The Journey Back is currently available as a Short Fiction/Daydream from
Dreamspinner Press
~*~*~*~*
A slender figure slid into the stool beside him and he tried not to scowl. There were
other stools open, closer to the screen and farther away from him and the colorless
corner he sat in. He inched away from the warmth he could feel.
“Hell of a thing, that.”
The voice was soft and almost soothing. But he didn’t want conversation and he
didn’t want soothing, did he? He grunted a reply and gestured for the bartender
again. He had a few credits left for the night. Not many, but maybe it would be
enough.
“You’re hitting the synthol pretty heavy tonight.” He felt that voice low in his gut,
almost a vibration. Felt it rather than heard it. For a moment it silenced the feed from
the digiscreen and he was almost grateful.
The words forced his eyes up to meet those of the man beside him. Strange eyes.
Even in the dim light in the corner of the bar he could tell there was something odd
about them.
“Who’s counting?” His voice was rough, a combination of the synthol eating away at
the lining of his throat and disuse. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d
attempted conversation. Maybe longer since he’d walked out of the medcenter in the
middle of the night and left his life and identicard behind. But those eyes refused to
let his waver and demanded a response.
“I’ve been.” A sinuous shrug. Dark curls swaying with the movement. Pretty.
Once he could have afforded such pretty. Not anymore.
“Nice try, but I can’t meet your price.” He dropped his gaze back to the glass of
synthol. Not only did it taste bad, but the shit stank like Hell too.
“What makes you think I have a price?” The soft voice wasn’t insulted, just
interested. When was the last time someone had been interested in what he had to
say? When had he last welcomed that interest?
Ryan’s face was back up on the digiscreen. Larger than life and still beautiful. He
could remember touching that face, kissing the soft skin and taking his due from the
younger player.
Memories. Moans and whimpers. His name murmured over and over again in a
broken whisper. Colors bright in the dark. There wasn’t enough synthol to block
those colors.
“Of course I’m concerned about Riley.” Odd to hear his name; Ryan’s voice cut
through him like a knife. Sharp. So sharp that at first he didn’t feel anything. But
then the sharpness dulled and the pain crept up and left him gasping.
“But I know he’d want me to be focused on the game. He prepared me the best he
could for today but I also know it’s all up to me.”
Ryan’s eyes were bluer than he remembered; reminiscent of oceans dried and gone
ages past. Beautiful eyes but something always had been missing from them.
Something he never been able to figure out.
“Every member of the Blue Quadrant Novas is ready for today. Make no mistake, we
will win despite these cowardly efforts to knock us out of the game.”
He was almost proud of the younger man. But the anger and confusion that were
his constants besides the pain battled with pride for an upper hand. It should have
been him. Damn them all! It should be him.
The hand on his cheek startled him, brought him back to the present and turned his
face away from the digiscreen and back to the eyes beside him.
“What makes you think I have a price?”
He was uncomfortable meeting those strange eyes and he dropped his gaze to the
full lips instead; lips still parted slightly from the repeated words. The hand stayed on
his cheek, warm and callused; thumb stroking his cheekbone.
“Everyone has a price.”
He didn’t want to need the touch of that hand.
“What’s yours, then?”
The full lips moved again and maybe it was the icer, maybe it was the synthol but his
world suddenly narrowed. All focus draining down to the movement of the thumb
on his cheekbone and the colors it left painted on his skin.
“What are you looking for?”
The words left his mouth before he realized it. What was he doing? He wasn’t
licensed. Hell, he was barely mobile. He couldn’t run if the Quadrant Enforcers
wanted to see his ident and sexcard.
“Sorry.” He thrust the words out; pulling away from the hand still warm on his face
and turning back towards the gray. “I’m not…I’m not what you want.”
Dark curls brushed against his cheek. Full lips warm against his ear. “You’re exactly
what I want. Exactly who I’m looking for.”
There was a sharp prick against his neck, the sudden dull rush of icer through his
veins.
“What…?” The combined surge of sensation left him unable to speak and his eyes
closed; body sagging against the lithe form on the stool beside him.
“Come home with me.”
Words soft and whispered against his neck. Riley shivered as suddenly there was a
hand boldly grasping between his legs. The hit of icer surged through his
bloodstream, cock hardening in response to the drug and the rough touch. Colors
rich and suddenly blooming.
===
Dreamspinner Press
~*~*~*~*
A slender figure slid into the stool beside him and he tried not to scowl. There were
other stools open, closer to the screen and farther away from him and the colorless
corner he sat in. He inched away from the warmth he could feel.
“Hell of a thing, that.”
The voice was soft and almost soothing. But he didn’t want conversation and he
didn’t want soothing, did he? He grunted a reply and gestured for the bartender
again. He had a few credits left for the night. Not many, but maybe it would be
enough.
“You’re hitting the synthol pretty heavy tonight.” He felt that voice low in his gut,
almost a vibration. Felt it rather than heard it. For a moment it silenced the feed from
the digiscreen and he was almost grateful.
The words forced his eyes up to meet those of the man beside him. Strange eyes.
Even in the dim light in the corner of the bar he could tell there was something odd
about them.
“Who’s counting?” His voice was rough, a combination of the synthol eating away at
the lining of his throat and disuse. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d
attempted conversation. Maybe longer since he’d walked out of the medcenter in the
middle of the night and left his life and identicard behind. But those eyes refused to
let his waver and demanded a response.
“I’ve been.” A sinuous shrug. Dark curls swaying with the movement. Pretty.
Once he could have afforded such pretty. Not anymore.
“Nice try, but I can’t meet your price.” He dropped his gaze back to the glass of
synthol. Not only did it taste bad, but the shit stank like Hell too.
“What makes you think I have a price?” The soft voice wasn’t insulted, just
interested. When was the last time someone had been interested in what he had to
say? When had he last welcomed that interest?
Ryan’s face was back up on the digiscreen. Larger than life and still beautiful. He
could remember touching that face, kissing the soft skin and taking his due from the
younger player.
Memories. Moans and whimpers. His name murmured over and over again in a
broken whisper. Colors bright in the dark. There wasn’t enough synthol to block
those colors.
“Of course I’m concerned about Riley.” Odd to hear his name; Ryan’s voice cut
through him like a knife. Sharp. So sharp that at first he didn’t feel anything. But
then the sharpness dulled and the pain crept up and left him gasping.
“But I know he’d want me to be focused on the game. He prepared me the best he
could for today but I also know it’s all up to me.”
Ryan’s eyes were bluer than he remembered; reminiscent of oceans dried and gone
ages past. Beautiful eyes but something always had been missing from them.
Something he never been able to figure out.
“Every member of the Blue Quadrant Novas is ready for today. Make no mistake, we
will win despite these cowardly efforts to knock us out of the game.”
He was almost proud of the younger man. But the anger and confusion that were
his constants besides the pain battled with pride for an upper hand. It should have
been him. Damn them all! It should be him.
The hand on his cheek startled him, brought him back to the present and turned his
face away from the digiscreen and back to the eyes beside him.
“What makes you think I have a price?”
He was uncomfortable meeting those strange eyes and he dropped his gaze to the
full lips instead; lips still parted slightly from the repeated words. The hand stayed on
his cheek, warm and callused; thumb stroking his cheekbone.
“Everyone has a price.”
He didn’t want to need the touch of that hand.
“What’s yours, then?”
The full lips moved again and maybe it was the icer, maybe it was the synthol but his
world suddenly narrowed. All focus draining down to the movement of the thumb
on his cheekbone and the colors it left painted on his skin.
“What are you looking for?”
The words left his mouth before he realized it. What was he doing? He wasn’t
licensed. Hell, he was barely mobile. He couldn’t run if the Quadrant Enforcers
wanted to see his ident and sexcard.
“Sorry.” He thrust the words out; pulling away from the hand still warm on his face
and turning back towards the gray. “I’m not…I’m not what you want.”
Dark curls brushed against his cheek. Full lips warm against his ear. “You’re exactly
what I want. Exactly who I’m looking for.”
There was a sharp prick against his neck, the sudden dull rush of icer through his
veins.
“What…?” The combined surge of sensation left him unable to speak and his eyes
closed; body sagging against the lithe form on the stool beside him.
“Come home with me.”
Words soft and whispered against his neck. Riley shivered as suddenly there was a
hand boldly grasping between his legs. The hit of icer surged through his
bloodstream, cock hardening in response to the drug and the rough touch. Colors
rich and suddenly blooming.
===
| Excerpt from: The Journey Back copyright by Chrissy Munder |
