“We’d stop with New World Colony Seven, you know. I’m sure my people won’t try to colonize any more planets in this sector, even if you leave Seven alone. I mean, we’re not stupid. You could wipe us off the face of the universe if you wanted. We’re just trying to live our lives in peace.”
Frey didn’t know why he bothered to plead the human case with someone who was a smuggler at best. What could Rone do about any of it, except maybe sympathize with Frey enough to set him free? Yeah, like that was going to happen. He returned his attention to the control panel, busying himself with nothing in particular and leaving Rone to his own thoughts.
After a while, Rone spoke again. “For what it’s worth, I agree with you. I don’t think my people should care about human occupation on that ball of dust that you call Seven. But, that is not my concern, nor will it ever be, I’m afraid.”
“I know,” Frey said in a soft voice. “It is mine—or it was. The closer colonies, like Six and mine—Five—having been trying to help out people on Seven by running supplies. The war with you Travians might have been short, but it also destroyed a lot of stuff and scorched areas needed for farming. They’re hurting under the occupation,” he added with a glare he couldn’t keep off his face.
If Rone detected the expression, he didn’t call Frey on it. Instead, he asked, “Was that what you were doing when Arpell acquired you?”
Funny, Rone had never asked him before how he’d ended up Arpell’s pet. Frey had always assumed his new master simply didn’t care. Rone probably didn’t, yet with the bulk of their journey still ahead of them, he likely asked out of idle curiosity to pass the time. Frey didn’t want to discuss his capture. The memory of it was too new, too raw. He had no choice, though. While Rone was a far kinder master than Arpell, he was no one to trifle with. And it was his prerogative to pick the topic of discussion, regardless of what Frey thought of it or what kind of emotions it evoked. Frey briefly considered slipping to his knees and trying to distract his master with an impromptu blow job. In the end, he just answered.
Closing his eyes briefly, Frey nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The honorific tripped easily and automatically off his tongue. Here on the tiny bridge of the shuttle, Frey thought of Rone as the captain and he the crew. Calling the male ‘sir’ came naturally in this setting and didn’t feel humiliating. The title ‘master’, on the other hand, still bothered him, especially as that word escaped his mouth far too easily when Rone’s cock was buried in his ass. Anyway, he hoped the simple answer would suffice. It didn’t.
“He and his males boarded the ship you were on, I assume.”
Just for a brief, terrible moment, Frey remembered the heart-stopping fear of realizing a Travian vessel chased them. The weapons fired. The ship’s hull breached by the boarding party. Smoke burning his nostrils. God, seeing Travians for the first time up close had terrified him. He’d thought he was staring at his own death, yet had no idea that he would soon wish he had been killed. The screams of his captain and crewmates being slaughtered, despite their hands being up in surrender, rung inFrey’s ears. Arpell had raped him the first time right there while blood flowed around them and his butchers raided the cargo meant for Seven.
“Frey?”
He realized he hadn’t answered Rone’s question. He raised his gaze to the male. “Yes. We were trying to deliver supplies to the colony on Seven.” He closed his eyes and turned away. “They stole the cargo and killed everyone but me.”
“Of course they did,” Rone observed in a low tone. “You were the most precious thing on that ship, and Arpell wasn’t so stupid as to miss that.”
Fury rose within him, hot and sudden. More tears welled up and threatened to spill over. Frey gripped the arms of his chair. “I wasnotpart of the cargo! I’m a person who thinks and feels, and Arpell didn’t care about any of that. He fucked me on the floor of the bridge with my friends’ bodies lying all around. I screamed and fought and none of it mattered. He gave me no more consideration than if I’d been his own fist. Less! I gave up fighting him only so I could survive.”
On a gulp of air, Frey clamped his mouth shut. He’d gone too far, said too much. Except for the bit about the bodies and his beaten-down acquiescence, Frey could have been recounting Rone’s treatment of him. No matter that it was true, he didn’t expect Rone liked the reminder that he often treated Frey with the same disregard. The alien said nothing, however, in response to Frey’s brief rant. Not right away.
Reaching out to the control panel, Rone activated the auto pilot. “Come here.” Rone gestured to the spot between his suddenly spread legs.
With a sinking heart, Frey got up and slid to his knees. Well, maybe he’d lucked out, and his master would only require a blow job as penance for his intemperate tongue. The Travian surprised him, though. When Frey reached up for Rone’s fly,Rone stayed his movement. Instead, Rone ran his hand down the side of Frey’s head, gathering the braid there and laying it within his palm. The ribbons continued to be woven through the strands. It had become a daily ritual where Rone re-braided Frey’s hair. Although he still resented being dolled up, he couldn’t deny that he found the activity soothing. There was something kind of sweet about the big, bad Travian weaving ribbon into hair.
“I know you’re not an object.” The unexpected confession startled Frey. “If I thought otherwise, I wouldn’t let you pilot this ship. You have value. I recognize that the same way I do with Preen.”
Frey looked up at him. He wanted to point out that the big difference was that Rone didn’t fuck Preen. He wisely resisted the impulse. A daring other thought entered his mind, however. “I can learn more.” He hesitated and licked his lips in nervousness. “If I help you with your work, might I buy my freedom from you?”
Rone stared down at him. His hand stilled its movement with the hair. “I didn’t want to involve you with this, yet I had no choice. The moment Arpell put you into the betting, he tied your fate to mine. For now, there is no way out for anyone.”
Disappointment flooded Frey. It had been stupid to think he could make a deal with someone who loved fucking his pet so much. Although, Rone had said ‘for now’, which implied that the idea wasn’t entirely out of the question. Not wanting to kill that spark of hope, he didn’t pursue the matter. He chose to assume that he had heard of a possibility within Rone’s words. Sighing inwardly, he stayed kneeling while his master unwound his hair and began the braiding process again.
True to his word, Rone allowed Frey to dock the shuttle back on the station. The success of it pumped Frey’s ego and brightened his spirits. He couldn’t wait to get back to their quarters, either, given that Rone had eventually bent him over the bridge chair and fucked him during the boring trip. Frey hadn’t minded, and not just because he had been getting pilot lessons at the same time. Rone had awoken Frey’s sexuality. The circumstances might be terrible, yet he still liked that his body could respond to the right stimulation. Orgasms had a nice mellowing effect, as well. No wonder his Travian master had an almost insatiable sexual appetite. One could get used to a constant diet of fucking. It just happened to make one need a shower.
Before doing anything else, Rone always had to report to Kuren. Hooking the leashes onto Frey and Preen, Rone headed down to the now-familiar location of the smuggling arms-dealer’s lair. The guards were used to Rone and his exotic pets, so they gave him a cursory search after he had handed over what were supposed to be all of his weapons. Frey, however, had noticed that once the guards had gotten a little lax, Rone had begun to carry one last concealed weapon, a short knife, deep within his boot. Frey figured that was a good thing. Kuren scared the crap out of him and, for sure, he didn’t trust him. It gave him comfort to know Rone didn’t, either. In a place filled with dangerous creatures, Rone was Frey’s alien, and he’d take being the possession of that male over any other.
Kuren greeted his mule with the usual gruffness, gesturing for Rone to sit. Frey knelt to one side of the chair, while Preen squatted to the other. The familiar routine came easily to them now. Part of that routine involved Rone placing his hand on Frey’s head and petting him. Yes, like a human would a dog, and, yes, Frey considered it demeaning, especially in front of someone else. Still, it didn’t hurt. Quite the contrary, and Freyhad come to realize that Rone needed the contact. The Travian wasn’t nearly as sanguine about meeting with his boss as his outward appearance would indicate.
“Another successful run, Rone.”
“Yes, well, they aren’t very difficult to complete.”
“You’re too modest. I’ve had other runners lose their composure under the scrutiny of the inspectors, thereby losing my shipment, as well.”
Rone made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat. “Th caste males acting as if they have more power than they do. Easily dealt with.”
Better understanding the Travian caste system now, Frey expected Kuren to show affront to Rone’s words. Instead, the male bared his teeth in that Travian version of a smile that frankly tended to chill Frey’s blood.
“I can imagine that would be true for someone like you.” Sitting up straighter, Kuren gave Rone a hard look. “Normally I would keep you to this lower level of delivery for a long while more. In your case, however, I recognize the—shall we say—quality of your work and the value of having you within my organization. I assume you have no objection to upping your responsibilities to me.”
