Fic: The Auction, Pike/Boyce PG-13
Title: The Auction
Fandom & Pairing: Star Trek AOS, Pike/Boyce
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Genre: humour
Word Count: around 3100
Beta: the indispensable imachar
Summary: With Captain Pike up for offer in a Starfleet charity auction, it seems that he might need rescuing from his cadet fangirls. But his rescuer may have ideas of his own.
Author's note: Phil Boyce is fancast as Mark Harmon. For tasty visuals of the Pike/Boyce phenomenon over the ages, click here. This pairing is officially owned by imachar with her amazing 'The Weight of a Man' series.
Chris Pike waited nervously in the wings, wiping sweaty palms surreptitiously down the side of the grey uniform pants. How the hell had he let himself be talked into this?
It was something of a come-down to the middle-ranking newbie at the Academy after all those years of being captain of his ship. Captain of his universe. His people a well-oiled machine under his command, united by trust and respect and years of hard-earned experience. His superiors many light-years away.
Of course his reputation preceded him. He was heir presumptive to that beautiful queen of a ship just beginning to transfer from the planning schematics to the reality of the Riverside shipyard. But there were four long years before he was at her helm, four long years for his reputation to lose its shine, for his rivals to outmaneuver him, for the politics of Starfleet Command to suffocate him.
He took a deep breath. He could do this. He was smart and disciplined and conscientious. And he could play politics with the best of them when he had to.
On the main stage the MC’s voice was rising to a crescendo. “600 credits, 700 credits, going for 700 credits. Any further offers? Going... going... gone for 700 credits!”
Laughter, applause, some ribald heckling. Chris shifted restlessly. Of course he had agreed when he’d been asked by an eager young thing from HR. He had realized he’d been had when he had seen the list of other candidates. Seen how few other members of the senior Academy staff were on it. But he also knew that it was part of being the new boy, taking the ribbing, playing the game, showing willing.
“And now gentlebeings, we have something very special on offer. Fresh from the command of the USS Yorktown, just landed after five long, cold, lonely years in deep space...” Cue the meaningful pause. Cue the laughter. “Most recent recipient of the Archer Award for heroism in the field. Brought in to shake up recruiting at Starfleet. Could he be the one to valiantly recruit you for the cause?” More laughter. Shouts of “hell, yeah!”
“Gentlebeings, let’s give it up for Captain Christopher Pike!” He strode confidently out onto the stage, trying to hide his surprise at the roar of sound that greeted him, blinking to see beyond the glare of the footlights.
“So, we are offering up for auction six hours in the exclusive company of this model officer, with all monies going as ever to Starfleet’s supplementary funding for financially challenged cadets. Gentlebeings, what could you do with this man for six long, luscious, uninterrupted hours?” Another wave sound, containing various lewd suggestions. Chris gave the MC his best Starfleet-captain-of-death glare. The MC smirked back, quite unruffled. As a star of a top-rated daytime holovid chat show broadcast across the sector, his fame substantially outstripped Captain Pikes’.
Chris clenched his fists and tried to keep an accommodating smile plastered on his face. Think of the indigent cadets, dammit. And thank god for the rules that said that nothing sexual, illegal or life-threatening could be requested by the auction winner. Unfortunately that still left a lot of leeway. Listening to the catcalls from the floor, Chis was only just beginning to appreciate how much leeway.
Fortunately he had a back-up plan. He scanned the audience looking for his administrative assistant, Stephen. Should an unsuitable winner seem likely, he’d given the man a credit line to go up to 1200 credits, a sum he privately thought ridiculously high. And had promised to take him and his wife out for dinner at a very nice restaurant. He spotted the mop of curly red hair seated about ten rows back and let out a discreet sigh of relief. The sooner this was over the better.
Fortunately the MC seemed to agree. “Gentlebeings! What am I bid for this startlingly handsome specimen? Intelligent, brave, with a glower that could set the building alight--” a snide smirk at Chris as he said it “--and all yours for six deliciously long hours. Shall we open the bidding at 250 credits?”
Chris watched bemused as the bidding ran up very fast. There were over a thousand people in the hall and plenty of them seemed happy to have a flutter on Chris. He wasn’t sure whether to consider this a compliment or not. Bidding only calmed down as they approached 800 credits, finally getting to what most people would consider serious money. Despite his reservations Chris was secretly rather proud to be - so far - the highest selling being of the evening.
His alarm resurfaced when bidding suddenly broke through the 1000 credit mark with a bid from what seemed to be a consortium of young women seated near the front. He recognized some of them as being in his Introduction to Command class. Although his seniority meant that he mostly taught advanced modules, he - like everyone - had to do a few intro classes. He’d been more nervous about that than almost anything else when the term had started. He knew how to deal with small groups of highly intelligent, highly committed cadets. Large classes of youngsters still trying to find their way in Starfleet was rather more disconcerting. He’d done plenty of training in his time, getting crew members up to scratch, but he’d done no formal teaching since being a TA back in his Academy days and Starfleet didn’t exactly offer any help in that regard. You were expected to just get on with it.
He was relieved to see Stephen finally enter the fray with a cautious 1050 credits. He had to admit that the women worried him a little. He’d taken a very conscientious approach to his teaching at the start. Unlike in civilian life, the cadets were not allowed to officially grade their teachers. But everyone knew that there was an unofficial website for Rate Your Instructors, and Chris has gone looking once, keeping carefully anonymous. He believed in listening to his subordinates, in receiving feedback, in taking people’s advice into account. He’d hoped to find out something that would help him to gauge what parts of his course his students liked, and where they were having difficulties.
“Lovely ladies! You can’t let some man beat you to this delicious, delectable, dare I say positively edible specimen.” The MC had clearly realized that he was on to a winner here and was doing everything in his considerable repertoire to whip up the furore. The women bid again. 1100 credits. Stephen went for broke with 1200 credits. Without flinching the women went for 1300. Stephen frowned at Chris. Chris gave him a subtle hand signal to keep going. The thought of the women winning was unbearable.
His look at the Rate Your Instructors site had lasted all of two minutes. It didn’t seem to occur to the cadets that proper anonymity might be a good idea in such an environment. Clearly he had some things to get into their thick heads about tactics and caution and forward planning. He’d easily guessed from the pseudonyms who several of them were. It was the group that always sat together at the front and always spent more time sighing and giggling than ever apparently learning anything.
He was not a man to be easily shocked, but the comments had left him speechless:
- hot hot HOT!!!!
- he can command me any time!
- OMG! did you hear him talk about the Ngultor today. My panties were melting!
- uff uff uff -- didn’t hear a word -- ovaries too busy exploding
- he said something? I was too busy gazing at those BLUE eyes and melting into happy puddle of goo
- how can grey hair and lines be SO FUCKING SEXY?!
- so smoking hawt
- and do those uniform pants fit well or what! check out THE BULGE!
Chris had backed away from the site very rapidly and immediately gone to order several pairs of less tightly tailored uniform pants. There was no way he was letting that pack of female predators corner him alone for six whole hours. He’d fought off Klingons, Romulans, even dissident humans... but some fights a man needed to know to avoid.
1350 credits. 1400. 1450. 1500. 1550. 1600. Chris caught Stephen’s eye and made a kill gesture with his hand. He wasn’t short of money but this was getting too rich even for him. Moving back to Earth had proved to be expensive and on top of that he was helping his parents to keep the ranch going while lending a hand to his sister, burdened with three kids and the debts left by a ne’er-do-well husband. He’d have to tough it out with the ravenous horde of fangirl cadets. He’d survived imprisonment by both the Ngultor and the Talosians. How much worse could it be?
Things seemed to have ground to a halt at 1600 credits. The MC was flirting with the lead spokesperson for the cabal, a perky brunette who Chris now recalled had never said anything coherent in his class but had seemed to spend a lot of time staring at his crotch. He vowed that he would be teaching from behind his desk for ever after.
“Going at 1600 for this fine figure of a captain. A girl’s wet dream come true!” The MC smirked at the brunette who tittered and gave Chris a little wave. How he was ever going to grade her papers with impartiality after this he did not know. “Going once... going twice....”
“2000 credits.”
A deep masculine voice spoke out firmly from the back of the room. An excited whisper swept through the room. Branch Admiral Philip Boyce, Surgeon-General. Chris sagged with relief. He’d not seen Phil for nearly ten years now. The man had served as his CMO on his first and second tours, before going on to greater things. They’d been colleagues and friends, sharing many adventures together. But neither had been the type to try to keep in touch once their careers moved in different directions, both ultimately wedded to the job.
Chris glanced over at the MC, desperate for the man to get it over with. But he was trying to encourage the women to have one more go and they were whispering frantically between themselves. “2100 credits,” called out the brunette eventually.
Chris gazed despairingly at Boyce, who was now working his way down the side of the crowded room. The man had aged since Chris last saw him, but damn - he’d aged well. He’d always been gorgeous. If Doctor Boyce hadn’t turned up with CMO papers in his hand, Chris would have taken him to bed the very first time he’d met him. Thick dark hair just beginning to grey at the temples. A firmly angled jaw. Piercing blue eyes. And a desert-dry humor that overlay the absolute authority with which he ran his medbay. It had been enough to make Chris seriously rethink his policy of never sleeping with his crew. But not enough to make him break it.
In the end his life was all about his ship and her crew. So he had assuaged the itch he’d felt every time he was in the company of his CMO by flirting outrageously with him while sleeping with every attractive ambassador, dignitary, or alien potentate that come his way and seemed willing. An amazing number of them had been willing. Thick honey-blond curls that he had allowed to grow beyond regulation length the minute he got away from Earth, combined with a shit-eating grin, a wicked sense of humor, deep blue eyes and - oh yes - being in charge of a fuck-off big ship, had served him well. He’d had fun out there in the black.
Hopefully Phil would remember some of the good times they’d had together and get him out of this mess. Boyce stationed himself next to the brunette at the front of the room. He crossed his arms - still powerful despite his age - over a broad chest, making sure his Admiral’s stripes were prominently in evidence. “3000 credits.”
A gasp ran round the room. The brunette began to protest but her friends hushed her quickly. Apparently all but the dimmest of Chris’s command cadets could spot an order from an Admiral when it was shoved right under their nose. The MC looked ready to ham it up one more time but even he wilted under a steady glare from the Surgeon-General. Age and authority suited Boyce. His hair was now fully silver but all that did was emphasize the piercing blue of his eyes, eyes that were giving Chris a leisurely look-over.
“Going, going, gone to the very important gentleman in the front!”
It was over. Chris hurried off the stage, trying not to look as if he was bolting to safety at Boyce’s side.
“Phil, you’ve no idea how glad I am to see you!” Boyce walked him back up the aisle, getting them quickly away from the fawning women, away from the noise of the crowd now absorbed by the next sacrificial offering up on the stage. Chris made a mental note, underlined in red and flashing, never to agree to do this again.
Boyce spoke for the first time. “Given that I now own your very expensive ass, I think the least you can do is call me sir!”
Chris frowned. “Own is bit strong, don’t you think?”
“Not in the least. A lot can happen in six hours, Captain.” Boyce maneuvered them into a quiet corridor.
“Yeah,” said Chris, a little uncertain at Boyce’s formal tone. “Dinner, drinks, a chance to catch up?”
“Hmmm. Or you on your knees stripped to your boxers and bound and me with a flogger telling you a few home truths about what it was like to serve under you.”
Chris boggled. Had Boyce just said what he thought he’d said? His first impulse was to deck him for the sheer presumption. A small voice of warning in the back of his head suggested that hitting an Admiral was unlikely to further his ambitions with the Enterprise. “You can’t require sexual favors,” he spluttered.
“Flogging isn’t sex,” retorted Boyce. He gave Chris a slow burning look, all the way down, all the way back up, considered and calculating. “Of course, by the time I’m halfway done, you’ll be begging for sex but you won’t be getting it. As you said, it’s not allowed.”
Chris swallowed, hard. He was not used to being treated like this and was somewhat embarrassed by just how aroused he was by it.
“Phil, what the fuck is this? I thought we were friends?”
“Friends, Christopher? Is that what you thought?” Boyce leant casually against the wall, arms crossed. “I thought I was the fool who sat there while you laughed and teased and flirted. And then went off and fucked everyone else. Everyone else. If I hadn’t been chasing after you with contraceptives, you’d have multi-species love children spread across two quadrants. If I hadn’t chased after you with the vaccines, you have every STD known to sentient kind. And don’t get me started on the bruises and bites and the odd fractured rib you came back with after your more adventurous shore leaves. Came back with, expecting me to treat them!”
“You were crew,” protested Chris. “I didn’t sleep with--”
“Yeah, I know. Hell do I know,” snapped Boyce. “Every damned crew member with an unrequited crush eventually ended up weeping on my shoulder. Plus every damned emissary, VIP and alien aristocrat that finally realized that they were no more than a passing whim in your eyes.”
“That’s not fair,” protested Chris. “I was having fun. I never made any promises.” He looked Boyce over. The man was as fit as ever and even more sexy with the new-found attitude. “You’re not crew any longer. Maybe we can come to an... arrangement?”
“At attention, soldier,” snapped Boyce. “I outrank you, Captain, by quite some way. You’re not my boss any longer. You’re my minion!”
Somewhat to his chagrin, Chris found that he was standing to attention. And that his pants were bulging in a way that would have had his fangirl cadets melting onto the floor. Admiral Boyce’s command voice was going straight to his cock.
“I’m going to be making it very clear to you how displeased I was by your behavior in the black. I’ve kept a list. It’s a long list.” Boyce moved in close against Chris, close enough he could feel the other man’s body heat. Chris kept himself rigidly at attention, a prickle of sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.
Boyce continued, speaking softly now, his voice an intimate whisper close to Chris’s ear. “Ten fucking years of being cock-teased by you. Six hours will be little more than a start in getting my own back. I’m going to make you fucking beg, Captain, and it won’t do you a damn bit of good, either.”
Chris swallowed, hard. His cadet fangirls wanted to know what it took to get him hot? Well, this was working very well indeed. “And what happens after the six hours are over?”
Boyce raised an eyebrow. Chris took a deep breath. If he was going to do it, he’d do it all the way. “Sir.”
Boyce pushed him backwards with his body, caging Chris between arms braced against the wall of the corridor. “If you are a very very good captain who does exactly as ordered and is suitably contrite, I might just make it worth your while once the six hours are up.”
Chris shivered. He modestly lowered his head and then looked up at Boyce through his lashes. “Yes sir. Whatever you say, sir.”
Boyce’s mouth began to twitch at the corners. Covering Chris’s body with his own to conceal his actions, he squeezed the now substantial bulge in Chris’s pants. “You fucking bastard. It’s good to see you again.”
Chris grinned, pushing his groin forward into that strong grip. His four-year purgatory earth-side was beginning to look a whole lot more interesting.
“Your fucking bastard,” whispered Chris. “All 3000 credits worth.”
- THE END -
Fandom & Pairing: Star Trek AOS, Pike/Boyce
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Genre: humour
Word Count: around 3100
Beta: the indispensable imachar
Summary: With Captain Pike up for offer in a Starfleet charity auction, it seems that he might need rescuing from his cadet fangirls. But his rescuer may have ideas of his own.
Author's note: Phil Boyce is fancast as Mark Harmon. For tasty visuals of the Pike/Boyce phenomenon over the ages, click here. This pairing is officially owned by imachar with her amazing 'The Weight of a Man' series.
Chris Pike waited nervously in the wings, wiping sweaty palms surreptitiously down the side of the grey uniform pants. How the hell had he let himself be talked into this?
It was something of a come-down to the middle-ranking newbie at the Academy after all those years of being captain of his ship. Captain of his universe. His people a well-oiled machine under his command, united by trust and respect and years of hard-earned experience. His superiors many light-years away.
Of course his reputation preceded him. He was heir presumptive to that beautiful queen of a ship just beginning to transfer from the planning schematics to the reality of the Riverside shipyard. But there were four long years before he was at her helm, four long years for his reputation to lose its shine, for his rivals to outmaneuver him, for the politics of Starfleet Command to suffocate him.
He took a deep breath. He could do this. He was smart and disciplined and conscientious. And he could play politics with the best of them when he had to.
On the main stage the MC’s voice was rising to a crescendo. “600 credits, 700 credits, going for 700 credits. Any further offers? Going... going... gone for 700 credits!”
Laughter, applause, some ribald heckling. Chris shifted restlessly. Of course he had agreed when he’d been asked by an eager young thing from HR. He had realized he’d been had when he had seen the list of other candidates. Seen how few other members of the senior Academy staff were on it. But he also knew that it was part of being the new boy, taking the ribbing, playing the game, showing willing.
“And now gentlebeings, we have something very special on offer. Fresh from the command of the USS Yorktown, just landed after five long, cold, lonely years in deep space...” Cue the meaningful pause. Cue the laughter. “Most recent recipient of the Archer Award for heroism in the field. Brought in to shake up recruiting at Starfleet. Could he be the one to valiantly recruit you for the cause?” More laughter. Shouts of “hell, yeah!”
“Gentlebeings, let’s give it up for Captain Christopher Pike!” He strode confidently out onto the stage, trying to hide his surprise at the roar of sound that greeted him, blinking to see beyond the glare of the footlights.
“So, we are offering up for auction six hours in the exclusive company of this model officer, with all monies going as ever to Starfleet’s supplementary funding for financially challenged cadets. Gentlebeings, what could you do with this man for six long, luscious, uninterrupted hours?” Another wave sound, containing various lewd suggestions. Chris gave the MC his best Starfleet-captain-of-death glare. The MC smirked back, quite unruffled. As a star of a top-rated daytime holovid chat show broadcast across the sector, his fame substantially outstripped Captain Pikes’.
Chris clenched his fists and tried to keep an accommodating smile plastered on his face. Think of the indigent cadets, dammit. And thank god for the rules that said that nothing sexual, illegal or life-threatening could be requested by the auction winner. Unfortunately that still left a lot of leeway. Listening to the catcalls from the floor, Chis was only just beginning to appreciate how much leeway.
Fortunately he had a back-up plan. He scanned the audience looking for his administrative assistant, Stephen. Should an unsuitable winner seem likely, he’d given the man a credit line to go up to 1200 credits, a sum he privately thought ridiculously high. And had promised to take him and his wife out for dinner at a very nice restaurant. He spotted the mop of curly red hair seated about ten rows back and let out a discreet sigh of relief. The sooner this was over the better.
Fortunately the MC seemed to agree. “Gentlebeings! What am I bid for this startlingly handsome specimen? Intelligent, brave, with a glower that could set the building alight--” a snide smirk at Chris as he said it “--and all yours for six deliciously long hours. Shall we open the bidding at 250 credits?”
Chris watched bemused as the bidding ran up very fast. There were over a thousand people in the hall and plenty of them seemed happy to have a flutter on Chris. He wasn’t sure whether to consider this a compliment or not. Bidding only calmed down as they approached 800 credits, finally getting to what most people would consider serious money. Despite his reservations Chris was secretly rather proud to be - so far - the highest selling being of the evening.
His alarm resurfaced when bidding suddenly broke through the 1000 credit mark with a bid from what seemed to be a consortium of young women seated near the front. He recognized some of them as being in his Introduction to Command class. Although his seniority meant that he mostly taught advanced modules, he - like everyone - had to do a few intro classes. He’d been more nervous about that than almost anything else when the term had started. He knew how to deal with small groups of highly intelligent, highly committed cadets. Large classes of youngsters still trying to find their way in Starfleet was rather more disconcerting. He’d done plenty of training in his time, getting crew members up to scratch, but he’d done no formal teaching since being a TA back in his Academy days and Starfleet didn’t exactly offer any help in that regard. You were expected to just get on with it.
He was relieved to see Stephen finally enter the fray with a cautious 1050 credits. He had to admit that the women worried him a little. He’d taken a very conscientious approach to his teaching at the start. Unlike in civilian life, the cadets were not allowed to officially grade their teachers. But everyone knew that there was an unofficial website for Rate Your Instructors, and Chris has gone looking once, keeping carefully anonymous. He believed in listening to his subordinates, in receiving feedback, in taking people’s advice into account. He’d hoped to find out something that would help him to gauge what parts of his course his students liked, and where they were having difficulties.
“Lovely ladies! You can’t let some man beat you to this delicious, delectable, dare I say positively edible specimen.” The MC had clearly realized that he was on to a winner here and was doing everything in his considerable repertoire to whip up the furore. The women bid again. 1100 credits. Stephen went for broke with 1200 credits. Without flinching the women went for 1300. Stephen frowned at Chris. Chris gave him a subtle hand signal to keep going. The thought of the women winning was unbearable.
His look at the Rate Your Instructors site had lasted all of two minutes. It didn’t seem to occur to the cadets that proper anonymity might be a good idea in such an environment. Clearly he had some things to get into their thick heads about tactics and caution and forward planning. He’d easily guessed from the pseudonyms who several of them were. It was the group that always sat together at the front and always spent more time sighing and giggling than ever apparently learning anything.
He was not a man to be easily shocked, but the comments had left him speechless:
- hot hot HOT!!!!
- he can command me any time!
- OMG! did you hear him talk about the Ngultor today. My panties were melting!
- uff uff uff -- didn’t hear a word -- ovaries too busy exploding
- he said something? I was too busy gazing at those BLUE eyes and melting into happy puddle of goo
- how can grey hair and lines be SO FUCKING SEXY?!
- so smoking hawt
- and do those uniform pants fit well or what! check out THE BULGE!
Chris had backed away from the site very rapidly and immediately gone to order several pairs of less tightly tailored uniform pants. There was no way he was letting that pack of female predators corner him alone for six whole hours. He’d fought off Klingons, Romulans, even dissident humans... but some fights a man needed to know to avoid.
1350 credits. 1400. 1450. 1500. 1550. 1600. Chris caught Stephen’s eye and made a kill gesture with his hand. He wasn’t short of money but this was getting too rich even for him. Moving back to Earth had proved to be expensive and on top of that he was helping his parents to keep the ranch going while lending a hand to his sister, burdened with three kids and the debts left by a ne’er-do-well husband. He’d have to tough it out with the ravenous horde of fangirl cadets. He’d survived imprisonment by both the Ngultor and the Talosians. How much worse could it be?
Things seemed to have ground to a halt at 1600 credits. The MC was flirting with the lead spokesperson for the cabal, a perky brunette who Chris now recalled had never said anything coherent in his class but had seemed to spend a lot of time staring at his crotch. He vowed that he would be teaching from behind his desk for ever after.
“Going at 1600 for this fine figure of a captain. A girl’s wet dream come true!” The MC smirked at the brunette who tittered and gave Chris a little wave. How he was ever going to grade her papers with impartiality after this he did not know. “Going once... going twice....”
“2000 credits.”
A deep masculine voice spoke out firmly from the back of the room. An excited whisper swept through the room. Branch Admiral Philip Boyce, Surgeon-General. Chris sagged with relief. He’d not seen Phil for nearly ten years now. The man had served as his CMO on his first and second tours, before going on to greater things. They’d been colleagues and friends, sharing many adventures together. But neither had been the type to try to keep in touch once their careers moved in different directions, both ultimately wedded to the job.
Chris glanced over at the MC, desperate for the man to get it over with. But he was trying to encourage the women to have one more go and they were whispering frantically between themselves. “2100 credits,” called out the brunette eventually.
Chris gazed despairingly at Boyce, who was now working his way down the side of the crowded room. The man had aged since Chris last saw him, but damn - he’d aged well. He’d always been gorgeous. If Doctor Boyce hadn’t turned up with CMO papers in his hand, Chris would have taken him to bed the very first time he’d met him. Thick dark hair just beginning to grey at the temples. A firmly angled jaw. Piercing blue eyes. And a desert-dry humor that overlay the absolute authority with which he ran his medbay. It had been enough to make Chris seriously rethink his policy of never sleeping with his crew. But not enough to make him break it.
In the end his life was all about his ship and her crew. So he had assuaged the itch he’d felt every time he was in the company of his CMO by flirting outrageously with him while sleeping with every attractive ambassador, dignitary, or alien potentate that come his way and seemed willing. An amazing number of them had been willing. Thick honey-blond curls that he had allowed to grow beyond regulation length the minute he got away from Earth, combined with a shit-eating grin, a wicked sense of humor, deep blue eyes and - oh yes - being in charge of a fuck-off big ship, had served him well. He’d had fun out there in the black.
Hopefully Phil would remember some of the good times they’d had together and get him out of this mess. Boyce stationed himself next to the brunette at the front of the room. He crossed his arms - still powerful despite his age - over a broad chest, making sure his Admiral’s stripes were prominently in evidence. “3000 credits.”
A gasp ran round the room. The brunette began to protest but her friends hushed her quickly. Apparently all but the dimmest of Chris’s command cadets could spot an order from an Admiral when it was shoved right under their nose. The MC looked ready to ham it up one more time but even he wilted under a steady glare from the Surgeon-General. Age and authority suited Boyce. His hair was now fully silver but all that did was emphasize the piercing blue of his eyes, eyes that were giving Chris a leisurely look-over.
“Going, going, gone to the very important gentleman in the front!”
It was over. Chris hurried off the stage, trying not to look as if he was bolting to safety at Boyce’s side.
“Phil, you’ve no idea how glad I am to see you!” Boyce walked him back up the aisle, getting them quickly away from the fawning women, away from the noise of the crowd now absorbed by the next sacrificial offering up on the stage. Chris made a mental note, underlined in red and flashing, never to agree to do this again.
Boyce spoke for the first time. “Given that I now own your very expensive ass, I think the least you can do is call me sir!”
Chris frowned. “Own is bit strong, don’t you think?”
“Not in the least. A lot can happen in six hours, Captain.” Boyce maneuvered them into a quiet corridor.
“Yeah,” said Chris, a little uncertain at Boyce’s formal tone. “Dinner, drinks, a chance to catch up?”
“Hmmm. Or you on your knees stripped to your boxers and bound and me with a flogger telling you a few home truths about what it was like to serve under you.”
Chris boggled. Had Boyce just said what he thought he’d said? His first impulse was to deck him for the sheer presumption. A small voice of warning in the back of his head suggested that hitting an Admiral was unlikely to further his ambitions with the Enterprise. “You can’t require sexual favors,” he spluttered.
“Flogging isn’t sex,” retorted Boyce. He gave Chris a slow burning look, all the way down, all the way back up, considered and calculating. “Of course, by the time I’m halfway done, you’ll be begging for sex but you won’t be getting it. As you said, it’s not allowed.”
Chris swallowed, hard. He was not used to being treated like this and was somewhat embarrassed by just how aroused he was by it.
“Phil, what the fuck is this? I thought we were friends?”
“Friends, Christopher? Is that what you thought?” Boyce leant casually against the wall, arms crossed. “I thought I was the fool who sat there while you laughed and teased and flirted. And then went off and fucked everyone else. Everyone else. If I hadn’t been chasing after you with contraceptives, you’d have multi-species love children spread across two quadrants. If I hadn’t chased after you with the vaccines, you have every STD known to sentient kind. And don’t get me started on the bruises and bites and the odd fractured rib you came back with after your more adventurous shore leaves. Came back with, expecting me to treat them!”
“You were crew,” protested Chris. “I didn’t sleep with--”
“Yeah, I know. Hell do I know,” snapped Boyce. “Every damned crew member with an unrequited crush eventually ended up weeping on my shoulder. Plus every damned emissary, VIP and alien aristocrat that finally realized that they were no more than a passing whim in your eyes.”
“That’s not fair,” protested Chris. “I was having fun. I never made any promises.” He looked Boyce over. The man was as fit as ever and even more sexy with the new-found attitude. “You’re not crew any longer. Maybe we can come to an... arrangement?”
“At attention, soldier,” snapped Boyce. “I outrank you, Captain, by quite some way. You’re not my boss any longer. You’re my minion!”
Somewhat to his chagrin, Chris found that he was standing to attention. And that his pants were bulging in a way that would have had his fangirl cadets melting onto the floor. Admiral Boyce’s command voice was going straight to his cock.
“I’m going to be making it very clear to you how displeased I was by your behavior in the black. I’ve kept a list. It’s a long list.” Boyce moved in close against Chris, close enough he could feel the other man’s body heat. Chris kept himself rigidly at attention, a prickle of sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.
Boyce continued, speaking softly now, his voice an intimate whisper close to Chris’s ear. “Ten fucking years of being cock-teased by you. Six hours will be little more than a start in getting my own back. I’m going to make you fucking beg, Captain, and it won’t do you a damn bit of good, either.”
Chris swallowed, hard. His cadet fangirls wanted to know what it took to get him hot? Well, this was working very well indeed. “And what happens after the six hours are over?”
Boyce raised an eyebrow. Chris took a deep breath. If he was going to do it, he’d do it all the way. “Sir.”
Boyce pushed him backwards with his body, caging Chris between arms braced against the wall of the corridor. “If you are a very very good captain who does exactly as ordered and is suitably contrite, I might just make it worth your while once the six hours are up.”
Chris shivered. He modestly lowered his head and then looked up at Boyce through his lashes. “Yes sir. Whatever you say, sir.”
Boyce’s mouth began to twitch at the corners. Covering Chris’s body with his own to conceal his actions, he squeezed the now substantial bulge in Chris’s pants. “You fucking bastard. It’s good to see you again.”
Chris grinned, pushing his groin forward into that strong grip. His four-year purgatory earth-side was beginning to look a whole lot more interesting.
“Your fucking bastard,” whispered Chris. “All 3000 credits worth.”
- THE END -