Chapter 2

They walked in silence through the quiet corridors, the only sound their footfalls on the carpeted deck. Bransen’s mind buzzed, not just from arousal, but from the sheer presence of Tobias. There was a confidence about him, one that seemed utterly unbothered by anything around him. It was disarming in the best way.

The Canberra’s gym was one of the few perks of serving aboard an older starship. Excelsior class ships like her had been designed before the age of holodecks, which meant they allocated real, physical space to crew training facilities. A year ago, the captain had approved a full modernization upgrade, and the result was something that felt more like a private spa on Risa than a Federation cruiser’s fitness center.

As the doors parted, the lights came up gradually; soft golden overheads in the central zones, with cooler blue ambient light glowing from recessed panels in the ceiling and along the baseboards. A subtle scent diffused through the room; cool, clean eucalyptus over a base of ozone and something faintly woody.

The floor was a seamless synth-resin designed to respond to gravity shifts, and near the entrance, the welcome display pulsed gently in time with the ship’s internal rhythm. Along one wall were free weights, programmable resistance rigs, and balance equipment. Another housed mat space and mirrored panels, useful for everything from yoga to kata. Cardio equipment lined the far side, complete with tread stations, upright gravity cycles, and the hydro-rowers, Bransen’s personal favorite.

Even empty, the space felt alive. Like it was waiting to be used.

Tobias whistled low. “Damn. I was expecting metal benches and sonic showers.”

“We’re not animals,” Bransen said, smirking as he peeled his tank off and tossed it onto a bench. “Captain wanted this place to be one of the best on any ship its age. It kind of is.”

“I believe it,” Tobias said, already wandering over to the cardio bay. “Everything still smells factory-fresh too. You sure we’re not in a resort?”

Bransen rolled his eyes and punched his preferred settings into a nearby wall panel. “How about a little cardio warm-up… first to 5K on the rowers?”

Tobias turned, eyebrow raised. “A race? Someone’s confident.”

“You brought a challenge,” Bransen replied, unable to stop the grin that was forming. “Let’s make it interesting.”

Tobias considered. “Loser buys breakfast.”

“We don’t pay for food.”

“Loser replicates real breakfast. Or,” he added with a smirk, “you join me at The Breakfast Club on the station. I hear they do actual eggs.”

Bransen felt the grin deepen. “You trying to turn this into a date?”

Tobias’s expression didn’t change, but his tone dipped just slightly. “You’ll know if I do.”

---

They settled into adjacent rowers as the lighting shifted again, matching the simulation parameters that Bransen had inputted.

The gym around them faded to black, and a projected horizon unfolded. The River Thames, pre-24th century; early morning mist rising over calm water, stone bridges spanning the channel, and flat sculling boats cutting the glassy surface in the distance. Bransen always chose it, it reminded him of early mornings during his Academy prep, rowing on the same river, serene, mind unburdened.

The countdown initiated. A pulsing series of tones marked ten seconds.

They both leaned forward, gripping the hydro-resistance handles. Bransen watched Tobias’s arms flex, momentarily distracted by veins over biceps, then quickly turned forward.

3… 2… 1…

The tone sounded.

They launched into the motion simultaneously; legs driving first, bodies pulling back with practiced ease. Bransen felt the resistance immediately, the push and pull as the artificial fluid resisted his rhythm. The machine purred softly under him, hydraulics mimicking the tactile tension of water and muscle.

Tobias went out fast, his strokes sharp and quick, breath already audible by the first 250 meters. His form was solid, compact, efficient, and Bransen admired it even as he chose a steadier pace.

They pulled in parallel, Bransen watching the virtual HUD overlay tracking their progress. By 1,000 meters, Tobias had pulled ahead slightly. At 2k, Bransen began to close the gap, his longer strokes starting to pay off.

Neither of them spoke, but Bransen could hear Tobias’s breath deepening. Sweat glistened on his neck, trailing down into the dip of his collarbone and disappearing beneath the edge of the tank top. Bransen forced himself to keep focus on the race, on the rhythm… but it was getting harder.

He pushed.

3k. 4k. Final stretch.

He could feel the lactic acid building in his thighs, muscles beginning to shake slightly with exertion. Tobias matched him stroke for stroke, and they surged through the last 250 meters nearly in sync.

As the finish line beeped onscreen, both men collapsed into their consoles.

“Holy shit,” Bransen gasped, dragging in a breath.

Tobias barked a laugh between panting. “You good?”

“Depends. What’s your time?”

Tobias glanced at his readout. “Seventeen forty-three point five-oh.”

Bransen groaned. “Seventeen forty-four point oh-two. You bastard.”

“Half a second,” Tobias said, falling dramatically onto the floor. “I earned that breakfast.”

Bransen laughed and grabbed his towel, stepping off the machine. Tobias had peeled off his tank top and lay in a gleaming heap of muscled satisfaction. His torso rose and fell with each breath, and the shimmer of sweat across his skin made his spots look like liquid ink.

“You gonna just stand there?” Tobias said, grinning.

Bransen extended a hand. “Up.”

Tobias took it… and pulled hard.

Bransen stumbled, tripped, and landed with a thud right on top of him, straddling the Trill’s hips with a gasp.

They were nose to nose. Bransen’s hands splayed on Tobias’s chest. Tobias’s hands rested on his thighs, then slid up his sides without apology.

“What now, Lieutenant?,” Tobias murmured, eyes locked on his.

Bransen didn’t reply. Couldn’t. He bent down and kissed him.

---

It was intense, immediate.

Tobias met him with equal urgency, mouth open, tongue sliding against his in a wet, breathless rhythm. Hands roamed freely now, exploring firm bodies and bare skin. Bransen felt Tobias’s grip tighten at his waist, pulling him closer, until their hips pressed together and friction sparked up through every nerve ending.

He ground down once. Then again.

Tobias groaned low in his throat and bit gently at Bransen’s lower lip, tugging before diving back in.

They kissed for a long time, long enough that the lights dimmed slightly to simulate night cycle. The gym was completely silent except for their ragged breathing and the occasional shuffle of limbs.

Bransen’s cock strained against the inside of his gym shorts, and he could feel Tobias, hot and hard beneath him. But they didn’t cross the line.

Not yet.

Tobias finally broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Bransen’s.

“If we keep going,” he whispered, “we’re not stopping.”

Bransen smiled, still catching his breath. “Then we should stop. For now.”

Tobias’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “You always this restrained?”

“I try.”

“Well,” Tobias said, sitting up as Bransen climbed off of him, “good thing breakfast is just a few hours away.”

Bransen stood, pulling on his shirt, Tobias’s face almost nestled into his crotch. “That was… nice.”

Standing, Tobias grabbed his towel and slung it around his neck. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered.”

“You will be.”

Bransen rolled his eyes, turned, and made for the door.

Behind him, Tobias’s voice followed… “See you at 0800, Lieutenant. And Bransen? Don’t be late!”