Page 3 of Solomon's Ransom

“Good, there,” Remma murmured. His cock plunged deep into Sol’s guts. The head touched something so tender that Sol went rigid as it slid by. Remma stopped, made a thoughtful noise, and rocked in place there, probing what he’d found, and Sol’s toes curled as his cock spurted. He came so fast, with Remma only halfway in.

Remma sank all the way in while Sol was still quaking. He could hardly bear it—the searing thrust setting fire to his already overstimulated nerves. His thighs were clamped to Remma’s ribs and that was the only reason they weren’t trembling.

“Oh, oh,” he heard himself say. His temples throbbed with his pulse. He pressed his hot face to Remma’s shoulder and tried not to dissolve into helpless noises as Remma began to flex his hips in the brief, devastating nudges that were all he could really manage. Sol was too tight around him, clamped down on the massive intrusion.

“How quickly can I make you come again?” Remma asked. “I don’t think it will take long.”

It never did. Sol chewed on his lip, trying to pretend he had any dignity left. He didn’t, and they both knew it. He was addicted to what Remma could give him. To how Remma could make him feel.

In the warm lamplight, Remma rocked inside him as Sol clung to him for dear life. He was entirely filled up. He could feel Remma in his chest and his throat, in every beat of his heart. His arms quivered where they were locked around Remma’s neck, and a muscle jumped in his belly with every thrust.

“Your tight little pussy,” Remma muttered, and Sol cried out at that, hot on the crest of orgasm but holding back, somehow, still managing to hold it in.

Remma fucked him. He hadn’t even bothered to take his pants off, just pushed the waistband down below his cock, and the small added stimulation of the fabric dragging against Sol’s thighs was almost more than he could bear. He wanted to hold out—stupid pride. But his cock was throbbing and he just couldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Oh,” his little voice said into the quiet of the room, and he came again, even harder this second time.

Toward the end of it, Remma groaned and went still, his cock pumping come deep into Sol’s bowels.

Sol quivered with aftershocks. He went limp, panting, coated in a sheen of sweat.

“Not bad,” Remma said.

Sol huffed. Remma always had something to say.

They lay entwined for several minutes, their breathing gradually slowing. At last Remma said, “You could stay here.”

“Hm,” Sol said.

“I don’t mind.”

“Bed’s too small,” Sol said, and he pushed at Remma until Remma rolled away, and then he got up to put on his pants.

TWO

Sol slept well after that, the way he always did—deeply and so long that when he woke up his solar lamp was at full brightness, showing him it was day. There were no windows in his underground room, carved as it was out of the soft volcanic rock, but the lamp didn’t lie.

He got up and got dressed. If the kitchen was still serving breakfast, he’d count that as a small miracle.

The mess hall was empty, which didn’t bode well. Joza was in the adjoining kitchen, peeling potatoes. His long black locs were pulled back from his face with a sunny yellow kerchief that belied his dark glower. He glanced up when Sol appeared in the doorway and laughed shortly. “You’re too late, friend.”

“I knew I would be. There’s instant?”

Joza nodded at a box on the counter. “Help yourself. There’s bread and cheese. You want anything hot, you go in the fridge and zap it. I’m not making eggs for you this close to lunch. Too bad.”

“Did I ask you to?” Sol opened the box of instant coffee, more amused than annoyed by Joza’s surliness. He was always cranky, which was why he worked alone in the kitchen aside from a few robots to help him, so that he was only intermittently bothered by other people.

“You slept late,” Joza said. “Long night?”

Sol gave him a look. He didn’t know what the others knew or had guessed, and didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know that they were all laughing at him throwing himself at the resident alien. “Trouble sleeping.”

“Sucks. Make some coffee. Then get out of my kitchen.”

“Always a pleasure chatting with you, Joza.”

There was some sort of egg bake in the fridge; Sol cut a piece and heated it up, and took a little container of orange slices in syrup. That plus coffee would make a decent meal. He sat at one of the tables in the mess and took out his handheld to read the news up from Mirolasor. Whatever was happening with the war there tended to dictate what sort of junk fell out of the sky.

The ceasefire held. That was good for the civilians planetside, but not so good for scrapping. Military satellites were always a nice source of rare metals, and a well-targeted missile could easily knock them out of orbit.