Chris very calmly shut down his computer, stored away his monitoring equipment, and returned to his quarters, all on autopilot. He was consciously aware of very little from the time of Duncan’s violent departure from the lab to the time when he found himself staring sightlessly into his bathroom mirror. He blinked at his reflection, taking in the details of his startled eyes, his mussed hair, and his red mouth without really understanding how exactly they had occurred.
They occurred because he kissed you; Duncan Harris kissed you.
He blinked again and shook his head. No, no way, there was just no way that had just happened.
But it did. He grabbed you, pulled you to him, and kissed you.
Ridiculous! Things like that just didn’t happen to Chris Vabre—he wasn’t the sort of person who one grabbed and kissed. Hell, he could hardly even remember the last time he’d been out on a date, let alone been grabbed and kissed. More to the point, had he ever been grabbed and kissed? Chris didn’t think so. And certainly not like that.
But that’s exactly what just happened. And the one doing the kissing was Duncan Harris: he took you in his arms, kissed you passionately, and moaned in pleasure while doing so.
No—that wasn’t what just happened. It couldn’t be what just happened.
But it was—look! Look at yourself. You’ve been held and kissed and desired.
“Oh my God, he kissed me,” Chris said aloud to his reflection. “Duncan fucking Harris just kissed me.”
Chris didn’t quite know what to make of that, but his reflection obviously did. It raised its hand wonderingly to its thoroughly kissed lips and smiled.
“Huh,” Chris said to it. “So you liked that, then? Or I did, did I?”
His reflection’s smile grew larger.
“Obviously so,” Chris said, tilting his head to one side in consideration. “So Duncan Harris kissed me… and I liked it. Huh.”
And…?
Chris scowled at his reflection’s prompt. “And nothing,” he snapped. “I’m obviously going mad—talking to myself in the mirror like some demented old man.”
He shook his head and turned away before swiping his hand over the sensor by the shower to turn on the stream of water. What he needed was to get clean, get some sleep, and worry about the rest come morning. He stripped quickly, dropped his clothes into an untidy heap in the corner, and stepped into the shower cubicle. The water temperature was perfect—so hot that it just bordered on painful—and Chris shivered in pleasure as it pounded onto his shoulders.
Nevertheless, even the relaxing heat of the water wasn’t distracting enough to prevent Chris’s thoughts from straying back to Duncan. He’d known something was up with him—had known that since his morning conversation with Corrin and Jessica concerning Duncan’s mental state—but he’d put Duncan’s slight hovering down to their close call of their previous mission. Any further oddness, he’d assumed was due to Duncan’s reluctance to test the connectors with him for fear of “sharing” too much. Chris snorted to himself as he squirted a blob of shower gel into his sponge and rubbed at it to form a lather. Well, Duncan had certainly been right on that front.
Chris found himself shaking his head as he ran his sponge down each arm and then across his chest. After all, he couldn’t deny what had happened, nor could he refute the belief that it was what Duncan had wanted. That he was what Duncan had wanted. It had been a shock, to be sure, but what was even more of one was the realization that he wanted Duncan in return.
Not that the idea of wanting another man was an odd one—far from it; Chris had always been one to take companionship wherever he could find it. The days when homosexuality was something to hide and be ashamed of were long past, and Chris had spent enough years alone to have learned to cherish passion no matter who offered it, provided of course it was a passion he could return.
So no, Chris wasn’t so much shocked by the fact that he’d been kissed by a man as he was by the fact that the man in question was Duncan Harris, his quiet, reserved team leader. Chris had never thought about Duncan in that way before. Duncan was second only to Argo’s military commander and also, he had hoped, his friend. Chris couldn’t recall ever having seen Duncan with another person in what could be called a romantic setting. And, even if he had, he would have laid a considerable amount of money on the odds that his partner of choice would be both female and someone not actually employed by the Argo Expedition. Colonel Tennant’s partnership with Jason aside, the Union Military were not known for being all that supportive of relationships between serving personnel. Chris’s sponge slid down his flat chest, over the small bump of his belly, and down to wash his cock and balls. No, Chris was decidedly not female, and he and Duncan now worked together on practically a daily basis.
So what had Chris been missing during all these years of working with him? Apparently, the fact that Duncan was gay. Or, at the very least, bisexual.
Chris bent over to run the sponge down each leg and in between his toes, groaning slightly as his back protested painfully when he righted himself again. He reached up and twisted the showerhead to concentrate the water through just a few of the holes, thus increasing the pressure of the stream. He dropped the sponge on the shower shelf and then moved forward to brace himself with his arms outstretched against the tiled wall in front of him. In this new position, the jets of hot water pounded onto his lower back, massaging his aching muscles.
The question still remained: what did this all mean for Chris? What did he truly think of Duncan Harris?
Chris tried to consider things logically. That Duncan was a good man was obvious. Chris had realized that within moments of meeting him, all those years ago before the Argo Expedition had even left the Milky Way. He’d thought then that they’d become friends, even though that hadn’t turned out to be the case immediately. But even though their interactions thereafter had been almost entirely professional, he’d seen how dedicated Duncan was to his team and all of the members of the expedition. And now that they were teammates, the friendship promised at that first meeting had finally developed.
So, yes, Duncan was a good man and someone Chris now considered a close friend, but was there any more to it than that? Did he want Duncan? Was he attracted to him? Chris paused to consider this, something he’d not thought to dwell on before. Yes, he supposed Duncan was attractive—clean-cut features, intense green eyes, the hard, muscular build of a soldier.
Yet despite Duncan’s appeal, Chris had never considered Duncan as someone he, Chris Vabre, could desire. It just hadn’t seemed right to do so. There had been no sign on Duncan’s part that he’d want anything like that with Chris. Therefore, his lusting after Chris made absolutely no sense whatsoever.
But now, it seemed as though circumstances hadn’t been as Chris had originally believed. The parameters had changed, and Chris was going to have to redress his conclusions accordingly.
Still no closer to understanding his own feelings, Chris tipped his head back, shutting his eyes against the spray but letting the water fall onto his forehead and run down his face. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his temple and jerked his head up out of the spray. Bringing his hand up to the side of his head, he realized that this right here was something else he needed to consider: the power of the connectors and what influence they may have had on the events that had followed.
Although Chris knew he would have to spend some time analyzing the readings he and Helen had taken during the testing session, there were several conclusions he was confident could be drawn from observation alone. The fact that the capabilities of the connectors had been massively enhanced by his activation of the genetic identification software had been proven beyond doubt. So too was the fact that Duncan’s unique genetic mix had also had an impact on the connectors. And the question that logically followed from that observation was what effect had Duncan’s stronger command of the connectors had on Chris?
Chris let out a confused huff of breath and then shut off the shower with a wave of his hand. He opened the cubicle door just enough to enable him to sneak an arm through the crack and grab his towel, then pulled the door shut again as quickly as he could to preserve the warm steam for as long as possible. He threw the towel over his head and scrubbed first at his hair before pulling it down over his face to his chest and then around the back of his neck.
The huge peaks in energy they’d observed had been fascinating—indications of the possible uses of the connectors far beyond the communication of thoughts, images, or even emotions. And perhaps that’s what the Atarans’ Forebearers had been interested in after all—literally harnessing the power of the mind. Chris shook his head as he wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower. If only there was a way to collect and focus that energy. However, for the moment at any rate, it was all mere speculation—interesting, to be sure, but not relevant to his current train of thought. Rather, he was now concentrating on the more personal implications of what he had discovered tonight.
So, had he been coerced? Were his responses to Duncan’s thoughts, emotions, and actions something that Duncan had somehow caused, however innocently, through the connectors? Chris thought back to the testing session as he brushed his teeth, idly pacing in circles around his room and bathroom as he did so. He could recall the first flush of excitement as the connectors activated, the heady thrum of energy that had surged through his body, and then the realization that the bright flashes on the edge of his mind were actually Duncan’s thoughts.
The whole experience had been amazing, awesome, and like most of his experiences in Thessalia, utterly beyond his wildest dreams. To actually be able to communicate their thoughts to each other—it was like actually getting to live one of his childhood fantasies of having superpowers. Of course, it wasn’t as though life on Argo wasn’t already the stuff of fairy tales; it was just rather refreshing to be able to live out a fantasy without the threat of the Zenoid looming ominously in the background.
He dropped his toothbrush and bent down over the sink to rinse out his mouth, thinking back to how they’d pushed the connectors to the extreme. The ship he was designing was arguably the most complex thing he had ever attempted to create. He’d been working on it for years, decades even. Because who wouldn’t want to design a spaceship? His earliest drawings of the ship had been made when he was no more than five, using crayons and construction paper to sketch out aerodynamic shapes. As he’d grown and learned more about math, engineering, and physics, he’d added to his creation. Of course, it hadn’t ever been his major project, but it had always been there—through school and college, through his time as a grad student and then postdoc, through his time at Space Tech, and now, finally, on Argo. All along the way he kept modifying and perfecting his creation, adding first the very best that engineering and design could offer, and then upgrading it as he learned what other, alien technology could teach him.
Chris padded out of the bathroom and headed over to his bed before hunting through his crumpled sheets and finally managing to unearth the boxers and ratty T-shirt he used as pajamas. He dropped his towel and pulled his clothes on, his thoughts still focused on his memories. The odd thing was that his specifications for his ship had become more concrete during his time in Argo. It was ironic, really, because he’d never had less time to spend on any side projects, never mind one so many years away from actually delivering something they could use on Argo. Now that Chris considered the matter, he suddenly understood why the blueprints of his ship suddenly came back into sharp focus during his time with the expedition—because he’d got to know Duncan. In Duncan, he knew he finally had found the person who would fully appreciate his ship—someone he wanted to create his ship for.
Attempting to transmit the blueprints through the ‘great net’ had been an easy decision to make—they were nightmarishly complicated, had many parts that consisted of amorphous ideas rather than concrete schematics, and he knew them like the back of his hand. Duncan’s delighted reaction had been everything that Chris could have hoped. He had seemed genuinely impressed and excited over both the prospect of the ship itself and of helping Chris complete the plans. When their conversation had turned to Chris’s reasons for designing the ship, Chris had found himself admitting, internally at any rate, that his motivation was in part due to the fact that Duncan needed something in which he was less likely to kill himself. Looking back, Chris realized that it was then that the… well, the connection between them had started to change.
Chris shook his head as he recalled the feeling, absentmindedly gathering up his damp towel and putting it, along with his discarded uniform, in his laundry pile. He hadn’t even noticed the change at first, caught up as he’d been in his verbal lambasting of Duncan’s penchant for risk and his own feelings on the subject. It had felt very much like their earlier tests, but then Chris had realized that the images he was sharing with Duncan were bleeding away and that what he was actually doing was sharing something far more personal—his true emotions. All the complicated, messy, and damn unpredictable things he felt about Duncan.
It hadn’t been his conscious decision to share those things with Duncan, that much he knew for sure—hell, he hadn’t even known that the connectors were even capable of transmitting feelings—but he couldn’t deny that the feelings were real. They were his true emotions—his honestly and deeply felt affection, worry, and fear for Duncan’s safety. And it wasn’t just those three emotions either; no, there were a whole other mess of feelings that he knew were flitting around in his head when he thought of Duncan—respect, admiration, love, anger, irritation, yearning—things he hadn’t ever looked at closely enough to even begin to untangle.
And then Duncan had kissed him.
Chris sank down onto his bed, still rather stunned that such a thing had actually occurred. In fact, he’d been shocked into complete immobility at the time—standing stock-still as Duncan’s arms had closed around him and Duncan’s mouth had taken full possession of his own. It had been… God… indescribable. Duncan’s lips warm and firm on his own; Duncan’s tongue thrusting suggestively into his mouth; Duncan’s moan of desire shuddering through his body; and, oh God, Duncan’s cock grinding hard into his hip.
Chris let out a deep breath and collapsed back onto his pillow, stretching his legs out and tangling them in his rumpled blankets. Fuck, but he was getting hard just recalling it, his cock twitching and filling his boxers. He reached down and palmed his length through the fabric, spreading his legs a little and moaning at the frisson of pleasure his own touch, combined with the memory of Duncan’s body pressed hard against his own, elicited.
Closing his eyes, he gave himself over to the sensation—reliving the memory in vivid Technicolor and adding to it, expanding it, taking their encounter through to the most satisfying conclusion. Even now he could hear Duncan’s voice, entreating Chris to respond to him. Relax, Chris, please. Relax and please kiss me back; please want me back. Whether Duncan had actually spoken the words aloud or transmitted them to him via the connectors, Chris wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter—what mattered was that, with those words, Chris realized that it was real: Duncan wanted him, cared for him, desired him.
And that was all it had taken. All of a sudden the barriers in Chris’s mind—the ones that had always insisted that men like Duncan Harris were never meant for men like Chris Vabre—had crumbled to dust, and Chris was suddenly free. Free to want Duncan, to care for Duncan, to desire Duncan in return.
Thinking back to it now made Chris’s body arch up from the bed, his cock as hard as a rock in his boxers, the damp head dragging against the material as he started to rock his hips in time with the desire pulsing through him. He wondered what would have happened if Duncan hadn’t drawn back from the kiss—if Chris hadn’t let him draw back. He let his eyes slip closed and his mind drift, images of Duncan playing enticingly behind his closed lids.
In his mind, Chris’s arms tightened around Duncan as he started to pull back, drawing Duncan back to him, catching Duncan’s mouth with his own and kissing Duncan back. He imagined Duncan’s small huff of surprise, imagined smiling at the sound, and then deepening the kiss, determined to pull more enticing noises from Duncan.
Chris was breathing hard now, his body practically writhing on his bed, the cloth of this T-shirt rubbing against his chest and brushing against his nipples as the covers bunched underneath him. Groaning in frustration, Chris opened his eyes and unwrapped his hand from around his cock. He arched his back and kicked his covers down to the end of the bed, out of the way. He then pulled his T-shirt over his head and wriggled out of his boxers, letting the clothes fall to the floor.
There, that was better. With his chest heaving and his cock slapping wetly against his belly as he moved, Chris lay back down. He could see it clearly now—what it would be like to have Duncan, equally hard and naked, pressing down on top of him, his weight pinning Chris to the bed. He could practically feel Duncan’s body against his—the light scrape of his chest hair as they moved together, the ripples of Duncan’s muscles as Chris ran his hands down his back, the heavy slide of Duncan’s cock against Chris’s as their hips thrust repeatedly together.
As Chris pictured just how amazing Duncan would look in that position—hard chest, straining muscles, and glistening cock—he squeezed the hand wrapped firmly around his erection tighter. He could feel his orgasm approaching rapidly and was now fucking his hips forward into his fist. He imagined that he and Duncan were together now—that Duncan’s dick was pressed hard against his own, that they were sliding in and out of Chris’s clenched fist in tandem, the flares at their crowns bumping together and catching with delicious friction.
A moan erupted from Chris, and he imagined Duncan catching it, their mouths melding together hotly as their bodies strained against each other. He knew Duncan wanted him, had felt Duncan’s need in the heat of Duncan’s kiss and the steel of Duncan’s body. And it was right, it was perfect, it was what they both needed.
And that was all it took. With a cry, Chris came, his orgasm roaring through him, causing his hips to buck wildly as he pumped himself over his belly and fist in a series of breath-stealing spasms. The thought of Duncan coming with him, on him, sent one last wave of pleasure shooting through his body before he collapsed, boneless, panting, and totally spent.
Chris had just enough energy remaining to fumble for the box of tissues on his bedside table and clean himself up before contentment and sleep carried him away.
In an ominous repeat of the previous day, Chris’s alarm shocked him awake far too early the next morning. This time, however, he managed to knock it silent with just one well-aimed flail of his arm and had to then peak out from under the covers to marvel at the fact that he’d actually managed it. Grinning smugly, he turned over and realized that he was naked. Blinking in surprise, Chris sat up, and his memories of the previous few days came rushing back to him—the mission to Ata, the connectors, the huge power generation, and, oh God, Duncan… but further reminiscences were stymied by the familiar squawk of his radio. Sighing in resignation, Chris reached out for it and brought it to his ear as he pushed himself off the bed in yet another reminder of how yesterday had started.
“Vabre,” he said as he started to make his way over to the bathroom.
“Dr. Vabre?” a somewhat tentative and unfamiliar voice replied. “This is Jim Morris… I, uh, I have some additional information on the boosted long-range sensor scans.”
“And?” Chris prompted sharply, slightly annoyed by the man’s dawdling over what could be an important message. Morris was an expert in his field of signals analysis, but Chris had noticed that he tended not to appreciate the vital importance of speed and precision, things which were essential when working in the field as opposed to the lab.
“And, I think… I think there’s something out there,” Morris said.
Chris rolled his eyes and strove for patience. “And by ‘something’ you mean what, exactly?” he asked, pausing at the door to the bathroom. “A meteor? A dust cloud? A Zenoid colony ship? An invasion armada? What?”
“I… ah… I don’t know exactly,” Morris stuttered nervously. “A ship, I think… or possibly ships.”
“Great, just great,” Chris muttered under his breath, rapidly turning on his heel and heading for his closet instead. “I’m on my way,” he said. “Have you called Jason yet? Do so immediately. Vabre out.”
As Chris dressed—a task that took considerably less time than it had when he first arrived in Thessalia—he debated whether or not to call Duncan. On one hand, Chris knew that Duncan, as 2IC of Argo’s military, would be interested in any ships that might potentially pose a threat to Argo, but on the other, Chris was loath to involve him until he had more information. After all, there was every chance that the ship or ships in question were the products of sensor anomalies, programming glitches, and Morris’s overactive imagination, and/or had no interest in Argo. Also, chances were Jason would relay the information to Colonel Tennant, who could then decide for himself whether to involve Duncan and the wider military or not.
Not to mention the fact that Duncan had practically sprinted out of the lab last night in his desperation to escape Chris’s company. Duncan’s capacity of disappearing into his shell at the slightest suggestion that he was human and, therefore, had personal issues, was one to which Chris was long resigned, and he wondered idly whether it was worth asking Corrin or Jessica to check up on him. As he grabbed his laptop and headed out of his quarters, Chris decided to let things lie. Anyway, knowing his teammates, one of them had probably cornered Duncan already.