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For Pity's Sake

By Julia Stamford
Page 2 of 2

Now, with Avon's head resting on his thigh, he wondered. What would it be like with another man? The abstract idea vaguely repelled him. With Avon? What would it be like to have Avon kiss him?

Pleasant, probably. Anyone who concentrated that hard on what he was doing at any particular moment would undoubtedly be a pleasant experience.

And if Avon should kiss him elsewhere?

He'd enjoyed having his cock sucked, on the rare occasions a woman had agreed to do it. He rather thought he'd enjoy Avon doing it. That pretty, almost feminine mouth on him, licking, sucking, but with the intimate knowledge that a woman could never have, knowing exactly where and how....

He was startled to realize that his cock was straining at his fly.

This was a surprise. Apparently he could respond to men, or at least respond to the fantasy of Avon sucking him. Now what the hell was he going to do about it? He groped at his cock through his trousers, shifting it into a more comfortable position, tempted by the feel of his hand. But he couldn't very well sit here and masturbate, not in these circumstances. He'd certainly wake Avon, which would be very embarrassing for both of them. It would also feel rather too much as if he were using Avon. Wanking in front of someone he wouldn't have sex with, while secretly visualizing that person filled with his cock, was not a nice way to treat a friend. And friend Avon was, even if it was a little difficult to tell sometimes.

Avon rolled onto his side, the movement taking his face almost into Blake's crotch.


He should never have started thinking about this; now he couldn't get the images out of his mind. His trousers open, Avon pressed to him, drinking him down.

Avon shifted slightly, pressing against him, and mumbled something Blake couldn't make out. Dreaming, obviously.

He started nuzzling at Blake's crotch.

This was too much. If Blake didn't stop this now, Avon was going to do something that would embarrass them both. Horribly. He put a hand on Avon's shoulder, trying to push him back. Then Avon's body tensed before Avon rolled back to his original position, staring up at Blake.

Even in the dim twilight, he could see the expression in Avon's eyes. Sick panic. It didn't surprise him. What did surprise him was how much it hurt to see Avon terrified of him. All he could think to do was stroke Avon's hair again, try to reassure him. "It's all right, Avon."

Avon continued to stare at him, eyes huge.

"Do you really think I'd be bothered by the Federation's concept of sexual morality?" he asked. "Me, of all people?"

Avon opened his mouth. No sound came out. He licked his lips, managed it on the second try. "You, of all people. What you were accused of...."

"Is not what you are," Blake said firmly. "If I thought you were, I'd have thrown you off the ship."

Avon relaxed, just a little. "But you don't like men."

"No, I don't. Is that any reason for me to be bothered by the idea that someone else does?"

Avon shut his eyes. "Blake..."

There was one way out of this.

"Avon, if you want to, go ahead."

Avon looked at him again. Not quite so terrified now, more...more a fear that he was being mocked, if Blake was reading him correctly. The tension was back in his body. Avon was about to run.

Blake opened his fly, pulled his cock free to feel the cool night breeze. It stood proud, declaring his willingness in the only way he thought Avon could believe. "It wasn't your fault--you were asleep and didn't know what you were doing. And I was already thinking about it, wondering what it would be like."

"Don't, Blake...." So much pain in Avon's voice.

"I'm not going to lie to you. No, I don't like men. This," he flicked his cock, watched it bounce, "surprised me. I can't give you more than this. But if you want to, you can, just this once. Nobody need ever know." Avon flinched, and Blake realized what he'd just said must sound like. He stroked Avon's cheek as gently as he could. "Not because I'd be ashamed of it. I wouldn't be. But because you are."

Avon moaned, a sound composed of equal parts desire and despair. He was never going to find the courage to do it himself. Blake placed a hand on Avon's shoulder, pulled gently, and all at once Avon gave in, rolling back to bury his head in Blake's crotch, sucking Blake's cockhead into the warm cavern of his mouth.

Blake gasped at the shock of it. Yes, he'd had it before, but never from someone who *wanted* to do it, always from someone who did it simply to please. Avon was desperate for it, squirming against him, taking as much as he could get.

Warm wet tongue working against him, urging him on. He spread his legs and leaned back against the rock, dazed with pleasure, one hand on Avon's head, holding him down. God knows how from that position, but Avon had managed at least half the length, his throat muscles working against the cockhead, mouth on shaft, sucking frantically.

It was too much; he could feel the beginning spasms of orgasm, he couldn't hold back. He managed to croak Avon's name by way of warning, and then ecstasy hit, wiping out everything else.

When he could think again, he found Avon still resting on his leg, looking up at him. The fear had gone, replaced by something Blake couldn't identify. He traced around Avon's mouth with his finger. Smears of his come, but no more. Avon had swallowed it, not let it spill. No one had ever done that before. "Thank you."

Avon looked away, and Blake finally identified what he had seen in Avon's eyes. Desire and resignation.

He couldn't reciprocate. He simply couldn't. The idea revolted him, even if Avon didn't. Yet -- there was something he could give Avon, little though it was. He laid his arm across Avon's chest, squeezed Avon's shoulder. "I'm sorry. You'll have to do yourself."

Avon looked at him, opened his mouth as if to say something, then apparently thought better of it. Movement under the blanket, as Avon fumbled at his own crotch, and then Avon was stroking himself, looking into Blake's eyes all the while. Blake held him with one arm, used the other hand to stroke Avon's face and neck as tenderly as he knew how. He loved this man, if not in the way Avon wanted. It seemed to be enough for Avon, for now.

Avon gasped, and shuddered, and closed his eyes, and it was over. No one to swallow the evidence for him. Blake solemnly offered him a hankie once he appeared to be aware of his surroundings again. The hankie vanished under the blanket. A few seconds later, Avon smiled impishly at him. "Would you like it back now or later?"

"Later. Much later." Blake smiled, as much in relief as anything else. It had worked, the gamble had paid off. How they were going to deal with it later might be an interesting problem, but for now, they were safe.

Avon sat up, the blanket falling away momentarily. Blake looked at Avon's groin, but it was buttoned up tight. Bloody typical. Avon had managed to get through the encounter without ever revealing anything of his body to Blake.

Avon leaned against him, ever so slightly, and he responded with an arm around Avon's shoulders. Avon flipped the blanket to cover both of them. They sat in silence for some minutes, Blake wondering quite how they were going to start a normal conversation after this.

Then Avon sat up straight, looking out into the distance. "I think I see a light out there, Blake."

Blake looked, and saw a dim twinkle. "You're right."

They stood and prepared to greet their visitors.


Blake stood alone on the flight deck, grateful for the restful silence of the night watch. It had been a long two days, dealing with what Avon had said was one of the nastiest trapdoor programs he'd ever seen. Blake had added the mental qualification *or programmed*. It had taken both of them to pin the thing down, Blake cutting off the services to the machinery while Avon worked on the programming. That was one programmer who had seriously resented being sacked. Pity the bastard had been so good. All they'd been able to do was shut down the rogue programming; it was going to take the locals months to actually repair the climate control. At least they'd had the sense to call for help as soon as they'd seen the thing in the memory core, instead of waiting for it to trip--and had had the sense not to call the Federation. The price of help from that quarter was more than Demeter was willing to pay.

Not quite the usual run of rebellion, but a grateful planet might be a useful planet. And they'd had the wit to distract the local Federation spy before fetching their unorthodox assistance from a suitably unmonitored rendezvous. Why the hell the Demetrians couldn't have said in the first place what was going on, though--these people were even more paranoid than Avon.

Speaking of whom--he hadn't had time to think about what had happened while they'd been waiting. What did they do now?

Some change in the quality of the light alerted him to another's presence just before he heard Avon's voice.

"Why?" Very softly.

Why, indeed?

"Because you were terrified, and I hated the idea of you being terrified of me."

The silence stretched out. Finally, he turned, looked to the corridor where Avon must have been standing. Nothing and nobody. What he'd said must have satisfied Avon.

At least it had satisfied someone.

Yes, he'd done it because it hurt so much to see Avon terrified of him. And now he was afraid he wanted to do it again. He couldn't ask Avon, not when he had nothing to give in return, and he was very much afraid that when it came to going down to a planet alone with Avon, he could never trust his motivations again. Next time he might give Avon cause to be terrified of him....

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