13. Gravity

Night was settling in now, and Niko was wide awake. But Kestrel had been injured, and though RapiGel allowed a body to heal itself faster, it came at the cost of demanding more energy, too. He’d heard the other man yawn a few times already.

“There’s, um,” Niko started awkwardly, a flutter of nerves rising in him all over again. Anxiety wasn’t finished with him yet today, it seemed. “There’s only the one bed here, so you should take it. I’ll stay on the couch.”

“You should have the bed,” Kestrel commented.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Elliott. You’re injured.”

“It’s honestly not that bad,” Kestrel countered, his expression bland. Niko knew he was lying, though. He wore it in subtle ways through his body language. The way he’d leaned against his chair as they’d talked. How he favored one arm.

“El—”

“Or,” Kestrel said, cutting him off. “We could stop this posturing and share it. Unless that would be a problem?” He looked Niko right in the eyes as he said it in a way that Niko absolutely couldn’t bear, his soul about to astral project straight into space.

Niko forgot how to speak. He nodded, then realized that nodding might be interpreted as him having a problem. “Uh, I—I mean, that’s okay. To do that. Not, you know, that it would be a problem, or anything.”

Nice one, dumbass.He wanted to sink into the ground.

Kestrel made him feel sometimes like he’d never been around another person, had never once engaged in conversation before. Like he was scrambling to speak in a language he’d just only barely learned on the fly.

Niko had never been like this around anyone before.

They showered, Kestrel first and then Niko. Niko was despaired to see that the other man was still awake—face cleanly shaved and damp hair hanging as he boredly gazed around the cabin, sitting on the bed—when he’d emerged from his intentionally very, very long shower. Kestrel had helped himself to another round of pain pills, the bottle moved over to the other bedside table now. He apparently hadn’t been so tired as Niko had assumed.

Niko pulled himself out of his chair and onto his designated side of the bed, grateful that it at least was sufficiently wide. He arranged himself until he was comfortable—acutely aware of how awkward he undoubtedly appeared with having to shift himself around—and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

He reached over and switched off the bedside lamp, painting the cabin in darkness that his eyes slowly grew accustomed to.

“Niko?” Kestrel’s voice came softly from his right. Niko glanced over at him. His features were lost in the long shadows of the night. “Thank you. For helping me. For…” He hesitated. “Everything.”

There was so much Niko wanted to say.

“I’ve got you, Elliott.” It was probably too much. “I’ll watch your back. We’re kind of in this together now.”

“Are we?” Kestrel asked.

“I mean, I guess I could walk back into Station Twelve and ask Galapol if my contract’s still good.”

“I would honestly appreciate the audacity, if nothing else.” After a moment, he added, “Niko. I’m sorry you’ve lost your standing with Galapol because of me. I’m sorry you had to turn against your brother.”

“It’s okay, Elliott. You didn’t force me to do anything. I made my choices.”

A lull fell between them. Niko still wasn’t tired.

“Hey,” he said. “Do you remember Giannis Alexopoulos?”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Okay. Fair. But— Did you know that I killed him?”

He felt Kestrel’s gaze drill into him, even in the dark. “What? Really?”

Niko didn’t miss the subtle jubilation in the other man’s tone.

“Did you really?” Kestrel asked again.

“Yeah.” Niko sighed. “I mean. I didn’t shoot him or anything. But he’d been there that day. And when I’d gotten back to my ship, he started pounding on the door, trying to get in. Pleading with me. Talking about paying me ‘lots of money.’ In the end, I just kept the door closed. And I waited. The wave came and it washed him away.”

“Exquisite,” Kestrel purred. Despite himself, Niko huffed out a sudden laugh. It was so absurd—all of it.

Niko didn’t tell him about the near fatal struggle he’d had himself while trying to outpace the wave. It would only drive guilt into the other man, and it wasn’t what he wanted. Kestrel hadn’t known then what it had meant for him to be caught in the EMP and left behind, and to Niko’s relief, he hadn’t appeared to put the pieces together. He’d be just fine if Kestrel never did.

“I still have it recorded on my ship. I’ll show you sometime.”

“Ooh, security footage and chill.”

Niko laughed again and shook his head. It was just the amount of absurdity he needed to let him finally relax against the background horror of freefalling with nowhere to go home to anymore. In spite of it all, he felt comfortable in that moment, there on the bed with Elliott Kestrel in Baouban’s safehouse cabin, in a way he hadn’t in a very long time.

He gazed at Kestrel in the dark, faint features shrouded from view, but clear in memory. He could see every little feature in his mind’s eye now. A strange courage came over him and he spoke before he could censor himself.

“I can’t stop thinking about you wearing me on your neck. Every time I see it, I remember how it was. How you tasted.”

Even speaking of it was an evocation, and Niko felt a white-hot hunger start to rouse low in his belly, in his groin. Here, without the armor restraining him, he was getting hard. He heard Kestrel’s breath hitch, then quicken in its carriage.

“I really want to fuck you,” Niko said.

Kestrel swallowed, a sound so subtle, Niko almost missed it. Then he said, “I want you to fuck me, Niko. I’ve been practically begging you to.”

He pulled himself over towards Niko, closing the distance between them. Niko craved him. His hands found him quickly, touching at his chest and stomach, reaching up under the shirt to do it. He was careful, gentle, paying mind to avoid the other man’s injuries.

Kestrel propped himself up with his good arm and hovered inches above Niko. Then he leaned down and met him in a kiss, warm and liquid and scintillating in the dark.

Niko let out a low hum of appreciation, trailing voracious kisses along Kestrel’s jaw now. He moved to sit up, unable to get enough of the man before him, desperate to press his body against his. Kestrel’s fingertips trailed along Niko’s hands, down his arm. Over his chest and stomach. It was too much. Niko could almost lose himself right then, just from the idea of it all.

Kestrel unfastened Niko’s pants with quick and masterful fingers, sliding his hand eagerly under the hem of his boxers. Niko felt him take hold, the hot touch of his hand divine as Kestrel pulled him gently free, stroking. He groaned as Kestrel worked him and greedily let his own hand wander into Kestrel’s pants to return the favor. He found him there, just as fervent as Niko was. Kestrel felt so fucking good just to grasp, to touch. Niko could feel his hot pulse in his hand and he loved it.

Kestrel pulled away though, and reached over to switch the bedside lamp back on. Niko squinted in the light as his eyes adjusted, and Kestrel bent to kiss him again, murmuring.

“I want to see you.”

He scooted back until his lips were agonizingly close to Niko’s cock. Then he leaned down and licked its length slowly. Niko gave a strangled grunt as Kestrel parted his lips and took him into his mouth—hot, slick, and perfect. He started sucking him off.

It was excruciating for Niko; he wanted nothing more than to reciprocate, to get down on his own knees and swallow up Kestrel’s hard length. The very thought, feverish in his mind, nearly drove him to the edge and he gripped Kestrel’s wrist tightly. Kestrel pulled away again, sensing how close he was. Everything he did was maddening to Niko. It was too much.

“No. Not yet,” Kestrel murmured, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Everything about him was heady—was thrilling—and Niko felt alive at his touch. Just thinking about Kestrel was enough to bring a soft groan to his lips.

Niko had wanted him for a very long time.

Kestrel tugged Niko’s pants and boxers off and tossed them aside, careful while moving and lifting his legs as he did. He paused to look at and trace his fingertips along the myriad tattoos adorning Niko’s legs, which made Niko’s chest blossom with warmth. He loved that Kestrel liked his ink, liked how he looked.

Then Kestrel hastily removed his own clothes, leaving himself beautifully, beautifully bare. Niko was blessed with a full view of the lithely sculpted body in its whole, Kestrel’s rigid hunger blatantly on display. It wasn’t like the photograph. It was so much more.

His white bandages cut jagged across his otherwise flawless body. Niko couldn’t keep his hands off him, running his own calloused fingers along Kestrel’s side, over his hip, playing along the slit of his ready cock, which dripped with pre-come.

Everything about him was beautiful. He was breath and body, air and life.

Niko had never needed anything more.

Kestrel moved again, this time closer to Niko. He swung his leg over him and straddled his lap. Niko leaned forward to meet him again, lips messily claiming every inch of collarbone, neck, and his good shoulder. He buried his lips against Kestrel’s throat and started sucking another welt onto his skin. Niko wanted to devour him.

Kestrel was careful with him, though—delicate, even. He seemed afraid to put his full weight on Niko’s hips, instead hovering gently above him and hesitating like he wasn’t sure what he could and couldn’t safely do. Niko took him by the hips and pulled him down hard onto himself, then growled, voice gravelly, “Don’t. Don’t treat me like glass. Don’t hold back with me. I want everything you can give.”

Something in Kestrel’s eyes changed, a bright, vivid hunger alighting in them. “You like it rough,” he murmured.

“Yeah.”

Kestrel moved his hips, rubbing himself along Niko’s cock. It felt so good. So fucking good.

None of his lovers had felt this way before. None of them had been somehow inseparable from hunger. Not like this.

But then Kestrel paused, the building momentum between them stilling. “I don’t have any lube,” he said plainly. “I never expected to have sex again.”

The words shook Niko to his core and he froze, heart in his throat. It was such a simple, almost innocuous statement. But the weight and the depth of it struck hard.

Kestrel had been truly prepared to die. The simplicity, the gravity of it wounded Niko in a profound way. Kestrel had told him he knew he probably wouldn’t survive it all. But this simple, startling detail made it so much more real somehow. Niko pulled him into an embrace, heartbeat to heartbeat, simply holding him for a moment as he stroked the other man’s back. Kestrel wove his arms around Niko in response, his long fingers trailing gently along the nape of his neck in a way that left Niko lightheaded.

For a moment, they just held each other.

Niko wanted to make love to Elliott Kestrel. He wanted to fuck him, to give him pleasure like he deserved. To make him feel good, to make him feel wanted. Like Kestrel deserved.

No.

Like Elliott deserved.

Niko couldn’t think of the man in his arms as Kestrel anymore. That was a surname, something from detached case files and news reports. Impersonal.

Niko wanted to be the one to give him what he’d been prepared to never experience again. To make it all mean something to him. He kissed his neck and moaned his name into it, reaching up to pet the man’s soft, golden hair.

“Elliott.”

Niko had what Elliott didn’t. He reached over, still planting kisses on and stroking his hand along Elliott as he fumbled desperately through the duffel bag he’d left sitting by the bed. His hand eventually closed around the small bottle he’d been seeking and he poured warm lubricant generously into his palm. Niko stroked himself with it, then Elliott. He reached behind and spread it along Elliott’s opening, slipping a finger inside. The other man moaned, arching his neck back at the touch.

“Is this how you want it?” Niko murmured.

“Please. I just want you.”

Niko slid one more finger in, then another, loosening him up slowly, fucking him gently with his hand, getting Elliott used to him. Elliott let out a sharp breath and stifled moan, hungrily nipping at Niko’s lip. His reactions alone were enough to almost send Niko again.

Elliott was ready. He took over, positioning and lowering himself slowly onto Niko with a soft sigh. They paused, adjusting to one another. It was too much, too much to be inside him. Niko gripped Elliott’s hair tightly, gripped his arm. He reached down and stroked him as Elliott began moving, pushing Niko deeper inside and pulling out again, creating a darkly delicious rhythm and friction between them. Niko wished he could take control, could thrust into Elliott again and again, hard, until the other man fell to pieces. But Elliott didn’t seem to mind, ardent in his quickening movements as he rode him. Niko gripped his hips and ass, helping to lift and lower him.

The shitty old bed groaned beneath them with Elliott’s movements. It was all Niko could do to hold on, to pace himself, to keep from spilling inside him at the warm touch, at the connection to this beautiful man. He wanted it to last.

He couldn’t last.

“I—I’m going to—”

He felt it coming, the hot spill, too early, but too far gone to stop it now. He dug his fingers into Elliott’s thigh, gripping him as he came inside. Then Niko sank back down onto the bed, his cheeks flushed dark, burning hot in shame. He’d meant to hold back longer, meant to make it last for Elliott. He couldn’t even give him that. He felt like a teenager again, awkward, fumbling, unable to pace himself or make it good. It had been too long; he had gone too long without a lover. Or maybe Elliott just did that to him.

“I— Elliott, I’m sorry, I—”

A crescent smile snaked across Elliott’s face. He bent down, still sitting on Niko, and kissed him again, slowly, tongue against tongue. “You liked it that much, did you?”

“I’m sorry.”

He touched at Niko’s chin. “Don’t be. I like knowing you couldn’t last with me.”

“Let me make it up to you,” Niko said, taking Elliott in hand again and stroking him.

“I won’t say no.”

Niko pulled him forward until Elliott straddled his chest. He leaned forward, hands roaming the small of his back, his hips, his thighs now, and took him in his mouth.

It was delightful.

Niko had always liked giving more than receiving. He loved the taste of cock, loved the sensation of it filling his mouth. He especially loved watching his lovers come undone piece by piece. He wanted to see Elliott, wanted to know if his agonized expressions and sounds would stay subtle or give way to something more passionate when he’d reached his climax.

No. This wasn’t enough. Niko wanted it to be more.

He pulled back, looking up at Elliott. “Fuck me,” he murmured, his own voice emerging rough and low, “in the mouth.”

Elliott peered down at him wordlessly and trailed his thumb along Niko’s bottom lip, then smeared it sloppily across his cheek. “You’re sure?”

“I can take it.”

Elliott’s gaze grew dark and hungry at that.

He leaned forward, grabbing a fistful of Niko’s hair in one hand and balancing himself against the wall with the other. He pushed himself slowly into Niko’s mouth, drew back out, then slid even deeper along Niko’s tongue.

Niko loved every second of it. He loved Elliott taking his pleasure from him, setting the pace, controlling the situation.

Surrendering to him felt thrilling in a way Niko was afraid to think too much about. With each thrust, Elliott went a little deeper, until the next time, he was down Niko’s throat, buried to the hilt. Niko watched as Elliott’s more reserved expression quickly crumbled, giving way to a half-lidded pleasure. His breath escaped him in soft pants through barely parted lips, each gasp escalating until it became a quiet moan. He lost himself briefly, thrusting into Niko hard and fast, gripping his hair.

“Oh—fuck—Niko—”

The sensation of his come sliding hot and salty down the back of Niko’s throat—delivered with a strangled gasp—was enough to make Niko rouse again. But when he looked at Elliott, he could see the man was nearly translucent and exhausted now, collapsing into himself and panting harder than he should have been. Elliott reached up, gingerly touching at his bandaged shoulder.

“Was it too much?” Niko asked, caressing him.

“No,” Elliott murmured breathlessly. “No.”

“Here. Just let me—” Niko started, beginning the awkward rearranging necessary to get himself turned over.

“Right, sorry.” Elliott climbed off him and took the opportunity to clean himself up. He switched the bedside lamp back off and darkness settled over the room again.

“Come here,” Niko said once he’d settled onto his side. Elliott sat beside him but didn’t lay down yet, reaching out to stroke Niko’s hair as he gazed down at him. It was bliss.

“Turn over,” he said softly. “The other way.” Niko hesitated but did, turning over to face away from Elliott. The other man finally lay down and wrapped around him, burying his face in the back of Niko’s neck and planting a light kiss there. His body was still warm and vibrant against Niko’s. It broke Niko’s heart to be held like this. He had been so lonely.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes. Are you?” Elliott murmured.

“I’m—I’m great, actually.”

“So am I.”

“I should have been more careful with how we did this,” Niko said. “You’re injured.”

“It’s not that bad.”

Niko knew he was lying. He took Elliott’s hand in his own and kissed the back of it, letting his lips linger, exhaustion already creeping in. He inhaled Elliott’s scent, unique and intoxicating, mixed with Baouban’s cheap body wash. Despite everything, Niko felt a peace he didn’t know he could experience. His eyes grew heavy then, sleep finally calling him with its siren song.

Half in a dream, Niko remembered a documentary he had seen once. Two galaxies were colliding—vast and ancient, older than anyone. They cast and entangled their stars in the violent gravitational tides of their collision, each twisting around the other again and again as their new orbits tightened. They fell into each other’s gravity until the stars of one galaxy were no longer separate from the other, spiraling evermore into a single, unified point.

It was inescapable now.