Amorous Overnight (6 page)

The minister tensed visibly, and for a moment, Hastion feared he would deny the request. But then he pushed back his chair and stood.

Hastion almost wished he hadn’t. The long shaft of Cecine’s cock, easily discerned under the thin white mabi pants, grew even longer, pushing out away from his lean thighs, and for the first time in years, Hastion wished desperately for Lonia. He wanted nothing more than to bury his face against her breast the way he had as a youngling, to let her hold him until the storm of uncertainty had passed and he found courage enough to surrender to the unknown.

“Very well, Ensign. My stewards have been instructed not to intrude on you. I’ll be in my quarters. If you don’t appear—”

“I will,” Hastion said almost sharply. “Sir.”

Rather than chastising him for his tone, the minister inclined his head then turned and walked through the door connecting his dining room to his living quarters.

Once the door closed, Hastion shoved his plate aside and propped his elbows on the table, resting his head in his shaking hands as he sucked in deep breaths.

Peserin, why was he reacting to the minister like a virginal female? Bottoming for another male was what he’d dreamed of ever since he discovered gay pornography on the Terran Internet more than a year ago. And since their discovery of anal orgasm weeks earlier, he’d known being fucked wasn’t just a possibility—it was inevitable. Even with the Terran women they recruited, there weren’t nearly enough females to accommodate the legions of deprived Garathani males. Sooner or later, the unmated dominants would get desperate enough to start fucking subordinate males, and blatant exhibitionist that he’d fashioned himself, he was likely to be among the first fucked.

In fact, he’d depended on it.

But he’d never imagined the greatest male ever to spring from Peserin’s hallowed loins would be the one fucking him. For some idiotic reason he’d all but deified Minister Cecine in his mind, assuming him beyond the needs of mere mortal flesh. He couldn’t have been more shocked if one of the blessed Powers themselves had descended from the heavens and ordered him to bend over.

Hastion let his head drop to the table with a groan. His naiveté was beyond mortifying. Of course the minister had carnal needs—he was only sixty years old and wouldn’t reach middle age until he was eighty or more. With his power and vitality, it wasn’t impossible that he’d live to see two hundred. Hastion should have assumed he’d engaged an entire harem of Terran females to satisfy his needs and spent all his free time making up for the long years of deprivation.

But using another male…? No. He would never have seen that coming, not when the minister was allowed his choice of Garathani females. And even if he had, he wouldn’t have expected to be the male chosen.

What he’d expected was to be forcibly claimed by a lesser warrior. That would no doubt be the way of things for a while—the rape of males wasn’t yet addressed in their laws and probably wouldn’t be until a huge number of them had already been claimed for use by others. The prospect hadn’t discouraged Hastion. He was strong enough, fast enough and intelligent enough to evade any male he didn’t wish to submit to.

So why was he sitting here chewing his nails when the opportunity of a lifetime awaited him in the next room? The stuff of legends or not, Minister Cecine required sexual service, and if Hastion didn’t provide it, some other male would. He wasn’t about to let that happen.

Even better, the minister had claimed Shelley. That made any potential arguments against bottoming for him irrelevant. Hastion wanted to be fucked by a worthy male and he wanted Shelley. What more was there to consider?

He jumped up. It was time to set aside his awe and seize the moment.

Self-doubt immediately glued his feet to the biologic pad. The minister had only chosen him because he’d been the first warrior foolhardy enough to offer himself for consideration as second. Would he have asked the same concessions of any other warrior? More important, would any other have accepted? After all, providing such a service in exchange for the benefits of second position could technically be considered whoring.

Irrelevant, he reminded himself firmly as he started for the door. No way was he letting this opportunity pass him by. There were much worse things to whore oneself for than a pretty mate and two babes.

Besides, whoring had suddenly become not only acceptable but necessary on Garathan, and the council had already paid enormous sums to import Terran females for such services.

He stopped again just short of the door. Powers, he hadn’t bathed, or cleaned his mouth, or voided his bowels since this morning. What if his body offended the minister’s senses?

Or what if he lost all self-control in the heat of the moment and disgraced himself by sobbing or screaming?

What if the minister found the whole encounter so repulsive he decided he didn’t need a second that badly?

Hastion’s skin prickled with humiliation. He’d be fucked in every way possible then.

Stop! Now, before you drive yourself insane.

Closing his eyes, he took a calming breath, and then another. The minister knew he’d been on duty since early afternoon, and by now he was surely aware of the potential pitfalls of using the waste canal for something other than its intended purpose. If he wanted Hastion in pristine condition, he would allow him time to get that way.

And the minister had suggested this experiment because he knew bottoming for another male could very well be unpleasant, if not thoroughly traumatic, and surely wouldn’t hold any uncontrolled reaction against him.

Irrelevant, Hastion told himself one last time. He would control himself, the minister would accept him as second, and he would never give the minister any reason to regret offering him second position in his bond with Shelley. No other outcome was acceptable.

Taking one last deep breath, he squared his shoulders and marched into the minister’s living quarters.

Chapter Three

It was rather anticlimactic to find the suite’s large sitting area empty. Hastion looked around curiously for a moment and then followed the sound of music down a long corridor to the only open door.

The minister sat at a large black piano in the midst of a treasure trove of instruments from all over the galaxy. Though there was no music display in front of him, he played as if he’d mastered the instrument long ago. Had he downloaded a mastery program or was he naturally talented?

Hovering in the doorway, Hastion cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you took an interest in music, sir.”

Cecine’s long, slender fingers moved quickly over the black and white keys, eliciting a triumphant melody from the piano—and another swell of heat from Hastion’s loins. Those fingers would be touching him soon, squeezing him, holding him, directing him…

“Creating music was my outlet of choice when no other was available.” The minister glanced up at Hastion from under his brow as the music changed abruptly to dramatic pounding on the keyboard. “That and thrashing the conceit out of young warriors in the sparring arena.”

Feeling as though he were negotiating his way over a deep chasm on a decrepit footbridge, Hastion said neutrally, “I enjoy sparring as well, sir.”

The music changed again to a more soothing piece he recognized as a primitive Garathani ballad and he took another calming breath.

“You don’t challenge other warriors,” Cecine observed.

Hastion shifted. “I see no need to.”

“That’s because you harbor no conceit. You’re aware of your own abilities and feel no need to prove them to anyone else.”

“Actually, sir, I see no need to challenge because I am challenged so frequently. I am defeated nearly as often as I triumph.”

Cecine smiled as he continued to play. “The operative word there, Ensign, is
nearly
.”

Some of the tightness in Hastion’s chest loosened. “Yes, sir.”

Ending the song with a flourish of low notes, the minister pushed back his stool and stood. “Well, Ensign, are you ready to put the matter of compatibility to the test?”

Hastion braced himself. “As a matter of fact, sir, I’ve been on duty since luncheon and thought perhaps I should bathe first.”

“That won’t be necessary. I find nothing offensive in the sweat of labor,” Cecine said, tugging his tunic off over his head as he walked by.

Too enthralled by the play of muscles in the minister’s long, pale back to protest, Hastion followed him across the corridor. Inside the large sleeping chamber, Cecine shoved his pants down his lean hips and stepped out of them without ceremony, tossing both articles of clothing over the back of one of the two chairs framing the flare window.

When he turned, Hastion’s mouth went dry. The minister’s stirring phallus was…huge. Not as fat as Zannen’s monstrosity, but nearly as long.

Holy Powers, he was about to be fucked.

“You look nervous, Ensign.”

“Wouldn’t you be, sir?” he asked with difficulty.

The minister scrutinized him for a long moment. “I believe I misspoke earlier,” he finally said. “I may be vigorous but I’m not cruel, nor do I wish to humiliate you in any way. I’ll exercise caution until you’ve become accustomed to bottoming.”

“Thank you, sir.” Hastion wasn’t the least bit comforted. No matter how much caution the minister exercised, his penetration would be painful.

“You understand this will be easier if you disrobe,” Cecine said dryly.

Realizing he was still staring, Hastion reached for the tab on his uniform and then hesitated as his intestines gave a twinge of protest.

“Second thoughts already, Ensign?”

The minister’s tone was casual but Hastion could hear the underlying hint of tension. For some reason it made him feel better that, even now, the minister didn’t take his assent for granted.

On the other hand, being forced to comply would save him all this agonizing and uncertainty.

“No, sir,” he said uncomfortably. “I merely need to use the waste facility.”

“Ah. I believe I comprehend your difficulty.”

Hastion started. “Sir?”

“You’re welcome to use the facility, but know this,” Cecine said with a direct look. “If I were ever possessed of delicate sensibilities, eight years servicing my departed mate and more than forty as a warrior would have stripped me of them. I’ve been bathed in more blood and waste than your body could produce in a lifetime and, more often than not, gloried in it.”

A cold trickle seized his bowels and Hastion swallowed hard. “I truly need to relieve myself, sir.”

“Very well. The facilities in the guest bedchamber will afford you more privacy than mine. It’s the first door to the right of the music room. Rejoin me here when you’re ready.”

Thank the Powers! Hastion nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Programming Empran to admit Hastion upon his approach, Cecine took several deep, cleansing breaths. Peserin, but the young warrior was dragging out the suspense to unbearable lengths. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was being toyed with.

But the ensign was clearly unnerved, so much so that Cecine had nearly denied him the time he requested, for fear he’d talk himself out of even trying. It had taken every particle of his resolve to get up and walk out of the dining room, especially after he saw those wide blue eyes on his half-risen staff. He’d been entirely too tempted to end their negotiations and take what he wanted whether the ensign was willing or not, to test him and see exactly what he could take, and how much of a fight he’d offer.

An ignoble, unacceptable impulse, if there ever was one, and he was very much afraid it had shown on his face. Half-convinced he was about to receive word from Empran that Hastion had beaten a hasty retreat, he’d removed himself to his music room and vented his apprehensions on the baby grand piano, an ingenious instrument that allowed him to produce soothing melodies with rigorous pounding.

The violence of his arousal was troublesome. The more time he spent with the ensign, the more he wanted him. There was something disturbingly compelling about him, something that went much deeper than the beautiful face and the brazen, carefree character he presented to the crew. He was a complex puzzle, and Cecine wanted to take him apart piece by piece and discover what that something was.

An even less noble impulse. Low-ranking or not, Hastion was a male of worth and entitled to the privacy of his thoughts and emotions.

Cecine frowned. The rush of relief he’d felt when the ensign appeared at the door of his music room had made his fingers tremble slightly. He’d best get this explosive reaction under control or he was going to frighten away his quarry.

Taking one last cleansing breath, he looked around. He’d already decided this experiment was best performed leaning over the side of the bed. It seemed less intimate than kneeling together on the mattress and would limit the amount of physical contact between them. He wanted to give the ensign more of a sense of control, of being on equal footing, however illusory it might be. If the experience left him feeling violated or subjugated, he might withdraw himself from consideration as second.

The door opened automatically to reveal a startled, and quite naked, Ensign Hastion. Cecine was torn between a grin of amusement and a growl of satisfaction, neither of which would be appropriate.