A gay story: After the End Ch. 13 Author’s note:
Welcome to the first chapter of After the End – Part 3, the final novel in my dystopian erotic romance trilogy. If you enjoy intensely provocative sex with a power play twist, handsome male heroes in emotionally satisfying relationships, and unconventional happily ever afters — you are in the right place! These books are full-length, publication-quality, and currently being offered free of charge for your entertainment. 🙂
Descriptions of each book can be found in my bio by clicking my user name. Feel free to drop in on specific chapters or sections based on your mood or interest, but the dramatic tension is strongest if you start from the beginning of Part 1. As always, I appreciate hearing your reactions and feedback. It truly does help me create the best stories that I can for readers to enjoy.
Content warning: This chapter includes depictions of the threat of armed conflict and physical danger.
Tags for this chapter include: #bisexual male, #dystopia, #novel, #romantic, #married, #teasing, #orgasm denial, #submission, #male submissive, #friends
_______________
Julian:
The rumors had started weeks ago: aggression from the west, in the civilization-depleted lands along what was technically still the Texas-Louisiana border. Reports of rifle-toting raiders and join-or-die demands followed plodding wagons down grass-grown corridors that used to be highways. At trading outposts dotting the region’s distinctive savanna forests, stories were exchanged along with dry goods: attacks on the small rural settlements scratching a livelihood among ruined cities and storm-ravaged wilderness. Attacks that were steadily drawing nearer to the farming collective that supplied nearly half our community’s food.
What happened in the rest of Louisiana, or in the rest of the world for that matter, wasn’t my concern. Not like in my former life in the Army, when I commanded security operations for the West Coast branch of the United States government. I’d studied analyst reports from anywhere we could obtain intelligence — a painstaking process in this era of greed-triggered scarcity — to map the probability of threats to key federal assets across millions of square miles. Of course, in the end, I lost my stomach for what I discovered my true objective was, once I’d been promoted high enough: Security, but not for the civilian population. Security for the extravagantly wealthy, for those who ruled instead of worked — my family, for example. Security in the form of shooting starving citizens who tried to stop armored supply convoys delivering food into heavily-guarded compounds that already stored plenty.
Those who rule by force respond only to force. I tried reason. I tried reform. But it came down to open rebellion — war between the soldiers who joined my cause and those who backed my father and the establishment. I used every tactic I’d learned at the top command school on the continent, and I sacrificed the lives of a haunting number of brave service members, and still I accomplished nothing.
Which is how I ended up here, in the uplands of Louisiana, the place I’d calculated offered the best opportunity for survival with the least probability of detection. Since my flight from the military, my domain has been much more modest: this isolated settlement of two thousand people within one of the old federally-protected forests. I’d helped establish Fort Laurel soon after I joined this community four years ago, shepherding them through one of the endless territorial clashes that defined life after fossil fuels. Maybe they would have found a way to fight off their pursuers without me. They didn’t seem to think so.
This new existential threat was growing more dire with every passing late-spring day. According to my local informants, the militia advancing toward our agricultural allies in the river valley originated from East Texas strongholds established generations ago. When the federal government could no longer afford to keep pulling families from the wreckage of endless famines and fires and floods, it had abandoned the Gulf Coast and much of the American interior. State governments had bankrupted long prior. The resulting power vacuum left the land wide open for civilians who’d been hoarding guns and nurturing violent beliefs for decades. Some residents welcomed the restoration of order, even if they’d lost the freedom to decide how to spend their time or to disagree with fanatical dogma. Others resisted and were gunned down by M240s mounted on lifted pickup trucks, homemade flags streaming proudly above their tailpipes.
Though it was rare anymore to find privately-owned motor vehicles that could still be made to operate, the Lone Star Defense Force, as they styled themselves, had managed to cross the Sabine River with alarming firepower. The drastic population drop in the mid twenty-first century had simply served to increase the number of available weapons per capita in this gun-saturated country. We could only guess at LSDF’s motives for expansion; most likely, their own food sources were suffering from drought or blight or infestation or any of the numerous other unfavorable conditions that struck so readily in our harshened climate. Without long-distance travel, reliable electricity, or industrial production, nourishment was limited to what the local community could grow, forage, hunt, preserve — or steal. If LSDF took control of the fertile farmlands we relied on, not only would starvation loom as a genuine threat, but there’d be little to stop them from striking at Fort Laurel itself.
Yesterday, my scouts brought the dangerous news that LSDF had rolled over our main rivals in the region: Red River Crew, whose primary commodity was human labor. They were ruthless fighters who had pushed our community off the previous site at Sabine Ridge. We’d barely managed to keep them at bay even after ceding the lands they’d originally demanded, yet according to survivor accounts, the battle a couple of days ago hadn’t even been costly for the approaching army.
Fort Laurel’s governing council had met in emergency session for hours this evening, comparing reports and debating possible responses. As always, my expert advice — and my authority as commander of the fort’s armed guard — was weighted heavily. They’d eventually agreed to the only realistic course of action: take our fighters to Red River, some twenty miles west, and try to hold the last bridge between LSDF and our allies. Our cooperative agreement with the farmers required us to defend them in the event of armed aggression. After three years of eating their laboriously-produced sweet potatoes, onions, and Brussels sprouts, we didn’t have the option of leaving their fields unprotected.
When we finally adjourned for a short night’s rest, I walked with Avery to our single-room quarters in one of the settlement’s purpose-built residential buildings. He and I had been together since my first summer in Louisiana, and in September we’d be celebrating our third marriage anniversary. Provided we both lived that long.
“Every fucking few years,” Avery fumed, angry strides matching mine even though my legs were slightly longer. “If it’s not a damn hurricane or an epidemic, it’s someone trying to steal our workers, or our land, or our food. Is there seriously not enough goddamn land for them to feed their fucking selves? Who the hell thinks it’s ok to just walk in and start murdering people?”
Even for him, this was an excessive use of profanity, which indicated serious stress.
“I wish I knew, babe,” I told him. “If I’d figured out how to make anyone care about human suffering, I’d be back in Oregon saving lives en masse, rather than out here scrambling to defend a few thousand settlers.”
“Well obviously I wouldn’t want you to be in Oregon.” He glared down the path, as if the LSDF invaders were waiting beyond the mingled hardwood and canvas buildings that housed our neighbors. “But I’m sick of having to constantly fight just to be able to eat. We’re not harming anyone. The farmers aren’t harming anyone. We’re just trying to stay alive on our own land, for fuck’s sake.”
I didn’t disagree with him at all. Despite the fact that I’d been groomed for military high command since birth — to follow in the footsteps of my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, who had all been generals — I’d never really come to terms with the need to kill in order to survive. But the question of who had property rights was a bit thornier.
“Technically…it’s not our land,” I felt compelled to remind him. “If this entire hemisphere hadn’t been stolen in the first place, hardly any of us would be here.” I traced my heritage back to Greece and Italy; Avery traced his to the Philippines and somewhere in northern Europe. His father hadn’t stuck around long enough for Avery to find out where his ancestors hailed from.
“Really? That’s what you want to argue about? We could be killed tomorrow, and you’re wasting time pointing out a basic fact of American history?”
“I’m just saying that in a society where the idea of earth possession even exists, there really are no rights of ownership other than those enforced by violence.”
“Please do me a favor,” he retorted, “and save your philosophy lecture for another time. Like when I don’t have to go to war in a few hours.” We’d reached our room, and he turned the lock with considerably more force than usual.
“That point falls under the discipline of ethics, not philosophy,” I noted, dropping my pack on the bench by the door, just as he switched on the lamp above the bed. The low light revealed his handsome form and striking features, currently directing an annoyed glare at me.
“But yes, I understand what you’re saying,” I went on, this time in a more soothing tone. I stepped over and laid my hands at his sinewy shoulders. “I don’t like this any more than you do. If there’s an opportunity to negotiate with them tomorrow, we’ll certainly try.”
Avery sighed, the annoyance draining out, but when his rich mahogany gaze lifted to mine again, the tender emotions beneath had surfaced: Fear, for my safety more than for his own, probably. Genuine sadness, his compassionate heart grieving over the cruelty we faced so often. And the ever-present gentle glow of his love for me, symbolized by the leather necklace at his throat — the one he’d worn every day since I gave it to him along with my promise of devoted partnership. Its mate encircled my neck.
I pulled him into a hug, stroking a hand over the knotted tension in his back until it started to loosen. His lean body was more slender in build than mine but just as muscle-hardened, and I suspected his capacity to carry strength was still growing. He’d only turned twenty-seven last week, the age I’d been when we met. It seemed significant to him for some reason; maybe because he’d been so convinced of my innate superiority back then. I hadn’t very successfully persuaded him that comparing himself to me was a useless exercise when we’d been born into vastly different universes, particularly when I possessed an extra four and a half years of life experience. Maybe he was starting to understand how much of an advantage that had been.
“I’m sorry this is happening, babe,” I murmured beside his thick, wavy locks. “I wish things were different.” So many things, stretching back hundreds of years. Sometimes I comforted myself by imagining this was all some sort of cosmic joke. A guidebook the gods were writing for future attempts at progeny: How Not to Fail Utterly as an Intelligent Species. I wasn’t at all sure humanity deserved to outlive the millions of other life forms already extinct on our planet.
Avery exhaled again but didn’t move from the shelter of my embrace. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Whatever the outcome, we’ll get through it,” I attempted to reassure myself as much as him, but I knew it to be a meaningless platitude. If anything happened to him, I could make no guarantees about my welfare. And he very likely felt the same way.
He didn’t argue, though. Fate had flipped a coin for our lives on many occasions, and we hadn’t lost a toss yet. It was easier not to verbalize the risk, to keep ourselves cloaked in the fantasy of invincibility. Outwardly, at least.
“Let’s go to bed, ok?” I encouraged. Sleep is most often elusive on the eve of battle, but resting is eighty percent as restorative, and we were likely to need every scrap of endurance we could muster tomorrow. The smart soldier didn’t squander strength that could make the difference between killing and being killed.
We stripped down to our trunks and climbed under the sheet, folding our light cotton blanket out of the way. On the cusp of June, it was nearly as warm as it would be at mid-summer. Avery didn’t need my constant physical contact as much as he used to, now that he’d had a few years to indulge himself, but neither of us wanted any distance tonight. He nestled his shoulder blades against my chest and the back of his hand against my palm, and I laced my fingers through his. I breathed gratefully the sweet, signature perfume wafting from the skin at his neck.
We lay quietly in the humid dark as the minutes slipped toward dawn, waiting in that enchanted, fertile space where the decisive events of the future are anticipated but not yet realized — when anything can still come to pass. There was nothing we needed to discuss. We’d shared our last words long ago, the first time we’d faced imminent danger as committed partners. I’d whispered to him all the things that mattered most deeply: How much I adored him, and how proud I would always be to have known him, if his life was cut short. How he could never truly lose me, because my love would always remain with him, even if I were gone. How it wouldn’t matter if fate chose to separate us at a moment when we’d been arguing or unhappy. Whatever the circumstances, he could always know that my last thoughts of him would be the brightest and most beautiful of all our memories.
So I held him, and from time to time my thumb caressed his hand, and at some point when we could sense the sun nearing the horizon, he turned and wanted me. We kissed with passion but without urgency, and we reached for each other with confident familiarity — not because we felt any lack, but simply to share the abundant pleasure of our intimacy. Sexual congress born of an absolutely secure connection.
“I love you, Julian,” he whispered afterward.
“I love you.” I’d spoken the words to him hundreds of times, yet they hadn’t lost any of their significance. I only prayed it wouldn’t be the last time we lay together in this bed sharing afterglow and affirmations.
Our company set out just as the sun’s rim surfaced, visible only as an indistinct gleam through the thickly layered tree trunks behind us. When we could, we followed long-disused roads through the hills and wetlands, which at least were level, if now overtaken by star-leaved sweetgums and soft-needled pines. As we trekked further from our home, explosives and heavy weapons strapped to our backs and supplies carried by sturdy mules, our troops lapsed into silence as ordered. We couldn’t know for sure whether our enemies had moved since the last report, and I wouldn’t risk giving them early warning of our presence on the field. We passed oak and cypress groves adorned with grey-green Spanish moss or purple wisteria vines, the sunny day broken only by the thud of our feet, the buzzing of insects, and birds calling in their native tongues.
We’d crossed most of the couple dozen miles to the river when one of our flanking scouts came running through the longleaf pines to the north.
“Someone’s up there,” Sawyer told me in an urgent undertone when she got close enough. “Dozens, at least, marching down old route 71, about five clicks away. They’re in full uniform, military dress. And there are two vehicles following the troops. Like jeeps, maybe.” The last sentences were tinged with amazement — understandably so. The last time I’d seen a vehicle larger than an ATV actually operating was long before I’d reached the South. Many residents of Fort Laurel had never seen one.
“Military,” I repeated, trying to make sense of it. The U.S. military hadn’t been deployed to the Gulf states since before I was born. Who would be wearing uniforms that looked military to Sawyer? Private militias commonly outfitted in surplus they’d bought before the collapse or acquired as veterans, but there wasn’t usually enough matching gear to go around. And the jeeps were a profound mystery.
Could LSDF have slipped around and crossed the river by boat? Were they coming south to trap us against a main force crossing the bridge ahead? Or was their main force marching north ahead of us, where they would catch our allies defenseless? I cursed my lack of information. The U.S. government made very sure the military had the best technology still available in the post-digital age, at any necessary cost. Without their privileged access to rare metals, plastic components, and manufacturing equipment, my efforts were severely hamstrung.
Of course, being far from any reliable communication network was also the linchpin of my strategy for remaining undetected by that same government. Whether I was actually being sought for treason or desertion was somewhat of a grey area, but I hadn’t waited to find out. I couldn’t imagine a scenario in which the leader of an unsuccessful insurrection wouldn’t be imprisoned for life, if not executed. I’d cut all contact when I fled five years ago with Maurice and Iris, my closest surviving collaborators. Even seeking information about my status might have attracted dangerous attention. We’d had no news except what distant rumor carried across the vast intervening mountains and prairies, and no need for any. All hope of making changes to the political structure had failed along with my war.
“Pick up the pace, but keep it silent,” I ordered my lieutenants, one of whom was Avery. “Get to the highway and set up an ambush before they spot us. And find out immediately if the bridge is already held!”
Sawyer took a couple of others and went sprinting toward the remains of the small river crossing town that had once been home to perhaps as many residents as Fort Laurel. Wind, rain, and fire had reduced the homes and businesses mostly to broken, windowless shells.
We closed the last mile and a half and took up positions along the overgrown road that followed the river’s slanting course on this side. Running parallel beyond the opposite bank was the ancient route from the city of Shreveport up on interstate 20, through the capital seat at Baton Rouge, to the drowned legend of New Orleans. We hunkered behind half-crumbled walls in thickets that used to be parking lots, rifle scopes and binoculars trained up the tunnel where cracked concrete still kept the trees at bay.
While we waited, Sawyer returned with welcome word. “No one at the bridge, Delta,” she reported, using the only name I’d given publicly since leaving the West. “No sign of movement between here and there.”
At least we weren’t about to take fire from two directions. But that only made the unknown company’s presence more of a puzzle.
Soon they came into view, a thousand meters out. Stunned, I took a second look through my lens, then a third. Sawyer was right. This was no local band of marauders. These were authentic soldiers of the U.S. armed forces.
Heart rate accelerating, I sorted quickly through possible plans. After the collapse, it had no longer been logistically practical to maintain six separate military branches, especially since advanced technology combined with the short leash of a changed climate had eliminated many of the original specialized functions. Not to mention that population levels couldn’t support nearly the same sized standing army. Service members and equipment had been redistributed and units reconfigured. This unit’s insignia showed them to be part of a regiment that had been based in California, last I’d known. Surely they wouldn’t have sent forces all the way into the Deep South just to track me down?
The last thing I wanted was to get into a firefight with the best-funded army on the planet, when all I had was a band of locals I’d trained into guards. But we were too close to withdraw undetected, and we still needed to find out what the hell was going on with the farmers and LSDF.
My decision was made before they’d taken a dozen more steps.
“Stay down until I give the word, and hold your fire,” I instructed quietly, and the order rippled outward in whispers and signals.
When the ranks of soldiers were twenty meters from our position, I broke the silence.
“Friendly troops have you in sight,” I called loud enough to be heard along the line. Instantly the company halted and trained rifles toward me. “Identify yourselves and your purpose in these lands.”
“This is Bravo Company, Third Battalion, Thirty-Fifth Infantry Brigade,” a forceful voice shouted back — eminently self-assured, but not hostile. “Conducting an authorized operation to reestablish order in this region, and responding to reports of murder and extortion. Explain why friendly troops are in concealed firing positions.”
Something about the smooth tenor and commanding attitude of the voice seemed familiar, but it had been a long time, and I couldn’t immediately place it.
“We’re out of Fort Laurel, a day west,” I replied. “We have an alliance with our counterparts near East Point. Lone Star Defense Force has threatened our farmlands, and we’re here to protect them. We were unaware of other elements on the field.”
The speaker had moved up the line of stationary troops, and this time surprise was the dominant note. “Major Demos? Is that you?”
Damn. Even five states away, my voice was recognized. “Who’s asking?” I hedged.
The figure had reached the first row of infantry. “Captain Graham Lansing.”
Ah. That’s why he sounded familiar. For the first time, some of my tension eased. Captain Lansing and I hadn’t worked closely together, but we were near the same age and both born into the military-political ruling class based in Portland. A lot of our training had overlapped, and we’d attended many of the same stifling social functions over the years. He’d been dealing with a rash of gruesome gang-based carnage in southern California when my attempts at reform tipped over into revolt, or he might have joined us. I’d always gotten the impression he wasn’t much happier about the prevailing political philosophy than I was.
“Why don’t we talk in private?” I suggested. I wasn’t making any public admissions until I knew whether I might still be arrested.
“As soon as you order your troops to lower their weapons and show themselves.”
“Stand down!” I called to those within earshot. “We’re on the same side.”
Once he could see us, Lansing ordered his unit to do likewise.
“Fort Laurel, at ease,” I instructed. “Avery, Catalina, Iris, Maurice — with me.” Faint, curious repetitions of Demos, a name my companions had never heard, floated on the light breeze stirring the humid afternoon.
In a few moments, Captain Lansing and some of his officers joined us in the lengthening shadows beside the road
“Major Demos,” he greeted me, offering a sharp salute, right hand snapping to brow, even though it wouldn’t have been required under these circumstances. “You are the last person I expected to find slogging through swamps down here.”
I returned the gesture, second nature despite having been out of uniform for five years. I was a bit surprised he hadn’t been promoted past captain yet, which meant I still out-ranked him. Or had, before I abandoned my commission.
“And these two with you,” he directed at Iris and Maurice, offering them a respectful nod. Although not as notorious as I was, they were also well known for their roles in the rebellion. Finally, he indicated the uniformed members standing with him, who also saluted. “Lieutenants Booker and Salinas, and my executive officer, Gallegos.”
“It’s an honor, sir,” the one identified as Booker said, unexpectedly reverent, and her colleagues echoed the sentiment.
I had to conceal my puzzlement. They were treating me as if Major Demos was still who I was; as if I hadn’t taken up arms against my own superior officers. I glanced at Avery, who was watching the proceedings with a carefully masked expression. This world, and my place in it, had only ever been a story to him. It must be jarring to see it come to life.
The captain followed my gaze. “Graham Lansing,” he offered, stepping forward to shake my partner’s hand.
“Avery Chase,” he replied. Catalina offered her name, rounding out the introductions.
“Good to meet you,” Lansing told them, then returned his attention to me. “You’ve been gone a long time; we’ll have plenty of news to exchange. But first, what can you tell me about Lone Star Defense Force? We arrived at the old Barksdale base in Shreveport a few days ago, and the first thing we heard was they’d expanded from Texas and have been terrorizing the residents. I sent troops down both sides of the river, in case they’d already crossed.”
We lapsed quickly into logistics, sharing positions, firepower, possible maneuvers, and suggestions for combining our forces. The majority of Bravo Company was on the west bank, parallel to our position. They were in contact by radio and had not yet encountered any hostilities. Lansing also confirmed that our allies to the north had been unharmed when the unit passed through that morning.
With the support of two hundred additional seasoned fighters and the Army’s superior weaponry, the odds of winning the upcoming battle had shifted from dire to comfortable. The reprieve was so unexpected, I could hardly believe our good fortune. For once, I didn’t have to carry our entire community’s survival on my own back. I imagined my relief was a glimpse of how things used to be in my great-grandparents’ time. When organized societies equipped state-employed officials to keep the peace, instead of every man and his gun creating their own code of laws.
Evening was falling, so we set up a strong defense at the bridge, and the rest of Bravo Company moved into surveillance along the valley to the northwest. Some of the force set up camp while others stayed ready for invasion.
When darkness had revealed the million tiny points of light blanketing the sky and a watchful peace had settled over the troops, Captain Lansing found me.
“Perimeter secure?” he checked.
“Guns along the river for two clicks in either direction,” I confirmed.
“If you’re not needed elsewhere, how about that chat to catch up?”
I nodded in the dim glow of his downward-angled flashlight. “Let me tell Avery where I’ll be.”
My former classmate and I found a place overlooking the featureless expanse of the river and settled on the forested bank, making sure we were well hidden in the undergrowth from any would-be snipers. The river split into several channels here, so it was about a mile to the opposite side. The water flowed quietly for the most part, with muted ripples around submerged trunks or curving bays. Owls signaled to each other from the branches as if carrying out their own campaign.
“So,” Lansing opened, propping one combat boot on an exposed tree root. “Five years, hasn’t it been? You seem well. How long have you been in Louisiana? Are you in contact with anyone back west? A lot has changed since you left.”
His manner was relaxed, curious rather than interrogatory, and his questions didn’t indicate any immediate danger, so I ventured an answer.
“I found this community about four years ago,” I told him. “I’ve not attempted to communicate with anyone who might know who I am. I had no wish to spend my life imprisoned by those I’d failed to stop.”
The captain looked sideways at me, his features barely visible in the filtered moonlight. “Imprisoned? You don’t know, then. Your movement didn’t fail. Sure, the hardliners retain a lot of control, but there’s been a major shakeup in the top ranks. A number of commanders and senators who’d been afraid to openly support the war came forward after it ended. The old guard couldn’t maintain the status quo with reformers speaking out on every front. So many of us have grown up entirely in the new era, with no loyalty to meaningless customs and outdated power structures. Your defiance inspired a generation. I only wish I’d been there to help.”
This was a bit much to wrap my brain around. I stared at him, trying to imagine a world where the better human impulses prevailed.
When I didn’t reply, Lansing went on. “I wouldn’t want to mislead you — it’s no utopia. It’s still a fight every step of the way. But the difference is, some of them we win.” Chirping insects filled in a contemplative pause before he continued. “We figured you’d reemerge once some of the dust settled, but no one had word of you. There were rumors you’d gone north, defecting to the Canadians. Others said you’d taken a fatal bullet in that last battle, and that your followers had covertly destroyed your body so your legend could live on. It’s a great pleasure to discover that’s not the case.”
“No,” I agreed, rather senselessly. I’d been a fugitive for so long, secrecy my most ingrained survival instinct. With that shadow lifted, the possibilities were almost dizzying.
“What’s it been like down here?” he asked next. “How’d you end up on the bayou?”
I filled him in briefly about my long journey south and the founding of Fort Laurel. He explained that his presence in this state was an indirect result of the civil war. A vocal contingent of leaders were unhappy that survivors in many parts of the country were being left at the mercy of might-makes-right militias like LSDF. A decision had recently been made to station troops across the Gulf, with the goal of reestablishing stable elected governments that could resource themselves. Lansing’s unit was one of several recently arrived in the area.
“Now that you know what’s going on, would you consider rejoining the force?” he asked eventually. “You might run into some thorny politics, like I have, but we’d be grateful to have you on the team again.”
“I’m not sure,” I answered honestly. “This is my home now. It’s Avery’s home.” I glanced at the captain again. “We’ve been married nearly three years.”
“You’ve been hiding out in Louisiana and you’re married?” Lansing exclaimed. “This truly is a day for surprises.”
“Why is my marriage so surprising?” I had to ask. I didn’t recall ever having a conversation with him about my romantic inclinations.
He replied in the same easy manner I’d observed since the aborted ambush. “No offense meant, of course. You’re a brilliant strategist and a nationally-renowned warrior. But you’re not exactly known for your warmth, or your charm.” He hesitated before saying the rest. “Dumont didn’t have kind things to say about you, after you split. Although surely a lot of that was politically motivated.”
I’d avoided serious dating for the most part during my tenure in the military. It was simply too much trouble, given my rank and the fact that most people I knew were legally subordinate to me. There was also the complication of my sexuality. Even though society had supposedly moved beyond heteronormativity, many conservative elements lingered in the boardrooms and situation rooms where the wealthy made decisions. Sometimes disasters serve to amplify humanity’s most fearful, divisive impulses. Sameness seems to provide security, even though in reality, it’s a far more brittle solution.
Among my social circles, a man of my position who chose to partner with another man was tolerated but rarely fully accepted. Even if he had children, the family was always looked upon slightly askance. Whose children are those really? you could almost hear them wondering. There was just something comforting, right, in their eyes, when a man paired with a woman. And disturbing when he didn’t.
I’d made an exception for Nico Dumont. The son of a powerful political ally of my father’s, we’d met at one of the many formal events I’d been expected to attend. Nico was a civilian — a classically-trained dancer, if you can believe it. Even after the end of the world, the wealthy need somewhere to spend their money that makes them feel cultured and discerning, as if they’ve somehow earned the luxuries they can afford. Something about Nico’s free spirit and rebellious career choices drew me, and our physical chemistry was intensely passionate, when we could manage to see each other. He was beautiful in an unconventional way, with a quick wit and inexhaustible social energy. But his family’s status kept him insulated from the suffering I fought to alleviate — people without homes, without the means to generate income, and all too often without food. Nico, like many from our background, preferred not to accept that the comfort of the few was paid for by the misery of the masses. When my insurrection escalated to war, he turned on me quite publicly. It was a bitter, messy end to a two-year relationship.
“Sometimes the right person can change everything,” was all I said aloud to Lansing.
“Well, I’m happy for you, Major,” he replied, sounding genuinely pleased. “You deserve some domestic bliss after everything.”
“I appreciate that, Captain. But I’m not an officer anymore. You can call me Julian.”
“Then you call me Graham.” He pronounced it in the American fashion, with only one syllable. “Just not when it would interfere with proper unit discipline.”
“Of course.” It was quiet for a moment. “Any domestic bliss waiting at home for you?” I wondered. “Or children?” He was a couple years older than me, nearing his mid-thirties, an age at which he must already be under pressure to settle down and reproduce.
“Not so far. I’m not exactly known for my long-term relationships.” I could hear the self-deprecating humor in his voice, even though I couldn’t see the smile on his face. He continued more musingly. “I’m not sure that I want children. I know my parents will be pushing for it, and my sister is eager for her kids to have cousins. But I’m not sure I see myself as the kind of person who could subject another human being to the ordeal of growing up. It seems cruel, you know?”
Even in these times of global hardship, I rarely heard anyone express that opinion. I was about to agree, when suddenly he seemed to realize that he might be accusing me of cruelty.
“Sorry. I should have asked. Do you and Avery have kids?”
“No. And we don’t plan to. As you said, it seems cruel. And I don’t think either of us feel well-equipped to add more potential trauma to our lives.”
“I can certainly understand that,” Lansing said. Graham, actually. I probably hadn’t used his first name since before I was promoted to captain ahead of him. I’d never felt comfortable referring to people informally when they were required to address me as sir.
I watched the stars glitter between rustling leaves for a minute. “Are you planning to base out of Barksdale?” I asked next. It had belonged to the Air Force, back when we could still pump liquid energy from the ground and power thousands of aircraft simultaneously. It was still possible to produce jet fuel from carbon dioxide or biomass, but the process was highly resource intensive, so flights were a rarity. For the most part, the military only put planes in the air when troops needed to move very long distances. Which was how Bravo Company had arrived in the South.
“It hasn’t been maintained since the 2070s,” he replied. “So it won’t give us much advantage over anyplace else. We’ll strategize once we get the lay of the land, and LSDF taken care of.”
“We’d be happy to show you around,” I offered. Their mission was to establish a permanent outpost. If I could talk him into stationing near Fort Laurel, our people would be safer than they’d been in living memory.
“I’ll be sure to take you up on it.”
We converged on LSDF the next morning as they left the shelter of hillier country to the west and began crossing the tributary-tangled flats outlying the main river course. Convinced of their superiority after defeating Red River Crew, they’d been advancing without much discipline, and they were just as caught off guard by Bravo Company’s presence as I had been. Within minutes, they discovered they were overmatched, and they turned tail without much bloodshed. We captured one of their fighters during the hasty retreat and sent him back with a message: their violence was not welcome in this state, and we’d pursue them with force back to the border if necessary.
We didn’t see them again for a long time.
* * * * *
Avery:
I’d always known Julian had left behind something like imperial status when he decided to join our ragtag community. You could sense his superiority the moment you met him: carefully-trained intelligence, uncanny depth and range of knowledge, perfect mastery over every word and movement. A twenty-second century demigod. Still, I was dazzled all over again by the deep respect these soldiers showed him — almost reverence. People he hadn’t seen in five years, or who he’d never even met, addressing him formally and offering their service with anything and everything.
I tried not to let it unsettle me too much. I couldn’t help noticing the curious glances directed at me, once it was known that Julian and I were more than colleagues. I’m sure they were wondering the same thing I’d struggled with for so long — why on earth he thought I was good enough for him. But I’d worked through my insecurities about Julian a long time ago, and he assured me that no one in Bravo Company was a past lover. More than once, I detected jealousy in those sidelong looks, and I couldn’t help puffing my chest out a little. Julian was mine. Out of everyone in the world, even guys as smart and strong and well-educated as him, he wanted to be with me.
If there was anyone I thought he probably should have married instead, it was the company commander, Captain Lansing. Watching them together was like getting a glimpse into Julian’s other life, back on the West Coast. I could see how certain behaviors were trained into them, because they were so similar to each other. Like the unshakeable authority with which they gave orders, as if they were born to do it — which they were. The way they stood, like their spines were made of titanium, although it probably had more to do with the nutritious food they’d had served to them their entire lives. Even their accents, more refined than any I’d heard, thanks to intensive formal tutoring starting in childhood. Julian’s closest friends, fellow veterans Maurice and Iris, had those traits to some degree, but they hadn’t been born into the type of families who could afford elite academies. They’d had to try to catch up later in life. As I’d been doing, during these years I’d had Julian to learn from.
Once Lansing’s troops set up a permanent base adjoining Fort Laurel and we started working together more often, it became clear there were also plenty of differences between him and my husband. The captain could be completely serious and focused when a mission required it, but outside that, he was friendly and laid-back. He struck up acquaintances easily and had quickly grown as popular in my community as he was among his own force. He seemed to inspire as much loyalty as readiness among his troops, and he was always ready with a brash joke. At the same time, he unapologetically owned his place at the top of the food chain. He had swagger, something completely foreign to Julian’s straight-laced attitude.
I worried at first that having the military around might cause some arguments about managing the land. But despite their different styles, Julian and the new commander got along immediately. Lansing had been given fairly wide latitude for how to deploy his soldiers, and he decided that the best use was to build on the secure position we’d established, then expand control outward. He seemed to share Julian’s passion for shutting down robbery and human trafficking, and his compassion for people who couldn’t protect themselves. The two of them made a very effective team, already seeming able to read each other’s minds after only a month of joint operations. I supposed it helped that they’d received virtually the exact same training and knew the same shorthand for communicating. Plus they’d been acquaintances since long ago and had even been to dinner parties at each other’s grand mansions when they were adolescents.
They hadn’t known each other well back then, but they were starting to now. They hung out after work sometimes, with Maurice and Iris and her partner Shawna; or with Hector Gallegos, Bravo Company’s executive officer; or with Rachel Larsen, the captain of Echo Company, who’d brought her unit to join us a couple weeks ago. They usually invited me too, but I felt awkward around all those people who’d grown up in the civilized parts of this county, which I’d only ever read about in long-out-of-date books. I was such a back-country bumpkin compared to them.
“We’re playing volleyball out by the creek later, Avery,” Lansing called one evening with his usual cocky exuberance as I neared the command center to check in for the day. He was headed the other direction, probably to the military’s new addition to our fort, but he turned toward me, walking backward without breaking his stride. “Maybe go for a swim after. I know Julian’s busy with the council, but you should come!”
“Uh, I’ll see if I can,” I dodged, ignoring the sudden rush of speed in my bloodstream. An opportunity to watch his sculpted abs and impressive arms spiking a volleyball was hard to turn down. Especially if the shirt was coming off, as it often did on these sweltering late-June evenings. However, there was a dangerous chance we’d end up on the same team, or opposing teams, and then he’d expect me to actually be decent at volleyball, which I wasn’t. Combat sports or target shooting, I was a lot better at. Fairly good at soccer, too. For some reason these Third Battalion people were super into volleyball, a game we hadn’t played much in my community.
“Alright,” he replied unfazed, turning back around. “Hope to see you there!”
I highly doubted it would make any difference to him whether I was there, but he’d been making an effort to befriend me, presumably because of my partnership with Julian. Not that I didn’t want to be friends with him. I just wasn’t convinced it was possible without me inevitably making some kind of idiot of myself. Like bumping the volleyball when I should have set it. Or not realizing someone was making a joke about a movie I’d never heard of. Or staring at him when I was supposed to be acting casual.
The thing is, Captain Lansing is hot. Like really hot. Like I don’t know why everyone else in the fort wasn’t getting heart palpitations around him, kind of hot. Well, some definitely were. I’d seen plenty of women flirting with him during those volleyball matches — successfully, often enough — or chatting him up at dinner. Guys too, and he grinned back at some of them in a way that stirred butterflies in my stomach, followed by completely irrational envy. Obviously he wasn’t going to smile at me like that, not when I was married to his new best ally. Even if he’d had any reason to want to, which he wouldn’t. And obviously I couldn’t smile at him like that, because again, I’m married. Very happily married.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I ranted to myself in an undertone as I approached the command center’s main door. “Get your shit together.”
It hadn’t been like this with anyone except Julian. Not with Rowan, my bombshell best friend who I’d accidentally cheated on Julian with in a moment of unguarded passion, during the first year of our relationship. Not with Jade, the raven-haired beauty I’d been pretty into at one time. Not even with Vik, our community’s handsome younger doctor, with whom Julian and I had hooked up for a solid six months, the year before last. I liked him a lot, as a person, and I’d certainly loved the explosively erotic torments he’d let us inflict on his willing, obedient body. My husband and I were still close to him and Gavin, the partner we’d helped set him up with. But even though Vik had developed feelings for me, I’d never thought of him as more than a friend. A friend with amazing benefits, to be sure. But not one who’d ever made my heart do what Lansing just had, simply by inviting me to a group recreational activity.
I didn’t think his intense magnetic pull on me even had that much to do with his looks. I mean they didn’t hurt at all. He had symmetrical facial features and a sharp jawline and well-developed pecs, and all that. He even had a strikingly rare eye color: fresh sage green. But otherwise he could have been any number of not-that-tall guys with sandy-toned skin and golden-brown hair cropped to regulation length. It was that bold self-assurance, the subtle mischief in his smirk, that set me yearning. I wanted that insolent, knowing gaze zeroed in on me, forcing all my secrets to the surface, holding me utterly at his mercy, just because he liked having me there. And I didn’t know how to stop wanting it.
I suppressed a longing shiver as I entered the wooden building that housed our security leadership, when we weren’t out on mission. Julian and the governing council were gathered around the conference table at the far end, hashing out some monthly reports with a few civilian overseers. Sometimes I attended those meetings too, but I tried to avoid them unless I was actually needed, since a couple of the council members had a tendency to drone on if someone didn’t stop them. I unloaded my rifle and stored it in the armory, then reported to the shift leader. I hadn’t seen anything out of place on watch today. Just the woodpeckers hunting for caterpillars, and the hawks hunting for moles, and the small color-changing anole lizards clambering around the undergrowth.
Julian glanced over for a second, the barely-detectable softening of his expression serving as a greeting. He was about as far from demonstrative as a person could get, unless we were alone. Particularly if the demonstration was happening naked.
I nodded back, the residual desire in my gut curdling to guilt. I didn’t understand how I could be so attracted to someone else when I already had the most brilliant, attentive, enthrallingly-sexy husband anyone could ask for. I had absolutely no reason to look elsewhere for excitement; we kept each other very well satisfied. He knew how to make me beg for anything he wanted: more, less, pleasure, denial, or just the luxurious freedom of complete surrender. And he knew how to handle every variety of my emotional storms, whether I was losing my temper over somebody’s loud mouth or spiraling into self-doubt after a mistake I shouldn’t have made. I loved him more than my own life — I would take a bullet for him in a second, and I never, ever wanted to be apart from him. He was the best part of every day. Why was this happening, and with one of his closest professional colleagues to boot? This was one storm I didn’t want him to have to weather.
I shouldn’t go to the volleyball thing. I shouldn’t encourage any more of these thoughts. But Lansing had invited me. And it was going to start looking suspicious if I kept avoiding him. Although everything I did felt suspicious, lately. Maybe it’d go better if I took Rowan with me. She was one of those people who excelled at whatever she tried, because she didn’t try anything she wasn’t prepared to master. She was excessively competitive too. I thought she’d dedicated so many years to medical training mainly so that she could go hand-to-hand against death and disease over and over. Natural forces were the only opponent truly challenging enough for her.
She was scribbling notes in a patient chart when I located her in one of the medical center’s small offices, the walls shelved with thick technical references.
“Did you know you can use brahmi to help lower blood pressure?” she asked the instant I walked into the room.
“I don’t know what brahmi is, so no.”
“It’s a plant found on several continents, but particularly used in the Ayurvedic tradition.”
“Fascinating,” I deadpanned. You had to be careful around Rowan if you didn’t want to get swept into one of her lengthy discourses on medicine’s most promising preventative therapies. “You going to be done soon? They’re playing volleyball tonight.”
“Eager to show off your wildly-aimed serve again, are you?” she teased.
“My serve is aimed fine,” I argued with pretend dignity. “It’s the landing that’s wild.”
“Uh huh. Well if you want to go, I’m game. I have a score to settle with that hotshot specialist who kept stealing my hits. I’ll be finished with these charts in a few minutes, then I just have to check one patient.”
“Ok.” Waiting for Rowan to check on patients had been part of my life for many years, so I pulled a random textbook off the shelf and flipped through it until she was ready.
We arrived as teams were forming for a second match. The soldiers had a complicated system for these contests that I didn’t try to follow, but Rowan ended up on the same team as Lansing, which gave me the perfect excuse to watch his performance. I was too ignorant of the game to really be sure how skilled he was, but his agile movements seemed to get the ball where he wanted it to go, and his serves were way more effective than mine. I’d never thought anyone could look that good whacking a leather ball into the grass. He was just as charismatic in sport as in war, urging his teammates on and exchanging lively smack talk across the net. He was still wearing his military-issued olive tank top, but it lifted to reveal a cut midsection whenever he reached up for the ball.
“Let’s go!” he called to his team on set point, clapping his strong hands a few times. “We’ve got this!”
The other team was serving, but Lansing made an impressively athletic return, diving almost full-out on the grass, and the point ended in victory.
“Yes!” he celebrated, slapping energetic double high-fives with every member of his team. “Way to go. One more set.”
It was a pretty entertaining game, even if I couldn’t have played it well enough to be entertaining. I cheered Rowan on, and they ended up winning. By that time, it was too dark to start a third match, so most of us peeled off sweat-dampened outer clothing and jumped into the creek to cool off. Including Lansing, whose naked and glistening torso I definitely wasn’t going to be thinking about later.
He was an intriguing combination of authoritative maturity and almost boyish enthusiasm: someone who could splash around like this in the evening, dunking and being dunked, and be just as respected when he issued commands in the morning. He had an almost melodious voice, naturally falling in the tenor range, and once in a while he’d break into full laughter that was much higher pitched than would be stereotypical for a man of his status. It made me want to laugh too, but I smothered my smile.
I was waist-deep, water dripping onto my skin from when I’d submerged my head, watching the rippling reflection of the stars between sneaking glances at Lansing, when a cool hand landed on my back.
“Hi babe,” Julian said in response to my startled glance. His was bare to the waist and also dripping, looking more than ever like an ancient marble tribute to human perfection in the monochromatic moonlight. “Heard there were some matches. Thought you might be down here.”
“Hi,” I got out, trying to neutralize the adrenaline burst. He thought I might be here because I commonly went wherever something was happening, I reassured myself. And because taking a dip in the creek on stifling summer evenings had been a tradition in my community since long before I was born. Not for any other reason. “Council finish already?”
“I wish the meeting had felt as short as you seem to think it was,” he replied.
Just then, the captain himself waded over, and I tried very hard to make sure the electricity that started buzzing inside wasn’t detectable on the outside.
“Hey guys,” he greeted us amiably. “Sorry you didn’t get to play, Avery. We’ll be out here again probably on Thursday, so you’ll get another chance. Rowan was great, though, wasn’t she? She really goes for it.”
Stay cool, stay cool, I chanted in my brain. He doesn’t know. Nobody knows. “Yeah, she does,” I managed to say in a regular tone. “She lives for any opportunity to be better than someone at something.”
Lansing laughed at my joke, and another pulse of electricity crackled through my gut. “See you for drills tomorrow, yeah?” He nodded to Julian, then he clapped a companionable hand on my shoulder for a moment before diving back toward his comrades. The sizzling imprint of his fingers lingered long after he was gone.
Julian and I left after a few more minutes, soaping up quickly in the communal washroom before retiring to our quarters. After prepping our packs for the next day, we took off everything but our trunks, as usual. I pushed the covers out of the way and stretched out on my front, arms folded under my head. There’d been no wind today, and the air was still too sultry even for the sheet.
My husband switched off the lamp and lay beside me. The shutters at the window kept out almost all the moonlight, so I couldn’t see him even though my face was turned toward his. As a matter of necessity, our sex life had always been dependent on the community’s circumstances. There were many days, weeks, or months when collectively we barely had enough time and energy to meet our most basic needs — shelter, water, food, and security. Our margin for survival was so narrow, even small turns of fortune could have major impacts. There was always some disaster on standby, waiting to knock us back from whatever progress we’d managed to make.
Currently, with all the extra troops stationed here, and the weather not yet dealing us any catastrophes, things were pretty stable. Which meant Julian was more likely to reach for me, smoothing a palm down my naked back, which he did. And I was more likely to sigh in appreciation. Which I did.
After four years, I was only more in love with the way he touched me. Our very first night together, I’d been shocked by the level of intensity he could create with minimal strategic contact. Before that, I’d tended to believe more was more. But Julian had never needed force to craze me with lust or flood me with sensation. He could do it with a ridiculously tiny amount of stimulation, or even with none: with his words, or his provocative gaze, or the things he made me confess. By now, he knew my body and my mind as well as if he’d specially designed me. Yet he was still finding new and thrilling ways to use that information.
I relaxed into the slow strokes over my shoulder blades and along my spine. He never rushed this; he didn’t need to. The pressure was firm but not aggressive; gentle but not irritating. Always deliberate — he touched me exactly where he meant to, made me feel exactly what he wanted me to feel, and not an ounce more.
I’d barely even known what power play was before I met him. Just some vague idea of a “dom” ordering around a “sub,” maybe hurting them a bit. He’d introduced me to it gradually, experimenting to see what got me worked up, and over time we began to incorporate it regularly. Before that, it hadn’t occurred to my darkest dreams that I might like giving someone else complete command of my body and my needs. But then, neither had I ever imagined being with someone like Julian, until he showed up. I hadn’t even known I had the ability to be attracted to men, until he started creeping into my fantasies while I jerked my cock, on the nights it wasn’t buried in some tight wet pussy or between sweet feminine lips.
What he and I tended to do was relatively simple, as I’d eventually learned. No whips or chains or collars. He wasn’t a sadist, I wasn’t a masochist, and neither of us had an interest in power exchange other than during certain sex sessions. We had a fully equitable life partnership; he just happened to enjoy teasing me into a frenzy and controlling my climax, and I happened to experience unparalleled excitement and manifold pleasure when he did.
I felt him sit up for a minute, then his hands were at my hips, pulling my underwear down. I shifted my weight to help, then lay still again, my ass now exposed to the warm room. His hand resumed stroking my back in the same unhurried way, but my internal temperature started rising.
These days, unless there was something specific I wanted, I pretty much assumed we were doing whatever he felt like doing. Because whatever he felt like doing to me was usually what was going to get me the hottest and most bothered. And therefore what was going to manifest the most mind-blowing orgasms. Unless he didn’t let me come, and then it was all tantalizing frustration and extra sensitivity until he finally gave me relief. Which in itself could be a delicious way to spend a few days, with Julian at the helm.
“So Captain Lansing’s been pretty impressive the past few weeks,” he said suddenly in a mischievous voice. Immediately my skin started tingling and my thoughts started racing, while his hand made another journey from shoulders to pelvis, stopping just short of groping my ass. Why the hell was he talking about his colleague at a time like this? Was it a coincidence? Or had he figured me out?
“Mm,” was my only reply, in a carefully noncommittal tone, though my cock was already quite committed to this operation.
“Doesn’t try to hide that he knows it, either,” Julian went on in the same practiced, provocative way. “All that swagger. But you can’t fault him, when he has the chops to back it up.”
Damn it. He was reading my thoughts somehow. At least he hadn’t said that with the light on, or he’d have seen me flush. I wasn’t admitting to anything until I had to, though.
In response to my silence, Julian slid a hand between my knees and pressed each one until I’d spread for him. God, it always turned me on more when he exposed my private places like that. Knowing he could touch me anywhere at any moment, without warning, created an addictive kind of erotic suspense.
Fingertips stroked my sensitive inner thigh, sending a surge of need and desire along my red-alert nerves. I didn’t move or try to close my legs, though. This was the game. I could always tell him if I didn’t want to play. But why would I not, when the results were so consistently amazing?
“He’s quite handsome as well, wouldn’t you say?” Julian asked next, still with that tantalizing edge to his voice.
Mentally I scrambled. I wouldn’t be allowed to ignore a direct question like that. Revealing my thoughts and emotions was as much a part of the game as revealing my flesh.
I went with the least culpable answer I could come up with, given that Julian’s thumb and fingers were now gently brushing either side of my ball sack. “I guess.”
“Excellent muscle definition,” he mused, as if this was a normal conversation. As if he wasn’t caressing my testicles while narrating about another guy’s body. “Very strong arms and hands.” A short pause while his fingers crawled to the tender underside of my scrotum, fully accessible with me in this position. “Would be natural for anyone to think about what they’d feel like.”
I was already struggling to focus with his fingertips where they were — one of his favorite places to tease, because of how it made me feel vulnerable and needy at the same time. He obviously knew I was crushing, and of course he’d waited until I was naked and horny, with my asshole exposed, to bring it up.
“What do you mean?” I asked, a little too breathy but still playing dumb. I didn’t understand why he would want to hear that I’d been thinking about another guy.
Julian’s reply was sexy and significant. “You can drop the pretense, Avery. I’ve seen the way you watch him. I thought you were going to melt when he touched your shoulder earlier.”
“What?” I spluttered, not at all ready to drop the pretense. “I didn’t — I haven’t –” The memory of the captain’s fingers gripping me, and all the places I wanted to feel them, fanned my flame further.
Meanwhile, Julian’s teasing digits moved higher, to that awkwardly arousing place between balls and sphincter where no one’s fingers belonged. More heat swept me as I kept my legs open and let him touch me there.
“It’s ok, babe,” he insisted. “There’s nothing wrong with being attracted to someone. I don’t expect to be the only person in your universe.”
“But I wouldn’t –” I started to say before he cut me off.
“I know you wouldn’t cheat on me.” His voice was calm and sure, but I still added again in my head. “Doesn’t mean you won’t ever be interested in anyone else.”
I struggled to reason through it. I’d been attracted to Vik, and that had been ok, because Julian and I both were. He’d had been the driver on that one, so it had felt…sanctioned. Even when we started having threesomes, we’d put strict rules in place about what we could do with Vik and when.
Before I could get any further with my thoughts, I heard Julian open and close the bottle of oil we kept next to the bed, and then a slick fingertip made contact with my back entrance. No matter how many times we did this, it still felt dirty in the best possible way. I turned my face into my arms to muffle my groan when he breached me.
“I’ve never seen you look at another man that way, besides Vik,” he told me. “It’s hot for me to think about you thinking about Graham.”
“It is?” I managed to ask. God, being talked to while he searched up my defenseless passage always made it worse. And therefore better.
“Mm hm,” he affirmed. “You know how much I enjoy you when you’re this turned on. Usually you’re into women, which is fine; I just can’t share it with you. But with this, I can.” His finger worked my ass leisurely, loosening the rings of muscle until they stopped protesting. Then a second one joined in.
When he lightly pressed over my prostate, my cock spasmed beneath me. I still couldn’t believe how many years I’d gone, not knowing about the unique pleasure this kind of stimulation offered for men. That it could only really be accessed via penetration added to the excitement.
“So, you find Captain Lansing attractive?” Julian asked, tantalizing again. He usually referred to the man by his first name; I thought he was using the full title just to emphasize how inappropriate my crush was.
I tried not to squirm. It was fucking embarrassing to think about this while he was tapping against my special inner gland. And fucking hot that he was making me.
“Uhh…kind of,” I said into my arms.
“Kind of?” he mocked. Obviously he could tell my core temperature was like a million degrees already.
“Fine. Yes,” I confessed.
He rubbed me teasingly inside, knowing how that got to my cock, and knowing I couldn’t do anything about it unless he gave me permission. “Strong commander types are your thing, huh?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled self-consciously. It was what I usually said when I couldn’t bring myself to admit whatever he was asking. He didn’t press for an answer, because my evasion was clear enough.
He kept fingering me for a while, murmuring sensuous questions that set my cheeks flaming and my rod aching: Had I been thinking about what happened at night when Captain Lansing took off his camouflage field jacket, pulled his t-shirt over his head, and unbuttoned his combat pants? Had I imagined the muscular shape of his ass, clad only in tight cotton briefs? The outline of his cock, and how big it might get when he was aroused? Had I wondered what he thought about, when he got into his bunk and started touching himself? What kind of sounds he muffled when he came?
Fuck, it was so unfair that I couldn’t hide my reactions. My breaths were coming fast, and I didn’t always succeed in suppressing my moans at the scenes Julian painted while he wrung pleasure from my anal walls.
Then he upped the ante. “What if Captain Lansing walked into our room right now, switched on the light, and saw you lying here naked, with your legs spread and your ass being probed?”
That vivid image drew a humiliating sound from me before I could stop it. Blood surged into my neglected cock.
Julian pressed his advantage. “If he came in and stripped off his uniform and got onto the bed with us, what would you want him to do to you?”
I gave in to the fantasy, turning my face back toward my husband in the dark. My reply was simple and lustful. “Kiss me.”
“Mm,” Julian agreed. “I’d like to see that.” His fingers kept prodding. “Then, while he kissed you, what if he reached down here and pushed his finger inside you next to mine, so we were both fingering you?” He shoved a third one into me, as if it were Lansing’s.
Oh my god. At that moment, it seemed like the most erotic thing that could possibly happen in my lifetime. The fact that Julian’s imagination was clearly filthier than mine made me feel a little less ashamed of my desires.
He kept going, murmuring obscene words beside my head. “Have you thought about being in his ass? I don’t know how often he’s been with men. You could spread him beneath you, face down, and then I would get on top. I’d push inside you and fuck you into him.”
I was paralyzed with lust, but he didn’t stop. “Or would you like him inside you? What if he climbed over you while you lay here like this, and he wrapped his strong arms around your chest and nibbled that spot you like under your ear, and then he drove his cock into your ass?”
Desperation unlocked my tongue. “Julian, fuck me, please,” I begged.
“Tell me first,” he taunted, striking more sparks from my prostate. “Tell me what you want him to do to you.”
There was no use trying to get out of this. I took a breath and tried to slow down the exhale, but my pulse was still pounding.
“I want — him to fuck me,” I forced out, trying not to think about how embarrassed by my confession I was going to be later.
“Who?” he prompted.
How was I ever going to face him after this? “Cap — Captain Lansing.”
Julian made a low, approving sound. His fingers pulled out, and I panted helplessly while I waited for him to cleanse them, slide off his trunks, and lube up. He adjusted my hips and nudged my knees wider, then his rock-solid erection entered my tight chamber.
As always, he went as slow as I needed, giving my muscles time to adjust. However many fingers he used, they never opened me like this, with inexorable pressure. His unyielding rod was a relief after the not-enough stimulation he’d been subjecting me to.
Before long he was all the way inside. His sculpted forearms wound my chest and his lips found the side of my neck, just the way he’d described. When his hips started rocking against mine, grinding my inner trigger, it was heaven. Except that he still ignored my swollen shaft, and I hadn’t really mastered prostate-only orgasms. And if I didn’t come soon, my reactor core was probably going to have a level seven nuclear meltdown.
“Captain Lansing would be on top of you like this, then,” Julian resumed narrating while he thrust rhythmically. “Fucking your ass with those powerful glutes and abs. Pleasuring his cock inside your body. Riding you hard, for as long as he wanted.”
This was more than I could take without relief to my erection, which was so rigid I thought it might end up that way permanently. I started to disentangle one arm to reach under myself, but Julian adjusted his hold, pinning my hands out of reach. Frustrated, I tried to hump the bed, but I couldn’t really move with his weight on my back.
“He wouldn’t let you get away with that,” my husband’s sensuous voice told me. “He’s stronger than you; you’ll just have to wait until he decides to let you have it.”
God…this was too hot to take. “Please let me come, Julian,” I begged again, despite how mortifying it was. “I need to so badly!”
“I think it’s Captain Lansing that you should be asking,” was the smoldering reply. “It’s his decision.”
All I could do was groan, overwhelmed by need that was both physical and very much psychological.
The shaft in my back passage didn’t stop thrusting. “He might prefer to keep you hard and throbbing while he uses your ass and comes inside you, and then command you not to jerk off, so that all day tomorrow he can enjoy knowing how horny you are for him every time he sees you.”
The scene flashed through my brain, and my blood nearly vaporized. “Please touch me!” I cried out, need burning unbearably.
At last Julian relented. He shifted our positions to pull my hips back over my heels, one of his arms still holding my hands out of the way against the bed. But when he finally made contact with my needy cock, all he did was tease: his fingers brushed lightly along my swollen length, loose strokes that took me right to the brink but wouldn’t be enough to send me over.
This was the opposite of mercy, yet the sweetest ecstatic craving reverberated from my flesh everywhere he touched. Fervent petitions poured from me. “Oh, fuck, please, I need to come, please…”
“That’s right, Avery,” he encouraged without increasing the pressure. “Captain Lansing wants to hear you beg for it.”
“Please!” I nearly shouted. I probably would have begged the man, if he’d walked in then. I was that close, and that desperate. “Julian, god, please — I’m gonna die –”
“Yes, love,” he finally said, evidently satisfied. “You can come.”
His hand gripped me with purpose, and the pleasure built quickly to a blinding explosion. I cried out heedlessly with the force of the blissful shocks. My partner sped up, his body tensing against me, and then he was exploding too. I arched back into the bonus pleasure of him spasming inside me. Nothing else felt quite like it.
We stayed there for a minute until the orgasmic debris settled. He kissed the side of my face, now tenderly. “Let’s clean up?”
I nodded, and he pulled out. When we were back in bed, Julian invited me to lie against him, which I did willingly. He caressed soothing fingers through my curly hair, and I luxuriated in the security of his affection.
“You ok?” he asked after a while.
“Are you ok?” I countered. He didn’t seem upset, but I was still nervous.
“Yes…” He seemed to be questioning why I would be unsure. “This scene was my idea.”
“Well it wasn’t your idea that I –” I didn’t want to say any more out loud than I already had.
“That you’re into him?” my husband finished. “Honestly, Avery, I’m not worried about it. Unless you’re telling me it’s changed what you want with me.”
“No. Of course not.” The question alone made me want to snuggle closer against him and pull his arms tighter around me. I didn’t give in to the clingy impulse, though. I just listened to his heart cycle blood through his body, my most constant proof that he was here and alive.
“Then why would it bother me? Didn’t we go through this when we were first with Vik? Attraction is involuntary, for everyone. We don’t choose who or what turns us on. So how could I be offended, if this isn’t something you can control?”
I shrugged in the dark, but I couldn’t come up with an argument. “Yeah. I guess.”
It was quiet for a few moments, while Julian stroked my hair some more. “That was incredibly hot, by the way,” he told me. “Sharing that fantasy with you.”
“Incredibly fucking humiliating, you mean.” An echo of heat rose to my face just remembering. “You better not ever tell him.”
He responded with a slight laugh. “How do you know he wouldn’t be just as into it?”
The flush deepened. “No way.”
“He should consider himself lucky, if he ever had the chance to play with someone as sexy and adorable as you,” Julian countered, his tone turning fond. “I certainly do.”
I let out a long breath and nestled my head against his neck. It was probably useless to argue, so I just soaked in the warmth of his praise and let it go.
Well, I tried to. But after a few minutes I remembered something. “You’re not going to tell him though, right?” I checked. I wasn’t about to risk not getting clear confirmation.
“Obviously not, babe,” he replied with evident amusement. “I wouldn’t disclose that kind of personal information to anyone.”
“Ok.”
“Unless you wanted to give me permission to invite him for a threesome.”
“No.”
He laughed again, and eventually we got to sleep.