"Stand by for the coordinates to our mountain base." The rebel's voice chirped metallically from the Liberator's comm speaker. Vila, seated before the speaker unit in the teleport bay of the ship, pulled a face.

"Not another rough camp in the outback," he groaned. "This is Cadelus we're orbiting! You're supposed to have the most decaden... the most entertaining space port in this sector of space! Why can't the Resistance meet us in some nice tavern for a change? I'm not fussy. Just some nice little strip joint, or gambling hall, something along those lines." Vila waited hopefully. There was a long silence.

"Is there a problem meeting us at our base camp?" the voice inquired neutrally.

Vila threw caution to the wind. "Yes! There's nothing to..., I mean, there's nothing else around for... for... for cover! Just suppose someone observes us meeting you. They couldn't miss what was going on, us supplying you arms and you providing us a storage base. Highly suspicious looking, no matter how you might try to bluff out of it. Now suppose we meet somewhere more lively, somewhere with lots of people coming and going. A night club sort of place. We'd just be part of the crowd, wouldn't we? Just tourists out for a drink, getting friendly with the locals. Who would look twice? We can do all our bargaining out in public without anyone noticing, and when we've settled all the negotiating, Avon and I'll just go back up to the ship, bundle up a few hundred guns, and teleport them right into your camp. Very tidy, and even if someone sees us they'd never tie us to your base."

"There is wisdom in your plan, Vila Restal."

There is? was Vila's first thought. His second was, Brilliant, they bought it.

"We will meet Avon and you at the Temple of Contemplation, in the central zone of the space port. We can be there in five hours."

"Funny name for a bar," Vila mused aloud.

"It is a place of worship and meditation. There are usually a good number of people there, who should be too occupied praying to pay much attention to us."

"Worship!" Vila sputtered, "Wait a minute!"

"Give Avon our regards. We will see you in five hours." The comm clicked off, robbing Vila of his opportunity to tell the rebel just what he could do with his Temple of Contemplation.

Vila glumly crumpled the printout Zen had provided him, which listed all of the bars on Cadelus. Wonderful sounding places they were too, like the Drop Dead Drunk, and Virgin Territories, and best of all Jake's -- Five Female Fighters Real Whipped Cream Guaranteed.

Avon entered the teleport bay, strapping on a sidearm under his jacket. If Vila knew him right, there were several other lethal items already concealed on his person.

"Do you have the coordinates for the base?" Avon asked.

Vila shook his head. "They've changed it. Now we're to meet them in the space port. They said we'd be less conspicuous that way, in case anyone's tracking us." Well, it was close enough to the truth, wasn't it?

Avon looked annoyed. "Any crowd which might conceal us can also conceal Federation agents. This may be an unaligned planet, but it's not very far from Federation territory. I'd better talk with them."

He reached for the comm, and Vila jumped up nervously. "Um, you won't get through. They've already left for the port. We're to meet them right away." A lovely, simple, splendid plan had blossomed in Vila's mind.

"Yes, we're to meet them within the hour," Vila embellished, "so we'd best go right down."

Avon studied him a moment, thoughtfully. Vila held his breath and kept his face as innocent as a child's. It was a useful expression he'd perfected over the years. When Avon nodded Vila fought down a cheeky grin. He'd done it!

"Where do we go, then?" Avon asked.

"A little place called Jake's," Vila replied nonchalantly. "I've heard it has some interesting ways to pass the time."

"How much longer, Jarvis?" Troy sighed. It wasn't quite a whine, but Jarvis could tell that his young companion was bored by the long bartering process they had to go through with the fur merchants of Cadelus. Troy had an impatient nature and the attention span of a child, but Jarvis tolerated it without comment. Troy's other charms more than compensated.

"It's going to be a while yet, Troy. I'm not going to settle for a credit less than full value on these pelts. They're prime in season, and we spent a good five weeks trapping and hunting to get them." Jarvis glared at the fur trader across the table from him. "So if I have to go elsewhere to get satisfaction, I will."

The trader protested, claiming slow sales and high overhead problems, but Jarvis' attention was diverted as Troy paced in the back of the shop, sulkily keeping his back to Jarvis. The youth's lean, lovely form made Jarvis' loins ache. He wasn't in love with the boy, of course. Jarvis had no use for love. But Troy stirred longings in him which he was helpless to ignore.

"Come here," he called, pleased when Troy responded promptly. Infatuated he might be, but he'd made certain Troy knew who was in control, who was to be obeyed without question.

Troy stood beside him, watching with lazy eyes as Jarvis stroked his arm. "Shall we find an inn now, Jarvis?" the youth challenged impudently. "We could do it in the furs and sell them after."

The big hunter laughed, though the thought appealed to him. "Insatiable, insufferable brat," he growled. "Here, take some credits. Go amuse yourself in the bazaar. Don't wander off; when I've settled my price here, we'll go see what this port has to offer."

Troy took the money and smiled knowingly at the larger man. "You want me to find anyone while I'm waiting? Someone to keep warm with tonight?"

Jarvis' eyes hardened. "You don't need anyone but me."

"Of course," Troy smiled sweetly. "I meant for you to have. Or for you to watch me with."

Jarvis closed his eyes. He visualized his beautiful dark-haired companion being taken by a stranger. Jealousy and desire flared within him. "Perhaps," he relented. "If I do the choosing. Go on now, you are too distracting for this business." Jarvis turned back to the fur trader and noted the man's condescending look.

"Did you have something to say?" Jarvis demanded, leaning forward so that his large frame loomed over the little man.

"No, nothing," the trader stammered. "Er, we were discussing the silver Vespa pelts now, weren't we?"

Jarvis settled back, his light chair creaking under his solid weight. "Yes, that's where we were at. Three hundred credits apiece, I believe." He was already contemplating his plans for the night.

Vila sighed happily as a scantily-clad serving girl refilled his glass. "You're beautiful," he told her.

She giggled. "You're sweet," she replied. "And I'm just seventy credits for the night."

Vila turned a pleading look at Avon, who shook his head for the ninth, or was it tenth, time that day. Vila shrugged at the girl philosophically. "Convince my friend," he suggested. The girl giggled again and slipped her fingers through Avon's hair. "You could join us, handsome," she invited. "Share me with your friend, and I'll melt that stoney look you have. Do you like to share?"

Vila's breath caught in his throat at the suggestion. He wondered at his strong reaction, but the idea of bedding the girl and Avon at the same time seemed more exciting than anything he'd tried in years.

Avon pulled his head back from her touch and shook it. Vila felt an inexplicable disappointment. There was something so electrifying about Avon. Like some dark incubus of myth, he frightened and excited the thief at the same time.

"At least order a drink," the girl tried. "It might change your mind."

Avon shook his head again. "No. And no more refills for my friend. He's had quite enough."

She pouted and flounced off through the crowded floor of the showroom. A round of whistles and clapping swelled through the room as the naked dancers on stage finished their act and took their bows. Vila took advantage of the distraction to filch a swallow of a drink from a neighboring table. If Avon were going to try and cut him off, he'd get what he wanted his own way.

"Try not to look so disgusted," Vila said as Avon kept his gaze fixed on the entrance. "You'll never make friends that way. And turn around, why don't you? The show's this way." Vila waved at the spotlighted rotating stage where new performers were marching out for the next act.

Vila wished Avon would enter into the spirit of things. If he could only get him interested in the racy activities of the club, he might get him interested in other activities later.

"Oh, I think they're about to have another excuse for the whipped cream. Come up with me this time." Living up to the name of the establishment, three of the last five acts had featured liberal quantities of whipped cream. Patrons were encouraged to climb up on stage and taste for themselves the genuiness of the condiment. Vila'd been up three times so far, and was working on getting Avon to come up with him.

"I don't care for sweets," Avon informed him, deadpan.

"Who cares how it tastes?" Vila exclaimed. "The fun is licking it off the dancer of your choice. Oh, it looks like these are the Five Fighting Females! Come on, Avon. Just ten credits and we get to wrestle with them. Ten more and they let you win."

Avon turned his gaze from the entrance to stare fixedly at Vila, who suddenly decided it would be a good idea to be elsewhere. "Vila," Avon said in his quiet, calm, unnerving way, "Just where and when, exactly, did the Cadelus rebels say we should meet?" Vila ducked his head and mumbled. "I didn't quite catch that, Vila. Would you repeat it?"

"Well, um, they weren't all that exact. I mean, they said to come here, but maybe it wasn't right away. But it was about now. Yes, I'm sure they'll be here soon."

Avon continued his pointed stare at Vila. "I hope so. I would be very annoyed if they didn't show up. Annoyed and very, very, angry."

Vila gulped down his drink and stood up. " 'Scuse me, Avon, I've just got to visit the loo a minute."

Avon smiled. "No rush, Vila. I'll be here waiting for you. I know you wouldn't think of leaving without me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Vila agreed with a sinking feeling. He scurried off to escape Avon's penetrating gaze.

So he did lie about it, Avon thought to himself as he watched Vila hurry off. No matter, I'll wring the truth out of him when he comes slinking back to confess.

Avon enjoyed making Vila squirm. It gave him a heady sense of power to have such control over another. It almost made up for the irritation of suffering through the evening's tawdry "entertainment".

He looked idly about the room, disdainful of both the employees and the clientele. He caught a man staring at him; a young man, slender but well developed, with fair skin, blue-green eyes, and dark ringlets of hair. He seemed almost too pretty to be handsome. He was seated with an older, heavyset man whose shaggy brown hair, large hands, and unsmiling features served to give him a viking-like appearance, fiercer than any of the other men present. The youth continued staring at Avon, insolence in his appraising gaze. Avon leaned back and let his holstered gun glimpse out from beneath his open jacket. I'm not your type, little puppy, Avon chuckled to himself. I know what you're wondering, but I would send you yelping back to your patron if you were to try.

The young man looked at Avon's gun, locked eyes with him for a moment, then looked away. Avon smiled to himself and turned his attention to the floor show.

The young man tugged at his companion's sleeve. "There's a good looking bastard a few tables over, Jarvis. He saw me checking him out, and he's not interested, but he looks exciting. We could have fun with that one if you'll help me get him."

Jarvis glanced over. "Which one? Oh, the dark one. Maybe." Jarvis frowned. "Hang on. I've seen him somewhere." He studied the profile as memories shifted. "He's wanted somewhere. Got a bounty on him. I never forget a bounty."

Vila made his way back to Avon's table, still trying to decide which excuse would work best. Maybe the truth? Maybe not, he shivered. He wished he knew what would upset Avon the least.

Jarvis clapped his hand over Troy's shoulder. "That fellow who's joined him, there's a reward out for him too! They're Blake's people; I know them, they're with Blake's terrorist outfit!"

"Blake's dead," Troy objected. "Everyone says he died in the invasion at Star One a few months back."

"Mebbe, m'boy, but these two are alive, and the Federation will pay us handsomely to bring them in. Come on, we've got a bounty hunt on."

Vila slid into his chair and hung his head. "Avon, I've been thinking..."

"Novel," Avon commented dryly.

"...and I think maybe I got the location a little mixed up. I thought I heard them say Jake's Five Fighting Females, when what they might have said was the Temple of Contemplation. It's just possible."

"Let's go," Avon said, standing up.

"You're not mad?"

"I'm not going to do anything where there are witnesses," Avon corrected. He headed for the exit with a nervous Vila trailing reluctantly behind him.

Jarvis nodded at Troy. "They're heading for the back door. We'll take them in the outside passage and go for the skimmer as soon as they're down." The hunters moved to follow their prey.

Vila shivered in the cold air outside the club and tried to keep up with Avon. They'd gone out the closest exit, which was proving a poor choice as it had opened onto a squalid, poorly lit alleyway in back of the club. Fetid garbage stank along the length of the passage, and Vila made a face as he inadvertently stepped in something squishy. He stopped to scrap his boot clean and suddenly a hand yanked him backwards. Another went over his mouth, muffling his squeak of alarm. Though his assailant's grip tightened, he twisted free with strength born of panic.

"Avon!" he screamed, then he stumbled and fell, knocked down by a heavy blow at the base of his skull. He saw Avon running toward him and two shapes running past to intercept his friend, before a dark haze wiped out everything.

Avon's gun was out the second he heard Vila yell, but he managed to snap off only one wild shot before two men tackled him, knocking him to the ground. His arms were pinned so he kicked out hard and heard a sharp curse. Then someone was pulling his head back and clamping down on his throat, choking him. Avon kicked again but felt his strength draining away rapidly. He lost consciousness trying to bite a third hand which covered his mouth.

Jarvis and Troy stepped back from their victim, panting hard. Even with the element of surprise, they'd nearly lost this second man. If he hadn't come back to his friend's aid, he might have escaped them.

Jarvis struck Avon's head a glancing blow to keep him unconscious, then dragged him to lie beside Vila. He threw his cloak over them, obscuring them from the view of any overly-curious passerby. "Go get the skimmer," he ordered. "I'll keep watch."

Troy nodded, his blue-green eyes shining. "He's a fighter, isn't he? The dark one. We'll have to keep him chained."

Jarvis shot a warning look at Troy. "He's a terrorist and a murderer. Don't you get any ideas. He could hurt you, and then I'd have to kill him."

Troy looked defiant. "He'll be safe once he's chained. I want to see what he can do. Just as a test, Jarvis. Just a bit of fun, all right?"

"No. Don't argue with me. You can play all you like with the other one; he's not in our league. This one is. That's final."

Troy scowled, but went off without further protest to fetch the skimmer they used planetside. Jarvis waited until Troy was out of view, then dug a small instrument out of his pocket. It was shaped somewhat like a clamp, but with needle-sharp points. Jarvis pushed a tiny silvery disc into a slot of the device, then slid the instrument over one of the dark-haired man's earlobes. He squeezed a trigger and the device clamped down, whirred, and released. A trickle of blood trailed down to the man's neck, but Jarvis wiped it away and it stopped. He loaded another disc and repeated the procedure with the man's companion. There was no blood this time, and Jarvis put the device away. He'd done this to Troy when they'd first joined together, though Troy had been too drunk at the time to notice. It was only a precaution, one that he hadn't needed to use, and did not anticipate needing now. But Jarvis was thorough, and he liked knowing that it was there should anything unexpected happen.

He heard the loud whir of the skimmer approaching. It was too wide to enter the narrow passageway, so Jarvis carried the victims out to the street where Troy hovered. He placed them in the nearly emptied cargo hold which had just served to transport his vespa pelts. Tucked securely within the armored belly of the skimmer, the hold was fairly spacious, though the ceiling was barely high enough to permit a man to stand. A few furs of inferior quality remained on the floor of the hold, but there was little else present. Should his captives awaken prematurely, they would not be able to do much while locked in there.

"Stay down here and watch them," Jarvis ordered Troy, handing him a force knife. "I'll fly us back to camp. Should be able to get the gear there stowed in an hour, and we'll be off to collect our reward." Troy nodded, and climbed into the hold area. He seated himself comfortably on one of the rejected pelts beside the two men, and trailed an idle hand along one fellow's sleeve.

"Search them," Jarvis warned Troy. "We don't want any unpleasant surprises when they wake up. Take everything they're carrying, lock it away, and secure them." He tossed Troy a set of force binders; electronically controlled restraints. "With any luck they'll stay out until we get to camp. I've got some ampules of the hunting tranquillizers left over; that should keep them docile until we can turn them over to the Federation." Jarvis smiled cruelly. The tranquillizers were illegal but easily obtained. He knew that they were strictly for animal use and could cause psychosis in humans, but it would be an easy way to ensure his captives did not escape. The Federation paid its bounties regardless of the condition of its prisoners. Just so long as they were alive for trial.

Jarvis slammed the hold door shut, locking Troy in with the men. He was aware of Troy's unhealthy curiosity in the pair, but he was confident the boy would follow his instructions. So long as he did, Jarvis didn't care what else Troy did to anyone.

Climbing up to the pilot's seat in the upper deck, Jarvis took the controls and sped off, heading out of the city to their wilderness camp. Once he'd packed up their hunting gear they could link up with their main ship, a fast-travelling space hopper which orbited safely above, allowing them to evade the official space port with all its fees and excise taxes.

Down in the hold, Troy grinned and began running his hands along the two men's bodies. He removed their teleport bracelets, weapons and tool kits in short order, locking the items away in a strongbox. He then began a more leisurely, thorough examination of them, stripping them of their clothes entirely.

Presently he had them both naked and he appreciatively studied the slumbering bodies before him. The dark one was a little taller and slimmer, with more well-defined muscles. Troy had enjoyed undressing him, running his hands along the man's strong clean limbs. He liked muscles. That was one thing that exited him about Jarvis. But the dark one was off-limits for further experimentation, at least while Jarvis was nearby, so Troy immobilized him with the force binders and left him alone.

The fairer one now, his body was sturdy and younger. Troy remembered his frightened face when they'd grabbed him. Now asleep, the man looked quite appealingly vulnerable. Not as hardened as his companion, he had a cuddly, squeezable appearance. Troy reached down and cupped his hand over the fellow's bottom, pressing his spread fingers down into the flesh. The man's breathing quickened for a moment, and he parted his legs slightly, as though inviting further caresses.

Troy grinned to himself. Why not? Hadn't Jarvis said this one was his to play with as he liked? Then why wait the hours it would take them to reach their destination? He reached for the insulating tape Jarvis had thoughtfully stored in the hold, and gently turning the fairer-haired man on his stomach, he began methodically taping his wrists and ankles to cargo securing bars on the floor of the skimmer. It left the man stretched open atop one of the furs, not uncomfortably confined, but unable to move very far.

Vila sighed heavily in drowsy half-sleep and shifted his hips slowly across the soft fur he lay face down in. Something was tickling his inner thighs, stroking at the soft skin between them. It felt nice; a light pleasant touch which sent little tingles and aches up through his loins. The gentle caresses grew bolder, probing at him, until even in his half-aware state he realized someone's fingers had taken hold of his genitals, massaging and manipulating them. They pressed between his cheeks too, in ever more daring exploration. In Vila's dreamy mind, the fingers were Avon's.

He sighed again contentedly as two hands stroked steadily at his penis and probed softly along his bottom. It made him feel warm and ticklish and cozy. He lifted his bottom a little to keep contact with the knowledgeable fingers.

Troy flushed with excitement. The slumbering man below him was squirming at his insistent touch, slowly responding to Troy's intruding explorations. He covered the warm sleepy figure with his own body, kissing the nape of the man's neck softly as he closed his arms around the man's middle. The man moaned softly in response, shifting back toward him.

Vila's dream crystalized into an image of Avon holding him, covering him, and caressing him. He shivered happily and undulated against him, wanting more stimulation. Avon kissed his neck, sending shivers along his spine, then pressed at him in a strong steady bearhug. Vila felt Avon's member strain against him with that hug, and it crept up into the crease of his flesh.

"Avon," he murmured happily, keeping still for the probing touch. But then he tried to put his arm over Avon's around his middle, and couldn't. He tugged his arm back, but it was caught about the wrist somehow. Still groggy, aware mainly of the continuing pressure at his bottom, Vila tried to move his other arm. It slid an inch and was jerked to a halt by another obstruction. The arms around his middle squeezed harder, and he tried to pull away for a moment. But now his legs were caught too, and he only wriggled a small distance, never disturbing the weight of the man lying on top of him.

"Avon?" he asked timorously, slowly shaking off muzzy confusion to struggle for awareness.

A laugh answered him. "Is that your friend's name? Avon? Did you think he was doing this?" A tongue flicked at his earlobe, then swept over his cheek. A sharp nip on his ear followed. "Well?"

"Who are you?" Vila cried out, suddenly wide awake and very alarmed. He strained at the insulating tape restraints, panicking when they would not give. "What's happened? Let me go!"

"Let you go?" the stranger's voice mocked. "But I've just begun. And you were enjoying this a minute ago, weren't you? When you thought I was Avon. Well, he looks a tasty morsel. Do you want to tell me about him and you? I'd like to hear it."

The stranger thrust himself forward a bit, pressing his hard member directly against Vila's opening. Vila choked and tried to squirm loose but the man rode him effortlessly. "Don't you like it now?" the voice taunted. "I know you want it. You were almost offering it a minute ago."

"No, please don't," Vila begged. He yelped as the stranger thrust again, pushing hard between Vila's clenched cheeks.

"No?" the stranger queried. "But I have some oil here. No, you don't want me to use it?"

Vila bit his lower lip anxiously, uncertain how to respond. The man poured some of the oil onto his back and rubbed it into his skin. "See how nice that is?" the voice purred. "Smooth, slick. Now tell me you want it. Beg me or I won't use it."

Vila made no reply and the man slid his hands down to pull Vila's cheeks more widely apart. He shifted his weight to begin bearing down. "Come on my pet," he coaxed. "Beg now or lose the chance." He began pressing into Vila.

"No!" Vila cried out. "Please, I want the oil. Please! Don't hurt me!"

"That's my baby," the stranger approved. "See how easy that was?" He pulled back and began rubbing a slippery gel over Vila's bottom. Vila shuddered when the fingers pressed further, probing into him as they spread the lubricant. "That's better, innit? Say yes, pet." A hand slid between Vila's legs to grip his testicles. It gave a gentle warning squeeze.

"Yes," Vila whispered, trembling. The stranger tousled his hair with a friendly pat, then began pressing into him once more. Vila twisted, turning his head away as the man licked at his ear again. Now looking in the other direction, Vila saw Avon for the first time. He cut off his shout of alarm at the sight of his companion lying near him, naked and unconscious. There was nothing he could do to help Avon, and it was better that Avon not awaken to witness this scene.

"Please," he whispered as the stranger thrust steadily inward. "You'll leave my friend alone? He's different, you see. He's an Alpha. They don't know about this sort of thing. Not like you and I do." Vila bit off another gasp of pain as the man's member moved up inside of him. He knew it would have been much worse without the oil, and he didn't want to antagonize the stranger.

"Go on," the man encouraged, flexing lightly within him. "Tell me more. Is he so innocent? Would he be afraid? You're afraid, I can tell. But for yourself or for him?"

Vila shook his head helplessly, trying to think of the best thing to say. "Oh, ow," he breathed suddenly as the stranger thrust forward, inserting himself fully. The man paused, allowing Vila a few moments to adjust before he began slowly rocking his hips back and forth. He sighed with satisfaction and tongued Vila's earlobe again, mouthing little whispers of delight to him.

Vila swallowed hard and tried again. "I'll do what you want," he offered. "See, I'm not fighting you? But Avon would. He doesn't understand these things. He hasn't had that sort of life. But I have. I know what to do. You wouldn't enjoy it with Avon, believe me."

The stranger nuzzled Vila's cheek and continued his slow even strokes. "I believe you would enjoy him," he said. "If you haven't already. He's the one you wanted. Have you then? Tell me what he's like." The stranger settled against Vila, hugging him close as he pushed and retreated steadily.

"I haven't ever," Vila protested. "Not with Avon, I mean. I don't think he ever has. Don't do it. I can take care of you. See? I'm doing what you want."

"Mmm," the man agreed. "You've got a sweet tight little rump. And you've never shared it with your friend? Come on, pet, say that you want him. Don't be shy."

"I don't," Vila asserted quickly. "He's my friend, you see. He... Oh!" The man yanked at his sensitive balls. Vila's eyes smarted with tears.

"Wrong answer, my pet. I told you what to say."

Had Avon moved when Vila yelped? No, he'd imagined it. Avon was lying quite motionless not five feet away. Vila himself would have been soundly asleep had this assault not started. He arched back against his tormentor, trying to ease the strain, and whispered an agreement.

"Speak up, pet. I want to be sure I heard you right."

"I said yes, I want him," Vila repeated softly.

"And me," the stranger prompted. "You want me to screw you into the floor."

"And you," Vila echoed in compliance.

"Greedy bastard," the stranger laughed, moving harder within Vila. "Right, you'll have what you've asked for." He fell silent then, concentrating on the tight sheath which encased his hammering member. Vila too was quiet, apart from smothered whimpers when the man drove too strongly into him. It went on a long while, until the man groaned with orgasm, pressing himself as deeply into Vila as he could.

And Avon, who'd awakened long ago at Vila's first cry and listened with closed eyes throughout, raged inside at his helplessness.

After finishing with Vila, Troy cut him free. Although he'd used the force binders to secure Avon hand and foot, Troy merely retaped Vila's wrists together behind his back, apparently not seeing him as much of a threat. Troy boasted openly of the reward money he and Jarvis were expecting, and of their prowess as hunters. By the time the skimmer coasted to a halt, Vila had learned a great deal about his captors.

A hatch in the ceiling slid back, revealing Jarvis at the controls overhead. "We're here," he called down. "Did they give you any trouble?"

"No, they were perfect angels," Troy answered. "Jarvis, do we really need to drug them for the trip? They won't be nearly as entertaining asleep."

The hatch clanged shut again. Troy sighed. "Well, if that's how Jarvis wants it..."

"Er, what drugs are you talking about?" Vila asked. Soma he didn't mind too much, for he had developed such high tolerance that he could absorb a fair-sized dose without succumbing. Avon had no tolerance though, for any drugs.

"Oh, I don't know what's in them," Troy shrugged. "Jarvis keeps a few bottles of the stuff, and he dips his hunting darts in them when we go after the dangerous animals. Drops a vespa in its tracks, makes it go all wobbly and twitchy. It should put you right out, I would think. Keep you nice and peaceful until the Federation takes you off our hands." He put his hand out and stroked Vila's hair. "I wonder what they'll pay for you. Jarvis thinks they'll pay mostly for Avon, so perhaps he'll let me keep you. What do you think, pet?"

Vila closed his eyes and tried not to shudder.

"It's not me you want," Troy said with mock sadness. "You want your Avon. He must be very skilled, my pet, to inspire such devotion." Troy toyed with his force knife, turned the current off, and began playfully tracing the point of the deactivated knife along Avon's bare feet.

Avon decided there wasn't much point in pretending unconsciousness any longer. "Stop it," he said, snapping his eyes open. Troy jumped, then laughed to cover his surprise. Vila wondered uneasily how long Avon had been awake.

"So you are the wondrous Avon," Troy mocked. "One of Blake's rebels, wanted terrorist, murderer. One of the privileged class gone bad, I hear. Yes, Vila's been telling me all about you. We've had a lovely little chat, Vila and I."

"Has he mentioned the number of people I've killed?" Avon asked in a velvet soft voice.

"Ah, we hadn't gotten round to specifics," Troy said regretfully. "But numbers are so dull. Methods are more interesting. Have you killed with your bare hands?"

Avon eyed him thoughtfully. "I could."

Troy ignored the implicit threat. "I haven't killed any people yet myself," he continued, "but I have dispatched game. Jarvis taught me. And I've done it with my bare hands at times. There's nothing like it. The power. To take a life."

Vila sidled away from Troy to the furthest corner of the hold. Troy laughed again. "No fear my pet, you're too valuable to kill. Though I wish we could keep you a bit longer." Troy winked at Avon. "He's quite good. Did you train him yourself?"

Vila reddened. Avon was spared answering as Jarvis opened the main cargo hatch and entered. He was carrying a blaster and a hypodermic needle, both of which he handed to Troy.

"Here, put the needle back in the med box when you've finished with it. It's going to take me a while to get the camp gear stowed and refuel for lift off, so you've got time to make sure these two are out cold before you leave them alone."

"You are Jarvis?" Avon asked. "I'd like a word with you. I have a proposal you might find more appealing than the Federation's bounty."

Jarvis glanced at him. "Go on."

"My own people will pay our ransom; a better price than the Federation."

Jarvis smiled. "I see. Tell me, even if you're not lying about all this money your people have to throw away on you, how will I explain to the Federation my sudden wealth? There are small risks I take to save small money, and bigger risks I take to gain bigger rewards. But I do not take great risks for any amount of money."

"I can fix any records," Avon argued. "Two minutes with a computer, and I will supply you with a legitimate source for all your income."

Jarvis looked scornful. "Two minutes with a computer and you can hang me. Your scheme requires my trust, and that means it is useless. No deal, rebel. The Federation will reward me generously enough, with no risk involved." He nodded to Troy. "Take care of these two, and when they're out you can come help me pack up the camp. We want to lift off in an hour if we're going to make rendezvous with the hopper this orbit." Jarvis exited without a backward glance.

"That's that then," Troy smiled brightly. He squeezed the plunger of the hypodermic until a tiny bead of fluid shone at the tip of the needle. "Who's first?"

"You don't need to do that," Avon said with measured calm. "We're not going to cause any trouble. I will give my word, and so will Vila." In the opposite corner, Vila nodded quickly.

Troy seemed greatly amused by this. "Afraid of a needle?" he taunted. "Or are you afraid of what I can do to you once you're out? Now that's an interesting thought, don't you think?" He chuckled at his own wit.

"It's not anything like that," Vila said quickly, not wanting Troy to continue that line of thought. "But we don't know what's in that syringe; even you don't know what it is exactly, and why take chances? Avon's not very good with drugs, see, he gets bad reactions to a lot of them. And you don't want to chance something happening to us, do you? I mean, two corpses and where's your bounty then? All this effort to bring us in, and then nothing to show for it. Not much profit in that, is there?" His fear made him overtalkative as usual, but also lent an added persuasiveness to his tone.

Troy looked thoughtful. "I suppose you could pretend. I mean, you'd have to be really convincing, but you could pretend I'd given you the tranquilizer, and I could lock you up in a spare cabin once we're on the hopper. Jarvis mightn't notice the difference."

Avon and Vila exchanged wary glances. This was too easy a victory.

"Of course," Troy continued, "You'd have to make it worth my while. I mean, I'd be taking a chance, trying to fool Jarvis. He'd be quite angry, you know, if he found out. So it's only fair you should do something for me in return."

He clearly wanted them to ask what the favor would be, but when they made no inquiry he teased, "I'm sure it's nothing you haven't done before." He edged over beside Avon, and keeping the blaster trained on him, ran his hand down Avon's bare chest and stomach. Avon, his wrists bound together behind his back, tensely suffered the caress. Troy's hand stopped just above his loins, but one finger trailed over his abdomen in a tickling caress as Avon fought to remain motionless.

"You are quite a specimen," Troy commented at last. "Vila was a treat, but you're something special. You're a black-hearted bastard, I can tell, but they're always exciting. If Jarvis would let me, I'd teach you things you've never dreamed of. But he said no, and that means no."

Avon listened without comment. As far as he was concerned, Troy was already too close and too intimate for Avon to find much consolation in Jarvis' orders.

"So this is where Vila comes in," Troy continued. "I like to watch when I can't join in. You understand?"

It took Avon a moment actually, although Vila had turned crimson the instant Troy said it. "Ah," Avon agreed. "Yes, but I don't think so. I don't perform for audiences."

Troy looked annoyed. "If you want a favor from me, that's the price."

"No, then," Avon declined.

"Oh come on," Troy argued. "Don't pretend it's such a big deal. I'll bet you've at least thought about doing it." He pointed at Vila and said spitefully, "He wants to. He can't look at you without going shivery. He told me he wants you."

Avon glanced over at Vila, who avoided his gaze and shrank a little further into the corner. Avon shook his head again. "No."

"Give me one good reason!" Troy shouted, furious at being thwarted.

"There's no point," Avon said simply. "You've admitted that you won't disobey Jarvis. No matter what we do to entertain you, in the end you will still drug us and turn us in. I have no reason to believe otherwise."

Troy's face was dark with rage. He whipped around to the corner where Vila huddled, grabbed his shoulder, and threw him face down on the floor of the hold. Vila cried out in alarm and tried to scramble up, but Troy pressed the muzzle of his blaster to Vila's neck. "No point, Avon?" Troy shouted. "You want a reason to do as I tell you to do? If you don't take Vila, I will! And I won't go about it nicely!"

Breathing hard, Troy paused a moment to regain control of himself. Vila moved his head to look up, ashen-faced, at Avon. Troy slapped his buttocks and the sound rang loud in the close quarters of the hold. The red silhouette of Troy's hand flushed like a stain on Vila's skin. Troy bent low over his victim and said in chilling tone, "That was my open hand, Vila. How would you like my fist?"

Avon thought Troy referred to a beating, but Vila understood the real meaning. "Please don't let him," Vila begged. "Avon, I know I'm a coward, but don't let him do it. I'd rather it was you, truly. You won't hurt me."

Avon knew his acquiescence could make no difference to their ultimate fate, but Vila's trusting appeal tore at something inside of him. "No Vila, I won't hurt you," Avon agreed softly.

Troy looked smugly triumphant. He placed his foot against Vila's hip and roughly rolled him toward Avon, who had struggled into an upright position.

"I can't do much with my hands tied back," Avon commented. Troy thumbed a pocket control, and the binders around Avon's wrists and ankles clicked open. Troy settled back against the far wall of the hold, his blaster cradled in one arm and aimed at Avon.

Keenly aware of the weapon trained at him, Avon slipped off the open binders and dropped them on the floor. Vila was huddled beside him, face averted in wretched embarrassment. Avon wordlessly freed his tethered hands as well. Troy watched attentively all the while.

Vila waited to follow Avon's cues. Paralyzed with shame, he could neither move nor speak of his own volition. Why couldn't this have happened with anyone else? Anyone but Avon. He couldn't even look at Avon now; how could he ever look, knowing how Avon must be disgusted by this?

Avon's hand closed over his wrist and guided him to crouch down on his hands and knees. Like a beast, Vila thought. Well, at least we shan't have to look at each other while he does it. It didn't occur to Vila to wonder if Avon could do it. He took it on faith that Avon had iron control of his own body, for anything which Avon said would happen, happened.

Avon's other hand rested on his shoulder a moment, squeezing it in an almost reassuring fashion. "Just do as I show you," Avon said calmly, as if for all the world he were teaching Vila to play cards. "It's quite simple."

Vila realized he was shaking and tried to stop. He felt Avon's body bending over him and the smooth pressure of flesh touching flesh. Then that flesh was all around him as Avon slid his arms about Vila's waist, pulling Vila in close to him. Warm skin and wiry hair nestled to his bottom, making Vila brace himself for the next step. But it didn't happen. Avon began moving instead, in slow graceful rhythm which mimicked lovemaking yet did no more than brush Avon's groin across Vila's haunches.

Vila remained frozen at first as Avon continued his leisurely movements. He was waiting for the real business to start, and it took him a moment to realize it wouldn't. Then he understood why Avon had positioned them kneeling facing Troy. This way Troy couldn't actually see what Avon was doing, only take it for granted.

Troy called out obscene suggestions to Avon, mesmerized by his performance. Only one hand held the blaster now. The other had disappeared beneath his waistband as Troy worked himself into an frenzy of voyeuristic ecstasy.

"Pretend you're enjoying it," Avon snapped at Vila in a low whisper. "We can't fool him if you sit like a lump."

Vila flinched, stung by Avon's suddenly savage tone, yet curiously relieved at the same time. This was the Avon he knew; cold, calculating, and commanding. He began swaying with Avon's movements, grunting with feigned exertion. Troy was electrified, his real moans joining Avon's and Vila's.

And then Vila became acutely aware of a mounting ache in his loins. He couldn't help it. Avon was holding him closely, rubbing against him and trailing delicate fingers over his skin. It felt too good for even fear to block out, and when their shifting movements brushed Avon's arm along Vila's loins, he thrust out to prolong the contact. With a mixture of horror and longing, Vila realized he could not stop an erection.

Troy noticed immediately, and crowed with delight. "I knew you were hot for it!" he laughed triumphantly. "Finish him, Avon! Make him shoot!"

Avon hesitated only a moment before pulling Vila up and back, exposing his front to Troy. He seemed to be shuffling closer to Troy, but Vila's attention was diverted by Avon's hand closing over his wrist. It guided his hand down to his swollen organ, and closed his fingers round it. Vila was torn between humiliation and knee-weakening pleasure as Avon's hand directed his in self-caress.

Vila closed his eyes, shutting out Troy's image. He was getting close now, his hand squeezing at himself without the need for Avon's firm hold controlling it. But that grip was welcome, as was the sensuous feel of Avon's body holding his. Vila threw out all thought of guilt and shame, all notice of the circumstances. There was just Avon pressing against him, holding him steady in a whirlpool of delicious sensation.

Vila gasped weakly and felt himself surge over the edge of a cresting wave of purest pleasure. Dimly he heard Troy crying out as well, then Vila was suddenly, violently, thrust aside.

Avon had been studying Troy closely, even as Troy watched him manipulate Vila. Avon had played to his dissolute fancies, maneuvering closer to Troy under the guise of flaunting Vila's submission. As Troy stimulated himself to climax his eyelids fluttered closed for a bare second and Avon lunged for the blaster, throwing Vila out of the line of fire as he did so.

There was a frantic struggle for a moment, with Troy's hand wedged in the firing trigger, and Avon trying to force the weapon away. A blistering bolt of energy seared across the ceiling of the cargo hold as Troy yanked against the trigger. Avon tried to slam Troy back against the bulkhead, but he twisted and they rolled across the floor. The blaster was wedged between them, discharging wildly at the walls as Troy and Avon grappled and wrenched at it. Vila dove behind the paltry protection of a support strut, a crackling arc of energy scorching the space he'd just vacated.

"Vila, help me!" Avon shouted, realizing that he'd lost the advantage of surprise. Troy was proving unexpectedly strong, and while Avon might have bested him in an ordinary fight, he dared not let go of the blaster's barrel long enough to strike Troy.

Vila peered out from behind the support strut, and hastily ducked back as another bolt ricocheted past his head. "It's not safe, Avon!" he protested.

"Get out here now, Vila, or I'll shoot you myself!" Avon snarled.

Vila dropped to the floor and scurried across to the struggling pair. He reached for the blaster and received Troy's boot squarely in his stomach, heaving him forcefully backwards.

"Oww," Vila groaned, wrapping his arms over his injured belly.

"Vila!! I said help me, you fool!"

"I tried," Vila protested.

"Forget the gun! I've got it blocked! Just hit him! NOW!" Avon roared. He could feel Troy gathering himself to slam them over backwards. Vila scrambled toward them again, tripping over something metallic as he did so. It was one of the force binders used on Avon earlier. Without stopping to examine it further, he grabbed the object and swung it at Troy's head. Troy must have glimpsed the movement, for he turned his head toward Vila and consequently took the blow across his face.

The result was quite satisfactory to Vila, for although Troy was not knocked out, he screamed in pain and clamped both hands to his bleeding nose. Avon rolled away quickly, the blaster triumphantly clenched in his possession.

"It's broken! You broke it!" Troy shrieked, pressing his hands over his battered nose.

"Good," Vila said unfeelingly, rubbing his aching middle. "My stomach sends its sympathies."

Avon crouched in the corner, catching his breath and shakily checking the charges left in the blaster. Not many. Most had been wasted during the struggle. Well, Troy needn't know about that. Ignoring Vila's complaints, he got up and walked back over to the youth.

"Get up," he ordered tonelessly.

"Go to hell," Troy grimaced, wiping blood from his face.

Avon placed the muzzle of the blaster against Troy's cheek. "You are going to get up and show me the controls to this flier. I am not going to repeat myself."

"Jarvis will hunt you down and kill you if anything happens to me," Troy spat, but he clambered unsteadily to his feet.

"How do I get to the flight controls?" Avon demanded. Troy sniffed blood again, and shuffled across the hold. He pressed a panel and a numbered keypad sprang out of the wall. His fingers played over the buttons.

Avon and Vila were both watching Troy's actions closely, and were taken by surprise when a large section of the floor dropped away, leaving a gaping exit hole to the ground below. Troy dove through the hole, narrowly escaping the single blaster shot Avon managed to send after him. He hit the ground running, screaming for Jarvis.

Avon swung on Vila. "Somewhere there's a hatch to the controls above. You've got maybe two minutes to find it and open it before they're back with better weapons."

Vila gulped and ran to the keypad. He began tapping codes into it, then swore and ripped off the outer casing. "Give me the blaster," he cried frantically. Avon handed it to him. Setting it on the lowest charge, Vila pressed its muzzle to the exposed keypad circuit board, and fired. The lights in the room sputtered and died. Hatches, cupboards, and doors sprang open everywhere, and overhead a ceiling panel slid back to reveal the flier deck above.

"Well done," Avon said quietly.

Vila returned the blaster to him, managing a shaky smile. Avon made a cradle of his hands, holding Vila's foot to help boost him up through the opening. Quickly gathering what remnants of their clothing he could find, Avon reached up to take Vila's hand and with his help struggled up through the ceiling panel to the skimmer's flight deck.

"Can you fly it?" Vila asked anxiously as Avon strapped himself into the control seat. Avon directed a brief, cynical smile his way, and began experimenting with the controls.

The skimmer shuddered and vibrated alarmingly, then lurched forward with a deafening roar. Vila grabbed hold of the back of Avon's chair, squeezed his eyes shut, and prayed. The noises grew worse, but the skimmer surged gamely ahead, rapidly leaving Jarvis' camp in the distance.

Vila opened one eye a fraction to peer at the instrument panel. It was ablaze with warning lights, and buzzers began to sound, drowning out the roaring of air through the still open hatches. "Damn," Avon breathed.

Vila shut his eyes again. "We're going to crash, aren't we? I wish Tarrant were here. Never thought I'd say that. But he's good at crashing things safely. Actually, I wish he were here instead us. Oh!" The last exclamation came as the skimmer sputtered, dropped rapidly, then recovered.

"We're not going to crash," Avon said firmly.

"Oh, good."

"Yet."

Some new alarms blared, adding to the din. Vila let go of Avon's chair with one hand to cover one of his ears. "We can't have broken every system on the ship in this little bit of time, could we?"

"No. But Jarvis apparently drained all the fuel."

"You're joking!"

"No." Avon was infuriatingly calm.

"Come on! How could we be flying," Vila demanded, hoping to change Avon's answer.

"Emergency battery power. Which is extremely limited, by the look of things."

"How limited?!" Vila yelled, his nerves frayed beyond control.

The skimmer shuddered again and began to descend, listing heavily to one side as the drag from the open cargo hatch pulled at it.

"Very," Avon observed. "Brace yourself. We're going down."

Vila wrapped his arms around the cushioned back of Avon's chair, and thought to himself how unfair life had been.

"I'm sorry," Troy sobbed as Jarvis' belt lashed across his back, drawing blood.

"You'd better damn well be sorry!" Jarvis roared, cracking the belt down again.

"Please, Jarvis," Troy cried. He'd begun with faked tears, but half an hour's beating had brought out the genuine article. He was still standing, barely, clinging to an overhead tree limb as Jarvis had ordered, screaming in pain from the lashes which had torn his shirt apart and laid crisscross stripes into his back.

"You had to have your fun," Jarvis snarled. "You had to untie him after I told you not to!" He redoubled his blows, and Troy's body jerked back and forth at their force.

"He tricked me," Troy babbled between cries of pain. "I didn't know, I wouldn't betray you, please Jarvis!" Tears streamed down his face as he howled his misery. "I got away! I did it to warn you. I won't ever disobey you, never again, I promise, I promise." His knees buckled at last, and he fell to the ground, crying hopelessly.

Jarvis lowered the belt and stared at the pathetic figure huddled at his feet. He reached down and grabbed a fistful of dark curls, wrenching Troy's head up to look at him.

"That's right," Jarvis breathed heavily. "Never again. You'll never disobey me again."

"No, Jarvis, never ever," Troy agreed feverishly.

"I'll have to kill you if you do."

"I promise, it won't ever happen again." Troy looked up into Jarvis' eyes pleadingly. Is he satisfied yet? Troy wondered. He's looking at me now, not just hitting me. If he were going to kill me, he'd have done it already.

Jarvis' hand relaxed its hard grip in Troy's hair, and slowly shifted to cup the boy's face in its palm.

"They hurt you, boy, didn't they?" Jarvis mused.

Safe! I'm safe!

"They broke my nose, Jarvis. It hurt like hell."

Jarvis stroked a finger up and down Troy's cheek. "They hurt my boy. You are my boy, you know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Jarvis."

"Mine to have, mine to keep, mine to punish. You know that."

"Yes." Troy kept still as Jarvis' fingers caressed him. He'd won this time, and the relief flooding through him made him feel quite lightheaded.

"You've been bad, but that won't happen again, will it?"

"No," Troy agreed quickly. "I promise."

Jarvis continued stroking his skin. "I shouldn't have left you alone with them. They tempted you, didn't they?"

"I'm sorry," Troy said in his little-boy voice.

"I know you are. I shouldn't have left you alone. You need me to look after you," Jarvis said complacently. "I wouldn't have let them hurt you if I'd been there."

"We can still get them, can't we Jarvis? And make them sorry."

Jarvis smiled slowly. "Yes, we can still get them. The hunt is merely prolonged." He drew Troy to his feet, then into his arms, bestowing a kiss of forgiveness. "I always win the hunt."

"And you'll make them sorry they hurt me," Troy repeated softly, clinging to him.

"Yes, that too. They'll pay for that insult. No one touches my boy but me."

Troy wound his arms around Jarvis' neck and kissed him passionately. "Only you, Jarvis. Make them pay."

Jarvis returned the kiss hungrily, and tore away the remnants of Troy's shirt. "I will," he promised, and lowered Troy to the ground.

There was a moment of fumbling with their clothing, then Jarvis took Troy, penetrating him with the first thrust, clutching him closely as he moved hard in punishment and forgiveness.

Troy cried out, half in real pain, and half because he knew it excited Jarvis. He was well aware how close he'd come this time to losing. But even as he returned Jarvis' fevered kisses, part of his mind gloated, aloof. He'd won, and the bastards who'd hurt him would pay.

Ping! Clank, clank, thump. (Pause. Then again:) Ping!

"Damn."

The first noises were unidentifiable to Vila, but the last sounded suspiciously like Avon. He debated opening his eyes to check, for if it were indeed Avon, he would be certain to want Vila to do something or other Vila was not particularly eager to help with.

"Vila, wake up."

No need to check now, either. No one else had quite that take-it-for-granted-Vila-will-do-as-I-say tone.

"What?" he muttered thickly. "Oo, my head," he added, realizing there was a new ache clamoring for attention. Two thumps on the head in one day was really too much. Two too much.

"Come on, give me a hand with this. How do you feel?"

Vila dragged himself awake and peered up at Avon, who had apparently had time to dress himself again and become immersed in the interior wiring of the skimmer's control system. "Help with what? And I feel rotten, thank you very much for asking. Nice to know your priorities never change. What's happened?"

"We crashed. Not entirely uncontrolled, though. I used our momentum to guide us to a soft spot. You were knocked about a bit at the end, I'm afraid. Nothing broken, I trust?"

Vila pushed off a cloak which covered him (where had that come from?) and flexed his limbs. He groaned at the cramped, bruised muscles, but was relieved to find that everything worked. "No. Fat lot you'd care, though," he muttered to himself, resentful that Avon appeared entirely uninjured.

Avon overheard him of course, but didn't comment. He knew the wrench he'd felt inside when Vila had been thrown against the control deck and crumpled to the floor, unmoving. Avon had torn his way free of his safety harness and grabbed Vila, trying uselessly to rouse him, calming only when he located a pulse and reassured himself his companion was alive. He'd carefully checked the battered thief for signs of broken bones or internal bleeding before laying him back on the floor and covering him with a cloak that had been left in the cabin.

"Well, what are you up to now?" Vila demanded. Being sore and confused made him grouchy.

"I've blocked the engine heat exchangers and the safety overrides. I'm trying to blow up the skimmer."

Vila was suddenly quite awake. "No, no, no," he gasped, lunging to pull Avon's hands away from the control wiring. "Look Avon, we're still inside the skimmer. See, that's just not a good idea right now. Let's get out of here. We'll find you something to blow up later, if you really want to."

Avon smiled and almost laughed, but turned away to hide it. "It's all right, Vila. Nothing will happen unless I can get the engines started again. I've been trying to spark an ignition, but there doesn't seem to be enough fuel left for even that."

"Oh good. Too bad, then. Let's get away from here, Avon."

"I wanted you to have a go at it. Can you think of anything we might use to ignite it?"

"Avon! Who cares? Why this sudden destructive impulse? Let's just go!"

Avon gave him an annoyed look. "You don't understand. I don't have the tools or the fuel to get this thing flying again, but..." he bit off his words. No, Vila didn't understand, and there was nothing to be gained by telling him Jarvis and Troy would have the proper tools and fuel, and that Avon wanted to destroy the craft to prevent their regaining it. No point in frightening Vila now, when there was nothing either of them could do about the problem.

"All right," he gave in. "Get your clothes on. They're over there. I'm going to see if there's anything worth salvaging in the hold."

He didn't find much. An electric torchlight, another cloak, Troy's force knife, and an emergency pack with little more than bandage rolls and water purifying tablets. Everything else, even the blaster, had blown away through the open hatches during their escape flight.

Good job I took our clothes up first, Avon thought wryly, imagining Vila and himself wandering the wilderness in nothing but the two cloaks he'd found.

Vila soon joined him and they ventured outside. The terrain was hilly, dry and barren, with no sign of human habitation in any direction. To the west, the sun was beginning to settle behind a dark smudge of mountains. It's still the same day, Avon marvelled. It's been only six or seven hours since they took us from the port. Why does it seem so long ago?

"Avon?" Vila sounded rather small and lost.

"Yes?"

"Which way do we go?"

What a good question. Avon tried to remember the cursory information he'd received on the planet's geography. "Those mountains, they may be the ones where the Cadelus rebels are stationed."

"They might not be, too." Vila ventured.

"True."

Vila sighed. "Okay, let's go there. D'you think we'll make it before it gets too dark?"

Avon did laugh then.

"Oh. Well, maybe we'd better look for a good spot to spend the night first."

"We're not going to spend the night anywhere. It's going to be a long walk, Vila, and we're not going to waste time."

"Oh." Vila said again. He looked so discouraged that Avon clapped him on the back and swirled one of the cloaks around his shoulders. "There. You're ready for a marathon now. Come on." So saying, Avon gathered up the supplies he'd bundled and began striding across the broken ground. He didn't have to look back to know Vila was right behind him.

They trudged through the cool evening and the ensuing night. The torchlight Avon had found was fairly useless at helping them pick out the ground under their feet, but the dry semi-desert terrain was firm, and their occasional mis-steps only caused them to stumble, not fall. Avon led a zigzagging path at first, hoping to muddle their trail, but as both he and Vila wearied, he realized speed was more important than subterfuge.

Vila kept up as best he could, asking periodically for rest breaks, knowing full well that they would stop only when Avon got tired. Aside from trying to wheedle more breaks, Vila steered well clear of anything hinting of complaint. He didn't want to give Avon the chance to remind him whose fault this all was. Who had screwed up. Who was to blame.

It made him a bit nervous actually that Avon didn't bring up the subject himself, for it was like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Perhaps he didn't want to waste the energy flogging Vila over it until they were safely out of it. Well, the longer it was postponed, the better chance of it being forgotten. Vila kept resolutely to safe, inane topics of conversation.

Avon didn't speak much that night in fact, though Vila chattered on endlessly about nothing in particular. Avon mostly ignored it, immersed in his own thoughts and plans. Survival was his overriding concern, and he knew he'd have to plan for Vila too, as Vila was hopeless at looking after himself. Except Vila had somehow survived an awful lot of unpleasantness in his life, Avon mused. Deltas did not have easy lives, and criminal Deltas did not have long ones. But Vila always survived. He never fought, never resisted. He might complain, and loudly, but he always seemed to manage, always got through the worst. His was the strength of the willow, bending to every breeze and never breaking. Not Avon's way, but a tried and true coping mechanism which Avon could appreciate.

He didn't fight that snot-nosed sadist Troy, he only tried to protect me from getting the same. And then I had to abuse him as well, to protect us both. Avon shook his head, deciding he was spending too much time thinking about Vila. He felt vaguely guilty at how he'd handled the situation, though he couldn't think of a better way it might have been done. But Vila had been frightened, and he'd snapped at him to pretend, and Vila had given his all to aid the deception. And it had worked, in large part due to Vila's efforts. To be honest, Avon didn't think he himself could have played the central part of such a charade, not if he weren't genuinely aroused by his partner.

And what makes you think Vila wasn't? Avon nearly halted, so disquieted was he by the sudden thought. But Vila had been playing his part, of course it was just playing a part. He'd only just been raped, or near enough as made no difference, and he was cowed and terrified... how could it have been anything but determined pretense?

Oh, lord, Avon realized, how could it NOT have been genuine arousal? Battered, abused, frightened, how could he have played the part, let alone climaxed? Only if he'd been so strongly aroused that it overcame all other inhibition. Oh dear, as Vila might say. Well that certainly puts a new perspective on things, doesn't it?

Avon looked sidelong at Vila, speculating on the thief's proclivities. "Vila," he said lightly, interrupting his companion's recital of a dubious achievement in gambling, "have you ever tried acting before?"

Vila seemed a little disconcerted, though in the absence of sunlight it was difficult to be sure. "Not really, not anything serious, just, you know, school things; and fooling people, sometimes that's acting, kind of. Why?"

"It struck me that you very good this afternoon. Very... believable."

He knows! Vila bit off an exclamation and tried frantically to think of something to say. Avon didn't make any further comment, didn't even look at him, but Vila knew he was being scrutinized for reaction.

"Yes, well, one does what one must, doesn't one? You did," he countered, trying to shift attention to Avon's actions. It got no reaction, and he rambled on to an involved, tangential story of an uncle he'd had who'd worked in a theater. Anything to divert Avon's line of thought. Vila's cheeks were flaming again as he relived the afternoon's events, and he kept talking to block it out. Avon made no further conversation for a long while, and Vila slowly relaxed. But it's going to come up again, and what do I do then? he fretted.

They walked. They had been walking for hours and hours, with only a few brief rest breaks. When they stopped they grew cold in the chill night air, so even Vila did not want to tarry overlong. But the air began to lighten, and eventually the dawn broke, and they could see the progress they'd made during the night. About half way there, in fact. They might even reach the foothills to the mountains by nightfall.

Morning brought a new worry, however. Neither man had eaten in some time. They'd found streams and followed them, drinking sparingly to conserve the water purifying tablets, but not a single edible item had crossed their path. Vila was beginning to eye the scrubby bushes along the way with a hungry consideration, while Avon wondered if it were true that leather could be cooked and safely eaten.

And then Avon literally stumbled over dinner. He caught his foot in a hole, kicked the earth loose, and a plump furry animal bolted from the ruined den. Avon jumped for it instinctively, quickly cutting its the throat with Troy's force knife. He'd thumbed the power up all the way, in fact, and the creature's head was torn free by the burst of energy. Avon was left with a warm bloodied carcass the size of a large bird.

"Ugh," Vila grimaced. "That's disgusting."

"We're hungry. It's edible."

"I wouldn't be sure of that," Vila said, his face screwed up with distaste.

"Help me skin it."

Vila shook his head. "You caught it. You can clean it."

"Do you want to share it or not?"

"Not really." Vila grinned suddenly. "You can have all that lovely raw bloody dead flesh all for yourself. Go on, Avon, let's see you gobble it up."

Avon was beginning to loose his appetite as well. He'd never eaten raw meat before, and it was only just occurring to him there was no way to cook this prize. He turned the limp carcass over in his hands and felt faintly queasy.

"We'll take it along for now. We'll be glad for it later," he decided. He was damned if he was going to abandon his kill, but he was in no great hurry to sample it either. He made a sling out of the bandage rolls in the emergency kit, and hung it across his back, out of sight. They walked.

They were crossing foothills now, getting very close to their mountain goal. They stopped for rest breaks more frequently now too, tired from lack of sleep and food, but still not quite famished enough to try the raw meat.

And then they were there at the base of the steeply rising mountainside, with cliffs and slopes all about them, the sun sinking down for their second night outside. Avon called a halt, knowing it was too dangerous to attempt an ascent in the dark.

Vila collapsed in a heap, pulling off his boots and rubbing his sore feet wearily. He hardly grumbled about them anymore, and Avon surmised he was too tired to put much effort into it. Avon settled himself down as well, and unwrapped the animal carcass he'd carried all day. He was ravenously hungry, but he still felt queasy upon re-examination of the limp red form. Determinedly, he began skinning and cleaning the creature, but once he'd reduced it to several small filets his nerve failed him. He could only stare at the unappetizing chunks of meat and think of the hot supper he'd missed aboard Liberator.

"Why don't you build a fire?" Vila suggested.

"With what?" Avon snarled.

"Well, there's some brush about for kindling, and we could try to light it with a spark from the torchlight's battery."

Avon stared at Vila in surprise, trying to think what was unworkable with the idea. He couldn't come up with anything, so he gathered some dry brush and opened the torchlight's battery compartment to free up some wiring. Within minutes he'd succeeded, and a small blaze roared up before them.

Vila sighed happily, warming himself before the fire. "I'll have one of those steaks now," he said contentedly. "Medium-well, if you please."

Avon favored him with a narrow-eyed look, but speared a chunk of meat on the deactivated force knife, and roasted it over the flames. He ate that piece himself, and the next two, but at Vila's wounded and hungry expression he offered him the two after that. They shared the rest by turn, ravenously devouring the now delicious meat. Vila leaned back afterwards, enjoying the drowsiness of a tired body and full belly. "We'll have to take turns staying up, I suppose," he yawned. "To keep the fire going."

Avon shook his head. "Not a good idea. It could attract unwelcome company."

Vila considered. "It's that or freeze to death tonight."

"It's not that cold."

"Yes it is."

"You'll survive." Avon moved to knock apart the fire. Vila caught his arm.

"Just a few more minutes," he said wistfully. "It's the first time I've felt nice and cozy since this started."

Avon looked at him and seemed to soften. "A few more minutes, then," he agreed, and settled back.

Vila sighed happily again, and wriggled closer to the fire. "This is nice," he said. "I could almost enjoy this. A drop of soma, a pretty girl, a featherbed... You could do a lot with this place."

Avon was looking at him strangely. "A pretty girl?" he questioned.

"No one in particular," Vila waved a hand. "Most girls are pretty when they fancy themselves up, don't you think?"

"I hadn't given it much consideration."

"Well they are. Something in the X chromosome, I should think. Remember that sweet young thing back at the bar in port?"

"The one who wanted to know if I liked to share," Avon recalled. He was still watching Vila from the corner of his eye.

"Er, yes, she did ask that, didn't she? Well, it just shows you what a nice lady she was."

"I don't. Like to share, that is."

Vila was surprised, not at Avon's words but by the fact that he'd offered comment on his personal habits. Avon was always so secretive, so private. Vila felt a bit of compliment that Avon had confided anything in him, mixed with a bit of disappointment in the facts revealed.

"I don't perform for audiences, you see," Avon added after a moment.

Vila heard the echo of those words said to Troy. Was Avon telling him that that was why he'd turned the girl down, or was he explaining why he'd only faked matters in front of Troy?

Or is it both, and he's saying that he's not disgusted by me at all, he just doesn't want other people about if he's with me? Now that was almost too frighteningly wonderful to contemplate. Well, we're certainly alone now. Vila waited wide-eyed for Avon to elaborate, but the other man fell silent, staring into the fire. Your turn, Vila, he seemed to say.

Vila studied his companion speculatively. Avon had always appealed to him; strong, strikingly attractive, rather wicked, and somehow rather understanding as well. Not that he ever let Vila get away with much. But he didn't try to reform Vila as the others did, and he seemed to know what Vila liked. And he was always right, and he always won. Vila liked being around a winner, for it meant safety, a thing greatly prized in his unstable life. Come to think of it, Avon had always protected him from danger, and Vila approved of that entirely. He only wished they'd had a better opportunity to become intimate than the forced, faked interlude in the hold. But even that had been exciting in a way, exciting enough to make him long for more.

"Avon," he started, and faltered. He knew what he wanted to ask, but didn't know how to say it. Avon waited patiently. Well, that was practically an invitation to proceed, wasn't it? Vila only wished he could be sure Avon wouldn't get offended and savage him for breaching some undefined barrier.

Vila tried again. "I do like to. Er, to share. Sometimes. I haven't much, but it was fun the times I tried it. The times I wanted to, I mean. You know what prison life can be. Well maybe you don't know, but that's not really sharing anyway." He paused again, having derailed his train of thought.

"Troy wasn't the first," Avon commented rather than questioned.

"No," Vila admitted. "He wasn't even the worst. Let's not talk about it, all right? I... I was just trying to say that sometimes, with the right person, it can be wonderful."

Avon smiled at him, dazzling, cynical, feral. "And I am the right person, I suppose?"

"Well... maybe. I don't know. If you like. I wouldn't ask you to do anything... Don't look at me that way, Avon. I'm sorry. I figured you figured it out, after what you said."

"Figured out that you are attracted to me?"

Vila squirmed inside. He couldn't deny it now, but he was increasingly apprehensive about Avon's lack of response.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "Forget I said anything."

Avon smiled again, a little less intimidatingly. "But Vila," he said in a most reasonable tone of voice, "I never forget anything. And you haven't asked the pertinent question yet."

Vila was caught off guard. "What?"

"Do I find you... desirable... as well?" Avon's hand moved to Vila's face, holding back from quite touching him, but tracing the outline of his cheek in the air. "I think perhaps I do, you see."

Vila put his hand over Avon's. His heart was suddenly too full for speech. Avon raised his other hand to Vila's face as well, caressing it softly. Such an expressive face, he thought fondly, watching his companion closely. Vila seemed rather shaken and happy at the same time. Avon drew the thief closer, and Vila nestled against him, turning his face into the fold of Avon's jacket. He hugged the computer tech tightly, and Avon could feel him trembling.

"What are you afraid of?" Avon murmured, running a soothing hand along Vila's back.

Vila shook his head and burrowed further into the rumples of Avon's jacket. His hands clutched at the man's sides. Avon gently disengaged them, and moved Vila back a bit to look at him.

"What's wrong?"

Vila sniffled and dropped his gaze. "I thought you might be angry at me, or disgusted, or... I don't know. I thought you wouldn't want me."

Avon seemed amused. "I have frequently been angry at you. And sometimes disgusted as well. You seem to have survived it so far."

"But you do want me? You're not just being kind?"

Avon raised an eyebrow. "Vila, I thought you knew me so well. I'm never merely kind; I always have an objective." He cupped Vila's chin and raised his head back up. "How would you like to be an objective tonight?"

Vila managed a quick grin. "I wouldn't object."

Avon spread his cloak on the ground and gestured for Vila to lie upon it. He knelt beside Vila and deftly unfastened his clothing, easing it back far enough to expose Vila's pale skin. "Let me see you," he said, touching Vila's belt.

The thief unbuckled the belt, letting it slide back to the ground. He undid his pants, and Avon helped him push them out of the way.

Avon regarded his body silently. He'd seen it before naturally, but now he was taking the time to examine all its nuances. Vila had such a nice body, too. It was well-shaped, lightly sprinkled with soft brown hair which grew thicker and darker down the midline of his stomach until it fanned out across his crotch in a curly patch nestling his genitals.

Shyly, Vila asked, "Is it all right?"

"Oh, yes, quite," Avon responded. He stayed kneeling, watching the shadows from the firelight dance across Vila's form. Vila shivered in anticipation, aroused by Avon's dark shape looming above him, studying him. He slipped his hand down to rub at the tingling ache between his legs. Avon intercepted his hand and pulled it away. "I'll do that," he chided gently. "Just relax now."

Vila dropped his hand back obediently. He wasn't unhappy with Avon's progress, he just wished the man would hurry up a little.

Avon stroked Vila at last, starting at his throat and working his way down gently, until his hand closed around Vila's thickening shaft. Vila's stomach fluttered, and he surged into that warm hold, but Avon's other hand pressed him back down to the cloak. "Lie still," Avon murmured.

He was enjoying this tremendously, having Vila submit to his quiet verbal instructions, tremble to his touch. What a responsive, sensitive creature the cheeky thief could be. And how ego-satisfying to be the one Vila was responding to.

Avon brought both hands down to caress and manipulate Vila's member, which strained eagerly erect now, long and firm and dusky-hued with its increasing engorgement. He pulled at it with outward strokes, stretching the skin toward the tip, then easing back and tickling, teasingly, at the underside of its flared crest. Vila moaned his pleasure, and the sound stirred something within Avon. He repeated the caress, listening attentively to Vila's whimpers and sighs. They excited him no end.

"Shall I make you come like this?" he asked idly, having no intention of ending things yet. "Let my fingers milk you?" He rubbed steadily at Vila, illustrating his meaning. The thief writhed on the cloak, his hands grasping folds of the cloth to squeeze in eager response.

"Please, Avon..." he panted, needing more of the exquisite stimulation.

"Or shall I taste you, and suckle you, and let my tongue caress you?" He bent his head and kissed the tip of Vila's shaft, darting his tongue out to flick lightly at the crest and lap at the tiny moist hole embedded there. Vila stiffened and felt his hips jut forward of their own accord. "Oh yes, that feels so nice, Avon, don't stop."

Avon smiled wickedly and continued his oral attentions. He enjoyed the way Vila squirmed and tried to thrust closer. "Then it's decided," he said, and Vila sighed at the feel of that hot breath whispering over his loins. Avon edged around slightly, passing his arms beneath Vila's knees and lifting them, separating Vila's legs as he settled himself between them. Hugging his arms round the curve of Vila's thighs, his hands held Vila's shaft steady as he lowered his mouth over it.

Vila cried out at the pleasure which washed through him, letting go of the cloak to clutch at Avon's hair instead. The warm mouth drew him in further, sucking gently as the tongue explored his surfaces.

Avon felt Vila's hands gripping his hair, and considered removing them, but he was busy holding Vila's erection just at the moment, squeezing and playing with it as he worked his mouth down over the length of it. And after the first convulsive tug, Vila eased his grip, turning it into a rambling caress. He ran his fingers through Avon's hair, smoothing it, mussing it, patting it, restless with desire. When Avon pulled away slightly, Vila pressed at his head, urging him back. The thief was swimming in sensation, loving the feel of Avon's lips nuzzling softly at his skin, his nose sometimes prodding at sensitive places, releasing warm puffs of air as Avon's breathing grew heavier. And his mouth; what a talented mouth Avon had, Vila thought with helpless adoration. It clasped him within, licking, enticing, sucking steadily but gently as Vila arched his back in silent plea for more. Avon swallowed, drawing the shaft in as far as he could before a gag reflex made him release all but the head past his lips. He repeated the movement, cued by Vila's indrawn gasp of breath and tensed body for timing.

Another swallowing engulfment, and another, and once again. He pressed one hand to Vila's stomach to hold him back from thrusting, but kept his mouth working quickly as Vila's panting increased. His other hand had been holding Vila's shaft steady, but the organ was so stiff and jutted upward so firmly that it seemed to need little assistance now. He trailed his fingers lower, fondling Vila's balls and thrilling to the keening moans this elicited. Only moments left now, he sensed, and as he suckled steadily, he toyed with the tightly clenched aperture to Vila's body. One stiff finger prodded, the opening relaxed, and he slid his finger within, seeking the sensitive gland hidden there. Vila was whimpering louder, his head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as he trembled in Avon's controlling hold. The tension was building unbearably, and as Avon's hot mouth lavished attention over him, he felt a hard probing push into him, stroking him inside until it found a tender knot buried within and rubbed hard at the spot.

Vila grabbed Avon's hair tightly again; his breath cut off for an instant and his body leapt to attention. Then he was shouting groans of release as his quivering body pulsed and spasmed, jetting seminal fluid through overstimulated ducts to flood Avon's receptive mouth. Avon's gentle sucking never stopped, washing over Vila and prolonging his last shuddering spasms.

Vila collapsed back down, letting go of Avon's hair, and enjoying the sensation of satiation trickling through him. Avon gave his shrinking staff a final nuzzle, and released him, easing his legs back down. Vila lay sprawled, not wanting to move.

"How was that?" Avon asked with smug expectation.

Vila gave a strangled laugh. "Bloody damn fantastic, you conceited Alpha."

"Yes, I thought it would be," Avon said complacently.

Vila rolled his eyes heavenward. "What do you want, an award? We'll have to enter you in a most talented mouth contest sometime. They can pin a ribbon to it then."

Avon stretched out beside Vila and fondled the hair of his chest. "I don't want a ribbon. I want to see what you can do now."

Vila groaned. "Give us a minute, will you? I'm still shaking all through."

"A minute, then." Avon began counting. Vila sat up and glared at him in mock exasperation. "You are the most selfish, demanding, impossible...." he searched for more adjectives.

"Make me sorry I asked," Avon suggested.

Vila's eyes narrowed as he considered methods of attack. "All right," he agreed readily. "Come here and lie down and shut up for a while, and I'll make you forget your good breeding."

"Never," Avon murmured as he switched places with Vila. "I am a gentleman. Do your worst."

Vila's worst proved more than a match for Avon's feigned indifference. The thief soon had the computer tech twisting in tormented enjoyment on the cloak, groaning his pleasure as Vila's clever hands and tongue stimulated him with increasingly unbearable sensation. More experienced than Avon at this type of activity, Vila employed little tricks of movement and pressure to keep Avon at a trembling peak without let up, yet never quite stimulated him to the point of release.

Avon thrust himself hard at Vila, only to have Vila pull away and let him throb unattended until he quieted and held himself in check. Then Vila's mouth would descend again, and his fingers would probe, and Avon could only thrash his head with frustrated need for more.

"Come on," he groaned at last. "I don't want to wait any longer."

"Say the word," Vila invited.

Avon grimaced, trying to rock himself against Vila and increase the touches which teased at him ceaselessly. "What is it?" he panted. "I'll say it."

"Please."

Avon groaned again as Vila stroked and licked him. "Please, Vila," he said softly, in his velvet-rich voice. "Please, now."

Vila obliged, and suddenly Avon's senses were overloaded by the assault on his pleasure centers. Vila's tongue pressed down, his hands massaged deeply, his mouth engulfed and squeezed. Avon shuddered and then jerked as he felt Vila's fingers wander into the crease of his ass.

"No," he breathed, "I haven't tried...ahhh..." Vila's finger was inside him, stretching him, probing deeper.

"Returning the favor," Vila murmured, and put his mouth back to work. Avon was writhing helplessly, impaled on that stiff finger and unused to the sensation. It pressed further within and stabbed at a place so exquisitely sensitive that Avon convulsed immediately. He knew what was being done; had only just done the same to Vila. But it was something he'd only ever heard about before, and the physical experience of it swept him out of control, thrusting and spasming as automatic reflexes took over, making him moan in final surrender. Vila held him tightly and continued the onslaught of stimulation, delighted as Avon pulsed helplessly beneath him. His hand moved in a flurry about Avon's shaft as his mouth imprisoned the jerking, gushing head. The finger he'd buried in Avon rubbed firmly, briskly, until nothing more could be urged out of the tech.

Then it was Avon's turn to lie motionless, drained and tired and satisfied. Vila crawled up beside him and laid his head on Avon's chest, half covering him as he snuggled to him. Avon trailed a lazy hand through the thief's hair, petting him approvingly. "Quite nice," he yawned, and closed his arms around Vila to hold him.

"Thought you'd like that," Vila muttered in the vicinity of his neck. "We Deltas know some useful things you won't find in your programming manuals."

Avon smiled as he mentally catalogued those useful things. He'd stopped petting Vila, and the thief pushed at his hand.

"Do that s'more," Vila sighed. "Feels good." Avon resumed stroking the man's hair, trailing delicate fingers along the side of his face and behind his ears. Vila snuggled closer.

Then his finger slipped over something which was not flesh. Vila jerked back simultaneously. "Ow!" he cried. "That hurt!"

The thing had been behind Vila's earlobe, and he was slapping at it awkwardly. "Was it a bug? Did it bite me?" Vila asked anxiously.

"Let me see," Avon said, reaching for the thief. Vila leaned forward, twisting his head to allow Avon to see by the dying firelight. He pressed back Vila's earlobe and the flickering light reflected off a shiny silver dot there.

"There's something metal there," he informed Vila, and flicked his nail at it. There was a spark and Vila screamed. "Don't! Stop it! It hurts, Avon, it hurts!"

"I'm sorry. Take your hand away; I need to look at it."

Vila shook his head, hand clamped tightly over his ear. "Leave it alone, Avon. Let Orac figure it out when we get back to the Liberator."

"Vila..." Avon dragged the reluctant thief closer to the fire and threw some more branches on, making it flare. He pried Vila's hand away, and examined the metal dot closely, careful not to touch it.

It was only a small silvery disk, half the size of an average button, and it was nestled partially within the skin, its rounded dome protruding slightly. Avon grabbed up the torchlight, hastily replaced the wiring he'd pulled out earlier, and shone its beam at the thing. The disk remained as featureless as before, but the glare of the torchlight revealed shadows beneath the skin around the disk. Avon pressed the torchlight directly to Vila's earlobe, letting the high beam shine through Vila's flesh to turn it redly incandescent. A network of wires stood out in sharp silhouette within the lobe.

A tag. It had to be. A tracking device planted when they were first captured. Avon lowered the torchlight, shaking with rage. It was working even now, or it wouldn't have shocked Vila when it was disturbed. Broadcasting their location continuously.

"What is it, Avon?" Vila asked. "Is it dangerous?"

"No," Avon reassured him. "Not if we leave it alone." A thought occurred to him, and he brushed his fingers behind his own ears, catching himself just before completing the move. If it was there, he didn't want to activate its defensive shocks. He handed the torchlight to Vila. "See if I have one," he instructed, and held his head still as Vila gingerly folded his ear forward.

"It's there," Vila confirmed. He performed the same close examination with the torchlight beam. "Whew," he whistled, gazing at the maze of fine wires buried under the skin. "This is going to be tough."

"You think you might be able to remove it?" Avon asked in surprise.

"I don't know yet. I wish I had my tool kit. Let's see what we can put together from the emergency medical kit."

They improvised instruments, and Vila nodded his readiness. Avon sat down, then as Vila patted the cloak, laid himself on the ground, his face turned down, allowing the thief to proceed.

Vila worked slowly, careful not to disturb the disk enough to set off a shock. After countless attempts, he threaded a hair-fine wire along the disk's surface, beneath the skin, then bent it under the device to touch one of the buried wires in Avon's skin. "That's one," he told Avon, and began again with the next wire. Avon rested his head in his arms, concentrating on holding perfectly still.

A long while later, Vila sat back and let out a deep breath. "That's all of them, I hope. Now I'm going to have to make a little cut. Want to bite on something?"

"No." Avon sounded weary. "Just get on with it."

"Hang on, then. Almost done." He bent over Avon once more, and the tech sucked in a quick breath as the tender skin behind his ear was cut. Vila pinched his lobe hard and it started to numb, then an agonizing jolt of electricity flared. It swept outward from his ear, radiating across his jaw, skull, and down his spine. "Gah--ah--Vila--!" he gasped, flailing an arm out to stop the thief.

"I know, I'm sorry, hang on Avon, just hang on..." Vila pushed his arm away and worked feverishly. The horrible burning pain went on and on, and Avon shook with it.

"Stop..." he said weakly, then slumped, unconscious. His limbs still twitched from the current running through them.

Vila tore the remaining wires free, and threw the device into the fire. It crackled and melted away. Avon's body went limp.

He wasn't out long. Perhaps only five minutes, but it was long enough to frighten Vila and long enough for him to feel disoriented when he came to. The fact that he seemed to be cradled in Vila's arms disconcerted him also, until other memories returned and then it seemed quite natural.

"Is it gone?" he asked when he could speak. He was tired and sore all over.

Vila nodded. "You're free. I can't get mine out without help, though."

Avon fell silent. Vila shrugged. "It's okay, Avon, I know you'd do it if you could. We can't all be brilliantly talented lockpicks."

"We'll get rid of it on Liberator," Avon promised him. He threw more wood on the fire (let it act as a beacon; it couldn't matter now) and drew Vila down to lie beside him, putting a comforting arm round him. Vila seemed to relax a bit, and cuddled close.

"It's a transmitter, isn't it?" Vila asked.

"I don't know for sure."

"What else could it be?"

"I don't know. It doesn't matter."

Vila was silent awhile, and Avon thought he'd fallen asleep when he said at last, "If it's a transmitter, and they can follow me, and you don't have one, you shouldn't stay with me. You're going to save yourself, aren't you?"

"I'm going to save us both," Avon corrected lightly.

"We could cut my ear off, I suppose," Vila said gloomily.

"We'll do no such thing," Avon replied, kicking at him warningly for being irritating.

Vila looked at him, half hopeful, half doubtful. "You'll really still help me?"

Avon read the fear and longing behind the question. He wants me to say I care what happens to him. Do I? Enough to do what will have to be done? He didn't want to. But looking at his companion's forlorn appearance, feeling the bond of their new relationship, he gazed back steadily. "I will do whatever it takes to see you to safety," he promised solemnly. "I give you my word. Don't be afraid now; go to sleep."

Satisfied, Vila laid his head back on Avon's shoulder, letting the other man hold him. The tech had never broken a promise. He would see them both to safety. Vila felt secure for the first time in a long while. Avon cared. It made Vila shiver inside with happiness. Well, with desire and with happiness. Contented, Vila slept and dreamt of Avon.

It was cold.

That was Vila's first thought when he woke up.

It was damn cold. Avon must have let the fire die out after all. Vila raised his head to reproach him. Blink. No Avon. Turn the other way. No Avon.

Vila sat up, dismayed, frightened, suspicious, disbelieving.

"Avon?" Silence.

"Avoooonnnnn!" Vila staggered to his feet and looked around wildly. There was no sign of his companion. The force knife and one of the cloaks were gone as well.

"Damn you!" Vila shouted, and knuckled moisture away from his eyes. No, he was not going to cry, not over someone as worthless as that deceitful, self-centered, uncaring Alpha.

Of course it was a transmitter, how could it be anything else, and of course he would be tracked down from it. Avon had a better chance to make it on his own; it was so logical and practical that even Vila could understand it. Of course, that did nothing for the pain inside at having trusted Avon, only to be abandoned. But why should Avon care about that? He was a practical man, after all. A treacherous, lying, self-serving bastard, but oh so practical.

"Damn you and damn your promises!" Vila spat, grabbing up his own cloak and shaking it clean. "What's the word of a man without honor worth, Avon? You two-faced sewage scum." He fastened the cloak round his shoulders and set off, grimly determined to make the climb to the top of the mountains.

"I'm following you, Avon," he snarled. "You can't leave me that easily. And if they catch me, I'll point them ahead to find you too. I'm going to make it, you worthless piece of garbage! I'm going to catch up with you and tear your head off and stuff it down your throat and make you listen to just what I think of you, so watch out!"

He clambered on up the steep slope without stopping for rests, pausing only now and again to wipe his eyes clear.

Day three, Tarrant thought to himself as he watched scouts straggle into the rebel's mountaintop camp to report on their overnight searches of the spaceport. Nothing. As far as anyone could tell, Avon and Vila had never even made it to the temple rendezvous. The rebels had called the ship that evening, demanding to know why the meeting had been abandoned, and Tarrant and Dayna had speedily teleported to their base to organize search parties.

And then nothing. As if they'd fallen off the face of the planet. I'll give it a full week, Tarrant thought to himself, and then... Then what? Pack up and fly off and pretend nothing had happened? Tarrant scowled and kicked an inoffensive stone. He was a man of action, and this waiting around was unendurable.

There seemed to be some commotion going on at the edge of the camp. He caught a few shouts of "Intruder" and "Spy", and wandered over, having plenty of time to kill.

Four scouts were marching a protesting captive into the camp, and though the fellow was dirty and haggard, his wail of complaint was unmistakable. Tarrant pushed his way through the small crowd of observers to reach him.

"Well now, what have we here?" he asked sardonically, folding his arms to look down from his superior height at the bedraggled prisoner.

"Tarrant!" Vila cried out, jerking his head up in recognition. "I'm almost glad to see you!"

"Yes, I'm almost glad to see you, too," Tarrant responded. "Let him go," he directed the scouts. "This is one of the men we're looking for."

They seemed rather taken aback by that, puffed up as they'd been at catching a trespasser while on patrol. Apologetically, they untied Vila's arms. He rubbed at his wrists with a sour glare at his erstwhile guards. "Told you so," he glowered.

Tarrant led Vila back to the main hut. "What in heaven happened, and where's Avon? You haven't misplaced him?"

"Avon?" Vila scowled fiercely. "Isn't he here yet? He had enough of a head start, the lout."

"Where did they find you?"

Vila waved vaguely to the east. "Coming up one of the slopes. I told them who I was, but they'd have none of it. Called me a spy! Me!"

"But was Avon with you?"

"Of course he was! Until this morning."

"And he's coming up the same direction?"

For the first time Vila wondered. "Well... I thought so, but he should have got here by now, shouldn't he? Perhaps he's lost. We were both lost, actually, so perhaps he's still lost."

Tarrant wheeled around to the group of Cadelus rebels. "Spread out then, we've been looking in the wrong place. Search the mountains, working east."

"Tarrant? Do they have a skimmer or something? Something we can ride around in?" Vila was starting to have a very bad feeling.

Tarrant shook his head. "There's only two, and they're both at the port. Where you should have been, I might add. They'll be back by nightfall."

Vila thought. It made his head hurt. Come to think of it, his head had been hurting one way or another for the last three days. "Is there a lookout place around? Somewhere we can get a good view of the foothills?"

Tarrant looked inquiringly at one of the locals, who nodded. "This way," the man offered, and led them along a steep path and up a long hard climb to the peak of a jutting rock-face above the camp. From there, they had a breathtaking view of the foothills below, stretching out for miles into flat desert plains beyond.

"Well?" Tarrant asked. "What are you looking for?"

"Avon." Vila shielded his eyes from the sun and scanned the terrain.

"I thought you said he was headed up here."

"I thought he was!" Vila snapped. He had an awful feeling inside, one which grew steadily, a cold hard lump in his stomach.

A flutter of movement caught his eye. He peered hard at the area, miles away, from which it had come. There. A dark shape stood out against the red-brown earth and green-brown vegetation. It moved slowly across the area, little more than a black shape with limbs. Walking upright.

"There he is," Vila breathed. "He went back. He's going back to them."

Tarrant squinted along Vila's outstretched arm, following the point of his finger. "No way to be sure that's him," he cautioned Vila. "But I'll send some people down right away, to check."

Vila clutched at his arm. "They're there, they found him!"

"Who? What are you talking about?"

Vila stabbed the air, pointing frantically at a growing dot on the horizon. A skimmer, judging by the speed of its progress. It raced towards the dark shape on the ground, rapidly growing in size as it came closer, until it dwarfed the man it chased. The fellow had begun running, an agonizingly slow pace seen from this distance, and the now-recognizable skimmer easily followed him. A pinpoint of light shot from the nose of the craft, and the dark figure dodged, then doubled back to run in the other direction. Another streak of light, and another, until the man gave up running and dodging, and stood still. Then the craft landed and another dark shape emerged.

"Do something," Vila whispered, agonized.

"There's nothing," Tarrant responded, genuinely regretful. They watched as the new figure approached the first one, blurred into one larger dark shape, and moved in tandem back into the skimmer. The craft lay motionless for several minutes, then lurched up and set off, vanishing back across the desert.

Vila made a sobbing noise and staggered, and Tarrant only just caught him from falling off the rocky cliff edge.

Avon sat cross-legged on the floor of the skimmer's flight deck, bound hands resting in his lap, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably where Troy's blaster was pressed. The youth was crouched behind him, stroking him gently with the gun's muzzle from time to time in silent promise of revenge. Jarvis sat in the pilot's chair, nursing the partially-repaired craft along a low gliding path. Avon could hear the soft chiming of the tracking sy stem as Jarvis homed in on Vila's implanted transmitter.

I've kept my promise, Vila, he thought wearily. I hope to hell you used the time I bought for you. There hadn't been another option, really. With Vila's tag transmitting, Jarvis would inevitably catch up with him, and Avon as well if they'd stayed together. He could have gone ahead and tried to elude them while they chased Vila, or he could go back, into the open, and offer himself as a decoy while Vila made his escape. He'd chosen the latter course, and he told himself it was because he'd given his word. That meant something to him, his word. It was all he had to offer, really, when it came down to it. So he'd done the noble thing, but only because he valued his word. The question of just why he'd made the promise was something he shied away from examining.

The chimes stopped. Jarvis smacked the console, but it had no effect. "Damned machine!" he snarled, thumping it again. The skimmer seemed to hiccough, shuddering as if its engines were about to fail again. Jarvis swung about in his chair and brutally kicked Avon's hip, eliciting a gasp of pain from his captive.

"This is your fault, you bastard! You've ruined my skimmer and now you've wrecked the tracking system. I'm going to collect your little friend, though, if I have to track him by foot. And I'm going to make you pay. Both of you!"

Avon had no doubt of that, though he did nurture the hope that Vila had escaped. It was just possible that the chimes had stopped not because the tracker was broken, but because Vila was no longer planetside. He held to that hope irrationally perhaps, needing something to sustain him for the ordeal which he knew awaited him.

Jarvis changed the path of the skimmer, setting it along a weaving crisscrossed search pattern. They flew in silence for over an hour before fuel warnings caused Jarvis to abandon the day's search. He gunned the boosters and used the last of the fuel to rocket up above the planet's stratosphere, rendezvousing with his orbiting space hopper. There was more fuel to be had from it's storage tanks, and more importantly, a secure cell aboard it for his prisoner.

They untied Avon's feet, allowing him to walk as they transferred him from the damaged skimmer to Jarvis' deep space hopper. He caught glimpses of luxuriously appointed cabins as they marched him through the corridors to the cell where he would be kept until delivery to the Federation.

The cabin was nearly bare, unremarkable except for a stout metal door which bolted from the outside. A bunk was suspended from one wall, a simple toilet and washing stall stood open in the opposite corner. The room's single light panel was operated by a switch on the other side of the door. Scuffed metal rings were bolted to half a dozen spots on the floor and walls, with one secured in the center of the ceiling. Good for fastening things to, Avon noted cynically. He wondered how many bounties Jarvis had collected.

Jarvis took the blaster from Troy, exchanging it for a heavy length of chain.

"Hang him up," he directed the youth. Troy smiled in anticipation, clipping the chain to Avon's binders, then using a hook to thread it through the steel ring in the ceiling. He pulled at the end of the chain until Avon was forced forward, arms pulled above his head, to stand tiptoe beneath the ring. Another wrench at the chain, and Avon hung by his wrists, feet dangling a few inches off the floor. Troy locked the chain to a ring in the opposite wall, leaving Avon swaying painfully in place.

Jarvis watched with hard cold eyes. "Get his ass and back bare," he ordered. "I'm going to teach him some respect."

Troy opened the fastener to Avon's pants, grinning with spiteful glee. He yanked trousers and underwear together down to Avon's ankles, exposing the tech's body from the waist down. Next he reached around Avon's waist and tugged his shirt up until it was pulled over Avon's head and wrapped around his arms behind his neck. "Now you'll get a taste of what I had to go through," Troy whispered in Avon's ear, and stepped back.

Avon's heart was hammering, but he schooled his features into a deadpan expression. It gave him something other than his impending beating to concentrate on. His arms already ached from the burden of his weight suspended from his wrists. His hands quickly went numb from blocked circulation.

The beating began with a whipping. Jarvis handed back the blaster to Troy, who covered Avon and watched with evident enjoyment as Jarvis used a braided rawhide lash to scourge Avon's back and buttocks. The whip left thick red stripes across the technician's skin, and he flinched at each hard lash. Jarvis paused when his back began bleeding, and put a burning salve over it to prevent infection. It was not for his prisoner's comfort, but to ensure his safe delivery to the Federation.

Aside from minor gasps and grunts, Avon had managed to quell any outcry so far, but his stoic facade crumpled as the punishment became sexually oriented. It began as Jarvis applied the antibiotic salve to his back, stroking the cream down onto Avon's throbbing buttocks. He massaged at them longer than necessary, and Avon tensed in anticipation. Sure enough, Jarvis' strong hands pulled his cheeks apart and a stiff finger slid between. It was coated with the salve, which melted into him and burned fiercely through the delicate membranes of his anus. Avon winced, the smarting sensation making his eyes water more than the whipping had. Vila's finger had been the only instrument previously introduced into his rectum, and that gentle probing did nothing to prepare him for the shock of Jarvis' rough exploration. He tried to pull away, knowing he would be unsuccessful with no leverage but the chain to pull at, but unable to keep still as the thick finger prodded up him.

Jarvis noted his distress, and laughed. "You were right, Troy. He's never had a man." The finger crooked, hooking around the tight ring of muscles guarding Avon's entrance. Jarvis pulled his arm back, pulling Avon's suspended form via that bent finger. He straightened the finger and Avon slid free, his weight swinging him back forward. Jarvis repeated the probe, rocking Avon back and forth, sometimes loosing him, sometimes stabbing further into him with sudden forward jabs. The tech struggled uselessly, groaning as each violation bruised tender tissues.

"Go on, Jarvis, screw him senseless!" Troy urged, visibly aroused by the bounty hunter's manhandling of their captive. Jarvis grinned and stepped closer behind Avon, one hand opening the top of his slacks as the other delved between his victim's cheeks.

Avon tried to brace himself, although there was nothing to do but grip his binders and await the attack. He was taken by surprise when Jarvis' hand withdrew from his bottom, only to reach under and cradle his testicles, caressing them roughly. It was possibly the most excruciatingly vulnerable moment Avon had known. An icy dread washed through him as his enemy fondled his balls. They both knew what Jarvis could do if he chose to.

"I'm going to let you down now, Avon," Jarvis informed him. "You're up a bit too high for a hard screwing; better to have you on the floor, so you don't swing away when I push. And you can give Troy a good sucking while you're down. Show him how sorry you are for what you did." He gave Avon's balls a slight squeeze and the tech's legs thrashed in protest. "Just so you know, Avon. I can rip these off if you give us any trouble. You do as you're told."

Troy unlocked the chain, and it rattled back through the ring, dropping Avon to a limp pile on the floor. He tried to move his arms, dragging the deadened limbs beneath him to chaff against as he attempted to restore circulation. Jarvis was kneeling behind him almost at once, lifting him to his knees then bending his body forward until his chest was pressed back to the floor. Huddled painfully against the floor, haunches raised high, exposed to Jarvis' visual and tactile inspection, Avon had to endure the added indignity of Troy's hands at his face. The youth lifted his chin and scooted down before him, bent legs parting to either side of Avon's head. Troy's erection prodded Avon's lips at the same moment Jarvis thrust himself at Avon's tightly clenched anus.

Avon uttered a harsh moan at the assault, and Troy quickly took advantage, inserting himself in Avon's opened mouth. "I know what you're thinking," he taunted the tech. "But one bite and you'll be a gelding. Now why don't you show me what that sharp tongue of yours is capable of? Show me what you do to Vila."

The sneering command was a shot in the dark, for Troy had every reason to believe Avon had never fellated anyone before. It scored an invisible hit, reminding Avon of the sweet intimacy he'd shared with the gentle thief. This new experience was so far removed from that, so distasteful, frightening, and painful, that had he not shared pleasure earlier with Vila, he might never have desired to.

Jarvis continued thrusting his way into Avon. The cream he had spread earlier had been largely absorbed, but in the process it had lubricated his passage enough to spare Avon the friction of a dry entry. Still Avon arched and twisted at the thick heavy organ which invaded him, stretching his muscles beyond their natural flexibility.

Troy's erect member slid further back in his mouth meanwhile, choking him as it neared his throat. "Come on, you bastard, start sucking me. And keep your teeth in check if you know what's good for you. That's right, lick it all over."

Avon's tongue pushed uselessly against the turgid member, trying to clear it away from his soft palate with its gag reflex. The frantic motions delighted Troy, who caught hold of Avon's hair and began thrusting himself at the tech's mouth. The thrusts nearly choked Avon at full insertion, but each retreat gave him a moment in which to breathe. It was difficult, controlling his breathing to coincide with Troy's movements while a fiery staff blazed its way up his rectum, but it was preferable to smothering. Avon had well anticipated the pain of anal rape, but he was discovering that oral rape was by far the more frightening, with its constant threat of choking and suffocating. He'd never felt as helpless, as powerless as he did pinned on the cell floor, penetrated twice over.

The thrusts went on and on until he was groaning and trembling from the red haze of pain surrounding him. His enforced passivity seemed to spur his assailants to greater passion, and they used him mercilessly.

Troy climaxed first, jetting warm fluid into Avon's throat as he rammed forward. Avon coughed heavily, spitting out what he could of the salty substance. Troy rubbed his softened penis over Avon's lips and cheeks, smearing semen over his features. Jarvis responded to Troy's orgasm with a final series of sharp thrusts, driving himself into a wrenching spasm of release. More warm fluid pulsed into Avon, filling him with wet slickness.

They hung him up again when they'd finished, touching him intimately all the while, prodding and toying with him. Avon endured the abuse stoically, relieved that at least the rapes were over. When he was secured again, suspended from the ring above, Jarvis went to fetch the drugs, leaving him in Troy's watchful care. The youth amused himself by kicking Avon about, sending him swinging violently. Bruises from the earlier assaults began mottling Avon's skin, and tender red weals promised more to come. He hurt everywhere now, except for his hands which had gone quite numb.

"What do you want from me?" he asked Troy at last, already knowing the answer, too weary to care.

Troy's teeth gleamed in sneering smile. "I like hurting you, Avon. You were so high and mighty, weren't you, so sure of yourself. Now look where you are. Jarvis beat me when you escaped, and I vowed you would know what every stripe felt like, twice over. D'you think we're through with you? Jarvis has just gone to get the tranquilizers, that's all. We're going to keep you nice and peaceful till we collect the reward money for you. But that doesn't mean we have to stop anything before then. I can come pump your ass any time I feel like it, and you know what Avon? I think I'm going to feel like it a lot. I've got some poppers that'll keep me hard for hours, and I may even let you stay awake for it. Oh, we're going to have fun this next week, Avon. Count on it."

Avon closed his eyes in futile attempt to shut out the images Troy presented. "I thought Jarvis didn't want you taking chances with me. Are you so sure I'll remain such an easy target?"

"Just wait, Avon. This is nothing. Wait until I've got you doped up and I can really go to work on you. Oh, I'm looking forward to that, I promise you."

"I've a promise for you," Avon murmured. "You'll be dead before the week is out. You'll never live to collect that reward. I always keep my word, Troy."

Troy shifted uneasily at the flat decisiveness of Avon's tone, then laughed to cover his twinge of fear.

Jarvis returned, loaded syringe in hand. There was nothing Avon could do to stop him as he injected the tranquilizer into Avon's thigh. Within minutes the tech was reacting to the strange drug, his mind splintering into distorted perceptions as his body went numb, seemingly disconnected from his dysfunctional brain. He was vaguely aware that he'd been released from the chain and binders, but it didn't sink in until he tried to rub feeling back into his limbs and found to his delight that his arms anticipated his wishes, flailing clumsily as he imagined reaching for things.

This kept him busily occupied for an unknown time, watching his body move in complement to his thoughts. Things in the room moved as well, but he seemed to have little influence over them. Sometimes the walls would tilt violently to one side and he would find himself lying on the floor, which was disconcerting. Other times the walls remained steady but the floor lurched up to catch him, or spun away to leave him clinging for balance to the edge of his bunk.

He may have slept at times, but could not distinguish his waking mind's fancies from his sleeping mind's dreams. In any event he had no recognition of the passage of time, existing in an endless "now".

He knew at one point that he had been left alone, but only realized it when the others entered the room again. They hauled him to his feet, sending the room spinning crazily about him, and flashed lights in his eyes which exploded in brilliant patterns on his retinas. They fed him something which had an interesting texture, but the taste was lost as his attention fixated on the mechanics of chewing.

He didn't realize that they'd gone again until the next visit. One of them laid him face down in his bunk and he watched the other one watching him back. It was difficult, for his body was being shaken, and he tried to look back over his shoulder to see what it was. When he realized he was being sexually assaulted again, he began laughing. He felt no pain, and it seemed enormously funny the way the man on his back worked so hard without bothering Avon in the least. He was struck for laughing but didn't mind, observing the beating from a safely detached distance. There was pain in the room, a nebulous haze of agony which floated nearby, but he let it drift freely, uncaring whose owner had lost it.

Left alone in the dark again for an unknown period of time, he remembered that he needed to kill the others and escape. It annoyed him to have forgotten this, and he tried to think how to retain this information until their next visit. He tried writing in the air with his finger, but discovered his hands had been bound once more. That was even more annoying, and he wrestled his uncooperative limbs back and forth. It didn't loosen the binders, but the rocking motion was soothing and he settled into it with his whole body, swaying slowly until unexpected tears welled up and stained his cheeks. He fell asleep on the floor, dizzily tumbling through incoherent dreams while his battered body slowly metabolized the drug.

"Well, is it them? Is it?" Vila fretted behind Tarrant's chair, trying to peer over his shoulder at the blips on the console's sensor screen.

Tarrant restrained an urge to smack the jittery thief out into the corridor. He knew how concerned Vila was; they all were, but living with the anxious demanding thief for the last couple of days had been an exercise in gritted patience.

Tarrant had teleported them both back to the Liberator after they'd witnessed the abduction. Whether the person he'd seen taken was really Avon was unprovable, but Vila seemed convinced and it was the only lead they had to go on.

Searchers planetside had been unable to locate the skimmer again, but the Liberator's scanners indicated that a craft matching its type had linked up with an orbital ship later that same day. Tarrant had been scanning the second craft ever since, trying to ascertain whether or not it held Avon.

"There's nothing new, Vila. It's still in stationary orbit. And there's no telling if it's them or some unrelated people, or even the Federation. Once their shuttle comes back down, or once it leaves orbit, I may be able to track where they're going, and figure out who they are. For now, we just have to wait and watch."

Vila pummelled the back of Tarrant's chair frustratedly. "It's them, I know it's them, Tarrant! Let's just go; make them give us Avon back!"

"Don't be a fool, Vila. What if it isn't them? We'd be exposing ourselves. They could report us to the Federation and then we'd have to run. What would happen to Avon then? And even if it is them, how do we know where they're keeping Avon? They could kill him before we could reach him. I'm telling you for the last time, we're going to wait until they go somewhere, and follow them. If it's them, eventually they'll produce Avon, if only for the Federation's reward. We'll make our move then, not before."

"But they're hurting him, Tarrant," Vila pleaded. "I know they are. We can't wait any more."

"Vila, get off the flight deck."

"But--"

"Now! You're not helping any, whining in my ear day and night. Go bother Dayna and Cally for a while. I'll let you know if anything happens."

Vila glared furiously at the younger pilot, repressing his own urge to smack Tarrant across the room. He didn't understand, and Vila couldn't bring himself to tell of the danger he knew facing Avon. But he couldn't wait for Tarrant to act any longer, either. Vila whirled about, marching off the flight deck.

He stopped at his cabin first, to collect his tools and the special device he'd assembled at Orac's instruction. It was a simple gadget, not much bigger than the palm of his hand, and no more powerful than the crudest radio transmitter. It paled beside the sort of devices that Dayna or even Avon might piece together in their spare time, but it had only a simple purpose. Vila tucked the little box in his right-hand pocket, where he could extract it easily. His tools hooked onto his belt, also in easy reach. There. All ready now.

Vila fought down a surge of fear at the thought of what he needed to do next. Come on, mate, you've made up your mind. You made it up when you had Orac work out the transmitter frequency of that tracer in your ear. Got to turn the thing off now, or the plan can't work. Avon's counting on you. Poor sod, he's counting on you, so get a move on.

Vila sat himself before a set of angled mirrors, gingerly brushing his hair back from his right ear. There, the tracer shone dully in the bright light of an goosenecked lamp. Vila fussed with the mirrors and light for a minute, making minute adjustments as he gathered his nerve. Get on with it.

He laid out a set of surgical and electrical equipment on the desk top, and took hold of a set of wires. Stripping the ends bare, he carefully taped them to the right spots on the exposed surface of the tracer disk. So far, so good. Vila tightened one fist around the edge of the desk, bracing himself as his other hand turned the dial of the power pack the wires came from. A low hum arose in his inner ear, a strangely pitched vibration he felt more than heard. Vila inched the dial further over, and the hum's intensity grew accordingly.

There was no pain. Vila waited a minute, almost unwilling to believe it was working correctly. But there was no pain. Vila chuckled, nervous relief lending the humor. So Orac got it right, got the frequency nailed down right. And that meant the device he'd built, the special gadget, would work as well. If he lived that long, anyway.

Vila took up a slender tweezer and tiny scalpel, and began the painstaking work of detaching the embedded tracer. It was a tedious neck-craning job, monitoring himself in mirrors which reflected everything backwards, but he'd actually had practice of a similar nature on delicate security systems and locks, so that helped. And ever so comforting, the low hum inside his head, blocking any pain signal from the tracer getting through.

Forty minutes later, a silvery disk bristling with hair-fine wires lay in the palm of his hand. He closed his fingers around it, wishing to crush the evil thing. But he put it away in his desk instead, knowing Orac would want to study it further. Later though, he could smash it later.

He was free. Vila laughed again, a bit giddy now at his success. Now he could go. Now he would go get Avon and bring him back, and Avon would forgive him for not believing in him before, and he would yell at Avon for not telling him first anyway that Avon had intended to sacrifice himself to save Vila. Damn bloody Alpha elite. How the hell did he expect Vila to know he was going to do something noble? Hadn't that been Blake's exclusive domain? And now Vila was so indebted he couldn't bear living with it, and he had to get Avon and tell him he was sorry, and that damn bloody Alpha elite, he'd probably planned it all out that way to begin with.

God help me, I love him.

The realization came unbidden, sweeping through him a torrent of denial, sadness, confusion, and a terrible aching yearning. He stuffed the unwanted feelings back down where they belonged, and set off to the weapons hold. He found several useful guns there, tiny ones which tucked into his boots, average-sized ones which clipped to his belt, and one monster which slung across his back with enough weight to make him lean forward as he walked. Dayna had stocked the cache well.

Dayna, in fact, was watching him.

Vila realized this as he tucked the last spare energy pack in his tunic and turned to go to the teleport.

She stood with arms crossed, chin lifted, and a fairly neutral expression on her face. Vila fidgeted nervously, waiting for her to challenge him. When she didn't, he coughed and moved to walk past her, muttering, "Pardon me, just going."

"To the teleport?" she enquired.

"Um, well, that area, yes." He wiped sweaty palms on his thighs, hoping she wouldn't try to stop him. He didn't want to hurt her, and more importantly, he didn't want her to hurt him.

"Can I talk you out of this?" she asked levelly.

"Ah, I don't think so, Dayna. I'm very serious about going, really. You'll have to stop me to stop me. I hope you won't."

I don't think it's a good idea, Vila. Tarrant will be very upset with you."

A smile flickered on Vila's face. "Oh, that would be sad. I live for Tarrant's approval, you know."

A grin broke Dayna's stern look and Vila knew he'd won.

"Did you have a plan, or are we just going to barnstorm our way in, and shoot it out?"

She was offering to accompany him. Part of Vila jumped at the chance for help, but he reined in his apprehension and shook his head. "Actually I did have sort of a plan. Just a little one really, but either it will work or it won't, and if it doesn't there's no point in you getting killed too."

Dayna seemed to regard him with new eyes. "Full of surprises, aren't you, Vila? I wonder how much you've been holding back from us all this time?

"Ah, I'm a man of mystery, I am. Never know the real me. Do me one favor?" he asked. "Come set the teleport coordinates for me? I never trust Orac to be careful where I end up."

She nodded and walked with him to the teleport. Cally was waiting for them there.

"What is this, a mutiny?" Vila wondered aloud.

Cally looked uneasy. "I don't know who's right in this, Vila. But Avon's in trouble, I can feel him suffering. I hope you're successful."

They set the coordinates, and Vila gave them his best cocky wave before the shimmer of the teleport took him.

Avon was awake again, and sorry about it. The drug had gradually worn off, and with it his insensibility to pain. He lay naked on the cold floor, too weary and hurt to move. They had been back to check on him a couple more times, flashing penlights in his eyes and jabbing his ribs to test his responsiveness. Both times he pretended to be far more incapacitated than he really was, and they hadn't yet given him another dose of the drug.

He didn't know how much longer he could fool them, though. Another rape would likely be beyond his ability to ignore, and the drugs they took for themselves ensured that there would indeed be further assaults. He shuttered his thoughts away from it.

He could see a comparatively comfortable bunk hanging from the wall beside him, and he eventually roused himself to work his way into it. It took patience, for too many parts of his body hurt when he put his weight on them. He was sore in so many places he couldn't keep track of them all. And when he managed at last to roll himself into the narrow bunk, he was too exhausted to do anything further but keep still and stare at the opposite wall.

A noise penetrated the wall, and he tensed, wondering if they were returning already. Jarvis had mentioned something about tending the engines, and Avon fervently hoped it would keep them too busy to return anytime soon.

There was another noise from without, this time at the door. Avon's heart hammered with helpless dread of impending violation. His fears were realized when the door swung open to admit Troy. Avon could only look up blankly, pretending to feel no emotion, as Troy crossed the room to stand over him, gloating look displayed across his face.

"I knew you'd be awake," Troy said softly, touching Avon's hair. He ran his fingers through it, toying with the tech, hoping to instill the maximum fear by prolonging his assault. "You fooled Jarvis, playing dopey like that, but I know all the tricks."

Avon closed his eyes. He was so tired of fighting.

The fingers in his hair twisted, grabbing a fistful and pulling it painfully to make Avon tilt his face toward Troy. "You look at me when I'm talking to you, Alpha bloody high class! I don't think you've learned your lesson yet. I don't think you know your place."

Troy grabbed Avon's wrist bindings, wrenching the tech's arms above his head with a vicious yank that wrung a cry of pain from the injured man. Ignoring his victim's weak struggles, Troy hooked the restraints over a bar at the head of the bunk.

"Do you know what I'm going do to your pretty Alpha body?" Troy hissed. "I'm going to whip all the little tender spots and watch you scream." He caressed the tech's welted buttocks, surveying the battered but still attractive man. "But there's one way you can stop me, Avon. You can beg me to screw your ass. You can wrap your legs around my waist and ask me to ram my fat cock up inside you, and stay in you until I've come three times. That's what you can do, Avon. That's what you're going to do before I leave."

Taking up a braided whip, Troy regarded his victim carefully. "Where shall I start, then?"

"No," Avon whispered hoarsely.

"No? No is not an option, Avon. Tell me what I want to hear."

His shattered emotions tightly wrapped and well buried away, Avon intoned the words Troy was waiting to hear. The boy smirked triumphantly. Leaving Avon's arms secured above his head, he noosed cording around the tech's ankles, and lashed his feet to either side of the bed. Troy settled himself between Avon's legs and began probing him rectally. Avon made no outcry when Troy forced him open, but the youth was watching him hungrily, and glimpsed the man's dark shuttered eyes fill with pain before they squeezed shut in denial. When they opened again they were blank, devoid of feeling. But Troy was not watching by then, energetically taking his pleasure from the limp form beneath him.

"Three times, Avon," he crooned. "I'm not pulling out of you until I've come three times. I hope you're comfy, 'cause we're going to be here awhile."

The man beneath him stared back woodenly, the tight line of his mouth the only betrayal of his response.

Vila materialized in an empty section of corridor on the target ship, a fortunate entry place as he'd forgotten to take the safety off his blaster before teleporting. Hastily correcting that, Vila primed the weapon and cautiously edged along the corridor until he came to a pair of doors opposing each other on either side of the passageway. Vila tapped softly at one door, then leapt back, blaster levelled at the door's center. Nothing happening.

Vila wiped a trickle of sweat from his neck and set the heavy blaster down, propping it against the wall. Taking his lockpicks from his belt, he quickly opened both doors, peering within to confirm the rooms were empty. Perfect.

Vila entered one of the rooms, a supply hold crammed with crates and boxes. He pulled his hand-made, jury-rigged device from his pocket, tucking it out of sight atop a high shelf. Patting the gadget for luck (and sending a silent prayer heavenward), Vila activated it. It made no sound that he could hear, but the indicator light he'd attached to it blinked redly, showing it was now transmitting. Vila hastened out of the room, grabbed up his blaster, and ducked out of sight behind the door of the opposite supply room. Now came the nerve-wracking wait, and the hope that Jarvis would indeed be lured by the false transmitter beacon, thinking it was his prey returning.

At last Vila heard something, the echoing thump of footsteps approaching. He squeezed back further behind his door and held his blaster at the ready. But the footsteps walked right past, never even slowing to enter the room opposite Vila. Mystified, Vila peered round the edge of the door and watched Jarvis proceed down the hall and around a corner.

The transmitter didn't work! was his crestfallen reaction. But he quickly squared his shoulders and set off after the hunter. He wouldn't be free to search for Avon until Jarvis was secured. If Jarvis wouldn't oblige him by walking into his trap, he'd just have to go after the man openly and out-shoot him. The hunted had become the hunter. Vila tried to ignore the sickly feeling this thought inspired. He reached the end of the corridor and saw a set of wielded rungs on the bulkhead leading down to the next level. Noiselessly he descended, emerging at the next level in time to see a door down the new hallway whoosh closed. Vila tiptoed over and pressed his ear to the door, wondering if he should burst in or wait in concealment for his prey to emerge once more.

Jarvis strode confidently into Avon's cell, neuron disrupter at the ready. He halted in shock at the sight which greeted him. It was not the vision of Troy en flagrante which startled him, for he'd seen Troy doing worse on many occasions, but Jarvis had been expecting to find Vila there instead.

For a moment his thoughts spun with confusion. His tracer had registered a new signal from one of his transmitter bugs just minutes ago, and he knew that Vila must have boarded the ship somehow. Checking the tracer against the ship's schematics on computer, he'd seen one transmitter in a non-strategically located storage hold, and assumed it was Troy. The second signal had come from Avon's cell, where Vila would logically have tried to free his companion. But he'd been wrong, somehow he'd confused the two transmitters.

"Damn your stupid tricks!" he roared at his startled companion, dragging him up off of Avon. "What the hell are you doing in here now? I could have him, I could got gotten the other one if I'd known it was your tag transmitting in here!"

"My tag!" Troy shouted back, both panicked and furious at being interrupted by Jarvis. "You fucking tagged me?!"

"Aha, so that's what happened," a third voice joined in. "Hands up, the pair of you."

Jarvis whirled to see Vila framed in the doorway, blaster rifle at the ready.

"C'mon, drop your weapon, I gotcha covered."

Jarvis stared him down a moment, then, as Vila's finger began to tighten on the blaster, he let go his own disrupter. Troy was gaping at his side, edged back as if to hide behind Jarvis' bulk. Vila stepped into the room, covering them with his gun, and motioning for them to back up against the wall. Then the thief stiffened in horrified recognition as he noticed the naked figure on the bunk.

Jarvis moved the second Vila's eyes left him for Avon. Seizing Troy's arm, he pulled the youth in front of him as a living shield and scooped his weapon up from the floor. Avon, who had been frozen as he watched the events unfold, shouted a warning as the hunter levelled his gun. Vila fired at almost the same instant that Jarvis did, but the deciding factor was Troy. Struggling wildly to escape Jarvis' grip, he knocked Jarvis' aim off and the neuron beam shot harmlessly past Vila. Vila's blaster flared accurately. It had been set on wide diffusion. The hunter and his catamite were no more.

Vila stared at the charred remains, fighting down a throat-clenching surge of nausea. "They're dead, Avon."

His companion closed his eyes, body slumping as days of tension drained from his muscles. "Nice shot. Get me loose."

Vila put aside his blaster and crouched beside Avon to examine him. He'd been expecting the worst, but it was another thing to actually see it. And he did it for you. Guilt overwhelmed the thief as he started to work at freeing Avon's wrists. Avon hissed warningly as Vila's hand jarred a swollen limb.

"I'm sorry," Vila exclaimed, whisking his hand back. His earlier determined expression had crumpled away, and for a moment he looked as if he might cry. "Oh, Avon, I am sorry. I thought you left me to go save your own skin, and you didn't, and I feel so rotten..."

"Just get me out of these restraints," Avon cut him off. He couldn't handle any more emotion now than that which was already welling up inside him.

Vila soon freed his arms. They sagged uselessly, still numb from loss of circulation, as Vila made short work of the hobbles at Avon's ankles. He threw the bindings to the floor in disgust. The cruel straps, the hooking rings on the walls, the hand-outline bruises on Avon's thighs, they all made it quite plain to Vila what had occurred during Avon's captivity. The burnt bodies on the floor no longer made him queasy.

"How do you feel? Do you need help getting up?" he asked.

Avon tried to sit up, failed, and nodded. Vila pulled him upright, steadied him a moment, then grabbed him close in a wrenching embrace.

Dazed, Avon tolerated it a moment even though it hurt. Then he leaned back, urging Vila to let go. Vila eased up, but still held him steady.

"We'll save that for some more appropriate time, shall we?" Avon murmured. "I'm tired, and I'm hungry, and I ache. This must be what it's like to be you. Let's get out of here."

Vila nodded enthusiastic agreement and dug through his jacket pouch for the spare teleport bracelet he'd brought along.

"Where's Tarrant?" Avon asked suddenly, turning his head to the doorway as if he feared Tarrant might arrive to see him in this state.

Vila hesitated. "Um, you know, ...piloting Liberator."

"Dayna? Cally?"

"Um, keeping him company..."

Avon's eyes widened. "You came alone."

"Um...yeah...I kinda sneaked out actually."

Avon looked bewildered. "You came alone." he repeated, as if trying to comprehend some puzzling phenomenon. "You might have been killed."

"Tell me about it! I near ate my own heart when the bastard pointed his gun!" Vila exclaimed, locating the spare teleport bracelet at last and snapping it around Avon's wrist. "Here, let's cover you up a bit," he added, pulling a grubby sheet from the bunk and wrapping around the tech. "Okay, let's go. This place makes my skin itch all through."

Vila steadied the swaying tech as he called into his bracelet for Cally to bring them back. Avon breathed relief as the familiar shimmer of the teleport took him. Then Cally was there, or rather, he was back, and Cally, dear lovely worried Cally, was helping Vila take him to his cabin. He staggered along, inexpressively grateful to be back, grateful to slip into his own cool clean bed and feel the soothing touch of his companions and the quiet hum of the tissue regenerator tending to his hurts. Vila gave him some water, holding the cup for him as he sipped it drowsily. Then there was a long period of dark calm reigning, broken only by the briefest interludes of food and drink, before sleep descended again and swept all misery far away.

"Why did you do it?" Tarrant asked, studying the thief with the worried puzzlement of one who may have detected a wolf within a lambskin.

Vila shrugged aimlessly. "Dunno. It was a nice day, I felt like taking a walk. Said to meself, self, how about a stroll over on that blip Tarrant's been watching all week on the viewscreen. Tripped over Avon while I was there. Wonders never cease."

"Apparently not. Why did you do it?"

A hint of defiance crept into Vila's tone. "Someone had to. You weren't about to."

"No, I've got better sense," Tarrant agreed, ignoring the implied condemnation. "Why did you do it?"

"Look, what's this all about, anyway? What's it matter why, so long as I did, and it worked, and everything's okay now? How about a well done, Vila!, for a change? A thank you ever so much?"

"That's for Avon to tell you, surely."

"Yeah, well, let's leave him sleep a while. He needs it."

"Vila, what happened on the planet? How did you and Avon get separated anyway? Did you run out on him, is that it? And then the guilt caught up and you decided you owed him one?"

Vila's face grew stoney. "Is that what you think?"

"I don't know what to think. You won't tell me, and Avon isn't in any condition to talk yet."

"Well you got it typically wrong, Tarrant. All but one part. The guilt caught up, okay? It caught up and ate out me guts and I did something about it, and now it's gone. Over. So never you mind about the rest, it doesn't matter."

"Doesn't it?"

"No." Vila's chin lifted defiantly.

Tarrant seldom knew when to withdraw gracefully, but this was one of those rare occasions. "All right then. It's over. I'm taking Dayna to their ship to salvage the valuables. Cally's on watch. I think you've earned a little free time, if you care to take it. We'll be leaving orbit in ten hours though. Make sure you're back in time."

He walked off, leaving Vila to wind down and reflect. Ten hours, thought the thief, I could finish taking in the sights down at Jake's. But he knew he wouldn't. There was only one place, one person he wanted to be alone with now.

There was a soft tap at the door, so light that Avon was not sure he'd actually heard anything. But he sat up and called, "Come in" anyway, and the door slid open to admit Vila.

"Are you awake?"

Avon made an exasperated noise and Vila grinned, padding softly over to the bed.

"Just checking. I was lonely. I got to thinking..." he waited for Avon to make a sarcastic rejoinder, but none was offered. "Say, are you feeling okay yet?"

Avon nodded.

"I mean, Cally got you put all right again, didn't she? Nothing hurts?"

Avon's lips twisted in a wry smile. "I don't think even Cally's expert nursing will put me all right again, but no, nothing hurts any more."

Vila studied a patch of floor. "I was gonna ask if you wanted some company for awhile, but if you'd rather not..."

"What did you have in mind?" Avon asked noncommittally.

"Oh, a little chat, a little drink, a little messing about..."

"You mean screwing?" Avon asked.

"My, you Alphas use such delicate language!"

Avon chuckled despite his mood, then sighed slowly. "No, Vila, I don't think I fancy a screw. I didn't care much for the examples I received."

"They don't all hafta be like that. I been there too, you know. When I was just a kid, too. An' I know how filthy everything feels afterward, only it doesn't hafta stay filthy, Avon. You have a little squeeze an' tickle with someone nice, and it's like the sunshine coming out after a week of rain." Vila lifted his gaze from the floor to see if Avon was listening.

The tech was looking at him with a rather fond expression. "Sunshine, is it? Yes, Vila, I can see you finding the sunshine. You look for it so determindly. Alas, I am not a sunshine person. I don't think a 'squeeze and tickle' will serve."

Then he held his hand out to the thief and gripped Vila's hand strongly, drawing him closer to the bed. "Come love me instead," he invited.

Vila melted inside. "Really?" he asked, just wanting to hear Avon say it again.

Darkly hooded eyes regarded him. "You must have realized I'd made a decision before. Did you think what Jarvis and Troy did to me would change that?"

"Well..." Vila was so terribly happy to be accepted that he didn't want to jeopardize the moment. "No, I guess not. Except, well..."

"Well?"

"This isn't just a tumble in the desert, like before. This is ... it's the start of something forever, isn't it?"

Avon's hand touched his cheek briefly. His voice was sleep-soft and husky. "Once I've made a commitment, I don't go back on it."

"Like making a promise?" Vila asked, heart atremble.

"Exactly," Avon replied. He drew back a corner of the blankets.

The thief tumbled in, his arms reaching out to wrap Avon in a close hug. Bruises healed, the technician's body welcomed the embrace. They held each other a minute, drinking in the goodness and warmth of the close physical contact. Vila, daring more than ever before, scrunched his way up higher in the bed and, holding back Avon's hands with his for a moment, kissed the tech gently on his mouth. It was something he'd been longing to do for he didn't know how long, something he'd always been secretly sure would result in his painful demise immediately after. But there followed no thunderbolt from on high, no enraged Avon flinging him the length of the cabin. His dark angel merely stared at him a moment, seemingly taken by surprise, then oh the wonder of it! hesitantly, carefully returned the kiss. His lips seemed too soft, too warm and yielding to be the same ones which usually issued such icy, cutting commentary. They whispered gently over Vila's own, then pressed more firmly, parting slightly to let the moist inner surfaces touch Vila's.

When at last the kiss ended and Avon had tipped his head back slightly to gage Vila's reaction, the thief sighed with sensual pleasure. "Ah, Avon, you're wasted on computers! A mouth like that needs to get out more often. C'mere, let's see if that last one was just a fluke."

They kissed again, slowly, harder, and Vila shifted to wrap a leg and arm snugly over the tech's body. He tightened the grip of both, pulling Avon closer to him, pressing his crotch comfortably against the heat of the tech's hip. Avon broke the kiss and began to unfasten the clips of Vila's tunic.

"Get your shoes off," he suggested as he worked on the stiff material of the tunic. "I don't care for footprints on the mattress."

"Practical sod," Vila grumbled as he kicked off the clumsy footwear. Hooking his big toe into a sock, he slid the material free without having to take his hands from Avon's terribly alluring body. But then when he went to repeat the maneuver on the other foot his toenail scratched himself down the length of his ankle.

"Ow!"

And then he not only had to remove his hands from Avon to rub at the scrape, he had to explain to Avon and Avon's raised eyebrow why he couldn't get undressed without hurting himself.

But when he'd sheepishly shown Avon the scratch, all Avon said was, "Why don't I finish undressing you?" And he did. Vila squirmed with excitement as the tech's fine slender fingers moved unhurriedly over his body, loosing zips and snaps, pushing clothing free, until Vila was stripped of everything but his arousal.

"Would you care to return the favor?" Avon whispered as he nuzzled Vila's ear.

Vila stroked a hand over the silky black material of Avon's pajamas. He remembered pulling them from the wardrobe and putting them on the sleepy tech after Cally had finished treating his many hurts.

"I dunno," he mused. "They're kinda sexy. All silky and slippery. I could tear a hole right here --" his fingers pressed at Avon's groin and felt the thick organ stir as his other hand cupped Avon's nether cheek, fingers rubbing fabric up into the crease of flesh between, "And we could get at things just fine."

"You are not destroying my best pajamas," Avon said flatly. Vila stroked the fine material regretfully, and the tech squirmed slightly under that caress. "Well..."

Vila cupped his hand over Avon's crotch and rubbed gently, letting the fabric slide up and down the stiffening length of flesh beneath it.

"Mmm..."

"I'll buy you another pair," Vila whispered, his other hand gathering folds of synthesilk to hold steady, ready to rip the stuff apart at Avon's acquiescence.

"Oh, do as you please." The words were careless, but Avon's breathy tone told Vila he would not be acting against the tech's wishes. Vila gave a sharp jerk to the tautly stretched material, getting a rush of heady power from the action as the fabric ripped apart with its soft tearing sound. Avon shivered as the thief reached his fingers into the gash he'd made and pulled Avon's erect member back through.

The organ swelled in his hold, hardening in readiness. Avon closed his eyes, jutting his hips forward for easier contact. Vila felt a responsive pang in his solar plexus, a frisson of need which raced down his belly into his groin. Stroking the heavy flesh in his hands, he leaned back and urged Avon over him. The tech's weight pressed down on him, heavy but secure over his body and between his legs. Their erections slid alongside each other, sending throbs of sensation through their bodies. Vila hugged Avon to him, sliding his legs up and around the tech's hips, letting the silk pajamas rub sensuously along the softness of his inner thighs.

Avon rocked against him, relishing the physical contact but not quite ready to take the final step. It was Vila who finally said, " 'Bout time to put som'ought up me bum, innit? Got some oil?"

Avon leaned past Vila and fumbled with his nightstand drawer, then pressed a small jar into Vila's hand. "I haven't done this before," he confessed. "Not as the... aggressor. Don't let me make any mistakes, will you?"

Vila laughed. "Didja think there's a right way an' a wrong way to have fun? Oh, all right. Lemme grease up yer privvies, an' we'll see if you can't figure it out from there." Mocking as his words were, Vila's eyes lit up at the thought of Avon's inexperience. Initiating an novice was always terribly exciting; their enthusiasm was so infectious.

Unscrewing the lid, Vila dipped his finger into the smooth gel inside the jar. An aroma of clove and cinnamon wafted up.

"What is this stuff?" Vila asked curiously, sniffing it closer. "Smells like apple tarts."

"It's just lubricant," Avon shrugged, and took a finger's dab of it himself to rub into Vila's nipples. "It's very pleasant, don't you think?"

The warmth of Avon's fingers on the thief's nipples gave way to coolness as the gel evaporated slightly, then a slow tingling sensation warmed his skin through, deepening and spreading until the whole area Avon had touched was alive with ripples of prickles.

Vila started, rubbing at his chest in alarm. "Hey, that stuff burns!"

Avon smiled lazily, and licked Vila's chest clean. "Just for a few minutes," he reassured the thief. "And I think it rather makes one itch, not burn. Makes one want to scratch."

Vila relaxed slightly as the tingling subsided. It hadn't hurt at all, just surprised him, being in such a sensitive spot and all. "You've used it before? And here I was thinking you were such a novice!"

Avon smiled mysteriously. "I know rather a few things more than you might expect. I'm so terribly well read, you know. Care to try it?"

Vila sniffed again at the jar, hesitant, then gave a mental shrug and scooped out a generous portion to smooth over Avon's rigid erection. The tech hissed slowly as contact with air activated the chemicals in the gel, setting his organ aflame with cascades of sparks. He closed his own hand over it, caressing himself, smothering the sensation. Vila drank in the sight of Avon, pale-skinned hand on flushed penis, against the black pool of silk. He settled back and held himself open, craving the contact of Avon's flesh within him.

"Come on now," he whispered invitingly. "I want to feel you all up inside me. Go slow, so I can feel every inch go in."

The tech drew in a sharp breath at the words, aroused as Vila'd intended. He helped Avon line himself up for penetration, then gave a little moan of excitement as he felt the slick organ breach his passage. Avon paused a moment, leaned down over Vila, and let himself sink in further. The thief shuddered beneath him, and Avon stopped as his shaft was clutched tightly a moment. When there came an easing he pressed forward again. Slowly, he entered to the full, staring into Vila's eyes, reading every sensation reflected there.

Vila felt as if he were burning up inside with the pressure of Avon's hard staff within him, and the wet fire of the gel upon it. His whole ass itched with it, and he ground himself against Avon for relief. The tech smiled, eyes gleaming, as the thief tossed and moaned beneath him. He gave a testing thrust, and when that seemed to meet with acceptance, pulled back slightly to thrust harder yet.

Vila's hands pulled at his shoulders, trying to bring him closer. Avon bent his arms and let his weight lower onto the thief's yielding body as he flexed his hips with greater speed and strength. The synthesilk pajamas slid and twisted on his body, rubbed and crushed between them by the contact.

It was all Avon had fantasized. He steadied his rhythm, not wanting to rush through such supreme enjoyment. Teasing his tongue into Vila's mouth, he flicked it lightly about. Each time his member withdrew from its tight tunnel of flesh, contact with the cooling air reactivated the gel's chemicals, setting his exposed flesh aflame. He kissed wetly as he plunged back into the thief repeatedly, extinguishing the fire, only to ignite it again.

Vila began groaning and whimpering at the bombardment of sensation, balling his fists helplessly as the rigid staff blazed up inside him, massaging his every pleasure nerve from the inside out. He had longed for this so much, to have Avon here, holding him, lying upon him, bodies locked together and souls bared to each other.

The smooth warmth of Avon's hand stroked over Vila's erection, making the thief tighten all his pelvic muscles in reaction. As his ass constricted, Vila could almost feel the magnified details of Avon's shaft transmitted through his tightly clasping muscles. The tech's hand stroked him harder, and Vila was suddenly reminded of their first such contact, captives to Troy's demands. That had been horror and pleasure combined, but now there was only the bliss. Vila rocked into Avon's hold, eagerly letting the stronger man guide their movements.

Avon was moving harder still, with almost bruising force, but oh so good as he thrust and rubbed in sync with Vila. He was muttering something, and smothering the words by claiming Vila's mouth with his tongue.

With a convulsive cry, Vila twisted and flailed his fists on the bed, torso arched up against the crush of Avon's full weight upon it, and then the tech too succumbed to orgasm. They clung to each other, hips trembling and jerking, wetness spurting with each wrenching spasm.

The alkali of the semen neutralized the chemicals in the lubricating gel, bringing cool blessed relief to their tired bodies. Vila tightened his ass muscles one last time, milking the last of Avon's fluids, enjoying the way Avon's breath caught and his pelvis shuddered one last time. Avon rubbed his cheek along the thief's shoulder, letting his lax member remain in place a few last moments, soaking in the warmth of Vila's spent body. At last he pulled himself out, rolling back to free himself of his soiled pajamas. Regretfully he pulled off the whisper-soft garments and wadded them up to toss aside. The ruined pajamas were his only regret, however. Naked, a satisfied warmth radiating comfortably in the pit of his stomach, Avon stretched out alongside Vila and treated the thief to a gentle stroking.

"That was too wonderful," the thief sighed at last, capturing Avon's hand to bestow kisses on it. He sucked on a fingertip thoughtfully. "We'll have try it again as soon as possible; make sure we haven't used up everything."

Avon's eyes closed sleepily. "I won't hold back so much next time. Give me ten minutes."

"Bloody arrogant Alpha," Vila said fondly. "Avon, will you tell me just one thing?"

"Mmm?"

"Why did you let them catch you instead of me?"

Vila felt the arms around him grow tense. Mesmerizing dark eyes opened to stare penetratingly into Vila's. "You know why."

Vila squirmed slightly, burrowing himself closer into Avon's embrace. "Yeah. I just wanted to hear you say it."

Avon took a moment to chose his words carefully.

"I did it for the same reason a timid thief risked his life to get me back. I did it because I couldn't have lived with myself if I hadn't."

" 'Cause you love me," Vila whispered, a warm glow spreading through him at the thought of it.

There was a moment of silence, then Vila could feel Avon's body pressing him closer. "Yes," Avon agreed.

"I love you too, Avon," Vila avowed, hoping the tech wouldn't think him soppy.

"I know," Avon replied. The knowledge echoed through him, a sweet sad aching, tearing open all the defenses he'd fortified so carefully through the years of hurts and betrayals. He'd avoided this for the better part of his life, this caring about someone who could fail him, and worse -- being cared for by someone he might fail.

But even as the old fear welled up it was soothed and healed. To love, to be loved, swamped all other feelings. Avon closed his eyes and let the emotion sweep through him. Vila felt him tremble, and began kissing him again. Avon returned the caresses hungrily, as if he'd been starving some part of himself all these years and was only now fulfilling that hunger.

"Love me again," he whispered. "Love me forever."

Vila never could refuse the man.

The end

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