Illicit
Victory
By Cheezey
Rated MA
As his last remaining companion departed with a slightly drunken wave and a leer at the scantily clad female at his side, the newly ranked Force Captain Yurak was left to his drink and his thoughts alone at the bar. He was not the type to frequent such places as that noisy and crowded establishment, one of Doom’s capitol city’s many late-hour hotspots, but his men had insisted. It was not every day one earned a promotion to the rank of force captain, and a number of his soldiers had taken him out to celebrate. Yurak surmised that the gesture was not entirely magnanimous; Doom soldiers were a rowdy and licentious bunch by nature and any excuse to have a good time was readily accepted. At least that particular club was not in the sleazier part of the city, Yurak had reasoned, and although it was hardly the classiest place he had ever set foot in either, the entertainment had been reputed to be decent if nothing else. Ordinarily he would have preferred to stay in, but Yurak supposed the night out would do him some good, even if the crowds and chaos did grate on him.
Regretfully, the club’s entertainment turned out to be a comedy act far less humorous than they had been billed to be, and Yurak lost interest in whatever was happening onstage about fifteen minutes into the show. That had not been bad at first; there were six others with him and they were interesting enough conversation. Over the past couple of hours, however, they had gradually splintered off and drifted away into other distractions—the betting game in the back, casual chatter with those around them, and the steady stream of flirtatious strangers that approached anyone who seemed even the slightest bit approachable. Unfortunately for Yurak, “approachable” was not the impression he gave, even in civilian garb, and only the boldest and most aggressive types made any attempt to strike up conversation with him once he was left alone. At that point he just planned to finish his Yadelian ale, head back to his quarters, and call it a night.
That was, until the vacant seat next to him gained an occupant.
“Refill!” the boisterous voice of his new neighbor bellowed over the din of the crowd while his blue arm slammed an empty tankard down upon the bar top.
Yurak turned toward the source of the outburst, a young Doom man he would have guessed no older than twenty, a generous estimate considering the cocky and decidedly immature smirk plastered on his face. The youth, named Cossack, was shorter than the force captain beside him, strongly built, and sported a mane of sand-colored hair that fell in a pattern of hopeless disarray about his shoulders, made all the worse by the activities of a night of partying. His yellow eyes held a gleam of trouble, and although one got the impression that he was brash and loud at first glance, despite that he did not appear unfriendly. Quite the opposite, it seemed that not only was he approachable, but an attention-getter. Yurak surmised that a boy that age, clearly from money by the looks of his expensive leather boots and belt, was likely seeking such attention on purpose, and in his opinion, more asking for trouble than anything else. In a place like that, frequented by battle-hardened soldiers, mercenaries, and citizens with far less wealth and just as much ambition to get what they wanted as he, such types as his new neighbor were considered, often rightfully, as easy pickings.
Taking a drink of his ale, Yurak listened as Cossack hollered for the bartender once again, that time louder and more impatiently. When the attendant still did not turn around, Cossack groaned irritably and slumped against the bar in a melodramatic fashion. “And to think I gave that jackass a big tip last round,” he said, and slouched further, deliberately bumping into Yurak’s arm. When Yurak turned and stared down at him, making eye contact, Cossack asked, “He ignore you too?”
“I’ve had mine a while,” Yurak answered.
A wry grin spread across Cossack’s face. “Oh. Nursing it, huh?”
“Savoring it,” Yurak corrected sharply and with a look that indicated he did not find the teasing remark amusing. “Yadelian ale isn’t something to be guzzled.”
Cossack sat up straighter and tapped his empty tankard against the bar, casting a brief glance down at the still-busy bartender before returning his attention to Yurak. “Yadelian ale? Oooh. Well I guess you’re not a cheap date.”
Yurak chortled sardonically. “Do I look like I’m here for a date?”
“If you were, I’d say it looks like you’re striking out, tough guy.” Cossack then clapped Yurak on the shoulder in a way that struck the older man as far too familiar for a new acquaintance, which instantly made him stiffen and glare down at him. The sparkle of mirth in the golden eyes that met Yurak’s disapproving look squelched the brunt of his hostility, however. Uncouth and annoying as Yurak found such brashness, there was something in Cossack’s demeanor that was surprisingly disarming. Was it the exuberance of youth, something that after a number of years of service in Doom’s fleet Yurak had not had in some time?
“Tough guy,” Yurak repeated dubiously, and shook his head at the other man. “Looks to me like you’re the one trying to be that, waving that kind of cash around in a place like this.” He gestured to the generous denomination of currency Cossack had just laid out on the bar to bolster the odds of catching the bartender’s attention.
It worked, however, and much like a bird of prey, the bartender spotted the flash of gold and immediately swooped toward them. He took Cossack’s empty tankard for a generous refill and returned to him within a matter of seconds full to the brim with foam spilling off the top. Cossack took it, gulped a hearty swig, and then informed him in a haughty tone as he shoved the money toward him, “Keep the change, but next time I get first class service, got it? Otherwise I might have to complain about the service around here, and anyone who knows me’ll tell you I’ve got a big mouth.”
While the bartender gave him the obligatory customer-satisfactory answer, Yurak muttered, “I bet even those who don’t know you can vouch for that.”
Instead of getting offended at Yurak’s remark, however, Cossack just laughed. “You’re funny, tough guy.” Yurak raised a brow at the repeated reference to him as such, while Cossack’s expression shifted to one more inquisitive. “Hey, I hope this isn’t too nosy a question but… uh, is that eye real? ‘Cause I got to tell you, you got one mean stare…”
“Of course it’s real,” Yurak replied with a look that clearly wondered why he would even question it.
“Oh.” Cossack took another drink from his tankard. “You get it on purpose, or did you have a horrible accident?”
Yurak’s dubious look intensified. “Why?”
“Just curious.” He flashed him another fangy grin.
“You’re a very inquisitive kid, aren’t you?” To most, Yurak’s flat tone would have been overtly uninviting of further conversation, but Cossack either did not notice or did not care enough to heed the unspoken request.
“Kid?” Cossack retorted incredulously while Yurak took another swallow of his ale. “I’m no kid.” He flexed his bicep. “Do I look like a kid to you?”
With the slightest hint of a sneer tugging at his lips as he replied, Yurak said, “Don’t worry; I won’t check your fake identification.”
“It’s not fake!” an indignant Cossack insisted as he assumed an arrogant and what he considered mature stance. “I’m a year past legal age, for your information.”
“Good for you.” The unimpressed Yurak took another drink of his Yadelian ale.
Leaning closer, Cossack peered at him curiously. “So what about you?”
“What about me?” Yurak asked, musing that it must have been wishful thinking to assume Cossack would consider his previous response the end of their conversation.
“How old are you?”
Realizing that the other man would continue to converse with him until told point blank not to do so, Yurak inwardly debated for a moment if he should do just that, but at the last moment he chose to humor him and answer him instead. “Old enough to know better than to go waving a load of cash around a bunch of degenerate drunks in this part of town,” he said with a harsh look that only a man with half-natural, half-cybernetic eyes like his could. “Here’s some friendly advice: cocky nobility boys like you make nice targets in places like this.”
“Is that the voice of experience?” the unfazed Cossack quipped in response, his eyes alit with amusement.
Yurak met Cossack’s coy answer with a raised brow. “If you need to ask, then obviously you aren’t experienced enough.”
“Says one cocky nobility boy to another.” Cossack took another swig from his tankard.
Yurak uncurled his fingers from around his ale and straightened in such a way that it seemed his ears also straightened, giving him the illusion of even more height from Cossack’s perspective. “I’m a soldier. What makes you so sure I’m a nobility man?”
The younger man’s lips parted in a sly and knowing grin. “The way you talk. You use bigger words than these commoners who probably never had more than five years of literacy schooling.” When Yurak’s natural eye blinked, it was obvious that Cossack’s astuteness had caught him off guard, and it amused him further. “That and most commoners probably would’ve hit me up for cash, a roll in the hay, or at least a drink by now.”
That in turn made Yurak chortle, and he looked Cossack up and down bemusedly. “You think you’re quite the catch, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” Cossack grinned, preening in a way that made it clear he had no shame. “I know it.” He leaned closer to Yurak and added in a more direct tone, “Sad thing is I don’t think you do.”
“Think you’re a catch?” he scoffed incredulously.
“Think you are.” An insulted look flashed across Yurak’s features at Cossack’s response, but he cut him off before he could voice his thoughts. “I’m serious. It radiates off of you. This go-away, get-the-hell-out-of-my-way, leave-me-alone vibe.”
The sharp look on Yurak’s face etched its way deeper. “It must not work that well.”
“Ah, don’t get all bent out of shape,” Cossack said, and flashed him another disarming smile as he leaned against the bar in closer proximity to him. “Besides, I like a challenge.” He lowered his voice and then added as if imparting great wisdom, “But I gotta tell you, it’s not the way to get laid.”
Yurak let out an incredulous snort and took another drink of his ale. “What makes you think that’s why I’m here? Because that’s why you’re here?”
Cossack’s grin widened. “You got it!”
“You and I aren’t here for the same reasons.”
“Sure we are,” Cossack argued.
“No, we’re not,” Yurak insisted.
“Uh-huh.” Cossack nodded feverishly, refusing to concede the point. “Give me a break. Nobody hangs around a joint like this for the ambiance.” He enunciated the last word in a perfect execution of a high nobility snooty accent.
Yurak swished the dregs of what remained of his ale around. “Including me. I’m only here because some of my men brought me here.”
Cossack’s eyes lit up with interest. “Your men? You a fleet guy or a royal guardsman?” He looked over the other man’s attire, but Yurak’s plain civilian clothing held no clue as to what his duty might entail.
“Fleet. I made a new rank today.” A faint smile of pride crossed his lips as he said it. “They wanted to come celebrate with me.”
Glancing around at the distinct lack of social company surrounding Yurak, Cossack made a face. “Nice pals you got there, tough guy. What, did they take off as soon as the free beers ended?”
“They’re not friends; they’re fellow soldiers.”
“They wouldn’t be my friends either if all they bought me was one Yadelian ale before they bailed.” He patted him on the shoulder in a sympathetic gesture. “Tell you what, next one’s on me.”
Yurak’s brow rose again, both at the unsolicited touch and the insulting implication that he would take such a trivial thing personally. “Thanks, but I’m not broken up over it,” he retorted sarcastically. “And they bought more than one.”
Cossack smiled back at him. “That’s okay; I’ll buy you one anyway. My offer of congratulations.” Before Yurak could argue, Cossack waved the bartender over and ordered him to refill Yurak’s drink.
Although Yurak had not intended to stay after finishing his last ale, he decided to accept the other man’s generosity, and gave him a gracious nod when it was handed to him. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” Cossack clinked his tankard against Yurak’s, and then drained the remains of his own. “So where did your buddies take off to before they ditched you, anyway?”
Yurak shrugged. “To lose their money in the back or to run off with whatever they picked up, or whatever picked them up.”
“Aw, and no one picked you up? Even though it was your party?”
“I’ll survive,” Yurak said dryly. “Besides, I have standards.”
“I can tell,” Cossack said with a knowing smile. “You don’t even drink cheap beer.”
Yurak ran his thumb along the edge of the stein. “Indeed. And I don’t like to even think about what you could wind up with from some of the sleaze around here.” His nose wrinkled in snobbish distaste.
Cossack leaned back against the bar and stretched out, his tight shirt taut against his well-toned midsection as he did so, and cast an evaluating look around the room. “Yeah, some of ‘em are pretty nasty,” he said, turned back to Yurak, and continued with a confident smile, “but as long as you can handle yourself…”
“And you can.” It was not clear from his wry tone whether he thought Cossack actually could handle himself or not, or if he was just mocking him.
Regardless, it inspired the smile on Cossack’s face to spread back into a full-fledged cocky grin. “You betcha. I never ran into anything I couldn’t handle yet.” Cossack lengthened his stretch, his forearms brushing against Yurak’s, and in that proximity the other man could not help but notice how brazenly Cossack laid himself out like a fine piece of meat to be snatched by anything salivating for a piece of it, eager and willing to be devoured. Yurak had the thought that if he made a habit of seeking attention that way in the sort of place they were in, one day Cossack might well find himself surprised at what bit, that was, if he was lucky enough to survive to nurse the wounds.
“There’s a first for everything.” Yurak’s enhanced vision traced the contours of other man’s reclined form once more before he added with a pointed look, “And if I was you, I’d be more careful about the kind of attention you’re going after.”
Cossack could feel Yurak’s eyes upon him as he spoke, but rather than finding it intimidating or startling, it flattered and encouraged him instead, and he rose to his feet to contest the remark. “You think I can’t handle it?” He leaned over into Yurak’s personal space and slapped his palm down on the bar between Yurak’s hand and his ale. “Let me tell you something,” Cossack moved in close to the other man’s large blue-furred ear, addressing him in a whisper that was both aggressive and suggestive, “I can handle anything, or anyone, in this dive any day of the week.”
Neither the challenge inherent in nor the undertone lacing his statement was lost on Yurak, and he in turn found himself eyeing the brazen younger man with an equal measure of interest. He was not one to back down from a challenge, and the notion of being the one to put the cocky nobility whelp’s limits to the test was surprisingly tempting. Arrogance aside, Cossack was an attractive youth that met his non-riffraff standards, and it had been some time since he had indulged himself in such a liaison. “Heh,” Yurak said after a long moment, “Can you now?”
When he heard the impassioned note that crept into Yurak’s voice, calling his bluff, Cossack leaned the slightest bit closer and informed him boldly, “Yeah. Anyone.” He then added so that there would be no mistake that it was indeed personal, “Tough guy.”
Strong fingers grasped Cossack’s wrist in a viselike grip in nonverbal acceptance of the challenge, and Yurak stared hard into the younger man’s defiant eyes. “I’d like to see that.”
Licking his lips, which still tasted of the beer he had finished earlier, Cossack studied Yurak’s harsh countenance in the dim lighting of the bar. He found his unyielding stare coupled with the tight grip and roughly spoken words daring him to prove himself an irresistible attraction. “I’d enjoy it,” he told him with a roguish grin.
“I bet you would.” Yurak’s mouth parted in a smirk wide enough to show his fangs that time, and he tightened his fingers. He felt Cossack tense and subtly writhe against it, but the only outward indicator Cossack let show that Yurak was getting to him was the increasingly flustered and smug gleam in his yellow eyes.
“Just say when and where,” Cossack said, flexing his fingers against the bar in response to the way Yurak brushed his thumb against the underside of his wrist. The touch was not tender nor was it a threat; rather it simply teased and quickened his pulse, leaving Cossack wondering in which direction it would go if given in more discreet circumstances.
Without releasing him Yurak then stood abruptly, and it was as he forced himself into even closer proximity to Cossack in that standing position that the younger man realized how much taller the soldier was than he. “You familiar with the area?” Yurak questioned.
Cossack nodded. “Familiar enough.”
“Good.” Yurak leaned closer and said quietly enough so that only Cossack could hear, “The hotel across the street two blocks east, be there in fifteen minutes.” He drew his thumb a little more wantonly against the other man’s wrist, feeling the subtle contour of his vein pulsing at a heightened pace just beneath the other man’s comparatively smooth blue skin. “If you’re sure you can handle it,” he added in an aggressive, overtly suggestive whisper.
He then let Cossack go, releasing him with equal force with which he had kept hold of his arm. Shoving him back against the bar, Yurak picked up his Yadelian ale for a final taste and after he took it, he handed it to Cossack. “Finish this for me. It’d be a shame to see it go to waste.” He took a step backward and smiled at him. “And don’t guzzle it. You can’t appreciate it that way.” Yurak then turned and walked out, leaving Cossack alone at the bar.
Grinning slyly as he watched him depart, Cossack threw his head back and took one big defiant gulp of the ale, even though he did let it to linger on his tongue for a few moments before swallowing. “Not bad.” He glanced at the timepiece for quick reference before weaving back through the crowd, Yadelian ale in hand.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later Cossack walked into the hotel lobby. It was one of the better ones in town, although only the suites would be considered up to snuff for most of Doom’s nobility. Still, it was a far cry from the sort of seedy establishment that charged by the hour or had vermin in the rooms, and the gleaming black marble of the walls reflecting the firelight from the polished wall torches created a welcome and inviting atmosphere. Cossack glanced around the mostly vacant lobby for the face he was looking for, but did not see him yet. Wondering briefly if he had been stood up, and more than a little aggravated and disappointed if that was the case, he sat in one of the cushy velour chairs and waited.
It was less than a minute later when he was proven impatient as opposed to suckered, and he saw Yurak emerge from an elevator on the far side of the lobby. He spotted Cossack quickly and made brief but unmistakable eye contact, but did not walk directly over to him. Cossack recognized it as a play of discretion. That was a game that tended to bore him, but it was not unexpected and he did not mind. The anticipation whetted his appetite, and he suspected the other man was not so much more patient than he that he would drag it out unnecessarily, not if how easily he had gotten a rise out of him at the bar was any indication.
After stopping to make a brief inquiry at the desk, Yurak walked slowly over to where Cossack sat, in a chair by a projection unit that was giving the local weather forecast. Without turning to look at him, he said, “Room 313. Next elevator.”
Cossack watched him from his seated position, but Yurak only looked briefly in his direction, long enough to see him nod. Then, with just a pleased gleam in his natural eye as a giveaway to the unspoken intent of their meeting, he returned to the elevator and disappeared a moment later.
The game now in motion once more, Cossack rose to his feet and ambled over to one of the lobby mirrors. He smoothed down his unruly sand-colored hair and eyed his reflection for a moment, smiling confidently back at it, and then made his way to the elevator. The ride to the third floor was short, and it did not take him long to find the door bearing the number 313 either. His pulse quickened just the slightest bit as he extended his fist to the door to knock.
The door opened, revealing a decidedly complacent Yurak on the other side. “You came.” He gestured for him to enter.
Still grinning, Cossack accepted said invitation and walked past. “I showed up, anyway.”
With a slight smirk at the entendre, Yurak shut the door. “I’m impressed.”
Cossack paused beside him and flashed him a suggestive look, encouraged by the crack in his serious veneer. “I didn’t think we’d gotten to know each other that well yet.”
Yurak put a strong hand upon Cossack’s shoulder and gave him a subtle but definite nudge toward the room proper. “Make yourself comfortable. It’s not too bad; I’ve stayed in worse anyway.”
Taking the hint he went forward into the room, and stopped
by the edge of the bed, a posh king-sized mattress covered in luxuriant bedding
with a gold-inlaid fanged skull design upon the headboard. With an eye on Yurak, he picked up one of the
room’s complementary wine glasses and tapped it. “
“Probably because the commoners steal it.” Yurak did not even bother to glance at it; his attention was focused upon his guest instead. The light from the warm glow of the vaguely tentacle-shaped glass lamps on either side of the bed flattered him, highlighting the lighter strands in Cossack’s hair, his sly and boyish smile, and the fiery gleam asking for trouble in his eyes.
“S’okay,” Cossack replied as he took a step closer to Yurak, eyeing him in a similarly appreciative manner. Alone in the room with him, the commanding military presence Yurak had shown a hint of when he had first stood up beside him back in the bar was now strikingly evident. Cossack could easily picture a man like Yurak shouting orders, at the helm of a battleship, or brandishing a weapon. He imagined that at whatever rank he had just made, Yurak cut an imposing figure in uniform as well. He certainly cut an intimidating enough one in civilian clothes, although Cossack himself was not intimidated, even if Yurak was a full head taller than him. Rather, Cossack found the notion of tangling with someone who had more than beer muscles an exciting prospect, one he was confident that he was up to. He set the glass down and took another step toward him. “I’m not that much of a snob.”
In that close proximity and no longer distracted by the noisy chaos or mingled scents of liquor, perfume, smoke, and food in the bar, Yurak could now detect the lingering traces of Cossack’s last drink upon his breath. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips when he recognized it. “Why do you think I gave you my Yadelian ale before I left?” He studied the contours of the other man’s lips and mused as to whether or not they would still taste of it as strongly as his breath smelled of it. “I hate the taste of cheap drinks.”
“I’m hurt. You ought to know I’m not cheap.” The sarcasm rolled sweetly off Cossack’s tongue as he met the other man’s intense look through half-lidded eyes.
Taking a bold step forward, Yurak forced Cossack a step backward and pressed him against the wall. “You love being coy, don’t you?” The question came out more as an observation, a heated one that indicated Yurak found the notion both infuriating and attractive at once.
The same cocky grin that Cossack had worn in the bar earlier resurfaced once more, parting his lips to show his fangs and the tip of his tongue in unashamed mirth, especially as Yurak leaned forward, closing the gap between him and the wall until there was none. “Yeah.”
With surprising force Yurak slammed his palm onto the wall beside Cossack’s shoulder, trapping him there. Cossack felt the other man’s body lean hard against his, and in playful defiance of it, he put his hand on Yurak’s torso as if he would either shove him back or grope him, but did neither. Instead he only flexed his fingertips ever so slightly against his musculature and craned his neck at just the right angle to meet his mouth.
“You’re so arrogant,” Yurak breathed in a near growl, his lips just grazing Cossack’s.
“Mmm-hmm,” Cossack murmured again without shame, and slid his hand along the other man’s back. Yurak pressed harder, pinning Cossack against the wall more firmly, while Cossack dispelled any notion that he had gotten the better of him by tensing his body against his and drawing Yurak just as tightly against him as their mouths met in a hungry kiss.
Through parted lips their tongues pressed and twisted against one another, each man probing and tasting the mouth of the other in a subtle struggle for control in which neither gained or conceded ground. In that kiss Yurak learned that Yadelian ale did indeed drown out the undesirable traces of Cossack’s cheaper fare from earlier in the evening, and while Cossack detected nothing unexpected in Yurak’s taste or scent, it did come as a pleasant surprise for him to discover as his fingers traversed beneath his shirt that the subtle coating of fur on Yurak’s skin was thicker and silkier upon his back.
When their lips broke apart, they did not separate. Yurak circled an arm around Cossack’s waist and explored the contours of his lower back and flank while Cossack writhed deliberately against him, one hard muscled body against another. Cossack could feel the heat of Yurak’s quickened breath upon his neck, and as he laid his head against his chest in a sultry nuzzle, he deliberately drew his thigh against the now prominent bulge in the other man’s crotch. He chuckled smugly when he heard Yurak’s breath stagger with a faint grumble of pleasure.
He did not have time to get too smug, however, before Yurak used the leverage of his height and position to force Cossack back firmly against the wall again, moving the arm he had initially used to trap him there just enough aside so that he did not crush it as he ground his hips against the other man’s in a lascivious manner. Yurak’s hungry lips claimed Cossack’s once more, and with his weight effectively keeping his partner in place, his hands did not remain idle long. Within moments the hem of Cossack’s shirt was pulled free from the confines of his pants despite the presence of a belt, and after a brief foray across the taut skin of his torso and belly, they landed upon said belt. It was unfastened and pulled free with one hand just as Cossack’s fingertips reached and began to fondle their own prize, the bulging swell in Yurak’s pants.
Yurak threw the belt to the floor with surprising force after Cossack started stroking him. “I’m not here to be teased,” he growled in a tone that seemed almost as angry as it did aroused, and grabbed Cossack roughly by the arm. “And you came to get some, so get it.” Pulling back abruptly, he stepped backward and hauled Cossack with him toward the bed.
Cossack grinned with naughty intent. “Whatever you say, tough guy.” He shoved forward with his own weight hard enough so that Yurak was forced the extra step backward that caused them both to tumble onto the bed. Once there, Cossack rolled to straddle him, but as a trained soldier, Yurak was used to grappling and managed to block him from completing the move, leaving them side by side on the mattress.
Their mouths met for a series of eager and impatient kisses while their legs tangled and hands wandered with even more abandon. Cossack tugged roughly on Yurak’s charcoal-colored shirt, hiking it up so that it exposed his chiseled abdominals and a lightly-furred belly button, which he traced with a fingertip. Yurak in the meantime forced his knee between Cossack’s and rubbed his erection in just as blatant a way as Cossack had him moments before, except that in that position Yurak was able to take longer, more deliberate strokes than the other man had, a situation of which he took full advantage.
Cossack let out an audible groan of excitement. “I don’t like to be teased either,” he protested, even as he writhed against the pleasurable touch. He nipped at the nape of Yurak’s neck, just below his ear, fangs grazing the fur.
Closing his fingers around Cossack’s erection in a manner distinctly similar to the way he had grabbed his wrist earlier, Yurak replied, “Who said I was teasing?” He massaged his cock with his thumb tip just below the head, which even through his pants sent an incredible shiver through the other man. In that moment of distraction Yurak shifted and straddled Cossack, watching his pleasured wriggle beneath him with smug satisfaction.
“Strip.” He barked it like an order, and after giving his captive prize one more toying rub, he released it and Cossack entirely, leaning back on his knees.
Cossack sat up and paused at the edge of the bed, watching Yurak pull off his boots and then his shirt, and grinned appreciatively at the sight of his half naked body. “Fleet training keeps you guys in good shape.” He then added with a wry smile that came from more intimate knowledge as he removed his own shirt, “But I kinda noticed that already.”
His sly remark went unacknowledged, although not unnoticed, as Yurak watched Cossack’s unruly hair tumble about his strong and now bare blue shoulders while he flipped the discarded garment onto to a chair over his shoulder with a surprisingly fluid and precise motion for someone so irreverent and flippant. “You ever train with a weapon?” Yurak asked, curious as to whether it was honed skill or natural talent.
“Nah. Well, other than whatever’s handy when I get into it with my brothers and sisters… or jerks that start up with me in places like I met you,” he added with a wink.
“Heh.” Yurak drew his gaze over the contours of the other man’s pectorals and biceps. “I bet you’d do well with a lash or chain weapon. Whip, morning star, maybe even an electrolash.” He met his face again. “But your attitude wouldn’t make you popular as officer material. Superiors hate it.”
Striding toward him confidently, Cossack pointed out, “You got attitude, and you just got promoted.”
“I’m not a cocky loudmouth.”
“Maybe not a loudmouth,” Cossack countered, smiling as he curled his fingers around the edge of his pants, preparing to pull them down. He felt Yurak’s gaze intent upon him as he slid them an inch or so, and he shifted so that Yurak had the best possible view. “But I think we got ‘cocky’ in common. And I think you like me that way.”
His pants hit the floor and Cossack stepped out of them to return to the bed. “What I like,” Yurak informed him with an appreciative leer on his face as he climbed onto the mattress, “is seeing you put your money where your mouth is.”
Standing on his knees on the bed, Cossack reached for Yurak where he stood beside it and undid his still-fastened pants. “I think you’d like my money in your mouth.”
“You do,” Yurak chortled, assisting Cossack in the cause of stripping him by shoving the last of his clothing downward and off. “And what makes you think I don’t plan on shutting your big mouth by giving you something to fill it with?”
Cossack’s eyes darted down to take in the sight of the other man’s now exposed cock, hard as steel and free to be touched and pleased as his own. “So that’s what you want, huh?” he queried, flirtatious but still serious. “You do for me and I do for you?” He took Yurak’s arm and drew him toward the bed, pulling his standing naked body against his own, kneeling upon the mattress. As their hips ground together, erections tingling with unspent desire, and their bodies made full skin-to-skin contact, Yurak slid his arm around Cossack’s waist while Cossack grasped the back of his neck, fingers lacing through his thick blue hair, and kissed him again.
“I thought you could handle more than that,” Yurak remarked when the kiss ended, his voice rough with desire and unsated lust.
Yurak’s impatient hands began to caress and knead Cossack’s bared lower back and flank, while Cossack reached down and stroked the other man’s erection, rubbing it between his fingers and against his own. “Who said I can’t? But who doesn’t like a blow job?” He stroked a little faster. “Or maybe you like it better with hands.”
“Or maybe I just want to fuck you,” Yurak countered, and shoved Cossack down onto the bed, pinning him beneath him. Instantly they were in an intimate tangle of squirming limbs that alternately sought to take control and give or seek pleasure.
“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it,” Cossack retorted brazenly, the palm of his hand stroking up and down the other man’s hardness, while his fingertips touched and fondled the velvety sack behind them. He nibbled at the side of one of Yurak’s ears and added in a breathy whisper, “And yeah, I can take it.” He bit down, and then kissed the spot he had nipped. “Give me all you’ve got.”
Yurak’s fingers found their way to the opening he had just been given free license to violate, and he rubbed the muscle in tandem with the way Cossack stroked his hard member. “What, you aren’t going to ask me to be gentle?”
“Like you would anyway.” The pleasurable sensation of being touched, and then penetrated with a fingertip a moment later made Cossack buck and squirm into a better position; one atop the man probing him in such a way. “Besides,” he said as he leaned over his face, his long and unruly hair spilling onto Yurak’s chest, “it’d be kind of like me trying to tell you I’ve never done this kind of thing before.” His ale-scented breath was hot upon his face as he grinned down at Yurak. “You’d never buy it.”
“No. And I’d respect you less if you tried it.” With their shift in position, Cossack was no longer stroking Yurak so deftly, and had taken instead to complacently allowing him to work his finger back and forth and rocking against that motion atop him. That was frustrating to Yurak, although it did wonders for his motivation to follow through on his intent. The throb of unfulfilled lust in his loins, magnified each time the other man’s body brushed against it, coupled with the smug look on Cossack’s face was enough to make Yurak want to take him so hard and with such fervor that it would wipe that grin off his face for some time to come.
Groaning again as a second finger joined the first inside him, Cossack flopped forward, supported by his palms, panting with lust. Yurak lay back flat against the mattress and forced Cossack in that pliant state closer against his body, and reached with his free hand through the tangled mass of hair to grab him at the crux of the neck and shoulder blade. He tilted the other man’s head back, and Cossack smiled back at him, clearly excited rather than intimidated by the brutish use of force. “At least that means you respect me some, tough guy. I’ll take that. I respect anyone that can get me on my knees and like being there.”
“You’re going to be there a long time,” Yurak said in a hungry growl right before he drew up his knees to trap Cossack on his midsection, clenched his neck to hold him there, and abruptly sat up.
The force of the movement caught Cossack by surprise, and as he put out a hand to balance himself, Yurak released him and rose to his knees. Cossack got up beside him, trailing fingers from the other man’s muscular furred thighs up to and along his midsection in a teasing manner, until he met his gaze. Cossack opened his mouth to make some witty remark, but Yurak silenced him before he could speak. One hand roughly grasped each side of his torso at the hip, and he leaned forward almost as if he was going to kiss him, cutting him off, but at the last second he spoke instead, gruff and impatient. “Shut up and comply. Now,” he ordered while his fingertips pressed into the firm blue cheeks of Cossack’s rump.
Eyes alit with an equal measure of lust and anticipation, Cossack replied, “I bet that’s how you give orders on a battleship, too.”
Yurak’s response was to shove Cossack into the position he wanted him in, and he did not protest that aside from grinning a little wider at the lack of denial from Yurak at his observation. Cossack’s breath grew heavy and ragged as Yurak drew his body against his, and he could feel the other man’s erection pressing against the cleft of his cheeks. He wriggled against it, enjoying the warm feel of the warm throbbing flesh against him, and let out a spoken murmur of pleasure as Yurak’s arm circled around him and his fingers closed around his stiff member, touching him exactly how he wanted to be touched. He made that evident by the way he panted harder, leaned his head back against Yurak’s chest, and ran his hand along the length of his furred arm.
Yurak let out a pleased chortle. “Enjoying that, are you?” he whispered into the other man’s ear, and reached around with his other arm to catch Cossack’s hand in the midst of absently rubbing his forearm. Yurak guided the errant hand down to cover his other one, still deftly stroking Cossack, and had him follow the motions with him. “Good. Then cover me for a minute.” Yurak then withdrew both hands abruptly, leaving Cossack’s to fall on himself. He looked quizzically at Yurak, but did not disappoint him, or himself, by stopping what Yurak had started.
The sight of Cossack watching him with such curious bedroom eyes while pleasuring himself was decidedly enticing to Yurak, and caused him to fumble as he rummaged in the nightstand drawer for what he was looking for. Cossack could not help but snicker when the drawer fell out onto the floor in an unseemly racket, but ultimately victorious, Yurak still managed to get what he was after before it fell—a small tube bearing the hotel logo. “This place has complementary lube?” he said incredulously, his snickers erupting into full-fledged laughter and his hand motions halting for the moment although he did not let go of himself. “Did you know that when you picked it?”
“The better hotels all have it,” Yurak informed him as he slicked a generous amount onto his fingers. “I’d think a worldly nobility boy like you’d know that. Or are you still in the brothel, back room, and backseat of the transport craft stage of sexual conquests?”
Cossack pouted in mock insult. “I don’t feel the need to treat ‘em all to the high-class treatment, no.” He inhaled sharply as Yurak’s now slippery fingers traced their way into the cleft of his buttocks, and leaned into the touch. “But I’m not complaining that you do.” His cocky smile resurfaced as he felt one of those fingers slide into him once more. “I certainly deserve it.”
“Arrogant prick,” Yurak muttered in a tone that sounded far more admiring than the choice of words would imply, and he descended upon Cossack with renewed zeal.
A second finger joined the first, and as both moved with less patience and more purpose, Cossack’s own fingers began to play upon himself once more. “Takes one to know one,” he retorted in an equally lusty breath.
That breath halted as Yurak added a third finger to the mix, and his lips closed around the edge of Cossack’s pointed blue ear. “And I’m about to know you real well,” he said in an aggressive whisper, using his fingers to emulate the motions of the sex both of them anticipated hungrily. Abruptly the fingers were then withdrawn, and Cossack felt the blunt prod of the other man’s erection where they had been. He exhaled and closed his eyes as Yurak’s hands clamped onto his thighs and Yurak pushed himself inside him—not too fast, but not what one would call slow or gentle, either.
Even with the benefit of lubrication the sensation of penetration was intense, and Cossack could not help but gasp as the other man filled him. Yurak moved slowly at first, sliding his hands over Cossack’s thighs and belly, relishing the feel of his body’s contours as he began to thrust within him. Regardless of how often Cossack partook of such encounters as theirs, Yurak found his body delightfully solid and tight, and he moved and writhed against Yurak so pleasantly that it was hard for him to resist the temptation to simply pin him down and pound him for a few delicious minutes and have it over all too quick.
Pulse racing with desire as he took him, Yurak nuzzled against Cossack’s tussled mane of hair, his heated breath stirring it against the other man’s neck. Over his shoulder he saw proof that Cossack was as excited as he, for his hand moved at an equally fervent pace pleasuring himself. For a few long moments, Yurak watched that with all the detail afforded by his cybernetic vision, and then slid his hand around again, edging the other man’s fingers out of the way, wordlessly taking over what he had started earlier.
Eyes closed and panting with heavy distraction, Cossack conceded to Yurak’s touch and surrendered his satisfaction to his mercy. Laying his head back against the other man’s chest, Cossack let out a pleasured groan while Yurak stroked him in rhythm with his thrusts, and called out breathless demands when he wanted it faster or harder, to which Yurak was all to happy to comply. It was not long before the combined pleasure of the rough sex, stimulating that sensitive spot deep inside him, along with having those blue-furred fingers so deftly work his cock brought Cossack over the edge. He held his breath and then exhaled as he came, coating Yurak’s fingers with his seed in such a way that it gave him one last perverse throb of pleasure watching it.
The tangible proof of Cossack’s gratification fueled Yurak’s lust further, and he thrust harder and faster into him while smearing it back onto him, serving the dual purpose of an erotic touch that shared it between them, and to keep it from clinging unpleasantly to his fur. The breathy and pleasured moan that Cossack let out when he felt Yurak’s furred hand rubbing the inside of his thigh was the trigger for Yurak, and he came hard inside of him, heart racing and natural eye wide open beside its cybernetic counterpart staring directly into the eyes of the golden fanged skull on the headboard as he did so.
Yurak held Cossack against him for a brief moment before pulling out, and afterward he smoothed his hands over Cossack’s shoulders, brushing his wild hair into one thick lock spilling down his back. Satisfied and smug, Cossack turned his head to face him. “I told you I could handle it.”
“I’m impressed,” Yurak replied with an equally complacent look, and pushed a stray lock of hair that fell from the center of Cossack’s forehead back with the rest. “You were better than I expected.”
Left-handed as it was, the complement still made Cossack waggle his brows and grin so wide it nearly split his face. “I hear that a lot—that I’m good, I mean.” He turned around so that he was facing Yurak, and ran his hand over his furred chest, damp with perspiration from their activities. “You weren’t bad yourself, tough guy. I’m glad I picked you up.”
Frowning, Yurak replied, “Is that what you think happened?”
“Yep.” The confident sparkle in Cossack’s eyes made it clear that it was not merely a statement meant to goad, but one he fully believed.
“You came to my room.”
“At your invite, after I bought you a drink,” he countered, and then gave Yurak a playful push, knocking him back against the pillows. Cossack climbed over him on all fours and grinned down at him. “But if you want to say it was you seducing me, that’s okay. The sex was good either way.”
Incensed at the younger man’s arrogance again, Yurak grabbed Cossack’s arm and pulled him down on the mattress beside him so that they were on even ground, which he immediately made uneven again in his favor by propping himself up on an arm so that he stared down at Cossack. “If I didn’t have to be on duty at daybreak, I’d…”
“Do me again?” He stared back up at him with an insufferable smirk.
“Teach you a lesson,” Yurak corrected harshly, albeit with a gleam in his eye that hinted otherwise.
“You soldier types got a lot of energy,” Cossack quipped, shifted to his side, and then looked to Yurak curiously. “But if you gotta get up early, I take it you probably don’t want me to stick around and snuggle with you or try for a quickie in the morning, huh?”
Yurak glanced at the door.
“The room’s paid for until the morning check-out anyway. Sometime an hour or two before
Cossack raised a brow, put his hands on Yurak’s shoulders, and gave them a squeeze. “Does this mean tough guy does like to snuggle?” he teased, and then added, “I bet you do keep the bed nice and warm, though.”
Turning around and breaking the embrace, Yurak took one of Cossack’s hands with one hand and put a finger to his lips with the other. “What I don’t like is talking when I’m tired,” he informed him gruffly, it clear that his patience for chatter had worn thin. “Go, or stay, but let me get enough sleep that I can tell the enemy’s ships from ours if I’m called into combat tomorrow.”
With a smile back at him Cossack said, “Gotcha. Wouldn’t want you to screw up on your first day at a new rank.” Playfully he nipped at the finger pressed to his lips, and then laid down beside Yurak, switched off the light on his side, and nestled into the sheets.
Yurak in turn switched his own lamp off, blanketing the room in darkness, and settled against his pillow, a contented look upon his face as he closed his natural eye. That look melted into the slightest smile when the back of Cossack’s calf rubbed against his, and he heard the other man let out a soft sigh of equal relaxation and contentment. It was the last thing on his mind, that and the thought that he was glad he had been talked into going out after all, before sleep claimed him.
* * *
Dawn came and went, and when Cossack awoke he saw that Yurak was long gone with no sign he had been there at all, save for the unseemly stains on the sheets and some rumpled towels from the bathroom that Cossack had not used. Cossack frowned slightly as he got up and pulled on his pants. Although he did not exactly expect to have been woken and given some tender parting words and a kiss goodbye—in fact, such a thing would have weirded him out, especially coming from someone like Yurak—a note saying thanks for the good time or even a hastily scrawled communicator frequency might have been nice.
Cossack pulled open the drapes and saw that it was a typical cloudy day on Doom, gray skies, but not windy or rainy by the looks of things. He pulled his shirt off of the chair where he had tossed it the night before and shook the worst of the wrinkles out it before putting it back on. He then went over to one of the mirrors to see how he looked the morning after. He was relieved to see that his exposed skin was unblemished and free of unsightly hickies or bruises that would make an explanation to someone he knew awkward, but to his dismay, his hair was a lost cause. It was hard to keep neat on a good day, but activities like the ones he had engaged in the night before really did a number on it. There was a knot on one side that had started when Yurak grabbed him by the neck that had grown like a robeast on certified chow overnight into a hideous tangled creation that even his fingers could not properly break up.
He scanned the area for something to brush it out with, but found none. “This place gives you free lube but not a comb. I don’t believe it.” He shook his head and tugged at it best he could, and eventually decided to smooth it down with water and deal with it later. It was as he walked to the bathroom that Cossack saw a small breakfast assortment on the end table, presumably brought in by Yurak early that morning. The warmer was still on for the drink and there were some pastries worth eating, so he helped himself to one.
It was as he ate that powdered roll that it occurred to him that the other man had thought to leave him something to eat, trusted him to leave the room without incident, but had not told him his name or even the rank he had made that he had been out celebrating in the first place. Well, odds are I’ll never see him again anyway. Cossack grabbed another roll off the platter for the road, took one last look around the room to make sure he had not forgotten anything, and walked out, locking the door behind him.
* * *
A week and a half later at a swanky nobility party in Castle Doom, one of King Zarkon’s famous celebrations honoring his victory in capturing another planet for his empire, two of his ranking nobles, Lord Sevakor and Lady Visycka of houses Tonorm’oith and Aldar’ach respectively, were engaged in a pleasant conversation. Sevakor, also one of Zarkon’s elite circle of high admirals, had just finished proudly telling the noblewoman about his son’s recent promotion to the rank of force captain.
“Oh, our oldest boy recently signed up for the fleet service himself,” Visycka told him, and added with a wry smile over her wine goblet, “Pulled that one on us a little over two weeks ago, and told us after the fact of course. He’s slated to begin training next week. Had we known, we’d have talked him out of it. Our first son, we need him for the family business.”
“Really?” Sevakor said back to her, “Well, perhaps he’ll wind up doing your family proud in another venue. And you do have four others. I’m sure one of them must have a head for the winery operations, shrewd a woman as you are, Visycka.”
The well-dressed noblewoman gave her peer a humoring smile. “Well, maybe if he wasn’t our oldest. But you know how it is; he’s the heir and all. Makes me nervous.” She waved her hand melodramatically.
“Ah, my boy’s my oldest, Visycka, and I’m not worried in the least,” was the other noble’s unconcerned reply. Glancing to his left he spotted his son, and waved him over. “Yurak! Come here.”
A moment later Yurak was at Sevakor’s side. “Yes Father?” He gave a polite nod of acknowledgment to Visycka.
She smiled noting the two men’s physical resemblance, most prominent in their facial structure and oversized ears, with the key difference being that Sevakor’s complexion was of a darker and more greenish tone and his hair, while fur-like in the manner that Yurak’s was, was noticeably darker than upon his skin. “He certainly does look like you, Sevakor. No denying him.”
“Thank you,” Sevakor responded cordially, and turned to his son. “I was just telling her about your promotion, Yurak.”
“Yes, you should be proud,” the woman interjected. “A force captain at your age, not bad at all. Most of them have a good ten or fifteen years on you.”
A smile of pride touched Yurak’s stern features. “Well I do my best.”
“And I’m sure King Zarkon is pleased, and notices. We’ve scored a lot of political coups with the recent conquests. Don’t think he won’t reward those that help him to the top; you can always count on our mighty king for that.” Visycka raised her jeweled golden goblet in a toast and took a sip.
“Indeed,” Sevakor agreed, following suit, before turning to Yurak. “One of Visycka’s boys just joined the fleet, one of the recruits scheduled to begin training next week. Did you know that?”
“No.” Yurak recalled seeing some familiar nobility names posted on the roster, but had not recognized any of them as anyone he knew more than as acquaintances or as relations to acquaintances. Exclusive as it was, Doom’s nine high noble houses had many branches and many offspring in each, as the nobility’s credo was “breed well and breed often,” a philosophy that kept their ranks well-populated even in turbulent war-ridden times.
It was Visycka’s turn to smile with pride. “Yup. Going to put me in early grave with worry, that one, if he doesn’t drive me up a wall first.” She sighed and added in a low tone, “I’ll tell you this much off the record, the discipline will do him good. He’s a good boy, smarter than he acts, and I’m sure he’ll make one heck of a fighter, but nailing him down in one spot and getting him to focus is a nice trick in and of itself.” She straightened and craned her neck, scanning the crowd until she spied him. “There he is!” She waved her arm wildly and shouted, “Cossack!”
Yurak did not recognize the name beyond having heard it mentioned in passing, but he did recognize the face when it turned toward them. The wide-eyed start of recognition that flashed across Cossack’s face was fleeting, but unmistakable, and it matched the startled widening of Yurak’s natural eye that mercifully neither Sevakor nor Visycka noticed.
“Come over here, Cossack!” Visycka’s voice shouted over the din of the crowd. Yurak forced a neutral expression while Visycka’s son strode over with the same confident swagger and self-assured grin that Yurak remembered all too well from the meeting he was certain neither of their parents knew they had.
“Mom,” Cossack greeted Visycka with a nod, and casually turned his gaze in the direction of Sevakor, and then Yurak.
Yurak and Cossack’s eyes lingered upon one another for a moment while Visycka explained her reasons for calling him over. “Sevakor was just telling me about his son’s promotion to force captain, Cossack, so naturally, I had to tell them about you and you just surprised us all and joined their ranks.”
Sevakor nodded to Cossack and shook his hand. “Good to meet you, Cossack. On behalf of King Zarkon’s royal fleet, best of luck to you. It’s always good to see a fine nobility man joining our ranks, isn’t that right Yurak?” He glanced over to his son.
Yurak extended his hand to Cossack as expected. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said, the very picture of stolid social decorum appropriate for such a situation.
Cossack on the other hand did not have it in him to so completely disregard their previous meeting, and in defiance of Yurak’s aloof demeanor, flashed the friendly smile that served him so well at winning friends and influencing others, including the force captain he had supposedly just met. “Oh, the pleasure is all mine.” His words had the desired effect on Yurak; Cossack was positive he saw his lips twitch in a distinctly uncomfortable way as he said them.
The small talk continued for a few minutes, although they felt far longer to both Yurak and Cossack, who stepped away at the first socially feasible convenience. Once alone, Yurak remarked to him quietly, “First son of Aldar’ach? You never mentioned that when you said you were one of the nobility.”
“Neither did you, Force Captain Tough Guy—High Admiral Sevakor’s son and heir of his house, no less,” he retorted with a bemused grumble, and stared up at Yurak.
“You also didn’t tell me you’d joined the fleet.” It seemed that Yurak found that omission more offensive than that of his name and social status, especially since the subject had come up in their time together.
Cossack shrugged as if it was no big deal. “You didn’t tell me you were a force captain.”
“You do realize you could wind up reporting to me,” Yurak scoffed, shook his head, and lowered his voice further. “And that there are strict regulations against…”
“Getting it on with your direct reports?” Cossack interjected, discreetly but bluntly. His smug grin resurfaced. “What can I say? I’m good. I managed to break a regulation before I even got started. And besides, you never asked.”
Irritated at the trivialization of the matter, Yurak’s expression grew sterner. “You ought keep in mind what I told you.”
“About my attitude?”
Yurak nodded. “Superiors hate it.”
Cossack’s grin widened. “You don’t.”
The brow above Yurak’s natural eye rose at that remark. “You should also remember what else I told you.”
With a smirk Cossack queried, “About what’s a freebie at a good hotel, and what isn’t?”
“Not that.” It was hard to tell from his tone whether Yurak was irked or amused, but Cossack suspected it was a measure of both.
Wondering what exactly Yurak did mean, Cossack guessed, “The thing about a lash weapon?”
“Not exactly, although it wouldn’t hurt to keep it in mind.”
“So what then, tough guy?” Cossack asked wryly.
Glaring back at him harshly, Yurak said, “Shut up and comply.”
Had he not seen the knowing gleam in Yurak’s natural eye, Cossack might well have been offended, but as it stood he just grinned back at Yurak, fangs exposed in a gesture of silent mirth, infuriating him for what would not be the last time. “Yes, Sir.”
The End
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