HEARTS AND FLOWERS

        Tarrant stared, not quite surprised, but more than a little unsettled to find himself nodding in response to the tentative smile of recognition from the man at the bar. Not giving himself time to think about what he was inviting, he lifted his empty glass, silently signalling for another. The hesitant smile widened, and the other man turned to the bartender, speaking quietly.

        More quickly than Tarrant would have thought possible, the slightly older man was headed toward him, the requested drink held aloft.

        Space fatigue, Tarrant decided. He could think of no other explanation for the most unusual behavior he was currently exhibiting.

        Bemused, he accepted the proffered drink, sipping it carefully as he watched the other man settle beside him on the small couch. Shifting slightly, he burrowed more deeply into the soft cushions and lifted one arm to lay along the back of the sofa. Second thoughts besieged him as a warm body fit itself snugly against his side.

        Definitely space fatigue, Tarrant told himself firmly.

        Somehow, his arm snaked its way around sturdy shoulders. Disbelieving, Tarrant watched as his own fingers ruffled the thinning brown hair of the man tucked so securely under his arm.

        He was proud to note the steadiness of his hand as he lifted his glass for a drink. Luckily, he successfully swallowed the liquor before nimble fingers began investigating the musculature of his thigh.

        Keep still, he ordered himself. No need to advertise what's going on over here. Not that anyone in this place would care in the slightest. Those who weren't occupied as he and his partner were, diligently searched, seeking to become so occupied. Men drifted, through the smoky room, seldom speaking, letting their hunger speak for them. In shadowed corners of the dim bar, couples formed, some disappearing into discreet cubicles, others too impatient for even the short walk to privacy.

        He clenched his teeth, swallowing deeply as the deft touch climbed the inside of his leg. I won't jump, he told himself firmly.

        Despite his best efforts, an audible gasp escaped him. Silently he watched, heartbeat increasing steadily as, ever so slowly, investigatory fingers moved closer and closer to the apex of his thighs.

        It was the lightest of touches. Barely, just barely, skilled fingertips brushed against him, gently skimming across his suddenly—sensitive scrotum.

        A low moan sounded from deep within his gut. Reflexively, his thighs fell apart, inviting further caresses. Warmth cradled him, tenderly lifting him, testing the weight of his balls.

        And that was that. He couldn't, didn't want to, fight this. No. This time he would accept the silent invitation he'd managed to ignore for the past year. Finally, he would discover just what secrets lurked behind the unspoken promise in velvet brown eyes.

        That hand, that incredibly talented, oh so clever hand moved to cup his growing erection. Helplessly Tarrant gasped, hips lifting, needing to increase the delicious contact. Long lashes fluttered down in a futile attempt to hide the passion glazing his blue eyes. A smile curved his lips as hot breath whispered along the column of his neck. His head dropped back in wordless surrender. Soft nibbles at his sensitive earlobe sent a frisson of heat traveling down his spine.

        "Mmmm," he murmured softly. One hand wove its way into silken strands of hair, pulling gently, carefully arranging the angle of his head, until he could capture those teasing lips with his own.

        Vaguely, through mists of pleasure clouding his mind, Tarrant realized that he was a fool. All this time. An entire year wasted. Then, when Vila's tongue touched his, all conscious thought fled. His arms closed convulsively around the smaller man, pulling him closer, twisting to lay beneath the firm body. Mouth open wide, Tarrant thrust with his tongue, engaging Vila in a delightful duel.

        "TARRANT."

        Dazed, he broke away from Vila. Gasping for air, he ran a distracted hand through rumpled curls.

        "TARRANT!"

        "What?" Confused, he glanced around, searching for the source of the extremely unwelcome and very irritating interruption.

        "Tarrant," Vila spoke up quietly. "It's Avon." He lifted his arm, indicating his own teleport bracelet. "You know, short-tempered, Alpha-type male." One finger pointed upward. "Remember?"

        Blushing vividly, Tarrant raised his wrist, speaking impatiently into his bracelet. "Yes Avon, what is it?"

        "We are about to have company," Avon's nasal voice brought a frown to the pilot's smooth brow. "A lot of company. Are you finished? Have you seen Vila?"

        Tarrant opened his mouth to speak, then paused when his eyes met Vila's saddened gaze. He made his decision quickly. "No," he responded, smiling secretly into soft brown eyes, "I am not finished...and no, I have not seen Vila." With one finger, Tarrant traced the delighted smile which intrigued him so. "You'll have to come back for us. Out."

        "TARRANT."

        "I hear," Vila whispered hotly into his ear, "that there are rooms available upstairs. With beds."

        "TARRANT!" Avon's voice rose in pitch as he became increasingly irritated. "Can you hear me?"

        Tarrant ignored him. "Beds?" he asked Vila.

        "Mmm," somehow, Vila's hand had found its way inside of his tunic and was pinching his left nipple in the most distracting manner. "Great big..." warm fingers trailed across his stomach, tickling him lightly, "really soft beds." Tarrant's breath left him with a whoosh as he felt a tentative touch at the closure of his slacks. "They even have sheets," Tarrant found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on Vila's words as he felt the waistband of his slacks open under the thief's talented hands, "and pillows."

        "Oh, shit." Wild-eyed, Tarrant sprang to his feet, pulling the smaller man to stand beside him. "Let's go..." Eyes demurely lowered, Vila refastened Tarrant's pants. "Now, Vila."

        The hospitality-droid was exceedingly accommodating and the two men soon found themselves at the door of their room. Hands shaking with impatient excitement, Tarrant worked the lock and swung the door open.

        Mouth agape in stunned amazement, Tarrant walked slowly into the room. He stood at the center of the chamber, feet planted firmly in plush carpeting the color of... He shook his head, at a loss. There simply was not a word in his, or any other, language to describe the sickly shade of pink covering the walls, floor, ceiling and furniture. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them slowly. Mesmerized by the room's sheer awfulness, he turned a slow circle, viewing the entire effect in stoic silence.

        Creeping insidiously throughout the room, was an incredibly tacky design. Obviously, Tarrant decided, it was the result of a horrific nightmare suffered by the designer. Long, swirling, looping bowers of roses climbed riotously across the carpet, up the walls, across the ceiling, sweeping down the bedposts to swarm across the bedspread. Hideously overblown roses, obscene in their very ripeness. Hugely exaggerated in size, these flowers bore little resemblance to any rose grown in any garden anywhere in this, or any other, galaxy.

        And there were hearts. Everywhere. Seeming to move about the strands of roses in a surrealistic dance of sorts. Great huge hearts. Little tiny hearts. Every size in between. Not that he had anything against hearts. It was just that they were... They were purple. Not just any shade of purple. No, this was a sickeningly bright, glaring in its intensity, neon purple.

        He'd never seen anything quite so garishly tasteless in his life. And, he hoped with all of his being that he would never again see the like.

        A choking sound caught his attention. He looked over at Vila. Though the little thief was trying valiantly, he could not conceal his amusement. Eyes twinkling merrily, he silently invited Tarrant to share the joke.

        "Tarrant," he gasped, "I never would have pegged you as the hearts- n-flowers type." Hiccoughing with laughter, Vila made his way to the bed and fell across it, not quite concealing the purple-on-pink design.

        Growling ferociously, Tarrant joined Vila on the bed, laying atop the smaller man. "You chose this place," he said, "I merely followed you."

        Bright-eyed, Vila met his stare, "Followed me, eh?"

        Tarrant dipped his head lower, stealing a taste of soft lips. "Mmm hmm," he carefully tasted his way across a smooth cheek to nip lightly at one earlobe. Vila shivered and stirred restlessly. Tarrant grabbed Vila's arms and raised them above his head, holding them still with one hand. With his legs wrapped about the smaller man's thighs, Tarrant had effectively immobilized Vila.

        "Now," he breathed into a conveniently—placed ear, "lie still while I demonstrate for you just exactly what type I am."

        For once in his life, Vila did not argue or complain.