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Why I Can't Stand Vila Restal

By Nova
Page 1 of 2

Vila is perfectly well aware that I dislike the bar scene. He knows I only accompany him on his sordid jaunts for one specific purpose. So his behaviour that night was inexcusable.

Ironically enough, the evening began with a pleasurable sense of anticipation as I scanned the clientele of the Well-Hung Jury. I have very particular tastes but it appeared that, for once, there was a chance they would be gratified. The man lounging by the bar might have been designed to meet my needs. Tall. Heavily built. Muscular. A riot of brown curls. It took me precisely eight seconds to catch his eye, after which he strolled over, glanced from Vila to me and back again and said, 'You two together?'

That seemed a highly improbable conclusion to draw from the available evidence. I was so taken aback that Vila seized the opportunity to answer, saying with a grin, 'Not bleeding likely, chum. He's an Alpha. I'm just an ignorant Delta.'

'Could've fooled me,' our new friend commented, pinching Vila's cheek. 'You look like you know a thing or two. I was sure you had to be an SM pair, on account of the outfit and all.'

As his eyes flicked towards me, Vila said quickly, 'Nah, Avon's your basic computer nerd, really. He just likes wearing leather. Feels the cold, y'know.'

'Thank you, Vila,' I said in my iciest tones. 'However, I believe I can explain myself quite adequately, if I am given the chance.'

I lowered my eyes and then looked up through my lashes. Waited for the stranger's response and, with intense chagrin, heard him ask Vila to dance. Vila Restal is omnivorous. He would happily have gone home - or out into the back lane - with any man in the room. There was no call for him to accept the stranger's invitation. But he did.

The two of them stationed themselves directly in my sightline and, under the guise of dancing, proceeded to put on an exhibition that would not have seemed out of place in a pornovid. My initial annoyance at Vila increased with every grope and kiss and fumble. When he detached himself briefly and gasped for air, I jerked my head to summon him back. He came reluctantly, with the stranger loitering behind.

'Hands off, Vila,' I hissed. 'I saw him first, remember. Make an excuse and leave. Now.'

'No,' he said, uncharacteristically obstinate. 'I let you have the one in Space City. And the one on Chayk, come to think of it. But this one's mine, Avon. I happen to like him.'

'Oh, you like him, do you? Well, I need him - and you know why. Stop playing games with me. I won't stand for it.'

'Ooh, I'm scared,' Vila whimpered in mock-terror, grabbing the stranger's hand. As the big man beamed down at him, he leaned forward and whispered, 'Get a life, Avon. If you're so obsessed by this whole business, why not do something about it, instead of hanging round on the edge of other people's lives?'

'All right,' I said through clenched teeth. 'Since you are not prepared to accommodate me, I shall leave.' As Vila backed off, genuinely unnerved this time, I lunged past him to grip the stranger's arm. 'Just tell me one thing first,' I snarled, fingers digging in deep. 'Why him, not me?'

His eyes ran up and down me in a practised appraisal. 'You're prettier,' he observed. 'But you're too damn dangerous. This one looks like a nice cosy armful, which happens to be exactly what I want tonight.'

Vila insinuated himself under the man's brawny arm and smiled at me smugly, temporarily safe from retaliation. So I took the only other option remaining to me and left.

Having teleported up to the Liberator, I headed straight for the shower room to splash cold water on my temples and wrists. Then I stepped back and studied my reflection. Brown hair, cut in a fringe, not a Space Rat's mohawk. Brown eyes, although they can look darker on occasion. Long nose, wide mouth and all the standard accoutrements of a face. Dangerous? I couldn't see it myself but there seemed to be no convincing reason for a complete stranger to lie.

I was still staring at the mirror when Blake came in. 'Losing your touch, Avon?' he asked cheerfully. 'It's not like you to return this early from a night on the town.'

I spun round to deliver one of my usual cutting remarks but instead found myself saying, rather plaintively, 'Blake, do you think I look dangerous?'

He examined my reflection and then turned to examine me. 'Not right at this moment,' he decided. 'As a matter of fact, if I didn't know you so well, I'd say you looked upset.'

'Perhaps, but then your powers of observation have never been acute,' I retorted and Blake chuckled and said, 'Now you look dangerous.'

Inexplicably, that bothered me. I swung back to the basin, pretending to find a speck of grime under a fingernail. Next minute I felt the warm touch of breath against my cheek as Blake wrapped an arm around me, saying, 'You're looking upset again. How can I help?'

'You can let go of me,' I replied, attempting to shrug him off. 'I am not a child in need of comfort.'

I meant what I said and yet I was perversely pleased when Blake tightened his hold. 'All right, Avon,' he murmured, 'if you don't want comfort, what do you want?'

I planned to make another cutting remark but as I prepared to speak, an unexpected echo-effect rang in my ears: Vila Restal's voice saying, 'Get a life, Avon.'

So I told Blake what I wanted.

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully and said, 'Yes, I think that could be arranged.' Then he transferred his hand from his jaw to mine, tipped my head back and kissed me, long and hard. When I resisted, to show that he would need to raise the stakes higher than a kiss, he took me by the shoulders, shoved me against the wall and wrenched every stud on my tunic open with one powerful tug.

Impelled by its own weight, the tunic dropped to the floor, sliding easily down the silk sleeves of my shirt. I shivered. (Vila was right, for once, in his estimate of my reason for wearing leather.) Then Blake fanned large, warm hands across my ribs in a butterfly pattern, pinning me there like a specimen to be studied, while the heat from his body flowed into mine. He nodded decisively, thumbed the buttons on my shirt and eased silk away from skin, nipping at my neck in a kiss that came close to a bite.

I gasped, arched and angled my hips towards him. He laughed and snapped the studs at my waist one-handed, his other hand charting my chest and pinching at my nipples. More dexterous - or should I say ambidextrous? - than I would have expected. As I closed my eyes and sighed my appreciation, I felt his hand burrow down to cup my balls. I shifted slightly to free my cock from the restraining leather and hissed, 'Fast and hard, Blake. As hard as you wish.'

He closed in, nailing me to the wall with a shrug of his big shoulders, his broad chest pressed so close that I could feel the heave of breath in his lungs. His fist engulfed my cock and dragged along the shaft: a strong, tight grip, maintaining the perfect balance between pleasure and pain. Oh, yes. Enough mastery here to allow me to submit, temporarily at least. I relaxed and let Blake handle my cock, slow and fast by turns but always unremittingly hard, pulling steadily up smooth stretched skin, provoking every nerve that laced rigid flesh, until I was so distracted that a small surprised mew escaped my mouth, followed instantly by an unstoppable convulsion in my groin. I clung to Blake, eyes tight shut, while his hand continued to pump inexorably.

Shuddered and came with a violence that slammed me full-length against him.

As I hung there, spent and breathless, Blake turned me in his arms and tidied me, smoothing sweaty hair from my forehead, fastening my clothes like a diligent nurse. Then he leaned back and examined me.

'Avon,' he murmured in a tone that I finally identified as kindly, 'is that your idea of good sex?' I nodded, still breathless, and he said, 'Well, it isn't mine. You've got a lot to learn, haven't you? But I think I'll enjoy teaching you.'

I stared at him, lips parted, half intrigued and half terrified. Having shaken my sexual foundations, he was now calmly informing me that he had barely begun. The past fifteen minutes had already provided the best sex of my life so far. I couldn't imagine what Blake might have in mind for an encore.

He settled a heavy hand on my shoulder and steered me down to his cabin, where I looked around at a chaotic mix of dirty laundry, valuable art objects, rubbish and half-finished plans: rather like a metaphor for Blake himself. All my latent misgivings surfaced in a rush. It was time to define the parameters of this enterprise, before I became subsumed into the debris of Blake's life.

'I hope you are not taking this too seriously,' I purred. 'I should warn you that I have always regarded sex as a fairly trivial pastime. My relationship with Orac is, fundamentally, far more important.'

Blake frowned. 'Avon, Orac is a computer, not a person - as you keep pointing out to us.'

'I know. That is precisely why it is possible to have a satisfactory relationship with Orac.'

He leaned over to ruffle my hair in an infuriatingly paternal fashion. 'Oh, sweetheart,' he sighed. 'Despite that acute intelligence, you're still a child in some ways, aren't you?'

I didn't consider that comment at all flattering, so I said, rather nastily, 'I see. Presumably that explains why you find me attractive.'

Blake's eyes narrowed. He studied me for a while, chewing on a fingertip, and then muttered, 'Mind you, in other ways you're just a poisonous little bitch. I think this conversation's over.'


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