faxpunk

Barnaby got the first letter before he knew anything about the servus. The flowery language, the sophisticated intimacy in the letter should have tipped him off. The poetic flattery was Edgar through and through.

Then the biodata arrived, delayed by the military postal worker shortage. Twenty eight, a year older than himself, a former secessionist who helped the empire recapture his home planet, "a bit of an attitude problem", 1.79 metres. Blue eyes, blonde. It wasn't Edgar's fault that fate had tipped its cruel scales this way. They had broken up four years and four months ago. He wrote back polite but curt: no reason to be rude.

<i>Concubine Forqand,

This is your future officer. I welcome you aboard my ship. I assure you that it will be a very safe, supportive environment and you will learn a lot.

Bene vale!

Your officer</i>

He sent the letter off and sighed.

Barnaby never wanted a servus, never wanted to participate in the concubine program. But his brother had insisted that to eventually make General or Commodore, this was how it was done. You show the Empire you are willing to do your part, train some servi and they reward you with a promotion in the future. Barnaby didn't have to like it but he would have to do it.

He remembered Edgar's mouth pressing against his ear at the academy, "Do you want to be my concubine for tonight, Barns?" And his own desperate plea of a protest, through the fog of arousal. "Please, we shouldn't–"

Of course he'd given in eventually, always did. The desire was simply too much to resist. He'd always known himself to be smart and capable, learned and studious. Yet Edgar made him feel like so much more, beautiful and special, holding him in the delicate aftershock, kissing his flushed skin. In his heartbreak Barnaby thought Edgar had stolen a part of his soul and he would never gain it back. Even now, four years later, when his hand touched himself his mind flew to the sensory memory of Edgar's mouth, the perfect wet heat of it enveloping him.

Back then, it hadn't been proper to be seen dating a secessionist, albeit a former one. He supposed now that Edgar had joined the Fleet, he could be considered a proper, upstanding citizen of the empire. He had, after all, always hated the ways of his home planet. Barnaby had known him so intimately and had thought it sure that eventually they might marry, so long as Edgar would join the Fleet and serve in some way.

"Barns," Edgar had told him back then, dismissively, "a man of my wealth? Bend a head toward some stuffy, pathetic generals? I'd sooner join my sister in ruling the dreary rainy home planet."

Barnaby still felt the sting of the words. He was to become one of those stuffy generals in their pathetic glory. For his family, he had to. Edgar would have never understood the concept of such duty. He had wealth and yes, his family had prestige back on their own planet, but in the greater galaxy things weren't quite that simple. Edgar held no loyalties.

Until now, he thought glumly. Toward him. He searched his ship cabin for the Fleet Manual. When he had asked his Prima about whether one absolutely had to have sexual congress with their concubine, he had been laughed at then scolded. Dutifully he checked the manual, finding nothing about sex being obligatory, simply that most servi expected it from those above them.

Knowing Edgar, he would very much anticipate it. Then again, Barnaby thought, he wasn't the one in charge here.

–

Edgar wanted to laugh, but the numpties at the school had taught him how to stifle many a reaction, including a spontaneous guffaw. He held it in as his eyes were briefly allowed to study the thick pink that spread over Barnaby's– excuse him, his officer Rheaw's fine cheeks. So the brown eyed gentleman he had requested to serve, most humbly bound with reverence and all that Fleet nonsense, was indeed the very man he went to sleep every night dreaming of.

He'd always known he'd been born lucky, but this lucky? Well, maybe the fates served those who were indeed the most deserving.

He was tightly bound, hands behind his back and kneeling in the proper position. The training had been so boring. So much kneeling practice and so little cocksucking, endless lectures about the proper forms of address of such and such rank. But the truth was, he missed his high status back at home. He could’ve spent a lifetime lounging around doing nothing, but he needed a purpose. Volunteering as a concubine wasn’t the ideal way to get a step on the ladder, but it was the easiest way to get there. He hadn’t yet found a system he couldn’t manipulate from the inside. Military could be just one more such venture.

Barnaby had ordered him into this position. It took a certain ingenuity for a Dominus to discipline him this way, a sort of sealing of both their servitude. Claiming, they called it at the training. The training magister, a grey-bearded gentleman looking amused at Barnaby's dithering on the exact punishment, was to observe but not participate. He would occasionally mutter words of encouragement toward Barnaby.

Edgar's spine tingled with the fraught intimacy of the situation. Back in school, Barnaby had usually been the one to let him take the lead, his body rolled in on itself to take Edgar deeper and deeper, or writhing against the bed, completely at Edgar’s will. Once, and only once, Edgar had persuaded him to take him to the limit, rake his fingers through Edgar's hair and push into him so hard that the pleasure veered toward the edge of pain. But that wasn't really Barnaby's expertise.

His sweet, beautiful Barnaby. How might he fare among the rigid-thinking monsters of the Fleet? He wouldn't survive a day if the next position up required mingling at some asinine military event. Of course, he needed Edgar. Certainly, he might still be angry with him over the breakup, but no angrier than Edgar was with himself. He'd wanted Barnaby and yet driven him away. He wouldn't fumble the second chance.

Barnaby had dithered enough and settled on stripping Edgar's coat and shirt down his shoulders. The riding crop slid over them, the cool leather against skin. Before the first shot slashed across the trapezius muscle, Edgar remembered Barnaby's home planet had horses. He knew how to hold back on the use of the crop.

He also knew when not to hold back, Edgar realised with a breathless gasp, the pain overwhelming him the same second as his cock hardened against his thigh.

—

Barnaby didn't want to be intimate with his servus or take advantage of him in any way. He would be quite happy for Edgar to sleep in a separate cot and keep to himself, only joining Barnaby for the mandatory training in whatever official ship business Barnaby required assistance. But the training had been very clear on the duties of aftercare. He couldn't skip that part, having just whipped Edgar for the claiming.

"What do you need?" His hands applied the healing ointment gently. His fingers remembered the way they had grasped the now reddened skin on Edgar's shoulders in the middle of the act. Breathing heavily against the curve of the neck, the moan and scrape of teeth biting into the skin. Yet that was then, and this is them now.

"I need you, sir." The final syllable from his new – and only – servus was deep and hoarse and it sent a heat through his being. But of course things would have to remain innocent. He was still upset with Edgar.

"You may sleep in my bed," Barnaby promised him. "I can hold you, keep you warm and safe." As was his duty toward a concubine.

"Thank you, sir." A smile played at the corners of Edgar's mouth. He was still handsome, the eyes downturned at the outer corners, the oval face that ended in the small square of the chin. Barnaby felt a longing grab him. That voice, those hands, that mouth he had kissed endlessly, smiling against his own. The happiest he had ever been and the saddest, too.

He could endure this, to make it easier for both of them.

—

Of course his back smarted, but after the high came the comedown, and the exhaustion. Barnaby was on the same bed as him, but they weren’t touching. Edgar reached out, pulling an arm over himself. It wasn’t a lie, just pure desperation when his voice finally managed to pull out the words.

“The drop, sir.”

Very quickly, Barnaby understood, fussing over him. A hand in his hair, another around his waist, tightening the hold. The ghost of Barnaby’s lips against the nape of his neck. Edgar sighed. He could feel sleep claim him slowly, for once being held for real and not just in his dreams.

Yet he also felt something else. The press of something hard against the back of his thigh, so intriguing and quite tempting. How easy might it be to just slide a hand over the familiar length, and whisper into the narrow air between them that of course, a concubine must service his officer in this way. Barnaby might protest at first, but his senses would ride along with his idea of duty – and indeed, wouldn’t that be the very core of Edgar’s own duty? Goodness knew he’d had to read more instruction manuals on the art of the blowjob than he’d ever previously thought possible, or necessary for a man of his skillset.

He quickly got hard himself, and his hand reached down to push at it. But these things rarely went down on command. Barnaby either didn’t notice, or pretended not to notice. Edgar couldn’t fall asleep like this. He wiggled around, turning, until he was face to face with Barnaby, two heads on pillows in the dim light. Barnaby’s eyes flew open.

“What are you doing?” His voice a whisper, but of course, Edgar’s insolence could be their little secret, just like at the academy. What was the worst that could happen? A new punishment? He got wildly turned on by just the mere thought of it.

“Service, sir.” Edgar pressed a light kiss on Barnaby’s lips, testing the waters. No protest, just a gasp. A second kiss, a teasing lick across the lips, and he wanted more.

“Edgar.” Barnaby’s tone was both warning and breathless.

The third kiss held back nothing. His hand cupped one side of Barnaby’s face, the sandpaper of his stubble, the intoxicating scent, the heat of his tongue. Edgar moved over the man, lining their bodies together, thigh thrown across hip for a closer press. His hand trailed down the expanse of Barnaby’s body, dropping down between them. Barnaby still wore the same style of underwear and Edgar's hand slid in with ease. He grasped the familiar length, the most beautiful cock he’d ever seen, and the groan that Barnaby let out when Edgar touched him, fuck— He wanted, and he could now claim, his Barns, his again, wholly–-

“Stop.” Barnaby said it like a command even though his voice held none of the power it had earlier that day.

Edgar’s hand halted. “Sorry, sir, I just wanted–” He wanted everything, but only if Barnaby would give it up willingly. “You.” He allowed the word to linger, deep and heated, a taste of what he could offer. His hand withdrew, slower than necessary.

“We shouldn’t.” Barnaby swallowed audibly. “I am responsible for you now, Edgar. We cannot do reckless things like back in school. I’m sure you understand, having gone through the training.”

“I’ve behaved appallingly, sir.” He hadn’t, but this was the play they were in now. “You’re right, of course.”

Barnaby’s hand reached out, softly brushing hair off his forehead. “I will give you the bed. You must be comfortable, this is a new environment for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Edgar said, but his hand reached out before Barnaby could leave. “And my punishment?”

Barnaby looked hesitant, his lower lip sucked between teeth. “I shall– I shall consider it.”

How very kind of him, Edgar thought glumly, rolling on his back, alone in the big bed now. What on earth did a concubine have to do to get fucked so raw he couldn’t walk the next day? The Fleet was nothing but a bunch of false advertisement. But on the bright side, he had gotten his Barns back.

His officer tossed and turned on the cot, and at one point Edgar thought he could detect a stifled moan. Only Barnaby would claim a concubine yet end up resorting to his own hand, out of some sickening sense of duty to a higher moral authority.

Edgar sighed. He loved the man so much.

—

The next day Barnaby showed Edgar his office aboard the ship, the administrative quarters with his volumes of intergalactic trade agreements and stacks of accounts papers. He knew Edgar had never been great at school when it came to things he didn't much care for, which were numerous. But he had also studied law, graduating with honours and was known to be precise and matter-of-fact when he needed to be.

"Your performance reflects on me as well," Barnaby told him. The grin that started in Edgar's eyes to eventually shape his mouth fascinated him. He found himself staring.

"But of course, my dear officer." Edgar's voice was still hoarse with sleep, his hand lifting a cup of tea to his lips. The familiarity was not according to protocol, only the one in charge ought to issue new words of affection between the Dominus and their servus. Edgar should know that, as this was surely covered in the training.

But Barnaby didn't much want another punishment procedure on his list so he allowed this indiscretion to slide. He suspected they might have more moments of this kind, Edgar pushing boundaries and him having to relent in some way.

His trainer Magister Karri had informed him that every bond would be unique to the participants. Barnaby was the one who might decide whether and when to punish, as well as decide the form of punishment. This was why it was probably better that Edgar not end up with someone who didn't know him as well. The boundary pushing might not be regarded as a minor indiscretion by another officer and then Edgar would become like a caged animal, unable to be his true self under threat of severe punishment.

No, Barnaby decided, it was definitely good that they had been paired together even if the coupling made him uncomfortable at first.

"Maybe today you ought to just go over the ship's purchase logs and see that they match the invoice sums given." Barnaby handed Edgar a list and could sense the unhappiness from the other man.

"And if I should make a minor error?" Edgar raised an eyebrow, hands holding the paper sheets.

"Then I shall be happy to correct it." Barnaby suddenly considered his own words, remembering the vast array of tools for punishment he had been given yesterday. "Verbally, and with kindness."

"Barns," Edgar said with warmth, putting the papers down on his own table. "I wonder if you ever do anything without kindness?"

Barnaby flushed. "I whipped you yesterday, didn't I?"

Edgar laughed, his hand finding a place on Barnaby’s forearm. "Wasn't that, too, a kindness, sir?"

"I suppose." Barnaby looked at the papers, not Edgar, and certainly not his hand. He summoned what he hoped would be some authority. "Now get to work."

Edgar took a step toward his own desk and the hand left his arm, lifted in a mock salute. This man was not apt for the Fleet, Barnaby thought with some trepidation. He would have to protect Edgar.

It was now his duty.

—

Three days of mind-numbing work, albeit in good company, each day ending with only a chaste kiss and returning to their woefully separate beds. Edgar was exhausted and he hadn't even been punished for his past so-called mistake in bed. He'd made sure to bestow intimate names instead of using the customary 'sir' and he'd even pressed their bodies together when confined to a small space. But Barnaby was being exceedingly understanding over each of these mistakes and Edgar couldn't understand why. He was misbehaving, shouldn't he be put in his place for it?

They were getting ready for bed once more and he could no longer hold it in.

"You really are quite neglectful, sir." His words were delivered with the necessary punch, even though he could see the hurt across Barnaby’s features.

"I won't punish you unnecessarily." Barnaby stood at the foot of the bed, folding his clothes while already in his navy pyjamas. He looked uncertain. "The only thing I must do is take care of you, see that you have something worthwhile to do. So that you can advance–"

"You are looking after me," Edgar interrupted him softly, walking closer. His hands found Barnaby's hips. "Now will I be allowed to look after you, at last?"

The servi were meant to look after the needs of their officers, their need for affection and closeness. Barnaby was denying Edgar, certainly, but more than that he was denying himself what was a very human need. Why shouldn’t Edgar push the issue with his officer? This was about duty, first and foremost.

"I don't need it–" Barnaby started, and Edgar leaned in for the kiss, claiming, hungry, demanding. It was insolent, completely out of order, and so fucking good. "But you need it?" Barnaby asked as he broke apart.

When Edgar opened his eyes, he found brown ones staring back at him in search of answers.

"Sir, I need it." He didn't much enjoy the begging but the next kiss was all Barnaby, frantic fingers already searching for skin beneath the hem of Edgar's shirt. Edgar sighed into the comfort, the fingertips curling against his navel, running up his sides. His own hands sunk into Barnaby’s hair, kissing and unwilling to stop. Barnaby’s mouth opened to him, the heat of his tongue slid across lips and bit into the lower lip. Barnaby moaned but his fingernails dug into Edgar's skin at the contact. More boldness, more terrible hunger.

Eventually Edgar was pushed onto the bed and forced to break apart.

"Strip." The command required only a simple action. Barnaby’s soft voice had weight to it when he needed it, and his eyes had darkened. His cheeks were flushed, lit from within.

Edgar did as told, lifting himself off the bed to slide off underwear. "Anything you want, my dear officer."

Barnaby mounted the bed, knee between Edgar's thighs, straddling one of them. He leaned in for a kiss, a brief brush of lips. "Anything I want? Can you shut up during, then?"

Edgar laughed. "You know that's not possible."

Barnaby said nothing, smiling only as his hands moved to part Edgar’s thighs. “It was a command, Edgar.”

“Yes, sir,” Edgar replied in mock-obedience before his mouth met with his officer’s once more, and he finally got everything he’d for so long wanted.