The Darkness of the Separate Will

Blake wasn't surprised when Avon did not come to his cabin that night. Something had happened on Albian, something involving Del Grant and the woman Anna, and whatever it was was too heavy for the fragile strands of their relationship to support. They had been together only a few times, and outside their cabins never referred to what was between them. The relationship was still a tenuous web, unspoken of, that a sudden movement might tear irrevocably. Blake remembered his half-joking words, "Are you going to tell me about Anna?" and winced. He should have known better. Whatever it was was obviously too close to Avon for humor. Avon could only joke about things that didn't matter.

Eventually, he rose and wrapped a robe around himself before leaving his cabin and heading for Avon's. He didn't know if the taciturn man would even let him in, but he felt he had to try. Avon had only spoken briefly and abruptly to him since they had left Albian, and had shut himself in his cabin as soon as his shift was over.

Avon's door was closed, the metal panel blank and hostile. He tapped lightly and called "Avon? May I?" Sometimes Avon's moods were best met with equal force, but he didn't feel up to it now. And sometimes matching Avon's sharpness only drove him farther away. He never knew just how to meet the man, but he felt compelled to keep trying.

There was no response and he almost turned away. Avon clearly didn't want company. Particularly his? He didn't know. Something had changed between them since the night he had--he admitted it--seduced Avon. He grimaced. Of course something had changed. He still wasn't sure why he had done it, or why Avon had let him. And had come to him, defiant, diffident, since then. But he trusted his feelings, his instincts, and they had pushed him on. He only hoped he hadn't made a terrible mistake. He knocked again, harder.

The door opened and Avon stood there, glowering. He stepped aside without a word and Blake accepted the rather grudging, implicit invitation and entered. Avon was fully dressed, in characteristic black tunic and pants, and Blake felt awkward in the loose, flapping robe. Avon shut the door behind him. A good sign, perhaps? At least, Blake thought, he was not to be ejected immediately.

"Yes?" Avon's voice was curt.

Blake sighed. He didn't know exactly why he had come, only that Avon was clearly upset, hurt by something that had happened on Albian. He wanted to help him. He was curious about what could get so far past Avon's massive defenses. Even he had to fight, every time, to reach him. He wished a little that Avon would open up, voluntarily, just once. But perhaps it was partly the challenge that attracted him?

Enough. You're here, Blake, so say something. "Is Del Grant still going to kill you?" He softened the question with a smile that glanced off Avon's rigid face.

"No. There was a--misunderstanding." Avon turned away and poured a drink from a flask standing on the low table. He offered it to Blake, who took it as Avon picked up an already half-empty glass and drained it. Drinking was unlike Avon, and Blake watched his hands as he set the glass down. Completely steady. Or maybe it wasn't unlike Avon. How much did he really know the man?

"About what?"

"You...wouldn't understand." The words fell as flat now as they had in the teleport bay.

"Are you so sure? Let me try, Avon. Let me help." From the snatches he had overheard, he knew the woman had died, and that Grant had blamed Avon. And Avon had blamed himself, perhaps. But he wanted Avon to tell him, to open up, to share something for once instead of having it pried out of him. Avon walked a few steps away and turned to face him, arms folded tightly across his body.

"Blake. What is it you want?" Because I won't give it, his posture said.

There was no talking to Avon when his defenses were this fierce. Blake couldn't face a battle of repartee. What was enjoyable on the flight deck, with friendship unsaid beneath, was intolerable here with some unknown tension strung through Avon's body. But he couldn't bear the thought of leaving now, leaving Avon to battle whatever demon he fought alone.

Why not? he asked himself. Avon obviously doesn't want my help.

But he needs it. Even if he won't admit it. And I want--I need, for some reason--to help him. Even when he won't allow it.

Blake set down his untouched glass and moved toward Avon, closer than he ever came outside of those four times, late at night when the ship slept. Avon allowed it, unmoving. His folded arms tightened against his chest as Blake raised a hand to touch his face.

"Avon, let me help you. Open up. What's bothering you?"

"You'd like to know, wouldn't you?" Avon's voice was strained.

"Yes, Kerr. I'd like to know." Feeling greatly daring, he chanced using Avon's given name. He knew Avon allowed the intimacy from few people, and he himself had only said it in bed, before. In passion. Never openly, in conversation. To be acknowledged.

Avon stiffened and turned his head away from Blake's palm, and Blake felt a sudden flash of irritation. Damn it, let me in, he thought. How can I reach you if you won't look at me? He stopped the motion of Avon's head with his other hand, and holding the shorter man's face between his palms he bent and kissed him, softly, on the lips. Avon allowed it without responding, and met his eyes when he raised his head again. The dark gaze was flinty and brittle.

"That's your answer to everything, isn't it, Blake?" He had never called him 'Roj'. "Gan's death, your ridiculous visions, me--" He broke off, then resumed. "All to be wiped clean in sex."

Making love, Blake wanted to say, but couldn't. The word was too dangerous, much though he longed to say it. Instead he pressed his lips on Avon's again, probing with his tongue until he felt the first, almost unwilling response. Ending the kiss, he kept one hand on Avon's face as he drew the other man to the narrow bed.

Avon was passive at first, as he had not been since the first time, under Blake's questing hands. He lay and watched as Blake peeled away the tunic, pulled down the pants, kissing and stroking as he went. But when both men were nude, he rolled atop Blake, taking the larger man by surprise as he pinned his shoulders to the bed and captured the full lips with his own. His teeth bruised Blake's mouth as his hips swayed, grinding his erection against Blake's. Twisting his head away for breath, Blake saw that Avon's eyes were screwed shut. His hands slipped from Blake's shoulders to clench the sheet in fists.

Blake writhed, dizzy with arousal, under the lithe body until Avon sat back and pulled his legs roughly apart and up. Covering his hand with saliva, he rubbed it over the head of his erection and pressed it into Blake's tight opening. It was painful and Blake gasped in surprise, trying to keep from tensing the muscle. But the pain faded as Avon worked his way in and then out, and Blake shifted with pleasure and wrapped his legs around Avon's waist. He reached up to stroke his face, but Avon's eyes were shut again and he met the touch by shoving in hard, balls slamming against Blake's buttocks.

Avon had never been this forceful in bed, and Blake found it oddly, and intensely, arousing. Avon was making faint, animal sounds in his throat, a hoarse gasping as he sucked in breath. Blake kneaded his lover's buttocks and met the thrusts eagerly, rubbing hard against Avon's stomach, sweat-slick. The stroking inside and the friction along his penis sent him plunging over the edge, arching upward as he spurted semen between their bodies. Avon grunted in acknowledgement and pressed him down again, thrusting hard, face hidden as he leaned his forehead bruisingly on Blake's chest. He came with a tearing cry, high-pitched and desperate, and collapsed on Blake's panting body, breath whistling past his ear.

They lay for a little, not speaking. Blake put his arms over Avon's back--Kerr's, he thought daringly to himself--and held him lightly. The weight on his body was pleasant and not uncomfortable. He felt Avon shift a little, turning for air, and knew to the moment when the dark man would raise his head and meet his eyes. Avon was always most open, most relaxed, in the soft haze following orgasm. They could talk then, sometimes, in ways they never could elsewhere. Avon would unbend a little, safe in the nest of their two bodies. He murmured into the ruffled hair. "Now, tell me. What was it?"

But the muscles under his hands were tensing, drawing slowly together, and Avon lifted his head to roll off Blake and sit up, on the edge of the bed. Blake sat up too, pulling himself next to the other man, and as their legs touched Avon stood up abruptly. Blake reached up to touch him, puzzled.

"Blake, please go away." Avon's voice was harsh, and he did not look down.

Stunned, Blake stood up as well. Avon met his eyes but did not move, either toward him or away. "What-- Kerr, what is it?"

Avon paled visibly but remained still. "Go away, Blake," he said again. "I don't want to see you right now."

"How can you say that, after this?" Blake was hurt and confused, and let it show. He ran a finger through the wetness on Avon's stomach, and felt the skin tighten under his touch. Avon stood rooted, determinedly unmoving.

"I didn't want you here, Blake. You know that. Must you extend your role of self-appointed messiah to me?" He drew air in slowly and let it out. "I gave you what you wanted. But there are some things you can't have. Learn that now."

Confused, resigned, Blake bent to pick up his robe. "I don't understand. But I'll do what you want." He wound the belt around his waist and turned toward the door. With his hand on the control, he paused. "I'll be in my cabin, Avon. When you want to talk." He stepped outside and looked back through the open door. Avon watched him, something clamped down so tightly in those black eyes that Blake could hardly see it. Apology, anger, appeal? Avon made a sudden, mute gesture of dismissal, and Blake let the door close. Whatever had been in those eyes, he would find out sooner or later. Somehow, find a chink in that armour. He didn't doubt it would be worth it. But Avon's expression, pain walled off behind fierce privacy, stayed with him into his own room and the cold sheets.