Vision space

by BRK   

Sent to explore an unknown, derelict spaceship in search of usable technology, a young marine unexpectedly discovers three sexy inhabitants, guardians of a secret no one could have imagined.

The lifeless derelict drifted aimlessly around the dead center of the Delvian Wastes like a lone dust mote in the still air of an infinitely large and infinitely empty chamber. With no external lights or energy emissions, and the nearest star one pinprick among myriads at over fifty light-years away, the dead ship was perfectly invisible to the naked eye, and only our scanners told us by extrapolation that there was anything there at all. How that passing cargo ship had even stumbled across it to report it to authorities was only one of a number of unsettling unknowns.

My captain, a grizzled space-dog named Chavez who played cello to wind himself down from the tough job of keeping 121 scientists, technicians, engineers, and my fellow marines and me alive a million light years out from the nearest friendly face, stared at the readout screens at the sensor station. The only movement perceptible across his granite 193-cm form (a few notches above my own 190) was a slow stroke across his clean-shaven jaw with the side of his index finger. I watched in covert fascination from my post at the security command position a quarter of the way around the bridge, forcing down a familiar unwanted craving for it to be my finger dragging across that chin instead of his own. My finger—or my tongue. Or my cock. He had twenty years on me (the silver-dappled black of his short, unruly locks always drew my eyes and set my fingers itching to touch), and I had twenty pounds of muscle on him (not that he couldn’t take me in a fight, playful or otherwise); and yet Captain Chavez was still the one man who got my hand moving toward my thickening cock every damn rack time without fail since we left spacedock more than three hundred ship-days ago.

My troublemaking cock. It’s always taken up too much of my headspace, and now, on this mission, I was feeling its presence and wants more intrusively than ever. I’d been proud of my dick since my first thrilling, life-changing orgasms as a preteen, of course—it was a good, heavy slab, a grower if there ever was one, and my motivation to strengthen, expand, and beautify my chiseled, well-proportioned body had partly been to build it a worthy venue. I’d been wondering a lot lately if Chavez would enjoy watching it expand and harden to its full, majestic length, girth, and heft just as much as I did.

Fuck, I needed a new fantasy. Or three. Because space knew that no one man would measure up to the hard planes, steely eyes, and kissable, cocksucking lips of veteran star-hunter Juan Pablo Chavez Montilla in my poor, sex-starved mind.

I forced my attention back to the present and the unknown derelict fifty clicks off our starboard beam. “Anyone recognize the design?” the captain asked, directing his question to the bridge crew in general. Eight talented and handsome young men and women, the future of the Presidium’s Galactic Armada, pursed their lips and frowned at their screens, myself included.

“It’s not one of ours,” Stokes, the skinny blond navigator from the Colonies, said immediately.

That much was obvious, I thought in agreement. I considered my own screens where the slowly revolving wireframe of the ship the sensors had mapped out was displayed alongside the defense readiness and perimeter readouts. It wasn’t anything I’d seen before, but no ship in the Armada was shaped like that: two overlapping spheroids, each with about a fifth of itself inside the other like a couple of huge testicles merged in a transporter accident. The whole thing was easily twice the size of our own frigate-class interstellar ship, the Destinus.

“It doesn’t line up with any known enemy configuration,” I felt compelled to add, not that the captain wouldn’t have already known that himself. It was part of my job to lay out defense situations and options for the record, even—perhaps especially—when they went without saying.

No other opinions were forthcoming. “Launch a probe,” Chavez decided. Rosenberger, the I&A officer—that’s info and analytics—confirmed the order and complied. Within moments we were all watching real-time video feeds from the probe as it slid silently through space toward the dead ship. For several minutes all we got was inky black nothing overlaid with a heads-up breakdown of sensor statistics that resembled nothing so much as the emptiest of empty space. Out here in the Delvian Wastes even background radiation was so negligible as to be almost undetectable, and all the probe’s readings were stuck at zero like they were glued there.

Then, finally, the probe’s powerful forward lamp lit upon something round and dark amidst the blackness. Rosenberger threw the transmission onto the wall-screen, and we all turned toward it to get a better look.

The probe closed the distance and began an automatically plotted grid exploration of the largely featureless double-sphere vessel. Though some of the sensor readings fluctuated on the display, the ship appeared to be just as dead close-up as it was from where we sat a safe distance away. “Nothing on the interior?” the captain asked after a few minutes.

“Not yet. Wait—” The scrolling blue-gray surface of the ship was finally being interrupted on-screen by a large set of markings in a script I did not recognize, though I’d bet a night’s rack-time it was the ship’s designation. The probe slowed, focusing on the rows of meters-tall markings. It wasn’t long before Rosenberger confirmed what I’d been thinking. “We have the ship’s name,” she said, sounding surprised. “It’s called the Grey City Beyond, though—” She paused, hesitating.

The captain turned to look at her. “What?” he prodded.

Rosenberger shrugged, not looking away from her screen as she manipulated and drilled into the readings. “Our AI won’t tell me how it knows that,” she admitted. “It’s not in any known—hang on, we’ve got schematics,” she added, interrupting herself. Screen after screen of interior ship layouts flickered rapidly onto her console. “I don’t—I can’t tell where they’re coming from.”

“Data quarantine intact?” I asked quickly, alarmed at the prospect of invasive alien data structures infiltrating the ship’s AI and life-support software.

Rosenberger spared me a quick, derisive look that very clearly said “I know what I’m doing, Zhukov,” though all she said was “Affirmative” before returning to her work.

“It’s like the probe’s reading metadata embedded in the markings,” Stokes mused aloud. That didn’t sound quite right to me, though. It was more like deciphering the instructions for deciphering the instructions, using the instructions themselves to perform the deciphering. If this was technology, I thought, it was firmly in Clarke’s Third Law territory.

Chavez was looking over Rosenberger’s shoulder as engineering diagrams flitted by on her data-bulkheaded console as if in time to the ticking of a metronome, while I tried not to stare at his backside. He whistled. “If these are accurate, this may be the most advanced nonaligned ship the Presidium’s ever encountered.” Without diverting his gaze he directed his next question to the engineering officer, positioned a few stations away to his left. “Sahota, any chance we can tow this thing out of the Wastes and back to civilization?”

Sahota grimaced. “You got an extra Chi-7 star-drive I don’t know about?” she asked dryly. “Because otherwise, no.”

Chavez grunted. I knew what he was thinking. It wasn’t widely known aboard ship, but as security officer I had been read in on our true mission. The Presidium Central AI was projecting war with the Harrl in twenty years’ time—a war that, given the lizard-like bastards’ considerable technological advantage over us, was likely to go very, very badly. Our job was to map out new back-door routes into and out of Presidium space (thus the side-mission into the Delvian Wastes adjoining the extragalactic frontiers of both our space and theirs in response to the cargo ship’s report of a derelict vessel in the middle of nowhere); to be on the lookout for new repositories of critical resources and new potential trade partners; and, perhaps most of all, to acquire at all costs any and all propulsion, information, and weapons technology superior to our own for reverse-engineering back home by Presidium experts.

On the face of it, this encounter was a bad deal all the way around. There were too many unknowns here, too many risks. Any other ship would have collected what data we could within safety parameters and moved on. The whole bridge knew that, but Chavez and I knew things that they didn’t. Thus I was the only bridge officer who wasn’t surprised when the captain, still at hovering at Rosenberger’s shoulder, tilted his head and made silent eye contact with me. I nodded once in response to his unspoken question. Inside I shivered, but not solely because of what was about to come next. The captain’s resolute authority was always sexy as fuck me, and I felt my champion dick throb a little in response to his air of command. That, and the backside I hadn’t been able to keep from stealing glances at this whole time.

All that remained was for Chavez to make it official. “Mr. Zhukov,” he said, turning his head back to the still-stacking schematics piling up on Rosenberger’s screen. “Time to suit up.”

The process of transportation was familiar. The enclosed, shoulder-wide translucent holo-cylinder I’d started out in—normally grayish-green, though the ones the Destinus projected were a faint, frosty pink, for reasons I had never understood—seemed from my perspective to disintegrate as if its surface were being ripped apart by angry microscopic ants, replaced as always by a distant destination far from the ship’s teleportation chamber. It might be a Presidium outpost, or a little-known planet, or, as in this case, the butt end of a wide, airless, glossy-white corridor deep inside a strange ship of unknown origin and intent.

This time, however, there was one aspect of the conveyance that was not at all routine.

“Destinus to Zhukov, confirm transport,” said a voice in my ear. Adams, the senior transport tech.

“Destinus, recall, priority,” I responded immediately, looking down at myself with a numb sort of shock. Thoughts raced through my mind. I should be dead already! There was no time to recall me, why wasn’t I dead—

“Unable to signal-lock,” Adams growled. I could hear the clicks and tinks as he frantically tried to force this console to do his bidding. “Stand by, Zuke!”

“Zhukov, what is your situation?” Chavez broke in from the bridge.

I was still gaping down at myself. I could barely force myself to say the words—saying them would make what I was seeing real. “My envirosuit is gone,” I informed him.

“Your suit’s… gone?” Chavez repeated.

“Everything’s gone.”

There was a pause while the Adams and the bridge crew imagined what I was seeing for myself with my own eyes: me, stark naked somewhere in the shiny, overlit bowels of a sleek alien ship. It was so white in here that my naturally pallid skin appeared almost rosy by comparison, and my close-cropped platinum hair—going by my carefully trimmed pubes—looked positively flaxen blond for once.

“Zuke—if that’s true,” the captain said carefully, “how is it that you’re talking to us?”

I touched a hand to one ear. No comm, nothing. The other ear. Nothing there either. “Unknown,” I said, stomach twisting.

“Forget the comms,” Stokes broke in, “how are you breathing?”

I swallowed hard and tried to keep the fear out of my voice. “Unknown,” I repeated.

“I’m getting environmental readings from your position—somehow,” Rosenberger said. “Gravity 9.0 N/kg, ambient temperature 21.0 C, ambient illuminance 40,000 lux…”

“Does that describe your current environment?” Chavez asked.

“Pretty much,” I said. “Normal gravity, normal temperature, kinda bright.” I was not lost on me that these values corresponded to what was normal for us—perhaps, I thought with a flutter of my stomach, what was normal for me in particular. And what were the odds that my normal matched the normal of whatever race this unfamiliar ship belonged to? My experience as a space marine told me the answer was about the same as the amount of clothing I currently had on, which was, ironically as the ones I’d been wearing had disappeared, zip.

There was something else, too, but I couldn’t be sure I was actually feeling it, so I held off for the moment reporting anything to the Destinus. It felt like there was some kind of energy thrumming through me, like little infinitesimal bursts of light that were passing right through my skin and sort of lighting up everything inside me, each individual cell getting a tiny, random flare of energy as the steady, subliminal flux passed through me. It was like floating through an aurora and feeling all its strange emanations. It was invigorating, and, oddly enough, a little arousing, too. Was it real? Vibrations from the propulsion or life support systems? Nerves at showing up naked?

I put it out of my head for the moment and waited for the captain’s response.

Chavez absorbed my news silently. I had served with him long enough to be certain he was disturbed at the sudden twist that the ship was not as derelict as it had appeared to be, but also that he’d be keeping that bottled up tight. “Any sign of the… crew?” he ventured.

“Negative.” I paused, then: “Orders?”

“Adams is still working on regaining your transport lock,” Chavez said, his voice flat and uninflected. “We’ve got Wong spinning up a short-range-portal-equipped shuttlepod for emergency evac as backup. In the meantime—” He only paused a moment before continuing, “continue mission.”

Of course. “Roger that.”

I had my orders, so I started moving down the corridor. It was wide enough for five broad-shouldered cusses like me to walk abreast, and as long as a football pitch. Without my suit and sidearm I felt minuscule and isolated, and the knowledge that I would soon be entering even larger spaces where unknown exigencies awaited did not help. According to the schematics we’d received, I had arrived in a corridor just outside of the main engineering area in the exact center of the vessel, right where the spheres overlapped. Engineering was the most likely repository of interesting tech, and my orders were to conduct recon for security threats ahead of specialist teams who would be better qualified to determine what could be digitally modeled on the spot or, in a pinch, extracted. As I padded barefoot down the cool, shiny promenade I wondered if the teams would even be sent now that we knew that there was a risk they’d turn up totally starkers (and, presumably, without their equipment), but I agreed with the captain that until I could be recalled I should make use of my opportunity to gather intel on this unknown quantity I’d been transported into.

My blood warmed as I thought of Captain Chavez. Perhaps he would assign himself to the tech away team this time, and I’d finally get a good look at that hard, tight-muscled body he normally kept hidden under his snug, midnight-blue uniform…

My cock twitched, and kept myself from muttering a curse. It would be exactly my luck to get a big, wet boner thinking about my blood-stirring captain just as Adams finally got a lock on me and yanked me back, and boy, would I never hear the end of that. I tried to force myself to stop thinking about him, but my blood only seemed to get hotter, and my pulse quicker. That thrum, too, seemed to step up ever so slightly, every part of my insides warmly kissed in random succession by the just-out-of-reach resonance I still couldn’t be sure I wasn’t imagining.

I turned a corner and the ceiling vanished. I was now in a vast cuboid space, at least ten decks high going by the corridor I’d been in and with a footprint large enough to fit an entire scout-class fighter like the ones I’d trained in at the Academy. As with the corridor it was almost luminescently white. Also like the corridor, it was completely and utterly empty.

I padded further in across the smooth, shinning floor toward the center of the space, as if I might gain a new vantage and discover that my eyes had at first deceived me. They had not.

My stomach sank as I looked around me at nothing and more nothing. This was the main engineering space. On the schematics it was full of equipment, conduits, and monitoring stations. What I saw before me was devoid of anything marked in the specs, as though the whole enterprise had been run by some shady extralegal cartel that had gotten wind of our coming and had cut out in the night before we’d showed.

I was sure now of only one thing. We’d been had.

I should have called for immediate transport. But that pleasant thrum pouring through me had escalated dramatically the moment I’d entered the hangar-sized chamber, and it was starting to feel so good my body was responding to it. And when I say my body, I mean I was feeling happy and turned on all over, head to toe and everything in between, but particularly and especially in my cock. I was more than lukewarm on the idea of returning to the Destinus buck naked and more than half-hard.

Then again, there was a good chance Chavez would be in the transport chamber, waiting to debrief me. Except, the alien ship had “debriefed” me already, I thought with an inner smirk.

I shook my head slightly. I was a fucking space marine. (Though I hadn’t been doing a lot of fucking lately…) I tried clearing my thoughts and spoke into my nonexistent comm. “Zhukov to Destinus, do you read?”

“Destinus. Go ahead.” Chavez. My dick responded to his rough baritone like he’d caressed my cheek… with his tongue. Fuck. Even in my fantasies he turned the tables on me.

I forced down my carnal agitation as best I could. “It’s not here, captain,” I said roughly. “Main engineering is empty.”

There was a short silence. Then: “Understood.” Another pause. “We’re working on getting you out there, Zuke. Stand by.”

“Roger… that…” I said, losing track of my words as a tall, delicious-looking young man seemed to step out of the whiteness maybe ten meters away and walk slowly toward me. He was naked and thickly muscled like me, though his hairless, unmarked torso and floppy auburn locks called out his comparative youth, his appearance suggesting an age near 20 or so to my 28. He was smiling, his expression genial and unafraid. In my current state of mounting arousal I could not help but be aware of how deeply attracted to him I was, nor could I do anything about it.

“You don’t need to leave just yet,” he told me, his clear, ice-blue eyes fixed on mine. Even his voice, a rich tenor, seemed to resonate excitingly in my chest and in my balls. There was a beauty mark on his left cheek just above that sharp, clean jawline—that and the unbalanced fall of his floppy hair were practically his only deviations from perfect composition and symmetry, as far as I could tell.

Another naked, bright-eyed honey-boy appeared, darker skinned with long coppery hair and even more enticing, all loose limbs and carefully grown muscle. A tiny red gem sparkled from the lobe of his left ear. “This place isn’t what you thought it was,” he added, his bright grin sending shivers through me. My cock was getting harder by the second, completely ignoring my pleas to stay at least partially soft. It felt big and potent, too, like controlling it was beyond me or any man.

A third well-muscled beauty, this one a hard-packed gym-rat type with thick, square pecs and long, powerful-looking legs approached on the other side. He was dark-haired and olive-skinned, his hazel eyes and curled lips wicked and compelling. His only attire was a twined leather cuff around his right wrist. “This,” he said, moving with the others toward me and my growing hardon, “is the—” He said a few words in a language and manner of speech I didn’t know, but like Rosenberger’s console I felt their meaning anyway: vision space was the surface of it, more or less. It didn’t quite translate, and there were more layers of meaning beneath it, but that was the idea.

As the dark-haired muscle-nude spoke the name, as if it were an invocation all four monolithic walls of the white, pristine chamber started to shimmer with moving, Leviathan-sized full-length images of good-looking, utterly naked men. They looked like projections at first, but as they shifted they seemed more and more like reflections of real, 30-meter-tall guys, smiling down at me as if through transparent barriers, one after another in rapid succession. Thousands of striking men flickered by, millions of them it almost seemed, their variety impressive and seemingly exhaustive of the kinds of men I might find alluring; but then like a slot machine they settled one by one on the same man. Four living, smiling, cock-hardening versions of the same fantasy: my captain, the ravishing veteran explorer Juan Pablo Chavez, whose carved, hair-dusted, adamantine body showed his strength and his scars. He was as naked as a dream, alive and observing me from every side, his knowing, steel-gray eyes moving, his sweet mouth quirking, his broad shoulders shifting… arms loose, crossed, akimbo… his cock thick, twitching, already half-hard as he watched me staring up at him in awe and utterly inexorable lust.

My breath shuddered and my heart skipped. Reason left me, and a glowing, living arousal larger and stronger than I could handle suffused and consumed my mind, body, and soul. A flood of warmth passed through my physical form like the first wave of a coming storm.

The first of the honeys, the blond, was beaming at me. “He will like this,” he said.

He was looking down, in the direction of my crotch. I looked down too. I saw my abs first. They looked harder, more deeply carved, like I’d done nothing but sit-ups and crunches for the whole three hundred days of our mission, and maybe for my whole life before that. In my current sex-besotted state I could only hmph in surprise and appreciation. But then my eyes landed on my cock, and I drew in a breath. It wasn’t just that I was iron-hard, red-tinged and damp-tipped, my implacable erection jutting out before me like a battering ram, elevated unmovably only a few degrees above the horizontal. That was—well, if I was as aroused as this it was to be expected, and the idea that I shouldn’t be naked right now, much less boned like never before, had drained completely out of my head like so much dirty dishwater. The thing that I wasn’t expecting was the size of my cock. It was easily half again as big as it should be, a real slab and a half, and I could tell from the tingling still thrumming excitedly through body and boner that the changes were somehow my doing—and they were only beginning.

I almost couldn’t look away from it, aroused more than ever at the mere sight of its magnificent puissance. A thick dorsal artery wandered from the trimmed platinum hair around my base down the now-lengthened journey to the blunt, reddish, precum-wet head, dominating the smaller purple-blue threadlines of the veins darting this way and that around it. At this size the subtle curve in my monumental shaft was amplified, so that the even-more-massive version of my wide, massive tool bent visibly to the left as it stood straight out from my body. The gentle deflection to port made it look almost like my dickhead was searching for something—sniffing around for the ass it most wanted to shove itself into, perhaps. Or maybe that was just me. I wanted to laugh, aware of how utterly captivated and intoxicated I was by the size and shape and intricate coloring of my big, beautiful, slightly bent cock.

“He will like this very much,” the third, dark-haired honey agreed.

I looked up at the giant fantasy-men smiling down at me, and then at my three companions, who for some reason now seemed a little shorter than I was. With my body awash in hormonal energy and my mind fully surrendered to overwhelming, unremitting sexual need, my only possible response to their words was to smirk cockily at them and ask, “You think?”

My three new friends smiled widely at me. “Definitely,” they said.

My cock and I were at the center of everything that mattered. I fell back with a smile, knowing somehow my perfectly round, diligently crafted ass would find a soft surface to receive it long before it hit the hard, gleaming floor. I was right, of course. I spread-eagled on the wide, white, gently resilient platform, not needing to crawl backwards to be fully supported now from head to heel. My immense erection looked even more colossal from this perspective, a fleshy Tower of Babel striving to reach the celestial remove. In fact everything about me was bigger and sexier: my pale, elegantly shaped pecs were as thick as boulders hewn from primordial marble; my abs were even deeper cut than before and had surpassed an eight-pack to become a ten-pack; my balls were like compact balloons; my legs long, thickly cut tree trunks… but my eyes were filled only with my immense, subtly curved, now almost neck-thick cock as it stretched and strained toward the stars without.

My companions were on the bed with me, all three of them smiling at me from the other side of my massive prick. My legs were spread wide, knees raised, and there was no doubt what was coming. My training, as it happens, was to name anomalies for ease of reference when they came in groups, and without thinking I had already dubbed them Alfa, Bravo, and Charlie in the order they had appeared. Alfa, the floppy-haired blond with the perfect gymnast’s build and the beauty-mark on his cheek, was directly behind my towering prick; his left hand was sliding up my groin and onto my uncanny abs, and even as I watched he wrapped his right hand around my mighty shaft, his fingers not even reaching halfway across the surface of the thing. To his right, Bravo, the darker-skinned one with the long copper hair and small ruby stud, bent his head toward my mighty cock, raising his stubbly chin and letting a long tongue escape his lips with obvious intent, and I shivered, a gout of precum shoving out of the tip above them. Charlie, the thicker-muscled, olive-skinned one with the dark hair and the leather bracelet, was on Alfa’s left, one arm around my powerful alabaster thigh. They were all looking at me with happy, lascivious adoration, as if my arrival had fulfilled a need in them, and I knew their exhilaration would translate into gratitude and enthusiasm.

I was bigger, still bigger. At some fundamental, irrational level I wanted to impress the giant Chavezes projected so realistically on the walls of the chamber. I wanted to be more, and I was more. My companions grew with me as if fed by my pleasure, their pecs as absurdly thick as mine, their roaming hands matching the proportions of our expanding forms. They were helping me, I realized, facilitating my rebirth as I became what I needed to be.

Bravo was now using both his arms and his thick pecs to massage my increasingly pre-slicked cock, but it was his broad, hot tongue I felt the most, every long lick sending unspeakable pleasure through me. Alfa joined him, one arm wrapped around my huge shaft lower down as he mouthed along the other side of my prick closer to the base, while his other hand caressed my steel-hard abs, his large pecs nuzzling my swollen, melon-sized balls. Charlie used his own hot mouth and long, talented tongue along the sensitive inside of my thigh, moving steadily toward even more intimate areas. I groaned, thrusting rapidly toward the edge of climax, knowing that my pleasure was theirs and that I would bring them with me when I fell. Something mattered about that building orgasm, something transformative, and I wanted it more than anything.

I was bigger again, immensely bigger, my sprawling form still claiming the whole of a platform that now nearly filled the gigantic white chamber. Though supine I knew I was as big as the Chavez-images, but with my beauty, size, and strength expanded beyond anything real: my pecs were immense, my abs and legs were lengthened, my arms were longer and thicker and all-powerful, and my cock… my cock surpassed them all, standing high and, even bent, almost reaching the ceiling above. I was that cock, and it was me, and the race the orgasm I was experiencing as the three lovers gave me pleasure was not just about my ridiculously escalated dick and balls but a building explosion that would carry every particle of me into a realm beyond bliss.

My companions were grown again too, less extremely than I was, though their pecs were beyond huge and their cocks had finally appeared, wetly stabbing the air above their shoulders as they jointly gratified me into inescapable release, all three of them licking and mouthing and groping my gigantic cock and balls, exuberantly and mercilessly compounding my pleasure beyond endurance with hands and arms and pecs and tongues. Finally I couldn’t hold back another second. I erupted, spewing impossible amounts of cum seemingly from out of the very depths of my soul. I cried out, and my companions did the same, their own forehead-high arm-thick erections shooting colossal amounts of spunk in harmony with my own. We came and came, spending ourselves, and when we were utterly empty we drifted, my cock slumped over my overmuscled torso, the head resting to the right of my own, while my hunky companions draped themselves over my legs and balls, happy and sated. The walls were blank again; I had achieved everything I wanted to be.

I don’t know how long it was that we reveled in the warm euphoria we had created for ourselves before I heard the words. It was a familiar voice, but it seemed small and far away, and yet present and next to me at the same time.

“My god,” said the voice.

I turned my head to the left. A chunky, shuttlepod liveried in Presidium silver and blue sat near the corner of the bed-like platform, its rear airlock blown. Chavez had come himself; he was standing near the pod, the helmet of his envirosuit under his arm, and he was staring up at my 15-times-bigger form in unconcealed awe.

I smiled at him, happy to see him, and because he was there in the flesh my spent, colossal dick gave a half-hearted twitch. Though a fraction of my own size this man still had the power to turn me on even after the most satisfying orgasm I’d ever known.

“No,” I said, soft and low. “Just Zuke.”

His smile was indulgent, a superior officer tolerating the japes of a subordinate. His eyes, though… his eyes were hungry.

“I came to rescue you, but…” He gestured toward the pod with his free hand. “I don’t think you’ll fit.”

I exchanged a look with my companions. We were connected now, and knowing that gave me a contentment I didn’t quite understand yet. That was why the shared orgasm had been so important: it had bound us forever. I glanced back at Chavez. “Stand by,” I told him with a small smirk, repeating his own words from just a little while back, in another phase of my suddenly transformed life.

I met the gazes of the other three. Something twisted inside us, simultaneous and simple, and all at once I stood before my captain, eye to eye, my new friends behind me. I was not so much back to normal as kind of echo of it. I stood at close to my former stature, my revised height of 198 cm giving me a new edge on Chavez I hadn’t had before, and the blue marine’s jumpsuit I’d conjured closely hugged a physique that wasn’t too much larger than I’d used to be—at least, it wasn’t anywhere near as freakily muscled as I’d been a moment before. My cock, though, resisted any reduction and hung heavily between my legs, its head dangling near my ankles. Even sleeved in the third leg I’d given my jumpsuit to accommodate it, my prick was obscene and dominant, a force that I knew filled me and all around me with heady, seemingly unslakable lust.

My companions had twisted in size with me, and stood at my side, three beautiful men, blond, copper, and dark, in the uniforms of Presidium crewmen. Their flawless physiques were as they were before, and though they must have reduced their cocks somewhat their groins all bulged with barely contained promise. “These are my friends,” I said, in response to Chavez’s inquiring look. “Friend” wasn’t quite right, but “bondmate” didn’t really tell the story either. “They were guests of the captain of this ship when a sudden radiation flash wiped out the crew, leaving them adrift and without a—” How should I put it? They had a word for the person they bonded with, drew inspiration from, and shared pleasure with, who made it possible for them to exist and remain stable in this dimension; but I couldn’t quite put it into English. “—without anyone to help them,” I finished. Chavez raised a dark brow at me, but he knew we’d talk much more about this and many other things in the days and weeks to come. “They drew the cargo ship near enough to clock the derelict and report it, and… here we are.”

“We have a lot to offer each other, Captain Chavez,” Alfa said.

“Our knowledge surpasses even what you see here,” Charlie added, gesturing behind him. Chavez started as the white room and the resilient platform we’d had sex on all fell away, replaced with the massive engines and conduits we’d seen indicated on the diagrams. It was a good thing the shuttlepod was short-range portal equipped so we could just skip through the hull when we left, seeing as it was now more or less wedged into a small, unused corner of the chamber, unable to go anywhere except through the nearest pseudo-metallic bulkhead. Next to where we stood a giant cooling unit loomed over us, as if the equipment were built to make its users feel small. The idea now struck me as funny, though I suppressed my smile for the moment.

“We hope you will let us share your journey,” Bravo continued, and I realized the “us” he meant included me.

Chavez nodded, grasping the implications. His eyes looked more like steel than ever as he met my gaze. “Is that what you want, Zuke?” he asked.

I understood what he meant. I could choose any future now, any existence. I stepped closer him, near enough I could feel his warmth. My companions gathered close behind, latent repositories of sexual energy. I felt deep desire simmering between us—me, the companions, and my handsome, beloved captain. There was one thing about me that had not changed.

“I want to travel the stars with you,” I confessed. They were the truest words I had ever spoken, no less so now that I also spoke for three men with whom I shared a single destiny. They wanted my pleasure, and I sure as fuck intended to give it to them.

Chavez and I closed the space between us, arms wrapped around each other’s strong, masculine forms. Our lips met like we’d kissed many times before. It was brief but full of raw, passionate need, and when he broke the kiss it was with obvious reluctance.

His eyes met mine. “When we’re on duty, we’re on duty,” Chavez warned, his voice rough and growly in a way that had always made my heart flutter and my dick flex.

The boys and I smiled, feral and greedy. “And when we’re off duty—” I countered. Before I’d finished the thought his lips were on mine, and this time the kiss was deep and hungry, a promise of many pleasures yet to come.

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