Repercussions

In the few days after Gan's death, the miasma of guilt and anger aboard the Liberator gradually began to dissipate. The attack on Space Command helped, rejoining the remaining five of them into a working unit and overlaying the bitter despair with sharp-edged adrenaline fury. Afterward they had gathered and talked, fitting carefully together again. They had redistributed the late-night watches, and that small act of adjustment and acceptance helped enormously as they turned to look ahead.

Blake had given the next three night's watches to Vila, Cally, and Jenna. He had not looked at Avon as he did so.

Blake wasn't sorry he had coaxed Avon into sleeping with him, that first awful night after Gan's death. He had been torn apart by grief and guilt, and had desperately needed the comfort, the human touch. He had thought Avon might as well; he hadn't seemed so very reluctant.

Avon's explosion of rage and fear afterward had rocked him badly. Confused and hurt, he had left to be alone, seeking time to think. And after all, the Liberator had come back for him, and Avon wasn't acting as though he had been forcibly overruled.

Blake was sorry for the things he had said to Avon when he first returned: bitter, vicious things. He had been frustrated and angry, disoriented by the sudden teleport and nauseated by adrenaline gone flat and sour in his veins. Avon had retaliated in kind, but the short, nasty exchange had slipped into the past and seemed forgotten. Blake gave the two of them three off-duty nights, and resolved to wait and see.

Avon had not missed Blake's manipulation of the duty schedule. Blake hadn't met his eyes as he gave out the assignments, but Avon watched him nonetheless. "I don't know whether we should go on," Blake had said. "Whether you would, even supposing I could ask." Was he asking now?

Avon had done a great deal of thinking, while Blake was gone. He wasn't prepared to tell Blake much of it; some he could hardly verbalize to himself. But it wasn't over between the two of them. He would make sure of that.

The five of them sat quietly in the artificial evening of the flight deck. Avon was buried in one of his interminable investigations of the ship's control systems. Jenna and Vila played cards and traded methods of cheating, while Blake and Cally discussed possible targets for another strike. Blake was aware of Avon listening surreptitiously, and after a little time he excused himself and rose.

"I'm turning in," he announced. "Good night, everyone." The others chorused back, while Avon only raised his head and watched him. Blake met the dark eyes, and after a moment Avon nodded slightly and returned to his work.

He watched Blake leave through half-lidded eyes. Avon had not forgotten how it had felt to be crushed to that broad chest. Comforting, and frightening. Arousing. He waited another quarter hour, repeating a silent debate he knew he had already won. Then he rose and put his tools neatly away, nodded curtly to the others and left the flight deck.

Blake's door was closed, but it opened at his touch. Blake sat at his desk, reading, and looked up as Avon walked in and shut the door behind him. Avon was unsurprised to see that Blake had not gone to sleep, nor even undressed. He laid the book aside and stood. "Hello, Avon," he said.

"Blake."

He waited, but Avon said nothing more. Blake took a breath. "I'm glad--" he began, and then changed his mind. "Thank you for coming back for me," he said instead.

"It wasn't done from sentiment."

Blake moved forward. "What, then?"

Avon was silent, his heart pounding. What did Blake want, anyway? It was far easier to think about that than to wonder what he wanted, himself. But he knew what he wanted, though he could scarcely admit it. The closeness of Blake's body confirmed it.

"I'm glad you're here," Blake said.

"Don't imagine I'm another of your puppydog followers," Avon snapped, scowling. Anger was so much safer.

"Hardly. I could never think it of you." Blake looked away. "Can't you ever stop?" he asked, a little bitterly.

Avon smiled slightly. "No. Can you?"

"Oh, yes." Blake took a step back to see Avon's face more clearly. "I didn't know if I would even see you again," he said, low. "I didn't know what you would say to me. You threatened to kill me. But I want to be your friend. And--you're here."

Damn this, Avon told himself. You know what you want, and you know damn well Blake wants it too. He closed the distance between them and put his hands to Blake's face. Blake leaned down and Avon met the kiss, pressing into it and invading Blake's mouth with his tongue. Their lips crushed together as Avon pulled the taller man down and Blake yielded gladly. Tongues twined and jostled.

Blake finally peeled Avon's hands from his temples and drew back a little. Holding the slender fingers in his own, he massaged them lightly. "Avon. Will you stay with me?"

Avon's expression went iron-hard and flat. A cold hand gripped his stomach and he took a step backward. "If it suits me."

Blake kicked himself. "I meant tonight, Avon." He rubbed his thumb over Avon's palm. "I think we've threatened each other enough, these past few days."

Avon's eyes gleamed. "Am I a threat, then?" he inquired.

Blake laughed and didn't answer. Avon caught his head and kissed him again, hard enough to hurt, then twisted his mouth away. "I am," he hissed. "And you know it."

"And am I?" Blake countered.

Avon was silent. You are, he thought. You are, because you've brought me here, and I don't know why. You are, because I seem to want something from you, and I don't want to want it. Oh, you are a threat, but I'll never let you know it. "Hardly," he said.

Blake watched Avon's face. The pause had been a second too long, but he didn't pursue it. Instead, he reached to undo Avon's shirt, but Avon pushed his hands away. Blake began unfastening his own clothing and Avon followed suit, a little behind him. Blake's shirt, Avon's shirt, Blake's pants, Avon's pants dropped to the floor, followed by underwear, until they both stood naked, watching each other. Blake was already partially erect, Avon saw. His own head was rushing with blood, but none of it seemed to have reached his groin.

They moved into a tight embrace and kissed again. Avon felt Blake's penis nudge his own. Then Blake's mouth moved along his neck to his ear and a tongue trailed dizzyingly inside. Teeth nipped his throat and he felt the first swelling pulse in his cock.

Blake's mouth charted amazing paths along his neck and shoulder, then dipped as Blake half-crouched to suck a nipple. Avon spread his feet to brace himself and sighed as Blake's mouth sank still lower, and muscular arms wrapped around his thighs, cupping his buttocks. With surprise, he found Blake's tongue worming through the tight curls until the tip touched the base of his cock. A finger stroked his balls and Blake's mouth strayed around his fast-stiffening cock, with never more than a brief, light touch to the shaft until he threw his head back and gritted his teeth, growing frantic with impatience. He groaned involuntarily, and Blake drew his tongue along the curve of his erection before finally, agonizingly, sinking his mouth down over it.

It was good. It was as good as he remembered, and Avon fought to keep from losing control as Blake's tongue and lips moved over him. He concentrated on keeping his balance, on Blake's shoulder muscles shifting under his hands. He touched a finger to Blake's ear, tracing it, and Blake made a half-smothered sound of pleasure.

Avon looked down at Blake's head and arms and the half-visible curve of his back. Palms on either side of Blake's face, he stilled his head and pulled him up again. He wanted to explore Blake's body, but he was flatly not about to kneel on the floor at his feet.

"Don't you believe in beds, Blake?" he whispered, a little hoarsely.

Blake chuckled and put an arm around Avon's shoulders, drawing him around the metal partition into the sleeping area. He pulled the nubby blanket out of the way and lay down on his side. Avon sat beside him. He drew his thumb around a nipple, and then reversed himself on the bed to investigate Blake's cock.

Lying beside Blake, he lifted it and touched his tongue experimentally to the drop of liquid at the tip. It wasn't a particularly pleasant taste, but he put that from his mind. Pillowed on Blake's thigh, he wet his lips and took the head into his mouth.

Blake surged forward, gagging him. Jerking away, he wrapped a hand around the base to block the thrusts. "Sorry," Blake breathed faintly.

Avon worked up a mouthful of saliva and bathed Blake's shaft in it until his hand could slide smoothly. He felt Blake doing the same to him, as lips gently covered his own erection. Ignoring that, he lowered his mouth onto Blake's cock again and began a steady pumping with lips and hand, spiralling his tongue across the head. He reached between Blake's thighs to cup his balls in his other hand, stroking them slowly the way he liked.

Blake could not suck for groaning. Avon felt his cock slip from Blake's mouth, and Blake's breath came quick and hot on his skin. Fingers dug into his buttocks and Blake began crying out, short sharp cries in time with the jerking thrusts into his mouth. Avon smiled to himself, pleased with the position of control. He began sinking deeper and deeper on Blake's cock, choking slightly but continuing, as Blake's legs began to tremble. Powerful hands clutched at him desperately, and then Blake went rigid and semen pulsed hard into his mouth, spilling from his lips as he swallowed. The taste was different from before, more bitter. He spat the last of it into the sheet.

Blake was gasping in the aftermath, his face hidden against Avon's leg. Grimacing, Avon rolled onto his back and put a hand under his head. His neck was stiff, and he had lost much of his own arousal while concentrating on Blake. The other man seemed wrapped in his private ecstasy, and Avon wondered if it had been worth it, after all. Interesting, yes, he told himself. No doubt of that. But I will not let Blake use me, and a willing victim is the worst of all.

After all, what did he want, that night? Someone to assuage his guilt. "I need to talk to someone," he had said. And tonight?

He wants to be my friend, he says. What is that worth?

Lost in his own musing, Avon did not notice when Blake raised his head to glance up along his body to his face. Seeing Avon's eyes unfocused, he looked back down at the softened organ before him. He smiled, drew a breath, and licked it lightly.

Avon started and half sat up. Blake grinned up at him and ran his tongue around his lips. "My turn." He sat up and pulled Avon into his arms. Avon hugged back, cautiously. Blake's arms tightened in a a bonecracking grip, and then his mouth covered Avon's again and the kiss pushed him back onto the bed. As before, Blake licked and nipped a path down his body, and when he reached Avon's groin he reversed himself so they were lying as they had before. Avon was strainingly erect again by the time Blake took him into his mouth, and the wet friction, tantalizingly slow, was excruciating. He shut his eyes and abandoned himself to the feeling.

Then Blake let Avon's cock slip away, holding it in one hand while he put his other index finger in his mouth, then touched it to Avon's anus.

"Blake..." said Avon uneasily.

Blake drew tiny wet circles with his fingertip. "If you don't like it," he said quietly, "I will stop."

Avon was silent. Blake kissed the base of his penis and pressed his lips against the vein there while he eased his finger in and stroked, gently. Avon moaned and Blake smiled, remembering his own astonished pleasure the first time a lover touched his prostate. He recaptured the searching cock with his mouth.

Avon moaned again, lost in sensation. His mind spun wildly out in dizzy arousal, blind to everything but the hands and mouth working so incredibly between his legs. The double experience of being penetrated and enveloped sent twin spikes of white light stabbing through his groin. He felt Blake's knuckle slide out and press in again, and Blake's throat closed around the head of his cock. His hips began to buck, and he hardly knew when his breath became a gasping cry, half-smothered against Blake's flesh. The light was blindingly bright, and there was nothing but rollers of pleasure up his spine, and the finger inside him, and his cock stretched tighter and tighter until he exploded, crying out as he emptied himself into Blake's throat.

Slowly he returned to his body, feeling a little sheepish. It seemed ridiculous to stand on dignity, with his face pressed into Blake's crotch and Blake's finger still buried in his rectum. After a minute, catching his breath, he raised himself on an elbow to watch Blake's mouth slide from his softening penis. Blake looked up and watched his face as he drew his finger out; Avon made himself meet Blake's eyes, flushing slightly. When Blake released him he turned to lie next to the bigger man and closed his eyes. An arm fell across his chest.

"Why are you here?" Blake asked.

Avon said nothing. The question hung in his mind, turning around and around. To tell you the truth, I haven't any idea... But that wasn't true either.

The bed shifted as Blake rolled and stood up. Avon turned toward the wall, listening to Blake's footsteps behind him. There was the brief sound of running water, and then the lights clicked off and Blake settled into bed against him and pulled the blanket up. He pressed his body to Avon's back and tucked his knees under Avon's bent legs, pulling the other man close with an arm around his waist. His breath was warm on the short hair of Avon's neck. He didn't repeat the question.

Avon considered possible answers. And some impossible ones. "You're good in bed," he said finally, but it came out sounding more like a question than anything else.

Blake laughed indulgently. "Thank you," he said, and waited.

Avon put his hand over the one pressed against his stomach. His fingers laced with Blake's.

"It's been a long time," he said, and knew he did not mean sex.

"Yes."

Avon considered, decided he did want to ask. "Why did you ask me to stay?" He flushed again, suddenly glad of the almost-total darkness.

"To be with you."

"You're begging the question, Blake."

"So are you." But Blake's voice was anything but annoyed.

They were silent for a while, until Blake spoke again. "Avon." He considered the name. "Does anyone call you Kerr?"

"No," answered Avon, a little too sharply.

Blake moved his thumb absently across the skin of Avon's stomach. "I think," he murmured, "it would be an act of great intimacy. To call you Kerr."

"Don't push it, Blake," Avon warned, and there was real steel in his voice. Blake fell still, aware that the muscles under his hands had drawn tight. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Avon didn't answer. After a moment Blake's thumb brushed him again, tentatively. Relax, he told himself. He doesn't know anything about it. And it's not as if it isn't true. Even Anna had only rarely used the name.

He needed to change the subject. "Where are you taking this ship now, Blake?" he asked, and his voice was louder than he had meant. "Now that you've reestablished your legendary reputation?"

Blake sighed. "Does it matter, Avon?"

Avon was obscurely glad of Blake's use of his name, and relaxed slightly. "Certainly not to me. But I'm surprised to hear you say it."

"I don't want to fight with you, Avon. Not here. Leave it for now."

Silence again, neither willing to venture on another topic. Avon closed his eyes, and after a few minutes let his head fall back slightly. Lips touched his neck.

"I'm glad you stayed," said a soft voice.

"Mmm," he answered vaguely, and drifted away.

Avon pitched forward into terrifying emptiness and woke, gasping. His heart rammed sickeningly against his ribs, and he jerked upright and pulled his knees hard against the aching hollow of his chest. He knew better than to try to remember the dream, but clamped his teeth in the back of his hand and waited, shaking, for its iron claws to finish with him and let him go.

But then Blake's arms wrapped around the rigid ball of his body, and Blake's mouth was at his ear, murmuring sleepy words of concern. Avon drew a long, shuddering breath as Blake stroked his back, his hair. Slowly he uncurled his legs from the sick emptiness in his stomach, turning to press himself instead against Blake's warm solidity. Blake hugged him close and sank back onto the bed, pulling Avon down on top of him. Sprawled on Blake's body, Avon slid his hands under the other man's shoulders and pressed his face into Blake's neck. His stomach still cramped, but Blake's hands were firm on his waist. He lay and kept his mind from the nightmare, concentrating instead on the reassuring warmth of Blake's skin, the unevenness of the bones he lay on.

Blake murmured something unintelligible and settled back into sleep. His hands slipped from Avon's back, but Avon's own weight kept them pressed tightly together. His heart was slowing as the adrenaline ebbed from his blood, and he drew another long breath, more evenly. Blake shifted slightly at the faint breeze across his skin, and Avon raised himself on his elbows to look at Blake's face in the faint glow of the control panel on the far wall.

What are you thinking, Blake? He slipped one hand from under Blake's shoulder to brush a finger across the full lips, and Blake twitched and turned his head away. His eyelids flickered and Avon stilled, but Blake did not wake.

"What are you thinking?" he whispered. Blake seemed oddly young in sleep, without that intense absorption in his self and his Greater Good which could so infuriate Avon. He carefully lifted himself off Blake's chest to lie at his side, still watching his face. Feeling almost like a voyeur, watching Blake sleep.

Blake turned and murmured something Avon could not catch. It might have been his name, but he couldn't be sure. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

He chilled as a thought came to him. Which of them had fallen asleep first? Had Blake, perhaps, watched him like this? Listened to him, unguarded in sleep? Whose name might he call, trapped in a nightmare he didn't wake from?

He sat up again and pulled his legs in, resting his head on his knees. He did not so much as form her name with his lips, but he couldn't keep it from his mind. Had he betrayed her, tonight? He knew she had been in his dream. She always was, somehow. He cut off that line of thought, afraid. Looked down at Blake's face again.

It wasn't to be borne. Carefully, so as not to wake the sleeper, he slipped from the bed, padded across to the clothes left in the outer part of the cabin. He dressed by the light of the glowing timepiece inset in the desk and let himself out without looking back. His cabin was only a dozen meters away, but it was all the distance in the world.

It was reassuringly familiar, to be among his own things in his own room. Odd to think that this alien ship could have become a home, even a poor one. A book left on his desk, notes on the function of the communicator bracelets scattered over it. A print on the wall that had struck his fancy on some forgotten excursion. His own bed. Undressing again, he settled in and closed his eyes.

But he could not fall asleep. Restless, he rolled from one side of the bed to the other, until he felt the sudden chill of the wall against his skin.. He curled up and emptiness came pressing at his back. Lying on his stomach, his own breath rushing against the pillow was too loud in the silence.

It was nearly an hour of wakefulness before he admitted, consciously, what troubled him. Loneliness. Lonely for the warmth of another person beside him. The even sound of Blake's breathing.

And to sleep with him? Lie beside him, asleep?

What did it matter, anyway? No doubt if he were going to talk in his sleep, he already had. The alternative appeared to be not to sleep at all. And once he posed the question, the choice was clear, as clear as the debate he fought with himself on the flight deck, all those hours ago. For the second time that night, he stood and put on his clothes.

The lights were on in Blake's cabin when he let himself in. Coming around the partition, he saw Blake watching him, crosslegged on the bed. He met the steady gaze, saying nothing. Blake kept silent as well, watching as he pulled off his shirt and undershirt and dropped them to the floor. Not until he began to unbuckle his belt did Blake speak.

"Why did you leave?"

He stepped out of his pants, folded them loosely and let them fall. "I wanted to be alone."

Blake's eyes followed his underwear down. "And?"

Avon toed the pile of clothes aside and crossed to the control panel. With a touch, the only light in the room was the faint indicator glow.

"I changed my mind," he said into the darkness and came to the bed, pulling Blake down to lie snugly against him.