Adrift Collection

by T. J. Land

  The captain’s response to his latest idiotic statement was as bad as it could have been. He did that thing with his eyebrows, the thing where they somehow managed to arch and knit simultaneously, and all Thomas could think was that if he’d looked at the enemy like that, they’d have all teleported themselves back to wherever the fuck they’d come from.

  “Do you think so?” the captain said, looking down at his own feet.

  The captain was still naked and…oh, Thomas realised, so was he. He’d already had his clothes off by the time he opened the door, and now he was standing there without a damn thing on, with a body much less defensible than the captain’s, and what was becoming an obvious erection.

  That was probably why the captain hadn’t left yet. Thomas was in his way. So, shoulders hunched, Thomas stepped to one side. As he did, he looked down to see just how bad the situation was and cringed upon remembering that, in addition to his dick being hard as a rock, there was also the god-awful tattoo of a red-tailed hawk adorning the right side of his chest to worry about. He’d got it while drunk off his ass and celebrating his last night on Earth. While it wasn’t the worst decision he’d ever made (that award went to the misquoted Yeats poem tattooed on his scalp that his hair thankfully concealed from view), it wasn’t the sort of thing the captain would approve of. Thomas suspected that his views on the matter would align with Thomas’s uncle, who’d often announced, “The only decorations on a man’s body should be scars or medals.”

  The captain, meanwhile, had reached for a towel and was applying it to his hair. Then he said, “Given that they meet with your approval, perhaps you could save us both time by drying them for me.”

  Speechless, Thomas could only blink at him. Looking quickly at his face, the captain added, “Otherwise, give me another moment to finish up myself.”

  At that, Thomas’s body gave up on waiting for his brain to unfreeze. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d crossed the floor, stepped into the stall, and knelt at the captain’s feet.

  The captain’s feet. Dappled with droplets. Larger than his own, with those ridiculously clean, even toenails. Fuck, he wanted to kiss them.

  Thomas’s heart sank when he realised he’d forgotten to bring a towel in with him.

  “Here,” said the captain, offering him one. This close, Thomas could see water clinging to the hair on his chest and that he had a small scar on his upper lip. His expression was, as per usual, sternly authoritative, but his grey eyes had a weird light in them, almost as if he was just a bit drunk. Thomas doubted he was, as the captain only drank brandy, of which they had exactly one bottle on board, and he saved it for special occasions.

  Staring up at his face, a pulse of raw fondness went through Thomas’s body, and he knew what to do. Taking the towel, he returned his attention to the captain’s feet and made his hand into a cup. The captain caught on, lifting his foot and sliding his heel into Thomas’s palm. For a bizarre moment, Thomas felt like he was Cinderella’s prince, holding up the glass slipper. The lapse into fairy-tale romantic shit made him feel like a pervert, because while his brain was flooding with mushy nonsense, the rest of him just wanted the captain to press his heel against Thomas’s hard, aching dick.

  Thomas dried the foot slowly, trying not to make it seem like he was caressing it—even though he totally was. The whole time, he was conscious of the captain’s dick just beside his head.

  “Need to…” Thomas cleared his throat. “I need to do the back of your heels, sir. Can you turn round?”

  “I suppose I can,” said the captain, and Thomas could hear the smirk in his voice. As he turned, Thomas couldn’t resist the chance to sneak a quick peek, now that he wasn’t being watched.

  Holy fuck. The captain’s ass was amazing. And Thomas wasn’t just speaking as some guy who hadn’t had sex in four years. Once upon a time, Thomas was something of an ass connoisseur. In college, he’d whored his way through fifteen lecturers and an eighth of the student body. But not one of them held a candle. Sure, Thomas had known the captain was scarily fit. When they’d left Earth, he’d looked athletic, like an Olympic diver, even with his clothes on, and he hadn’t lost an inch of musculature in four years. God knew how—they had a gym, but no one had ever seen the captain in it, unless he timed his visits to make sure they wouldn’t. The view of his ass offered by his smart, snug pants had already been promising, but the reality was just…wow.

  I want to touch him everywhere. Thomas thought he might want that more than anything in the world. More than getting home, even.

  “You can touch me, if you’d like.”

  The captain was peering back at him over his shoulder, his eyelids hooded.

  Oh. He… All right, then.

  Thomas dropped the towel and slid his hands up the captain’s thighs. On the left, he found yet another old scar, like a nasty burn, and on the right, only smooth, warm skin. As Thomas moved his hands over the captain’s ass, which felt as perfect as it looked, the captain gave an appreciative rumble. Thomas leaned forward and pressed his lips into the small of the captain’s back.

  He smells like soap, Thomas thought, which was a dumb thing to focus on at a time like this—of course he did, he’d just finished showering—but he’d always thought the captain would smell like the sort of rich-guy cologne his dad used to wear. Not honeysuckle.

  Meanwhile, his other hand slid round to brush against the captain’s cock, tentatively, in the hopes that maybe—please, God, please—the captain would let him give him a handjob. Not to brag, but Thomas gave the best handjobs ever. So he was nothing short of fucking delighted upon finding that the captain was already hard.

  This is the best day of my life.

  When Thomas wrapped his hand around the captain’s cock, while simultaneously applying his teeth, very gently, to the curve of his ass, the result was everything he could have hoped for. The captain bucked, his hips jerking forward and sending his cock into Thomas’s grip, and he made a gorgeous noise. Glancing up, Thomas saw that his arms were now braced against the tiles, and his shoulders were heaving with deep, steady pants.

  By this point, Thomas was desperate to jerk off, but that would have meant removing one of his hands from the captain’s body. Something he was not even remotely inclined to do. So he shuffled forward on his knees until he was able to press himself against the back of the captain’s leg.

  “What long fingers you have,” the captain said, and one of his hands came down to enfold the hand Thomas had wrapped around his cock. “Like a pianist.”

  The compliment made his heart flutter like a lovesick teenager’s. “Thank you, sir. Actually, in school I used to play the flute.”

  He gave the captain’s cock a gentle squeeze and rubbed his thumb over the tip. The captain hissed and replied, “Yes, I’m sure you did. May I fellate you?”

  “Sir?” Thomas squeaked, freezing in place.

  The captain sighed. “Would you object to my sucking your cock, Mister Meléndez?”

  “Um. No, sir.”

  Thomas’s legs shook as he stood—with lust or fear, he wasn’t sure which—and he was worried they’d give way. But the captain took hold of him and, in one smooth motion, had him up against the wall, giving one of his nipples a pinch before sliding to his knees. If there was anything in this world that could rival the sight of the captain naked in the shower, it was the sight of the captain naked and kneeling in the shower, his hair still damp and his shoulders even more densely packed with muscle when viewed from above.

  I am the luckiest motherfucker alive, Thomas told himself.

  “Lovely,” the captain murmured as he inspected Thomas’s erection, like it was a fucking objet d’art. Then he took Thomas into his mouth and his throat.

  Thomas swore and regretted it because he knew the captain didn’t like cursing. But Jesus H., the captain sucked cock like a specialist. He gave Thomas the most generous tongue bath he’d ever had, and when Thomas came in his mouth, he swallowed every last drop and lick
ed him clean.

  Content, Thomas relaxed against the shower wall as the captain rose to his feet and bracketed his face with his hands. He was sort of flushed, and his thin lips were pinker than usual.

  “Say, Captain?” Thomas asked, reaching down to finish the handjob. “What did happen to your shoes, exactly?”

  The captain wrapped one arm around his waist and pulled him tight against his chest. Peppering his neck and jaw with kisses, he mumbled, “One of the laces snapped. I didn’t have a spare pair on hand. And I prefer to arrive on the bridge punctually. Ah!”

  Thomas grinned in victory as the captain’s hips snapped forward. “Maybe you tie ’em too tight, sir. That can wear them out.”

  The captain gave him a sharp-toothed grin. It made him look a lot younger and sexy as hell. “It’s true, I do prefer tight things.”

  Oh, I am way too into you, Thomas thought.

  He wanted to watch the captain’s face while he made him come, but the captain was a fucking excellent kisser, and Thomas contented himself with hearing him give a muffled groan. For a while afterwards, they just stayed like that, Thomas leaning against the wall with the captain’s hands on his ass.

  Thomas licked his lips. “I can lend you some laces, sir. I’ve got spares. They’re in my quarters. Under my bunk, I think.”

  “How very kind of you, Thomas. We’d best retrieve them.”

  “Um…actually, sir, how about I go and get them myself?” said Thomas, wincing as he remembered the state of his room. He couldn’t let the captain think he was a fucking animal. “Then maybe I could meet you in your quarters, and…and help you lace them up?”

  “All right. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes. After all—” He glanced down at Thomas’s abdomen, stained with a thick streak of come. “—you do still need to shower.”

  ✩✩✩

  “Fuck me,” Thomas rasped an hour later, rolling onto his back.

  “Again, Thomas?” asked the captain with some amusement. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a while before that’s possible. Maybe in the meantime you could have another go at me?”

  It was stupid, but Thomas giggled anyway, cuddling up to his chest. This had been the best day he’d had in four years. Actually, if he was honest, it was probably the best day he’d had in about ten. He wanted to run a victory lap around the ship. He wanted to get a picture of the captain’s face and the words “Guess who just tapped that” tattooed right next to the stupid hawk. He wanted to show up on the bridge bare-ass naked tomorrow, so everyone could see all the teeth marks (damn, the captain sure was bitey. He also wanted a cigarette, but he pushed the craving aside. When Fate was being this good to you, it didn’t pay to push your luck.

  “There’s come trickling out of you. Would you mind if I licked it up?” the captain asked, in the same polite, inquiring tones he’d asked for everything else so far. Thomas knew it was an affectation—the captain was many things, but politely restrained, he fucking well was not. But it was still hot, and Thomas swallowed as he nodded and rolled over.

  The captain’s tongue was warm, and it tickled. Thomas bit his lip, and as he did, his gaze happened to fall on the captain’s desk. When Thomas had come in with the laces, the captain had been standing at it, looking at a framed picture which he’d quickly put face down before drawing Thomas in for a kiss. Thomas only got a glimpse of it—two figures, one of whom looked like the captain.

  Thomas had known better than to ask. They all had people they missed.

  “Sir?” he said as the captain’s manicured nails dug into his thighs. “Can we do this again sometime?”

  “We can do it again in half an hour, Thomas, if you’ll just be patient.”

  “I mean—”

  “And we can do it tomorrow,” the captain confirmed, licking a stripe across his ass. “And the next day, too, if you like.”

  “S-sounds good, Captain.”

  ✩✩✩

  On the bridge the next morning, it was like it had never happened.

  “Mister Meléndez,” barked the captain. “Any messages?”

  His boots were back on, laced up good and tight. Thomas spared them a glance before checking his screen and answering, “No, sir. Not today.”

  But today it seemed as though the barb of disappointment was less sharp than it had been yesterday. After all, life on The Prayer wasn’t that bad. Not so long as they still had running water… and the captain.

  ✩✩✩

  As experiments go, that one was a winner, thought the captain. He’d known since Thomas had first joined the crew that the younger man had been attracted to him, but he’d had no idea he was such a passionate lover. Once the shyness started to fade, Mister Meléndez also proved a lively conversationalist—particularly on the subjects of conspiracy theories and bird watching, oddly enough—and willing to indulge the captain’s propensity to ramble about Aristophanes. Over the next few days, they came to a very agreeable arrangement made up of casual but regular liaisons in the shower or the captain’s quarters.

  But the captain slowly became aware of an unforeseen snag.

  His body seemed to have come alive again. It was as though someone had flipped a switch; it not only wanted sex all the time, it needed it, keened for it. It didn’t seem to matter where he was or what he was doing. On the bridge while issuing orders, in the cargo bay while inspecting their supplies, at the dinner table surrounded by the crew—without warning, his cock would stir and his lips would start to tingle. He’d taken to resting a holo-tablet in his lap to disguise the problem.

  Constant arousal was not, he acknowledged, a dilemma with which he was unfamiliar. His libido had always been high. On Earth, before The Prayer had embarked on her fateful voyage, he’d been part of a tetrad, and all of his lovers had teased him for being the most shameless slut they’d ever met. Even so, he was taken aback by how…vigorous he felt. In another life, he’d always found that after fasting for a lengthy enough period, he simply lost interest in food. He’d somehow assumed his four-year abstinence would have reduced his appetite for sex in much the same way.

  Ah, well. Nothing to be done about it. It would hardly do for him to go about seducing every member of his crew. No, he wouldn’t be greedy.

  Chapter Two

  One of the first things Rick had learned upon boarding The Prayer was that the captain and his first officer didn’t always get on.

  “Why are we even arguing about this, you witless geriatric?” shrieked First Officer Antoine, who had one of those nasally, high-pitched voices that made every word sound like you were being stabbed in the ear.

  “We are not ‘arguing.’ I am issuing an order, and you are being insubordinate,” the captain hissed. They’d been at it for twenty minutes, and he’d started sporting what Rick thought of as the “scary, bug-eyed, axe-murderer” look. It wasn’t that Antoine wasn’t good at his job. It was just that somewhere along the line, he seemed to have decided that one of the most important duties of his job entailed turning the captain into a crazy person.

  Operations on the bridge ground to a halt as everyone took a break from work to observe the unfolding spectacle. Since the holodeck had broken down, arguments between the captain and his second-in-command were by far the most novel source of entertainment available. Across the room, Thomas was miming eating popcorn.

  Today’s cabaret came down to the fact that there was a system with three rocky planets in the Goldilocks Zone—not too hot, not too cold, just the right distance from the sun for liquid water—not far from where they were currently drifting. For months now, Antoine had been saying they should check them out, maybe attempt a landing. Every time he brought it up, the captain refused point-blank. It was the most common source of their shouting matches, and today, just like every day, it had started as a perfectly reasonable conversation between two intelligent authority figures. But like a snowball rolling downhill, it had gained speed and momentum, and now they were snarling at each other like angry dogs, hackles up
and fists balled.

  In essence, the captain’s argument was that there was, for the moment, no reason for them to land. They weren’t in any danger of running low on food or fuel, and they had no idea how hostile any of the three worlds was to life. More to the point, landing on an uncharted world without permission from the powers that be was one of the most illegal things a commercial vessel could do. Antoine’s argument was much simpler and, so far as Rick was concerned, a lot more compelling; they were bored, and who would know?

  Rick didn’t have a horse in this race—not that he didn’t want to get off the ship—because he wasn’t eager to go hunting for signs of life in unknown and, quite possibly, dangerous territory. No, what drew his attention was the rare spectacle of the captain losing his temper. For all that he was naturally impatient and liked to bark out orders left and right, he hardly ever lost it as bad as he was losing it right now. Untidiness might turn him into a bitch, incompetence might turn him into an autocrat, but only Antoine could make him go all-out Vice Admiral Bligh. And today, Antoine was goading him because Antoine was a motherfucker. A French motherfucker, no less. (Well, French-Senegalese, whatever.)

  Antoine slapped one of his skinny girl-hands down on the report he’d brought in to try to prove his case. “This data indicates that two of those worlds register an eight on the Ons-Cabet Planetary Habitability Scale. They have water. They have oceans, for fuck’s sake!”

  “Why do you need an ocean?!” the captain roared. “How will an ocean improve our situation? Unless one of those worlds happens to be host to an alien species so technologically advanced they can reverse time and prevent us from ever having left Earth in the first place, they are of no practical use to us!”