Power Cut


“That’s it?  That’s the best that you can come up with?”

“Starbuck, we’re stuck on deck twenty six, trapped in a broken down turbolift in the middle of a massive power cut.  You expect imagination?”

“I expect better than that,”  Starbuck grumbles.  “A bath!  That’s all you can think of?  A bath!”

“Starbuck, it’s cold in here.  I’m trying to think warm thoughts to keep from freezing to death.  I’m thinking something hot and steamy, something that foams and smells nice.”

“It has obviously escaped your notice, Apollo, but I’m here.  I’m hot and steamy, and even if I’m not foaming at the moment, I always smell nice.”

“You being hot and steamy is the reason we’re in this mess.  And you smell rancid.  As rancid as I do.”

Starbuck sniffs the air delicately.  “You may have a point,” he concedes.  “Things did get a bit  - er - energetic down here.”

“Energetic?  That’s one way of putting it.  I definitely need a bath.”

“You’ll be lucky.  Where’re you going to find a bath on a spaceship?  Be reasonable.”  Starbuck chuckles suddenly.  “Remember that bath at your parents’ lakeside cabin?  It must have been about two metres across and at least that deep.  You could plunge right in and swim for the other side.  Great.”


Starbuck grins. “Those were good days.  What else, Apollo?  What else in this bath of yours apart from foam?”

“Hands,” I say, thinking of his hands.  “I’ve always thought that it would be the height of luxury to have someone bathe you.”

There’s a slight pause.

“You are my Apollo, aren’t you?” Starbuck’s so close now that his voice warms my ear with his breath.  It makes me shiver, but not with the cold.  “This is a real power failure, isn’t it, not some trick so that you can be kidnapped by aliens and replaced by this android who’s suddenly showing signs of an imagination?  I’m not sure I could cope with the shock.”

“Very funny.”

“It’s got possibilities, though,”  Starbuck says, tone dreamy.  “Hands all covered in foam, gently, sensuously rubbing up and down your body, soft as velvet, warm and slippery with soap, getting the flowers out of your crevices…”

“Hey!”  I’m shifting uncomfortably as Starbuck’s words work their magic.  He knows what he can do to me with only a few words. He can get me so hot and horny that I forget everything, forget duty, honour and prudence and come down to be energetic on dark and deserted decks where we won’t get caught.  “Give that back!  That’s my fantasy.”

“We’ll share it.  We share everything, Apollo, even your fantasies.  And let’s be honest, yours need all the help they can get.  Without me to polish ‘em up a bit for you, your fantasies are all depressingly mundane.”

“They’re usually about you.”  At last!  A chance to be snide.

“Except the ones about me,”  Starbuck says promptly.  “I’m never mundane.”  He snuggles in closer still, his breath hot on my neck.  “Are they really?”

He sounds shy, but I know he’s just fishing for compliments, so I pretend I don’t know what he means.  “What?”

“About me?”

“Usually.  They’re usually about us being energetic.”

Starbuck smiles.  “And hot and steamy?”

“Mmn.”  I say. 

That’s all I can say for several centons.  Starbuck starts some energetic wrestling - purely to generate body warmth in a survival situation, of course, he’s saying in my ear - and covers up my mouth with his own, his tongue hot and wet.  Purely to keep the warmed air re-circulating, of course.  I bet.

“Turn over,” Starbuck says huskily, only just taking his mouth far enough away to talk. 

I shiver again, knowing what’s to come.  “I’ll catch my death of cold,” I say.

I take my hands out of his pants reluctantly - it’s so nice and warm in there - and turn onto my stomach, while his hands pull my pants down over my hips.  I lift my backside to help him, and he plants a kiss on it, making me gasp.

“I’ll keep you warm,”  he promises.  “A little friction should do the trick.”

Another shiver, but I’ve stopped feeling cold.  His hands are cool on my backside, smoothing over me, gentle, the fingers running down between my buttocks to that secret little crevice, making me jump.  And then he ducks his head down again, and his warm breath follows the same route as his fingers, his tongue licking down my buttocks. 

God, but I seriously love him licking me like this.  It turns my bones to water, leaving me shuddering with a desire that I’ve never felt for anything or anyone else.  If ever I feel any doubts about what we’re doing, worried about what we’d do if everyone found out about us, what I’d do if my father found out about us, all Starbuck has to do is this hot, wet tonguing into me, kissing, softening and stretching my entrance, and I forget everything.  Forget the risks, the consequences.  There’s only the delight of being known and loved in a way I’ve never been known and loved before.

A centon later and he’s pushing up into me.  We made love barely a half centar ago in one of the dark storerooms, before the power failure, and he knows that I’m still wet inside, still carrying his load from the last time.  He doesn’t need to lube up again, just take it slow.

I turn my head to one side, holding my breath, forcing myself to relax against the pain.  It hurts just a little to get him in, but I love the pain because it gives him to me, and then it all melts away and he’s nestled there, hard and hot inside me, his stomach warm against my back.  And nothing feels like this.  He fills me up so much, makes me so complete, that I think I’ll die if ever he leaves me.

“Lift up,” he says in my ear, kissing the side of my neck.

I push up my hips and he gets his hand in underneath, sheathing my prick in it.  Then he starts to stroke, pulling back until he’s almost all the way out and slamming forward again, making me cry out.  As he slams forward, he pulls back on my prick, making me push back to meet him, and every time he’s hitting that little place inside me, the place that’s almost like a pain when his prick pounds up against it, a pain that’s too pleasurable to bear.

It’s not long, and I’m crying out again, and spurting all over his hand.  But he’s not ready yet, still pounding me, still slamming his prick against that little spot of fiery pleasure.  I think he loves this best, fucking me so hard that sometimes I can’t move afterwards.  Maybe this reverses the Captain-Lieutenant thing, puts him in charge, and that’s what he likes.  I don’t know and I don’t care.  I don’t care why he does it.  I just know he loves it.  I love it too.  I love it that when he does come and he’s slid out of me again, I can still feel where he’s been, a reminder of a pleasure beyond any other pleasure, as if it’s a promise that he’ll never leave me, that he’ll always want me the way I want him.

And then he’s moaning in my ear, and holding himself deep inside me, and I can feel the wet heat flooding me.  And it calls an extra effort from me, too, and I spurt out a little more into his hand, and he’s laughing and kissing my neck and telling me that he loves me.

And that’s why I do this.  To hear Starbuck say that he loves me.

“Told you it was a great place for being energetic,” Starbuck says, when we’ve stopped kissing each other quite as frantically, and have got dressed again.  We’re still holding each other very tightly, to keep the warmth we’ve created tight between us.  “No-one ever comes down here.”

“Which begs the question about how and when we’ll ever get rescued.”  I have both my hands inside Starbuck’s uniform, again - purely to keep them warm, of course.  “I’m not complaining about getting to spend time with you, Starbuck, but forgive me if I fantasise about doing it somewhere warm.”

Even as I say it, the lift gives a little shudder, just like the little shudder I was giving earlier, and starts to move upwards. 

“Shit,” he says regretfully.

We smile at each other, then we get up off the floor hurriedly, and I check that we haven’t left any signs of what we were doing for the techs to find.  We’ll get caught out one day I guess, but not today.

“Apollo,”  he says watching the floor indicator as the turbolift takes us up, back into the warmth and light, adjusting his uniform so that no-one can see I’ve had my hands in it.


“Love you,” he says, and turns to look at me.

I stare at him.  He only ever says that when he’s deep inside me, or I’m in him, when the orgasm forces us both out from hiding, from behind our barriers.  He looks like he means it.

I smile.  “Me too,” I say.

And we’re still looking at each other and smiling, and I’m thinking about what we’ve been up to, and what it means now we’ve said it, when the doors open and two curious techs are looking at us.  I look back at them, the Captain again, and we walk out of the lift, not explaining anything, leaving them to finish whatever repairs they need.

I’ve had what I need.  And that’s enough for me.

Until the next time.