossing to the shower. “No, I guess not.” He turned it on and stepped under the cold spray.

  After a moment, Darius made himself unclench his jaw and join him. “Turn around,” he said when Rhys refused to look at him. He proffered the soap. “Wash me.”

  “What?” That got Rhys’s attention, at least.

  “You’re in a pretty rotten position to be overly modest, boy. Sooner you get used to seeing me in my skin and me seeing you in yours, the easier this will be for both of us.”

  Rhys nodded and accepted the soap. His movements were fast and light as he worked the lather over Darius’s skin, as if he was trying to touch as little of Darius as possible for as short a time as he could get away with. Darius closed his eyes, grasping for patience.

  “Slow down.” He opened his eyes again, catching Rhys’s gaze. “Touch me. Learn me. Get used to me, ’cause I ain’t going anywhere.”

  A visible shudder rippled through Rhys, though he stopped his brisk soaping. He flinched but opened his palms and laid them against Darius’s chest. Darius responded with a small shiver of his own at the electric feel of another person’s hands on him, truly on him. The hypersensitive nerves that enabled the swift reaction speed of the Jugs tingled.

  Rhys’s palms began to move in widening circles, eking scant lather out of the homemade lye soap on Darius’s skin. The suds made crisp noises in the whorls of hair sprinkled between his nipples. Only the chilly water kept Darius from responding physically.

  “That’s it.” Darius had to force himself to speak rather than simply grab Rhys. If he could just get the kid to trust him . . . “I’m just a guy, not a monster. I got no interest in hurting you.”

  Strictly speaking, that wasn’t quite true, but he let it slide.

  “I know.” Rhys ducked his head, his voice small. “You’re trying to help me. Even though you don’t want to.”

  “Well, it’s more I just don’t like having my choices taken away.”

  Rhys swallowed. “Me either.”

  “Then we got that in common.” Darius offered the boy a small smile, and Rhys’s slippery hands moved down the ridges of Darius’s ribs, forgetting to hesitate. “We can make the most of this, you and me. We gotta do it, so why not let ourselves enjoy it?”

  “Because it’s not right.” Rhys
looked away.

  “Says who? Your preacher?”

  He shrugged. “This just isn’t the way it should be.”

  “What’s your basis for comparison there, boy?” A bit of Darius’s gentle solicitude melted away with the unplanned detour into moralizing. He knew his voice had hardened again when Rhys’s hands shrank away. Dammit. He firmed up his grip on his temper. “You seen so much of the world you can say at a glance what’s right and what’s wrong?”

  Rhys fell miserably silent. The passes of his hands as he worked on washing Darius became perfunctory once more. Darius clenched his jaw and tried again.

  “I’ve seen evil, Rhys. Hell, done my share of it and then some. Sometimes I was following orders. Sometimes I didn’t know any better. Sometimes I just didn’t care. I’m not gonna pretend to be a good man. I’m way more interested in getting the job done than in being good.”

  “You don’t think there should be something more between people than . . . nothing?” Rhys’s hands went still as he looked up, something stubborn hardening his eyes. “That’s my problem. It’s not even about what Father Maurice said, though it seems a lot of people think that way. It’s just . . . demeaning when it doesn’t mean anything.”

  Darius snorted. “What, you waiting for true love, boy?”

  Rhys rolled his eyes disdainfully. “No. Just something a little less warped than doing it because I don’t have any other choice.”

  “Damn, you’re young.” The boy’s hands shrank away from his chest as if he’d only just become aware that he was still touching Darius. “Look, far as I’m concerned, only thing evil about sex is rape. Now, that puts us in a real gray area, but I’m trying to avoid it. You said you don’t wanna die. I’m trying to help you live. I told you what would happen; you said you understood. I can’t get bogged down in the rest. If fucking you for a few weeks to save your life is wrong, that’s fine by me. I don’t flinch, boy. If you’ve changed your mind, tough shit. I didn’t compromise my beliefs on this to have you back out on me.”

  “I’m not going to change my mind,” Rhys muttered. “Just don’t expect me to be thrilled about it.”

  Perhaps he was expecting too much, too soon, to ask for any enthusiasm.

  Shit, the kid’s spent his life shut away from the world since before puberty.

  He hadn’t seen the shithole society had become: desperate, starving, ragtag people stabbing each other in the back for a chance at survival and fucking their brains out for just a few moments of comfort in the midst of all the terror. The boy could afford to be idealistic.

  Hell, if he’d had time for it, Darius might have admired Rhys’s innocence and the balls it took for him to stand by his ideals when expediency demanded a change of heart.

  And at least one part of Rhys was enthusiastic. It was a start.

  “I don’t recall asking you to be thrilled.” He backed Rhys against the shower wall, turning off the water. “Just compliant.”

  “Yes, sir.” If Rhys’s voice twisted the last word with a touch of rebellious irony, Darius let it pass. He stared into the boy’s eyes for a long moment, watching the breathless fear mount. Then something nudged his hip as that one interested part responded predictably.

  His hand closed around Rhys’s beautifully curved cock and drew up its length in a slow stroke from root to tip. Rhys’s head bumped on the tile wall, his face crumpling, his expression trapped somewhere between despair and quasi-orgasmic pleasure. And Darius noticed something he’d missed the day before, when the gaunt kid with the brutally hacked-off hair and patchy beard had just been another civvie to be rescued or a victim to be put out of his misery with a merciful bullet to the head.

  Rhys was lovely.

  Darius stopped after only a few strokes, by which point Rhys was already trembling on the edge of coming. Now wasn’t the time for that.

  He wished he could wait for more comfortable surroundings and a more relaxed mood. Or rather, he didn’t. He liked this setup just fine, but he knew another way would be better for Rhys. If he could take the time to seduce to boy, get him relaxed, it would be less frightening—and less uncomfortable—for him. He should just order Rhys to his knees and tell him to put that mouth of his to better use than sulking, the way he had last night, but something much less patient took over. This time he wanted that ass.

  Darius turned Rhys to face the wall and grabbed the little bottle of lube he’d pulled out of his pack.

  “What—?” Rhys’s startled question was cut off when Darius’s fingers slid between his ass cheeks. He gently worked a blunt fingertip into that tight, virgin hole until it gave up resisting. When it let him add another, he rewarded himself for his patience by introducing Rhys to his prostate, smiling when Rhys groaned and jolted, his fingers scrabbling futilely for purchase against the slick tile.

  Darius gripped Rhys’s shoulder with his free hand to keep him still, rumbling in his ear, “Relax, boy. I can’t promise it won’t hurt, but it’ll hurt a helluva lot less if you don’t fight it. One way or the other, you’re taking my cock up your ass this time.”

  Darius didn’t know if the half-sobbed cry Rhys gave was need or distress, but he wasn’t sure he cared. He worked his fingers into Rhys until the tension eased as much as it seemed it would, then he tried to press the swollen head of his dick in as gradually as he could while Rhys’s muscles struggled to push it out. It was all he could do not to just drive into the boy.

  “I can’t! God, it hurts. Please!” Rhys’s fingers clawed at the mildew-stained tile. His entire body quivered, and good Lord, the way his ass clenched. Trapped between his own primal urges and the desire not to injure Rhys, Darius wrestled just one more moment of self-control from the clutches of his lust. He stopped moving, but he didn’t draw back.

  “Shh. Quiet, boy. Just relax.” Rhys shook his head urgently, and Darius pressed his body against the boy’s, trapping him against the wall when he tried to escape. One hand pinned Rhys’s shoulder against the tile, while the other pulled his hip back. “If I pull out now, it’s just gonna hurt all over again when I go back in. It’ll get better. Just be still and wait for it to come. Push back on me if you can. It’ll help. You’ll get used to it.”

  “I can’t. I can’t. Please, stop.” Rhys moaned, shuddering as Darius pushed in a bit further, trying to get the head through those struggling muscles without rushing it and causing the boy unnecessary pain.

  “You can, baby. Just relax. Almost there. It’s gonna feel good, I promise. Maybe not today, but soon.” His hand smoothed Rhys’s wet hair, then pulled Rhys’s head back. His hips nudged forward again, and . . .

  Fuck, yeah, there it was. The wide ridge of his cock passed through that ring of resisting muscle, and then it was like he was being pulled in deep as Rhys slumped against the wall with a moan of abject relief.

  “See, not so bad, is it?” He pushed aside the urge to kiss or nuzzle behind Rhys’s ear. Fuck that. This wasn’t about romance, no matter how sweet and tight Rhys was. “It’ll get better.” Darius let an amused smile dance about his lips and color his tone as he continued to wrestle his own urges under control. “Just your bad luck to wind up with a dude hung like a bull elephant first time out. Tender thing like you should start with some training wheels, but we don’t have time for that. So for now, I’m gonna be as gentle as I can, and you’re just gonna take it. Someday, though, you’re gonna beg me to shove my dick in your cute little ass.”

  “God, please.” Rhys whimpered brokenly. Darius wasn’t sure if Rhys was begging him to stop or continue.

  And honestly, he no longer cared. He drew back and eased in again, rocking slow and shallow. Rhys cried out as Darius groaned against the back of his shoulder, picking up the pace after a moment.

  “Fuck, you feel good,” he muttered into the skin of the boy’s wet neck.

  If all his people there in the monastery didn’t hear the wet slap of skin on skin, they definitely heard Rhys’s yells echoing in the bathroom, amplified by the tile. D
arius didn’t think the cries were entirely distressed, and he knew the hard length of cock he found when he wedged his hand between Rhys’s body and the wall sure as hell wasn’t. He didn’t dare jack the boy off. Not yet, not before he bent Rhys over, hauled his hips back, and set about really fucking him.

  The contrast of his hands on Rhys’s pale skin, thick and blunt on the sharp-boned hips and emaciated back, should have reined Darius’s lust in. It should have reminded him that not only was he a veteran hardened by years of fighting for his survival while Rhys was just a soft kid trapped in bad circumstances but that he was far more powerful by virtue of the Alpha strain. He could quite literally break the boy if he wasn’t careful.

  None of that seemed to carry any significance, though. He wanted Rhys . . . not broken, not exactly, but taken right to that edge. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so horny for someone, so eager to claim and possess.

  Of course, Rhys wasn’t a lover. Maybe that was the difference. Not a lover. Rhys was just . . . his.

  His burden. His responsibility. His to have and to save.

  Gripping Rhys’s hips, Darius drove into him over and over, slamming against his flanks. Rhys’s cries faded away to groans as Darius’s body tightened. His balls drew up, and his hands trembled where they clutched Rhys’s soft skin. He came with a sharp grunt that echoed off the tile.

  The thought of his cum inside Rhys, claiming him like a flag planted on newly explored ground, awoke a primal, triumphant possessiveness that mingled with concern. He finally seized Rhys’s cock and jerked him off. It didn’t take much. Darius figured the boy would be on a hair trigger until he got used to regular orgasms. Rhys’s spunk splattered the wall, mingling with the droplets of water.

  Afterward, Darius pulled out carefully, and Rhys slid down the wall of the shower, gasping, his expression stunned. Darius turned on the water to finish bathing but turned it off again as it sprayed Rhys’s face without the boy making any effort to dodge it.

  Jesus, what had he done?

  “You okay, boy?”