Imposition (12 page)

And even then it was only just. Once they were past it Therse dropped to his knees in the sodden earth, coughing as though his lungs were about to fall out. It took every ounce of strength Gen had remaining not to do the same thing.

Gen set a new record, eclipsing Therse's achievement in the eyes of anyone who'd noticed it at all.

Therse was still suffering in the showers, leaning forward with both hands against the wall and letting the water flow down his bare back as Gen wandered over to him.

"Nice run. Have you been training?” Gen goaded.

Therse ignored him and began soaping up.

Gen punched him lightly in the mid-back, getting soap from Therse's firm body on his fist. “Don't fucking ignore me."

Therse glared at him over his shoulder and spoke to him for the first time. “Why not? Doesn't sound like you've much worth saying."

Gen sneered back at him. “You just can't handle the fact that someone is better at something than you. You think you're so fucking good just because you've gotten a few decent test scores. Well let me tell you, that doesn't count for shit out there, and I don't want some asshole who should be a pencil-pusher getting in my way, holding us all up because he doesn't belong on the battlefield.” He leant in, watching Therse's expression. “And trust me, you don't belong."

There were mutters of agreement as Gen walked away.

Later in the mess, Gen was surprised to see Mal and Vice talking to Therse. They were both smiling, chatting away, all jokey and friendly like they'd known one another for ages. He considered joining them and seeing him off, but noticed Byrn sitting oblivious in the middle of the hall and joined him instead.

"Hey,” he said, setting his tray down.

Byrn looked up momentarily from his screen and waved a hand at Gen.

"I can't stand that guy.” Gen muttered.

Byrn looked up at him for a puzzled moment then turned to follow Gen's gaze. He turned back, none the wiser. “He's just some guy, what the hell is your problem anyway?"

"Everything he does pisses me off."

"You know he's been approached for taking early access?” Byrn said, taking a bite of his food.

Gen went stone-faced. “What?"

Byrn nodded. “They're going to let him on the real fighters. A year early.” Byrn himself didn't seem particularly perturbed by the notion.

Certainly nowhere near as much as Gen. “What the fuck?"

"Apparently he's one of the smartest candidates they've ever had. He can read the battle sims even better than Mal can."

"But he has no idea about commanding. There's no way a squad would follow him, what are they thinking? That should be me..."

Bryn shot him a tired glare. “Look, would you stop being such a shit to him? I was there earlier in the changing rooms when you were being a dick."

"Why should I? He rubs me the wrong way, it's not my fault —"

"It is entirely your fault. Look, I don't know what you've got against him, but you have to get it out of your system."

Tennar joined them, slight apologetic smile riding his face as usual. “I think I can guess what you guys are talking about. I can see it from the look on your face,” he said, pointing at Gen.

"Whatever."

"Byrn was telling me about your little outburst. You're going a bit overboard, don't you think?"

Gen held his hands up. “Why have you got such a problem with me railing on this guy? It's not like he gets it any worse than anyone else does. Or much worse, at least."

Byrn and Tennar exchanged glances. Tennar cleared his throat and turned to Gen. “Look, Iss was telling me yesterday that she came across his file while she was sorting some corrupted data after the storm. His history...it's not pretty. He doesn't deserve to get shit from you."

Gen was intrigued. “What kind of not pretty?"

Tennar scratched at the back of his head and looked uneasy. “Rough background,” he said, blowing on his soup and taking a sip. “He came to the Navy on a scholarship to escape his home life. Mother was a prostitute, father was a drunk who used to beat them both up. So back off, okay?"

"I've got their records if you want them."

Meitou considered this, but didn't look up from his screen. “That would be cheating."

"I thought you liked to act on the most complete intelligence,” his ship observed.

"Ordinarily yes. But they're both so damned easy I feel like having any extra information would be an unfair advantage."

"They're an interesting read, but suit yourself. You're running out of time, though."

"Yes,
thank you.
"

"Don't blame me, I was just the one ordered to get you there faster."

"And you couldn't
possibly
have told Command it was impossible to modify the engines of this ship."

"And make enemies of the Branch bigwigs? Not likely. Even worse if they thought I was simply inept because of it."

"You really are under their thumb, aren't you?"

"We both are. Everyone is. We're all just pawns; better to accept our place in society and thrive in it than resist and be cast aside."

"Whatever, under the thumb or not I'm still going to have my fun."

"Is there anything you care about other than fucking? Honestly, when exactly do you plan to start behaving like a Fleet Commander?"

"Maybe when you start behaving more like a warship and less like a melancholy observational outpost. Then you'd see that it isn't just the fucking that's the fun part, it's the manipulating other people to do things. If that has to happen
through
fucking, then all the better. There's something between them...something that binds them together and I can't quite figure it out..."

The ship made a noise that gave the impression it would have been rolling its eyes if it had them, and left him alone.

Meitou stepped into the low light of the mess hall and headed towards the vendors. The ship had told him what to avoid, but still every time he'd used them the results had been unpleasant. He noticed Gen sitting over on a table near the screen windows, staring out at nothing. He looked over, scowled, and turned away again.

"I take it you two haven't made up yet then,” Meitou called, thinking better of whatever had dropped into his bowl from the machine and tipping it away.

Gen didn't respond.

"I'm probably seeing more of him than you are at the moment,” he laughed. Gen glared at him, though he'd hoped for a little more vitriol. He walked over and leaned against one of the tables nearby. “I like him. He's smart. Smart enough to be an Imperial, if only he had the right genes."

"Mm."

"A couple of years time and he'll have his own ship, I've no doubt. He has a great mind for tactics, right?"

"Uh huh.” Gen stood to leave.

"Then why are you holding him back?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Why else would a man with the potential to be a first-rate strategic officer
right now
, be wasting his time with small-scale missions and backwater postings? If it wasn't for you I bet he'd be a sub-commander already."

"What do I have to do with anything? You're not making any sense."

"Let me guess. You were bottom or near-bottom in your class. Lowest aptitude for most things, leaving you with an incomplete skill-set. You keep him here because you don't want to be left behind."

"Don't act like you know me. Or him. What he does with his life is his own damn business."

"So you never convinced him to go with you to Epsilon? Never told him how much fun it would be, how much you'd both learn and grow from it, never assured him it would be for the best? Never discouraged him from taking that post that might lead him to something bigger?"

"No."

"You're lying."

"What did he tell you?"

"He hasn't told me anything. He doesn't have to; it's so blatantly obvious. We don't like to think humans are simple creatures, but we are, Gen. We all have wants and needs that dictate our choices, our actions. You'll tell him whatever it takes to keep him by your side. You're afraid he'll leave you like all the others have, and you'll have no one left to keep you afloat."

"That's bullshit."

"Is it? What other possible reason could there be for you wanting him to stick around? Him in particular, I might add...” He scrutinized Gen's expression.

Gen breathed in and appeared to compose himself, putting on impressive air of dignity as he turned back to face Meitou.

"I honestly wouldn't expect a man who is all tactics and no soul to understand my motives when I don't even know. But I know he stays of his own free will; I've never cajoled him into anything—I'm simply glad to have him by. He stays for his own reasons, though I don't pretend to understand those either."

Meitou could suddenly see what Therse saw in Gen—a startling charisma, a self-assurance and stern conviction that, given the extra gravitas a bit of maturity would bring him, could stoke even the dullest embers in a man's chest to a roaring inferno. Men would not follow Therse to their deaths, but they would one day follow Gen if it was needed.

He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. Certainly a worthy trip. He had found two very interesting men indeed. Meitou moved over to where Gen was, leaning close beside him. Gen didn't flinch, determined not to give him any ground.

When Meitou eventually spoke, his tone was kind and understanding. “He's about to leave you, isn't he? You know he's going to accept that post from Command, because it's what he's always wanted.
That's
why you're so pissed at him, not because he's gay and never told you. You don't want him to go. You can't stand the thought of never seeing him again. That's why you're making a big deal out of this, so he might stay out of guilt. With you."

Gen swallowed. He felt as though he should be angry but all he could feel was hollow, as though suddenly aware of empty places inside he hadn't noticed before. He looked at Meitou, close and composed, and all he could muster was a vague scowl. The man saw through it easily and smiled. It was a kind smile at least, he supposed.

He could almost see why Therse would be attracted to him. There was certainly something about him, something transfixing in those ice-cool blue eyes. He noticed himself look at Meitou's lips, at those close, full, pink lines, and lowered his head so that his hair fell forward, not sure what was he was thinking.

He heard Meitou move, the faint swish of fabric at his side. The man's fingers swept Gen's hair gently behind his ear with a lingering touch around his lobe. He was surprised at himself that he allowed it. He coughed and stood, then started across the mess without turning back.

Meitou watched him go, smiling quietly in the dark of the mess hall, like the inward victory of a chess grandmaster who knows his most daring final move has just been put into play. Across the hall, as he was leaving through the main doors, Gen hissed and rubbed at a sudden pain behind his ear.

Yes, all the pieces on the board were about to dance to his tune.

Gen rubbed at the odd sore spot behind his ear as he stepped into the shower, and thought about what Meitou had been saying earlier. About not wanting Therse to leave. Of course he didn't want him to leave. Therse was his best friend. It was bad enough that some rampant Imperial idiot had gate-crashed the time they still had together. But telling him so seemed...difficult, somehow.

His mind wandered back to when he'd discovered the lovers together, Therse's face, the moment before he'd realized Gen had burst in—that fleeting look of pleasure, then utter horror.

He didn't really understand why it made him so irritated, why every time he saw Meitou there was a liquid heat that ran through him like simmering rage, why he was annoyed at Therse for indulging so easily. He looked down and realized that thinking about the two of them together had made him hard. He blushed and tried to ignore his erection, but it was achingly persistent.

He relented and ran his hand along his cock, conjuring up memories of ex-girlfriends and fantasizing about them. But his mind just kept slipping back to Therse and Meitou, intertwined, the rhythm of Therse's thrusts translating into the movement of Meitou's eager body, Therse's erection slipping deep in and out of him.

He stopped and pounded a fist into the wall of the little shower, frustrated at the odd direction his mind had taken; confused and irritated by how hard it had made him to remember and imagine what it might feel like. But try as he might he couldn't ignore it, and his cock commanded attention.

He started up again, thinking strictly of breasts in his hands, nipples protruding seductively through his fingers as tight pussy rode his hard length. He thought of how he would make her scream, how she would cry out his name over and over, begging for more. He fingered his balls as he thought about it, cheek pressed to the wall and breathing hard as he thought of her clawing at him for release as his tongue lapped her folds.

Then his hand slipped down further, to that place behind his balls where it felt good and made him wet. Made him want something wrapped around his cock as he licked away—something that was better than his own hand. Someone's mouth, pleasuring him as he pleasured another.

But not a woman's mouth.

The thought of a guy's lips and tongue taking him whole made him harder than he'd ever been in his life, and in that moment he was too hot to care about the implications. All he knew was that thinking about it made him really fucking tight. He imagined someone kneeling in front of him, gripping his hips with rough, unforgiving hands and forcing him to thrust forward, pushing him into the hot, wet place beyond. He imagined trying to push him away but being overpowered and brought down, pinned as the man worked his cock with hands and lips and tongue that knew him better than any woman ever could. He ran hands through the man's thick, dark hair, pushing him away and holding him down in equal measure, feeling the end of his erection squeezed by his throat, tension flaring in his groin as his body prepared for orgasm.