Chapter 15

The USS Canberra sat once again in the mammoth internal dock of Starbase 21. The chaos of Kaesso was behind them, mostly, and the ship had started to return to life as normal.

Deck Seven was quiet.

Bransen worked the lat pulldown machine with methodical precision, sweat beading along his temple, shirt already clinging to his chest and back. He wore compression shorts and a sleeveless performance top; standard issue, but flattering on his lean frame. His naturally pale skin, bronzed just enough to suggest leisure and discipline, gleamed under the soft lights.

He caught his reflection in one of the mirrored walls; shoulders pumping, arms flexing, face set in quiet concentration. Not bulky, but sculpted. Just the way he liked it.

Across the room, Tobias was doing curls with a grav-bar, shirtless now, the faint pink sheen of regenerated skin high on his shoulder the only visible trace of the disruptor blast he had taken on Kaesso; for a split second, a sharp memory of blood and smoke flickered through Bransen’s mind before desire reasserted itself. His torso moved in controlled, elegant motions, each rep showcasing the cut of his obliques, the curve of his lats. The dark trail of Trill spots ran from temple to toe, disappearing beneath the low waistband of his shorts in a way that made him bite his lip.

Bransen tried, and failed, not to stare.

Tobias finished his set and wandered over, casually, almost too casually, before running a hand across Bransen’s back.

“Grankegh cleared you for that?” Bransen asked casually.

“He cleared me for light exercise.”

“That looked like curls.”

“Emotionally light.”

Bransen chuckled, switching to rows.

“So,” Tobias said, “what did I miss while I was in sickbay?”

“Wouldn’t know. Vallona stuck me on duty.”

“Vulcan logic strikes again.”

“You think they’ll let you stay?” Bransen asked quietly.

Tobias shrugged. “Don’t know. But I’m not going anywhere unless they make me.”

They were close now. Too close. Bransen could smell the sweat and soap on Tobias’s skin; clean, sharp, undeniably male.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Tobias said, leaning back on his elbows, “but for someone who just nearly got himself killed, you clean up pretty well.”

Bransen arched an eyebrow. “You were looking?”

“Hard not to.”

“Well,” Bransen returned, “you look pretty good for a guy who just got shot.”

The air between them charged. Bransen felt it in his stomach; heat, anticipation, a tightening that had nothing to do with exercise.

He stood. “Shower?”

Tobias didn’t move. Just grinned. “Lead the way.”

---

The changing rooms were as sleek as the rest of the Canberra’s gym; rows of lockers, private sonic stalls, and a hydrowall running down the center, shimmering with atomized steam. Bransen keyed into one of the private stalls, the door sliding open to reveal a sleek black-tiled chamber with a curved seat and temperature controls on the wall.

They stepped inside together.

The door sealed behind them, and for a moment neither moved.

The heat was there, immediate and obvious, but so was the memory of everything they had agreed not to hide from anymore.

Tobias’s hand rested at Bransen’s waist. “Tell me if this is too soon.”

Bransen looked at him, at the uncertainty beneath the want, and felt something in his chest loosen.

“It is,” he said. Then, before Tobias could pull back, he added, “But I still want it.”

Tobias’s breath caught.

“No shadows?” he asked.

“No shadows,” Bransen said. “Just us.”

Tobias pulled Bransen’s shirt off in a single smooth motion, eyes raking over the bare skin beneath. “Fuck, Bransen, you’re beautiful.”

Bransen flushed… not from modesty, but from the hunger in Tobias’s gaze. He reached for Tobias’s waistband, tugging his shorts down, watching as the Trill’s cock sprang free; thick, cut, already hard. Tobias returned the favor, enjoying the slap as Bransen’s own hard dick sprang free.

Then they were kissing. Deep, urgent, mouths locked, tongues intertwined. Bransen moaned as Tobias pressed him against the stall wall, their cocks grinding together, slick and hot.

Hands roamed. Tobias’s fingers traced the line of Bransen’s spine, the curve of his ass, the sharp cut of his jaw. Tobias dropped to his knees, licking along Bransen’s hipbone before taking his painfully hard cock into his mouth in one slow, skillful movement.

Bransen groaned, fingers threading through damp blond hair, hips rocking forward as Tobias sucked him deeply. It was too much and not enough.

He tugged Tobias back up, kissing him hard.

Their bodies moved together; neither new to this, but newly charged by it.

Tobias pushed Bransen onto the bench, straddling him. They kissed until they couldn’t breathe, until Bransen felt drunk on sensation. Tobias’s hand wrapped around both their cocks, stroking slowly.

They didn’t fuck. Not here. Not yet.

But they came close.

Bransen couldn’t hold it in; he moaned, shooting his cum across Tobias’s chest. Seconds later, Tobias followed, gasping into Bransen’s shoulder and spraying them both with a hot, sticky load.

They stayed like that, tangled and breathless, steam curling around them.

Eventually, Bransen laughed. “We should probably shower.”

Tobias grinned. “I thought we were.”

They dressed slowly, exchanging little glances that said too much; not promises, not yet, but an unspoken agreement to take things carefully, honestly, this time. Bransen’s body ached in the best way, but something else stirred beneath it. A sense of connection, of possibility. He wasn’t sure what it meant. Not yet.

Tobias slung his duffel over one shoulder as they left. “How do you feel about breakfast?”

Bransen blinked. “Now?”

“I know a place. Just dockside. Trust me.”

Bransen looked at him.

Tobias seemed to realize what he had said a second too late.

He nodded. “I know.”

“Good,” Bransen said. “Then breakfast.”