Highlander's Need: Winter Solestice (Against All Odds Series 4)

by Veronica Wilson

  Knowingly, Tavos replied, "The 'extras'? No, I have decided to put a limit on my services."

  "Why's that?" Jed answered, sitting up, curious. "You could be making out, Rovan. I mean making out and 'making out,' you know? Some of these women, they've got the looks to match their money. And you're set up like nobody else here. You've got what nobody else has got to offer. You’re a Sarmian in a Martian resort, surrounded with Earth women with money who come here looking for something exotic. Rovan, there's nothing more exotic here than you! You're already the most in-demand masseur here, and the word's getting around. How many clients do you get in a day?"

  More modestly than he knew he ought, Tavos said, "I have my share."

  "Yeah," said Jed, "you get your share and some of mine and some of all the other guys' too. The other masseurs are getting jealous of all the clients asking for you by name. Do you know how many Earth women fantasize about getting it from a Sarmian warrior?"

  Tavos shook his head, dismissing the notion. "I am from Sarma. I am not a warrior."

  "They don't know that. A fantasy only knows what it wants, and I'm telling you, buddy, you're it. You could be getting rich."

  "I am doing well enough. And I am content to please them just with my hands and oils."

  Jed shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck, and sighed. "I don't get it, man—not snatching money when it's being thrown at you. Come on, they must ask. They ask, don't they?"

  Tavos thought back over the dozens of Earth females he had tabled since coming to Nirvana, and the generous number with whom tabling could easily have become an even more lucrative bedding. "Yes, some of them have asked," he said. "But my services... are limited."

  Jed shook his head again. "I just don't get that. If I were you I'd be working what I’ve got. I'd be capitalizing, that's all I'm saying. Coming from Sarma, with your looks and your body and that prong of yours... I'd just be capitalizing."

  "I do well enough," Tavos repeated. "Do you mind if I keep the towel to return to my room?"

  "Keep it," said Jed. "Tell 'em inside I need another one, would you? And think about what I said. You're what they want."

  Wrapping the towel about his waist, Tavos said, "I will consider it. And thank you."

  Watching Tavos stride back into the resort, Jed called after him, "Give 'em what they want, buddy! You'll thank yourself!"

  _______________

  In the sonic shower in his room, Tavos—alias Rovan—of Sarma let the mist of water and the acoustic fingers do for his body what his own hands would shortly do for his latest client. He was booked for the afternoon with a human girl who had decided to pamper herself with his massaging of her body fat before she had a surgeon laser it all away and turn her from a doughy-figured debutante to a sleek and dewy-eyed princess. Tavos did not judge. After all, he could easily be the one facing judgment. A most dire, severe, and final judgment.

  "Rovan" was the latest of the series of aliases he had adopted since he’d stolen away from Sarma, years ago. Since then he’d always kept a step ahead of the hunters who had been sent after him.

  He considered Jed's words, but not in the way that Jed had urged him to do. Jed was right about one thing: there was nothing more exotic in Nirvana Planitia right now than Tavos, a Sarmian estranged from the fields of battle, wielding carafes and bottles of interplanetary oils instead of deadly weapons. In this place Tavos stood out like a stiff zazansa. And Jed was right that Tavos had quickly become the busiest masseur in the resort. He was attracting attention, and it could easily become the kind of attention he did not want. It was only that the money was so good, more money than he had ever imagined. With what he was earning here, he might well afford to lie low for a long while on some little-trafficked planet in a star system on the frontiers. It was just too good an opportunity to pass up, so long as he did not get himself caught.

  Tavos had come into Earth's well-populated solar system with the intent of disappearing into the crowd. Since first contact between Earth and Sarma, many Sarmian expatriates were now living in human space. He would be just one more. He had stumbled onto this opportunity on Mars and, having necessarily lived a less than comfortably as a fugitive, he welcomed the opportunity to be in more commodious surroundings for a while. It was all going well, so far.

  "I am not a warrior," he had said to Jed. And it was true; he wasn't. He had forsaken that life because his heart was simply not in it. Better he should live a fast-running, furtive, light-footed, freebooting life, not always knowing how he would fill his stomach or where he would lay his head, than to stay on his home planet, with his tribe, and face a life of battle and strife and perhaps a too-young death. His life may now be hard and sometimes dismal and desperate, but he found the alternative no more glorious. And if they caught him and his life were forfeit for what he did, at least he would die as himself and not as a warrior that he did not choose to be.

  So it was that on Mars, under the name of Rovan, he had come to the sweetest spot in his journeys so far. He was sought out here by the wealthiest and most privileged beings in known space. He had known the beds and bodies of many of the most elite women—with the understanding that the "bed" part was completely separate from his professional services. And the word of his skills had indeed gotten around, for Sarmian hands were as adept in giving relief from the pains of battle as they were in dealing death to their enemies. Rich, self-indulgent humans seeking the exotic pleasures of space sought him out, and he had taken his hands to as many men as women.

  But, as he had refused to let his tribe press him into battle, he likewise did not allow the humans that he served to lure him into bed with their money. His zazansa, he determined, was for pleasure, not commerce, and he had used it for plenty of the former since he’d arrived here. The way that he had come to live did not lend itself to many principles—he was a fugitive and had often resorted to deception, trespassing, and theft to survive—but there were some lines that Tavos did not cross. He would neither take a life, nor make his sex a transaction. And if need be, he would take his generous earnings and sadly flee this beautiful, luxurious place, just as he had fled all the others. In a vast galaxy, a boy who ran could run forever.

  Not wanting to be late, Tavos cut his shower short and stepped glistening out into his room, slipping into the simple uniform of his trade. He covered his non-negotiables in a thong and put on a pair of white leggings over that. He donned a light grey sleeveless shirt and a pair of light grey slippers and was ready to go. He did not need to wear much for work, as he worked only in the thong anyway—sexy, but not sexual.

  He crossed the room to the window port, outside of which his little skimmer was docked. He could have bought a sportier model, but this little topless saucer suited his needs and did not deplete his earnings. Sliding open the window, he stepped out into the skimmer and seated himself at the controls as the window slid shut behind him. He slipped the little craft free of his dock and peeled out into the air over the streets of Nirvana, already imagining running his hands over the body of a girl not yet twenty Earth years, who already had the body of an elder Sarmian. Tavos did not blame these Earth people for their practice of making over their bodies. Not artificially bred for battle like his own people, they were often prone to the bulging and sagging of age while they were still young. No doubt his client was eagerly looking forward to being relieved of all that.

  _______________

  Stacey stood out on the terrace of her suite, still in the black body suit, smiling broadly in greeting, when Tavos's skimmer came gliding in. Hovering near the terrace dock, he smiled back at her, sizing her up (for want of a better expression). She was not too large. She was not gross, but he could see well enough that the surgeon's skills were called for. Stacey watched him dock his skimmer and climb out, looking him up and down all the while. He was even hotter-looking than his holograms, sublime muscles squeezed into sublime limbs and torso. It made her sorry that she had ruled out hiring him for more than a massage. Sh
e made a mental note that this was exactly what she wanted in bed after recovering from the procedure. Perhaps he would consent to a date outside of work in a few days’ time. She could only hope so.

  He climbed out onto the terrace and offered her his hand in the traditional human greeting. "Hello, Stacey," he said, smiling. "I am Rovan. I am pleased to meet you." This time, on the job, he remembered his pseudonym.

  She shook his hand gladly, feeling strength in the way he pumped his arm up and down and imagining how he might pump something else. He was her first Sarmian acquaintance. How perfect would it be if he were truly her "first"? How wonderful would it be to lie for the first time with not only a perfect boy, but a member of the race who were the star-lost cousins of humankind? "And I'm very happy to meet you, Rovan."

  "Shall we begin?" he asked. "Shall I set up in your suite or out here on the terrace?"

  "Oh, I think out here would be perfect," she replied, tingling all over.

  "Very well. I'll be only a moment." Tavos turned quickly back to his skimmer, removing his folding table and some sheets, towels, and pillows from the hatch and his supply bag from the passenger's side of the compartment. In the bag lay his bottles of oil and his heating disk—as well as the pulse pistol that he had bought when he first arrived on Mars, against any possible emergency that might arise or need for a quick getaway. For this work, he would take out everything but the pistol.

  Straight away Tavos had the table unfolded and set up, with a sheet draped over it and a pillow in place, and a towel neatly folded on the sheet, ready for business. "Let us make ourselves comfortable," he said, "and I'll heat the oil."

  The breath shuddering inside her, Stacey asked, almost bashfully, "Can I watch you get undressed first?"

  With an accommodating grin, Tavos said, "Of course." And with exactly the right combination of efficiency and implied seduction—which would go no further than an implication—he stripped. First he lost his shirt, revealing the full splendor of his sculpted chest of hair. Then he dropped his leggings, exposing the impeccable musculature of his legs and the full and ample bulge in his thong. He kicked away his leggings and posed for her, flexing his arms and pecs and watching Stacey light up with a smile so wide that it could have cracked her cheeks. He turned around for her and showed her the firmly packed shapes of his buns, fully exposed by the thong, and tightened and released them for her inspection.

  He could just make out the sound of Stacey softly intoning, "Mmmm..." behind his back. Tavos turned back around to find his client hugging herself appreciatively at his little display, wearing that same smile. He was pleased that she was pleased.

  "I take it you approve?" he ventured, knowing full well the answer.

  "Very much!" Stacey beamed at him.

  "Good," Tavos said. "Then you may get out of that," he gestured at her body suit, "while I heat up the oil." And he stepped out of his slippers and over to the little terrace table on which he had put his supplies.

  Stacey kept her eyes on Tavos as if they were magnetized to his flesh while she undid the seals on her body suit and began to shimmy her way out of it. That's not all you're heating up, she thought.

  She held the body suit demurely over her bosom, dropped it onto the chaise lounge, went to take the towel from the table, and wrapped it around her middle. It just barely covered all of her. She noted in the back of her mind that, after her procedure, , there would be less of her to cover. At the forefront of her attention, the nearly nude Tavos placed a bottle of oil on the heating disk, which would have it ready for use in minutes. Stacey wondered why Tavos did not just stand there, look at the bottle, and flash a smile; it would have done the job just as well.

  "Climb up onto the table," he suggested. "I'll be ready for you in a moment."

  Stacey did as he said, knowing how ready she was for him right now. She sat on the edge of the table and swung her legs up onto it. Carefully keeping herself draped in the towel, she lay leaning on one elbow, not wanting to make herself fully prone yet because she did not want her eyes to leave the delectable sight of her masseur. Presently he looked up from the bottle on his disk and said, "All ready. Lie down on your stomach and relax." He took up his warmed bottle of oil, put a second bottle on the disk for later, and was now fully ready to work.

  Again Stacey did Tavos's gentle bidding, wishing she did not feel—and look—quite so much like a beached whale in white cloth. Perhaps it would have been better to wait until after she went under the lasers to have a celebratory massage, but she was impatient for the touch of something young, male, and perfect. She moved the long fall of her hair to one side to give him full access to her. At once he was at her side, gently peeling away the towel and exposing her soon-to-be not-so-broad back. She gave out another "Mmmm..." at the feeling of warm golden oil drizzling onto her back, followed by strong male fingers beginning to rub it into her skin.

  She slipped into a dreamy mood at the feeling of his hands doing their work up and down her spine, into the small of her back, and back up to her shoulders. Tavos's fingers and the warm oil combined to make her feel as if her muscles were turning to melted butter. "That is so nice," she softly said.

  "Thank you," he said. "I like to feel the body of my client respond. You respond very well."

  "You're nice to respond to," she purred.

  "You are a bit young to be here alone, if you do not mind my saying. Are your parents here with you?"

  "No, it's just me," Stacey said while his fingers made lazy circles on her shoulders.

  "You alone, in a place like this? No family? No friends? Why did you come here alone? Could you not have had your laser surgery on Earth?"

  "This trip was a gift from my parents. I just turned nineteen. I wanted an adventure," she replied as he dripped some oil onto her shoulders and resumed rubbing.

  "Of course—young and adventurous. I understand."

  "Well, of course you do. You're a long way from home yourself. And you can't be much older than I am."

  "In Earth years I am twenty-two, going on twenty-three."

  "What made you leave Sarma?" she asked. "You wanted an adventure too?"

  Keeping his hands on her, he looked up while he worked, bringing up in his mind his prepared answer to this very natural, practically inevitable question, which many other clients had asked him. Like his assumed name, it was a strategic lie.

  "Everything happened at once on Sarma. Your world and ours discovered each other, the new king took the throne after his father passed, and the wars between the tribes ended. When new parts of space—human space—opened up for us, I wanted to see them. So here I am."

  "Do you miss your family and your planet?"

  "There is much on Mars that reminds me of home. The natural parts of it, as well as what humans have done with their terraforming. When the atmosphere is finished, it will be much like where I come from."

  "What about your family?"

  At this question, Tavos slowed the movements of his fingers over her skin, his mind drifting away across the light years. He could only imagine the words that his family and friends had used for him since they found him missing—angry words, words spoken with the heat of a stormy Sarmian desert. Betrayer. Deserter. Scoundrel. Runaway. Coward. Absconder. Outcast. Unfit. Unworthy. Find him, catch him, give him to the law, throw him to the desert, let him rot... To be sure, not every one of his flesh and blood and community spoke of him that way. The words of some must have come with sorrow and tears, with fear for what would become of him. Some of his family and tribe must even now remember him and despair of ever seeing him again, and think with pain of what would happen to him if they ever did. But the heaviness of his heart told him that the greater part of what they felt for him was shame, anger, bitterness. Home would never again be where Tavos came from. Home would have to be wherever he was.

  He was suddenly aware that he had stopped massaging Stacey, and that she had propped herself up on one elbow and was looking up over her shoulder at him.<
br />
  "Rovan," she asked, "are you all right?"

  Tavos snapped back to attention, the sound of his alias refocusing him. He shook his head. "Oh yes... yes, of course. I am sorry, my mind does not usually wander. Please lie back down; let me do your legs."

  Stacey lay back down while he pulled away the towel from over her legs, leaving her bare now except for her panties. "I asked about your family," she said. "They must miss you."

  Tavos smoothed the warm oil onto her thighs and calves and imagined her nerves firing with pleasure as he worked his fingers into and along her legs. He sighed, thinking again of how he’d left people that he loved and a life that he knew was not for him. "We are Sarmians," he simply said. "We were bred to be strong. We are a proud people."

  "I like the way you talk," she said with a sigh. "You don't sound like a warrior."

  The corner of his mouth turned up at that. "How should a warrior sound?"

  "I'm sorry if that was offensive. It's just, everyone says you sound more like poets than fighters."

  "Much poetry has been written about battle and war. Is it not so on Earth?"

  "Yes, I guess it is," she said.

  "I was trained for battle like any Sarmian boy," said Tavos. "But I have never known war." Looking off as if to the horizon while kneading her thighs, he returned to his deception. "The wars were ending when I reached the age of combat. Everyone was going home to rebuild. Instead of rebuilding, I wanted to see the galaxy. So I left."

  "Did your family give you their blessing?"

  "They said goodbye," Tavos lied, stung inside by the truth of how and why he left.

  "That sounds a little sad," said Stacey.

  "As a race, we are not good at farewells. So many of our goodbyes are said to the fallen and dead."