A Shared Obsession 2
Ha! Told you I'd get it up today. *beam*
Part One here
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Merchant Class Star Ship #21225254, The Babylon
Any other time or place, Yaral would have found the sight of fifteen Hellcats gleefully throwing rocks at a star ship to be hysterically funny. He suspected he'd still find it incredibly amusing once his anger wore off, but for the time being he could think of nothing but getting inside that ship and finding Zanson. He'd found the ship with little difficulty, but getting inside it had proven to be slightly trickier. Of course, there was a reason the saying "Craftier than a Daneubian Hellcat" had been coined.
As he watched, the main hatch slid open and three men rushed out, their jaws hanging open in disbelief at the sight before them before tightening into anger.
"Hey! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" the middle one spat.
One of the Hellcats, a rather striking tri-color tom named Kea'takovvi, broke away from the others and sauntered over to meet the trio, flanked by two more toms and a female with a jagged ear. He stopped a few meters from the hatch, crossing his arms and smirking with all the cocky deviousness that came with being out of the kitten years, but not yet an adult.
"Well hey there Gramps," Kea'takovvi greeted, smirking. "Nice bookends. They must give some totally awesome head, cause I sure as fuck wouldn't wanna keep them around to look at."
Yaral bit his lip so that he wouldn't laugh, but it was a close thing. When he'd asked Kea'takovvi to provide a 'creative distraction' he'd known it was going to be interesting. Seems he'd been right.
"Who the..." Heavy feet clumped away from the ship as the human trio advanced on Kea'takovvi and his friends, though one broke away to go yell at the Hellcats that were still throwing rocks.
"Who the fuck are you?" the short man snarled. "Get the fuck away from my ship!"
Kea'takovvi laughed, looking entirely at ease as he faced down the furious human. "I am the Master of this Turf," he declared, throwing his arms wide, "And I have declared that your ugly-ass ship needs to get out of my territory."
The human stared at him. "Your... You smartass little punk!" he screamed, looking as though he'd like nothing better than to smack the smirk off Kea'takovvi's face but somehow restraining himself. "This is a public fucking dockyard! So you and your little hellions get the fuck away from my ship before I fucking lose my temper!"
Kea'takovvi laughed again, and Yaral only heard the first part of his retort - "Dude, you already lost your temper!" - before he'd managed to slip inside the ship while the human trio was otherwise occupied with Kea'takovvi and his miscreant friends.
Inside looked much like any other merchant ship he'd ever been in. He immediately turned right, pacing down the hallway to where he knew the smaller cargo lift was located, taking it down a level and swearing when the doors opened up to reveal two more rather ugly excuses for humans. Fortunately they were considerably more surprised to see him than he was to see them, which gave Yaral a distinct advantage in that he got to strike first. He lashed out with his claws, catching one man across the cheek and while the other managed to get an arm up in time to protect his face.
Yaral's moment of smugness evaporated when neither man dropped to the floor in agony, and he swore again as he realized that they must have been inoculated against Hellcat venom. Well, fuck. That changed things a little, and he wondered who in the stars these guys worked for that they'd been given Hellcat antivenom. That stuff was not cheap, Yaral knew.
Still, just because his poison didn't work didn't mean his claws were useless. He ducked to one side and kicked ugly #1 into ugly #2, sending them both sprawling to the floor. They were both still scrambling for their weapons when he reached them and klunked their heads hard against the deckplates, sending them into blissful unconsciousness. Idiots. Obviously no one had ever taught them how to fight. Or maybe some moron had figured that a Hellcat's poison was his only weapon.
He snorted and left the imbecile trio where they were, moving deeper into the ship to the smaller cargo holds where the more valuable cargo was usually kept. Also, incidentally, situated not quite at the center of a Merchant Class ship.
There was one more human standing guard outside cargo hold B-2, and that one put up slightly more of a fight as he actually managed to get his weapon out before Yaral got to him. He still went down, sporting a few nasty claw marks that were going to require more than a few stitches, and Yaral took the liberty of relieving him of his keycard.
The cargo hold hatch slid open and Yaral made it all of two steps inside before stopping, entire body beginning to shake in fury, tail lashing wildly behind him as he screamed out his anger. The pitiful bundle of grey fabric and purple fur stirred, head lifting and eyes opening just the merest crack, slowly fixing on him. The lips parted, but only the barest whisper of sound came out.
Yaral was across the hold in two bounds, kneeling and gathering Zanson up into his arms with the utmost care, cringing when the slightest jostle drew a whimper from the beautiful Daneubian. He held Zanson to him as close as he could, growling and unable to help it, quite certain that the next person he saw on this ship was going to wind up dead in the most painful manner Yaral could devise.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately as he wasn't about to set Zanson down to fight, he encountered no more crewmembers on the way back out. He emerged through the outer hatch to find the outside situation hadn't changed much in the time he'd been in the ship. Kea'takovvi and his friends were cheerfully taunting the irate humans and occasionally ducking away from blows, doing a very good impression of insolent teenage delinquents. They looked up as he appeared, playfulness fading from their expressions and eyes narrowing, and Yaral nodded once, giving a low growl.
None of the three humans stood a chance, only one managing to get out a brief, startled scream before being cut off by Kea'takovvi's claws. All that came out after that was a wet gurgle, and even that soon faded as the life spilled out of the man to stain the earth crimson. It was over almost before it had begun, and Kea'takovvi wiped his claws off on the deceased men's clothing before approaching Yaral, the rest of his companions forming a loose semicircle around them.
"Is he okay, Yaral?" Kea'takovvi asked, wincing as he looked Zanson over. "He looks pretty bad..."
"I don't know yet," Yaral said quietly. "I'm going to take him back to his ship and call the medics from there. Can you take care of this ship?"
Kea'takovvi snorted. "It'll disappear for a bit, then show up again just in time to have a nice little accident. Don't worry about it. We take care of our own."
Yaral smiled faintly. "Thanks, Kea."
Kea'takovvi rolled his eyes. "Like I'd ever tell you no." His gaze flicked again to Zanson, cradled so carefully in Yaral's arms. "That the guy you've been sighing about for terms?" he asked.
Yaral looked down at Zanson, smiling sadly at the pain-drawn face. "Yeah," he said softly. "He is."
Kea'takovvi took a careful step back, then grinned. "So you'd better do something more than sigh this time, yeah?" he quipped, then turned and bolted, secure in the knowledge that Yaral wouldn't give chase while Zanson was in his arms.
Yaral shook his head fondly and turned, making his way back toward the Wishing Star while his cousin and his hooligans dealt with the dead men's ship.
Custom Class Star Ship #25118112, The Wishing Star
It was all too surreal to be true, but Zanson was fairly sure he'd never dream anything like what had been happening. Somehow Yaral had shown up and rescued him from that horrible ship, then there had been a strange conversation that he couldn't really remember beyond how nice it had been to hear Yaral's voice up close, and then he thought he must have passed out again because now he was on his ship and he couldn't remember at all how he'd gotten there.
Though Yaral must have had something to do with it, that much Zanson was certain, given that he could still hear and feel Yaral, though faintly, swearing at something. When he finally convinced his eyes to open as far as he could make them, he felt a faint smile cross his face despite the pain. Yaral was swearing at the computer.
He opened his mouth, though no words came out. Somewhat vexed, he swallowed a few times and tried again, irked when it came out little more than a whisper. Still, Hellcat hearing was excellent, and Yaral was already spinning around to face him where he'd been propped up in his flight chair before he'd gotten more than two words out.
"Med systems, fourth panel on right, call diagnostics scan."
Yaral stared at him blankly for a moment, then scrambled to find the proper panel, muttering darkly beneath his breath when it took him a minute to find it and figure out how to work it. Zanson would have chuckled if he hadn't known it would hurt too much, and even so he couldn't help a soft laugh when Yaral jumped as the medical probes emerged from the chair and began their work.
Almost immediately pain-blocks flooded through his system, and he sighed in quiet relief. The Wishing Star was too small to really do much, but it was enough to get him home to the more advanced systems on Telesta. And already the anti-inflammatories that had been injected into his bloodstream had muted the swelling enough that he could get his eyes all the way open.
He reached out, fingers moving surely across the familiar controls, inputting passcodes and authorizations until the main screen blanked out before coming up with four images, one at a time.
All four were Daneubian of various colors, the one in the upper-left's fur so pale with age that it was nearly white. All four of them started when they saw him, expressing quiet dismay that he forestalled with a slight gesture. They silenced, and he swallowed again to ease his throat.
"My friends," Zanson said softly, "Project Lethe has been compromised."
Almost immediately came the expected outburst, questions flying, the four voices speaking so quickly that the words all blurred together into an incoherent, jarring noise. Then the pale Daneubian barked out a few sharp words and the rest subsided, drawing a faint smile from Zanson.
"Thank you, Urisel."
The pale Daneubian nodded. "You're welcome, Zanson." His expression clouded, concern and worry warring for dominance. "What happened? You look..." Urisel gestured helplessly.
"I'm all right now," Zanson said softly. "They caught me while I was heading back to my ship, and questioned me repeatedly over the location of 'Daneub's hidden tech.' They seemed fairly certain it existed, despite my repeated denials and explanation of the current state of things." He folded his hands together in his lap, looking over each face one at a time. "I don't need to tell you what that means."
Four matching grim expressions met his gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. It was Urisel who responded, shaking his head slowly. "Until we figure out how the information got out, I suggest you change all access signatures to yours alone, Zanson. You are the only person whose household the leak could not have come from, given that you don't actually, ah, have a household." He smiled faintly in apology.
Zanson chuckled quietly. "No offense taken, Urisel. I like my solitude." He nodded to each of them in turn. "Good luck, my friends. Let us hope that we can silence this rumor before things get out of hand. Peace be with you."
The other Daneubians bid him farewell, then the screens darkened one at a time. When the last of them was gone, Zanson took a few slow breaths to steady himself before turning his chair slowly around to where Yaral was watching him in confusion. This was one of those moments when he almost wished he left his fur long rather than cutting it so unfashionably short, as long fur would better hide the flush he could feel spreading across his face.
He was alone in his ship. With Yaral. Who had rescued him. And was now watching him with an expression Zanson had never quite seen before, so intense that he couldn't quite meet it, dropping his gaze instead to the floor.
"Thank you," Zanson mumbled to Yaral's feet.
There was a period of silence, in which Zanson struggled not to fidget, then Yaral shifted slightly and spoke, sounding puzzled. "Why do you always leave before the meeting is over?" he asked.
Zanson jerked his head up, startled, staring at Yaral's golden eyes. "You... noticed me?"
Those gleaming golden eyes widened briefly, then it was Yaral's turn to look away, his own cheeks coloring beneath his short reddish fur. Always it was so hard to sense Hellcat emotions. Most Daneubians had given up even trying, save for those, like Zanson, who already knew it was possible. Yaral's feelings were like a gentle balm, even as they jumbled and danced around one another, all mixed together in a highly confusing manner. It was... pleasant.
"I..." Yaral drew in a slow breath, then carefully straightened as he turned back to meet Zanson's eyes. "I always noticed you. I always come back to Peligir City because that's where the spaceport is that you land at..." He lowered his gaze, voice softening to barely a whisper. "That's where you are."
Zanson stared, his own emotions as confused and tangled as Yaral's. "I... you... really?"
Yaral flushed again. "Yeah," he admitted quietly.
"But... but I'm boring!" Zanson protested. "Nothing like... like..." He gestured helplessly at Yaral.
Yaral's brow creased, and Zanson could feel a thread of confusion dominating the rest of Yaral's emotions. "You're smart, and knowledgeable, and respected, and... and..." His blush deepened. "And beautiful. Who wouldn't notice you?"
Zanson blinked slowly, running over things in his head before coming to a very important decision. He carefully got to his feet, pleased that he didn't even sway, and stood right in front of Yaral. "May I be terribly forward?" he asked.
Yaral blinked at him in confusion, all those emotions whirling again, then he cautiously nodded. "Yes?"
Slowly, deliberately, Zanson gripped the thick material of Yaral's jacket and pulled him down, tipping his own head back so that their lips met inbetween. Soft and hesitant at first, a question given physical form, it shifted into something hot and consuming and all-encompassing as Yaral pulled him close, arms encircling him loosely, mindful of his injuries.
One kiss melted into another, then another, before Zanson broke off to shove Yaral into his chair, climbing into his lap to straddle his legs and reclaim that delicious mouth. He could feel a rumble reverberating throughout his entire body as Yaral purred in pleasure beneath him, hands that could kill a person in minutes stroking so gently up and down the length of his back, both over and under his shirt.
A growing uncomfortableness in his pants reminded him of certain minor details, and Zanson muttered darkly as he pulled away from Yaral, shifting around in the Hellcat's lap until he was facing the console. Behind him he could feel Yaral's tingle of curiosity and answered it aloud. "Not enough room on the ship."
With the ease of long familiarity, Zanson sent the Wishing Star up into the atmosphere and beyond, toward the all but deserted Research Station he called home. Once the ship was locked on course, he swung back around and resumed his position from before, straddling Yaral's thighs.
"Now then," he murmured, pressing close, "Where were we?"
Planet #4145212-3554E (Fifth moon of Daneub), Research & Monitoring Station Telesta
This was a dream. It had to be a dream. He'd been watching, longing, for what seemed like forever, wanting something he thought he'd never have, and now... now he was standing quietly in a corner of a research station very few had ever seen, and even fewer had permanent access to, watching the man he'd dreamed about for more years than he could remember carefully shrug out of his clothing and seat himself in what he'd called a medical cradle.
It didn't look like anything Yaral had ever seen before, but he was starting to get used to that. The walk from the Wishing Star to the medical room had been more than a little disorienting, and it had taken him nearly the entire trip to remember that the Telesta station was a remnant of Daneub's more technological past. Expecting it to look like the IG equipment he was familiar with was foolish.
Still, he'd discovered it wasn't quite so disorienting if he pretended none of his surroundings were really there and concentrated only on Zanson.
Beautiful, graceful, perfect Zanson. Who even with injuries that made Yaral wince in sympathy managed to move with a quiet sort of poise and dignity. Who watched him when he thought Yaral wasn't looking, the desire in his deep garnet eyes matching and stoking Yaral's own. Whose every move made Yaral want to kiss him senseless.
Amongst other things.
Zanson was one of the few Daneubians who spurned the popular fashion of keeping his silky purple fur long (Some of them actually had to pin their head fur back or they couldn't see!) and kept it cropped close enough to his body that it was only a little bit longer than Hellcat fur. That made it very easy to see and admire the sleek lines of his body, though it made it very difficult not to touch, not to run his hands along the sleek softness of that vibrant fur, petting, caressing...
He hoped whatever Zanson was doing sitting naked in that medical thing didn't take long. Even without being able to touch he was so hard it felt like his pants were going to leave permanent marks where his dick was pressing up against them. Yaral shifted subtly, trying to make it a little less painful, knowing he'd failed in the subtlety department when Zanson's head came up and those deep red eyes met his own.
Zanson's lips curved up into an amused smile. "It won't be much longer," he said, gaze freely running over Yaral's body, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. "If I could make this thing work any faster, I would."
Yaral made a sound low in his throat and shifted again, because that hadn't helped the tightness in his pants at all. It was an agony to just wait and watch and want, knowing he was allowed to touch now and still unable to. He didn't know how long he waited, though it felt like an eternity, before Zanson was finally sitting up and sliding out of the chair-cradle-thing, walking toward him, arms wrapping around his neck, still completely nude.
Moaning low, tail twitching restlessly back and forth, Yaral pulled them flush together and bent his head to claim Zanson's mouth, the flavor like ambrosia, heady and dizzying and absolutely perfect. Kissing Zanson only got better; that mouth and those lips were like a drug that he couldn't get enough of, so very much better than he'd ever imagined. At least before, when he'd merely been longing from afar, he hadn't truly known what he was missing. This last drought had been sheer torture.
He broke the kiss when it was either that or go without air, and he was seriously tempted to just forgo breathing altogether, but Zanson was already slipping from his embrace and pulling him out of the medical room, making his way easily through the empty station hallways and through a small doorway before stopping, his face rapidly heating.
"Oh..." Zanson breathed in embarrassment, looking away rather than meeting Yaral's eyes. "I... ah..."
A large portion of the room was covered in monitor screens, and most of those were on, showing a variety of stills and vids - of him. Newscasts, meetings, all kinds of events where someone had taken pictures. Nothing personal or private, all public appearances, but the sheer quantity was rather impressive.
All the screens went dark at once, and Yaral twisted to find Zanson with his hand on a wall panel, still flushed and looking rather studiously at the floor. Yaral smiled and walked over to him, running his hands through the longish purple strands on top of Zanson's head.
"It really is a pity," Yaral mused, "That it took you getting yourself kidnapped to get what we both obviously wanted..."
Zanson's head came up quickly, garnet eyes wide, and Yaral found himself grinning. "Remind me to show you my collection of research reports some time," he said with a wink. "Pretty sure I have all of them that you released to the general public..."
"I guess that makes us both rather pathetic," Zanson laughed faintly.
"I prefer to describe myself as hopelessly obsessed," Yaral stated mildly, sliding his arms around Zanson's waist. "And I see a rather comfortable-looking bed over there where I can prove just how obsessed I am. If there are no objections."
Zanson smiled slowly and began walking backward toward the article of furniture in question, never quite leaving the circle of Yaral's arms. "Oh, please do."
Something was different, but it was hard to drag himself up out of the pleasant bliss he'd been floating in to figure out what it was. He was warm and content, curled up against a sleek, powerful body that he'd gotten to know rather well, over and over and over again, listening to the beat of Yaral's heart in the darkness, interspersed with slow, steady breaths. Beyond he could hear the faint hum of machinery, and he knew if he opened his eyes there would be tiny spots of colored light dotting the otherwise lightless room.
He didn't open his eyes just yet, concentrating instead on what was different. It was small, subtle, but important. He felt truly relaxed for the first time in memory, and he was fairly certain it wasn't just because he'd gotten laid. Repeatedly.
Though that was a good part of it.
Next to him (and partially under him, given how he was lying) he could feel the bright, easy glow of Yaral's contentment, with smaller bubbles of lust, awe, and a rather strong possessiveness mixed in. It made him smile, and for the first time in his life he was glad that his magics were so strong. Hellcats were almost impossible to sense. Not quite as impossible as humans, but hard enough that most people believed them to be totally non-magics-capable.
Which wasn't quite accurate, as Zanson was in a position to know, but it was the generally-held belief. His cursedly strong magics forced him to hide from society, but at the same time let him feel the presence of the one person in the universe who mattered most. At the moment, he was willing to call that a fair trade-off.
No, more than fair. Zanson's eyes snapped open in the dark, tears pricking at them before he firmly shut them again. Now he realized what was different. For so many terms he'd lived alone, cut off from the rest of his people lest the constant press of emotions drive him insane. The solitude, however, hadn't been much better. Daneubians were not made to live alone. Their empathic magics made them closer to each other, to life, than most races. To not be a part of that, to be so terribly, completely alone, had been killing him one day at a time.
But Yaral, Yaral didn't overwhelm him. Zanson could sense him, but only just. And most importantly, he wasn't alone.
Suddenly unsettled, Zanson slipped out from underneath Yaral's arm and out of bed, making his way through the darkened station to the control room. He slid into his seat, switching everything out of standby and looking over his screens for anything out of the ordinary. All was quiet, peaceful. Including the Lethe Project.
He sat back with a soft sigh, rubbing his head just above his ears. Faintly, like a distant caress, he could still feel Yaral. A tiny, beautiful light in his dark world. What was it going to be like, when Yaral returned to the stars and Zanson was alone again? It hurt too much to think about.
Returning all systems to standby mode, Zanson paced back through the quiet hallways of the station to his room, standing in the doorway and looking over the tall, powerful figure lying in his bed. He'd desired this man for more terms than he could remember. And he'd gotten him, at long last. But he was insane if he thought he could keep a Hellcat. While their wanderlust wasn't as strong as in some species, they possessed a curiosity almost as powerful as the Daneubians' and it tended to drive them out into the stars to see what there was to see.
No Hellcat would be happy cooped up in an abandoned lunar research station. Especially not Yaral'nkoma, who flitted from place to place so frequently that he'd never kept a single job for more than two months at a time. He'd been practically everywhere and seen everything, and there was still so much more yet to be seen. No, Yaral would never be happy here.
Lost in his private misery, he didn't notice the shifting in Yaral's emotions until the Hellcat lifted his head, golden eyes gleaming in the dark. "Zanson?" he queried.
Zanson forced a smile onto his face, knowing that Yaral's Hellcat eyesight would easily see it in the darkness. "I was checking some systems. I suppose I ought to go reset Lethe's passcodes too..."
Yaral sat up straighter, reaching out an arm toward him, and Zanson was helpless to resist that pull. He found himself seated in Yaral's lap, his head against Yaral's shoulder while the Hellcat petted him idly. "What is Lethe?" Yaral asked.
Lifting his head from Yaral's shoulder, Zanson smiled faintly up at the Hellcat. "You do realize you are sworn to secrecy on that, I hope."
Yaral snorted. "There's only one person I'd ever want to tell, and that person already knows," he replied, the tips of his claws running lightly down Zanson's back and making him shiver.
And blush. "Oh."
He heard a soft chuckle, then warm lips were pressed against his, Yaral's kisses scattering his thoughts and leaving him unable to do anything but feel. Better than even in his most private of fantasies, hot and possessive and overwhelming in a way that only ever left him aching for more.
Then he was standing, one clawed hand carefully holding his shoulder to keep him balanced, with absolutely no clue of how he'd gotten there or why he was up and not still in Yaral's lap where he belonged.
"You were going to go fix your secret thing," Yaral said, voice thick with the amusement Zanson could feel. "I distracted you."
"I'd rather stay distracted," Zanson muttered, though he did bring the lights up so he could locate clothing and shrug into it. However much he didn't want to. He did, however, draw the line with Yaral, insisting that the pants would do just fine and the shirt and jacket weren't necessary. Considering the kiss he got in response, he rather suspected that Yaral didn't mind at all.
Back on the Wishing Star, Zanson initiated start-up procedures and laid in a flight path, jumping a little when hands landed on his shoulders and began kneading gently. He managed to keep his wits about him, though only just, and his eyes kept wanting to close.
"You are very distracting," he muttered.
"Thank you," Yaral laughed, leaning down over the back of Zanson's chair to kiss his cheek. "I will take that as a compliment."
Zanson chuckled softly. "Oh, it was." He engaged the ship's secondary drive, making the brief acceleration necessary to catch up with Daneub's third moon. Neither the largest nor the smallest, with no interesting geological features, very little attention was given to it.
Which was exactly as it should be.
The moon's surface was covered with craters, some considerably larger than others, and it was toward one of the large ones that the Wishing Star headed. This was where things got a little tricky, and he reluctantly had to get Yaral to release his shoulders so that he could keep all of his attention on piloting. The surface of the moon crept closer and closer, until for a brief moment it looked as though they were going to crash right into it and Yaral's tension spiked, before Zanson made a sharp turn and brought the ship down inside a jagged crack in the surface that was nearly impossible to see from the air - unless you already knew where it was.
As they passed deeper into the chasm beneath the moon's surface, Zanson could feel Yaral's tension ease slightly, though it didn't completely go away. Zanson couldn't really blame him. He'd made this trip hundreds of times and it still made him nervous. But, he supposed, it meant there was that much less of a chance that someone would stumble across it accidentally.
Only half a kilometer left... a quarter... less than a hundred meters... there. The narrow chasm opened up, and the Wishing Star's forward lights illuminated a massive circular hatch that could easily admit a ship fifty times the size of the Wishing Star. All around the perimeter of the hatch were tiny red lights set at even intervals apart, glowing dimly in the stygian gloom. Zanson's hands flew across the controls, transmitting the proper access codes. A moment later a pleasant voice came over the ship's speakers, politely inquiring, "Identification?"
"Zanson sa Dirmark."
"Voice print verified. Passcode?"
Zanson flushed and shot a brief glance over his shoulder before responding. "Yaral'nkoma."
As the system acknowledged the passcode, Yaral started laughing quietly. Zanson ignored him, entire face burning, and concentrated instead on the hatch that was rapidly irising open. He moved the Wishing Star past the iris and set it down gently on the landing pad. A few commands later re-closed the hatch and the inner bay began to pressurize, before Zanson swung his chair reluctantly around to face a smirking Yaral.
"Yaral'nkoma?" Yaral asked.
Zanson flushed hotter. "I forgot about that..."
Yaral chuckled but let it go, following Zanson to the door and blinking curiously as it was opened. "You pressurize the entire bay?"
Zanson shrugged. "It works that way. There's no other way to access the inner doors, so even if someone got past the outer hatch, they wouldn't be able to pressurize the bay without proper authorization."
"That's a lot of security," Yaral said, frowning. "Just what are you hiding in here?"
Zanson smiled faintly. "You'll see."
He led Yaral out of the ship and across the empty bay to what was probably the strangest-looking access terminal the Hellcat had ever seen. Zanson was used to it, but Zanson had been one of its guardians for a long time. He reached up, placing his hand against a featureless section.
"Access requested. Identification Zanson sa Dirmark. One companion."
The terminal lit up in a myriad of colors, scanning them both, then a single light illuminated. Zanson ignored it for the moment, instead manipulating other sections, carefully resetting all access codes and bio-scans to accept his only. The lights blinked once in acknowledgement when he was done, and only then did he touch the confirmation light.
Seams appeared in the formerly featureless wall, large sections sliding open to reveal a wide, open hallway beyond. Zanson smiled and gestured. "Shall we?"
To his somewhat-embarrassed pleasure, Yaral twined his fingers with Zanson's own before going in. He was intensely curious, Zanson could feel, as well as a little nervous and content all at the same time. Zanson wondered if he ever felt just one thing at a time, or if he was always so amazingly complicated.
Then Yaral stopped, shock flickering through him, and Zanson had to set aside his contemplation of Yaral in order to pay attention to where he was. A wide, circular room with more monitoring screens than the entire Telesta station possessed on one side, and a thick, clear field on the other, behind which was an enormous hollow chamber filled will all manner of unidentifiable things.
"What..." Yaral licked his lips slowly. "What is all this?"
Zanson shrugged, leading him over to the clear viewing window and reaching up to lay one hand against the energy field. "I don't know."
Surprise. Puzzlement. Yaral looked down at him and blinked. "You guard it, but you don't know what it is?" he asked.
"I know what some of it is," Zanson clarified, "But only a tiny portion. I like to read the archive files when I'm bored and have nothing better to do, but there's no real point other than idle curiosity." He looked out over the storage room, not really seeing it, his mind elsewhere. "Daneub has long been happier without its technology, free of those who would use us for war and other such purposes. It's better this way."
Though the surprise was gone, the puzzlement remained. "Then why keep it at all?" Yaral asked. "Especially if you're afraid someone will find it and use it..."
Zanson laughed, turning to look up at him with a smile. "Curiosity has ever been Daneub's weakness. Always we want to know. What is this? How does it work? What happened when?" He shook his head, smile turning rueful. "No Daneubian could ever destroy knowledge. Lose it, forget it, oh yes. But never destroy."
He turned away from the window, leading Yaral to the other side of the room where the screens waited, lighting up at his approach. "Indeed, I and the other watchers have been adding to the knowledge kept here, as have those who came before us, and those who will come after. The entire history of Daneub and its peoples is recorded here." Zanson paused, then smiled slowly as he looked up at Yaral. "Including all of your travels."
Yaral smiled faintly, his emotions still a tangled whirl, fingers tightly interwoven with Zanson's. He was silent for a long moment as he thought over all that he'd been told, and Zanson waited while those confused feelings settled themselves out. After a few moments Yaral frowned, pulling Zanson closer as he looked around at the room again.
"I don't even know exactly what is contained here, but it terrifies me to think of what might happen if some of the... less amicable elements in the universe were to get ahold of it," he said quietly.
"Because it is Daneub's there is very little here in the way of weaponry," Zanson pointed out, "But I do not believe it would be that hard for one of those, as you put it, less amicable elements to modify were they truly determined."
Strong arms wrapped around him, Yaral holding him close. "Yes. Best to leave it lost," he said quietly, a prickle of something - anticipation and nervousness? - flickering through him before he spoke again. "I'll help you keep it safe, if you want..."
Surprised, Zanson looked up, meeting those fascinating golden eyes. There was no deceit whatsoever in Yaral, only that uncertainty and a strong desire. Desire that strengthened when Zanson slid his own arms around Yaral's waist.
"I thought... I thought you'd still want to roam. You've never stayed put in one place before..." Zanson said faintly.
Embarrassment flooded Yaral, though the only external sign he gave was a slight ducking of his head so that he was no longer meeting Zanson's eyes. "All I ever wanted was to get your attention. I only ever seemed to have it when I brought back stories, so..."
Zanson flushed, hiding his face against the curve of Yaral's neck. "You have it now," he mumbled, blushing further. Oh did Yaral have it.
Mischief. Lust. A certain playfulness. "So, with all the stuff in this place, I don't suppose anyone thought to install a bed?" Yaral asked.
Zanson looked up, knowing his face was still hot and not really caring. "No," he replied slowly, sliding his hands up Yaral's chest to wrap around his neck, "But I made sure there was lube on the ship, and if you want I'd be more than happy to give you a lap dance on the ride back."
Yaral growled, low, a delicious sliver of possessiveness in it that wasn't helping the state of Zanson's pants at all, then abruptly Zanson was being kissed hard and picked up all at once, Yaral striding down the hallway toward the ship as fast as he could move without running.
Part One here
---
Merchant Class Star Ship #21225254, The Babylon
Any other time or place, Yaral would have found the sight of fifteen Hellcats gleefully throwing rocks at a star ship to be hysterically funny. He suspected he'd still find it incredibly amusing once his anger wore off, but for the time being he could think of nothing but getting inside that ship and finding Zanson. He'd found the ship with little difficulty, but getting inside it had proven to be slightly trickier. Of course, there was a reason the saying "Craftier than a Daneubian Hellcat" had been coined.
As he watched, the main hatch slid open and three men rushed out, their jaws hanging open in disbelief at the sight before them before tightening into anger.
"Hey! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" the middle one spat.
One of the Hellcats, a rather striking tri-color tom named Kea'takovvi, broke away from the others and sauntered over to meet the trio, flanked by two more toms and a female with a jagged ear. He stopped a few meters from the hatch, crossing his arms and smirking with all the cocky deviousness that came with being out of the kitten years, but not yet an adult.
"Well hey there Gramps," Kea'takovvi greeted, smirking. "Nice bookends. They must give some totally awesome head, cause I sure as fuck wouldn't wanna keep them around to look at."
Yaral bit his lip so that he wouldn't laugh, but it was a close thing. When he'd asked Kea'takovvi to provide a 'creative distraction' he'd known it was going to be interesting. Seems he'd been right.
"Who the..." Heavy feet clumped away from the ship as the human trio advanced on Kea'takovvi and his friends, though one broke away to go yell at the Hellcats that were still throwing rocks.
"Who the fuck are you?" the short man snarled. "Get the fuck away from my ship!"
Kea'takovvi laughed, looking entirely at ease as he faced down the furious human. "I am the Master of this Turf," he declared, throwing his arms wide, "And I have declared that your ugly-ass ship needs to get out of my territory."
The human stared at him. "Your... You smartass little punk!" he screamed, looking as though he'd like nothing better than to smack the smirk off Kea'takovvi's face but somehow restraining himself. "This is a public fucking dockyard! So you and your little hellions get the fuck away from my ship before I fucking lose my temper!"
Kea'takovvi laughed again, and Yaral only heard the first part of his retort - "Dude, you already lost your temper!" - before he'd managed to slip inside the ship while the human trio was otherwise occupied with Kea'takovvi and his miscreant friends.
Inside looked much like any other merchant ship he'd ever been in. He immediately turned right, pacing down the hallway to where he knew the smaller cargo lift was located, taking it down a level and swearing when the doors opened up to reveal two more rather ugly excuses for humans. Fortunately they were considerably more surprised to see him than he was to see them, which gave Yaral a distinct advantage in that he got to strike first. He lashed out with his claws, catching one man across the cheek and while the other managed to get an arm up in time to protect his face.
Yaral's moment of smugness evaporated when neither man dropped to the floor in agony, and he swore again as he realized that they must have been inoculated against Hellcat venom. Well, fuck. That changed things a little, and he wondered who in the stars these guys worked for that they'd been given Hellcat antivenom. That stuff was not cheap, Yaral knew.
Still, just because his poison didn't work didn't mean his claws were useless. He ducked to one side and kicked ugly #1 into ugly #2, sending them both sprawling to the floor. They were both still scrambling for their weapons when he reached them and klunked their heads hard against the deckplates, sending them into blissful unconsciousness. Idiots. Obviously no one had ever taught them how to fight. Or maybe some moron had figured that a Hellcat's poison was his only weapon.
He snorted and left the imbecile trio where they were, moving deeper into the ship to the smaller cargo holds where the more valuable cargo was usually kept. Also, incidentally, situated not quite at the center of a Merchant Class ship.
There was one more human standing guard outside cargo hold B-2, and that one put up slightly more of a fight as he actually managed to get his weapon out before Yaral got to him. He still went down, sporting a few nasty claw marks that were going to require more than a few stitches, and Yaral took the liberty of relieving him of his keycard.
The cargo hold hatch slid open and Yaral made it all of two steps inside before stopping, entire body beginning to shake in fury, tail lashing wildly behind him as he screamed out his anger. The pitiful bundle of grey fabric and purple fur stirred, head lifting and eyes opening just the merest crack, slowly fixing on him. The lips parted, but only the barest whisper of sound came out.
Yaral was across the hold in two bounds, kneeling and gathering Zanson up into his arms with the utmost care, cringing when the slightest jostle drew a whimper from the beautiful Daneubian. He held Zanson to him as close as he could, growling and unable to help it, quite certain that the next person he saw on this ship was going to wind up dead in the most painful manner Yaral could devise.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately as he wasn't about to set Zanson down to fight, he encountered no more crewmembers on the way back out. He emerged through the outer hatch to find the outside situation hadn't changed much in the time he'd been in the ship. Kea'takovvi and his friends were cheerfully taunting the irate humans and occasionally ducking away from blows, doing a very good impression of insolent teenage delinquents. They looked up as he appeared, playfulness fading from their expressions and eyes narrowing, and Yaral nodded once, giving a low growl.
None of the three humans stood a chance, only one managing to get out a brief, startled scream before being cut off by Kea'takovvi's claws. All that came out after that was a wet gurgle, and even that soon faded as the life spilled out of the man to stain the earth crimson. It was over almost before it had begun, and Kea'takovvi wiped his claws off on the deceased men's clothing before approaching Yaral, the rest of his companions forming a loose semicircle around them.
"Is he okay, Yaral?" Kea'takovvi asked, wincing as he looked Zanson over. "He looks pretty bad..."
"I don't know yet," Yaral said quietly. "I'm going to take him back to his ship and call the medics from there. Can you take care of this ship?"
Kea'takovvi snorted. "It'll disappear for a bit, then show up again just in time to have a nice little accident. Don't worry about it. We take care of our own."
Yaral smiled faintly. "Thanks, Kea."
Kea'takovvi rolled his eyes. "Like I'd ever tell you no." His gaze flicked again to Zanson, cradled so carefully in Yaral's arms. "That the guy you've been sighing about for terms?" he asked.
Yaral looked down at Zanson, smiling sadly at the pain-drawn face. "Yeah," he said softly. "He is."
Kea'takovvi took a careful step back, then grinned. "So you'd better do something more than sigh this time, yeah?" he quipped, then turned and bolted, secure in the knowledge that Yaral wouldn't give chase while Zanson was in his arms.
Yaral shook his head fondly and turned, making his way back toward the Wishing Star while his cousin and his hooligans dealt with the dead men's ship.
Custom Class Star Ship #25118112, The Wishing Star
It was all too surreal to be true, but Zanson was fairly sure he'd never dream anything like what had been happening. Somehow Yaral had shown up and rescued him from that horrible ship, then there had been a strange conversation that he couldn't really remember beyond how nice it had been to hear Yaral's voice up close, and then he thought he must have passed out again because now he was on his ship and he couldn't remember at all how he'd gotten there.
Though Yaral must have had something to do with it, that much Zanson was certain, given that he could still hear and feel Yaral, though faintly, swearing at something. When he finally convinced his eyes to open as far as he could make them, he felt a faint smile cross his face despite the pain. Yaral was swearing at the computer.
He opened his mouth, though no words came out. Somewhat vexed, he swallowed a few times and tried again, irked when it came out little more than a whisper. Still, Hellcat hearing was excellent, and Yaral was already spinning around to face him where he'd been propped up in his flight chair before he'd gotten more than two words out.
"Med systems, fourth panel on right, call diagnostics scan."
Yaral stared at him blankly for a moment, then scrambled to find the proper panel, muttering darkly beneath his breath when it took him a minute to find it and figure out how to work it. Zanson would have chuckled if he hadn't known it would hurt too much, and even so he couldn't help a soft laugh when Yaral jumped as the medical probes emerged from the chair and began their work.
Almost immediately pain-blocks flooded through his system, and he sighed in quiet relief. The Wishing Star was too small to really do much, but it was enough to get him home to the more advanced systems on Telesta. And already the anti-inflammatories that had been injected into his bloodstream had muted the swelling enough that he could get his eyes all the way open.
He reached out, fingers moving surely across the familiar controls, inputting passcodes and authorizations until the main screen blanked out before coming up with four images, one at a time.
All four were Daneubian of various colors, the one in the upper-left's fur so pale with age that it was nearly white. All four of them started when they saw him, expressing quiet dismay that he forestalled with a slight gesture. They silenced, and he swallowed again to ease his throat.
"My friends," Zanson said softly, "Project Lethe has been compromised."
Almost immediately came the expected outburst, questions flying, the four voices speaking so quickly that the words all blurred together into an incoherent, jarring noise. Then the pale Daneubian barked out a few sharp words and the rest subsided, drawing a faint smile from Zanson.
"Thank you, Urisel."
The pale Daneubian nodded. "You're welcome, Zanson." His expression clouded, concern and worry warring for dominance. "What happened? You look..." Urisel gestured helplessly.
"I'm all right now," Zanson said softly. "They caught me while I was heading back to my ship, and questioned me repeatedly over the location of 'Daneub's hidden tech.' They seemed fairly certain it existed, despite my repeated denials and explanation of the current state of things." He folded his hands together in his lap, looking over each face one at a time. "I don't need to tell you what that means."
Four matching grim expressions met his gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. It was Urisel who responded, shaking his head slowly. "Until we figure out how the information got out, I suggest you change all access signatures to yours alone, Zanson. You are the only person whose household the leak could not have come from, given that you don't actually, ah, have a household." He smiled faintly in apology.
Zanson chuckled quietly. "No offense taken, Urisel. I like my solitude." He nodded to each of them in turn. "Good luck, my friends. Let us hope that we can silence this rumor before things get out of hand. Peace be with you."
The other Daneubians bid him farewell, then the screens darkened one at a time. When the last of them was gone, Zanson took a few slow breaths to steady himself before turning his chair slowly around to where Yaral was watching him in confusion. This was one of those moments when he almost wished he left his fur long rather than cutting it so unfashionably short, as long fur would better hide the flush he could feel spreading across his face.
He was alone in his ship. With Yaral. Who had rescued him. And was now watching him with an expression Zanson had never quite seen before, so intense that he couldn't quite meet it, dropping his gaze instead to the floor.
"Thank you," Zanson mumbled to Yaral's feet.
There was a period of silence, in which Zanson struggled not to fidget, then Yaral shifted slightly and spoke, sounding puzzled. "Why do you always leave before the meeting is over?" he asked.
Zanson jerked his head up, startled, staring at Yaral's golden eyes. "You... noticed me?"
Those gleaming golden eyes widened briefly, then it was Yaral's turn to look away, his own cheeks coloring beneath his short reddish fur. Always it was so hard to sense Hellcat emotions. Most Daneubians had given up even trying, save for those, like Zanson, who already knew it was possible. Yaral's feelings were like a gentle balm, even as they jumbled and danced around one another, all mixed together in a highly confusing manner. It was... pleasant.
"I..." Yaral drew in a slow breath, then carefully straightened as he turned back to meet Zanson's eyes. "I always noticed you. I always come back to Peligir City because that's where the spaceport is that you land at..." He lowered his gaze, voice softening to barely a whisper. "That's where you are."
Zanson stared, his own emotions as confused and tangled as Yaral's. "I... you... really?"
Yaral flushed again. "Yeah," he admitted quietly.
"But... but I'm boring!" Zanson protested. "Nothing like... like..." He gestured helplessly at Yaral.
Yaral's brow creased, and Zanson could feel a thread of confusion dominating the rest of Yaral's emotions. "You're smart, and knowledgeable, and respected, and... and..." His blush deepened. "And beautiful. Who wouldn't notice you?"
Zanson blinked slowly, running over things in his head before coming to a very important decision. He carefully got to his feet, pleased that he didn't even sway, and stood right in front of Yaral. "May I be terribly forward?" he asked.
Yaral blinked at him in confusion, all those emotions whirling again, then he cautiously nodded. "Yes?"
Slowly, deliberately, Zanson gripped the thick material of Yaral's jacket and pulled him down, tipping his own head back so that their lips met inbetween. Soft and hesitant at first, a question given physical form, it shifted into something hot and consuming and all-encompassing as Yaral pulled him close, arms encircling him loosely, mindful of his injuries.
One kiss melted into another, then another, before Zanson broke off to shove Yaral into his chair, climbing into his lap to straddle his legs and reclaim that delicious mouth. He could feel a rumble reverberating throughout his entire body as Yaral purred in pleasure beneath him, hands that could kill a person in minutes stroking so gently up and down the length of his back, both over and under his shirt.
A growing uncomfortableness in his pants reminded him of certain minor details, and Zanson muttered darkly as he pulled away from Yaral, shifting around in the Hellcat's lap until he was facing the console. Behind him he could feel Yaral's tingle of curiosity and answered it aloud. "Not enough room on the ship."
With the ease of long familiarity, Zanson sent the Wishing Star up into the atmosphere and beyond, toward the all but deserted Research Station he called home. Once the ship was locked on course, he swung back around and resumed his position from before, straddling Yaral's thighs.
"Now then," he murmured, pressing close, "Where were we?"
Planet #4145212-3554E (Fifth moon of Daneub), Research & Monitoring Station Telesta
This was a dream. It had to be a dream. He'd been watching, longing, for what seemed like forever, wanting something he thought he'd never have, and now... now he was standing quietly in a corner of a research station very few had ever seen, and even fewer had permanent access to, watching the man he'd dreamed about for more years than he could remember carefully shrug out of his clothing and seat himself in what he'd called a medical cradle.
It didn't look like anything Yaral had ever seen before, but he was starting to get used to that. The walk from the Wishing Star to the medical room had been more than a little disorienting, and it had taken him nearly the entire trip to remember that the Telesta station was a remnant of Daneub's more technological past. Expecting it to look like the IG equipment he was familiar with was foolish.
Still, he'd discovered it wasn't quite so disorienting if he pretended none of his surroundings were really there and concentrated only on Zanson.
Beautiful, graceful, perfect Zanson. Who even with injuries that made Yaral wince in sympathy managed to move with a quiet sort of poise and dignity. Who watched him when he thought Yaral wasn't looking, the desire in his deep garnet eyes matching and stoking Yaral's own. Whose every move made Yaral want to kiss him senseless.
Amongst other things.
Zanson was one of the few Daneubians who spurned the popular fashion of keeping his silky purple fur long (Some of them actually had to pin their head fur back or they couldn't see!) and kept it cropped close enough to his body that it was only a little bit longer than Hellcat fur. That made it very easy to see and admire the sleek lines of his body, though it made it very difficult not to touch, not to run his hands along the sleek softness of that vibrant fur, petting, caressing...
He hoped whatever Zanson was doing sitting naked in that medical thing didn't take long. Even without being able to touch he was so hard it felt like his pants were going to leave permanent marks where his dick was pressing up against them. Yaral shifted subtly, trying to make it a little less painful, knowing he'd failed in the subtlety department when Zanson's head came up and those deep red eyes met his own.
Zanson's lips curved up into an amused smile. "It won't be much longer," he said, gaze freely running over Yaral's body, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. "If I could make this thing work any faster, I would."
Yaral made a sound low in his throat and shifted again, because that hadn't helped the tightness in his pants at all. It was an agony to just wait and watch and want, knowing he was allowed to touch now and still unable to. He didn't know how long he waited, though it felt like an eternity, before Zanson was finally sitting up and sliding out of the chair-cradle-thing, walking toward him, arms wrapping around his neck, still completely nude.
Moaning low, tail twitching restlessly back and forth, Yaral pulled them flush together and bent his head to claim Zanson's mouth, the flavor like ambrosia, heady and dizzying and absolutely perfect. Kissing Zanson only got better; that mouth and those lips were like a drug that he couldn't get enough of, so very much better than he'd ever imagined. At least before, when he'd merely been longing from afar, he hadn't truly known what he was missing. This last drought had been sheer torture.
He broke the kiss when it was either that or go without air, and he was seriously tempted to just forgo breathing altogether, but Zanson was already slipping from his embrace and pulling him out of the medical room, making his way easily through the empty station hallways and through a small doorway before stopping, his face rapidly heating.
"Oh..." Zanson breathed in embarrassment, looking away rather than meeting Yaral's eyes. "I... ah..."
A large portion of the room was covered in monitor screens, and most of those were on, showing a variety of stills and vids - of him. Newscasts, meetings, all kinds of events where someone had taken pictures. Nothing personal or private, all public appearances, but the sheer quantity was rather impressive.
All the screens went dark at once, and Yaral twisted to find Zanson with his hand on a wall panel, still flushed and looking rather studiously at the floor. Yaral smiled and walked over to him, running his hands through the longish purple strands on top of Zanson's head.
"It really is a pity," Yaral mused, "That it took you getting yourself kidnapped to get what we both obviously wanted..."
Zanson's head came up quickly, garnet eyes wide, and Yaral found himself grinning. "Remind me to show you my collection of research reports some time," he said with a wink. "Pretty sure I have all of them that you released to the general public..."
"I guess that makes us both rather pathetic," Zanson laughed faintly.
"I prefer to describe myself as hopelessly obsessed," Yaral stated mildly, sliding his arms around Zanson's waist. "And I see a rather comfortable-looking bed over there where I can prove just how obsessed I am. If there are no objections."
Zanson smiled slowly and began walking backward toward the article of furniture in question, never quite leaving the circle of Yaral's arms. "Oh, please do."
Something was different, but it was hard to drag himself up out of the pleasant bliss he'd been floating in to figure out what it was. He was warm and content, curled up against a sleek, powerful body that he'd gotten to know rather well, over and over and over again, listening to the beat of Yaral's heart in the darkness, interspersed with slow, steady breaths. Beyond he could hear the faint hum of machinery, and he knew if he opened his eyes there would be tiny spots of colored light dotting the otherwise lightless room.
He didn't open his eyes just yet, concentrating instead on what was different. It was small, subtle, but important. He felt truly relaxed for the first time in memory, and he was fairly certain it wasn't just because he'd gotten laid. Repeatedly.
Though that was a good part of it.
Next to him (and partially under him, given how he was lying) he could feel the bright, easy glow of Yaral's contentment, with smaller bubbles of lust, awe, and a rather strong possessiveness mixed in. It made him smile, and for the first time in his life he was glad that his magics were so strong. Hellcats were almost impossible to sense. Not quite as impossible as humans, but hard enough that most people believed them to be totally non-magics-capable.
Which wasn't quite accurate, as Zanson was in a position to know, but it was the generally-held belief. His cursedly strong magics forced him to hide from society, but at the same time let him feel the presence of the one person in the universe who mattered most. At the moment, he was willing to call that a fair trade-off.
No, more than fair. Zanson's eyes snapped open in the dark, tears pricking at them before he firmly shut them again. Now he realized what was different. For so many terms he'd lived alone, cut off from the rest of his people lest the constant press of emotions drive him insane. The solitude, however, hadn't been much better. Daneubians were not made to live alone. Their empathic magics made them closer to each other, to life, than most races. To not be a part of that, to be so terribly, completely alone, had been killing him one day at a time.
But Yaral, Yaral didn't overwhelm him. Zanson could sense him, but only just. And most importantly, he wasn't alone.
Suddenly unsettled, Zanson slipped out from underneath Yaral's arm and out of bed, making his way through the darkened station to the control room. He slid into his seat, switching everything out of standby and looking over his screens for anything out of the ordinary. All was quiet, peaceful. Including the Lethe Project.
He sat back with a soft sigh, rubbing his head just above his ears. Faintly, like a distant caress, he could still feel Yaral. A tiny, beautiful light in his dark world. What was it going to be like, when Yaral returned to the stars and Zanson was alone again? It hurt too much to think about.
Returning all systems to standby mode, Zanson paced back through the quiet hallways of the station to his room, standing in the doorway and looking over the tall, powerful figure lying in his bed. He'd desired this man for more terms than he could remember. And he'd gotten him, at long last. But he was insane if he thought he could keep a Hellcat. While their wanderlust wasn't as strong as in some species, they possessed a curiosity almost as powerful as the Daneubians' and it tended to drive them out into the stars to see what there was to see.
No Hellcat would be happy cooped up in an abandoned lunar research station. Especially not Yaral'nkoma, who flitted from place to place so frequently that he'd never kept a single job for more than two months at a time. He'd been practically everywhere and seen everything, and there was still so much more yet to be seen. No, Yaral would never be happy here.
Lost in his private misery, he didn't notice the shifting in Yaral's emotions until the Hellcat lifted his head, golden eyes gleaming in the dark. "Zanson?" he queried.
Zanson forced a smile onto his face, knowing that Yaral's Hellcat eyesight would easily see it in the darkness. "I was checking some systems. I suppose I ought to go reset Lethe's passcodes too..."
Yaral sat up straighter, reaching out an arm toward him, and Zanson was helpless to resist that pull. He found himself seated in Yaral's lap, his head against Yaral's shoulder while the Hellcat petted him idly. "What is Lethe?" Yaral asked.
Lifting his head from Yaral's shoulder, Zanson smiled faintly up at the Hellcat. "You do realize you are sworn to secrecy on that, I hope."
Yaral snorted. "There's only one person I'd ever want to tell, and that person already knows," he replied, the tips of his claws running lightly down Zanson's back and making him shiver.
And blush. "Oh."
He heard a soft chuckle, then warm lips were pressed against his, Yaral's kisses scattering his thoughts and leaving him unable to do anything but feel. Better than even in his most private of fantasies, hot and possessive and overwhelming in a way that only ever left him aching for more.
Then he was standing, one clawed hand carefully holding his shoulder to keep him balanced, with absolutely no clue of how he'd gotten there or why he was up and not still in Yaral's lap where he belonged.
"You were going to go fix your secret thing," Yaral said, voice thick with the amusement Zanson could feel. "I distracted you."
"I'd rather stay distracted," Zanson muttered, though he did bring the lights up so he could locate clothing and shrug into it. However much he didn't want to. He did, however, draw the line with Yaral, insisting that the pants would do just fine and the shirt and jacket weren't necessary. Considering the kiss he got in response, he rather suspected that Yaral didn't mind at all.
Back on the Wishing Star, Zanson initiated start-up procedures and laid in a flight path, jumping a little when hands landed on his shoulders and began kneading gently. He managed to keep his wits about him, though only just, and his eyes kept wanting to close.
"You are very distracting," he muttered.
"Thank you," Yaral laughed, leaning down over the back of Zanson's chair to kiss his cheek. "I will take that as a compliment."
Zanson chuckled softly. "Oh, it was." He engaged the ship's secondary drive, making the brief acceleration necessary to catch up with Daneub's third moon. Neither the largest nor the smallest, with no interesting geological features, very little attention was given to it.
Which was exactly as it should be.
The moon's surface was covered with craters, some considerably larger than others, and it was toward one of the large ones that the Wishing Star headed. This was where things got a little tricky, and he reluctantly had to get Yaral to release his shoulders so that he could keep all of his attention on piloting. The surface of the moon crept closer and closer, until for a brief moment it looked as though they were going to crash right into it and Yaral's tension spiked, before Zanson made a sharp turn and brought the ship down inside a jagged crack in the surface that was nearly impossible to see from the air - unless you already knew where it was.
As they passed deeper into the chasm beneath the moon's surface, Zanson could feel Yaral's tension ease slightly, though it didn't completely go away. Zanson couldn't really blame him. He'd made this trip hundreds of times and it still made him nervous. But, he supposed, it meant there was that much less of a chance that someone would stumble across it accidentally.
Only half a kilometer left... a quarter... less than a hundred meters... there. The narrow chasm opened up, and the Wishing Star's forward lights illuminated a massive circular hatch that could easily admit a ship fifty times the size of the Wishing Star. All around the perimeter of the hatch were tiny red lights set at even intervals apart, glowing dimly in the stygian gloom. Zanson's hands flew across the controls, transmitting the proper access codes. A moment later a pleasant voice came over the ship's speakers, politely inquiring, "Identification?"
"Zanson sa Dirmark."
"Voice print verified. Passcode?"
Zanson flushed and shot a brief glance over his shoulder before responding. "Yaral'nkoma."
As the system acknowledged the passcode, Yaral started laughing quietly. Zanson ignored him, entire face burning, and concentrated instead on the hatch that was rapidly irising open. He moved the Wishing Star past the iris and set it down gently on the landing pad. A few commands later re-closed the hatch and the inner bay began to pressurize, before Zanson swung his chair reluctantly around to face a smirking Yaral.
"Yaral'nkoma?" Yaral asked.
Zanson flushed hotter. "I forgot about that..."
Yaral chuckled but let it go, following Zanson to the door and blinking curiously as it was opened. "You pressurize the entire bay?"
Zanson shrugged. "It works that way. There's no other way to access the inner doors, so even if someone got past the outer hatch, they wouldn't be able to pressurize the bay without proper authorization."
"That's a lot of security," Yaral said, frowning. "Just what are you hiding in here?"
Zanson smiled faintly. "You'll see."
He led Yaral out of the ship and across the empty bay to what was probably the strangest-looking access terminal the Hellcat had ever seen. Zanson was used to it, but Zanson had been one of its guardians for a long time. He reached up, placing his hand against a featureless section.
"Access requested. Identification Zanson sa Dirmark. One companion."
The terminal lit up in a myriad of colors, scanning them both, then a single light illuminated. Zanson ignored it for the moment, instead manipulating other sections, carefully resetting all access codes and bio-scans to accept his only. The lights blinked once in acknowledgement when he was done, and only then did he touch the confirmation light.
Seams appeared in the formerly featureless wall, large sections sliding open to reveal a wide, open hallway beyond. Zanson smiled and gestured. "Shall we?"
To his somewhat-embarrassed pleasure, Yaral twined his fingers with Zanson's own before going in. He was intensely curious, Zanson could feel, as well as a little nervous and content all at the same time. Zanson wondered if he ever felt just one thing at a time, or if he was always so amazingly complicated.
Then Yaral stopped, shock flickering through him, and Zanson had to set aside his contemplation of Yaral in order to pay attention to where he was. A wide, circular room with more monitoring screens than the entire Telesta station possessed on one side, and a thick, clear field on the other, behind which was an enormous hollow chamber filled will all manner of unidentifiable things.
"What..." Yaral licked his lips slowly. "What is all this?"
Zanson shrugged, leading him over to the clear viewing window and reaching up to lay one hand against the energy field. "I don't know."
Surprise. Puzzlement. Yaral looked down at him and blinked. "You guard it, but you don't know what it is?" he asked.
"I know what some of it is," Zanson clarified, "But only a tiny portion. I like to read the archive files when I'm bored and have nothing better to do, but there's no real point other than idle curiosity." He looked out over the storage room, not really seeing it, his mind elsewhere. "Daneub has long been happier without its technology, free of those who would use us for war and other such purposes. It's better this way."
Though the surprise was gone, the puzzlement remained. "Then why keep it at all?" Yaral asked. "Especially if you're afraid someone will find it and use it..."
Zanson laughed, turning to look up at him with a smile. "Curiosity has ever been Daneub's weakness. Always we want to know. What is this? How does it work? What happened when?" He shook his head, smile turning rueful. "No Daneubian could ever destroy knowledge. Lose it, forget it, oh yes. But never destroy."
He turned away from the window, leading Yaral to the other side of the room where the screens waited, lighting up at his approach. "Indeed, I and the other watchers have been adding to the knowledge kept here, as have those who came before us, and those who will come after. The entire history of Daneub and its peoples is recorded here." Zanson paused, then smiled slowly as he looked up at Yaral. "Including all of your travels."
Yaral smiled faintly, his emotions still a tangled whirl, fingers tightly interwoven with Zanson's. He was silent for a long moment as he thought over all that he'd been told, and Zanson waited while those confused feelings settled themselves out. After a few moments Yaral frowned, pulling Zanson closer as he looked around at the room again.
"I don't even know exactly what is contained here, but it terrifies me to think of what might happen if some of the... less amicable elements in the universe were to get ahold of it," he said quietly.
"Because it is Daneub's there is very little here in the way of weaponry," Zanson pointed out, "But I do not believe it would be that hard for one of those, as you put it, less amicable elements to modify were they truly determined."
Strong arms wrapped around him, Yaral holding him close. "Yes. Best to leave it lost," he said quietly, a prickle of something - anticipation and nervousness? - flickering through him before he spoke again. "I'll help you keep it safe, if you want..."
Surprised, Zanson looked up, meeting those fascinating golden eyes. There was no deceit whatsoever in Yaral, only that uncertainty and a strong desire. Desire that strengthened when Zanson slid his own arms around Yaral's waist.
"I thought... I thought you'd still want to roam. You've never stayed put in one place before..." Zanson said faintly.
Embarrassment flooded Yaral, though the only external sign he gave was a slight ducking of his head so that he was no longer meeting Zanson's eyes. "All I ever wanted was to get your attention. I only ever seemed to have it when I brought back stories, so..."
Zanson flushed, hiding his face against the curve of Yaral's neck. "You have it now," he mumbled, blushing further. Oh did Yaral have it.
Mischief. Lust. A certain playfulness. "So, with all the stuff in this place, I don't suppose anyone thought to install a bed?" Yaral asked.
Zanson looked up, knowing his face was still hot and not really caring. "No," he replied slowly, sliding his hands up Yaral's chest to wrap around his neck, "But I made sure there was lube on the ship, and if you want I'd be more than happy to give you a lap dance on the ride back."
Yaral growled, low, a delicious sliver of possessiveness in it that wasn't helping the state of Zanson's pants at all, then abruptly Zanson was being kissed hard and picked up all at once, Yaral striding down the hallway toward the ship as fast as he could move without running.