Smoke and Mirrors

        Tarrant awoke unusually aroused. Not that it was unusual for him to be in that condition upon waking. Quite normal. Biologically speaking. But it was to an unusual extent. This one wasn’t going to go away on its own.

        He rubbed his eyes with the back of his left hand, the right having somehow strayed inside his shorts to keep his provocative member occupied.

        Ah yes. Of course.

        Avon was due back today. Obviously some parts of Tarrant had missed him more than others. Remembering how he is after teleport, eh?

        Xenon’s teleport system was by no stretch of the imagination up to Liberator standards. For one thing, the omniscient Zen was not keeping a watchful eye on the co-ordinates. Slave didn’t operate with the same precision, and as for Orac... if it could be misinterpreted, it would. Gleefully.

        It was safer to work out where you were going yourself. Which, of course, meant human error. It was also a slower matter transmission system. You could feel yourself being... sucked through it. Like being drawn into a vacuum and rebuilt, regrown, at the other end. It left you tingling all over. A very pleasant sensation, if sometimes a tad difficult to control.

        It certainly had a pronounced effect on Tarrant. That first time, he’d been having one of his nearer-to-death-than-usual flushes, and had been too concerned about the condition he would find Avon and Pela in to think much of it. Could have been a reaction to fear. But after four or five times... it had to be more than coincidence. Not that he would dream of asking the others, but, well....

        The fact was, Xenon’s teleport system made Tarrant randy as all hell.

        Then, when Avon and Tarrant went to Bucol-3, and Dayna had cocked up the co-ordinates...

        Tarrant had landed flat on his back, squashed by a confused and then irritated Avon. And after a few seconds blinking at each other, it had become obvious that the effects of the system were not restricted to Tarrant.

        Tarrant had wriggled excessively eagerly to get out from underneath Avon, and Avon hadn’t tried to get up nearly hard enough, and then once they’d started and there was a sort of friction, and neither seemed to be terribly keen to get vertical, and of course the planet was uninhabited, and very uninhibited...

        It was just so much nicer with someone else there.

        And a few hours from now, Avon would be rematerialising, hot, ready to go, and with any luck looking for a volunteer to assist. That was, if he’d managed to keep it in his trousers this time and wasn’t suffering another of his legendary guilt attacks. For a man on a diplomatic mission, Avon sometimes took most undiplomatic advantage of willing local dignitaries. You would almost think it was compulsory, to shag the brains out of any life form that moved.

        Not that Tarrant grudged it. In fact, Avon sometimes acquired some most entertaining techniques. But if the summit came to fruition, Tarrant certainly didn’t want to be around the negotiating table with Avon and a series of national leaders he’d humped and dumped.

        God. Thinking about Avon entwined with countless strangers wasn’t helping. Or was, if that was your perspective.

        Tarrant extracted his now sticky hand. That should make sure I don’t rush things later, he justified, before heading off to the showers.

        He managed to dispatch the others fairly easily. Soolin was re-cataloguing the armoury. Dayna was on kitchen duties (bad news all round, but she couldn’t avoid it for ever just by pretending she couldn’t cook. She’d cotton on eventually). Vila was cleaning the air feed lines, a job he could dawdle along at. It was so much easier to find them things to do, when Zen wasn’t about doing them all. And Avon’s guaranteed irritability and/or smugness on his return was always an encouragement to keep out of his way.

        Although it was only a five minute walk from the landing bay, Avon requested teleport. Tarrant was glad to oblige, and even more pleased when Avon appeared. Tired, grumpy, filthy, and very obviously in need of a good seeing to.

        Excellent.

        Oh.

        Oh oh oh.

        Oh-oh-oh.

        He’d expected Avon to be - well, a little frisky, but this heady, intoxicating rampant lust... It was overwhelming.

        Avon had just stalked over to him, grabbed the fastening strip on Tarrant’s trousers and... ripped them open. Before he even knew what was happening, Tarrant was hard between Avon’s naked thighs, gripped tightly, hammering home. His fingernails were grasping at Avon’s hips, the taste of Avon’s jacket, the smell of leather, the cool points of studs filling his mouth where he bit down to stifle his moans.

        And only a beat after Tarrant climaxed, Avon was turning to him, steel eyes ordering, voice confirming, ‘More. Now.’

        ‘Here?’ Once, over the control panel, had been risky. Much as Tarrant cherished danger, a second time seemed to be pushing their luck.

        Avon hesitated. Torn.

        My, we are being a bad boy today. Your choice. Say the word, I’ll have you here. Even tie you to the chair. Go on, I dare you.

        But the challenge remained silent. Both fastened their trousers and, in silent understanding, made their way to Tarrant’s rooms...

        ... where Avon was immediately on his knees, peeling Tarrant’s trousers down his legs as he licked every inch of flesh clean, forcing himself to take his time, using only the very tip of his tongue in long, slow strokes. Tarrant leaned against the door in an attempt to keep vertical.

        One hand peeled itself off the metal for long enough to wrap itself in Avon’s hair and pull him away.

        ‘I’m going to need longer than that. I’m not one of the simpering teenage pageboys they send you on these visits. You’re home now.’

        Avon looked hurt. An expression no one saw much of.

        Well, yes, Tarrant knew it wasn’t true. Not that Avon wouldn’t take advantage of the diplomatic services on offer, but only if there was a challenge there. Maybe a reluctant partner to be convinced. One thing he couldn’t stand was getting it on a plate.

        Generally, if Tarrant fancied a bit, he’d spend the day sniping (‘nice back combing’, or ‘you’re late - been polishing your trousers?’) and later on, after a token attempt at ‘hard to get’ (‘not again, can’t Vila get hold of some bromide for you, oh, seeing as you’re ready then’), he’d have a nice mouthful of lovely hot cock.

        No, Avon wouldn’t go for pageboys. Not that that mattered now, of course. Not with a volatile Avon directly in front of him, demanding, ‘How do you propose I amuse myself then?’

        How indeed? ‘You should have signalled ahead earlier. Then I wouldn’t have had one this morning.’

        The expression now wasn’t just hurt. It was disappointment. Tarrant wasn’t going to ask though. It was bound to be another bloody Blake thing. Safer just to take Avon’s mind off it. How though?

        Well, there was one thing he’d never tried doing to him.

        It just wasn’t the sort of relationship they had. They were about tension and friction and the sins of the flesh. Fast, hard, filthy encounters, over in minutes and never spoken of, before or after the event. It suited them both. It suited everyone else. Vila didn‘t need to live through Star One again. He didn’t need to lose another friend. And make no mistake, Avon would be leaving this time.

        Possibly.

        But then again...

        It didn’t have to end up like that. They made a good team. No ideals or scruples or misunderstandings. He knew Avon. Avon knew him. And the dream Avon was chasing, it was Blake’s dream. It was all, always, about Blake.

        And maybe it didn’t have to be any more.

        And if he tried and was rejected, then he could still shrug it off. You wanted me to amuse you. Well, if you don’t want that, get your clothes off. God, you’re in a foul mood today.

        It might work.

        If Tarrant had been thinking, that is what he would have thought.

        Avon was on his feet now, simmering just below boiling. And Tarrant leaned into him and...

        Pressed his lips to Avon’s. Avon’s whole body tensed, and he did not respond at all.

        Mistake. Tell him to strip said Tarrant’s mind.

        Tarrant’s tongue ran along the line of Avon’s lips. His body, the part that was clothed and the part that was naked, pressed itself tight against Avon’s.

        He doesn’t like this.

        His left arm circled around Avon’s waist, his right hand cradled Avon’s head. His tongue pushed into Avon’s mouth.

        Avon’s lips parted, just a fraction. He pressed, barely perceptibly, back against Tarrant. His hands rested lightly on Tarrant’s hips.

        Tarrant removed his mouth and murmured into Avon’s ear,

        ‘I want you.’

        And he waited. Waited for Avon to make the decision. Waited in numb expectation.

        Avon’s decision.

        And then, an eternity later, Avon’s hesitant hands took a firmer hold.

        This is it. He’s going to throw me across the room and storm out.

        But Tarrant was still shocked when he did.

        Tarrant took far too long under a blistering hot shower, scrubbing himself until he burnt red, almost glowed. The sound of the pounding water insulated him, and he got out only when his fingertips were in danger of losing their skin.

        Any man with an ounce of logic or self respect would have gone straight back to his own rooms, or to the control room, or the kitchen, or anywhere else but...

        Shit. How did I get here?

        Followed by, Well, I suppose I'd better go in.

        It wasn't like Tarrant had imagined it at all. There was no conversation, no discussion. Only a shift in the status quo. Things were different. Tarrant, this is how things are now.

        There was no seamless meeting of minds and bodies. No declaration of anything, from either party.

        If I hadn't come here, now, this would never have happened.

        Avon's mouth, oh, Avon's mouth.

        Avon's mouth, on Tarrant's own, was so different to Avon's mouth anywhere (everywhere) else. Before, they would have coupled frantically. Now, Tarrant spent forever just exploring Avon's mouth, the tiny charge passing between lips, the effect prolonged contact had on parts of his body which were completely uninvolved.

        Tarrant had missed this so much. Intimacy. How could he have let this go for so long? How long had it been since he had spent an hour, just kissing? Being kissed?

        And Avon.

        Avon wanted something more, something closer still. Something else they hadn't done before.

        It was Avon's moan, more than any physical sensation, which gave Tarrant the most pleasure as he slid inside. Avon's surrender. And afterwards, he let Tarrant hold and kiss and protect him, as he fell asleep. Wanted Tarrant to hold and kiss and protect him.

        Still entwined, Tarrant looked around. He hadn't even thought that he was in Avon's room, was here for the first time.

        I'll be back, though.

        Similar to his own, but very spartan. No pictures, no personal possessions.

        Except...

        Under the desk. A small box. Tarrant carefully extracted his arm from underneath Avon, and stole over to look.

        Of course. Pictures of Blake. He must have asked Orac to print off the files. Hurriedly hidden from sight?

        A quick glance... no, Avon was still fast asleep.

        There was a small cloth bag, with two large crystals - diamonds? - in it. They could certainly use the credits they would raise, even at black market value. But they meant something to Avon.

        Tarrant decided they would meet in his room, in future. No monsters or ghosts hiding under the bed.

        And Avon...

        Avon wasn't completely stable just now.

        Of course, reflected Tarrant, I'm the moth here, and the safest thing would be to fly away.

        He got back into bed, where it was warm, and started kissing Avon awake, so he could get burned all over again.

       'And what's the name of this planet, Avon?'

       'Vern.'