The Captain's Harvest Read online

  A NineStar Press Publication

  www.ninestarpress.com

  The Captain’s Harvest

  Copyright 2017 T.J. Land

  Cover Art by Natasha Snow ©Copyright 2017

  Published in 2017 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, NineStar Press, LLC.

  Warning

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers.

  The Captain’s Harvest

  Adrift

  T.J. Land

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  About the Author

  Dedication

  To Carrie and the general

  Acknowledgement:

  My sincerest gratitude to Raevyn McCann and to everyone who reads my stuff. <3

  Chapter One

  His hands trembling with anticipation, Thomas held the warm brown loaf up to his face and breathed in, sighing as the smell of real bread made with real flour flooded his nostrils.

  It’s slightly burnt on the underside, said Echo, who stood by the oven, watching his reaction closely. Do you want a knife?

  Shaking his head, Thomas set the loaf down and tore off a chunk from the corner, shivering at the sound of the crust cracking open. He stuffed it into his mouth and waited a second before he started to chew. As the warmth and flavour spread over his tongue, he made the sort of noise he generally reserved for when Khurshed hit his prostate dead-on. Bread had been one of the many, many things he’d taken for granted back on Earth, only eating it when it was so loaded down with strawberry jam and peanut butter he didn’t even notice its taste or texture. What a spoiled idiot he’d been.

  So? asked Echo.

  Swallowing and smacking his lips, he said, “I’m starting a new religion. We’re all going to worship this bread now.”

  Echo blushed, bowed, and allowed Thomas to kiss his forehead. It was a shade browner than it had been the last time Thomas’s lips had touched it; finally, after almost a year living on Yusra’s surface, Echo’s milk-white skin was beginning to tan.

  “Where’d you learn to make something like that, huh? Did you go to a fancy cooking school?”

  I wanted to when I was a teenager. The only culinary academy on the Moon was expensive, though. I learnt to bake while I was working as a waiter in a pastry café; the manager let me experiment in the kitchen after-hours.

  “You’re so talented, babe. And cute. And smart. And nice.”

  No, you can’t have the whole loaf to yourself. It’s our first, and I promised everyone a slice.

  Thomas mewled disappointedly as Echo took it back and set it down on the tray before adding, I’m making more loaves for Thanksgiving. You can gorge yourself then.

  “We aren’t celebrating Thanksgiving,” Antoine huffed, striding into the kitchen. “Our first official holiday on this planet is not going to honour that tasteless American celebration of colonialism, gastronomic excess, and wanton cruelty to animals.”

  As he spoke, he washed his dirt-covered hands in the sink and then poured himself a glass of water. He was wearing a grimy shirt and shorts that exposed his legs and knobby knees to the world, so he’d probably spent the morning foraging for specimens or visiting the nearby ruins again. His legs were building up some decent calf muscles, Thomas noted, and his biceps were getting more defined from all the time he spent lugging his equipment around. He still wasn’t Thomas’s type―pretty face or not, men that skinny just didn’t do it for him―but Thomas was sure Zachery and Khurshed appreciated it.

  Thomas shrugged. “It makes sense, Ant. We’re celebrating food.”

  Specifically, they were celebrating Rick’s successful harvest and the resultant fact that bread was making its long-awaited re-entry into their diets.

  “There are plenty of harvest-related holidays that aren’t as thoroughly appalling as Thanksgiving,” Antoine said, his nostrils twitching as Echo passed him the still-warm loaf. He picked up a knife and cut himself a dainty slice. “The Chinese Mid-Autumn Festival, the Slavic Saviour of the Apple Feast Day, the Igbo New Yam Festival…”

  He paused to take a bite, and then another. “The… That other one… Dear God, Echo, this amazing.”

  I still think celebrating Halloween would be fun, said Echo, after prying the loaf from Antoine’s grasp before he could devour it whole. Everyone likes costumes and ghost stories. And it’s also historically related to the harvest, so it’s appropriate.

  “Echo, you just want an opportunity to use your morbid cookie cutter collection again. I’ve ingested enough decapitated gingerbread men for one lifetime, thank you. Besides, you know as well as I do that our captain would take it as an excuse to wear that lewd pirate costume of his, which would hardly be appropriate for a social gathering.”

  Nodding, Thomas added, “Yeah, plus Rick and Zachery would both want to be the pirate queen, and we’ve only got one skirt.”

  “Debates about the name of our celebration aside, how are preparations going?” Antoine asked, leaning on the table. “I know Mehtab and Khali are festooning the mess hall with hideous decorations.”

  “I’m helping Echo with the cooking, Zachery’s handling the music, and Rick said he was organizing ‘entertainment’.”

  “Weed.”

  “You don’t know that. It could be dodgeball. Or card games.”

  “It’s weed, Thomas.”

  The entertainer himself barrelled into the kitchen, almost knocking Antoine over. “Oops! Sorry. Hey, guys, guess what I found to make our Thanksgiving complete?”

  In response to their blank stares, Rick showed them what he’d been hiding behind his back. “A turkey!”

  “Gobble,” said Rux solemnly.

  “Oh good grief,” Antoine muttered as Thomas snickered into his hand.

  “Rick, you’re fucking twisted.”

  “I am pleased and honoured to have been invited to participate in your festivities,” said the enormous green bird, fluffing out its feathers. “Rick told me this form would be most appropriate.”

  Looking thoughtful, Echo signed, I don’t have a big enough pot.

  “I don’t understand, dear Echo?”

  Nothing. Try some bread.

  After changing into his humanoid form and declaring Echo’s bread delicious (“Though, of course, hardly comparable to the sumptuous gastronomic delicacies created by my progenitors in millennia gone by”), Rux asked Antoine, “First Officer, are there any specific rituals or customs I will need to adhere to at the celebration―religious or otherwise?”

  “Not really. I’m sure Cecelia would appreciate it if you’d wear pants or else remain in one of your animal forms.”

  “I promise to do so,” said Rux, smiling nostalgically. “My creators had many festivals. One of their most popular was the Annual Commemoration of Spirits; one mournful day dedicated to solemn reflection on deceased loved ones, followed by eight days of frolics and games.”

  “What kinda games?” asked Rick. “Maybe we can try ’em out ourselves.”

  “My favourite was Catch the Rodent. Revellers would dip a rodent in brightly coloured paint and then let it loose in a maze, or simp
ly a building with many corridors if a maze was not available. They would use the paint smears left in its wake to track it, and when they found it, they would shoot it. Whoever fired the killing shot would receive the corpse as a trophy and a kiss from a prospective romantic partner of their choosing. At the laboratory where I spent most of my formative years, the scientists would, on that special day, break from their labours to enjoy a few rounds of Catch the Rodent, and sometimes they would do me the honour of allowing me to be their target. As their guns were incapable of killing me due to my regenerative abilities, the winner was not able to take home his trophy, but by the same token, my ability to heal quickly ensured that the game could go on for many, many more hours than was usually the case.”

  “That’s…that’s a cool story, man,” said Rick, rubbing the back of his shoulder.

  “Thank you. I know you think poorly of my people, but I do want you to know that they had a more playful side to them.”

  “Yeah, okay. Listen, just so we’re clear, the turkey thing was a joke. You don’t have to be a turkey to join the party.”

  “Although if you wanted to be a dragon and devour Rick whole, I’m sure no one would fault you,” muttered Antoine.

  Have some more bread, said Echo, placing the loaf in Rux’s hands before he could ask what a dragon was.

  “Oh, that is kind of you, Echo. By the way, Zachery and I will be meeting in my quarters this evening to have sex. I understand that you generally prefer not to participate in group entanglements, but perhaps you would like to watch?”

  I appreciate the thought, but I’m afraid I’m busy tonight.

  * * *

  It was rare for Echo to ask Khurshed for more than a kiss. On those occasions when he did, there were always stipulations. He might only feel comfortable if they kept all their clothes on. At other times, he might insist that they undress fully before touching one another and that their clothes be folded up and placed somewhere out of sight as though they were host to evil spirits. Often, he’d need to replace the bedsheets with fresh ones laundered by his own hands.

  Today, while Khurshed was finishing up his daily regimen in the gym, Echo had approached him with a razor and a tube of unscented shaving gel. Mopping sweat off his brow―not solely due to the exercise―Khurshed asked, “Will you leave the beard?”

  Echo nodded.

  “Fine. Then I agree.”

  God, please let me not itch for the next week, he thought some hours later, leaning back against the shower wall as Echo guided the razor lightly up from the base of his shaft towards his navel.

  “You will be careful?” he said, a touch too nervous to enjoy the sensation. He did, however, feast his eyes on Echo’s soft arms and pale thighs, hungrily imagining what they would feel like against his newly-sheared skin when they finally got down to business.

  Squeezing his cock, Echo nodded once before starting on his scrotum.

  When he was done, Echo had Khurshed wait on his bed while he tidied up, plucking each and every errant hair from the floor. Khurshed spent the time admiring his own legs, which now seemed appealingly lithe. “You really are very talented.”

  Thomas agrees with you, Echo signed, lying down next to him, his wavy golden hair still damp from the shower they’d both taken earlier.

  Adding to the novelty of the experience, Khurshed had been given permission to put his hands anywhere he liked, a luxury so rare that caressing his lover’s thighs felt sinfully hedonistic. Everything he touched was soft and curving, from Echo’s stomach to his cock, and when Echo touched his own fingertips―nails neatly trimmed, as always―to Khurshed’s bare and sensitive skin, the sensation was as startlingly erotic as having ice cubes applied to his nipples.

  As was usual, following a few measured kisses, Echo took him in hand and started pumping him firmly. After he climaxed, they’d spend the next hour slowly toying with one another until Khurshed was ready for a second round and Echo was ready to come for the first time.

  “Mmm,” Khurshed sighed, the back of his head pressing into the pillow. “That…”

  As he spoke, he moved―only an inch or so―adjusting his position on the mattress to make himself more comfortable.

  The result was instant agony. Pain, made all the more shocking for the gentle pleasure he’d been enjoying, shot up his spine as though someone had plunged a knife into the small of his back. He gave a short, violent exclamation, not articulate enough to be a curse but loud enough to be heard outside the ship.

  Echo yelped like a kicked dog and drew away from him, hands clamped over his mouth in horror. Before Khurshed could react, Echo had jumped off the bed, darted into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

  “Shit,” Khurshed hissed. He waited a moment until the pain wasn’t quite so all-consuming and then called, “Echo? It’s fine. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Silence came in reply.

  “I’ll be all right in a few minutes,” he added, not at all sure if that was true.

  While he waited for Echo to emerge, he tried his best to lie completely still. If he had to guess, he’d have said Echo was fully aware that the arthritis had nothing to do with him, and that its making itself known during one of their rare sexual encounters was sheer unhappy coincidence. Echo was, after all, eminently sensible. What he was upset about, Khurshed wagered, was his own reaction. He had a keen sense of his own dignity and hated to be seen reacting strongly to anything.

  After scarcely two minutes had passed, the bathroom door opened, and Echo slunk out, his eyes wet and his shoulders drooping. He went immediately to the drawer in which Khurshed kept his rejuvenation pills and placed one in his hand.

  “Oh, love,” Khurshed murmured after swallowing it. “I’m sorry I ruined things.”

  Shaking his head, Echo curled up beside him on the bed, leaning down to kiss his mouth.

  Now that the pain was fast receding, he felt annoyed with himself. I should have taken one yesterday. I’m overdue.

  But even as he thought it, he remembered how few doses he had left now. He was spacing them out more and more these days, hoping to make each one last as long as possible. What will I do when I run out? What will they do?

  He brooded on the subject while Echo got dressed and left the room to fetch him extra pillows and tea.

  “Echo, I’m fine, really,” Khurshed told him when he returned, placing the tray down on his desk. “It’s much better now.”

  It was. The pills worked quickly. In fact, he felt just about ready to pick up where they’d left off. So while Echo was plumping the pillows, Khurshed allowed his hand to stray to the younger man’s thigh.

  “Much better,” he emphasized, licking his lips.

  “Dear God. Nothing stops you, does it?”

  Rolling his eyes, he snatched a pillow from Echo and flung it at Antoine, now slouching in the doorway. “Go away, pest.”

  “Echo told me there was a problem. From his level of distress, I inferred that you must be dying. I’ve come to pay my last respects and to tell you that I fully intend to take over your office and your favourite chair.”

  Antoine glided into the room, shutting the door behind him, and examined Khurshed’s prone form with a clinical eye. “On the other hand, you appear reasonably healthy. A pity. Echo, shall we smother him and say it was an experiment with erotic asphyxiation gone wrong? The crew will believe that. Then you and I won’t have to spend so much time fretting about our stupid, stupid captain.”

  Don’t make jokes. He was in serious pain, Echo told him sternly.

  “I was,” said Khurshed, tilting his nose up at his first officer. “I consider it very poor taste on your part to make fun of an invalid.”

  “Mmm.” Antoine’s gaze strayed to his obvious erection. “An invalid. Quite. Should I summon one of your pack to take care of that?”

  That’s mine, Echo signed and placed his hand over it as though afraid Antoine might try to take it away.

  “Oh, would you?” Khurshed said hopef
ully.

  Antoine sighed. “Enjoy yourselves. I’ll pour the tea.”

  Clearly worried about hurting his lover, Echo performed the most tortuously slow handjob of Khurshed’s life. Sitting down on the edge of the bed to watch while slurping his tea, Antoine said to Echo, “You know, I’d never contemplated shaving him before. But it actually suits him rather well, doesn’t it?”

  “You’re ruining the mood,” Khurshed growled. In actuality, Antoine’s voice and presence were both accentuating the pleasure of Echo’s soft, attentive hands.

  Echo looked up from his work, his lips forming into a moue. Taking the hint, Khurshed fell silent, shutting his eyes and letting his head fall back against the pillow.

  When Antoine spoke again, his voice came from right next to Khurshed’s ear. “Got you well-trained, hasn’t he?”

  Khurshed knew that trick. It was one of Antoine’s oldest. After so many years, it shouldn’t be half as effective as it had been the first time, but it was. His breath stuttered, and for a moment, he was aware of nothing in the world besides Echo’s fingers and palm. To his shock, as he started to come, Echo bent down and lapped once, tentatively, at his dorsal artery before covering his tip of his shaft with his mouth. Khurshed’s hips bucked up without his permission. Echo didn’t rear back an inch―another welcome surprise.

  “The…the last time you tried to do that you were sick,” Khurshed panted.

  Echo dabbed semen off his chin with the edge of the bedsheet, then smiled, and signed, I’ve been practicing with Thomas.

  Touched, he said, “You didn’t have to do that.”

  I know. I wanted to. You liked it?

  “Very much. Thank you.”

  He accepted a cup of tea from Antoine while Echo went to wash his face and hands.

  “I was with Cecelia when Echo found me. She should be back on her feet by tomorrow,” Antoine told him, rolling him onto his side and running a medical scanner over his back.