Chaos Station 01 - Chaos Station

by Kelly Jensen

  Zed’s tongue swirled as he pulled back, flattened as he sucked forward, the pressure exquisite. Felix’s hips jumped and rocked, the desire to thrust barely held in check. Fingers teased nuts already tight, already tucked.

  Fuck, he was close. So close.

  “Don’t stop. God, don’t stop. So good.”

  With another man he might have been embarrassed by the obvious need powering the jerky thrusts of his hips. Zed’s technique, which had always been spot-on, had improved, however, and he wasn’t just another man. He was the man—with a plan—and he held Felix captive, a hand at his hip, holding him back until it was time to drive forward, a hand and mouth around his cock, teasing him toward that point.

  Felix’s existence narrowed again until all he heard was the knock of his pulse, the rasp of his breath and the squeak of his boots as he rocked in place. One more press against his balls, one more warm, wet suck, a swirl of the tongue, fingers pulling. Another thrust, a slow drive, a falling dive.

  “Zed...” He drew in a ragged breath. “Going to...Fuck! Oh, God...”

  He couldn’t narrow further, so he came, and it felt like his body squeezed through Zed’s hand, shot through his cock, past Zed’s lips and down his throat.

  Time ebbed and flowed, marked only by panted breath and the sing of his blood. His body felt like a loose spring, uncoiled and useless, his hips well-oiled joints, rocking soundlessly back and forth—he’d come and come hard. Treacle filled his brain. Or maybe engine oil, though treacle tasted better. And, hey, Zed’s lips were on his again, tasting of him, bitter and warm. Felix hummed into the kiss, the song in the back of this throat pulling up a memory of a younger Zed, of his music, of the way everything he did seemed to flow.

  He wrenched his eyes open, suddenly afraid he’d been dreaming, and Zed’s shadowed face moved blurrily before his. Felix put his hands to the other man’s cheeks and pushed him gently back so that his handsome face came into focus.

  Words tickled the end of his tongue, words he could not say. Swallowing them, he sought something less profound. “Oh, man, I needed that.”

  “Been a while?”

  “Too damned long.” Felix rolled his shoulders and grinned. “I feel good.” His hands dropped to his sides. “And loose and floppy.”

  Zed laughed, his mouth pulling into a full, open smile, his whole face looking so damned sexy that suddenly being floppy was the furthest thing from Felix’s mind.

  “My quarters,” he rasped.

  * * *

  Zed’s cock throbbed in his trousers. He’d almost come when Flick had, without even laying a hand on himself. No matter the repercussions, no matter the reasons not to do this, it was going to happen. In a few minutes, they were going to be wrapped up in each other, sweaty, breathing hard, bodies straining. They both needed it.

  The door to Flick’s quarters had barely slid shut before Flick locked it and slammed Zed against it. He barely had time to scan the room, note how much it looked like Flick—wide bunk unmade, desk cluttered, walls decorated only by rivets—before hands pressed against his pecs, distracting him, fingernails slipping through the hair to the skin beneath. Flick’s mouth fastened on his neck. A groan escaped and he cupped Flick’s head, his fingers tightening on the other man’s scalp.

  “Want you.” Flick’s blunt fingernails scratched gently down Zed’s ribs.

  “Good,” Zed gasped. “Please.”

  Flick angled his head to nip at Zed’s ear. “Want to fuck you.”

  Zed couldn’t stop the shiver of anticipation that jolted through him. Flick had been the first man he’d bottomed for, all those years ago. He hadn’t intended to save that honor for him, but that was how things had worked out—and it wasn’t something he’d regretted. If he hadn’t already been head-over-heels in love with the man at the time, the care Flick had shown would’ve tipped him over the edge. It had been an amazing experience, sharing that with Flick, and not something he’d ever been able to recapture.

  He swallowed. “Yeah.” God, yes.

  Hands slipped into his pants, sneaking down under his briefs to cup his ass. Flick’s lips teased his shoulder. “How long has it been?”

  “A while.” Zed’s eyes rolled back as those wonderful hands squeezed and massaged.

  “I’ll go slow.”

  “You’ll kill me.”

  “You wuss.” Flick pulled back, his expression full of mischief. “C’mon, clothes off. On the bed, hands and knees.”

  Zed sketched a crappy salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”

  He thought about taking his time with stripping off his pants and underwear—it wouldn’t be the first time he’d given Flick a sexy show—but that spoke to something more, something he wasn’t ready to revisit. He didn’t think Flick was, either. They could do this, they could fuck, but trying to make it into what they’d had before was just going to hurt. They weren’t in love. Not anymore.

  He kicked off his gear into a random corner of the room and smiled as he took in Flick’s stunned expression. “Still have a thing for muscles, eh?”

  “Fuck, yes.” Flick scrambled to get his own clothes off and waved a hand at the bed. “Bed, now.”

  Zed’s smile widened and he complied with the order. He didn’t argue with the position Flick had dictated, though he’d always preferred seeing Flick’s face when they made love—and that was exactly the reason for it, he realized. Right. This was sex, not love.

  Don’t confuse the two.

  He cast a glance over his shoulder. “Uh, don’t touch my neck, okay?”

  “Your off switch.” Flick shot him a crooked, sad smile, as if he completely understood the concept. “Got a few of those myself.”

  Zed’s brow furrowed. “Where?”

  “Doesn’t matter for now.”

  Flick’s hand on his cock halted any further discussion. Zed hissed, his head falling forward, as his hips pushed into Flick’s hand. Too soon, the grip was gone, diminishing to a teasing trail of touches drifting over his balls and upward. Flick settled on the bed behind him, the mattress shifting with his weight, and suddenly a hand skimmed up his thighs. Zed shuddered, the sensation too little and yet almost too much.

  “Don’t tease,” he growled.

  “But I love seeing all those perfect muscles quiver.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Yep,” Flick said cheerfully. He leaned over Zed, the renewed hardness of his cock pressing against Zed’s inner thigh—another tease—and reached for a shelf over the bed.

  Waiting for Flick to squeeze out a dollop of lube and touch him again was its own form of torture. He couldn’t hold back the gasp or the jerk at the first touch of Flick’s lubed finger against his entrance.

  “Easy.” Flick laid his other hand on the small of Zed’s back, holding him steady. “It really has been a while, hasn’t it?”

  More than three years. He’d spent some time the night after their shower run-in thinking back, trying to figure out the last time he’d been with someone. The amount of time required to nail down the memories told the story—it’d been a meaningless, unremarkable encounter, something to do during the rare downtime between missions and nothing more. His partner, a nameless man he’d picked up at a nameless bar on a nameless base, had been just as eager for a hard, quick fuck. It’d been over in minutes and Zed had left with less tension in his shoulders but no less emptiness in his chest.

  This was different. This was Flick. As much as he tried to convince himself that this was just sex, he’d done the “just sex” thing, and this wasn’t it.

  “It hasn’t been you,” he gasped, arching his back, pushing his ass against Flick’s finger.

  “Zed...”

  Zed’s body hummed as Flick’s touch grew bolder, more insistent. His head drooped, his forehead brushing his clasped hands, Flick’s familiar, remembered touch nudging him ever closer to a mind-blowing climax. He didn’t want to lose it before the endgame, though.

  “C’mon,” he growled over his shoulder.
“I want it. I want you.”

  Flick grunted. For a second, Zed thought he was going to argue—then he shifted, kneeling behind Zed, and anticipation curled around the lust in Zed’s gut. He sucked in a breath at the first touch of Flick’s cock and exhaled on a moan as he sank deeper and deeper still, the pinch and burn as wanted as the feeling of being filled. Flick went slowly, as he’d promised. Too slowly.

  “C’mon,” Zed gasped.

  “Don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You will if you don’t start fucking me.”

  “I don’t remember you being so impatient.”

  “I don’t remember you being such an ass.” Zed paused. “Oh, wait, yes, I do.”

  A hand smacked against his rear, the sharp sting unexpected—but, weirdly, not unwelcome. Before Zed could protest, Flick grabbed his hips and thrust forward. The burn was erased by pleasure as Flick found a rhythm, a perfect rhythm, one that made Zed’s limbs threaten to collapse under him.

  “Fuck, so good,” he moaned, matching each of Flick’s thrusts. He wanted to stroke himself, but he needed his arms on the bed to brace against Flick’s onslaught.

  Almost as if Flick had read his mind, a hand left his hip and curled around to stroke his cock. Zed didn’t bother to try to hold back the deep groan at the dual sensation. Flick grunted his approval, nonsensical words of encouragement slipping past his lips.

  It was a quick, hard fuck. Sparks soon cascaded across his vision, heralding the beginning of the end. His hips slammed back to meet Flick’s, then forward into Flick’s hand, a rhythm that grew choppier, less controlled with every breath. All the tension Zed had been carrying for weeks, months, years, it all seemed to gather in his gut, ready to be released. He barely registered Flick’s cry before his body gave up, coming hard, his hoarse shout bouncing off the metal walls. They shook together, trembling, and collapsed onto the bed, their limbs intertwined.

  * * *

  Movement tugged Zed out of a doze. His skin stuck to Flick’s in places—a state he remembered well. They had rearranged themselves, Flick in front, curled within the loose circle of his arms. Or, he had been. Zed tugged Flick back and tucked his nose into the crook of his neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply.

  “Where’re you going?” he murmured. “Mmm, you smell good.”

  “I smell like sex.”

  “Yeah. You smell good.” Zed smiled and pressed a kiss to the skin just under Flick’s ear.

  Flick pulled away, enough to put more than just physical distance between the two of them. Confused, Zed blinked as he encountered a forgotten side effect of climax, post-training. Auras danced around anything that gave off or reflected light, filling the room with soft rainbows of color, as though he were in a fucking fairy realm. It was annoying, but harmless. The extra weirdness in his vision would eventually fade, settling back into the usual weirdness.

  Flick rolled away and sat up, his back to Zed as his legs curved over the edge of the bunk. An aura bounced off his hair and cascaded down over his shoulders, softening the lines of tension in his back. Shadows etched across his skin outlined various scars, some larger—and a hell of a lot more frightening—than others. Zed frowned, trying to pick out details, but the auras interfered too much.

  “Talk to me, Flick,” he said softly.

  Chapter Ten

  Behind closed lids, Felix could still see the line of tattoos that followed Zed’s spine. The string of planets, each labeled in curved script. Groin tightening, he recalled the way they appeared to pulse and move as Zed had flexed beneath him, rocking back to meet every thrust. A thrill danced through his gut as he briefly relived that second orgasm, and the way Zed had shuddered and cried out.

  But now, the boneless feeling had left him and the circle of Zed’s arms had started to confine. Restlessness tickled across his skin like an itch. Over the past few years, Felix had developed a habit: fuck ’em and leave ‘em. It was time to escape.

  Zed wasn’t just another lover, though. He was...Zed.

  Scrubbing his hands over his cheeks, Felix turned to answer Zed’s quiet prompt. Talk to me. What about? Zed still lay sprawled. His eyes had an unfocused look to them, like someone who’d had too much to drink. He’d come hard, which could account for it, but a niggle of apprehension warned him that the man on the bed was not the same man he remembered. Hell, he didn’t even need the warning to figure that one out.

  “I’m not supposed to be the thoughtful one.” Felix met Zed’s gaze, briefly, before trying to find somewhere else to rest his gaze, somewhere that wasn’t bare skin. A difficult task as Zed was a large man. “I’m also supposed to be the cuddly one.” Felix managed a half smile at that, something like a smirk. “Being chatty during sex...I haven’t done that...” Since you.

  Zed’s brow furrowed, but the muscle in his jaw did not tick. Felix’s half smile twitched at the thought he’d fucked that bit of tension right out of him.

  “It’s different with you,” Zed said, his voice soft. “Always has been.” His fingers trailed across the circuitry tattooed over Felix’s ribs. A gift from Zed the last time they’d been together. Like Zed’s planets, his circuits no longer appeared animated unless he moved. “I sort of thought it wouldn’t be, this time, but I guess that was stupid, huh.”

  Felix pushed air through his nostrils in what he wanted to be a dismissive snort, but his smile felt too real as he turned away to hide any show of emotion from the man who plucked so easily at his heart. Zed’s fingers continued to tickle his skin, the touch not sensual, more than a casual caress. They were linked...in so many ways. Felix had felt the tug the moment he recognized Zed in the mess, and just a short while ago when they were joined in the most intimate way possible.

  He put his hand over Zed’s. The larger hand lifted beneath his and Felix let their fingers entwine. In his chest, his heart complained, hitching and squeezing. He breathed out carefully. “It was just supposed to be sex. I guess that makes me stupid too.”

  “So if it’s not just sex...It’s not nine years ago, Flick.”

  “I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

  Zed didn’t answer, growing quiet and still. Then, his fingers pulled away from Felix’s. “Right.” The mattress shifted as Zed scooted to the end of the bed. He squinted at the floor, obviously looking for his pants. Then he paused, his shoulders rounding like the weight of the galaxy had suddenly dropped on them.

  “Look,” Zed said, turning around, “I’ve been trying not to think of the future too much, for a long time. Day to day is better. Promises...promises are a bad idea. I’m not going to make any, and I don’t want any from you. I don’t know if that helps, or...” His shoulders lifted again, briefly, as he returned to his pants search.

  It did and it didn’t. Felix didn’t want a promise, not really, because all promises given to him had been broken. But...he wanted a promise. He’d wanted one back then and he wanted one now.

  Can’t have one, Flick.

  Fixer. My name is Fixer.

  His name was Felix Ingesson, and the strength that had pulled him through hell and out the other side had abandoned him. He felt like the reed that had forgotten how to bend, and Zed was the breath of wind that would break him.

  “Day to day.” Felix didn’t realize he’d spoken until his throat moved and the sound of his voice drifted up to his ears. He met Zed’s indistinct gaze. Breath catching in his throat, he offered a nod. “We’ve got a job to do.” He didn’t dare hope they could talk after that. Hope was just another kind of promise. Felix wrapped his arms around his ribs and whispered, “Sorry.”

  Zed found his pants and put them on, his shadow flexing across the opposite wall. Felix watched the silhouette move, satisfied with the small distance it gave him from the man behind. Then a hand touched his shoulder.

  “Don’t be sorry, Flick.” Zed’s voice sounded strained. He squeezed Felix’s shoulder and then fidgeted in place a moment. “I guess I’ll...” Zed glanced over at the door.
>
  “Yeah.”

  “It, uh...” He cleared his throat. “It was good.”

  Another half smile. “Better than.”

  “Yeah.” Zed’s answering smile had a sad tilt to it. “Better than.” He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something more, but remained silent as he started for the door. The hatch slid open and he stepped through without a backward glance.

  Felix watched the door close and continued to sit there, watching and waiting, as if he expected it to open again, for Zed to throw himself through, roll him back on the bed and utter the promises he’d promised not to make. The door didn’t open, but the vent above did, blasting cool air into the room. Felix shivered as goose pimples prickled his skin. He bent forward to scoop up his underwear and, feeling lazy at last, worked the shorts over his knees while still seated, rocking his hips in order to pull them over his ass. He sat there, still cold, still despondent, still feeling like he might break, until another puff of recirculated air washed over his face, the smell of dust, smoke and old ship parts teasing his nostrils. Normally, Felix found the scent comforting. It meant he was on the Chaos, his version of home. With his heart plodding sorely, however, the smell only served to remind him of everything he didn’t have.

  He leaped from the bed and turned to the corner of the room dedicated to exercise. Being quartered near engineering had its advantages—he had a lot of space to call his own, including room for a kick bag and mat. His arms rose in a defensive posture out of habit, both cocked in front of his torso, his right hand curled into a fist, the left a stiff parody. Without thought, he spun into a back kick, aiming to work through every kick he knew in an effort to wear himself down, exorcise the tension from his limbs, get to feeling truly fucked.

  For a while, his plan worked. A side kick flowed into a spinning back kick. Inside crescent to an outside crescent. Low and high roundhouse. Spinning hook. Extended front kick. Blade kick. Hopping between, he switched stances, left to right, and began again, throwing punches between his kicks, working the bag over as if it were a demon, or the closest approximation: one of the stin.