So, big American holiday Thursday. My husband and I managed to find a ridiculously expensive turkey (live, naturally) and have taken on the task of being the ones to prepare it for our coalescing American community tomorrow. And by prepare I mean kill, clean, and cook. We're learning a lot about fowl right now, in preparation for this momentous occasion. For example, turkeys might not be the best flyers, but the dudes have a vertical, wing-assisted jump that puts pro basketball players to shame. When you hobble them to prevent this sort of gymnastic maneuver, they can and will claw you. Also, they shit incessantly. Also, neighbors who tolerate the barking of your dog are not all that inclined to tolerate the barking of said dog supplemented by a harmony of turkey gobbling, despite the loudness of their own goats/sheep/pigs/offspring. Such noise is also not condusive to writing, so I understand their discontent.
I'm trying to do NaNoWriMo, more Pandora and get Shadows and Light beta'd, but at this point I'm shooting for a 33% success rate for the evening.
Happy Thanksgiving to all my American visitors!
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Table Topped snippet
Hi there!
We've had a week with no electricity, and suddenly tonight it came back on! It's time for a celebratory post! In honor of glorious electricity, I give you a snippet from my short story Table Topped, which comes out in December in the anthology I Like To Watch, from Cleis Press. Voyeurs and exhibitionists, mmm. There will follow a real pimping post complete with links soon.
PS-This post is R-rated and m/m themed, so go no further if you're feeling particularly PG tonight.
“What, here?” Michaels exclaims, his voice a lot higher than normal.
“What’s wrong with here?” I murmur in his ear as I pull him close to me again, wrapping my arms around his waist and slipping my fingertips beneath his belt.
“It’s…it’s Mr. Brandt’s office,” Michaels manages. His head is whipping from side to side, taking in everything as though he’s never seen it before. Which, come to think of it, perhaps he hasn’t. Matt Michaels works in accounting, has modest aspirations towards middle management, and a desk covered with pictures of his cat. I’m the vice-president of research and development for our corporation. I’ve been in this office plenty of times, but he’s probably never had reason to before. It’s likely a little intimidating. Lord knows I’ve found it to be so in the past.
“We can’t fuck in Mr. Brandt’s office, Jake,” Michaels hisses. “What if someone walks in? What if he comes in? We’ll both be fired!” Michaels and I have had the occasional interlude before in the workplace, but never in a space quite so…lofty.
“Matthew,” I say evenly as I let one hand drift up to undo his tie, “It’s the evening of the company holiday party. People are probably fucking everywhere right now. In the storage rooms, in the bathrooms, in the goddamn cafeteria…this is the one place we can be sure we’ll be alone. Mr. Brandt has been away on business all week and his secretary doesn’t work nights. We’ll be fine.” I slip his tie off and let it fall to the floor, then start in on his buttons. “Unless you’d prefer waiting in line for the broom closet…”
“No,” Michaels says quickly, leaning his chest into my touch even as his eyes rove over the furniture. I can tell it appeals to him. His nipples are pebble-hard beneath my fingertips and his breathing is fast and shallow. He’s looking at the table. Everyone looks at the table. It’s a goddamn fifteen-foot, lacquered, polished oak phallic symbol. When Henry first put it in I almost laughed myself unconscious.
I get our feet moving in the direction of that table, mindful of providing just the right view. “Do you want me to fuck you here, Matthew?” I purr, stopping my hand after the top few buttons of his shirt are undone. I want to keep some clothes between us, but I love touching his skin as well. Michaels has an incredibly smooth chest, almost certainly the result of careful attention, but so what? I like a man who takes care of himself. He’s a little smaller than I am, a little more slender and ten years younger, but when my hand finally presses against his erection I’m not disappointed. Michaels is just as ready as I am. “Is that what you want? Is this—” I pause and grind my hard-on against his ass, getting a groan out of him, “what you want?”
We've had a week with no electricity, and suddenly tonight it came back on! It's time for a celebratory post! In honor of glorious electricity, I give you a snippet from my short story Table Topped, which comes out in December in the anthology I Like To Watch, from Cleis Press. Voyeurs and exhibitionists, mmm. There will follow a real pimping post complete with links soon.
PS-This post is R-rated and m/m themed, so go no further if you're feeling particularly PG tonight.
Table Topped
by Cari Z
“What, here?” Michaels exclaims, his voice a lot higher than normal.
“What’s wrong with here?” I murmur in his ear as I pull him close to me again, wrapping my arms around his waist and slipping my fingertips beneath his belt.
“It’s…it’s Mr. Brandt’s office,” Michaels manages. His head is whipping from side to side, taking in everything as though he’s never seen it before. Which, come to think of it, perhaps he hasn’t. Matt Michaels works in accounting, has modest aspirations towards middle management, and a desk covered with pictures of his cat. I’m the vice-president of research and development for our corporation. I’ve been in this office plenty of times, but he’s probably never had reason to before. It’s likely a little intimidating. Lord knows I’ve found it to be so in the past.
“We can’t fuck in Mr. Brandt’s office, Jake,” Michaels hisses. “What if someone walks in? What if he comes in? We’ll both be fired!” Michaels and I have had the occasional interlude before in the workplace, but never in a space quite so…lofty.
“Matthew,” I say evenly as I let one hand drift up to undo his tie, “It’s the evening of the company holiday party. People are probably fucking everywhere right now. In the storage rooms, in the bathrooms, in the goddamn cafeteria…this is the one place we can be sure we’ll be alone. Mr. Brandt has been away on business all week and his secretary doesn’t work nights. We’ll be fine.” I slip his tie off and let it fall to the floor, then start in on his buttons. “Unless you’d prefer waiting in line for the broom closet…”
“No,” Michaels says quickly, leaning his chest into my touch even as his eyes rove over the furniture. I can tell it appeals to him. His nipples are pebble-hard beneath my fingertips and his breathing is fast and shallow. He’s looking at the table. Everyone looks at the table. It’s a goddamn fifteen-foot, lacquered, polished oak phallic symbol. When Henry first put it in I almost laughed myself unconscious.
I get our feet moving in the direction of that table, mindful of providing just the right view. “Do you want me to fuck you here, Matthew?” I purr, stopping my hand after the top few buttons of his shirt are undone. I want to keep some clothes between us, but I love touching his skin as well. Michaels has an incredibly smooth chest, almost certainly the result of careful attention, but so what? I like a man who takes care of himself. He’s a little smaller than I am, a little more slender and ten years younger, but when my hand finally presses against his erection I’m not disappointed. Michaels is just as ready as I am. “Is that what you want? Is this—” I pause and grind my hard-on against his ass, getting a groan out of him, “what you want?”
Monday, November 15, 2010
Blogging and balls
This is a bit of a random post, so please forgive me in advance.
Guest blogging on Lisabet Sarai's site was very fun, even though I wasn't able to give her my stuff until a day before the post was supposed to go up. In my defense, the top half of the country had no email access for 5 days, which was maddening but what can you do? Call someone to complain? That presumes your phone works. Still...she was very understanding. Thanks to whomever visited me there, uber thanks to the commenters (yeah, I'm looking at you, T:) and hopefully next time I'll be more focused.
I got accepted to another antho coming out in January with Torquere, which is lovely...I'll get promo stuff up soon.
And now, not that there are many men who read this blog in all likelihood, but if there are: thank you guys for being the ones to carry the testicles around. What a pain that must be. It's on my mind of late because a friend in another village was telling us how they castrate sheep around here, and all the men present were groaning and turning green, and all I could do was think, "I'm so happy that's not me." And I am. Kudos to dudes.
Guest blogging on Lisabet Sarai's site was very fun, even though I wasn't able to give her my stuff until a day before the post was supposed to go up. In my defense, the top half of the country had no email access for 5 days, which was maddening but what can you do? Call someone to complain? That presumes your phone works. Still...she was very understanding. Thanks to whomever visited me there, uber thanks to the commenters (yeah, I'm looking at you, T:) and hopefully next time I'll be more focused.
I got accepted to another antho coming out in January with Torquere, which is lovely...I'll get promo stuff up soon.
And now, not that there are many men who read this blog in all likelihood, but if there are: thank you guys for being the ones to carry the testicles around. What a pain that must be. It's on my mind of late because a friend in another village was telling us how they castrate sheep around here, and all the men present were groaning and turning green, and all I could do was think, "I'm so happy that's not me." And I am. Kudos to dudes.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Pandora Post #5
Well, at least I did something productive while I couldn't access the internet...
Title: Pandora
Part Five: Subtle and Overt
Notes: This is the next part of a spin-off story of a series I posted on Literotica (titled Bonded, as Carizabeth) and the subject matter is m/m sci fi. This particular part does have graphic depictions of sex, making it an NC-17 rating, I suppose. The first parts can be found a few posts down. I’ll put them all in the same place soon. Don’t read it if you don’t want to, people. See the above rating! If you do read though, enjoy! If you enjoy, let me know:)
Garrett Caractacus didn’t believe in making decisions in a vacuum. He might habitually radiate inconstancy and caprice, but when it came to the important things he was entirely a scientist, putting far more stock in rationality and research than he did in gut impulses. Garrett weighed facts, tested hypotheses and explored all the available avenues before deciding on one. It was a method that had only failed him once in the past, and that had been less of an abject failure and more of a lose/lose situation.
One the one hand, there was the prospect of going to Pandora. Garrett had prevaricated with his father out loud, but internally he agreed with Miles. Odds were good that he’d be offered the position as the expedition’s climatologist again. Pandora meant a lot of new challenges, which would keep his brain from careening into self-indulgent atrophy. It meant travel, probably not in style but you couldn’t have everything. It meant another nice tag for his résumé, and another chance for him to demonstrate that he was more than a parasite clinging to his father’s career. It meant a good, objective opportunity to assess his life and figure out what had propelled him into his interminable brown study.
On the other hand, he could decline the offer. That opened up a lot of different options, from staying here on Paradise doing nothing to heading back to the central worlds, to finding an exciting lover and cruising for a while, to…Garrett ran out of things. Those things he’d listed were big things, but they didn’t seem very enticing at the moment. After all, he’d had the opportunity to pursue those options for months, and he’d fallen into the first one by dint of sheer ennui. The others just weren’t motivational enough, not even the prospect of new and interesting sex.
Experimentations followed, subtle and overt tests of the malaise that had settled over his life. Garrett spent a lot of time with Wyl, working on his ship. The designs Wyl was engraving into the engine casing, surprisingly fanciful ones for a man who made his living as a mechanic, were beautiful. They were of strange, elegant spires and masques and faces hiding in the patterns. Wyl talked a lot, often about nothing and more often about Robbie, and Garrett listened and responded appropriately and enjoyed the cheerful, often lewd flow of words as the friendly distraction it was. He spent time with Robbie and Wyl together, cooking dinner for the couple and listening to them bicker and play. He occasionally spent time with Robbie alone, not often because the man had almost as much to do as Garrett’s father, but it was always good.
Robbie, who was always honest about what he saw, was nevertheless a little hesitant to bring it up with Garrett, who had politely stonewalled Wyl with general reassurances multiple times. Garrett saw his ex’s hesitation and gave in over a shared slice of cheesecake one night as they watched Wyl work, so deep into his creative space that he wouldn’t stop to sleep if someone wasn’t there to make him.
“I’m working some things out,” Garrett offered abruptly, licking the creamy cake off his fork.
“And how’s that going for you?”
Garrett started to shrug, then sat back and sighed. “I’m afraid I’m growing up. Or growing old. Something like that.”
“The fallback pleasures are really starting to pall, huh.”
“Yeah. Which is quite sad, because if you can’t take refuge in hedonism and live a happy life, what hope is there for the universe?”
“Happy and fulfilled aren’t necessarily the same,” Robbie pointed out, stealing the strawberry off the top of the cake slice.
“Well, they’ve always been synonymous before.”
“Then are you going to take the job on Pandora, and see if you can find a new way to be happy?”
“Maybe,” Garrett replied. “Probably. But first I need to get laid.”
Robbie rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Seriously. Maybe my angst is part of a vicious, celibate circle. Maybe finding some pretty young thing to fuck is just what I need.” Garrett grinned at Robbie. “I don’t suppose you and Wyl…”
“No.”
“Of course not. Stick, meet mud. Square peg, here’s your square hole.”
“At least we fit together.” Robbie’s voice was mildly reproving.
“I know you do,” Garrett agreed. “I know you’re good for each other. You’re so disgustingly good for each other that you give Miles and Claudia a run for their money. Do you think you guys will settle here eventually, once the military doesn’t own you body and soul?”
“We’ll see,” Robbie said. “I’ve dragged Wyl around for the past three years; I figure when this tour is over we’ll go wherever he wants.”
“Oh.”
The moment stretched with a strange discomfort, until Robbie reached over and laid his hand across Garrett’s. “You’re going to be all right,” he said seriously. “You’re gifted, Garrett, and you’ve got a lot to give. You’re going to find a place that deserves everything you’ve got and everything you are. I know it.”
Garrett turned his hand over and held on to his former lover’s for a moment, unable to find words but unpressured to come up with any. Robbie, like Miles, was good with silences. After a moment they let each other go and finished the cake. Wyl joined them a few minutes later, having finally hit an acceptable stopping point.
“You ate it all?” he exclaimed. “I’m slaving over your damn ship and you can’t even save me a bite of cheesecake? That stuff came all the way from T’s restaurant!”
“There’s more in the apartment,” Robbie reminded him.
“Will you feed it to me?” Wyl asked with a suggestive grin.
“I might be persuaded,” Robbie agreed.
“God damn you both to hell,” Garrett moaned, visions of cheesecake and naked men swimming in front of his eyes. It was a welcome kick to his libido. “Go have your two-man cheesecake orgy, and then please never tell me any of the details, ever. Not even if I beg.” He stood up. “I’m going out.”
“Happy hunting,” Wyl said, grabbing Robbie by the hand and pulling him away from the table. Garrett walked back into his ship alone, but determined not to stay that way. Not tonight.
Sex was another test of his mood, another experiment to analyze. Garrett dressed in skin-tight, dramatically cut clothes of different shades of sapphire and took himself out onto the town. There were a few decent nightclubs in Rapture and Garrett breezed into one of his old haunts like he’d never left, dazzling the bouncer and attendants with smiles as he went inside.
He wasn’t hunting yet; Garrett just wanted to move and be moved against, to be adored and admired like he was accustomed to. The club was filled with people, men and women and others, and the rapid-paced music was simple and primal and easy to dance to. No intimidating waltzes here to put off his plebian friends. Garrett simply melted into the crowd and let go.
More than a few people knew who he was, and more than that saw him and wanted to know him. For the next few hours Garrett drank his fill of the heated press of flesh on flesh, subconsciously assessing each new dance partner before turning to the next. There were those people who came onto him hard, who promised without words control, domination and mindless ecstasy. Garrett had had that before, and it wasn’t what he was looking for now. There were people who begged for domination as well, needy, sultry, sensuous as they ground against him and swayed lower and lower, offering him a tantalizing preview of what they’d look like on their knees. They were fun to play with, but not what he wanted either. Garrett wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he knew he’d recognize it when he found it.
After a couple hours Garrett went over to the bar, and surprisingly there he found the elusive “it,” because the bartender was possibly the cutest thing he’d seen in months. The young man had very few of the decorations that most of the crowd did, and no visible external enhancements, another thing a lot of people were sporting these days. Personally Garrett considered advertising ones’ preferences like that a little too light on the subtle, but it did make certain hookups easier. This boy didn’t have any buttons or wings or protrusions to stroke, just simple silver makeup on a cute, average face and typical darkly-minded dress sense, all imitation leather and netting. His skin was dusky and his eyes were black, with small silver insets to make them glow in the dim light. Right now those eyes were wide with desire and more than a little astonishment as Garrett singled him out.
He didn’t even have to speak. He just lifted one pale, winged eyebrow in appraisal and smiled, and the young man melted like sugar in a storm. “You…haven’t been in for a long time,” the boy said, a little haltingly.
“Busy times,” Garrett lied easily. “I don’t remember you being back there before.”
“I just got the job a few days ago.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Garrett mimed a pout. “Then you haven’t worked enough to build up leave. And here I was going to ask you to leave with me.”
The young man’s expression turned a little desperate, and openly longing. “I get off shift in less than an hour…or I could ask Philemon to cover me, he’d say yes—”
“No, no,” Garrett said airily, watching the bartender’s face fall and immediately feeling guilty, another thing that so wasn’t him. He liked playing people’s emotions…didn’t he? “I’m happy to wait. One hour?”
“Yes.” Desperation gave way to amazement. “Really? You’ll wait?”
“I said so. What’s your name?”
“Isidore Cain.”
“Isidore. Lovely. I’m Garrett.”
“Oh, I know,” the young man breathed.
Ah, the joys of a reputation. “I’ll be back in one hour, Isidore. I’m going to dance.”
“But…you haven’t ordered a drink yet.”
Garrett smiled charmingly. “I didn’t come over here to order a drink, I came over to talk to you. I’ll be back in an hour.” He swanned back onto the dance floor, pleased with his choice of take-out even though shy Isidore wasn’t normally the sort of guy he went for. Garrett didn’t do shy, he did bold, he did someone who could match him move for move. Isidore, comparatively, seemed too easy.
When Garrett did a one night stand, though, he did it right. As soon as Isidore’s shift ended he was there, and instead of inviting the young man to his ship or inquiring about what was no doubt a less-than-spacious situation on the boy’s end, Garrett got them a room at the best hotel in Rapture, the Carousel. He held Isidore’s hand all the way up the lift, amused at the battle within his date between uncertainty and need. Usually if Garrett hadn’t made a move, at this point his date would be all over him. Isidore clearly wanted it, but just as clearly he didn’t want to do something Garrett might conceive of as wrong. He was so…innocent, and it was completely enchanting.
Garrett thought about that for a moment, considered his game plan and then as soon as their room’s door was shut, he took the young man into his arms and began to kiss him. These were slow, languorous kisses, kisses that fueled the need and the desire without forcing it into explosion. For some reason, that was enough for Garrett tonight. It seemed to surprise Isidore but he got into it, the tension in his shoulders relaxing as he melted into the touch.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked finally, breathlessly, after they’d been standing there kissing for several minutes.
“I want you to enjoy,” Garrett said, flicking his tongue across the hollow of Isidore’s throat, feeling his moan reverberate there. “Tell me what you like.”
“I like everything about you,” Isidore replied with complete honesty. “You’re so…”
Garrett stopped Isidore’s mouth with a kiss. He knew what he was: so…beautiful, gorgeous, sexy, brilliant, selfish, conceited, shallow, shameless. He didn’t want to hear any of that tonight. Garrett was sick of himself. He was sick of people like himself. He wanted to focus on someone nice, someone who he could drive so out of his mind that he’d have to respond honestly to what they did together, rather than putting on a show. He pulled back and pulled his new man with him, over to the large, softly-cushioned bed. He turned the density setting up a little so it wouldn’t fold like feathers beneath them, then moved back to Isidore.
“Tell me what you like,” Garrett husked in the young man’s ear, nipping briefly at his earlobe. “Do you want me to touch you here…” He let his fingers drift over the tight seat of Isidore’s smooth black pants. “Do you want my mouth here…” He brushed Isidore’s cock this time, which was pressed so hard against the confining material of his pants that Garrett almost worried. “Or under here…” He slipped his hand between Isidore’s legs, and captured his lover’s groan with a sudden kiss. “Here, then.”
Garrett took his time undressing his new man, ignoring the blush that flooded his cheeks when some imperfection was exposed. A little bit of a tummy. A scar on his abdomen. Pants that literally needed to be peeled off, which had them both laughing. Garrett pulled himself off of his newly-naked date and went to remove his own clothes, but Isidore stopped him. “Can I?”
“If you want to.” Garrett didn’t want this to be about himself, but after a few moments he realized that getting to undress Garrett was a thrill for his companion. Every golden inch he revealed had the young man captivated, and for the first time in a while Garrett remembered to be grateful he was so beautiful, because it was making someone else happy.
Eventually they were naked and lying down facing each other on the bed, and Garrett took some more time to bring his lover down from the edge, stroking and kissing him without aggression before working him back up. By the time Isidore was trembling with need, Garrett’s own libido was making heat rise in his chest. They hadn’t been at it long, but Isidore didn’t have any implants to shut off an impending orgasm and Garrett didn’t have any toys with him, so he just decided that they’d have a few more rounds that evening and slid his sweat-slick fingertips down Isidore’s cock, past his balls and onto the smooth, tender skin that was his perineum.
“Oh, f—” Isidore’s hands clenched on Garrett’s shoulders, and he threw his top leg over Garrett’s hip, to give his hand more space. “That’s really---god---I like that…”
“Good,” Garrett murmured around a kiss. “Just wait…” He pushed his middle finger gently against Isidore’s hole, reassured when it accepted him easily. He pressed one finger, then two inside the velvety, clinging channel, not to thrust but with just enough reach to massage Isidore’s prostate, and then rubbed his thumb firmly across his lover’s perineum, as though he were trying to join his fingertips together.
“Fuck!” Isidore came apart at the seams, bucking forward and bearing down all at once, his limbs clinging desperately to Garrett as he came all over them both. Garrett pulsed his fingertips against the tiny gland, milking it for every ounce of sensation. Just before Isidore’s moans turned painful Garrett eased off, removing his hand once his lover’s grip on him relaxed. Garrett rolled the young man onto his back and kept kissing him, easing Isidore back into the world with a sigh and a smile.
“Oh my god…”
“I’m listening,” Garrett teased.
“You haven’t…you can do anything you want,” Isidore offered earnestly. “I swear I won’t freak out.”
“I did do what I wanted to do,” Garrett replied. “I plan to continue doing what I want to do. As long as you keep wanting it.”
“I can’t imagine not wanting anything you do.”
Either Isidore was very naive or he had an extremely high tolerance for the bizarre. “Don’t say that before you get to know me,” Garrett advised before settling in between the young man’s legs. “Speaking of which…” He rubbed the snub, slick head of his cock against Isidore’s entrance, asking for permission to fuck him.
“God, yes…”
Isidore came two more times before the night was over. Garrett only came once, but it was a long, sweet orgasm, sucked out of his body into Isidore’s tightness and heat to the accompaniment of his name, cried over and over in pleasure before diminishing to breathy whispers.
They had room service sent up breakfast in bed, and when Garrett decided to use Isidore as his plate and suck him off once he was done eating, the young man just laughed and agreed. They showered, dressed and walked back down into the world. Garrett looked fairly normal if flashy in his clinging blue suit, but Isidore’s clubbing clothes seemed a little garish in the light of day. “Next time pack a change of clothes,” Garrett advised with a smile.
“Will there be a next time?” Isidore asked hopefully.
“I’m not going to be here much longer,” Garrett replied honestly, knowing as soon as he said it that it was true. Last night had been wonderful and Isidore was a sweetheart, but he still felt that soul-deep ache that left him unsettled. “I’m taking a contract in the Fringe. But I may come by again before I leave.” Jezria was due back in five more days. Things would get resolved then one way or another,
“Oh.” Garrett watched disappointment and a little hurt flitter over Isidore’s face before it settled into expected resignation. “Well, if you come in I’d love to…see you.”
“If I come in you definitely will “see” me,” Garrett replied, grinning and leaning in for a quick kiss. He made his way back to the governor’s mansion in a good mood and a much more decided frame of mind, heading into his ship to change and relax for a while. Despite his inquietude, Garrett felt good, physically and mentally. Now that he’d made the decision to go, he seemed to have more energy. Of course, that could have been a byproduct of fucking around with Isidore all night, but man could not live on fucking alone. It had been good, really good, just what he needed from that part of his life, but not in and of itself enough. It was time for a total change.
Title: Pandora
Part Five: Subtle and Overt
Notes: This is the next part of a spin-off story of a series I posted on Literotica (titled Bonded, as Carizabeth) and the subject matter is m/m sci fi. This particular part does have graphic depictions of sex, making it an NC-17 rating, I suppose. The first parts can be found a few posts down. I’ll put them all in the same place soon. Don’t read it if you don’t want to, people. See the above rating! If you do read though, enjoy! If you enjoy, let me know:)
Garrett Caractacus didn’t believe in making decisions in a vacuum. He might habitually radiate inconstancy and caprice, but when it came to the important things he was entirely a scientist, putting far more stock in rationality and research than he did in gut impulses. Garrett weighed facts, tested hypotheses and explored all the available avenues before deciding on one. It was a method that had only failed him once in the past, and that had been less of an abject failure and more of a lose/lose situation.
One the one hand, there was the prospect of going to Pandora. Garrett had prevaricated with his father out loud, but internally he agreed with Miles. Odds were good that he’d be offered the position as the expedition’s climatologist again. Pandora meant a lot of new challenges, which would keep his brain from careening into self-indulgent atrophy. It meant travel, probably not in style but you couldn’t have everything. It meant another nice tag for his résumé, and another chance for him to demonstrate that he was more than a parasite clinging to his father’s career. It meant a good, objective opportunity to assess his life and figure out what had propelled him into his interminable brown study.
On the other hand, he could decline the offer. That opened up a lot of different options, from staying here on Paradise doing nothing to heading back to the central worlds, to finding an exciting lover and cruising for a while, to…Garrett ran out of things. Those things he’d listed were big things, but they didn’t seem very enticing at the moment. After all, he’d had the opportunity to pursue those options for months, and he’d fallen into the first one by dint of sheer ennui. The others just weren’t motivational enough, not even the prospect of new and interesting sex.
Experimentations followed, subtle and overt tests of the malaise that had settled over his life. Garrett spent a lot of time with Wyl, working on his ship. The designs Wyl was engraving into the engine casing, surprisingly fanciful ones for a man who made his living as a mechanic, were beautiful. They were of strange, elegant spires and masques and faces hiding in the patterns. Wyl talked a lot, often about nothing and more often about Robbie, and Garrett listened and responded appropriately and enjoyed the cheerful, often lewd flow of words as the friendly distraction it was. He spent time with Robbie and Wyl together, cooking dinner for the couple and listening to them bicker and play. He occasionally spent time with Robbie alone, not often because the man had almost as much to do as Garrett’s father, but it was always good.
Robbie, who was always honest about what he saw, was nevertheless a little hesitant to bring it up with Garrett, who had politely stonewalled Wyl with general reassurances multiple times. Garrett saw his ex’s hesitation and gave in over a shared slice of cheesecake one night as they watched Wyl work, so deep into his creative space that he wouldn’t stop to sleep if someone wasn’t there to make him.
“I’m working some things out,” Garrett offered abruptly, licking the creamy cake off his fork.
“And how’s that going for you?”
Garrett started to shrug, then sat back and sighed. “I’m afraid I’m growing up. Or growing old. Something like that.”
“The fallback pleasures are really starting to pall, huh.”
“Yeah. Which is quite sad, because if you can’t take refuge in hedonism and live a happy life, what hope is there for the universe?”
“Happy and fulfilled aren’t necessarily the same,” Robbie pointed out, stealing the strawberry off the top of the cake slice.
“Well, they’ve always been synonymous before.”
“Then are you going to take the job on Pandora, and see if you can find a new way to be happy?”
“Maybe,” Garrett replied. “Probably. But first I need to get laid.”
Robbie rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Seriously. Maybe my angst is part of a vicious, celibate circle. Maybe finding some pretty young thing to fuck is just what I need.” Garrett grinned at Robbie. “I don’t suppose you and Wyl…”
“No.”
“Of course not. Stick, meet mud. Square peg, here’s your square hole.”
“At least we fit together.” Robbie’s voice was mildly reproving.
“I know you do,” Garrett agreed. “I know you’re good for each other. You’re so disgustingly good for each other that you give Miles and Claudia a run for their money. Do you think you guys will settle here eventually, once the military doesn’t own you body and soul?”
“We’ll see,” Robbie said. “I’ve dragged Wyl around for the past three years; I figure when this tour is over we’ll go wherever he wants.”
“Oh.”
The moment stretched with a strange discomfort, until Robbie reached over and laid his hand across Garrett’s. “You’re going to be all right,” he said seriously. “You’re gifted, Garrett, and you’ve got a lot to give. You’re going to find a place that deserves everything you’ve got and everything you are. I know it.”
Garrett turned his hand over and held on to his former lover’s for a moment, unable to find words but unpressured to come up with any. Robbie, like Miles, was good with silences. After a moment they let each other go and finished the cake. Wyl joined them a few minutes later, having finally hit an acceptable stopping point.
“You ate it all?” he exclaimed. “I’m slaving over your damn ship and you can’t even save me a bite of cheesecake? That stuff came all the way from T’s restaurant!”
“There’s more in the apartment,” Robbie reminded him.
“Will you feed it to me?” Wyl asked with a suggestive grin.
“I might be persuaded,” Robbie agreed.
“God damn you both to hell,” Garrett moaned, visions of cheesecake and naked men swimming in front of his eyes. It was a welcome kick to his libido. “Go have your two-man cheesecake orgy, and then please never tell me any of the details, ever. Not even if I beg.” He stood up. “I’m going out.”
“Happy hunting,” Wyl said, grabbing Robbie by the hand and pulling him away from the table. Garrett walked back into his ship alone, but determined not to stay that way. Not tonight.
Sex was another test of his mood, another experiment to analyze. Garrett dressed in skin-tight, dramatically cut clothes of different shades of sapphire and took himself out onto the town. There were a few decent nightclubs in Rapture and Garrett breezed into one of his old haunts like he’d never left, dazzling the bouncer and attendants with smiles as he went inside.
He wasn’t hunting yet; Garrett just wanted to move and be moved against, to be adored and admired like he was accustomed to. The club was filled with people, men and women and others, and the rapid-paced music was simple and primal and easy to dance to. No intimidating waltzes here to put off his plebian friends. Garrett simply melted into the crowd and let go.
More than a few people knew who he was, and more than that saw him and wanted to know him. For the next few hours Garrett drank his fill of the heated press of flesh on flesh, subconsciously assessing each new dance partner before turning to the next. There were those people who came onto him hard, who promised without words control, domination and mindless ecstasy. Garrett had had that before, and it wasn’t what he was looking for now. There were people who begged for domination as well, needy, sultry, sensuous as they ground against him and swayed lower and lower, offering him a tantalizing preview of what they’d look like on their knees. They were fun to play with, but not what he wanted either. Garrett wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he knew he’d recognize it when he found it.
After a couple hours Garrett went over to the bar, and surprisingly there he found the elusive “it,” because the bartender was possibly the cutest thing he’d seen in months. The young man had very few of the decorations that most of the crowd did, and no visible external enhancements, another thing a lot of people were sporting these days. Personally Garrett considered advertising ones’ preferences like that a little too light on the subtle, but it did make certain hookups easier. This boy didn’t have any buttons or wings or protrusions to stroke, just simple silver makeup on a cute, average face and typical darkly-minded dress sense, all imitation leather and netting. His skin was dusky and his eyes were black, with small silver insets to make them glow in the dim light. Right now those eyes were wide with desire and more than a little astonishment as Garrett singled him out.
He didn’t even have to speak. He just lifted one pale, winged eyebrow in appraisal and smiled, and the young man melted like sugar in a storm. “You…haven’t been in for a long time,” the boy said, a little haltingly.
“Busy times,” Garrett lied easily. “I don’t remember you being back there before.”
“I just got the job a few days ago.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Garrett mimed a pout. “Then you haven’t worked enough to build up leave. And here I was going to ask you to leave with me.”
The young man’s expression turned a little desperate, and openly longing. “I get off shift in less than an hour…or I could ask Philemon to cover me, he’d say yes—”
“No, no,” Garrett said airily, watching the bartender’s face fall and immediately feeling guilty, another thing that so wasn’t him. He liked playing people’s emotions…didn’t he? “I’m happy to wait. One hour?”
“Yes.” Desperation gave way to amazement. “Really? You’ll wait?”
“I said so. What’s your name?”
“Isidore Cain.”
“Isidore. Lovely. I’m Garrett.”
“Oh, I know,” the young man breathed.
Ah, the joys of a reputation. “I’ll be back in one hour, Isidore. I’m going to dance.”
“But…you haven’t ordered a drink yet.”
Garrett smiled charmingly. “I didn’t come over here to order a drink, I came over to talk to you. I’ll be back in an hour.” He swanned back onto the dance floor, pleased with his choice of take-out even though shy Isidore wasn’t normally the sort of guy he went for. Garrett didn’t do shy, he did bold, he did someone who could match him move for move. Isidore, comparatively, seemed too easy.
When Garrett did a one night stand, though, he did it right. As soon as Isidore’s shift ended he was there, and instead of inviting the young man to his ship or inquiring about what was no doubt a less-than-spacious situation on the boy’s end, Garrett got them a room at the best hotel in Rapture, the Carousel. He held Isidore’s hand all the way up the lift, amused at the battle within his date between uncertainty and need. Usually if Garrett hadn’t made a move, at this point his date would be all over him. Isidore clearly wanted it, but just as clearly he didn’t want to do something Garrett might conceive of as wrong. He was so…innocent, and it was completely enchanting.
Garrett thought about that for a moment, considered his game plan and then as soon as their room’s door was shut, he took the young man into his arms and began to kiss him. These were slow, languorous kisses, kisses that fueled the need and the desire without forcing it into explosion. For some reason, that was enough for Garrett tonight. It seemed to surprise Isidore but he got into it, the tension in his shoulders relaxing as he melted into the touch.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked finally, breathlessly, after they’d been standing there kissing for several minutes.
“I want you to enjoy,” Garrett said, flicking his tongue across the hollow of Isidore’s throat, feeling his moan reverberate there. “Tell me what you like.”
“I like everything about you,” Isidore replied with complete honesty. “You’re so…”
Garrett stopped Isidore’s mouth with a kiss. He knew what he was: so…beautiful, gorgeous, sexy, brilliant, selfish, conceited, shallow, shameless. He didn’t want to hear any of that tonight. Garrett was sick of himself. He was sick of people like himself. He wanted to focus on someone nice, someone who he could drive so out of his mind that he’d have to respond honestly to what they did together, rather than putting on a show. He pulled back and pulled his new man with him, over to the large, softly-cushioned bed. He turned the density setting up a little so it wouldn’t fold like feathers beneath them, then moved back to Isidore.
“Tell me what you like,” Garrett husked in the young man’s ear, nipping briefly at his earlobe. “Do you want me to touch you here…” He let his fingers drift over the tight seat of Isidore’s smooth black pants. “Do you want my mouth here…” He brushed Isidore’s cock this time, which was pressed so hard against the confining material of his pants that Garrett almost worried. “Or under here…” He slipped his hand between Isidore’s legs, and captured his lover’s groan with a sudden kiss. “Here, then.”
Garrett took his time undressing his new man, ignoring the blush that flooded his cheeks when some imperfection was exposed. A little bit of a tummy. A scar on his abdomen. Pants that literally needed to be peeled off, which had them both laughing. Garrett pulled himself off of his newly-naked date and went to remove his own clothes, but Isidore stopped him. “Can I?”
“If you want to.” Garrett didn’t want this to be about himself, but after a few moments he realized that getting to undress Garrett was a thrill for his companion. Every golden inch he revealed had the young man captivated, and for the first time in a while Garrett remembered to be grateful he was so beautiful, because it was making someone else happy.
Eventually they were naked and lying down facing each other on the bed, and Garrett took some more time to bring his lover down from the edge, stroking and kissing him without aggression before working him back up. By the time Isidore was trembling with need, Garrett’s own libido was making heat rise in his chest. They hadn’t been at it long, but Isidore didn’t have any implants to shut off an impending orgasm and Garrett didn’t have any toys with him, so he just decided that they’d have a few more rounds that evening and slid his sweat-slick fingertips down Isidore’s cock, past his balls and onto the smooth, tender skin that was his perineum.
“Oh, f—” Isidore’s hands clenched on Garrett’s shoulders, and he threw his top leg over Garrett’s hip, to give his hand more space. “That’s really---god---I like that…”
“Good,” Garrett murmured around a kiss. “Just wait…” He pushed his middle finger gently against Isidore’s hole, reassured when it accepted him easily. He pressed one finger, then two inside the velvety, clinging channel, not to thrust but with just enough reach to massage Isidore’s prostate, and then rubbed his thumb firmly across his lover’s perineum, as though he were trying to join his fingertips together.
“Fuck!” Isidore came apart at the seams, bucking forward and bearing down all at once, his limbs clinging desperately to Garrett as he came all over them both. Garrett pulsed his fingertips against the tiny gland, milking it for every ounce of sensation. Just before Isidore’s moans turned painful Garrett eased off, removing his hand once his lover’s grip on him relaxed. Garrett rolled the young man onto his back and kept kissing him, easing Isidore back into the world with a sigh and a smile.
“Oh my god…”
“I’m listening,” Garrett teased.
“You haven’t…you can do anything you want,” Isidore offered earnestly. “I swear I won’t freak out.”
“I did do what I wanted to do,” Garrett replied. “I plan to continue doing what I want to do. As long as you keep wanting it.”
“I can’t imagine not wanting anything you do.”
Either Isidore was very naive or he had an extremely high tolerance for the bizarre. “Don’t say that before you get to know me,” Garrett advised before settling in between the young man’s legs. “Speaking of which…” He rubbed the snub, slick head of his cock against Isidore’s entrance, asking for permission to fuck him.
“God, yes…”
Isidore came two more times before the night was over. Garrett only came once, but it was a long, sweet orgasm, sucked out of his body into Isidore’s tightness and heat to the accompaniment of his name, cried over and over in pleasure before diminishing to breathy whispers.
They had room service sent up breakfast in bed, and when Garrett decided to use Isidore as his plate and suck him off once he was done eating, the young man just laughed and agreed. They showered, dressed and walked back down into the world. Garrett looked fairly normal if flashy in his clinging blue suit, but Isidore’s clubbing clothes seemed a little garish in the light of day. “Next time pack a change of clothes,” Garrett advised with a smile.
“Will there be a next time?” Isidore asked hopefully.
“I’m not going to be here much longer,” Garrett replied honestly, knowing as soon as he said it that it was true. Last night had been wonderful and Isidore was a sweetheart, but he still felt that soul-deep ache that left him unsettled. “I’m taking a contract in the Fringe. But I may come by again before I leave.” Jezria was due back in five more days. Things would get resolved then one way or another,
“Oh.” Garrett watched disappointment and a little hurt flitter over Isidore’s face before it settled into expected resignation. “Well, if you come in I’d love to…see you.”
“If I come in you definitely will “see” me,” Garrett replied, grinning and leaning in for a quick kiss. He made his way back to the governor’s mansion in a good mood and a much more decided frame of mind, heading into his ship to change and relax for a while. Despite his inquietude, Garrett felt good, physically and mentally. Now that he’d made the decision to go, he seemed to have more energy. Of course, that could have been a byproduct of fucking around with Isidore all night, but man could not live on fucking alone. It had been good, really good, just what he needed from that part of his life, but not in and of itself enough. It was time for a total change.
Blogging on Lisabet Sarai's site
But first...
The upper half of the country was without internet/some cell phone service from Sunday until just now. It's been one of those weeks when work is tough, heat is setting in and you don't want to eat anything, and all you can think it, "Goddammit, I wanna go back to America!" Land of the cold, home of the wireless. I know, bitch bitch, Cari, you asked to go to Africa. You applied to go there, so don't whine now about how tough widdle you is finding it.
Well, fine. Moving on then.
I'm guest blogging on Lisabet Sarai's blog this Saturday, on the concept of feast or famine in writing and in life. We're really sprinting towards the famine times chez moi, and it's been on my mind. Here's a link: http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/. Please visit me there, I'd love to get some comments from my friends and I will respond to you.
Thanks to Lisabet for letting me post! Even if I am two days late getting it in! Don't kill me!
The upper half of the country was without internet/some cell phone service from Sunday until just now. It's been one of those weeks when work is tough, heat is setting in and you don't want to eat anything, and all you can think it, "Goddammit, I wanna go back to America!" Land of the cold, home of the wireless. I know, bitch bitch, Cari, you asked to go to Africa. You applied to go there, so don't whine now about how tough widdle you is finding it.
Well, fine. Moving on then.
I'm guest blogging on Lisabet Sarai's blog this Saturday, on the concept of feast or famine in writing and in life. We're really sprinting towards the famine times chez moi, and it's been on my mind. Here's a link: http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/. Please visit me there, I'd love to get some comments from my friends and I will respond to you.
Thanks to Lisabet for letting me post! Even if I am two days late getting it in! Don't kill me!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Pimping my friends...
What, you have friends? *snort* Yeah, who are they?
Shut up, I so have friends. Lots of them. It's just that most of them aren't erotica authors. Their loss, or possibly our gain if their interests/talents don't run that way. I don't know for sure. I haven't spoken about the exciting world of erotica with most of them; it's just not a hot topic here in Togo.
But I do have some writer buddies, and I was updating my links today and thought, "I should mention these people. Why? Because they write beautifully, and make me green with envy and ridiculously hot and bothered. That's the sort of talent that needs to be spread around." And so. Just the two of them today, but these people rock. Our conversations might be only occasional, but they are always enjoyable.
There's Damon Shaw, who not only writes beautifully but also lives in Africa (technically speaking, although he's on a tropical island as opposed to my sub-Saharan savannah). Find him here: http://damonshaw.livejournal.com/. He published a story in the Myths and Magic anthology from Dreamspinner with co-author Rod Santos that's absolutely gorgeous.
Aaaand there's JL Merrow, who's work is witty, intruiging and occasionally freaking hilarious, completely on purpose too! She's prolific, so check her site for more of her stuff, but she had pieces in the Making Contact antho from Dreamspinner as well as the Mine anthology just out from Torquere: http://www.jlmerrow.com/.
Alrighty then. Gold star for me! As for getting my rear in gear, I'm working on Shadows and Light, another installment of Pandora and, because it's NaNoWriMo, my alter ego is writing 1667 words a day of something that isn't necessarily destined to be erotica, but will probably end up that way. I'm blogging on Lisabet Sarai's website next week; a link will be forthcoming.
Shut up, I so have friends. Lots of them. It's just that most of them aren't erotica authors. Their loss, or possibly our gain if their interests/talents don't run that way. I don't know for sure. I haven't spoken about the exciting world of erotica with most of them; it's just not a hot topic here in Togo.
But I do have some writer buddies, and I was updating my links today and thought, "I should mention these people. Why? Because they write beautifully, and make me green with envy and ridiculously hot and bothered. That's the sort of talent that needs to be spread around." And so. Just the two of them today, but these people rock. Our conversations might be only occasional, but they are always enjoyable.
There's Damon Shaw, who not only writes beautifully but also lives in Africa (technically speaking, although he's on a tropical island as opposed to my sub-Saharan savannah). Find him here: http://damonshaw.livejournal.com/. He published a story in the Myths and Magic anthology from Dreamspinner with co-author Rod Santos that's absolutely gorgeous.
Aaaand there's JL Merrow, who's work is witty, intruiging and occasionally freaking hilarious, completely on purpose too! She's prolific, so check her site for more of her stuff, but she had pieces in the Making Contact antho from Dreamspinner as well as the Mine anthology just out from Torquere: http://www.jlmerrow.com/.
Alrighty then. Gold star for me! As for getting my rear in gear, I'm working on Shadows and Light, another installment of Pandora and, because it's NaNoWriMo, my alter ego is writing 1667 words a day of something that isn't necessarily destined to be erotica, but will probably end up that way. I'm blogging on Lisabet Sarai's website next week; a link will be forthcoming.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Pandora Post #4
Title: Pandora
Part Four: Family Groups
Notes: This is the next part of a spin-off story of a series I posted on Literotica (titled Bonded, as Carizabeth) and the subject matter is m/m sci fi. The first parts can be found a few posts down. I’ll put them all in the same place soon. Don’t read it if you don’t want to, people. If you do, enjoy! If you enjoy, let me know:)
In a universe where medicine had advanced to the point of near-immortality and genetic manipulation was routine, suicide was a rarity. Deaths occurred, of course. People would be killing people wherever they existed, and accidents certainly happened. In places where there weren’t reputable medical facilities, people’s natural tendencies tended to come through, and in some cases that meant a cocktail of mental illnesses that would make anyone unstable. Then there were the very rare, the naturals, those people who were resistant to genetic manipulation and who couldn’t be helped with prolonging therapies or cured by autodocs. They could die of illnesses that no one even remembered existed.
Many of the old ways of helping people had been lost, drug therapies and counseling abandoned with the advent of re-creationism. The powers that be forgot that society was a bell curve, and the outliers on either side suffered for it. Things slipped through. Perfection, no matter how appealing a concept, was in reality an impossible dream. People died. People killed themselves.
The suicide of Larissa Child had shocked the public. She was a star, a diva, a legend. She was the most gorgeous woman imaginable, had shaped and sliced herself to fit the public’s image since she was a little girl. Her looks changed depending on popular perceptions of beauty, but she was always inherently Larissa Child, always somehow recognizable no matter how many changes she made. When she married a promising young military officer from one of Earth’s oldest families, it was perfectly right. When they had a son, people had sighed with satisfaction. Even stars had normal lives. How lovely. How wonderful. How perfect.
She killed herself when Garrett was three. Miles had been away; he was often away, just like she was. They spent very little time together, and less time together with their son. Garrett was watched over by a flock of caretakers and personal assistants, and the only way he’d known something was wrong was by the sudden flood of tears from the woman pushing his swing as news of his mother’s death came over her com. Stricken, one hand over her mouth, she’d kept pushing him, her hand weak on his lower back as he swung his legs, trying to go higher, and she tried to figure out how to tell a child that his mother was dead.
Garrett remembered being unmoved. The last time he’d seen his mother she’d left behind an impression of shimmering fabric and curling dark hair and warm, too-wet lips pressed to his cheek. That was all. No sound, no smell, no feeling of love or affection. Just a brief, damp kiss and a flash of color. Her death didn’t mean anything to him, no substantial change from the way he’d been before. It did mean that he got to see his father more for the next few months, and that made him happy.
Despite the media hell that had become their lives, Miles must have continued to love his wife. He must still love her in some ways, Garrett reflected as he gazed over at the small portrait on the table just inside the sunroom. Why else would he keep her picture around? Miles joined him at the table a moment later, and Garrett pushed thoughts of his mother aside. “Coffee or bissap juice?”
Miles raised one eyebrow, a perfect imitation of his son’s gesture the night before. “You have to ask?”
“I do have to ask,” Garrett replied smoothly, pouring both of them mugs of rich, dark coffee and ignoring the carafe of purple juice. “I promised Claudia I would.”
“Contrary woman. No problem with alcohol, not in the slightest, but the sight of caffeine sends her running for the hills.”
“In her defense, you prefer coffee brewed strong enough to melt your enamel.”
“It’s still there.” Miles grinned briefly by way of proof, then picked up the mug and drank. Garrett added a little cream to his, then followed suit. They sipped in silence for a while, neither feeling pressure to speak as they watched the suns rise over the horizon in a slow flood of red and gold. Breakfast was brought out a few minutes later.
“She’s sleeping in, I take it,” Garrett said as he spread an embroidered navy linen napkin across his lap. Another of Claudia’s touches. Before they’d used utilitarian white.
“She had a big day yesterday.”
“So did you.”
“I’m used to it,” Miles replied, spreading apple butter across a piece of toast. “She’ll get there, but I’m not in any hurry to make her keep up. The work will wait. Besides, I like to watch her sleep.”
“So soft and sentimental in your old age,” Garrett teased.
“We’ll see how soft I am when I throw your ass off this balcony, kiddo.”
Garrett rolled his eyes. “My mistake. You reek of youth and testosterone. You are as unassailable as some quintessentially unassailable thing, and as far from cutely in love as you are from puppies and kittens. That better?” He cut a bite of his steak and ate, still smirking.
“Brilliant, handsome and an incurable smartass. Where did I go wrong?” Miles threw his eyes heavenward before snorting under his breath. “Shut up and eat.”
Garrett did, and they sat in easy silence for a while longer. Garrett looked at his father, really looked, and decided Claudia was having a good effect on him. Miles looked younger, the lines of his face falling into smiles more naturally, the thick gray of his hair a little longer, a little less severe than before. Despite his myriad of new responsibilities, he seemed more relaxed than he had for years. Garrett was tempted to start teasing him again, but thought better of it and looked back down at his plate, then frowned.
Teasing was standard. Teasing was rote. Garrett loved his father, but he’d long ago decided that the best way they got along was when they were picking at each other, and that pattern had worked for them since he’d been fifteen. If Miles wanted easy, uncomplicated conversation he could go his new wife. Things between father and son were supposed to be comfortably sharp, yet he found he didn’t want to needle his dad into a state of exasperation. Yet another aberration in his recent behavior. Maybe he should get checked out by an autodoc.
Miles, astute politician that he was, noticed but didn’t comment. Instead he finished his eggs, wiped his mouth, poured them both more coffee and said, “Jezria really wants you for the Pandora project.”
“No she doesn’t,” Garrett said automatically, “She just said that to perturb you. Not that I’m performing any desperately necessary tasks here.”
“She seemed pretty sincere to me.” Miles leaned back in his chair stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles, holding his mug of coffee comfortably at chest level as he looked out over his new domain. “She’ll be back in a month or so. If things go the way she thinks they will out there, she’s going to start hiring staff almost immediately.”
“Looking to get rid of me already?” Garrett asked lightly.
“No.” Miles took one hand from his mug and reached over, putting it firmly on top of his son’s where it rested on the table. The look Miles shot Garrett was serious, so serious it made him uncomfortable, but he couldn’t quite make himself pull back. “Absolutely not.” Miles held his son’s eyes for a moment longer, then relinquished his gaze and his hand and returned to his comfortable slouch. “Although I’m surprised you’re not bored out of your skin here.”
“Right, and Pandora would be a noted improvement over Paradise.”
“Pandora would offer its own challenges, and you’ve never been afraid of those. There’s always the central system too, although that,” Miles grimaced, “comes with its own set of problems.”
That was true enough. More civilization meant more people, more notoriety and far less privacy. The fringe was bad enough sometimes. You had to be constantly vigilant on the central worlds, and the way Garrett was feeling off his game lately, that wasn’t a prospect that appealed to him.
“I’ll think about it,” he said at last. “I’ve got some time. I’m not relishing the idea of living with a bunch of fundamentalists, though.”
“Actually, I think Jezria mentioned that the strongest bid was coming from a group of naturals.”
“A group?” Garrett was astonished. “There are enough of them out here to form a group?” Naturals were a vanishing breed as pre-birth technology improved even more.
“Them and their families,” Miles replied.
“Huh.” Well, that would be different. Depressing, but different. Garrett could understand why they’d want to get away, someplace where naturals wouldn’t be treated like glass and kept at a distance. They were so fragile, by comparison to regular humans. So incredibly fragile. They were hard to get close to, when all you could do when you looked at them was think about when they wouldn’t be around, how long you might have, when they might go. Being a natural in a prolonged society was no picnic. “I’ll definitely consider it.”
“Good.”
Claudia joined them soon afterwards, slightly mussed from her slumber and frowning because Miles had let her sleep in. Garrett watched his father gentle his stepmother’s pique until both of them were glowing with affection and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. He took his leave, kissing Claudia’s cheek as he went, and headed to the barracks. Something entertaining was bound to be going on there.
He wasn’t wrong. The barracks were packed, not just with the Marines who weren’t currently on patrol but with a lot of the spare security personnel as well. Apparently there was an exhibition going on. Moving a little closer, Garrett made out the two silver-clad forms going at it on the mat and grinned to himself. Quite an exhibition. It wasn’t every day the average soldier got to watch his commanding officers beat the shit out of each other.
They both wore sparring skinsuits that were calibrated to allow just enough force in, sufficient to stagger but not concuss, enough to make a joint twinge but not break. The suits stiffened to take a joint out of play if they judged enough force had been applied, to add realism to a fight, but neither of the combatants was trying to immobilize at the moment. They were going for pure percussive power.
Garrett sat down next to Wyl on a bench at the edge of the mat, soldiers and security staff melting out of his way without him having to ask. “Robbie feeling a little stressy?” he inquired.
“No, Jane is,” Wyl replied, not taking his eyes off the pair. “She just got word that her grandmother passed away. Jane doesn’t like to let things fester. She had a good cry, then said she needed a good fight and Robbie was the closest she was going to get.”
“Closest, huh?” Garrett turned his attention back to the mat. He didn’t know Jane Freeman all that well. She’d worked with Robbie in the fringe and had a similar background, and when Robbie couldn’t immediately take the position that Miles had offered him a few years ago, Robbie had suggested Jane as a replacement. Jane Freeman was a tall, Amazonian black woman with a doctorate in psychology and decades of service as a Marine. She also had a talent for logistics and getting projects off the ground, and her service had been invaluable to then-General Caractacus as he’d readied his short, victorious war. She was a good commander and a gifted tactician, and she and Robbie split their command duties right down the center when he came on board, with her planning operations and him in charge in the field. It was a nearly-flawless partnership that proved how well they worked together. This morning was showing that they worked against each other just as well.
Jane was a few inches shorter than Robbie but more flexible in the hips, and she used her extra reach there to great effect as one of her powerful legs came whipping around at his head. He moved out of the way but she didn’t snap the kick back, just let her momentum carry her around into a spinning side kick. Robbie took her heel to his midsection but grabbed her foot, throwing it into the air as he swept her plant leg out from beneath her. Jane crashed to the mat but didn’t wait for Robbie to close, hooking his ankle and knee with her feet and levering him brutally to the floor before rolling back to her feet. She wanted to bang, not grapple, and Robbie gave her what she wanted, jamming her next kick and grabbing her behind the head as he slammed his knee repeatedly into her gut. The watchers collectively winced.
“Mother fuck,” Wyl muttered.
“Yeah,” Garrett agreed. They winced again as Jane got her feet under her and thrust up with an elbow to Robbie’s chin, followed by several hooks that send him reeling to the side. “This is supposed to be therapeutic?”
“Fucked if I know.” Wyl glanced over at Garrett. “You have combat mods, right?”
“A present for my sweet sixteen,” Garrett said. “The civilian model, of course, Dad wasn’t about to push me to join up. Can you imagine me in the military?”
“Nah, not enough room for your toiletries in the standard kit.”
“Not even close.” They watched silently as Jane and Robbie beat each other across the floor, occasionally tossing in a joint lock or throw that was too good to pass up, but for the most part just kicking the crap out of each other. The suits were absorbing a lot of the damage, but both of them were slowing down. “How long have they been at this?”
“About thirty minutes.”
Garrett blinked. “Thirty minutes non-stop?” He glanced down at Wyl’s lap and grinned. “Have you had that for thirty minutes as well?”
“I can’t help it,” Wyl grumbled. “He does this to me all the fucking time; it’s not just the sparring. And I’m not the only one in here sporting wood either, this is better than porn for some of these jarheads.”
“Down, boy.”
“Shut the hell up.”
Five minutes later the match ended when Jane got enough distance to scythe a crescent kick up into Robbie’s temple, hitting him hard enough to make the suit flash red, indicating a solid knock-out blow. Robbie was down on one knee, shaking his head a little. He let Jane help him to his feet and they deactivated their suits, then grinned at each other. The audience enthusiastically applauded.
“I’ve gotta get out of here,” Wyl said. “He’s not done, this was just the warm-up before they put the Marines through their paces. If I stay here I’m gonna be hard all fucking day.”
“Come with me,” Garrett suggested. “We can come up with a plan for my ship.”
Wyl looked at him, surprised. “You’re actually going to let me fix her up?”
“Cosmetic improvements only, for starters,” Garrett warned. “The rest is still in the air.”
“Give it time,” Wyl grinned as he stood up. “Once you see what I can do to her outsides, you’re going to beg me to go to work on her plumbing.”
“We’ll see,” Garrett replied, mentally resigning himself to handing tools to Wyl for the rest of the day. There were worse ways to spend his time.
Part Four: Family Groups
Notes: This is the next part of a spin-off story of a series I posted on Literotica (titled Bonded, as Carizabeth) and the subject matter is m/m sci fi. The first parts can be found a few posts down. I’ll put them all in the same place soon. Don’t read it if you don’t want to, people. If you do, enjoy! If you enjoy, let me know:)
In a universe where medicine had advanced to the point of near-immortality and genetic manipulation was routine, suicide was a rarity. Deaths occurred, of course. People would be killing people wherever they existed, and accidents certainly happened. In places where there weren’t reputable medical facilities, people’s natural tendencies tended to come through, and in some cases that meant a cocktail of mental illnesses that would make anyone unstable. Then there were the very rare, the naturals, those people who were resistant to genetic manipulation and who couldn’t be helped with prolonging therapies or cured by autodocs. They could die of illnesses that no one even remembered existed.
Many of the old ways of helping people had been lost, drug therapies and counseling abandoned with the advent of re-creationism. The powers that be forgot that society was a bell curve, and the outliers on either side suffered for it. Things slipped through. Perfection, no matter how appealing a concept, was in reality an impossible dream. People died. People killed themselves.
The suicide of Larissa Child had shocked the public. She was a star, a diva, a legend. She was the most gorgeous woman imaginable, had shaped and sliced herself to fit the public’s image since she was a little girl. Her looks changed depending on popular perceptions of beauty, but she was always inherently Larissa Child, always somehow recognizable no matter how many changes she made. When she married a promising young military officer from one of Earth’s oldest families, it was perfectly right. When they had a son, people had sighed with satisfaction. Even stars had normal lives. How lovely. How wonderful. How perfect.
She killed herself when Garrett was three. Miles had been away; he was often away, just like she was. They spent very little time together, and less time together with their son. Garrett was watched over by a flock of caretakers and personal assistants, and the only way he’d known something was wrong was by the sudden flood of tears from the woman pushing his swing as news of his mother’s death came over her com. Stricken, one hand over her mouth, she’d kept pushing him, her hand weak on his lower back as he swung his legs, trying to go higher, and she tried to figure out how to tell a child that his mother was dead.
Garrett remembered being unmoved. The last time he’d seen his mother she’d left behind an impression of shimmering fabric and curling dark hair and warm, too-wet lips pressed to his cheek. That was all. No sound, no smell, no feeling of love or affection. Just a brief, damp kiss and a flash of color. Her death didn’t mean anything to him, no substantial change from the way he’d been before. It did mean that he got to see his father more for the next few months, and that made him happy.
Despite the media hell that had become their lives, Miles must have continued to love his wife. He must still love her in some ways, Garrett reflected as he gazed over at the small portrait on the table just inside the sunroom. Why else would he keep her picture around? Miles joined him at the table a moment later, and Garrett pushed thoughts of his mother aside. “Coffee or bissap juice?”
Miles raised one eyebrow, a perfect imitation of his son’s gesture the night before. “You have to ask?”
“I do have to ask,” Garrett replied smoothly, pouring both of them mugs of rich, dark coffee and ignoring the carafe of purple juice. “I promised Claudia I would.”
“Contrary woman. No problem with alcohol, not in the slightest, but the sight of caffeine sends her running for the hills.”
“In her defense, you prefer coffee brewed strong enough to melt your enamel.”
“It’s still there.” Miles grinned briefly by way of proof, then picked up the mug and drank. Garrett added a little cream to his, then followed suit. They sipped in silence for a while, neither feeling pressure to speak as they watched the suns rise over the horizon in a slow flood of red and gold. Breakfast was brought out a few minutes later.
“She’s sleeping in, I take it,” Garrett said as he spread an embroidered navy linen napkin across his lap. Another of Claudia’s touches. Before they’d used utilitarian white.
“She had a big day yesterday.”
“So did you.”
“I’m used to it,” Miles replied, spreading apple butter across a piece of toast. “She’ll get there, but I’m not in any hurry to make her keep up. The work will wait. Besides, I like to watch her sleep.”
“So soft and sentimental in your old age,” Garrett teased.
“We’ll see how soft I am when I throw your ass off this balcony, kiddo.”
Garrett rolled his eyes. “My mistake. You reek of youth and testosterone. You are as unassailable as some quintessentially unassailable thing, and as far from cutely in love as you are from puppies and kittens. That better?” He cut a bite of his steak and ate, still smirking.
“Brilliant, handsome and an incurable smartass. Where did I go wrong?” Miles threw his eyes heavenward before snorting under his breath. “Shut up and eat.”
Garrett did, and they sat in easy silence for a while longer. Garrett looked at his father, really looked, and decided Claudia was having a good effect on him. Miles looked younger, the lines of his face falling into smiles more naturally, the thick gray of his hair a little longer, a little less severe than before. Despite his myriad of new responsibilities, he seemed more relaxed than he had for years. Garrett was tempted to start teasing him again, but thought better of it and looked back down at his plate, then frowned.
Teasing was standard. Teasing was rote. Garrett loved his father, but he’d long ago decided that the best way they got along was when they were picking at each other, and that pattern had worked for them since he’d been fifteen. If Miles wanted easy, uncomplicated conversation he could go his new wife. Things between father and son were supposed to be comfortably sharp, yet he found he didn’t want to needle his dad into a state of exasperation. Yet another aberration in his recent behavior. Maybe he should get checked out by an autodoc.
Miles, astute politician that he was, noticed but didn’t comment. Instead he finished his eggs, wiped his mouth, poured them both more coffee and said, “Jezria really wants you for the Pandora project.”
“No she doesn’t,” Garrett said automatically, “She just said that to perturb you. Not that I’m performing any desperately necessary tasks here.”
“She seemed pretty sincere to me.” Miles leaned back in his chair stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles, holding his mug of coffee comfortably at chest level as he looked out over his new domain. “She’ll be back in a month or so. If things go the way she thinks they will out there, she’s going to start hiring staff almost immediately.”
“Looking to get rid of me already?” Garrett asked lightly.
“No.” Miles took one hand from his mug and reached over, putting it firmly on top of his son’s where it rested on the table. The look Miles shot Garrett was serious, so serious it made him uncomfortable, but he couldn’t quite make himself pull back. “Absolutely not.” Miles held his son’s eyes for a moment longer, then relinquished his gaze and his hand and returned to his comfortable slouch. “Although I’m surprised you’re not bored out of your skin here.”
“Right, and Pandora would be a noted improvement over Paradise.”
“Pandora would offer its own challenges, and you’ve never been afraid of those. There’s always the central system too, although that,” Miles grimaced, “comes with its own set of problems.”
That was true enough. More civilization meant more people, more notoriety and far less privacy. The fringe was bad enough sometimes. You had to be constantly vigilant on the central worlds, and the way Garrett was feeling off his game lately, that wasn’t a prospect that appealed to him.
“I’ll think about it,” he said at last. “I’ve got some time. I’m not relishing the idea of living with a bunch of fundamentalists, though.”
“Actually, I think Jezria mentioned that the strongest bid was coming from a group of naturals.”
“A group?” Garrett was astonished. “There are enough of them out here to form a group?” Naturals were a vanishing breed as pre-birth technology improved even more.
“Them and their families,” Miles replied.
“Huh.” Well, that would be different. Depressing, but different. Garrett could understand why they’d want to get away, someplace where naturals wouldn’t be treated like glass and kept at a distance. They were so fragile, by comparison to regular humans. So incredibly fragile. They were hard to get close to, when all you could do when you looked at them was think about when they wouldn’t be around, how long you might have, when they might go. Being a natural in a prolonged society was no picnic. “I’ll definitely consider it.”
“Good.”
Claudia joined them soon afterwards, slightly mussed from her slumber and frowning because Miles had let her sleep in. Garrett watched his father gentle his stepmother’s pique until both of them were glowing with affection and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. He took his leave, kissing Claudia’s cheek as he went, and headed to the barracks. Something entertaining was bound to be going on there.
He wasn’t wrong. The barracks were packed, not just with the Marines who weren’t currently on patrol but with a lot of the spare security personnel as well. Apparently there was an exhibition going on. Moving a little closer, Garrett made out the two silver-clad forms going at it on the mat and grinned to himself. Quite an exhibition. It wasn’t every day the average soldier got to watch his commanding officers beat the shit out of each other.
They both wore sparring skinsuits that were calibrated to allow just enough force in, sufficient to stagger but not concuss, enough to make a joint twinge but not break. The suits stiffened to take a joint out of play if they judged enough force had been applied, to add realism to a fight, but neither of the combatants was trying to immobilize at the moment. They were going for pure percussive power.
Garrett sat down next to Wyl on a bench at the edge of the mat, soldiers and security staff melting out of his way without him having to ask. “Robbie feeling a little stressy?” he inquired.
“No, Jane is,” Wyl replied, not taking his eyes off the pair. “She just got word that her grandmother passed away. Jane doesn’t like to let things fester. She had a good cry, then said she needed a good fight and Robbie was the closest she was going to get.”
“Closest, huh?” Garrett turned his attention back to the mat. He didn’t know Jane Freeman all that well. She’d worked with Robbie in the fringe and had a similar background, and when Robbie couldn’t immediately take the position that Miles had offered him a few years ago, Robbie had suggested Jane as a replacement. Jane Freeman was a tall, Amazonian black woman with a doctorate in psychology and decades of service as a Marine. She also had a talent for logistics and getting projects off the ground, and her service had been invaluable to then-General Caractacus as he’d readied his short, victorious war. She was a good commander and a gifted tactician, and she and Robbie split their command duties right down the center when he came on board, with her planning operations and him in charge in the field. It was a nearly-flawless partnership that proved how well they worked together. This morning was showing that they worked against each other just as well.
Jane was a few inches shorter than Robbie but more flexible in the hips, and she used her extra reach there to great effect as one of her powerful legs came whipping around at his head. He moved out of the way but she didn’t snap the kick back, just let her momentum carry her around into a spinning side kick. Robbie took her heel to his midsection but grabbed her foot, throwing it into the air as he swept her plant leg out from beneath her. Jane crashed to the mat but didn’t wait for Robbie to close, hooking his ankle and knee with her feet and levering him brutally to the floor before rolling back to her feet. She wanted to bang, not grapple, and Robbie gave her what she wanted, jamming her next kick and grabbing her behind the head as he slammed his knee repeatedly into her gut. The watchers collectively winced.
“Mother fuck,” Wyl muttered.
“Yeah,” Garrett agreed. They winced again as Jane got her feet under her and thrust up with an elbow to Robbie’s chin, followed by several hooks that send him reeling to the side. “This is supposed to be therapeutic?”
“Fucked if I know.” Wyl glanced over at Garrett. “You have combat mods, right?”
“A present for my sweet sixteen,” Garrett said. “The civilian model, of course, Dad wasn’t about to push me to join up. Can you imagine me in the military?”
“Nah, not enough room for your toiletries in the standard kit.”
“Not even close.” They watched silently as Jane and Robbie beat each other across the floor, occasionally tossing in a joint lock or throw that was too good to pass up, but for the most part just kicking the crap out of each other. The suits were absorbing a lot of the damage, but both of them were slowing down. “How long have they been at this?”
“About thirty minutes.”
Garrett blinked. “Thirty minutes non-stop?” He glanced down at Wyl’s lap and grinned. “Have you had that for thirty minutes as well?”
“I can’t help it,” Wyl grumbled. “He does this to me all the fucking time; it’s not just the sparring. And I’m not the only one in here sporting wood either, this is better than porn for some of these jarheads.”
“Down, boy.”
“Shut the hell up.”
Five minutes later the match ended when Jane got enough distance to scythe a crescent kick up into Robbie’s temple, hitting him hard enough to make the suit flash red, indicating a solid knock-out blow. Robbie was down on one knee, shaking his head a little. He let Jane help him to his feet and they deactivated their suits, then grinned at each other. The audience enthusiastically applauded.
“I’ve gotta get out of here,” Wyl said. “He’s not done, this was just the warm-up before they put the Marines through their paces. If I stay here I’m gonna be hard all fucking day.”
“Come with me,” Garrett suggested. “We can come up with a plan for my ship.”
Wyl looked at him, surprised. “You’re actually going to let me fix her up?”
“Cosmetic improvements only, for starters,” Garrett warned. “The rest is still in the air.”
“Give it time,” Wyl grinned as he stood up. “Once you see what I can do to her outsides, you’re going to beg me to go to work on her plumbing.”
“We’ll see,” Garrett replied, mentally resigning himself to handing tools to Wyl for the rest of the day. There were worse ways to spend his time.
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