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Distraction

By Hades
Page 1 of 3

Under normal circumstances, it would not have happened; but then, Avon could never be described as normal.

He'd been at it for days, winding me up, and I knew what he wanted. Damn it, it's not like I didn't feel it too. No man could be that oblivious, but..

Align yourself with Avon, and you risk losing everything. He has moments of total amorality. Every last piece of idealism he accuses me of clinging to misguidedly; every principle, every moral. I could lose them all.

Yes, I wanted him; but not at any price. I remember the fight clearly. I sought allies. They were thin on the ground, and the Terra Nostra seemed as good a prospect as any. We knew from the outset we could not trust them, that was the only difference. He disagreed, of course. There were just the two of us, on the flight deck. I asked him to put aside his concerns and support me, publicly at least, for the greater good. There was such a fire in his eyes and passion in his disagreement, and when he stopped speaking, he was inches away from me, and I walked away before I did something I would regret more than he.

A leader of men has to be strong. He cannot show favouritism.

But when he found me later...

When I am under pressure, when I need to think, hard, manual labour helps clear my mind. So I went to one of the maintenance shafts and began cleaning one of the floor-to-ceiling air vent grids. Zen is programmed to perform this function automatically, and it is revolting, grimy work, but a human touch will always be more thorough. And anyway, I wanted to do it.

So that is where he found me.

He secured the hatch behind him. I tried to ignore him, but of course, I couldn't.

'What do you want, Avon?'

His voice was assured and knowing. 'The same as you.'

He was right. I returned my attention to the vent.

Each step he took on the sheet metal flooring echoed in the cavity. He was a little way behind me. Then one step closer, touching, almost. Nothing so blatant as his hands, though.

'No.' I couldn't look at him.

'Yes. This has gone on long enough. It is affecting your judgement.'

He had given me something I could argue against. So now I could face him. I put down my wire pad and turned. 'I don't disagree purely to avoid having sex with you, Avon. I disagree because you are wrong.'

But he was too calm.

And too arousing, pale skin dressed, as usual, in black. Black or red, setting himself up as my personal demon. It was a mistake, looking at him.

That was my mistake.

He pushed me further back, so my spine was pressed to the metal grid behind me, and moved closer still, so our bodies touched, but other than that initial push, he did not lay a hand on me.

He said, 'Blake, we are going to test your theory,' and I could not reply.

But then, he would take silence as consent.

I denied what seemed inevitable. Our crew was too small to survive this kind of relationship between any of its members, let alone its leader and the devil's advocate.

'No, Avon. We are not.'

Then he pressed his hand to my cock. My erection. And a combination of factors, the heat through the fabric, the pressure, his hot breath on my face.. I almost gave in. But I had one defence left.

'Not dry, Avon. I'll hurt you.' He would have to see the logic of that, at least think about it for long enough to regain his senses, and for me to grip mine more firmly.

'Of course not.' And what filled me was not relief but disappointment, and my head was filled with images of what else I could do to him, of what he would do for me. None of which would come to fruition.

Until he said, 'I prepared myself. For. You.'

I closed my eyes and let the vent take the weight of my head, which was filled with new images. Avon widening himself for me, sliding gel inside himself, lingering too long as he became more and more aroused. I thought of him using his fingers, first, then sliding a replica penis inside himself, and it was the most revolting and erotic thing I could imagine. Masturbating himself, gripping himself firmly, cradling his own balls, clutching at the cock inside him, stopping just short of orgasm before he dressed and came to me.

There was a rustle of fabric, something light, and then his entire pelvis, not just his hand, was pushing against me, his erection firm and aligned with mine. I could, or imagined I could, feel the blood pulse through him.

I opened my eyes with longing and fear. His bare torso was dusted with dark curls, and I visualised kissing him gently, running my fingers across his chest.

No. This would be no romance.

Silent, he challenged me, pulling the first fastener on my shirt free. I nodded my agreement and he gave me some room to remove it completely.

Then, as if managing a delicate negotiation, we watched each other undress, neither giving anything for free. A shoe for a boot, a sock for a sock. An agonisingly slow and tantalsing process. I removed my trousers first, then Avon his.

He wore no undergarments, and for the first time I saw all of him, so aroused, so needy, but confident in himelf.

And I wanted all of him.

He claimed my nakedness himself, sliding his hands down my back and under the waistband of my pants, bending his knees as he lowered them to the floor. Before rising, he took me in his mouth.

At that moment, I lost any free will I had been deluding myself I possessed.

I took him roughly, furious with him and myself. In seconds, he was splayed against the wall. Although I could not see his face, I could watch his fingers curl and ball his hands into fists. I could hear the cries he made and those he fought to contain.

My own throat was silent; I was focusing on remembering to breath. And fighting my own animal instincts. The urge to hurt him, punish him, to repay him for every snide comment, every dig, every lustful stare he knew I could not fulfil.

But in Avon; there was no anger left in Avon, and no pain. His cries were of pleasure, his words of praise, and encouragement.

When I had enough sense to listen.

Me, the source of his arousal, the means of his fulfilment. In this, if in nothing else.

I found myself slowing, concentrating on him, on his pleasure. My own hands left the wall and moved to his hips, holding him so I could focus on my angle. On each thrust I moved slightly, seeking the spot that would not make him merely sigh, but make him half insane.

When I hit it, his fists unfurled, opened back into hands.

I tried again, the same way, and was rewarded with a shudder. The next movement was much, much slower, now I was sure I had it, but also much deeper. And for this, he said my name. Not a yell, or a cry, but a whisper, a need. The sound of my own name from his lips said with desire and something like gratitude. It touched me, far deeper than I had believed my feelings for him ran.

Once again, I withdrew and pushed in. Now my name was a moan, and I knew if I did not stop, I would climax the next time he said it. There were too many ways I wanted to touch him before that happened.

'Please,' he said as I slid out, and he turned, leaning against the cold steel wall. His eyes reflected... part of me. A need for release.

And I saw how easy it would be, to be cruel to him. To deny him. And knowing it would be a sufferance for him made it possible for me.

A possibility. But not a reality.

Facing him, I slid in again, experimented with position again, but this time, I could watch his eyes close and fight to re-open. His legs grew weak and I stood closer, pressing our bodies together, my cheek against his, my forehead pressed into hard metal, his chest against mine, and his cock hard against my stomach. Now he began to move too, his arms clinging to me.

Soon, I felt his orgasm, his semen on my skin, spasms around my cock.

That was not what finally brought me release.

It was a whisper, a murmur of gratitude, of satiation.

'Blake.'

It was instantaneous. I came fast, and harder than I can remember, and a deep peace was in me as I withdrew. He helped me stay on my shaking legs, and we rested, leaning, side by side, flat against the wall, before the effort became too great and we dropped to the floor.

He did not try to kiss me, and I did not ask him to, and neither of us asked what it meant, or if it would happen again.

So that was the first time.

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