fugue - Oblique Publications

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FUGUE ˆˆˆˆˆ
JANE BARON
ˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆ
“I wanted to know if the Lethe helped. I
am glad it worked…passably.” Behind his back
she rolled her eyes at Blake, who had a cold flash
before he realized it was merely in conspiratorial
amusement over Avon’s negative genius. Relaxing
once more, Blake eyed the tech again
thoughtfully. Avon seemed rejuvenated,
energized…hell, almost jaunty.
A voice spoke in his ear. “You’re looking
awfully pleased with yourself, Blake. Someone
give you Travis’ new address?”
Startled, Blake waved Vila off, and then
hastily began to give orders before Cally could
ask him how he’d slept. For one wistful moment
he envisioned how she might look were he to
give her an honest answer.
Surrounded by people, with a hundred
niggling problems vying for his attention, and a
hundred minor tasks waiting to be done, it had
been easy to keep his mind off Avon. But now,
lying on his bunk, damp body wrapped haphazardly
in a shabby robe, he had no defense against
the memories. Pictures, sounds, smells…and
always the sensations: fine-grained skin under
his fingertips, a soft mouth gnawing gently on
his aching flesh…
He gave in to the arousal, letting the robe
fall apart, imagining that it was Avon’s hand
instead of his, allowing the images to swim
before him. Amazing how swiftly the fire flared,
how soon he heard his own breath coming
harshly.
There was a chime at the door.
He started guiltily, then flushed and
quickly stood and pulled the robe closed,
straightening it. “It’s unlocked.”
The door slid open to reveal Avon.
There was no reason for Blake’s original
guilt—after all, he’d been doing nothing wrong,
nothing shameful—but at the sight of the computer
tech he flushed more deeply than ever,
discomfort and unnamed fear rising to close his
throat.
“Well?” he said roughly around the
obstruction, not moving any nearer as the door
ˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆ PÆAN TO PRIAPUS
slid shut behind the tech.
Quite calmly, Avon walked over and
laid his head on Blake’s shoulder.
Blake could only stand paralyzed as the
blood swept through his face and neck in waves,
as the smell in his nostrils finished the job his
hand had begun, leaving him fully engorged and
erect, craving to press himself against Avon. He
was dumbfounded.
Soft hair tickled his chin as Avon nestled
closer.
Suspicion—no, certainty—flashed
through him at once. He pried Avon loose and
leant back to look into his face. And nodded.
“You took the rest of it, didn’t you?” he
demanded of the downcast eyes shielded by
heavy lashes. “So you could sleep passably
again—‘passably,’ my aunt! But how the hell
did you get all this way by yourself?” Holding
Avon off with one hand, he chewed a knuckle of
the other, finally adding, “I suppose, compared
to what you did last night, navigating a few corridors
is easy. And so you liked it, did you? And
you’re back for more. The question now that
you’re here is: what in space am I going to do
with you?”
His visitor had definite opinions on that.
Blake intercepted the hand creeping inside his
robe and the one stealing around his neck, then
staggered as Avon suddenly went limp against
him, a deadweight, forcing him to throw his
arms around the tech’s body in support, or let
him fall.
Blake’s erection, rising from the loosened
robe, pressed into the cool tautness of
quilted leather, the head snagging on tiny protrusions
as Avon, still pendent, moved suggestively.
Whether because of that or because the
tech was heavy, Blake didn’t know, but quite
abruptly his knees gave way and he fell backwards
onto the bed with Avon on top. The fall
winded him, but the weight was perfect; the urge
to simply clamp Avon’s hips there and thrust
between those slender thighs, was nearly irresistible.
It would take him only moments to
reach climax like that.
ˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆˆ