Getting LuckyBy Willa Shakespeare
Page 2 of 2
"That was the purpose of this- at least, as I understood it." |
"Come on, Avon, that isn't all it is. You can admit it, there's no one here but us."
Avon turned his back to the pilot. "I have nothing to admit to anyone, least of all to you."
"Damn it, Avon! You are going to listen to me, for once." Tarrant put his hands on Avon's shoulders and held on past the shrugs, and then the cold stiffness as Avon decided to simply ignore him. "Don't be so pigheaded. What could it hurt to admit that we care about each other?"
"You are a fool, Tarrant." Avon still wouldn't look behind him.
"No, I'm not. I would be if I fell for that and said something nasty back at you. That would let you avoid the issue. You're being childish, Avon. We've lived together for more than two years now- a lot of the time in such close quarters on Scorpio that I could tell you what kind of underwear you wore- if you wore any. Which most of the time, you don't."
"Scorpio didn't come equipped with a clothing synthesizer," Avon protested.
"So why didn't you build one? I know, you just fell in love with your black leather stud outfit and were afraid we'd make you turn it into a massage table cover. " He paused. "Come to think of it, all those smooth, cool studs..."
Avon ducked his head to hide his smile, but Tarrant felt it in the loosening of the back muscles tucked up tight against him. "I think we should be honest with each other. Well, not too honest. Just admit that this is more than sex."
"At the moment, it isn't even sex," Avon sounded petulant, which was an improvement.
"I can fix that."
"You can't even fix..." Whatever comeback Avon had in mind was lost, as Tarrant pushed him to the dirt floor, and began tugging at Avon's jumpsuit.
Avon caught himself with his hands before he got a face full of dirt and looked over his shoulder at last. "Do you have something specific in mind? Or do you just like the view?"
"Both. Now tell me - do you - or do you not - care about me?" Each pause was punctuated by a one-handed yank on Avon's zipper, starting at the chest and traveling south in leaps and bounds. As Tarrant's other hand was groping and fondling between Avon's legs, it was Avon doing the bounding, stimulation to sensitive areas wiping out all his reservations.
"Ah. Ah. Oh, all right, I care... I care...ah! I don' t care what you do, Tarrant, just get on with it!"
Close enough. "I've got a free hand then?" He asked, a faint vestige of self-preservation reminding him that Avon could very well kill Tarrant later, no matter how pliable he was at the moment.
"You've got two of them. Now, use them!" Avon pushed at his own jumpsuit, wriggling out of it to reveal that he still hadn't found a source of undergarments.
Neither had Tarrant, which saved them both valuable time. The pilot tossed the Federation uniforms to one side, then paused, remembering the tube of ointment he'd found in the breast pocket of his own. Avon seemed to be willing, but somehow Tarrant doubted Avon had as much experience as he had acquired at the Federation Space Academy. He retrieved the tube and checked the label.
"Suddenly, this does not appear to be a good idea." Avon was also looking at the tube. He pulled away when Tarrant held out his hand.
Afraid? Well, all right, then. "Avon, you can do me, if you'd rather."
A scowl met Tarrant's offer. "No," Avon replied with a closed face shutting off any possibility of explanation. "We'll go through with the original arrangement."
"Go through with it!" Tarrant exploded, gripping the tube so hard that the thin metal split and ointment oozed out over his hand. "Thanks, but no thanks. I expect a little more enthusiasm than that from my lovers. Oh, I forgot, you don't love anyone do you- except maybe Blake."
With an incoherent cry of rage, Avon leapt at Tarrant's throat. The wrestling this time was in deadly earnest. Tarrant managed to subdue Avon eventually, but not without collecting several bruises. "Damn it, Avon! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. I was just so damn jealous of Blake."
"What!" Avon stopped fighting, and stared up at Tarrant in astonishment. "You don't think that Blake- Blake! - and I..." Avon started laughing, the harsh sound mutating into uncontrollable sobbing.
"Ah, Avon." Feeling helpless, Tarrant came to his knees, easing his weight off Avon and patted the other man's shoulder, gently. "Avon, don't. What else could I think? The way you always dropped everything to chase after him. And now,- well, I thought maybe just because I'm tall and have curly hair I remind you of Blake. It's all right, you can pretend I'm Blake. I don't mind," Tarrant said, lying through his teeth.
"That's a disgusting thought." Avon shook his head. "Blake and I had a relationship founded on mutual respect for each other's abilities. His to get me into trouble, and mine to get him out. There was absolutely no love lost between us. I - regret having been the instrument of his death, but under the circumstances, I could do nothing else." He repeated the last, softly, then looked up into Tarrant's eyes. " You, on the other hand, I do not respect at all."
Tarrant grinned. "In that case, I'll have to impress you with my skill."
"You can try."
"This time, let's not talk about it." Tarrant wiped his still greasy hand over Avon's thigh, smoothing inward. During the struggle, Avon had gotten quite a bit of the thick cream smeared over his body, but none where it was needed. "Where'd the lube go?" Tarrant asked, looking around as his urges returned, stronger than ever.
"I'm lying on it." Avon grimaced. "Not there," he said when Tarrant reached under Avon's buttocks to feel for the tube. "You're wasting your time."
"No, I'm not. You have a lovely ass, Avon."
"Here! Take this." Avon twisted an arm underneath his shoulder and retrieved the sadly abused tube. "Hurry."
Hands trembling with excitement, Tarrant pushed Avon's knees up, parting them so he could reach between.
"Ah!" Avon dropped his head back and shut his eyes as the pilot carefully probed and stroked the cream deep between his cheeks. "That's good. Very good." Avon groaned as the fingers pressed inward and massaged firmly. "Yes. More, Tarrant, I want more."
"Anything to oblige." Tarrant lifted Avon's rump, and shoved a wadded-up uniform under to pad the floor and make the twitching, pale ass more accessible. "Ready?"
The pilot wrapped one greasy hand firmly around Avon's flushed and erect cock. "Are you quite sure?" he teased.
"Tarrant!" Avon arched upward, thrusting into the hand which slipped away. "No!" he wailed in protest.
"I think you're ready." Tarrant spread Avon's cheeks and guided himself forward, pressing insistently at the exposed hole. Avon shuddered and cried out, then took a deep breath and released it, relaxing his muscles at the same time. With a moan, Tarrant slid in, digging his toes into the dirt for traction, holding Avon's shoulders down when the other instinctively tried to retreat from the painful invasion. "Don't." Tarrant threw his head back, and shuddered. It felt so good. "So tight, so warm," he muttered. Pain made Avon spasm, his sphincter clamping down on the invader. Tarrant gasped with pleasure and thrust, unable to wait any longer.
"No!" This time Avon's protest was more serious, but Tarrant had him helpless to resist. He stared at the enraptured face above him and knew nothing short of death would stop the other man. This was as inescapable as fate. That made it easier to stop struggling, somehow. For once, whatever happened to Avon would be entirely beyond his ability to influence. With an end to mental resistance, muscular resistance slackened as well.
Tarrant responded immediately to the easing by pounding deeper and faster. Sweat beaded on his smooth body as his hips flexed smoothly, driving him toward his goal. He moaned louder and clutched Avon tighter, smacking his balls against the soft skin of Avon's ass with each long, hard stroke, clinging moistly for an instant as he pulled out again in preparation for the next penetration.
Sensation flooded Avon. The thick, slick rod stretched him unbearably- and it felt wonderful. Each thrust jolted him with another surge of pure electric excitement. He was rock hard himself, his organ weeping fluid, marking a path on Tarrant's chest as the other man rubbed against Avon. He arched his hips up, impaling himself further, hissing through his teeth as a fresh flash of pain transformed into pleasure. Nearing his limit, he reached for his cock, but Tarrant grabbed his hands, holding them away from himself. He wept and cursed, finally dimly realizing that he would not be allowed completion until Tarrant had come. Desperate for relief, he deliberately tightened his ass, crying out from the renewed pain. Tarrant screamed with pure joy as the pilot's cock was squeezed, then let go of Avon's hands to grab the computer tech's trembling hips and pull him higher as the pilot began pumping in rapid-fire, short strokes.
Hands freed, Avon yanked on himself, hard, matching the power of the cock being rammed up him. He screamed again, this time in release, involuntarily clamping down on Tarrant even harder than he had done deliberately. Shaking with the violence of his orgasm, he lay limp as Tarrant's wild pace grew even more frantic, until the other man bellowed in triumph and spilled his seed into Avon in hot, jetting pulses.
Tarrant collapsed onto Avon and lay still, panting. After a few minutes he noticed that Avon was trying to get out from under him. Obliging as best he could, Tarrant removed his spent cock from Avon and rolled off him. "Did I - impress - you?" he asked finally, with a grin.
Avon rubbed his buttocks and winced. "Probably permanently." Then he sighed, curled up close to Tarrant and fell asleep.
Satisfied, Tarrant pulled over the now grimy Federation uniforms and draped them over the two of them before he carefully gathered Avon into his arms. He brushed tousled hair clear of Avon's face. Avon scowled slightly at the touch, then settled into a surprisingly sweet expression as his sleep deepened.
"Me, too," Tarrant whispered and gently touched his lips to Avon's.
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