C is for... Corliss

Blogging From A to Z is a blog challenge where participants post a new item every day (except Sundays), where every item relates to the appropriate letter of the alphabet.  You can find out more over at http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com

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Any story involving the characters of The Rose Queen might be spoileriffic if you've been following along with the excerpts posted on WiPpet Wednesday, so that's something to watch out for.

Story: The Rose Queen
Rating: 18
Word Count: 850

The chill air clung to his clammy skin, a soothing counterpoint to the sweat trickling down it as he flexed his fingers on the equally damp waist beneath him.

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The chill air clung to his clammy skin, a soothing counterpoint to the sweat trickling down it as he flexed his fingers on the equally damp waist beneath him.  Its owner moaned, dipping his back as Corliss resumed pounding into him, the slap of each thrust resounding through the dark room.

After all, if someone was going to go to the trouble of loitering by the doorway, he might as well give them a show.

His partner whimpered, chest pressed against the textured metal; Corliss slid one hand awkwardly beneath him to grind his palm against his swollen cock until he let out another moan, bucking his hips to chase Corliss’s touch.  Damn, if he did that again—

His other hand tightened on his partner’s waist, fingers sinking hard into the flesh as white flashed behind his eyes.  One last slamming thrust had him up to the hilt and spilling himself, each spurt racking out a gasp.  “Fuck.”

A shifting from the doorway barely registered on the edges of his consciousness.  “Are you quite done?”

Heat spattered across his palm.  The man beneath him groaned, slipping free as the strength fled from his legs, sprawling him over the floor in his own come.  Corliss’s fingers were already turning tacky.  “Yeah.  It looks like it.”

“Good.”  The figure in the doorway, features obscured by the stark corridor lighting, gestured with its head.  “Come with me.”

* * *

He’d wondered if the order didn’t stretch to dressing first—it wouldn’t be the first time; he’d been dragged to the medical offices stark naked often enough—but he was granted five minutes to slither into his jumpsuit before speaking with the stranger.  His skin was probably cleaner.  Still, it saved on worrying if his hair was neat.

When he padded barefoot into the warden’s office, the stranger was pacing the room with his hands folded behind his back, pressing creases into his otherwise perfect uniform.  “Was that wise?”

The question caught him off guard.  He shifted from foot to foot, unconsciously mirroring the man’s pose.  “What?”

“Your file says you don’t have any nanites.”  Oh.  That.  “Shouldn’t you be more careful?”

“It’s alright,” he said cheerfully.  “He has them.  It’d only be messy if he didn’t, and if he didn’t then it’s not you I’d be talking to.  It’s the medical techs.”

“You’re speaking from experience?”

Corliss flashed a smile he didn’t entirely feel.  “Got nothing else to do in my spare time.”

Obviously his response didn’t dignify an answer.  Instead he nodded at the bruise swelling Corliss’s left cheek.  “Your friend do that to you?”

“No.  The guy trying to lay him before me did.”

The stranger shook his head and Corliss couldn’t tell if it was in despair or a poor mask for amusement.  “He was pretty.  That’s your type, is it?”

What part of nothing else to do had gone over this man’s head?  “My type is available.”

The cold grey eyes that flicked over his body, head to toe, worried him without his understanding why.  “You’re a mercenary, aren’t you?”

Well that was a change of subject and a half.  “Yes.”  No point in lying.  He knew about the nanites, after all  “A pretty good one too.”

A sneer flitted over the man’s lips, turning his face from moderately attractive to frighteningly ugly in less than a second.  “Not that good, or you wouldn’t be gracing Caleca with your presence.”

There was that, yes; Corliss bit his tongue.

“You think you can be trusted with guarding a pretty man?  After all, you don’t have a type.”

“I’m not a good mercenary, remember?”  He spat back at the stranger and took savage satisfaction in his wide eyes, creasing crow’s feet at their edges.  “I can’t be trusted with anything or I wouldn’t be here.”

It took a moment for him to speak again.  “I will admit you’re one of the best in this facility.”

This time Corliss’s smile was wholly genuine.  “You want someone guarding?”

“It’s more than that.”  The man resumed his pacing, boots clicking over the hard floor.  “You’ll be given a job, an official title.  You’ll be expected to blend in.  Can you do that?”

“If it gets me out of here I can do anything.”

This time when he came to a stop it was directly in front of him.  Unbidden, Corliss felt himself straighten and pull his shoulders back under the force of the scrutiny.  “And you realise that if you make a mistake, one single mistake, you will find yourself back here?”

“Then I’d better not make any mistakes, right?”

The man stared until Corliss had to fight to keep himself still.  “Corliss Baenan, as the captain of the Orenda I am pleased to offer you a role on my ship.”

Only a supreme force of will kept his jaw from dropping.  “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”  The captain’s smile was thin and humourless.

What kind of an idiot did they take him for?

He stuck his hand out, not caring what he’d been handling less than ten minutes before.  “I’m yours to command, sir.”