by T. J. Land
I could do this with them forever, he thought. I really could.
He came first, staring up at the sky—dark blue, a few wisps of cloud, countless stars in the background. He didn’t know who came second, but within a minute, all three of them had stopped moving, forming a disorderly heap of sweaty bodies on the grass.
“Hey, you guys?” Thomas said when his brain could be bothered with formulating speech. “You wanna be my boyfriends?”
“Guess so,” said Zachery.
“Don’t see why not,” said Rick, and Thomas felt him smile against his heart.
The Captain’s Calamity
Chapter One
The captain and his first officer were playing Monopoly.
Any member of the crew to have walked in on them would have been flummoxed. It was common knowledge aboard The Prayer that the two men didn’t get on. No one understood why the captain had hired Antoine Mbaye given he so clearly disliked him. Why Antoine had ever agreed to work for Khurshed Amirmoez, a man whose decisions he criticized at every turn, was a deeper mystery still. The crew often speculated amongst themselves as to what might be the cause of such deep animosity; why it was that two otherwise level-headed individuals seemed to take such delight in quarrelling with one another. Now and then, someone would suggest that all they needed was a good hate-fuck to get it out of their systems.
Had either Antoine or the captain heard this suggestion they would have laughed themselves sick and then thrown whoever had made it into the brig.
“I want to buy the asteroid belt,” said the captain. He lay on his side on his bed, with a tiny silver satellite dish held between forefinger and thumb. The Monopoly board was spread out before him, framed by Antoine’s elbows.
“How many times must I explain this? You can’t buy the asteroid belt. The asteroid belt was what they put in place of the jail,” Antoine told him. Wearing only his socks, briefs, and an unbuttoned shirt, the smaller man was lying on his belly with his feet in the air and his hands folded under his jaw, looming over the left side of the board. It was home to Earth, Titan, and Europa; collectively, the most prime real estate in the solar system.
“That makes no sense at all. Interstellar space would have been a more fitting space-themed jail. Or…hmm…yes, or a black hole.”
“You only ever quibble like this when you’re losing.”
“I’m not losing,” the captain said, thinking to himself that he probably was. He knew himself to be the worst Monopoly player on board The Prayer. Antoine’s extensive collection of board games was one of the ways they’d kept themselves entertained during their four years of aimless wandering. Echo and Yanmei could now play chess to a championship standard, and the Clue board was falling to pieces from overuse. The captain had played four hundred and sixty-eight games of Monopoly since last he had been anywhere near the real estate featured on the board. He never seemed to get any better at it.
He liked it, though. The dainty playing pieces amused him, and moreover, it was Antoine’s favourite mindless pastime. Since he and his first officer had reconciled, they’d taken to playing a match whenever they could find the time.
“Oh, before I forget, Bon anniversaire, Captain. Your slow shamble towards senility continues unabated for another year. I’m sorry I didn’t get you a cake.”
“To the devil with your cake.” The dice rolled, and the captain’s satellite dish landed on Pluto.
Antoine smirked. “I’d advise you to be on your guard. Thomas might take it into his head to throw you a party. He seems the type.”
“He doesn’t know. None of them do.”
There was a pause. “Oh. That’s a shame. I imagine they’d like to know.”
The captain grunted noncommittally, avoiding Antoine’s gaze.
Antoine added, “You know all their birthdays, don’t you?”
“If I tell them it’s my birthday, they’ll ask how old I am,” the captain muttered.
“So? Tell them. And make sure I’m there when you do. I want to see their eyes pop out.”
“Tell them your real age, that’ll do the trick.”
“They’re not sleeping with me.” Antoine removed his glasses and blew on them. “While we’re on the subject; why haven’t you told them your first name yet?”
“Oh, they probably couldn’t pronounce it,” said the captain, pretending to count his Monopoly money. Antoine’s eyes were piercing, even when filtered through the lenses.
Rolling onto his side, Antoine shuffled around until his feet lay within reach of the captain’s hands. Recognizing the implicit request, the captain pulled off Antoine’s socks and started to massage his left foot.
“Your new companions… No, don’t sigh like that. This isn’t a lecture; it’s a warning. I know you love them. However, the fact is that you know far, far more about all of them than they know about you. You let them have your body whenever they want it, but they won’t be satisfied with that forever.”
“Have you considered that the reason I haven’t told them my name or my birthday is because they haven’t asked?”
“Of course they haven’t. You’re their fearless leader. Even though they adore you, they’re still a little in awe of you. You tend to have that effect on people.”
“Not on you, if I recall.”
“Don’t try to change the subject. My point is, while you can be their lover and their leader at the same time, I think that attempting to maintain professional distance from four people with whom you are in love is a fool’s errand.”
“You think I’m trying to have my cake and eat it.”
Withdrawing his feet from the captain’s lap, Antoine crawled over until he could cup his jaw. “I think you’re doing the best you can. I think there are few men who could have endured what you’ve endured for the last few years. You held the crew together when all hope seemed lost. You’ve done very, very well. I simply…”
“Want me to do better,” the captain said, smiling and touching Antoine’s cheek. “As ever, my talking cricket has dispensed sound advice.”
It was an old joke, resulting from Antoine’s having been reading Pinocchio in a café on the day they’d first met.
How much younger we were then.
The captain lost the game and stared out the porthole above his bed while Antoine put the board away. It was late afternoon—and how strange it felt to be able to tell that by looking outside, instead of checking the ship’s clock. The Prayer was gliding over the great grass plains that dominated this planet’s terra firma, low enough for them to be able to make out fauna the size of a cow or larger—Rux insisted that there were some, albeit their numbers had been depleted in the multiple catastrophes that had wiped out his own people. Their destination was an abandoned city Rux had promised to show them, thus far concealed from their orbital surveillance by advanced camouflage technology. The captain had declined to remark upon the fact that said technology was still operational so long after the city had been abandoned. He didn’t want Rux to launch into another of his orations on the brilliance and superiority of his long-dead species.
Standing, the captain said, “I should be on my way. I told Zachery I’d meet him in ten minutes. There’s something he wants to discuss.”
“I’m sure there is. No doubt some boring technical issue related to the maintenance of the ship,” said Antoine, his voice rich with disbelief. “Have fun. How long until we arrive, by the way?”
“Another two hours or so.”
Antoine stretched. “Then I think I’ll go ask Thomas for a spot of tuition. I still can’t get the hang of loading the damned thing.”
Since their last excursion onto the planet’s surface, it had been agreed that Thomas would teach every member of the crew the basics of how to handle a rifle. It had been his idea, and the captain hadn’t liked it—guns revolted him—but he could see the practicality. Their knowledge of this planet and its environment was still dangerously limited. Best be prepared for anything.
; Before the captain departed, Antoine stepped into his arms and held him for a moment. “Once again, happy birthday, Captain. I am rather glad you’re not dead yet. Listen—let’s celebrate when we get done with Rux’s ruins. We could have dinner. Just the two of us, I mean.”
With a pang, the captain realised it had been years since the two of them had had a private meal together—since they’d had anything he thought of as a real date. He also recognised the invitation as Antoine’s signalling a need for reassurance there remained some part of the captain that belonged only to him.
He needn’t have worried.
“What if we had dinner on top of the ship? We could lay out a picnic blanket and name some more constellations,” the captain suggested.
“Ugh, how romantic. We really are getting old,” said Antoine, pressing against his chest.
The captain lingered until the nearness of Antoine’s body caused his own to start reacting. He withdrew, though not out of fear of Antoine’s noticing—his first officer was already aware he found him desirable. Rather, the captain didn’t want to arrive before Zachery with an erection that the engineer hadn’t caused. It felt like bad manners.
“Off you go,” said Antoine. “Don’t let him maul you too badly this time.”
✩✩✩
The stethoscope kept getting in the way.
When the captain had suggested he take it off, Zachery had insisted its presence was vital to maintaining the fantasy. The captain had refrained from pointing out that, as a proctologist, he wouldn’t have any reason to wear a stethoscope. Although sex with Zachery was usually fuelled by just those sorts of pig-headed arguments—and all the more enjoyable for it—today was special. It was the first time Zachery was letting another man finger him.
So the captain put up with the stethoscope, even when an attempt to alter their positions for comfort’s sake resulted in its swinging forward and smacking Zachery’s face. Instead of flinging the damned thing into a corner like it deserved, the captain had Zachery lie face down on the examination table, removing his handsome features from the danger zone.
“The door’s locked, right?” Zachery asked for the third time.
“Yes, yes,” said the captain, glancing once again over his shoulder to check that it hadn’t miraculously unlocked itself. He understood Zachery’s concern; God alone knew what Antoine would say if he saw the captain had stolen one of his lab coats to complete his costume.
Zachery himself was naked, spread out like a feast on the examination table. His dark hair was washed and combed, and his dreadful goatee had been shaved into some semblance of neatness. The captain hadn’t asked for either concession and recognised them as gestures of good will.
“How are you finding it?” the captain asked.
“It’s okay, I guess,” Zachery said, which was probably the most lukewarm response the captain had ever received from a man whose arse had now taken three of his fingers. “I mean, it doesn’t hurt like I thought it would. But it’s not really doing anything for me.”
Under the harsh light of the medical bay, his skin had taken on a golden shine. The sequence “3ZH66W2” stood out starkly on the small of his back, courtesy of the Martian justice system’s gleeful propensity towards corporal punishment—one of the many reasons the planet had been on the receiving end of economy-breaking sanctions for decades. Running his fingertips over the brand, the captain reflected that there were many benefits to being lost far beyond the reach of civilization.
Even so, Zachery made a mouth-watering sight, with his gleaming muscles and tight buttocks. It was with regret that the captain withdrew his fingers. “Thank you for indulging me.”
“Hey, hey, you don’t have to stop! I mean… It might get better, right? We can keep going.”
Such a sweet man. The captain leaned down and kissed him. “I don’t believe that sex should be something you have to work to enjoy. It’s fine. It was an experiment.”
Zachery’s expression was one of relief mingled with guilt. “Maybe we can try again sometime? Like, maybe it’s one of those things where you need to be in the right mood, or something?”
“We can try as many times as you like,” the captain murmured, distracted by the delicious smell of his sweat. Content, Zachery sat up and drew him closer, their tongues sliding against one another.
When the captain started to pull off Antoine’s coat, Zachery said in a voice that had regained its habitual growl, “Wait a sec. We’re not done with that yet. I still want my sexy proctologist fantasy. You promised.”
“Very well,” the captain conceded. “Given that penetration isn’t working out, perhaps we could try something different.”
“Like what?”
With a grin that felt feral, the captain sat down on the edge of the examination table and set about arranging Zachery over his lap.
“Congratulations, Mister Halberstam,” he said in what he thought sounded like an authoritative doctor’s voice—it might, in fact, simply have been his “captain on the bridge” voice. “It is my considered medical opinion that you are in peak physical condition. Your arse in particular is one of the finest I’ve seen. That said, I regret to inform you that you appear to have contracted a mild case of what we professionals call ‘wilful recalcitrance syndrome’.”
“Fuck, sounds scary,” Zachery said, straight-faced. “There a cure, doc?”
The captain nodded. “It’s a common illness and easily treatable.”
He pulled off the white plastic gloves Zachery had insisted on earlier. Zachery, being far more intelligent than most people gave him credit for, had shifted so that his cock rested against the captain’s thigh and his backside curved upwards like a ripe apple.
Gorgeous. The captain licked his lips. “Please remain still while I operate, Mister Halberstam.”
The first smack was experimental, barely hard enough to sting. He measured Zachery’s reaction and modulated the force of the next one.
Zachery cried out, rocking forward. “Jesus! Do you practice by bitch-slapping Antoine? Ow.”
There was a faint handprint visible on his rear, and his cock had stiffened in the captain’s lap. The captain, for his part, had been hard from the moment Zachery had removed his clothes and, given that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath Antoine’s lab coat, had now stained it with precome. He reminded himself to clean it before putting it back.
Twenty smacks later and Zachery’s backside had turned an attractive shade of pink. Even so, he was doing a manful job of keeping still, although whimpers and groans fell from his lips unabated. The captain’s left hand rubbed soothing circles on his back, while his right hand left irregular gaps between each strike. The trick was not to let one’s partner predict exactly when the pain would come next.
“Oh, Daddy, fuck,” Zachery whined, as the captain’s hand drew back again.
“Really?” said the captain, pausing and arching an eyebrow.
Zachery blushed. “Screw you.”
“Now, what sort of sense does that make?” the captain said, palming his reddened arse. “You don’t mind asking me to pretend to give you a sexy proctology exam, but you’re too shy to ask if you can call me ‘Daddy’? You’re a confusing man, Zachery.”
“I’m not ‘shy’, asshole. It’s just that you’re so old I thought I should probably be calling you ‘Granddaddy’ instead.”
Crack went the captain’s hand as it connected with Zachery’s rear for the twenty-first time. Zachery bit on his hand to stifle a howl, his cock grinding against the captain’s thigh.
“Apologise,” the captain ordered. “Unless you want me to flog you with the stethoscope. And that will hurt.”
Zachery murmured something he couldn’t quite hear and then said, “S-sorry, Daddy.”
His blood surged in his veins. “Apology accepted. Now, Zachery, if you can be good and not climax for another ten strokes, Daddy will give you a treat.”
And he was good, very good, even with his cock rock-hard and r
ubbing against the captain’s own erection. In between groans and flinches, the captain saw his lips move as he counted off the strokes.
“Well done, darling boy,” he purred as he delivered an unexpected eleventh blow and then hoisted Zachery up into a sitting position in his lap. The engineer’s pupils were blown wide, and his lower lip had been bitten so hard it had split, leaving a thin trail of blood to trickle down his chin. “Daddy’s very pleased with you.”
To his surprise, Zachery threw both meaty arms around his shoulders and pressed his face against his neck. The captain returned the hug, saying, “Do you want your treat now?”
Sniffing, Zachery nodded. “Whassit?”
“Up to you. Would you like a blowjob or would you like to fuck me?”
Zachery pondered his options, before asking, “Can we stay like this for a while? And…maybe you can get me off with your hand? Oh, and quit calling me ‘Zachery’ when we’re screwing. Call me ‘Zach’.”
The captain kissed his forehead. “Certainly. Call me Khurshed.”
How startled he looked to hear that, how honoured. Antoine was right, the captain thought with a pang. I’ve been careless.
Keeping one arm wrapped around him, the captain reached down and took hold of both their cocks, squeezing them together.
“You look so fucking sexy in that coat,” Zachery sighed, rocking forward into his grip. “Can we ditch the stethoscope, though? It’s kind of digging into my ribs.”
Away it flew, landing in a corner.
Neither of them lasted much longer. Zachery’s hand slipped down to fondle the base of the captain’s shaft, his touch light and teasing—he was so good at rough play Khurshed tended to forget he was capable of subtlety. Shuddering, he felt himself start to come and retained enough presence of mind to ensure that most of it ended up in Zachery’s chest hair.
