by Lyn Gala
Shan felt Temar shudder, his whole body jerking and his face twisting into an expression of absolute ecstasy. Twice more, Temar gave abortive thrusts, his whole body jerking as he came. Shan’s cock slid even more easily now and he dug his heels into the mattress and thrust up so hard that he lifted Temar from the bed. His balls drew up, and then he was sliding into his own orgasm, his muscles tensing as his body rushed out of control.
He collapsed, Temar’s weight still on him. They both gasped for air, their ragged breathing filling the room. Shan was overstretched rubber, unable to find its true shape again, and he didn’t care. He was happy being overstretched and well used, and if Temar woke him up like this too often, he was going to need to eat more protein.
“Not quite what I had planned, but I lost control there at the end.”
“Loss of control can be good,” Shan said, his heart still pounding fast enough to feel the pulse of it in his head. It might not have been the most elegant sexual encounter, but it was going down as the best Shan had ever experienced. “So, what was that?” After last night, Shan thought they’d agreed to wait until Temar was ready. Either Temar had recovered in record time, or the plan had changed.
“I decided I get in trouble when I think too much. I know what feels good, and I trust you, so I need to not overthink this.”
Shan opened one eye and reached over to trace small circles on Temar’s shoulder with his thumb. “You think too much?”
Temar nodded. “Less thinking and more doing feels… safer.”
“So I should expect more ambush sex?” Shan asked. The moment he did, he could see the doubt and hesitation in Temar’s expression. Shan reached up and ran a thumb along Temar’s lower lip. “You’re going to spoil me, and one of these days you aren’t going to bother jumping me, and I’m going to be heartbroken. I can see it coming now, so I guess I’d better enjoy it while I get it, huh?”
“I’ll never get tired of jumping you,” Temar said, the smile back on his face. Leaning forward, he gave Shan a quick kiss. “And I’m going to steal all the good pears for breakfast if you don’t get up fast enough to stop me.” Before Shan could object, Temar rolled over and bounded out of bed. Dancing on one foot, he pulled his pants on before grabbing a shirt and heading out the door. It was just as well, because Shan was so exhausted he couldn’t get up to save his soul. He definitely was old enough to need a little time to get his systems restarted after sex that good. Most times he didn’t really feel the ten-year difference between them, but right now Shan felt like his muscles had all been taken out and given a good shaking, so that they were limp. He could just lie here all day and be perfectly happy to do nothing, the universe and its politics forgotten. At least, he would if he wasn’t such a sweaty, cum-stained mess.
With a grunt, he sat up and pushed his sleep pants off, grabbing them and wiping his stomach. He could learn to like ambush sex.
Chapter 12
DESPITE Temar’s warning, there were pears, apples, and very flat, dry pancakes waiting for breakfast. “Cyla made them,” Temar offered, pointing at the cakes with his fork. Shan grabbed a plate and took several. The edges crumbled, but it had been a long time since he’d eaten anyone’s cooking but his own, and they smelled great. “It’s her way of apologizing,” Temar explained as he poured more mashed apple and butter sauce over his own. He passed the sauce to Shan.
“As apologies go, it’s not bad,” Shan pointed out. The sauce was a little lumpy and the cakes crumbled when he took his fork to them, but it all tasted wonderful. Shan pulled a strip of apple peel out from between his teeth and chewed on it.
“I really hope she can learn to work with Naite.”
Shan snorted. “It’s not like Naite is a saint. I’m sure he’s done his share of aggravating Cyla.” He looked at Temar. When the two were young, Cyla had been the more aggressive Gazer, and Temar had pretty much followed in her shadow, even when he didn’t agree with her. Shan figured that, from her point of view, the world had changed faster than she’d had time to adapt. “She’s not used to having people argue with her, and Naite is a champion arguer.”
Temar paused, putting his fork back down on his plate. “You’d think slavery would have taught her better.”
“My owner barely talked to me.“ Shan looked up to see Cyla standing in the doorway. “She was a little like you’ve been since we moved here.”
Shan’s stomach soured. It was too early in the morning for this argument.
“Cyla,” Temar said softly.
“I hear a lot of rumors. I hear people whisper that it was my fault that my little brother got….” Cyla’s voice broke, and she didn’t finish the sentence. She drew in a rough breath, and the raw pain was a reflection of Temar’s face. Shan put his fork down and studied the table. “I hear people call me all sorts of names,” she edited herself. “And I hear people point out that I’m not any good for you. I get in your face and everyone thinks you need to be patted on the head and told how wonderful you are.”
“I don’t want that,” Temar said, his voice firm even though he had turned a pasty color.
“Maybe,” Cyla said. “But then you throw fits in the middle of Dee’eta Sun’s place and you lock yourself in your room, and you aren’t exactly the image of okay with that kind of behavior.”
Shan looked at Temar in concern. While Temar had admitted that he and Dee’eta had disagreed, Shan certainly hadn’t heard any stories that would fit Cyla’s description of Temar throwing a fit.
Pressing his lips together, Temar slammed his fork down on the table. “I’m sorry if I’m not acting well enough to meet your standards. I’ll try and change.” The sarcasm from Temar made Shan flinch. Siblings truly were God’s revenge on humanity. “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know,” Cyla nearly shouted, and then she stopped, her breathing coming hard and fast. She chewed on her lower lip for long seconds, and Shan could hear the faint voices of workers outside. Inside, the silence seemed to crowd out every sound. “I don’t know how to treat you because you won’t even talk to me. Ista with her morning orders followed by a day of obstinate silence was more communicative than you. I don’t know which rumors are true and which aren’t. I don’t know you.” The last part came out as a near wail, and now Shan could see the fear and hurt rising up from under all those layers of anger.
“Cyla,” Temar said softly.
“Tell me something important,” Cyla almost begged. “I’m not going to go spreading rumors, but tell me one thing that’s important.” She looked from Temar to Shan, including him in the request.
Shan looked to Temar; he was clenching his fork like it was a lifeline in a sandstorm. From the way he chewed his lip, he didn’t know what to say. Then again, when it was your own sibling, there was so much history, so many hurts and obligations, that it was hard to see past all that. Shan could see Cyla’s vivid need to know she was still family, but he didn’t know what Temar saw when he looked at her. Did he see the young woman who had led him into trouble on George Young’s farm or the girl who had been with him as they survived their father’s drunkenness? Based on his own tangled feelings for Naite, he figured Temar might not even know his own mind.
“We fixed the communications equipment and found that the war up there is over,” Shan said quickly before he could change his mind.
For a second, both siblings stared at him with open mouths, but Cyla recovered faster. “The war? The war between the planets? Really?” Cyla stepped into the room, the anger falling away in an instant.
“Shhhh,” Shan hushed her with a desperate look toward the windows. Telling Cyla was one thing; telling the whole farm would get him censured by the council, and Naite would skip the censure and jump right to killing him.
With a sigh and one last frown in Shan’s direction, Temar nodded. “Really,” Temar confirmed. “We weren’t supposed to tell anyone because the council is going to go out to all the other towns and talk to them about what we should do.” Temar
looked right at Shan.
“The planets.” Cyla breathed the words. “Earth and Loralei and Minga and Alpha-C and all of them? They’re done fighting?”
“Cyla always loved the history of the planets in school. She used to play this game where we imagined what we would do if a new wave of colonists came down here after the war ended,” Temar said, his voice growing softer.
Shan smiled at both Gazers. “I don’t know if people are going to want to live in a world this barren, but who knows? The worlds up there may be ripped apart by war. Maybe some people will be moving down here.”
Cyla sat in the chair opposite Shan, her mouth still open.
“That’s why we have to get back to the relay, Cyla,” Temar said. “Shan has to be there for the messages.”
“And you?” Cyla asked sharply as she looked from one of them to the other.
“I don’t want him out there alone. He shouldn’t have to deal with this by himself.” Temar reached out and took Cyla’s hand. “But I can’t worry about you making some mistake back here. That’s why I was so hard on you yesterday.”
“You were an ass,” Cyla said softly.
“Well, I learned from the best.” Temar didn’t say it meanly, but he made it clear he didn’t regret his words. “I told the council to back Naite if he brought a complaint against you, so please don’t do anything stupid. Lilian has promised to get involved, and no one wants Lilian involved in this, especially not Naite.”
Cyla tilted her head to one side. “Wait… why would you have to tell the council to side with Naite? If you lost your temper with me, why wouldn’t you go to the council then?”
Shan stopped breathing as Cyla went right to the heart of the issue. She might be angry and hurting and more abrasive than Lilian and Naite combined, but she wasn’t stupid. Usually. When she’d played detective on the George Young farm, leading to all the damage that had led to both of them getting sentenced to slavery… that had been spectacularly stupid, even in hindsight. Even Shan, who had a real lack of talent with making plans, could see that.
“I… um….” Temar winced and looked to Shan for help. The silence grew heavy as Cyla turned to him, waiting for the answer.
“The two of us are possible candidates for having to negotiate with this new alliance that’s formed,” Shan said. It was stretching the truth but not entirely breaking it, since Lilian and the others hadn’t technically gotten approval from the other councils. One of the other councils might have their own team that they would propose as an alternative. And water might fall as rain out of the sky. No one went up against Lilian unless they had a very good reason. Shan mentally promised the Lord two prayers of contrition for the sin.
“You two?” Cyla didn’t even hide her surprise.
“Yes, us. You don’t have to sound surprised that someone might think we can negotiate,” Temar said, the aggravation back in his voice.
“You can’t even remember to eat without me nagging you,” Cyla countered. “Why aren’t they sending Lilian Freeland or Kevin Starwalker or even Bari Ruiz? Why you two?”
“They all have families, Cyla,” Shan pointed out. “We don’t.”
“So?”
She still looked confused, but then it occurred to Shan that she probably thought they would negotiate over the communicator, or maybe she thought that this new alliance was coming to Livre. In hindsight, Shan should have suggested both those alternatives before committing someone to going to space. He’d been an idiot. However, after reading how much those early settlers loathed the same world that made Shan feel so close to God, he’d almost felt like outsiders would corrupt his world. They certainly were going to look down on the people of Livre if they realized how poor they all were. The early settlers had complained bitterly about being limited to four hundred pounds of personal belongings, but Shan knew very few people who owned more than they could carry on their backs. He didn’t want these people to see that. He felt no shame in poverty. Christ had lived in poverty and had made it abundantly clear that any person who wouldn’t walk away from their possessions had no place in the kingdom of heaven. However, he didn’t need to see these strangers dismiss them for the way they lived their lives.
“The negotiators will be traveling to a station six light-years away to discuss the terms of a trade,” Shan explained.
Cyla lost every bit of color in her face. “But…. You can’t…. Really?” The last word came out as a whisper.
“Really,” Temar agreed. “So, I won’t be here to try and get you and Naite to be nice to each other. Naite’s the farm manager. You need to learn to be nice to him without me being there to distract him.” Temar reached over and caught Cyla’s hand.
Cyla gritted her teeth so hard the muscle on the side of her jaw stood out, but she didn’t comment. Maybe she understood that Temar had changed… he wouldn’t follow her blindly anymore. Shan picked up his fork and started eating again. He seriously hoped he wasn’t blindly leading Temar into another disaster by agreeing to leave the planet. They’d be trapped up there, relying on these people’s need for optic-quality glass to earn them a treaty and a ride back home when they finished.
“Great pancakes,” Shan offered when the silence continued a little too long. Temar pulled his hand away from his sister and nodded his agreement as he started eating his own. He muttered something that might have been, “Really good,” but it was hard to tell with his mouth full.
“I just wanted to make sure you ate something,” Cyla said, looking at Temar. Before either of them could answer, she got up from the table and headed for the other room. “You should get some seed. George Young would pay through the nose for some new genetic lines of wheat or corn to play with,” she called out. Temar almost choked.
“Cyla, a little quieter, please,” he begged as he left his plate and chased after her. Considering they were on a farm surrounded by workers, she really was talking a little too loud. She and Temar had grown up on their land without workers, but it was a different world here. There might be privacy on the upper levels, but not on the first floor, with workers wandering by the windows.
Low, insistent voices drifted in from the front room, but the actual words were lost in the general murmur of unhappy tones. A door slammed, and there was a dull thump as something hit the floor, but it didn’t sound like a body, and as long as they weren’t throwing fists, Shan figured he needed to stay out of their fight. Shan kept eating, watching the doorway until Temar returned, his shoulders angled as though carrying a weight heavy enough to take him down.
“She tells me I should stop trying to run her life,” Temar said. He sat down and stared at his pancakes before pushing them away.
“You should eat.”
“If I were hungry, I would,” Temar answered sharply.
Shan put his fork down and watched Temar.
Slowly, Temar became aware of the scrutiny and he shifted in his chair, looking around before he finally demanded, “What?”
“If you aren’t hungry after this morning’s sex, I’m clearly too old to do it right,” Shan said as he scooped up his last bite of pancakes and eyed the last one on the serving plate.
“You are not old.”
“I’m older than you by a good ten or eleven years, and I’m feeling older than that if I can’t even make you work up an appetite.”
Temar frowned at Shan for a good minute. “You’re trying to manipulate me into eating.”
“Yep,” Shan agreed with a smile. His plan worked, because Temar shook his head and gave Shan an indulgent smile.
“Fine, I’ll eat.”
“Good, because you need to keep up your energy for ambush attacks,” Shan said as he stabbed the last pancake and tried to pull it over to his plate. It disintegrated into a pile of pieces and crumbs that he had to scoop off the platter.
“She acts like she knows everything… like I’m being unreasonable and she’s indulging me.”
“So, she’s acting like Naite?” Shan summed it up.
Temar snorted. “Yeah, but I like Naite better. At least he calls you an idiot and then does what he can to help. She calls me an idiot and then stands around to repeat it until I agree.” Temar shoved a large bite of pancake into his mouth.
“She’ll grow up,” Shan said. Temar gave him a quizzical look. “Some people take longer than others,” Shan said. “Until I was thirty-one, I was hiding in the church because I didn’t want to deal with relationships and feelings and fears that I couldn’t understand.”
Temar swallowed, coughed, and grabbed for a glass of water. “Hiding?” he asked. “You were a great priest. People loved you.”
“I was hiding as a priest. I couldn’t remember Biblical passages, I fixed the church roof more often than I went out of my way to counsel members of that church, and I was generally confused. And if people loved me it was because I never told them the hard truths I should have. Maybe if I had talked more about hell and the need for confession and forgiveness, Ben wouldn’t have gotten out of hand.”
“You think… do you really blame yourself for that?” Temar leaned forward, his bright blue eyes focused intensely on Shan.
“Most days, no,” he admitted. He stopped, swallowing as an old memory caught him.
“Shan?” Temar’s hand rested on his arm.
Part of Shan wanted to push his memory away, but that felt disrespectful, both of the lover who wanted to be part of his life and the mother who had loved him. “Have I told you about my mother?”
Temar shook his head.
With a smile, Shan thought about her in her prime, the way he would sit on the step after Naite had gone to school and watch her in the fields with his father and the one worker they could afford to hire. “She was really something. She used to get out there and have furrow races with the hired worker and my father to see who could plant a row without missing a spot or ruining a seedling. She had this laugh… like she couldn’t stop until she was out of breath and grabbing for something to keep her upright. She lived so big.” Shan stopped, his emotions threatening to escape their reins.