I am not your load to bear - Chapter 7 (Early Access) (Patreon)

Tristan

From the moment he had noticed Dillan hesitating at the top of the ramp, Tristan knew he had doomed himself. There wasn’t a thought in his head when he took that little blue hand in his and led him down to the ground. Now there were lots of thoughts, all just as bad as the other.

How dainty the little blue hand had been. How light the rest of his little blue body had been. How clear the ring of his laugh had been.

Tristan slumped over the crate he was supposed to be lugging from one cargo hold to another. They had one more Ailu’t planet pit stop before they spent a few weeks in empty space on the way to the next human planet. He had plenty of shit to shift. Lots of work to keep him occupied. And there was nothing in his brain but Dillan. An alien had him in a grip that no other man he'd ever worked with could contain him within. He thumped his forehead against the wood twice and lifted the crate again. Dillan's delighted laugh rang through his mind.

Serenity was waiting in the departing cargo hold, leant against a crate and stretching his arms above his head until they popped. He nodded at Tristan and made to lope away wearily when Tristan called out to him, lowering his own crate to the ground.

"Cover for me for ten?" he asked with a sheepish smile.

It wasn't an unusual request; they both slipped away for a break every now and then since they were contracted to have them and had no official rota in place. Tristan, usually, crept out to chase some ass.

Serenity gave him a knowing look, but made no comment on his promiscuity. That’s what he liked about his Ailu’t buddy; he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Even if this time wasn’t a booty-call, he didn’t feel like explaining himself.

He needed to clear his head. A walk, a drink, maybe a snack, jerk one out in the showers thinking of thick-lashed black eyes and soft silver hair. He hauled himself up the stairs to the main body of the ship that held the living quarters. He looped his room, the cafeteria, the bathrooms... pacing like an animal in a cage but not taking any action. Finally, he found himself back on the lower decks, well over ten minutes away from his post, and slinking towards the documentation office.

Two corridors away from the malfunctioning door that Dillan sat behind, a cocky-faced human popped out in front of him. The top of Bexley's head was barely level with Tristan's pecs. Luckily, it was distinct: short dreads sprouted and fell at different angles, a thin scar started at the corner of his forehead and dug just a little into his hair line, and the tip of one slim ear was studded with silver.

He returned the small man's smug grin instinctively. Like a reflex inside of him that mimicked people's expressions, all for the sake of feeding his insatiable sexual appetite.

"You're not spitting your usual venom," he noted, giving Bexley's petite frame an obvious scraping with his eyes. Both documentation officers were small, at least, compared to the cargo loaders and the soldiers and all the other non-office workers onboard. It wouldn't help Tristan's situation to imagine the things he could do with one in each hand.

"You've given Dillan everything he wanted from this trip." Bexley shrugged. "I'm happy that he's happy."

"And what's the conversion rate on that happiness?" Tristan asked, hearing his own voice lower to a gravelly tone. There was one sure-fire way to rid him of his Dillan obsession. Better than a walk, a drink, a snack, or a jerk-off. Fresh, cute ass. The cure-all for any and all ailments. It had never failed Tristan yet.

Fresh, cute ass stepped closer and tilted his head back. Bexley's pointed chin beckoned Tristan's fingers. If this exchange had taken place just days ago, he wouldn't have hesitated, but he did.

"What would make you happy?" Bexley cooed.

The real answer would probably have Bexley recoiling pretty fast. Instead, Tristan lowered his face closer and whispered huskily, "a new gym buddy. Tell me how much you weigh and let's see how many reps I can give you."

Bexley gave him a cool look through dark lashes. "Hip thrusts?"

"Any kind of thrusts you want."

An easy laugh, an eye-roll, and a nudge to lead the way was all the answer Bexley needed to give.

Bexley followed Tristan through tall stock shelves housing crates and crates of crap. Eventually, they reached his favourite hide-away. It had already seen a few of his partners in the months since boarding The Cornucopia but had somehow remained a safe spot for play. If any suspicion started to arouse, he'd have to start skulking around other areas until he found another nook to fuck in.

Bexley keened under Tristan’s tongue as he tasted every piece of dark brown skin that was revealed when he stripped the smaller man of his uniform. His skin didn't have the sweaty tang that the cargo loaders' did. Clean and removed from physical labour in his tiny office was documentation officer Bexley.

"Turn around and brace your foot on there," Tristan murmured, pointing to an empty metal shelf.

"You could at least pretend this isn't part of your daily schedule," Bexley grumbled, but followed the instruction perfectly. With his foot balanced on the shelf, his pretty round ass was pushed up and out, cheeks already pulling apart just a little.

Tristan sunk his fingertips into the thick flesh and squeezed. "Virgin isn't in my roleplay menu - I can do sexy fireman?"

Bexley grumbled too quietly for Tristan to make out his reply, but he got the impression he was being urged to hurry up.

With Bexley's back to him, he was safe to slip his hand behind to the cache he kept in the dark corner behind the door. The tiny bottle of lube inside the unassuming sack was half-empty, but it would be enough for a quickie.

One, then two, slippery fingers up to the knuckle and Bexley was squirming against the shelves, digging the tips of his fingers into the metal.

"That's good enough," he grunted over his shoulder.

Tristan bit back a sigh of relief, the tip of his cock was tight against the zipper of his trousers. He freed himself, and then immediately relinquished that freedom in Bexley's tight heat. They groaned and pushed against each other in tandem. As Tristan sped, deepened, shoved into him harder and harder, Bexley grappled with the shelves desperately to keep his foothold.

Through gritted teeth, low moans slipped free. So tight, so hot, and so small in stature that Tristan could use him like a fleshlight. The thought spurred him on, jerking his hips forward, knocking the man on the end of his dick further into the shelves. They were falling out of rhythm, chasing their separate highs jerkily. Both using the other, he realised, for quick and easy release.

Tristan gripped Bexley's tiny waist with one hand and spanked his lifted ass cheek with the other. Bexley panted against the shelves with soft satisfied sounds peppered in every time his skin rippled under the slap.

A loud clunk, different from the shelves rocking against the wall.

Bexley and Tristan's heads spun in unison.

Dillan's face flashed through every emotion, his mouth open and forming the beginning of words that never made it aloud. He stepped back, pulling the door shut again and hurried footsteps faded out.