Stephanie Vaughan

Off World: Wanted Man

The music was loud.

Was it louder than usual tonight, or did it just seem that way?
Sandy D'abu couldn't decide. Maybe he was just getting old -- too
old for this nonsense, anyway.

He'd known going in that tonight's show at Nelly's wasn't going to
turn his crank. BDSM wasn't his thing, especially the SM part of the
equation, but Alex was working tonight and it was his job to keep an
eye on the willowy bartender.

Nothing official, of course.

Officially Alex was a friend - two parts friendship, one part obligation
- from back on Earth.

Still new to the terraformed asteroid that called itself Doradus
Station, Alex had had a particularly rough time getting away from
Earth. Since the last-chance-Texaco outpost they now called home
wouldn't win anybody's vote for the most hospitable place in the
belt, Sandy'd been asked to keep a friendly eye on things while the
rest of the crew was away. With the Vigilant -- Sarhaan and Kai
included -- off on a run and someone needed to keep a weather eye
on things, he'd been elected.

If somewhere during the course of the assignment things Sandy had
begun to take a slightly more … personal interest in the matter …
Well, that was no one's business but his own. So he watched the
scene taking place on the stage with a distinctly uninterested eye,
the interested one casting its gaze regularly on the tall figure
dressed in black behind the bar.

"Not your thing either, huh?"

D'abu had been vaguely aware of someone new settling in on the
barstool behind him. He turned to get a look at whoever'd been
brave enough to address comments to his admittedly oversized back
.

The comment appeared to belong to a rangy newcomer, all chiseled
jaw and cool blue eyes. D'abu took it all in: the dark, messy hair;
the mocking twist to a dangerously sensual pair of lips; the
challenging expression in a face much too young for the size of the
chip on an otherwise attractively broad set of shoulders. "Not really.
You?"

The shrug was as noncommittal as the grunt that accompanied it.
The well-shaped lips pursed thoughtfully as the man's gaze slid
away from D'abu's, to focus on some inward tableau. For a moment
he appeared lost in thought, rapt in some scene only he could see.
Until he blinked like a lazy cat and smiled at D'abu. "Nope."

D'abu was on the point of turning way, sensing a high-maintenance
personality he was in no mood to deal with, when the young man
reached out his hand. "I'm Édouard. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Maybe later, Édouard. I'm okay for now."

D'abu had thought the man was reaching out to shake, but Édouard
instead stroked two fingers down the inside of his wrist, and D'abu's
cock stirred. He'd always been alarmingly easy to arouse, but it
caught him off guard to be propositioned so openly, by someone as
obviously young as Édouard appeared to be.

"Would you like to go somewhere a little quieter? We could ... talk."

The pause before the last word told D'abu all he needed to know
about what was really on Édouard's mind. Another languid stroke of
fingers on his wrist that might as well have been down his cock had
D'abu thinking twice. He cast a glance in Alex's direction and found
Alex watching, a disapproving look in his distinctive blue eyes .
Looking back at Édouard, D'abu was struck suddenly by the similarity
in coloring. Same seal-brown hair, same fair skin with pink
undertones, similarly knowing blue eyes - although Alex's might be a
shade or two lighter.

"At least tell me your name."

D'abu turned back as the fingers trailed lazily up his arm, lighting
small fires under his skin, all of them leading straight back to his
cock. Now standing next to Édouard was a similarly tall, similarly
lovely young man, this one angelically fair, one arm draped indolently
along Édouard's elegant shoulders.

Catching D'abu's arched eyebrow, Édouard performed the
introductions. Or, attempted to. "You still haven't told me your
name. This is Patrick, by the way."

Leaving his friend's side, Patrick stepped between D'abu's legs,
spread wide as they were to straddle the barstool. Moving deep into
D'abu's personal space, Patrick cocked his head a bit as he lifted a
hand to touch the side of D'abu's face. Stared a moment before
tracing a delicate finger along his cheek and down his neck.

His tattoo, D'abu stupidly realized.

Strangers were frequently curious, but the spell cast by the touch
of the exquisitely blond Patrick slowed D'abu's mental processes
considerably, as blood fled his brain -- to feed his rapidly filling cock,
no doubt. "D'abu."

A gentle squeeze of his cock and Patrick was tipping D'abu's head
back, pressing soft pink lips to D'abu's mouth and slipping his tongue
inside as he openly fondled D'abu's crotch.

"Patrick! What are you thinking? What if Mr. D'abu doesn't
appreciate your attentions? Besides, I found him first."

D'abu used his free hand to pull Patrick closer, placing it firmly on
Patrick's ass. Retrieving his tongue long enough to give consent,
D'abu squeezed the muscular ass beneath the soft material of the
man's pants and tugged him closer. "That's all right. Maybe you'd
better call me Sandy."

The unbelievably supple texture of the pants spoke of a luxury D'abu
had little experience with; the tongue in his mouth, on the other
hand, was familiar enough. D'abu opened wide, drinking in the fresh
taste of Patrick's lips on his.

"Are you sure you wouldn't care to step outside, Sandy? It's so
awfully noisy. And smoky." A delicate cough punctuated Édouard's
commentary, and D'abu realized he'd grown so accustomed to the
smell of the drug-laced cigars favored by the clientele of Nelly's that
he no longer noticed them. Patrick's hand gave D'abu's dick another
squeeze, and Sandy couldn't remember anymore what his
reservations had been.

Really, what could it hurt?

Sandy's libido argued persuasively that nothing here needed his
urgent attention. An hour or two spent with a pair of beautiful,
energetic young men sounded like just what the doctor ordered to--
OhdearGod.

A hand slipped down the back seam of Sandy's pants, a questing
finger stroking across his asshole, and Sandy stood abruptly, nearly
dumping Patrick to the floor.

"Did you say you have a room?"

Although the ass his hand caressed was Patrick's, the question was
directed at Édouard, who smiled.

"As a matter of fact we didn't -- but I do. We do."

"Which way?"

* * *

Not one of the expensive themed rooms Nelly's was justifiably
famous throughout the sector for, Patrick and Édouard had rented a
basic room, albeit one with a bed sized for orgies. It still had all the
basics, though, including a deluxe hygiene station and a generous
selection of toys.

Sandy didn't think they'd need any toys, at least not to start with.

Patrick was already half-undressed, his shirt - an equally
expensive-looking mate to the pants Sandy had had his hand all
over - already lay puddled in a forgotten heap on the floor. Lean
torso gleaming in the soft glow of the room's recessed lights, Patrick
had his hands under Sandy's shirt, stroking Sandy's thick chest as
he simultaneously lifted the shirt over Sandy's head.

A dozen centimeters taller than either Édouard or Patrick, Sandy
drew in a deep breath as he contemplated their collective loveliness.
Young and fresh, unsullied by any of life's ugliness. Sandy wasn't
sure what had led them to choose him; and there was no doubt in
his mind that they had chosen him. He'd been marked and selected,
seduced as easily as any raw recruit.

"Patrick, you don't talk much, do you?"

Having removed most of his own clothing, Édouard stood behind
Sandy, reaching both hands around his waist to loosen the snap of
Sandy's pants, while Patrick grasped Sandy's upper body in both
hands, smiling up at Sandy before lowering his head to take one of
Sandy's nipples into his mouth.

His head falling back at the lovely sensations washing over him,
Sandy nearly sighed aloud as Édouard kissed down his back, slipping
Sandy's loosened pants down over his engorged cock, now straining
up toward his belly. Reaching around from behind, Édouard held
Sandy's cock for Patrick.

"Patrick's not as good at languages as I am. Although," Édouard
paused to lick the small of Sandy's back before continuing, "he's
better than he thinks he is. I keep telling him … He understands
everything. He's just self-conscious about his accent."

Wrapping his arms around Sandy's thighs, Patrick slurped the head
of Sandy's cock into his mouth, his eyes closed in a rapturous
trance, and Sandy had a moment to wonder at what two succulent
young things as Patrick and Édouard were could find ecstatic about
his scarred soldier's body. Then Patrick was engulfing Sandy's whole
cock, swallowing Sandy down his sweet throat to the root, and all
higher brain functions shut down.

Hands guided Sandy's thighs apart, broadening his stance, and a
gentle, probing finger stroked over the sensitive nerves of his ass.
Stroked lightly, circled it once, twice, and Sandy was quivering with
expectation.

The mouth on his dick was hot -- a mind-stealing vortex of suction
and intensity. Patrick's mouth was fantastic, drawing Sandy's cock
into its seductive depths again and again, his tongue putting
incredible pressure on the underside as Sandy rode Patrick's
gorgeous face.

Sandy's butt cheeks were gently but firmly held apart for a
determined tongue, now pressing insistently at his asshole. Front
and back, each sensation more amazing than the last, Sandy was
tormented by hot mouths working on him, one probing into him, the
other sucking the last of his feeble brains out his dick.

"Oh, fuck, that's-- Dear God, you … oh!" Just as the tongue
spearing his asshole worked itself deeper, Patrick drew away, pulling
his hot, sweet mouth from Sandy's dick, and Sandy nearly wept at
the loss. "Don't stop. Unh."

"Not a god." Sandy realized dazedly that it was his first time hearing
Patrick speak -- the slight but noticeable, liltingly indefinable accent
and liquid gold tone suiting his perverted choirboy face perfectly.

"Put your mouth back on me - I'll call you anything you want." It
wasn't begging, exactly. Sandy was more offering encouragement.
Yeah, that was it. He needed something to balance him, or the
wickedly talented mouth of young Édouard, now alone in its efforts
to torment and delight, would topple Sandy forward.

"Édouard?"

Taking his time to answer, Édouard ran a finger down Sandy's spine,
letting it flirt maddeningly with the blatant clenching of Sandy's ass
when he finally sat back to speak. "Mm, yes, I know what you
mean, Patrick. So delicious." Another brief lick. "But we did have
other plans. Yes?"

"Yes." How did Patrick manage to make a one-syllable affirmation
sound so decadent, so sinfully depraved, so wickedly erotic? His
breathless whisper grabbed Sandy by the balls and reeled him in.

"Plans?" That sounded like something he ought to follow up on, and
Sandy tried desperately to gather some brain cells together, maybe
form a coherent thought.

Rising to place a brief kiss on Sandy's shoulder, Édouard trailed one
teasing hand over Sandy's ass. "Indeed. Patrick and I --" hanging on
to Sandy with both hands, Édouard leaned over for a brief but
thorough kiss from Patrick, licking his lips while gazing fondly at his
beautiful friend as he resumed, "-- h ave always found your
Republican military forces very attractive."

Patrick was backing toward the bed and Sandy found himself
following. All of that smooth, bare skin called to him and he hated to
risk letting it get too far away. "Mm-hmm?" Agreeing absently,
Sandy paused when Patrick unhooked his pants and slid them down
surprisingly sturdy legs lightly furred with more blond hair. It was
what rose from a cloud of soft, silvery-gold curls that forced a
whimper past his lips, though.

Long and thick enough to choke a Viking, Patrick's dick was nothing
short of amazing.

Stunning.

Sandy wanted it.

Wanted his mouth on it.

Wanted it in him.

God, it was gorgeous.

"Patrick and I-" So momentarily dazzled, Sandy was actually startled
when Édouard spoke. "We've always wondered what it would be like,
the two of us and one of your special forces Marines. It would have
to be fantastic, we decided. It could be nothing less."

Something about Édouard's story niggled at Sandy's brain.
"Marines?" He hadn't paid a lot of attention to what they'd talked
about, but he knew he hadn't mentioned that little detail.

"Yes. We did our research. In your country, back on Earth, we
agreed it was impossible. In ours, there was no opportunity."
Loosening his own trousers, instead of dropping them summarily as
his friend had, Édouard played with the flexible waistband, running
his fingers inside it. Scraped his fingernails along the fly. "But when
Patrick's father announced he was traveling here on business, well
…" He shrugged. "It was obviously a sign of something meant to be.
Destiny, clearly. Or so we thought."

"Sandy?" Draped across the bed now, Patrick leaned back on a pile
of pillows and stroked himself in blatant invitation.

Sandy's eyes widened. Good lord, did he want some of that.

Behind him, the unmistakable sound of cloth and belt buckle hitting
the floor tapped lightly on Sandy's consciousness. When a very
naked body pressed itself close to him, hands again reaching around
him, this time to stroke his cock and gently fondle his balls, Sandy's
mind reeled from the possibilities fighting for priority inside it.

"Which way would you like to give it to me first?"

* * *

Sandy found a seat on the last car of a tram heading back to the
Vigilant. Letting his head fall back against the headrest, he closed
his eyes and dozed, despite the tram's crappy linkage and jerky ride.

He was exhausted.

His nipples ached.

He was sore in a dozen places.

He'd been worked, without a doubt - even before they'd begun
using the toys.

Sinking into the hot, tight grasp of Édouard's ass had been
incredible. Patrick in his mouth had been fantastic. In his ass, even
better.

For nearly a full rotation he'd gotten no sleep and not much to eat.
Maybe at Patrick's and Édouard's age he'd been able to pull that off
and still put in a full day's work the next morning, but now? The
repairs in life support would have to wait, since Naslund couldn't
handle them on his own and there was no way Sandy was making it
as he was. He had an urgent need to spend some quality time with
his bunk, pronto, before he fell down.

Sarhaan wouldn't be happy about it, that was for sure.

Still … opportunities were meant to be seized and it had felt damned
good to be fantasy material for not one, but two hot men. God, if
only he could get-

Sandy shook his head went back to the moment last night when
he'd wrapped his arms around a smooth, muscular back. Burying his
head in a mop of sleek brown hair, he'd closed his eyes and imagined
that, for just a moment, he'd been …

Sleep was tugging at him again.

Slumping down in the uncomfortable hard plastic seat, Sandy sighed
and tried to find a sleeping posture that wouldn't leave him crippled
when he finally got back to the ship. Maybe somehow he could find
his way back to that moment last night when he'd closed his eyes
and pretended he was where he wanted to be.

End

© 2007, Stephanie Vaughan
All Rights Reserved