by T. J. Land
“Whoops,” Zachery said with a grin.
When the captain tackled him at waist height, Zachery realised he was enjoying the hell out of himself. It had been years since he’d had a good punch-up. All the other guys on board were too weedy for him to really cut loose.
Zachery yelped as the captain got a hold of a handful of his hair and almost ripped it out of his scalp. In retaliation, he put his fist in the captain’s diaphragm and smirked at the breathless choking sound the captain made from all the air driven out of his lungs.
But something was bugging him. He kept trying to get a fix on the asshole’s style and couldn’t. There was a little boxer in there, and a little taekwondo, and whole lot of dirty bastard fuckery. Like when he sank his teeth into Zachery’s arm, as though he was one of those cyborg Rottweilers rich Martian businessmen kept to guard their homes. Eclectic, but when it all came together, it rang a bell in Zachery’s brain.
He was distracted from speculating when the captain did some freaky judo nonsense and knocked him back several paces. As the back of his head connected with the opposite wall, making stars burst into his vision, Zachery realised he wasn’t entirely sure he was going to win.
That was when he worked out what was bugging him. Damned if the captain didn’t fight like he’d come from the Pit. More than that, he fought like one of the guys who’d known how the Pit worked. It wasn’t just about survival; if you wanted to actually make money, you needed the crowd to like you, and that meant being a good showman as well as a good fighter. It was a hard line to walk. The sort of flashy, unnecessary moves the crowd lapped up were exactly the sort of moves that tended to get new guys killed.
“Out of interest, sir,” Zachery said, licking at his split lower lip and savouring the sting, “you ever been to Mars, by any chance?”
Instead of answering, the captain jumped to one side to avoid Zachery’s next lunge and dealt his face a swift, sharp slap as he passed.
“Mind your own business, criminal.”
Okay, so he’s got good reflexes.
The skin on his cheek stung, though not half so much as being called a crook. He’d paid his debt to society, and getting off-planet work had been a tall glass of pure hell with three years of hard time to his name. He knew it was goading, knew he shouldn’t let it get to him, but fuck, he hated this guy so much. So he went for him again, and the next few minutes were a blur of violence and swearing. Who’d have thought Mister Perfect had such a dirty tongue in his head?
Zachery finally got the upper hand. He pinned the captain to the floor, sitting on his thighs to keep his legs immobilised, and just in time because Zachery was about done. He had bruises in places he couldn’t name, one eye he couldn’t open, and what felt like a sprained wrist. His only consolation was that the captain looked worse, lying on his back with both his arms pinned in place, grunting underneath Zachery’s weight, twisting this way and that in a failing attempt to free himself. His nose was still bleeding.
Got you, fucker, thought Zachery, feeling drunk on victory. Gonna make you pay. Gonna make you beg for mercy, you arrogant prick.
It was the first time since leaving Earth, the first time in four years of being stuck in his fucking space coffin, he’d felt alive.
“Surrender, sir?” he asked.
The captain had stopped struggling. Weirdly, he didn’t look angry. He looked sort of…smug. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On what sort of man you are. I’ve always held that one can deduce all one needs to about a person’s character from the way they treat those who are at their mercy. Do you have mercy, criminal?”
As he spoke, his eyes slid down from Zachery’s face to his crotch. Following his gaze, Zachery noticed for the first time that both of them were hard.
“Well?” said the captain, smirking.
Thunderstruck, Zachery realised the bossy bitch was flirting with him. Tilting his head like that, arching his back, showing himself off. Fucking exhibitionist.
Still keeping his arms pinned to the floor, Zachery kissed him. It hurt; Zachery’s lip had been split open in the course of their tussle. And the captain’s mouth tasted like the blood still trickling from his nose. But Zachery had to give it to him; he kissed pretty good.
Neither of them closed their eyes, their gazes remaining locked, challenging the other to break the kiss first. Zachery was increasingly conscious of the way their dicks were now grinding together through their clothes.
“You know what I think, sir?” he said, drawing back. “I think you’re kind of a whore.”
“Watch your fucking language,” the captain hissed, his pupils blown wide.
“Apologies, sir. Now, how about you roll over so I can fuck your brains out?”
He took a calculated risk in releasing the captain’s arms, but at this point, he was too horny to care. The room smelled like sweat and blood and reminded him of the cell where he’d fucked a man for the first time. The second the captain rolled onto his front, Zachery pulled down his pants, noting the old burn scar on his left thigh.
“So, those rumours true, by any chance? That you let every single man on board have a taste of you?” he asked, getting his dick out. “I know you’ve been messing around with Thomas—not that he’s really a man—and I heard someone mention Rick…”
“Get on with it,” the captain snarled, bucking beneath him like an unbroken horse.
Fuck, he’s beautiful. The thought came out of nowhere. It didn’t feel like something he’d think. But he didn’t have another word for it, for the way the captain’s broad shoulders rose and fell as he panted, and all of a sudden, Zachery wanted to see what he looked like naked.
“Take your shirt and jacket off,” he said, thrilled to be the one giving orders for once. His breath caught in his throat as the captain stripped, exposing his muscles and golden skin. Zachery spat into his palm and wet his cock, which throbbed as the captain arched his back and showed off the gorgeous curve of his ass.
“You don’t have any diseases, I trust?” said the captain. “How many men did you offer yourself to in prison?”
“You keep that up and I’ll fucking gag you,” Zachery muttered. He didn’t bother being gentle. The bossy bitch deserved everything coming to him.
Wow, that is a beautiful ass. There it went again, the voice in his head. And, yeah, okay, it was a better ass than Zachery would have expected to find attached to a man of forty-something. And he was tight, tight and perfect as Zachery thrust in.
“I’ll bet poor Thomas never got to do this to you, sir,” he whispered in his ear.
“Do I detect a hint of jealousy?”
The captain’s accent was starting to show. Zachery thrust in again, hard, and watched as the captain’s whole body rocked forward. His fingers dug into the skin on the captain’s hips so hard he suspected there’d be bruises. But when the captain shuddered, almost like he was in pain, Zachery stopped. He became conscious of the fact that—for some fucking reason—he actually wanted both of them to enjoy this.
“You all right down there, Cap?” he asked.
The captain looked up at him with a sneer. “Is that the best you’ve got, reprobate?”
Well, to hell with you, then, Zachery thought and gave up on civility entirely. The next few minutes were unlike any sex he’d ever had. They rutted like animals, snarling and cursing, and at some point, Zachery wrenched the other man’s hips off the floor and took his rock-hard cock in hand.
“Well, ain’t that a nice surprise?” he mocked. “Thought maybe you’d have run out of Viagra by now…”
“Do you ever not talk?”
Actually, talking was becoming difficult; Zachery was getting out of breath. Where the hell did the captain get this much stamina? The floor was covered in their sweat, which would have been gross if Zachery had given a fuck about anything but getting off.
As he came, he shouted a curse word. And even though the captain pretended he didn’t like swearing, i
t must have done something for him because he spilled barely a second later.
“Hnng. Ah. Not…not bad, Zachery,” panted the captain as Zachery collapsed on top of him. It was the first compliment he’d ever received from the bossy, sexy bitch. And, much as he hated to admit it, he fucking loved the way his name sounded with the captain’s luscious accent wrapped around it.
“Th’n’ya, sir,” Zachery mumbled, exhausted, pressing his nose into the captain’s neck.
After a long while, they began to pull themselves back together, compiling inventories of their injuries.
“Ooh, here’s a nasty one,” said Zachery, showing the captain a blossoming bruise on his shoulder. “Think I came off worse than—fuck, is that a bite mark? Did I bite you?”
The captain inspected the red crescent on his lower arm. “Apparently so. I should have known you’d be a dirty fighter.”
Zachery laughed. “That’s rich, you asshole.”
Burying a hand in the captain’s hair, Zachery kissed him, feeling more upbeat than he had in months, years even. A good fight, a great fuck—give him a beer and a big dinner and today would rank in his top ten.
“Well, well, well,” came a voice from behind him. “What do we have here?”
Leaning against the wall of the engine room with his hips cocked like a bored hooker, The Prayer’s first officer pushed his glasses up his nose and ran his eyes over them both.
“Antoine,” said the captain in a monotone, adopting his commanding, chest-out, hands-clasped-behind-his-back pose. It was less effective than it might have been, due to the noticeable damp spot on the front of his pants. “Mister Halberstam was just informing me of a mechanical error in our engines. He’s put in a request to strip parts from our weapons system in order to correct it, which I have authorised.”
“Oh, I see. So you’ve been inspecting the machinery, have you?” said Antoine, turning his gaze on Zachery.
“That’s my job,” Zachery grunted.
“Hmm. Of course it is. And I imagine it’s quite a difficult job, isn’t it, Zachery? After all, the machinery is prone to failure. Which is to be expected, given how very old it is,” said Antoine, smirking at the captain.
“She’s a good ship,” said Zachery, not liking the way the other two men were looking at each other one bit. In all honesty, he liked Antoine well enough, but he sure as hell didn’t want to get caught in the middle of one of their spats. The way those two fought made the dust-up he’d just enjoyed look like a tea party.
“Good, but indisputably run down these days. Past its best. Practically an antique, really,” said Antoine, still looking directly at the captain with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Honestly, it’s a miracle anyone can get it going. You are a talented man, Zachery.”
The last thing Zachery expected was the wave of protectiveness rising up within him. He’d no idea why—he knew damn well the captain could take care of himself. But he’d always been inclined to act on his instincts, so he folded his arms and said, “Old or not, she’s the best damned ship I’ve ever served on. Reliable as hell. Wouldn’t mind riding on her for the rest of my life.”
The captain cleared his throat, and…holy fuck, was he blushing?
“Right,” said Antoine, arching one of his aristocratic eyebrows. “Well, given our captain’s refusal to even entertain the notion of an exploratory mission to the Holy Trinity, you’ll probably get your wish. On that note, captain, I’ve left my latest report in your office. It indicates the average surface temperature of two of the worlds under scrutiny is within five degrees of Earth’s.”
That said, he turned and sauntered off.
“You okay, captain?” Zachery asked, as the older man shook his head. He looked…weary.
Instead of answering, the captain said, “You may begin dismantling the artillery. Send me a detailed account of the parts you need, and the amount of time it will take you to complete repairs.”
“Yes, sir,” Zachery mumbled, feeling a twinge of disappointment.
Then the captain spun round, fast as a viper, and had him up against the wall. “And then you can report to my quarters, and we will continue our discussion of your insubordinate tendencies. I feel you may be in need of further correction.”
Bare inches from his, the captain’s lips twisted into a hungry smile, and suddenly, Zachery had an idea what all the fuss was about.
“Sounds good to me, sir.”
✩✩✩
Goddamnit all to hell.
The captain lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling while Zachery snored beside him.
Four lovers. What had he been thinking? Quintets were damned difficult to make work. On Earth, it had taken him years to find just three other people whose relationships were strong and equitable enough to keep everyone happy. And that wasn’t even taking into account the fact that he was his new lovers’ employer—a hideous can of worms all by itself. So many ways everything could go wrong.
To clear his head, he got out of bed and went to sit at his desk. After staring up at his calendar for a while, he turned his attention to Antoine’s holo-tablets.
Chapter Five
It was their anniversary. Four years to the day since they’d left Earth, and the captain had given them all the day off. They’d decided to have a party because—why the fuck not? So now, with the aid of a miniature hologram projector, the mess hall looked like a sunny beach bordered with dense vegetation and crawling with crabs and shrimp. It was purely visual; Thomas couldn’t smell the sea air or hear the albatross circling overhead, but it was great just to see some trees again.
What he could smell was the new batch of weed Rick had brought along; bless his filthy heart. He was sharing a joint with Zachery, who’d stripped down to his boxers, like they really were at the beach. In between taking drags, their chief engineer was trying out a new song he’d composed on his guitar, and to Thomas’s surprise, he had a really nice singing voice. Most of the crew was sprawled nearby listening to him, with the exception of Khali and the other girls, who were playing poker under the shade of a coconut tree.
As for Thomas, he lay spreadeagled on the illusionary sand, trying to avoid thinking about anything. If he got nostalgic, he’d get weepy, and then Zachery would give him shit for it.
The only crew members not in attendance were the captain, Antoine, and Echo. The latter was busy in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on an apple pie. You wouldn’t have thought the creepy fuck knew how to cook, but it wasn’t the first time. Thomas was actually looking forward to it. Sure, the filling would be bland synthetic shit, but Echo was so good at mixing spices you could almost believe you were chewing on real apples. As for Antoine, he was cooped up in his lab, assembling more data on his precious Holy Trinity. And as for…
“Whaddya think the captain’s doing?” Rick said suddenly.
“Trimming his nose hair, watering his pot plants, yelling at inanimate objects—who gives a fuck?” Zachery muttered, preoccupied with tuning his guitar.
Frowning, Rick said, “He should be here. He came to the last party, didn’t he?”
“Fuck, you’re such a whiny brat. Yeah, he did, and he spent the whole time sitting in a corner not talking to anyone and being a buzz kill. Remember? It’s a blessing he’s not here.”
Listening to Zachery talk, Thomas thought he was trying to convince himself as much as Rick. Rolling onto his belly, Thomas observed that both of them now looked a touch hangdog. Trying to help, he said, “The captain’s probably busy with his paperwork or something. You know he—”
“Is a pathetic workaholic, yeah,” Zachery interrupted. “If anyone in the history of mankind ever had an excuse not to do their goddamned paperwork, it’s him. Not like anyone’s ever going to read it.”
But Rick looked even more troubled. “What’s he do for fun, anyway?”
That was a good question. Obviously, Thomas knew one thing the captain did for fun. But as for what he did at those moments when he was neither worki
ng nor giving out excellent free blowjobs, Thomas didn’t have a damned clue. He couldn’t imagine the captain fucking around in his room watching porn or stupid movies, the way Rick spent his free time, or playing cards and complaining about bands he didn’t like, the way Zachery spent his. He couldn’t imagine the captain chilling.
“Think he’s in the gym,” Irene called to them without looking up from her cards.
Thomas watched Zachery’s ears prick up. “The gym? He doesn’t use the gym.”
“No, he just doesn’t use it when you’re there,” Irene retorted. “No offence, baby, but when you work out you grunt like a fucking musk-ox giving birth. It’s gross.”
“Why don’t we go get him?” said Rick.
Everyone stared at him.
“’Get him’?” Thomas said. “You mean like…”
“Like we bring him here. Or just bring him some of Echo’s pie and some weed.”
“That uptight asshole doesn’t like pie. Probably only eats bark and broken glass,” said Zachery.
Rick looked to Thomas for support, making his eyes big and appealing. “C’mon, man, it’s not right that we’re having fun and he’s all on his own. I mean, it’s not like his life doesn’t suck just as much as ours do. He’s stuck in this coffin with us.”
“Aaw, sweet. Rick’s all concerned,” Irene teased.
Thomas got to his feet. “Yeah, and he’s right.”
“What?” said Rick. Thomas figured he probably wasn’t used to people agreeing with him.
“I’m going to see what he’s up to,” said Thomas. “Any of you want to come?”
Rick hopped up and followed him. To his surprise, Zachery did the same, muttering something about “Goddamn fanboys.”
“You guys mind if I finish the weed?” Irene called after them.
✩✩✩
The Prayer’s gym was pretty crummy, at least compared to other vessels Thomas had worked on (and even as he thought that, he could hear his grandfather, who’d been a naval officer and spent large chunks of his life on a submarine, calling him a pussy from beyond the grave). It was small, and there was only one bike, so Thomas didn’t use it much. He took a run around the ship twice each day and lifted weights in his quarters. He knew he was probably the least badass member of the crew, but frankly, he didn’t give much of a fuck; he was good at his job, and he was a better shot than any of them.