The bar was almost empty, and Kerr Avon was flirting with danger.
The really worrying thing was that 'Danger' was flirting right back, outrageously. Wasn't fair, really. Avon had thought he could enjoy a bit of quiet fantasy without being noticed. After all, Jenna had aimed all the considerable resources of Liberator's impressive wardrobe room at Blake. She'd tried 'dashing' and 'glittering' and even 'shining', and pointed every effect unerringly at Blake. She'd turned up on the flight deck in everything short of complete nudity set off by a sign saying "available". Blake had remained calm, cheerful and oblivious. Imperceptive. The perfect leader. Well, if Blake could fail to notice all that, Avon could safely indulge himself with a bit of covert eyeing-up, admiring what wasn't on offer, calculating the strength of those muscles and the size of that cock. Imagining breaking Blake's control with his deliberate provocation until Blake just slammed him against a wall in a fit of rage, until even Blake couldn't miss the dark secret of his desire blazing from his eyes. Imagining Blake not repulsed, but on the contrary dragging him to his cabin. Imagining the breathless and sickening moment of anticipation. Then Blake giving it to him, hard. Long fierce strokes rain to his parching need (and, god, he was so damn frustrated it would take a lot to satisfy him: he hadn't given free rein to his less respectable desires in a long time)... A regrettable lapse of control, this was. If he got any more drunk or any more stupid his thoughts would slide over from daydream to wet-dream. Even Blake couldn't miss that. He jerked his eyes open. Blake was smiling crookedly and deplorably fondly into his face.
"What are you thinking about, Avon?"
"Oh, nothing. A bit of re-tracing I'm doing on some of Zen's less approachable design." Not the most convincing of responses, but then he was trying to restore his respiration and heart rate to a more sedate pace at the time.
Blake stroked Avon's cheek, just for a moment. "I never realised computers were that exciting. Maybe I should pin up a circuit diagram above my bed and lure you in to explain it all to me..."
This was getting far too close to "come up and see my etchings" for Avon's peace of mind. Oh, it was a lovely idea, but it wasn't going to happen. Blast the man. Avon's brain madly scrabbled for some way of convincing Blake that he didn't fancy him.
"The bed of a dedicated revolutionary is clearly a rather dull place, but forgive me if I pass up the chance to make it any more colourful." Thank god he could always sneer on autopilot, even when he was not at his best. "Sorry to disappoint you, Blake," he continued, "but my mind was wandering in another direction entirely, and I'm too drunk to have my mind on the conversation. Curl up with a collection of speeches or something."
"Oh, that's a point, how drunk are you?" said Blake, groping interestedly at Avon under cover of the table and a convenient patch of shadow. He grinned. "If this is you indifferent, I can't wait to find out what you're like when you get going. Let's go and find out, shall we?"
Avon removed the hand and snapped "Leave me alone!"
"Avon, what's the matter?" Blake said, rather foggily. "I never thought of you as the virginal, reticent type. We're both drunk, and both randy, and... why not?"
"If you're not careful, Blake, I'll tell you why not, and you really don't want to know. Nor do I want to embark on mentioning the whole sordid business when we're drunk. Tomorrow, late ship-evening. If you're sober, and you still want to know, come to my cabin." Avon turned and stalked for the door, rather hoping that Blake would be too drunk to remember his words tomorrow, but feeling frighteningly close to just asking Blake for what he wanted. Not a good idea. When he was out of sight of the bar, he called for teleport.
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Last updated on 19th of December 1997.