BLACK AND WHITE

by Kitty Fisher

Paul Foster slumped back onto his sofa with a weary sigh. The last week had been one of nail–biting tension, too little sleep and a constant anxiety that had only been resolved that morning; a morning that was eight long hours of debriefing ago. Wrung dry of the last dregs of his energy by the intense interrogation that had followed his successful mission, Foster had returned home on auto–pilot, changed out of clothes he never wanted to see again and collapsed in an enervated heap. He should feel happy, or at least content, at the victory. Yet the high cost in terms of lives lost, hardware irreplaceably damaged and moral lowered meant that this victory was almost as hard to bear as a defeat. Still, at least the enemy had eventually backed off, a fact that couldn't be guaranteed these days. Winning was becoming progressively more difficult as the aliens' skill and ingeniousness grew, their knowledge of Earth and humans growing with each encounter, with each mind overtaken.

Despite having gone far too long without sleep, adrenaline still sped around Foster's system. Living with fear, danger and the only half–acknowledged dread of being absorbed by the freakish skills and intelligence of the intruders left him drained, but incapable of relaxation. Thoughts and ideas milled about his mind, denying the lithe sprawl his limbs had fallen into of their own accord; the metronomic tap of a finger on the arm of the sofa the only outward sign of tension. What he knew he should do was take one of the small blue pills prescribed by the doctor for just such occasions, but stubbornly he wanted to wind down without the artificial benefit of drugs. Especially as tomorrow was an officially sanctioned rest day.

A whole day off. It was becoming a luxury.

Closing his eyes, a frown creasing between his brows, Paul wondered if the commander would be taking a day off too. If Foster was exhausted, then the same and more must be true of Straker. Despite the fact that he liked to pretend he was made of steel, today had seen dark shadows biting into the pale skin under his eyes. Not that anyone could tell him to rest.

With a sigh Paul stretched, trying to work tension out of his muscles. With no luck. Subsiding, he stared blankly at the tier of ambient lighting, willing himself to get up and do something useful, even something as banal as some housework; anything that was a world away from S.H.A.D.O. and its problems.

He didn't succeed. Half an hour later he was jerked out of a precarious half–sleep peopled with the shadows of horrific dreams by the insistent beep of the telephone. Scrambling to reach the receiver he answered, "Hello?"

"Paul?"

"Commander." Foster found he was breathing shallowly, expectancy banishing sleep and exhaustion alike from his thoughts.

"I wondered if you fancied having dinner tonight?"

Foster swallowed excitement and smiled at the soft drawl. "Yes, I'd love to."

"Great! I'll pick you up in about ten minutes."

"Fine—" Paul went to answer, but his words were lost in the dial tone.

Ten minutes. He looked down at the casual clothes he'd changed into. They wouldn't do, not for tonight. He suppressed a grin and headed for the bedroom, already stripping off his tunic, his thoughts skittering past the tricky problem of which suit to wear, onward to the possibilities of what the night might bring. Perhaps Straker would be in the mood for simple, unadulterated sex tonight. Then again, and Paul shivered at the thought, maybe not.

* * * * *

The restaurant was one of the most expensive in the city. Each table had a pool of privacy around it, the soft lighting and carefully arranged screens meant that conversation was kept totally discreet. Black wood, ivory linen and chrome, all carefully designed and exquisitely placed. The waiters were summoned by the press of a hidden button; no interruptions at all were allowed to disturb the illusion of intimacy granted to the diners.

Swallowing the last mouthful of a very light meal, Paul Foster sat back with a creak of leather as the chair moved with his weight. He stared through his lashes at his companion, trying to absorb every detail of the man seated before him. It was always startling to see Ed Straker dressed entirely in black. For everyday, he sported the lighter colours that fashion and his complex cover–role demanded. A dark, midnight blue was as close to the richness of this sable that he allowed himself; though, Foster had to admit with a flare of admiration, the commander looked good in whatever he wore.

But not as perfect as this.

In the muted light, Straker was a slim, darkly mysterious figure. The tight fitting, high–collared cashmere jacket moulded his fine musculature to perfection; the narrow trousers taut over his long legs. Yet there was little difference here to the Commander's usual style of dress. Certainly not enough to warrant the difficulty Paul Foster seemed to be experiencing in breathing.

That was entirely due to the colour.

The light–absorbing black enhanced everything about Straker, from the strange silver hair that seemed almost luminescent, to the pale, smooth skin and lithe, sensual body. The only feature untouched was the cold eyes; their blue was as remote, as difficult to read as ever. But then Foster was quite aware that the only place they really changed was in the privacy of the bedroom; the commander had himself under too harsh a discipline to allow anything else.

He smiled to himself, starting slightly when Straker asked: "What are you thinking about?"

Foster shrugged. "You."

"I'm duly flattered." Straker sat back, drawling his words, a smile flickering around his own mouth, easing some of the tension that the last week had caused. He waited for the waiter to clear their plates, then lent forward. "But why exactly?"

Foster hesitated, then quirked his lips wryly, "I was thinking that I like it when you wear black."

Straker rested his hand on the table–cloth and spread his fingers, inspecting their long, elegant lines. "I know. But you know why I only wear it sometimes. And I've always given you the choice."

"It was never a choice, you know that; you knew long before I did what I wanted. Even how natural," Paul slowly shook his head, searching for the necessary word, "how... right it would be."

"It's certainly not that."

Paul started, "What? Not right? Don't say that. If it isn't right, then how come I enjoy it so much?"

"Because you are like me. Bbecause it gives you a chance to let go, to forget. Besides, you shouldn't confuse something you like doing with something society would find acceptable; they are often very far apart."

"But I still say that doesn't make what we do wrong."

"I don't either. I'm merely reminding you that not everyone thinks the same way."

"You mean at S.H.A.D.O." Paul considered, then looked up through his lashes, suddenly unsure. "Is this a warning?"

Straker shook his head. "No, not about work. I wouldn't be madly keen for what we do to become public knowledge, but it isn't against the law."

"Then what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that despite the liberality of this society, despite the fact that sex between consenting adults in all its forms is supposed to be acceptable, that old prejudices die hard. That discretion is the better part of valour."

"I've no intention of broadcasting what we do to anyone. It's private."

"Good. You might find a few of your friends reacting differently if they did find out. Not everyone can see that what we do is only a variation of sexuality, a different expression of love."

"More fool them." Paul grinned. "I think everyone should try it."

Straker took a sip of iced water, then shook his head. "No, I don't think I'd want everyone to be the same. Meeting someone who feels the same way I do is such a rarity that it lends an added excitement to when it does happen. If I could find a perfect partner in just anybody," his eyes narrowed in amusement, "I don't think it would be quite the same."

Foster bent forward, the movement taking the muted brown of his hair and touching it with bronze where it caught the restaurant's shadowy light. "You know why? Because you're a hunter; it's as simple as that. The day you show signs of being anything else I'll probably faint."

"I think it would take a bit more than that to make you pass out." Straker leant forward and smiled. "In fact, I know so."

The direct stare sent a spike of lust down into Foster's groin. He shifted slightly, swallowing as saliva filled his mouth. Suddenly, the nearness of other people was too much. He shivered and said thickly, "Let's go home."

"In a while." Complacent, his eyes smiling wickedly, Straker lounged back, sliding something shiny out of his pocket. "Go and put this on."

Foster stared at the circle of silver that sat so benignly in the elegant palm. After a moment, he reached forward and took it into his own fingers, feeling its weight, feeling that the inside rim was ridged. The circle of metal was smoothly hinged for quick release. "Now?" It was all he could think of to say; his mind and tongue tied by the intensity of his arousal.

"Yes." Straker was watching intently, his attention focused hard on the expressive face before him. When Foster stood up, his hand closed tight on the ring, he relaxed.

"Here?"

"In the men's room. I don't want to scandalise the natives." He almost smiled.

Foster was back within four minutes, his long jacket firmly fastened from top to bottom. Straker was still seated as before, though he'd lit a cigar and his expression was clean of any emotion.

Paul cautiously sat down and waited, his thoughts spinning around Straker; the centre of his universe. Their intimate life was so clear, demarcated in black and white. It was perfectly suited to each of their temperaments. Foster may not have known before Straker that he needed to be mastered, but he was sure now. Sure enough to trust Straker with his life, with his sanity, even with his love.

"Tonight, I want you, all of you. Understand?"

Foster nodded jerkily at Straker's words, the constriction at his groin painful.

There was a silence. Straker watched intently the passage of sensation and emotion over Paul's expressive face. After a moment he asked, with something like a frown in his voice, "What does it feel like?"

Foster closed his eyes, letting his senses feast on the sensation. A slight prickle of sweat dotted his upper lip. When he spoke it was very quietly. "It feels tight, it must be smaller than the last one; I can feel the ridges. It feels as if you're touching me." He shivered in anticipation of the reality to come. "When I move, it gets tighter."

"What you mean is, as you get aroused it gets tighter."

Foster sighed, "Yes."

"Do you like it?"

"It is...delicious." Foster opened his eyes and tried to lean forward, thinking better of it as the metal bit down. "Please, I'd like to go home." Expensive as the restaurant was, there were still other tables, other diners beyond the screens. What he wanted was to be naked, to free his arousal, to be on his knees. Here he couldn't even talk loudly.

"And I'd like a coffee." Straker signalled for a waiter, ordering a cafetiere before muttering for Foster's ears only: "I'm sure the exercise in patience will be good for you."

Paul Foster knew there was no point in arguing — unless the point was to push Straker into doing something like this. He was quite aware that on occasion his subconscious moved in mysterious ways. And most of those occasions seemed to be when Straker was wearing unrelieved black.

The coffee was curling its steam into the air and they were alone again.

Foster had his body under slightly better control, though the tension in his blood was just as fiery. The simple knowledge of what Straker had planned for later had meant that his cock had stayed part aroused all evening. Locking himself in the men's room he'd had to fight for control in order to obey instructions, taking deep breaths until it was possible to slide the cock–ring on. He knew quite well that giving the presence of a hard–on as an excuse for failure would have got him nowhere with Straker. And despite appearances, he didn't court pain. Not all the time, anyway.

As a signal of Straker's intentions, the black clothing was such a simple yet effective idea. Most of the time they met and indulged in pleasant, delicious sex. This abberation from their normal routine had only been introduced by Straker after about six months. Quite why he hadn't seen it coming, Foster wasn't sure. For there was a deep need in Straker to be in control — even in bed. Perhaps especially in bed.

The pale eyes were staring again. Paul deliberately moved until he was sitting very straight, broad shoulders pulled back, gaze lowered, both hands folded neatly into his lap. He didn't need to say a word.

Straker laughed and ignoring the plea poured a cup of the strong coffee, diluting it with a hefty dose of cream. "Drink that."

Foster obeyed, wiping his mouth afterwards on a linen napkin. Then he returned to the posture of waiting.

"When you went to the bathroom did you relieve yourself?"

Foster was momentarily startled by the question, but he shook his head in denial; he'd been too involved in other things to consider the state of his bladder.

"Good. Have another cup."

Wicked, very wicked. Foster smiled in acknowledgement at the mercurial glint in his lover's eyes and took the proffered coffee, drinking it all. Already the pressure of liquid inside his body a discomfort. Wine and coffee. And his cock was hard, the constriction of the tight silver ring distracting. So much for Straker wanting simple sex tonight. Except that for Straker, this was simple. Sex and Foster's pain. A simple combination.

Foster sighed, quite happy.

Straker crushed the butt of his cigar into a glass ashtray and signalled for the bill.

* * * * *

Paul Foster's mouth had been the first thing that attracted Straker's sexual interest. It had been just after Paul had fallen prey to the aliens and had tried to kill Straker. They had come into such close proximity then, learning far more about each other than most men learn of their friends in a lifetime, that maybe for the first time they looked at each other as well. It had been the full cupid's bow of Paul's mouth, in its bruised and bloodied promise of unbounded sensuality, that once it had been noticed had proved Straker's undoing. It had taken all the will–power at his disposal to continue that particular conversation. Straker couldn't remember what they had been discussing and he was sure that Foster had been momentarily unnerved by his commander's lack of concentration. It had taken three weeks and remarkably little effort to persuade the colonel into his bed, and from the first there had been no doubts as to their compatibility.

Now, a year later, he knew that sensuality intimately. More intimately than he had ever known any person's in all his life — even his wife's — because Foster had given himself totally to his lover. At work he was professional, adept, strong–principled, arrogant. Here in privacy it was different, there was nothing that Straker could do that would incite rebellion or even a question. This was Straker's domain; one he ruled with all the passion that he poured into everything he did.

For Straker, it was almost as if for the first time in his life, the sex was real; the games not really games but soul–deep truth. Even when the sex they indulged in was vanilla, it was better than anything he'd previously experienced. And he'd thought himself adept before.

He strolled into the darkly lit bedroom, stripping off his jacket as he walked. Dressed in his skin–tight body–suit he stood in the centre of the room and slowly turned, seeing the wide bed with its satin sheets; the discreet restraints; the water ready by the bed; the lubricant missing. Perfect. He caught a flash of white against the shadows as the bathroom door opened and closed.

Standing there, quite still, was Foster. Apart from the cock–ring he was naked.

Straker took a deep breath and nodded to himself. "Come here."

Serene, aware with every cell in his body of the ritual of this moment, Foster paced slowly across the floor, his feet silent on the deep carpet. At his commander's side he stopped and cautiously raised his eyes, though he didn't look any higher than the smooth curve of Straker's shoulder.

With one hand Straker felt the velvet–sheathed heat of Paul's erect cock. It was smooth, sensual to the touch, dry except for a drop of liquid nestling in the slit. Straker smiled and pressed his palm to the flatness of dark curled belly. Foster breathed in sharply as the need in his bladder became insistent.

Straker smiled, a silver–haired hunter, sloe–eyed with lust.

"Kneel down."

With a whispering sigh of willing submission, Paul knelt.

Straker walked until he could see the whole of the kneeling body. Paul was so beautiful: the clean, strong lines of his body; the honey–tinted skin that reacted so easily to the slightest touch; his face. Praxitelles would have fought to sculpt him; Ganymede would have torn his eyes out. Straker paced around, watching as the inspection increased Foster's arousal, the already hard cock pulsing, lengthening, a pearl of arousal glistening enticingly at the tip.

"What do you want, Paul?"

"To please you, sir."

"Then put these on." He held out his hand, dangling shimmering metal from his fingers.

Paul shuddered, for a moment fighting his own unwilling flesh, then nodded. "Yes, sir." He sounded breathless, though not from running.

Straker could have set the clamps to any tension he felt like; from a light clasp to a pressure so tight as to be almost unbearable, anything was possible. Unknowing, Paul took them, his stomach tight, half wanting, half fearful of their touch. They were warm; Straker must have held them in his hand for a while. The thought made Foster sigh. The devices were linked by a length of fine, supple chain that slipped through his fingers with a metallic whisper. He hesitated, fingers hovering over his breast.

"What do you want, Paul? Do you want me to fasten them for you?"

Foster held his breath, fighting between wanting desperately to be touched, yet knowing how wicked those hands could be — what destruction they could wreak on his self–control. In the end he waited too long and the decision was made for him.

"Stand up."

They were almost of a height, though Paul's naked feet took away some of his advantage. Licking fore–finger and thumb, Straker caught a nipple tight between them and pulled it hard away from the still body. When it was taut, he paused, then clamped the metal down just under the rock hard bud.

Paul gasped out loud, the shock of contact — of pain — flooding through his nerves.

"Too tight?"

"No, sir." There was intense strain in his voice. Paul licked his lips and finally took a breath as the first wave of pain died away. Just as he relaxed the process was repeated on his other nipple.

The pain rose through him and peaked, swiftly translating into sweet pleasure as his cock pulsed with sensation at every beat of his heart. He closed both eyes, giddy, transported. Sweat was already sheening the lightly tanned skin of his broad chest and when Straker pulled hard on the linking chain, Paul moaned out loud — the fine line between hurt and arousal blurred, indistinct, lost in a vast, shadowy cavern of need.

"Paul... You're just so damn sexy..." Straker growled, pulling the slightly parted lips to his own, kissing deeply, hungrily, pressing himself to the solid length of his lover's body, wanting its strength, needing its need. Digging his hands through the soft brown hair, he forced his tongue deep into the eager mouth, sighing as Paul opened his jaw wide, offering all of himself.

When Straker pulled back, his arousal was quite clear through the tight fabric of his clothes.

Efficiently he stripped, then naked came back to stand close to the other man. Very gently he touched the very tip of one nipple where it extruded from the clamp. Paul flinched, biting his lip, expecting more.

"What do you want, Paul?"

"To please you, sir." The words came out as a whisper that was echoed by the shiver of metal as the long chain was brushed against his chest.

"No games tonight."

"No, sir." Paul hissed as the hand skimmed down — still linked to the length of chain — barely touching skin as it went.

Straker curled his body around the shivering man, resting his left hand on a curve of arse. With his right he pulled hard on the tight curls of dark pubic hair. Both of them were totally involved, this strange sensuality running wild through both their blood; this knife–edge of desire as familiar as breathing.

When Straker finally touched him, Paul's knees went weak and if it hadn't been for the nearness of the other body he would have fallen. The commander smiled, looking down at the spear of over–heated skin, loving its length, its beauty. The silver ring was constricting, digging viciously into the soft flesh of shaft and balls, engorging it all with blood, making the testicles high and hard within their tight–drawn skin.

It was time. His own erection was almost as painful as the other looked.

Quickly, he snapped open the cock–ring and let it fall to the floor. Paul moaned again as the pulse of fresh blood into his cock made him shiver; the room darkening around him. The release reminded his bladder that it was full, that there were more needs than one at work here and the completeness of the sensation sent him teetering to the edge of orgasm. Knowingly, a thumb dug hard into his glans and orgasm receded, leaving sweat glistening wetly on his skin.

"Go and lie on the bed."

In a trance of desire Paul obeyed, settling himself in the way he knew was preferred; spreading his limbs wide, face pushed into the silk cover, wincing as the scrape of fabric tore at unbearably sensitised nipples, as the burning need to piss throbbed through his erection.

When the bonds were fastened around his wrists and ankles he sighed in relief. When the cool weight of his lover settled against him, he moaned in need, in an agony of desperation, every cell of his body craving the fullness of cock inside his arse. But it wasn't to be yet.

Straker reached underneath the bound man and pulled at his cock until it lay flat to the bed, then he knelt back. The strength of muscle bound firmly for his use set his heart beating fast. The beautiful body caught in perfect tension, skin damp, craving possession, never failed to stagger him with its erotic power. Perfect.

Paul swallowed as Straker's weight left the bed. He wanted to plead that he was too near the edge, that tonight was just right as it was, that all he wanted was to be taken and fucked until he screamed. But the shifting of the bed as the other man resettled himself told him how vain such an attempt would be. Straker was kneeling by his side.

"Look at me."

Wide eyes stared up at him, sweat trickling down the hollow of Paul's cheek.

"I love you."

Foster shivered, his body bow–string taut, his eyes flickering to the length of black leather held so carelessly in Straker's hands. He licked at dry lips and whispered in return, "I love you, sir."

"What do you want?"

"To please you, sir"

"What do you want?" The voice was more insistent.

"For you to beat me." There, it had been said. Foster closed his eyes and knotted his hands into fists around their chains.

"Look at me, Paul."

His eyes opened and widened as Straker bent to gently kiss his lips, tonguing them with a restrained intimacy that reassured and aroused.

Straker smiled. "I'll fuck you when I've finished."

Foster barely had time to nod before the first blow landed.

Straker worked the crop with easy skill, marking the pale skin with a criss–cross pattern of fire that had Foster writhing, crying out with each successive blow, pressing his nipples still bound by the clamps into the bed, the pain shocking, enlightening.

After a while, his own breath fast and erratic, Straker stopped and rested the sweating palm of his right hand on the curve of arse where he had landed the crop. The underlying muscles trembled at his touch and Paul moaned as the fingers traced each welt across his skin. Straker could see that Paul's cock was still erect, pressed wetly to the sheets. The pain had only enhanced the arousal and it was dark red, swollen. When he ran a nail across the fiery pattern, the shaft pulsed and, impossibly, seemed to lengthen.

Straker almost growled, lust spearing his own cock into the air.

Throwing the whip to the floor he slid himself between Foster's outstretched legs, pushing the thighs further apart with his knees.

Paul cried out as Straker sheathed himself in one hard movement. Even though his arse was prepared, the possession was still almost too much to bear — Straker's cock long and thick, seemingly too big considering the lightness of his frame. Paul lay still, his bound hands clutching at the sheets, tension knotting his shoulders, pain from his abused skin riding through the arousal.

Then Straker slipped his hands under them both and removed the clamps.

Foster bucked wildly beneath him and called out, the fire of pain ripping through him like a meteor. Flicking hard with his thumb Straker moved again, sliding his cock slowly, feeling the shudders of Foster's body as if the pain were his own.

For a long heart–beat Straker waited. He could feel the urgency in the erratic breaths; in the sweat that slicked both their skins and in the heat that tantalised him. He pressed his hands to the raw nipples, to the curving swell of buttock, pressing until a moan combined of desire and pain was muffled by the sheets. Then, eyes half closed, he let himself slide back inside, savouring the tightness, the heat, pressing deep into responsive flesh.

For Foster, his own need was still there, but it was consumed by this other, by the spear of need that split him in two; fragmenting then remaking him with each stroke. He wanted more than anything to feel the man above him lose control, to sob out loud as he came. To become as abandoned as he was himself. The size of the cock inside him no longer mattered, nor the pain, nor the urgent requirements of his bladder. With a ripple of muscle he pushed back, surprising a gasp of hunger from Straker.

It was all Paul needed. Without any thought for himself he fought for Straker's orgasm, using all his strength to coax the man above him into desperation. Until Straker let loose, pumping hard into the willing flesh. But each stroke battered against tissue made unbearably sensitive, pounding against his bladder until he was shaking, every muscle gripping down hard to stop himself from giving in to the unbearable compulsion. In need he bit down on the cover, tears fighting through tight closed lids as Straker ravaged his body. The sensation was beyond pleasure, sending him into a realm that was ruled by darkness and pain.

Finally, with a shuddering cry the commander lost control, the extreme tightness of bunched muscle around his cock too much. Biting into the softness of skin, Straker came hard, the pulsing sending him deeper into the tight second skin of his lover's body.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself still plastered down the length of well muscled back. There was an agonized moan and Straker knew what had brought him round. He slid the softening length of his cock from Foster's arse and moved to release the bonds at his wrists and ankles.

"Turn over."

Slowly and carefully Foster obeyed. He was wide–eyed with desperation, his cock soft against the skin of his thigh.

"What do you want?"

The answer came out as an uneven croak. "To please you, sir."

"You do that, most certainly you do that." Straker lent forward and kissed the parted lips very gently until Paul moaned in despair and the kiss was returned. Pulling back, his eyes hooded with the return of desire, Straker nodded. "Stand up and walk to the bathroom."

Foster obeyed, lightheaded with need, unsteady on his feet. At the toilet he stopped and waited, he could hear Straker following.

"Go on, you can have ten seconds."

Ten seconds. It sounded an age. Foster held himself and tried to relax his muscles, but they had been tightened for too long; only a trickle of liquid emerged. He groaned aloud in frustration. Straker was counting off the time.

"Nine... Ten... Not long enough or has the urge gone?"

"No! No, sir. I just can't..." He was almost sobbing.

"Yes you can. I'll help..." And two fingers slid their way into the semen soaked tightness of Paul's arse. "Perhaps this will encourage you; when you've pissed, then you can come. Better?"

Paul nodded, not knowing if it was or not but incapable of disagreeing, feeling the return of arousal despite the agony in his gut. He concentrated very hard, knowing that if he got a hard–on back it would be even more difficult. Trying to ignore the skilful fingers as they played so gently inside him, to ignore the tantalising scent of Straker's skin, the animal musk of semen, the pain, to ignore everything but the most basic of needs.

"Go on, I won't tease anymore, you can have as long as you like."

A second hand rested on the flat plane of his belly and pushed. It was too much and with a gasp his body relaxed, liquid streaming into the waiting bowl.

Afterwards, he stood, head down, breathing heavily as a hand reached and pulled his head around. The intensity of the look took his breath away and he fell at his master's feet, mouth searching blindly for the comfort of skin against his mouth. But strong hands forced him onto his feet, pushing him hard against the wall.

"Didn't I tell you it was your turn to come?" Straker waited for a bemused answering nod, then with a wicked laugh fell elegantly to his knees to take Paul's cock into his mouth.

Instantly fully erect, the long arousal combined with the sight of the blond head bent to service him were too much, and with a cry, Paul shuddered into release. His hands moved holding tight to Straker, forcing himself deep into the accommodating throat, screaming silently as he came.

Slumped against the wall, he blinked sweat out of his eyes and jerkily relaxed his grip on the kneeling man. Almost in wonder he stroked the sweat–damp hair.

Letting the softening cock slide from his lips, Straker rested his cheek against the damp prickle of darkly curling hair at Foster's groin. He sighed, quite happy.

"Why?" Paul let the silky, ice–white hair slide through his fingers, the feel sensuous, hypnotic, fascinating.

"Because I love you."

"But..."

"But what? It's not as if I've never done that before."

"No, but not when we're in the middle of a scene, not when you're..."

"Topping you? No, I suppose I haven't." Straker sighed and closed his eyes, breathing in the strong scent of masculinity.

"Then why?"

"You're so damned persistent. Okay, I felt like swapping roles with you, I wanted to feel what you feel for once."

Paul swallowed while his thought tried to deal with this information in a coherent way. In the end he could only croak, "For once?"

Straker opened his eyes and pushed away from the support of Paul's legs. He knelt very still, acknowledging the importance of the moment, then shook his head. "No, not just the once, but I don't know how often. Don't even know if I'll like it."

"Yet you want to try."

"Yeah, why not?" He smiled and stood up. "Turn around."

"Sometimes, having a conversation with you is like talking to the mist." Paul sighed but obeyed.

Straker examined the welted skin. "I'll put some cream on these after you've showered."

Paul nodded. His skin burned and he knew that it would need something on it before he could sleep, but as an issue, it was far less important than their other topic of conversation. He turned around.

"And these." Straker lightly touched the sore looking nipples. He tutted at Paul's sigh of frustration. "So, I feel like trying out something a bit different..."

"Very different..."

"No, not as different as you think. But I don't think it's going to be today." He kissed Paul lightly on the lips and walked into the bedroom, oblivious to the consternation left in his wake. "Come to bed for a bit before you shower."

Paul obeyed, despite the fact that he'd have been glad of the interruption. He was unsure of his reaction to Straker's words. Unsure if he'd be up to whatever Straker might need of him. Unsure if he approved of the searing arousal that had burned him on realisation of what Straker planned.

Silver hair bright against the dark pillows, Straker was a relaxed sprawl under the sheets. Foster slipped in beside him, taking the lighter body into his arms, wrapping them together in the way that was right.

Straker curled against him, arm heavy across Foster's chest, fingers contentedly stroking the inch or so of skin they could reach. He shifted his head on the heavy muscle of Paul's shoulder and peered at the sensual face, seeing the eyes already half–closed, sleepy. Straker yawned and asked, "Are you all right? Not too sore?"

"No, I'm fine." And he was; the aches and pains were nothing to the overwhelming sense of peace that weighted his limbs. Even Straker's statement was pushed to the back of his mind, not important enough to disturb his serenity. It was always the same. Here in this bed, with his lover wrapped so trustingly in his arms, Paul Foster had found the essential peace that had eluded him all his life. Nothing else mattered, not here. And if what was needed to keep this was a reversal of their roles, then so be it — after all, he'd had a good teacher.

"I love you, Commander Straker."

"I know." The words were muffled, their speaker almost asleep.

Foster smiled gently into the air and spoke the voice command that turned off the lights. In darkness he waited, the edge of pain dulled by his love, the discomfort of cold semen seeping from his body ignored. Straker liked to be held after they'd made love. So held he was. It was the least Foster could do.

END