First published in DARK FANTASIES #3. E-mail Tashamccoy@ aol.com for ordering info. ====================================== ENGAGEMENT by Trinity Pawling Avon stalked into the crew lounge. Vila, Dayna, and Soolin gave him startled, nervous stares. There was no reason for them to worry. Yes, they had defied him, but there was only one person he blamed for it. "Where's Tarrant?" he asked, in a voice as smooth as two-decade old whiskey. The three exchanged heavy glances. Finally, Dayna spoke. "In his room, I think. Avon--" Avon spun on his heel, heading for Tarrant's quarters. Behind him, he heard Soolin say, "I'm surprised Avon and Tarrant haven't killed each other yet." "It's hardly that bad," Dayna protested. "It was difficult at first, but eventually they came to an agreement." "They had to," Vila chipped in. "They had to call a truce for survival's sake." Soolin was unconvinced. "It never works -- two Alpha males in such close quarters." A very good point, Avon conceded, as their voices faded behind him. So close, they'd come so close. If Tarrant hadn't destroyed Muller's android out of his foolish fear, Avon would have had the weapon he needed to destroy the Federation -- to make the galaxy safe for himself and for all his crew. Damn him! Avon thought, trembling with rage. Well, this particular part of the galaxy was about to become a lot less safe for Del Tarrant. The door wasn't locked; Avon barreled through it. Tarrant was lying on his bed; he gave Avon a brief, unreadable look, then shut his eyes. "Don't you ever do anything like that again, Tarrant." The pilot seemed to hear the danger in that warning, for he sat up on the edge of bed, watching Avon warily. "And who's going to stop me? You?" "I mean it, Tarrant. I won't have you undermining my leadership that way. I am charge of this crew." "Perhaps it's time to change that." "I suppose you think you could fill the post." "I suppose I do." "You'd get them all killed in a week." "Maybe. But that's preferable to killing the entire human race." The blue eyes radiated challenge and insolence. Looking at Tarrant's face, so young and handsome and smug, Avon felt himself losing control. Leaping forward, he grabbed Tarrant by the shoulders and pushed him back on the bed. He forced his mouth violently down on the pilot's. It was a kiss meant to subjugate. Tarrant gasped when he was released. He wiped his mouth slowly, eyes darkening with some unfathomable emotion. "So that's how you want to play it," he said. He hooked a long leg around Avon's knee, jerking him off balance. Avon crashed to the floor with a curse. Tarrant followed up his advantage, throwing himself over Avon. Avon slid free before he could be pinned, kicking the younger man solidly as he passed. On his feet again, Avon paused, watching Tarrant cautiously. They circled feinted a few times, then Tarrant, true to his nature, grew impatient. He threw himself bodily at Avon, forcing him back with brute force. After a brief tussle, Avon fell hard. Tarrant's weight came down on him, pinning him face-down with his upper body on the bed and his knees resting on the floor. "Still think you're in charge of this crew?" Tarrant asked mockingly, not even out of breath. "More than you'll ever be," Avon spat. In response, his arm was twisted painfully behind him. Avon felt a tingle of apprehension, wondering if it had been wise to so antagonize Tarrant. Ordinarily, he did not view Tarrant as any sort of a threat, but the young man did have a temper... Then Avon felt a hand snake around his waist to fumble at his belt. He began cursing and struggling, to no avail. The belt, then the pants, were unfastened, then yanked down with a sharp, rough jerk. Avon felt cold air caress his bare buttocks and thighs, shortly followed by Tarrant's free hand. "You wouldn't dare, Tarrant," Avon threatened, trying desperately to bluff his way out of this. "Wouldn't I?" Tarrant replied, his voice rich with amusement -- and arousal. His long, slender fingers tickled the tender inside of Avon's thigh, then the even more tender crevice between Avon's cheeks. Avon twisted, trying to kick Tarrant in a fierce lunge. But the clothing tangled about his legs hampered him, and Tarrant was, as he had always claimed, younger and faster. Tarrant merely increased the pressure on Avon's captive arm, until it seemed about to break, and threw his weight heavily against Avon. Avon shuddered as he felt Tarrant's hardness against his bare buttocks. Suddenly a shiny object appeared before Avon's gaze. It was a clipgun. "See this, Avon?" Tarrant asked, breathless, and probably not from exertion. "We can do this the easy way or not -- but we are going to do it." "Are you going to kill me then?" Avon asked, suddenly still. "Because that's the only way--" He broke off. The cold muzzle of the gun was trailing down his neck, his back, down, down... "No, Tarrant," he whispered hoarsely, shivering. The hard, cold gun reached his crack, pushed its way in, probed bluntly at his anus. "It's not an uncommon way to die," Tarrant said conversationally. "You'd be surprised, the number of people who entertain themselves with weapons without first taking proper precautions." "All right, Tarrant," Avon said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I yield." "What was that? I didn't hear you." The gun pushed harder at Avon. "I yield," Avon said, his voice loud and harsh. The gun vanished. There was the sound of clothing being undone, then Tarrant's hard, thick length jammed brutally into Avon. Avon gritted his teeth, listening to Tarrant's deep sigh of pleasure. But Avon's word was always good; he merely buried his face in his arms, staring at the rumpled surface of the bed only centimeters from his eyes. Let Tarrant do what he wanted; it would soon be over, and then the arrant bastard better watch his back. But Tarrant was in no hurry. His thrusts were long and slow, leisurely even. The pain of the initial entry had faded, and Avon found himself beginning to be aroused. He tried to think of other things, of items they needed to pick up on their next supply run, of how angry he was with Tarrant, but it was no use. He was getting hard. Maybe Tarrant was so involved in his own pleasure he wouldn't notice Avon's condition...but no, before long Tarrant reached around, groping for Avon's penis and finding it. The younger man murmured appreciatively as he fingered the hard length, making Avon shudder. Tarrant's hand wrapped around Avon, gripping firmly, stroking deliciously, faster and faster. Avon tried to resist the pleasure, but before long he was moving to Tarrant's rhythm, hips bucking, pushing back onto Tarrant's deep penetration, forward into the briskly stroking hand. He clenched his fists on the bed, almost ripping the sheets and not noticing. The exquisite pressure built and built, until finally Avon's body couldn't take any more. He climaxed violently, muffling a scream into the bed, every muscle in his body quivering and shaking. But Tarrant did not climax. He continued his long, slow thrusts. His hands were now around Avon's chest, opening the leather vest and shirt, snaking in to stroke the soft fur and rub at small, hard nipples. "Get it over with, Tarrant," Avon said once he trusted himself to speak. Tarrant laughed. "You know you love this." Avon made a sound of derision. "Don't read too much into it. It's been a long time. My body reflexively responded, that's all." "No," Tarrant replied, his breath whispering against Avon's back as he kissed it. "You're mine. I own you, body and soul, and you'll admit it before we're through." Avon didn't deign to reply. Tarrant would get tired of this eventually, finish up, and leave Avon alone... But he didn't. Instead, he continued his slow steady rhythm, his hands wandering over Avon's chest and belly, then lower. Impossibly, Avon grew hard again. Tarrant straightened, drawing Avon with him. The new angle increased the stimulation, and Avon found himself panting. A long- fingered hand explored his navel, then spread flat against his lower belly, pressing him back against Tarrant. Tarrant kissed the side of Avon's neck. "You're so beautiful when you're helpless, Avon," he whispered, his tongue teasing at the whorls of Avon's ear. Helpless! He hadn't been helpless since -- since -- Avon lost his train of thought as Tarrant's palms slid down, stroking hips and thighs. Fingers trailed over the insides of Avon's legs, then settled in the intimate hollows where thighs met torso, making him tremble. He looked down at himself, his disarrayed clothing revealing the curling hair of his chest in stark contrast to his paleness, the flushed red of his penis vivid against his white thighs. Mesmerized, he watched as Tarrant's hands moved toward his balls, cradling them, gently squeezing and rolling them. For an eternity Tarrant delicately played with Avon's testicles, then one hand turned at last to Avon's penis. Avon groaned as he felt the skillful touch slide up his manhood. The warm hand grasped him firmly, the thumb swirled around the slick, smooth glans, and Avon threw his head back. The hand began stroking, and Avon thrust into it gratefully. He was so aroused it was nearly painful. He felt the deep tingling at the base of his testicles that signaled incipient orgasm, when suddenly the stimulation stopped. Furious, Avon reached to bring himself to climax -- only to be stopped by Tarrant. The younger man held Avon's wrists firmly in his. Avon struggled frenetically for a moment, then stilled, gasping with frustrated arousal. "Arrogant, misbegotten bastard," he spat. "And those are my better qualities," Tarrant agreed cheerfully. He was still deep inside Avon, but his movements were slow and slight, enough to keep Avon aroused but not enough to bring him relief. "Damn you, Tarrant!" "You know what I want to hear." His teeth nipped at Avon's earlobe, then a hot, wet tongue probed into the sensitive auditory channel. Avon squirmed in delicious torment. "All right, you win." Hopefully that would be enough; Tarrant didn't seem the type to demand too much groveling. Apparently, it sufficed. Tarrant chuckled triumphantly, then began thrusting deep and strong, his hand once again stroking Avon's organ. Avon was filled with relief as the stimulation resumed. The relief soon became ever more intense urgency and he moaned helplessly as he was carried higher and higher on the strength and skill of Tarrant's lithe, young body. He was trembling on the edge, close, so close, but again the climax was denied him. "Tarrant!" Avon cried, a raw scream of torment. He fought futilely against Tarrant' hold, then fell back, quivering. "Please, Tarrant." Tarrant was none too steady himself, but his reply was insolent as ever. "I don't know, Avon. You're so lovely when you're at my mercy." His mouth caressed Avon's damp hair. "So beautifully powerless and desperate." "Tarrant, I admit it. You own me, body and soul. Now please, please!" Tarrant released Avon's wrists and hugged him, kissing his temple. "Very well, since you beg so prettily..." Again Avon felt the deep thrusts, the caressing hands. The tension coiled in his loins grew and grew, until he was shaking with it. He hovered on the edge for what seemed an eternity, half afraid that Tarrant would deny him again. But all Tarrant did was gasp, "I love you, Avon." Avon shuddered and came, and it was like no climax he had ever experienced before. It started at his toes and rose through his whole being, a numbing, overwhelming wave of pleasure. As his chest was spattered with his own hot ejaculate, he heard Tarrant cry out and felt the jetting warmth of his partner's climax. Avon supported himself on the bed again, Tarrant a panting, heavy weight against his back. Eventually, Tarrant withdrew, standing up and pulling Avon with him. They collapsed on the bed, lying curled together in the breathless, trembling aftermath. Avon kissed the damp curls plastered to Tarrant's forehead. Tarrant was silent for a long time -- unusual for him. Finally he said, "I know we made a deal, Avon. You're in charge on the flight deck, I'm in charge in the bedroom. But I'm not going to apologize for destroying that android. It was too dangerous. Our agreement doesn't mean that I'll go along with anything so blatantly suicidal." Avon shrugged. "Perhaps you were right," he said. "It was Orac's idea, after all." He found that his anger over the incident had evaporated, and wasn't surprised. That was a common aftereffect of one of his and Tarrant's more violent sex sessions. He rolled over, pinning Tarrant beneath him. "Does that mean I get to be on top sometimes?" Tarrant grinned in delight at being forgiven, and curled a long arm around Avon. Avon heaved a deep sigh of content. Their trysts weren't always so turbulent, but for Avon, at least, those were the most satisfying. Outside the walls of this room, he could never let down his guard, never yield. But here, with this one person, he could allow himself the luxury of giving up control. For a little while, anyway.