Gloves

 

 

THE SECOND THING that Brigadier General Shuos Jedao did when the mechanics signed off on the repairs to his command moth was look up the address of one of the space station’s brothels. (The first thing was to draft a letter to his mother. His mother had Mysterious Ways of Knowing if he shirked his filial duty.) He’d considered doing something sensible with his money instead, like gambling, but the gambling houses wouldn’t let him in these days.

The last time he’d attempted to gamble at this station, during a previous visit, he’d put on a tasteful amount of makeup and changed into civilian clothing respectable enough to announce that he had money, but not so ostentatious that some thief would try to pick his pocket. Sometimes, when he got bored, he did dress like a fop and let them get close enough that their terrible life choices dawned on them. After all, how else was he supposed to stay in practice with some of those armlocks?

Unfortunately, when he arrived, the house manager, a leggy Shuos woman with hair swept up in fantastic coils, stopped him at the door. “Hello, Jedao,” she said without warmth. “Sorry, you’re not allowed in here.”

“I play by the rules,” Jedao protested.

“Don’t care,” she said. “That’s even worse than when you clean us out, because we can’t even nail you for cheating. Do you have nothing better to do than bully honest, hard-working foxes? Can’t you go wallop some heretics instead?”

Jedao looked wistfully over her shoulder at a table where several people were playing jeng-zai, then went away.

The brothel was much more reasonable, possibly because he didn’t cause them to lose money. The receptionist took down Jedao’s name, contact information, and preferences. Then they offered him a discount if he booked an “overnight experience” rather than by the hour. Discount my ass, Jedao thought; but he was running out of fun things to blow his money on during leave. He collected firearms, for instance, but he couldn’t haul his collection everywhere. In real life, he had to leave most of them in storage. So what the hell, “overnight experience” it was.

He showed up seven minutes before the appointment, dressed in uniform. This brothel catered to soldiers anyway. He’d stuck with medium formal on the grounds that he didn’t want to get his full formal uniform messed up.

“Shuos Jedao?” said the receptionist, quite properly addressing him as a client rather than an officer. “Kio is waiting for you. Up the stairs, second room on the left.”

“Thank you,” Jedao said. There was never a good reason to antagonize the staff at a brothel. He and Ruo had done it a couple of times as cadets, and learned that annoyed prostitutes had a habit of “spilling” highly staining substances on uniforms. He headed up the stairs as instructed.

The upper floor smelled of perfume, some kind of aquatic. He could distinguish different explosives by smell, but perfume notes? Forget it. (His brother and sister had always found this very amusing.) The second room on the left was obscured by a dazzling curtain composed of strands of faceted glass beads in pale blue. Reflected glints formed a mosaic of light across the floor and walls. He rapped politely on the doorframe. The curtain swayed, and the glints of light wavered and rippled.

“Welcome,” a tenor said from within.

Jedao’s pulse quickened. He pulled the strands aside and entered to a clattering of beads.

Kio stood at the far end of the room, next to the head of the bed. He was tall, clean shaven, hair cut short: all in accordance with Kel regulations. His clothes, too, imitated the black-and-gold Kel uniform, although they were of silk and clung appealingly to his long limbs. The gold braid was further embellished with amber beads that caught the light as he moved. Golden chains descended from his epaulets to the buttons of his shirt, and jingled faintly as he began to make an almost-salute, open hand rather than fist to his left shoulder.

“Don’t,” Jedao said.

Kio froze. “Did I misunderstand your preferences, sir?”

“No,” Jedao said. “It’s something I prefer to keep out of the house’s records.” Just so his meaning was clear, he pulled out his wallet and retrieved a token of very large denomination in the local currency. He left it on the table next to the door.

“Something could be arranged, sir.”

Next: “Stop calling me ‘sir,’” Jedao said. “It’s not—it’s not necessary.”

Kio’s wariness, if anything, increased. Jedao sighed inwardly. Although various laws and customs protected prostitutes, the fact of the matter was that laws and customs were cold comfort when dealing with belligerent trained killers. While Jedao was not belligerent, he couldn’t deny being a trained killer. Even if he employed swarms of warmoths these days instead of a sniper rifle or his hands, Kio would be aware of his reputation.

Jedao crossed the distance to Kio in slow strides, to make himself as little threatening as possible. He knelt before the other man. His hands were damp inside the regulation half-gloves. “Use me.”

He thought he was going to have to repeat himself when Kio let out a long, shaky breath and nodded. Kio’s own hands were sheathed in full black gloves. Technically illegal, but Jedao had no intention of reporting him or the house to the Kel. As a point of fact, he’d chosen this house because of its willingness to indulge this particular taste.

For a moment, Jedao wasn’t certain this was going to work out. It sometimes didn’t. Prostitutes, and lovers for that matter, usually assumed he wanted to give orders in bed. As if, after spending all day giving orders, he wanted to do it while fucking, too.

Then Kio reached down and grabbed Jedao’s right hand, and placed it over his groin. “You know how to use your mouth, fledge? Show me.” His voice was harsh.

Jedao groaned in the back of his throat at the address. “Sir,” he breathed. He hadn’t received permission to unglove, so he didn’t. Instead, he hooked his thumbs into Kio’s waistband, then unbuttoned his fly and drew out the other man’s cock. Not hard, not yet. He could do something about that.

He teased the head of Kio’s cock with his tongue, then took the whole thing into his mouth and sucked greedily. Kio was unnervingly silent. Jedao was determined to please him, though. He used his tongue to caress Kio’s cock until he became hard and his shaft pushed into Jedao’s throat. Erect, Kio was quite large, and Jedao’s throat ached, but he didn’t dare pull back.

Jedao himself was already uncomfortably erect. Although he was tempted to reach down and jerk himself off, or rearrange himself, he didn’t have permission to do that either. He meant to be very literal about his orders. He longed to reach up and cradle Kio’s balls in his hand, but even that hadn’t been mentioned. Use your mouth.

Kio had noticed Jedao’s arousal. “You like this, don’t you, fledge?”

It was difficult to answer around a mouthful of cock, so Jedao confined himself to a nod. Kio shoved him away, not gently, and withdrew. Jedao glanced at Kio’s saliva-slick length before casting his eyes down, wondering what he’d done wrong. He had wanted to make Kio come, even if he didn’t dare hope—yet—that he’d be permitted the same.

Jedao raised his head and looked at Kio’s face when the silence started to worry him.

Kio’s expression was thoughtful. He grasped Jedao’s hand again. This time, he pressed his own palm against it, as if making a comparison. He smiled, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Sir?” Jedao said, very softly.

“Give me your gloves,” Kio said. And when Jedao hesitated: “Now.”

Jedao had expected this moment to arrive, just not so early in the encounter. A thrill went down his spine as he ungloved. He’d always felt more vulnerable with naked hands. It was a common Kel foible—except, of course, he wasn’t Kel.

Kio folded the half-gloves neatly and set them on the edge of the bed. Next he removed his own gloves. Jedao’s breath caught at the sight of Kio’s long hands and their calluses. (Jedao didn’t allow himself to think about the source of the calluses: probably from playing a musical instrument, not from familiarity with firearms.) Then Kio did something unexpected: he held the full black gloves out to Jedao.

Suddenly Jedao’s erection felt enormous. It seemed impossible that he’d be able to control himself. “Sir?”

“Put them on, fledge.”

Jedao faltered. “I’m not—”

Kio slapped him full across the face with his free hand. Jedao tasted blood. It was all he could do to keep from coming right then and there, fully clothed except for his hands.

“Fledge.”

“Yes, sir,” Jedao said, dizzy, and pulled on Kio’s gloves. He bit back a whimper at the way the charmeuse silk clung to his fingers. With the half-gloves he was used to being able to feel every chance current of air. No longer.

Kio hauled Jedao to his feet. Despite his slender build, he was surprisingly strong. “Jack yourself off,” he said. “With the gloves on. I want to watch.”

Jedao’s first two attempts to undo his fly failed because his hands were shaking violently. Kio slapped him again, which had the paradoxical effect of steadying him. He hissed between his teeth as he pulled his cock out and closed his fingers around it. Silk; the whisper of fabric against his overheated skin.

Kio’s eyes were hot and merciless. Jedao began stroking his shaft, up and down, up and down, torn between savoring the sensation and the urgency already building in his balls. I’m not seventeen anymore, he thought wildly. How—? But thinking was too difficult, and he focused again on masturbating so Kio could watch.

The air in the room was hot and cold at once, kaleidoscopic with the promise of unbearable pleasure. Jedao choked back a cry when Kio closed the distance between them and gathered him into a completely unmilitary embrace. Kio’s kisses were brutal, and involved teeth. He left marks all the way down the side of Jedao’s face. When he reached the scar at the base of Jedao’s neck, Jedao’s control gave way completely, and he began to come.

Even then Kio wasn’t done. He disengaged neatly and knelt so that Jedao’s come landed in white, sticky spurts all over the black silk, the golden chains. Jedao staggered. He’d dirtied the beautiful ersatz uniform. He looked down and saw that he’d also gotten stains on the silk gloves. Despite the fact that he’d just climaxed, his cock stirred at the sight.

“We’re going to do this all night,” Kio said directly into his ear. Jedao’s heart thumped painfully. He had forgotten that he had paid for all night.

 

 

IN THE MORNING, after Jedao had left, Kio retrieved a slate from under the bed and made a call. No one spoke on the other end; he did not give his name. He said only, “Shuos-zho was right about his tastes.” Then he closed the line, put the slate away, and went to clean up for the next client.

 

 

Author’s Note

 

For someone who likes to think of himself as being very smart, Jedao is terrible at a lot of things, and not just distinguishing perfume notes. Or maybe it’s just that I think it’s hilarious to write the archetypal high-Intelligence, low-Wisdom character. I’m pretty convinced that Wisdom was Jedao’s dump stat.

I originally wrote this to blow off steam: some nice PWP (“Plot? What plot?” as fandom likes to call it) instead of unknotting the latest snarl of intrigue. This grew out of the thought that Jedao’s inconvenient uniform kink could have been much less of a weakness if he’d just visited some accommodating prostitutes (I’m sure they’ve seen weirder things). But of course, nothing’s ever that simple.