An Undercover Fling
Futuristic M/M erotic romance novella
Release Date: September 2011
Purchase from Changeling Press
Garst knew he'd have problems taking an assignment on Trell's station, but he has no other choice. Besides, three years ago a bust went down, leaving him flying off and Trell with too many questions. This time it'll be different. First, he'll have to convince Trell that he didn't mean to leave him hanging three years ago and that he wants to continue their relationship. Oh yeah, and convince Trell that what he's doing now isn't really illegal.
The end of his shift couldn’t come early enough, and when it finally came, Trell clocked out and hurried to his quarters for a quick shower and change of clothes. The clientele at the Rusted Wrench wouldn’t care if he’d changed -- most of those guys came straight from the docks and maintenance areas in the station’s underbelly -- but if Garst showed up, Trell wanted to at least be presentable. Face it, you want to be clean so he’ll be more inclined to fuck you.
Trell’s cock tightened with the thought. He stepped into the bar area, not surprised to see Garst sitting at a table for two and already nursing a homebrew. He sat down and ordered one for himself, though he really didn’t drink the local beer. This far below the main decks the safety of any liquid beverage was dubious.
“Surprised you showed up,” Garst said. “I left you in a pickle with the bosses. Sorry about that.” He took a long drink. “Had orders to leave. Couldn’t stick around to explain, you know?”
Trell braced himself for the anger, startled when it never came. Maybe he’d gotten over the issue. He shrugged. “Port Intelligence tends to work that way. Now you understand why I took the post here.” He downed the last of his brew, thinking that it wasn’t half bad for third-rate beer. “The past is over and done with. The question is, why are you here? You’re still with the bureau. So you’re either on vacation or a mission. Which is it?”
Garst blinked. “Vacation,” he said just a heartbeat too late.
“I see,” Trell said, though he didn’t. Garst had returned, and apparently still had a problem with the truth. “So you thought we could have a few drinks and strike things up where we left off?” He ordered a second drink, a rarity for him. Usually he stayed sober and alert. Tonight, with Garst returning like one of the many ghosts out of his past, he needed the filter of alcohol.
“Something like that.” Garst set his drink down with a little more force than necessary. “Look, I’m sorry I bugged out. I couldn’t explain, and hell, you were so mad even if I had, I figured you wouldn’t believe me.”
Trell’s mouth quirked into a smile at the understood fact. “I was furious with you. Thought you’d blown your cover… and mine.”
“Exactly. And when you didn’t call…” He shook his head in a too-final motion. “Figured that was that.”
The double-talk sounded so unlike Garst. “Well, it wasn’t. Suppose it is now.” Trell stared at Garst, wondered what had actually happened, and if he should just declare it the past, dead and done. Another part figured he should back away. Go to his quarters. Alone. Safe.
A serving bot delivered their meals, and Garst dug in. Watching him eat, the movement of his lips, the look of pleasure at the simple fare, tugged at Trell’s heart. “It all worked out in the end. That’s what matters.”
“Is it?” Garst set down his silverware. “Did it work out?”
“I’m here. You’re here. You think it didn’t?”
A sly smile fluttered across Garst’s face. “Depends on what happens after dinner.”
“What do you want to happen?” Nothing like dangling bait before a fish. Trell smiled. He hadn’t been fishing in years, not since he and Garst had gone down to that resort planet for sea bass. Still, teasing Garst had been one of his favorite pastimes, and no better way to find out what his old lover was thinking other than asking outright.