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It was just a simple recon mission. Locate undiscovered planets, make landfall and then collect and document as much as possible. Flora, fauna, geological samples. Bag and tag and send it all back to MLH headquarters for testing.
Not especially exciting and seldom dangerous, but Shane had dozens under his belt already and the more successful runs he did, the better he looked. That was the plan. Jump at every possible mission he could get his hands on and the experience would carry him through to a big promotion within the next solar year. His goal was to become the youngest corporal in a hundred solar years. Then he could be sent on proper, exciting missions. Ones that mattered.
For now, he was charting the descent into the atmosphere of Vega 23, one of the small planets orbiting Vega Prime in the Persephone Galaxy. Early atmo testing indicated liquid water and high oxygen levels, which was always exciting.
“Maybe there will be a beach, yes? I can go for swim, work on my tan.”
Rozanov. Shane only grunted in response. Yes, he wanted every opportunity to prove himself so he had accepted this mission even though Ilya Rozanov would be his partner. Rozanov, who was arrogant and rude and treated everything like a big joke and still somehow managed to make Private First Class before Shane did. That stung. He pretended it didn’t, but it did.
“Hollander!” Rozanov called out after getting no applause for his stupid beach joke. If it could even be called a joke. Shane continued to ignore him, focusing on steering the ship. Not that it needed much help from him, but he wanted to keep a close eye on it just in case. “Hollander.”
Shane did not look over at him. But despite trying to focus on the task at hand, he could still picture Rozanov sitting there in the co-pilot's seat. Lounging, like he was on a cruise and not an important military operation. Shoulders low and relaxed, legs spread. Flight suit unzipped just enough that a hint of chest hair was visible, the gold cross he wore glinting in the brilliant earthshine reflecting off the approaching planet. He would have that infuriating smirk he always wore, his eyes crinkling as they did when he was being particularly annoying. Golden brown curls falling lazily on his forehead, lips shining as his tongue darted out to moisten them...
Shane stared resolutely at the control panel in front of him. Just ignore him and he’ll stop. He just wants to get a rise out of you.
“Hollander!”
Something hit Shane on the ear. He startled, swearing loudly and nearly tilting out of his chair. Rozanov was cackling as the nutrient supplement pack he had thrown at Shane skidded across the floor.
“Asshole!” Shane hissed hotly, grabbing the control panel to right himself.
“You were not responding, I thought maybe parasitic brain worm had got you.”
“Parasitic brain worms aren’t real,” Shane mumbled, feeling heat rise in his face.
He glanced over his shoulder at Rozanov, who was still grinning at him. He could have been doing something useful, like checking inventory for when they landed, ensuring the scanning equipment and sample receptacles were working correctly, getting their space suits laid out and ready. Shane had already done all of this, but it wouldn’t hurt to double check. Instead, Rozanov was looking very much like Shane’s treacherous brain had imagined. Casual and relaxed and full of mirth at his expense.
“Parasitic brain worms are real,” Rozanov said. “I have seen one.”
“No you haven’t,” Shane said.
“Da, I have! There it goes... oh no, it nearly starved to death in your head, Hollander. Nothing to eat.”
He stood up, tapping Shane hard on the side of his head.
“Shut up,” Shane grumbled. “It skipped over your brain, didn’t it? All the syphilis wouldn’t taste good.”
Rozanov barked a laugh and slapped Shane on the shoulder so hard his chair spun around.
“Hollander! People say you aren’t funny.”
“People don’t say that,” Shane said, straightening his chair and rubbing his shoulder. Did people say that?
“I say it. Maybe sometimes I am wrong. Very unusual thing to happen, you see.”
Shane snorted his derision. The ship was shaking now, making its descent through dense white clouds. Shane strapped himself into the pilot’s chair, per protocol, as Rozanov, against protocol, merely grabbed one of the overhead viewing monitors to steady himself.
The clouds cleared and Vega 23 came into brilliant view. The skies here were violet, the lush vegetation a dazzling mix of bright magentas and deep, cerulean blues. Sparkling oceans stretched over the curve of the horizon, waves cutting frothy stripes into shores of black sand.
“Look!” Rozanov called excitedly over the din of the ship’s landing gear deploying. “Beach!”
“Maybe you’ll drown,” Shane muttered through gritted teeth.
The oceans disappeared from view as they made landfall. The ship lurched and shuddered, coming to rest on a plain of dusty pink grass, spotted with bright flowers.
“Davai, Hollander!” Rozanov hollered, slapping him hard on the shoulder again. “I will take animal samples, I am best at it.”
“We should divide the area into a grid and each take a portion,” Shane said, scrambling out of the chair straps and following Rozanov into the loading bay. “Then we can cover the most ground in the least amount of time.”
“No, I am best at animals. Animals like me.”
“These are alien species that haven’t even seen a human being before,” Shane said in annoyance.
“Then they will be dazzled and amazed by me, even more so!” Rozanov said brightly, grabbing a backpack of supplies that Shane had laid out for them and went to punch in the code to open the bay doors.
“Wait! You don’t have your suit on!”
“Is fine! Computer said atmo is 20% oxygen, this is fine to breathe.”
“You don’t know what else is out there,” Shane said, putting on his suit and helmet even as the doors began to open with a sharp hiss.
“Is fine, Hollander. Stop having panic attack.”
“I’m not –”
Air rushed in and Rozanov clutched his chest, choking. In a panic, Shane rushed over to him as he fell to his knees, grabbing him by the waist. But then Rozanov threw back his head, laughing hysterically.
“Not fucking funny,” Shane snarled, angry now at the stab of real fear that had shot through him.
“I am very funny, funniest in all MLH.”
Rozanov straightened up and Shane pulled back, realizing that his hands were still clutching his waist. Rozanov caught his eye, eyebrow raised. Shane looked away quickly, face hot.
“Too bad, I was really hoping you were dying,” Shane said in a huff, strapping on the other backpack as Rozanov stepped out onto the planet.
“Come out, Hollander! Is beautiful day!”
That it was. The air was warm, balmy, bright with sunshine. Colorful, exotic, mesmerizing. Shane turned on the camera on his helmet as he stepped onto the grass, spinning around to take it all in.
Rozanov was hooting and hollering in the distance as several colossal birds flew overhead. Shane sniffed. Let Rozanov be a clown, he had important scientific findings to document.
He noted the latitude and longitude and bent to examine the soft pink grass brushing his legs. It had long trailing stalks, tufted with fluffy florets like cotton candy. The impression was of a soft, downy blanket covering the ground, the color of pink seashells. Shane took a few samples, carefully depositing them into the hermetically sealed receptacles, tagging each with time and location. Beneath the bed of grass, the soil was rich and dark, nearly black. Shane took samples at different locations, noting the small mineral chunks like glittering stars.
But as he made his way down the small hill the ship had landed on, he had to admit he was getting awfully hot and stuffy in the space suit. It would be against protocol to take it off, but something about Rozanov’s constant teasing was making Shane feel a little reckless. The prospect of gathering more data than Rozanov was simply too tempting. Besides, it appeared that Rozanov was unfortunately suffering no ill effects from the atmo. After a moment’s hesitation, Shane relented and stripped down to his flight suit, clipping the camera to his hip. Unencumbered, he could go farther afield and gather more and better samples. He’d look better to their superiors, maybe even get the chance to rub his face in it.
The glow of Vega Prime looked pink through this planet’s mineral rich atmosphere. It beat down on the back of Shane’s neck as he bent over a cluster of bright gold flowers. They shimmered in the light breeze, surrounded by tiny, glittering bee-like creatures. Shane took detailed notes, even though Rozanov had claimed rights over all the fauna on the planet. He probably wasn’t even taking samples, just wading in the ponds they had seen from overhead. Asshole.
Pink grasses gave way into dense forests of tall, purple conifers. Shane took several bark scrapings and bent over to observe the brilliantly metallic caterpillars crawling over indigo leaves. Deep in the undergrowth, Shane could see clusters of huge, neon red flowers, shimmering in the sunlight filtering through the trees. Shane knew he was straying quite far from his designated search area. Per protocol he should be circling back to the ship already, covering the area in an even perimeter. But these red flowers looked so unique and interesting. Imagining the look on Rozanov’s face when Shane got an alien flower named after him, he charged rashly forward.
They were beautiful in the rosy, dappled sunlight. Large, drooping flowerheads, bursting with long stamens like day lilies. Orangey red pollen danced around the flowerheads in sanguine clouds.
“Lilium hollanderum,” Shane mused to himself, approaching the blooms cautiously.
He reached out to gather a sample of pollen from the nearest flower. A breeze rustled through the undergrowth. The flowers shook and trembled, unleashing a burst of fiery pollen right into Shane’s face.
Stupidly, Shane breathed in. He coughed, choking on the sudden onslaught to his lungs. He stumbled back, grabbing for the nearest tree. He coughed and spit and gradually, his lungs cleared. He straightened, still panting slightly. The red flowers looked back at him, beautiful and benign.
“Right, back to the ship,” Shane said to the tree.
The red pollen had stained his flight suit a deep ochre. He could feel it coating the skin of his face, a fine grit on his lips. At least he had a sample now, right?
By the time he found his way back to the ship, Shane was fighting to breathe again. His whole body felt alarmingly hot. Sweat trickled into his eyes, soaking the back of his undershirt. Shane struggled up the ramp into the loading bay and then collapsed, wheezing, clutching his chest.
“Hollander!”
Fuck. The last thing Shane needed was Rozanov seeing him like this. Weak and possibly injured from his own stupidity.
“I’m fine,” he said through clenched teeth, trying futilely to stand.
But Rozanov was clearly not convinced. He knelt by Shane’s side, hands wrapping around his chest, touching his hot face. The skin to skin contact made Shane stiffen instantly, a weak moan escaping his lips.
“You do not look fine,” Rozanov said. “What happened?”
All his usual teasing flippancy had vanished. He sounded genuinely concerned. Still, Shane did not want Rozanov anywhere near him. Especially since it was increasingly clear what those flowers had actually been.
His skin was hot, flushed, breathing labored. Sweat on his brow where Rozanov touched him. He could feel his heart pounding. And his cock was hard as a rock.
“Nothing,” Shane muttered, hoping desperately that Rozanov wouldn’t notice the bulge in his flight suit.
“Nothing?”
“Really, I'm fine –”
Shane was cut off as Rozanov suddenly heaved him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Even delirious as he was, the breath knocked out of him by Rozanov’s body against his chest, Shane couldn’t help but notice how Rozanov lifted him so easily. Threw him over his shoulder like a sack of flour to carry him in the direction of the infirmary. In fact, his cock throbbed at the thought of it.
“I’m OK,” he insisted weakly, trying not to focus on how incredibly strong and solid Rozanov felt beneath him.
The infirmary on a ship this size was small, just one bunk and a cabinet of emergency medical supplies. Rozanov laid him out on the bunk and Shane immediately rolled over on his side, trying to hide his now obvious erection.
“Hollander, you are sick.”
“It was just some – some flower. I breathed in the pollen by accident. I’ll be fine.”
“Hollander.”
Shane glanced up at him, at the hard line of his jaw, his steady blue eyes. He was looking at him like he was being an idiot. Not an unusual sentiment, but this time with concern. It was unnerving.
“Hollander, let me examine you.”
“That’s OK – actually –”
But Rozanov put his hands on him, his chest, his throat, feeling for a pulse. Involuntarily, Shane arched into his touch, an embarrassing moan falling out of his mouth. Rozanov’s hand flew off him and Shane squeezed his eyes shut, humiliation burning through him.
“A flower? Is what you said?”
“Yup.”
“Hmm.”
Shane took a deep breath, trying to punch down the arousal coursing through him. But it was impossible. Even the feel of his clothes against his skin, the coarse plasticky material of the bunk beneath his cheek, it sent shivers of pleasure through him, making his dick throb and ache, dripping with desire already.
“Hollander, I am not xeno-botanist, but I think this is –”
“Pollinis fornicatio, I fucking know, OK?”
“Da. Sex pollen.”
“I know.”
“You are very aroused already.”
“Fucking obviously, Rozanov!”
“Symptoms can last many hours and there is only one thing –”
“I was in the same lecture as you, Rozanov!”
Shane glanced over his shoulder and saw Rozanov holding up his hands, brow furrowed.
“Hollander, you need help,” he said.
“I don’t need your help!”
Shane knew he sounded hysterical, but he couldn’t help it. It was too embarrassing, being this hard in front of Rozanov of all people. And still craving his touch, desperate to feel his hands on his skin again. To touch him and relieve him of the increasing agony of his desire.
“Hollander, is OK. I can help.”
“No, thank you,” Shane mumbled miserably, hiding his hot face.
“OK,” Rozanov said simply. “I will not touch you unless you say so.”
“Can you – can you leave then?”
“I should stay, monitor your condition –”
“Please!”
Shane needed Rozanov to leave him to his humiliation, but a part of him even more desperately needed him to stay. He felt crazed, insane, teetering on the edge of fully losing it.
“OK. I will leave com here, in case you need something, yes?”
Shane gave him a shaky thumbs up. Rozanov sat his com device on top of the cabinet, with the receiver clicked on, slipping the earpiece in so he could hear if Shane called. OK, cool. He would just have to not make any embarrassing noises and everything would be fine.
Shane heard the door snick closed as Rozanov left him, but Shane did not feel any relief at all. He turned over, stretching his tense limbs. The bulge in his flight suit was obscene. A damp patch of pre-come seeped through the fabric where his cock was trapped, rubbing torturously against his underwear. Hands trembling, Shane unzipped and pulled his arms out, shoving his flight suit down to mid-thigh. He’d sweated right through his undershirt already. The translucent fabric clung to damp skin, nipples hard and prominent. He palmed his cock through his briefs and couldn’t suppress a choked moan. Wary of the com sitting only a few feet away, of Rozanov listening to every sound he made, Shane clamped a hand over his mouth and tugged down the waistband of his briefs just enough to pull his cock out.
Even muffled by his hand, Shane could feel his face burn with embarrassment at the sounds he was making as he stroked his aching cock. It was beyond any pleasure he’d felt before, so intense it made his insides shake, tears form in his eyes. He was so aroused he was sure a few quick strokes would easily get him there, but try as he might, relief felt farther away than ever. His balls tensed, his cock throbbed, spurts of pre-come coated his hand, but still, no orgasm. Just an endless buildup to nothing.
Shane nearly sobbed with frustration. He had hoped, dearly, that this was just the common variety of pollinis fornicatio, which would clear from his system after a few orgasms. That, he could handle. But the words from that lecture on xeno-botany he had taken bubbled to the surface of his fevered mind.
“While the symptoms of pollinis fornicatio in its common form are relatively mild, those of pollinis fornicatio priapus are far more severe. Sexual arousal is greater and of a longer duration. Orgasm cannot be achieved by self-stimulation alone. Studies indicate that only the touch of another sexual partner can induce orgasm and thus relief. Scientists hypothesize it is pheromones foreign to the patient’s immune system, secreted through the skin, which –”
The droning voice of the xeno-botany lecturer in Shane’s memory could not be more clear. He couldn’t do this on his own. He could rub his cock until the skin came off and he’d never come, the pressure would just build and build until... what? He died? Shane couldn’t actually remember that part of the lecture. His brain felt like mush.
He was panting, hips thrusting up into his hand to no avail. Maybe, he thought desperately, maybe he could just weather the storm. Let the pollen clear from his system after a few... a few hours and he’d be fine. He’d be OK.
But the minutes stretched on and Shane writhed on the bunk, tortured by the unrelenting desire. His cock felt like it was going to burst. He needed... fuck, he needed...
“Rozanov!” he cried out, voice sounding wrecked even to his own ears.
Rozanov appeared at the door within seconds of Shane calling for him. He barely had it in him to feel embarrassed that Rozanov was seeing him half dressed, cock in hand, tears on his face.
“Do you need something, Hollander?” he said calmly and Shane could have throttled him.
“I need – fuck, I need –”
“I will do nothing unless you ask clearly, Hollander,” Rozanov said.
Shane glared at him. But he didn’t appear to be teasing, trying to make things difficult for him as he usually did. He looked sincere. Like he wouldn’t dare touch Hollander without his express permission.
“Please...” Shane mumbled miserably, hips still working pointlessly into his fist.
“What do you need, Hollander?” Rozanov said, standing right next to the bunk. His voice was soft and low, almost seductive.
“Please, just fucking touch me,” Shane bit out with a strangled gasp.
“Touch you where?” he said instead of actually touching him and Shane nearly screamed.
“My cock. Fuck. Please.”
“OK. I can do that.”
The sound that left Shane’s mouth when Rozanov’s hand finally wrapped around his weeping cock was inhuman. A whimper, a moan and a scream all at once. He thrust mindlessly into that hand, the skin so hypersensitive that it was like a raw nerve. So wound up that all it took was a few tight strokes and Shane was coming all over himself, moaning and arching upwards, hands shaking as they gripped the bunk beneath him.
But even as the pleasure intensified and released, Shane could feel it building again. Like a pressure cooker. He needed more. Rozanov’s hand was still stroking him and Shane felt lightheaded.
“More,” he managed to bite out through labored breaths.
“More what?”
“More... anything. Fuck, please. Do anything to me. I need you.”
Shane could have sworn that Rozanov actually growled as he tugged the flight suit all the way off his body and climbed up on the bunk between Shane’s spread legs. He pushed up Shane’s undershirt, soaked now with sweat and his own come. He squeezed his pecs and Shane gasped at the feeling. Every inch of his skin was now an erogenous zone. Rozanov thumbed his nipples and Shane whimpered, cock twitching as it smeared even more pre-come on his stomach.
“Rozanov...” Shane moaned, clutching his forearms.
It was too much. Rozanov bent over his cock, wrapping his hand around the base as he swirled his mouth over the tip. Shane groaned, fighting the desire to thrust fully into the hot clutch of his mouth. He watched, mesmerized, as his cock disappeared between Rozanov’s lips. That smug, annoying mouth which had done nothing but torment him since the academy and now it was wrapped around his cock. Rozanov’s hollowed his cheeks and sucked. Shane could feel his legs shaking as another orgasm ripped through him.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped as he came right into Rozanov’s mouth with hardly any warning.
“Is OK,” Rozanov muttered, sitting up and wiping his mouth.
His lips were so red, shining now with Shane’s emissions. He looked pleased, flushed, eyes shining. He reached down and palmed his own erection, straining against the front of his flight suit. Shane felt a shiver run through him at the thought that Rozanov was aroused by this too. From touching him, from sucking his cock.
Rozanov touched his face, traced his lips with his thumb and Shane opened as if on command. He took Rozanov’s thumb in his mouth and sucked it, tongue flicking over the soft pad.
“Fuck, Hollander,” Rozanov gritted out, groping his pecs again.
With shaking arms, Shane pushed himself up from the bunk. He needed Rozanov so badly he could hardly think.
“What are you doing?” Rozanov said, sitting back on his heels.
“Please. Let me,” Shane said, cupping Rozanov’s cock through his flight suit. He felt huge. Thick and long and practically pulsating against his hand.
Rozanov’s lips twitched as he unzipped his flight suit. Shane fumbled his way off the bunk and onto the floor, kneeling as Rozanov stood before him. He’d stripped his flight suit off his upper body and Shane was desperate, pressing his face to where his cock bulged out, inhaling the musky scent. His cock twitched as he scrambled to pull down the flight suit fully. Rozanov did not wear anything underneath. Of course Rozanov went on missions without underwear, what an asshole. But Shane couldn’t even be mad about it, not when his thick cock sprang free, right in Shane’s face.
Shane’s mouth actually watered at the sight. He slid his tongue over the tip, savoring the salty bead of pre-come, hot skin filling his mouth. Rozanov released a deep groan and cupped the back of his hot neck, fingers teasing through his hair. The touch grounded him as he took more of Rozanov’s cock in his mouth, as much as he could take. It brushed the back of his throat and it felt like his own cock was being stimulated. The hand on the back of his neck tightened and Shane moaned around his mouthful, trying to relax his throat muscles so it could go deeper.
“So good for me, Hollander,” Rozanov groaned, his voice deep and husky. “You were made to suck my cock.”
The sound of his voice, his hips pitching forward to fuck his face, fingers tugging at his handful of hair and Shane was coming untouched, his cock bobbing as it erupted all over his stomach and Rozanov’s legs.
Rozanov muttered something in Russian and pulled Shane’s slack mouth off his dick. Shane whined at the loss, panting and licking his lips.
“Wait – please –” he muttered, pawing at Rozanov’s thighs, wanting more.
“I can’t come as many times as you can, Hollander,” Rozanov said with a smirk. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
The punch of desire in his stomach at those words nearly flattened him. Shane clutched his sore, aching cock, pulsing in his hand.
“Yes. Please.”
Shane got shakily to his feet, grabbing at Rozanov’s arms to steady himself. He had amazing arms. An amazing chest. Incredible pecs, dusted with dark blond hair, a darker trail leading to his groin. Shane felt dizzy. Rozanov’s large hands steadied him, rubbing down his back, petting his hair. Those innocent touches alone had Shane twitching and moaning in his arms. Rozanov lifted him easily back onto the bunk, running his hands over his torso.
“You are very beautiful, Hollander,” Rozanov muttered, sounding almost reverent.
Shane had nothing to say to that, shivering with desire as Rozanov pushed his legs up towards his chest. His breathing catching in his throat as Rozanov’s cupped his ass, brushed his hole with blunt fingers. Shane keened at the feeling, trying to push down against his hand. But then his fingers disappeared and he gasped in distress.
“Rozanov – what are you doing?”
Rozanov was shuffling through the metal cabinet and Shane couldn’t imagine why he’d be doing that and not fucking him already.
“I am looking for something to use as lubricant. I will not fuck you dry, Hollander.”
He stroked Shane’s thigh with his other hand, as though to soothe him. Shane squirmed under the light touch, skin on fire.
“I have some. In my cabin.”
Rozanov turned away from drawer, a wicked grin spreading across his face. Shane felt, if possible, even more heat crawl over his body.
“You brought lube on scientific military mission?” Rozanov said with clear delight. “Who were you planning to fuck if not me?”
“No one,” Shane insisted hotly.
“You fuck yourself with it, then?”
Shane said nothing, shutting his eyes against the wave of embarrassment.
“I take that as yes, Shane Hollander packs lube to fuck himself on scientific military mission.”
“Shut the fuck up. Just go and get it, please?”
Rozanov was still grinning infuriatingly to himself as he stripped off the flight suit still tangled around his ankles and went off in the direction of Shane’s cabin. Only this intense desperation and need could have pried that info out of him. Especially to Rozanov. He just hoped he wouldn’t find the dildo he’d packed as well. It’s not like he planned to use it, not really. Just so he could relax, if he needed to. Just a precaution.
It seemed to take an age for Rozanov to finally return, clutching Shane’s bottle of lube in his hand. Shane was writhing on the bunk again, just a few minutes of Rozanov not touching him reducing him to a whimpering mess. One look at him and Rozanov leapt up on the bunk, folding Shane’s legs up to his chin. He uncapped the lube with a sharp snap and coated his fingers. The first touch to his hole had Shane moaning in relief.
“You are still very tight,” he said, pushing a finger in.
“Please – just fuck me, please –”
“No, you need to be loosened first, yes? I know best thing.”
And then Rozanov was turning him over, positioning him so that his aching cock wasn’t squished against the uncomfortable bunk. Ass in the air, thighs inched apart. It was humiliating, but that thought immediately flew from his brain as Rozanov spread his cheeks, thumb slicking over his hole. He could feel the muscle tighten and flutter, desperate for Rozanov to put something inside him. He wasn’t expecting the hot slide of his tongue.
Shane let out a surprised squeak and then a low, drawn-out moan. Rozanov’s tongue lapped at his hole, circling and flicking and then pushing in, slipping out to lay long, sloppy lathes from his perineum up.
The rumors about Rozanov were not exactly a state secret. He was a slut, a playboy, one who had bedded more than half the women at the academy and nearly half the men too. Shane didn’t like to think about it. He didn’t date, didn’t waste his time on distractions. Not like...
So, he had heard the gossip about Rozanov’s talented tongue. That’s the thing about co-ed locker rooms at the academy, sometimes Shane would accidentally overhear... things. Svetlana, a woman in Shane’s cohort telling her friend Rose about Ilya Rozanov and his incredible tongue.
“He can tie a cherry stem in a knot, with just his mouth,” she had said, to peals of delighted giggles from Rose.
Shane had burned from embarrassment and now the memory popped into his head unbidden. Actually, it was entirely bidden, bidden by that very tongue licking out his asshole like it was the lid to a cup of yoghurt and he didn’t want to miss a drop. The sounds he was making, muffled against his arms as he pushed his face into them, were obscene. Deep moans and high, breathy whimpers. His cock brushed his stomach as he flexed, trying to thrust back and take more of it, more of the feeling Rozanov was giving him. He felt Rozanov push his lubricated fingers into his hole, still teasing the rim with his tongue. Agonizingly slow, working him open like it was a gift all on its own. To see Shane writhe desperately against his mouth and fingers, like he was in heat. The fingers inside him bent and brushed against that spot deep inside him which made him see stars.
Again, he came with a shaking, shivering moan, Rozanov working him through it with his fingers, teasing and rubbing his prostate. Rozanov had his face resting on his ass cheek and Shane was sure he could feel the bastard smiling. He was still trembling as Rozanov withdrew his fingers and prodded his hole with his cock.
“You are sure, Hollander?” he said, the sound of him slicking up his cock with lube loud in Shane’s ears. “You want this?”
“Yes,” he moaned pathetically. “Please, just fuck me already.”
“OK,” Rozanov said. He took a deep breath.
The feel of Rozanov’s cock finally stretching him open had Shane arching his back, throwing back his head and crying out. Rozanov’s hand gripped his hips, slowly inching in as Shane’s fingers dug into the bunk, knuckles white and shaking.
“OK, Hollander?” Rozanov said from behind him, rubbing his sweat slicked back, cupping the nape of his neck.
“Rozanov!” Shane howled as he bottomed out, pushed all the way inside him. He couldn’t help but push back against him, fucking himself. “Move already!”
Rozanov chuckled as he began to thrust in earnest, punching out a deep moan from Shane’s chest with every inward stroke. It was beyond pleasure, beyond anything he’d ever felt, Rozanov’s thick cock burying itself deep inside him as though it was made to be there. His cock hung between his legs, slapping against his wet stomach with every thrust, painfully sore but still achingly, endlessly hard. Through his haze of lust, Shane could hear Rozanov’s labored breathing, his low utterances of “fuck” and “Hollander” and unintelligible Russian. His hand dug into Shane’s hips as he shifted him slightly, angled his ass higher. It was slight, but enough for Rozanov’s cock to hit him even deeper and right into his prostate. The feeling had him screaming with every thrust, tears streaming down his face as he came again. It felt impossible that his body could keep doing this, that Rozanov could keep wrenching orgasm after orgasm from him, that come could still be spurting from his cock head.
But the pollen was potent, an intense fire in his blood that made him feel beyond human, beyond any scientific understanding, something indescribably ancient and inscrutable, something alien and awe inspiring from deep within the farthest and most distant celestial bodies.
And it was Rozanov who could make him feel this way. His cock and his hands and the breath on the back of his neck as he bent over to lay hot, open-mouthed kisses on his spine, his cross pendant brushing Shane’s skin. He worked Shane’s body like an instrument, plucking his strings to scream and howl in unearthly melodies.
Shane sobbed through another orgasm before he felt Rozanov tense and empty himself inside him with a strangled groan. He slipped out and collapsed on top of him, a heavy weight of sweaty limbs, warm breath on his skin.
“Fuck, Hollander,” he muttered in Shane’s ear, hand scrubbing through his hair. “How many times did you come on my cock?”
“I don’t know,” Shane said truthfully. It had felt like one long, intense mess of sensation and he still could not catch his breath. His cock, trapped beneath him and Rozanov’s combined weight, was still maddeningly hard.
Shane pushed his elbow into Rozanov’s side to make him roll off. It was a tight squeeze, laying side by side on the tiny bunk, but Shane managed to flop over onto his back, panting hard. He looked up at Rozanov, the sweat glistening on his pecs, his eyes sparkling. He rubbed Shane’s chest, cupped his face, leaned in for a messy kiss.
“You are fucking marvel,” Rozanov said, hand trailing down his chest to circle his cock again. “Best fuck in every galaxy.”
“It’s just the pollen,” Shane muttered, breath catching as Rozanov stroked him lazily.
“I do not think it is just pollen,” Rozanov said, sounding oddly fond.
He wrenched another orgasm from him with just his hand. And another. He kissed his neck, twisted and pinched his nipples while jerking him, bringing him to another intense, howling peak. Rozanov bent over him, mouth swallowing his cock once more as he thrust three fingers into his ass. Shane was delirious with pleasure, loopy from the pendulum swing of orgasm after orgasm, lighting him up like a quasar deep in space.
Hours could have passed. Shane had no idea. But then Rozanov was hard again and Shane was begging him to fuck him. This time on his back, legs bent up around Rozanov’s shoulders, plunging into him like a jackhammer. Rozanov fucked him so hard his teeth clicked together, his back chafing against the bunk as he begged and pleaded for more, for harder.
Not long after Rozanov came deep inside him yet again, Shane orgasmed so hard he went cross-eyed. He saw white at the edge of his vision, the void calling to him, pulling him under. But with that climax, his cock, his poor, abused, tormented cock finally began to soften.
His body still twitching, shaking with overstimulation, Shane sobbed in relief. He couldn’t seem to stop, tears streaming down his face, gut-wrenching sobs shaking his whole body. Rozanov pulled him close, engulfing Shane’s shivering, damp body with his own. He rubbed Shane’s back, kissing all over his hot face until the tears finally subsided. He kept petting him as his body, so tense for so long, relaxed into a puddle. It felt good, Rozanov’s hands stroking him. It felt good to not feel intensely and painfully aroused by it, to just feel good and contented.
Wait, contented? Now that the pollen finally seemed to be leaving his system, Shane could come back to himself. His thoughts coalesced into one insane and impossible statement: Ilya Rozanov had literally fucked him stupid.
He couldn’t believe it. Ilya Rozanov, noted asshole, the bane of Shane’s existence, had fucked him. Had fucked him so hard and so good that even with his mind working again, he couldn’t seem to extricate himself from his strong, thickly muscled arms as he cradled Shane against his chest, hand still playing with his hair.
“Rozanov,” Shane mumbled, face pressed between his massive pecs, right next to his golden cross.
“Hmm?”
The words stuck in this throat. What do you say to a person after several hours of intense, alien pollen driven sex? Especially when he detested him. Or he had detested him. A few hours ago. Shane had no idea what he felt now.
“I need a shower,” he said finally.
He was sticky and gross, damp with sweat and more come that he had thought the human body was capable of producing. His lust fueled delirium had temporarily made him forget how disgusting he typically found bodily fluids and now it was all crashing over him, making him want to peel his skin off.
“OK,” Rozanov said.
He sat up, pulling Shane with him, setting him on his feet. His legs shook and the floor beneath him seemed to tip sideways as the blood rushed to his head. But Rozanov and his strong hands were right there, steadying him.
“I can shower on my own, thanks,” Shane muttered as Rozanov followed his shuffling steps to the ship’s small, cramped shower.
“You are stumbling like baby deer,” Rozanov said.
“I’m good,” Shane said in annoyance, even as his clumsy feet betrayed him and Rozanov had to grab his shoulders to keep him from falling headfirst into the wall.
Rozanov stayed with him as the searing hot water of the shower poured over him, sluicing away the mix of both of their fluids down the drain to be cleaned and purified by the ship’s recycling system. Shane scrubbed his hands through his hair, trying to ignore how Rozanov just stood behind him, hands on his waist.
The heat felt so good on his sore muscles, but maybe it was too hot. The dense steam swirling around him filled his vision and soon he was lightheaded again. He didn’t even register that he’d tipped backwards in a swoon until he came to, in Rozanov’s arms, one large hand on his face.
“Hollander,” he was saying, cupping his cheek and shaking him slightly.
“M’fine,” he mumbled, tongue thick and drowsy.
But Rozanov, as ever, was not deterred. He adjusted the temperature and while propping Shane up under the spray, he soaped up his other hand and began washing him thoroughly.
“Poor, weak little baby deer,” Rozanov said teasingly as Shane flopped uselessly around in his arms.
“Fuck off,” he snapped peevishly. Naturally, Rozanov would be quick to remind him why he hated him.
“I like, is very cute,” Rozanov said, soapy hands running down his chest, brushing over his sore, spent cock. Shane could not help but cry out in pain. His poor dick. It felt like he’d never be able to use it again. “Sorry,” Rozanov muttered against his ear, repositioning him so he could clean his other side, now careful to avoid his cock.
Shane tried to tell himself he was allowing this because he was too weak to stand at the moment. That he couldn’t wait for it to be over and for Rozanov to stop touching him. But a more honest part of him, the one he was used to keeping pretty well tamped down, was glowing with pleasure at the feel of Rozanov gently washing him, cradling him, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. Which was just totally unnecessary.
“Hey,” Shane said as Rozanov nuzzled his cheek.
“Very cute,” Rozanov said again, kissing him on the mouth this time.
Shane did not even try to pull away. He just melted into the kiss, sighing deeply against Rozanov’s mouth.
Afterwards, Rozanov dried him off and all but carried him to his cabin. He located a fresh t-shirt and some underwear, helping Shane into them, as gentle and as patient as he’d done everything else. Shane was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. When Rozanov bent to press a soft kiss to his forehead, Shane merely leaned into it, eyelids fluttering closed.
“Hollander, I think when you are recovered, you can show me how you use that purple dildo you packed with your lube, yes?” Shane’s eyes flew open and he managed to glare at Rozanov as he stood in the doorway with an infuriating grin. “Sleep tight, Hollander,” he said, flicking off the light.
“Asshole!” Shane called after him.
And he was. Rozanov was definitely still an asshole. But Shane couldn’t help but smile to himself as he drifted off to sleep. Because maybe he liked him a little bit anyway.