A Night in Annie's Bar

Mr. Scott was looking for a bar. He had no particular place in mind, it was more a question of getting the right kind of bar: not so expensive that he'd be out two months pay but not so cheap he'd need a stomach pump when he got back to the ship; not so rough he'd wind up in an alley in his underwear but not so fancy that they'd mind if he stayed there until he got either blind, stinking, paralytic drunk or laid, whichever happened first.

Normally, at this stage of the evening he'd have been looking for a woman, but he had an OR of 72.4 and sometimes he fancied a bit of the other. So tonight Mr. Scott was looking to get fucked.

There ought to be no problem finding the right bar, Starbase 7 wasn't exactly the social hub of the universe but it was large enough to have a selection of watering holes and had seen enough deep-spacers to know what they tended to want when they came ashore. He rounded a corner and there it was -- Annie's Bar. Okay, so it was a franchise and the scotch was terrible but the cognac was good and, like all the other Annie's Bars, you knew where you were. There were rules and codes and, best of all, he wouldn't find himself hanging around all evening waiting for someone to see past the uniform and the way he held himself.

He pushed the double door open and breathed in the atmosphere of men, alcohol and sexual tension. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled and he was suddenly aware of a familiar press and weight in the crotch of his pants. Aye, he'd found the right place now. He wondered vaguely what it smelled like in the Toby's Bar that backed onto Annie's, where women went to find other women. Did the bar or table rule apply? Bar for Tops and table for those who wanted to bottom? Did they even think that way?

He wove his way through the tables until he found one that was free -- he wasn't in the mood for conversation tonight -- just drink and sex, in whatever order they came. He'd realized an hour or more ago that he wasn't just feeling randy, he was angry. No one knew that ship like he did, not down in the marrow of his bones, feeling the hum and beat of her like a second heart, not the Captain, not given the way he threw her around the galaxy and certainly not that po-faced, slab-sided First Officer of theirs. She wasn't a toy and she wasn't a tool, or rather that wasn't all she was. She was home and work and work of art and she deserved some respect.

He shook his head, not tonight, he was no going to think of her tonight, tonight he was going to get laid and or drunk. He ordered cognac and sat back to case the joint -- it was early yet, there'd be more along later in the night but there was enough to look over and speculate upon. Yon black-haired laddy was a beauty -- pity he knew it, the blond in the corner looked like a possible but when he looked into Scott's corner his gaze moved on.

Scott shrugged and settled back in his chair to watch the bar and the door, see if anyone interesting came in.

Possible but -- damn -- already spoken for.

Good heavens no

Then

Fuck! What was he doing here? A fleeter, officer's jacket but no braid -- an ensign, a pretty boy but far too young for a place like this. Some nasty-minded bastard had no doubt sent him here as a joke. For a moment, comfort fought with conscience and comfort lost. He levered himself out of his seat and went over to where the lad was sitting by the bar.

"Son," he said, and then winced at how patronizing that sounded, remembering too late his own rescue by an older lieutenant from a Taravian Bondage Bar. "Do you know where you are?"

The laddie, and really he was quite ridiculously young, swiveled on his stool and grinned, totally unbothered by the question or the implication. "I'm hoping it's a place where men go to fuck."

"Oh aye, it's that all right. Do I take it you know the rules then?"

"Yeah, I think so, but you're welcome to sit down and tell me more." He patted the empty seat next to him.

Why not? It would pass the time until they both found someone. "I've got a table over there, join me?"

There was a pause as the young man considered him carefully, from the soles of his boots to the crown of his head, lingering at the interesting bits en route. "Can I take it, Mr. Engineer, that you're looking for a fuck?"

"Aye, Ensign, you can." He did his own survey, broad shoulders, pretty face, nice hands and the seams of his britches were straining in an interesting way. "Do I take it you're propositioning me?"

The youngster shrugged. "Seems like an efficient use of resources to me. There's been times I've sat in one of these places for hours before someone realizes I know what I want and know what to do with it when I get it."

Mr. Scott had always found confidence, in men and women, attractive. "So you know what you're doing, do you?"

"I think so, wanna take one of the rooms upstairs and find out?"

He laughed, he couldn't help it. He tried to imagine having this much brass neck at that age and couldn't come close. "Come on then, laddie, let's see what you've got."

The Ensign slid of the stool. "You show me yours I'll show you mine."

They made their way to the back of the room where the stairs were.

"Who's paying for this room?"

"You are, you're paid more than I am. Don't tell me all those mean Scotsman jokes are true."

It wasn't a bad room as these things went. Clean sheets, big raised platform as a bed, shower,

He looked the door and turned to look at the lad pulling his shirt and T over his head.

"Don't just stand there, Mr. Engineer, strip!"

He sat down and pulled off his boots and as he did so, the Ensign took his chin in a surprisingly strong hand and turned his face upwards. "Strip and kneel."

"Hey, laddie, just because I've a mind to play bottom, does nae mean I want..."

"I know what you want and I said, strip and kneel."

A game, perhaps, a change certainly, and after all, why not? But he still felt faintly uneasy as he stripped off the last of his uniform. "Look, I've come here to get fucked, not..."

"Not what? Not beaten up, not pissed on, not messed about? I know. I know what you want and I know what I want too." He was naked too by now, looking oddly older without his uniform, his cock already hardening against his belly. "Kneel down, Mr. Engineer, kneel down and suck me."

He knelt, it seemed like the right thing to do; to feel the carpet beneath his knees, to lean against the hard young thighs and take the smooth head in his mouth. The taste exploded almost painfully against his tongue and he sucked hard, feeling the belly beneath his forehead hitch, a soft hiss of pleasure from both of them. He hadn't done this often and had forgotten how good it felt, the hands on his head and the living flesh moving between his lips.

"Oh yes, that's good. Like that. Do it like that."

He put a hand down to his own cock but, after the first glorious squeeze and pull, he heard, "Don't touch yourself, Engineer, I didn't say you could touch yourself," and he snatched his hand away without thinking, linking both behind his back.

He closed his eyes, shutting out the garish red carpet and the faux-wood walls, concentrating hard on the movement of the hips against his face and the piston, piston, piston of the cock in his mouth. He could feel the skin of his cock stretch as he grew up against his own belly, the foreskin peeling away until he could feel the faint cold waft of the air-conditioning against the weeping wetness.

His heart was pounding and his jaw was aching and he was so hard he hurt but it never occurred to him to protest. The cock in his mouth was deep in his throat, he'd never done that before but he'd learned without noticing. The hands on his head were moving now, running through his hair, stroking his neck and shoulders, sending shivers down his skin and through his flesh.

"I'm gonna come in a minute - swallow it, swallow it all."

Oh yes, he'd swallow, no doubt about that, he hadn't needed to be told. The hands gripped him hard, fingers digging in, and the boy was coming, filling his mouth so that he almost choked in the effort not to lose any.

Then they were kneeling together; the boy pulling his hair to turn his face for a kiss, his tongue exploring for himself in Scott's mouth, kissing across his cheek to whisper in his ear, "You can touch yourself now."

And he did and the touch of his own hands was like the touch of a knowing stranger and he came almost at once, seeing through half- closed lids the boy sitting back on his heels, watching him.

He flopped onto the floor, panting shivering and after a couple of minutes lifted his head and grinned over at the boy. "Oh aye, you know what you're doing all right?"

"Ready for round two?"

"Bloody hell, give an old man time to recover."

He was treated to the two-handed twisting movement which is Rigel's most famous obscene gesture. "Come off it, you're not that much older than me. I thought you came here to get fucked."

He rolled over onto hands and knees and crawled onto the bed. "Let me know if you need any contribution from me," he said and settled himself down on his belly.

"Oh no you don't." Surprisingly strong hands grabbed his hips and pulled him up onto his knees. "Head down, ass up, and spread 'em."

"You're a bossy wee sod, aren't you?"

"And you're hating every minute, I can tell." It was true, his cock was taking much more interest that he had thought possible only a couple of minutes ago.

"Wider, Engineer. That's better and remember the rules, say nothing and keep your hands to yourself."

He thought about protesting but didn't. Why bother when round one had been so good?

He gasped and curled in on himself and a cool, wet slickness was painted between the cheeks of his arse, from tailbone to bollocks and all points between, all along the crease and split of him. One hand eased him apart and the other spiraled round and round and in, running a fingernail round the rumpled creases of his arsehole, setting him shivering and arching and pushing back for more.

The finger arrowing in, smaller and tighter the circle and then in, just the tip and then out and then in, more wetness and then in with the fingers, two then three. Scissoring, stretching and he felt open and vulnerable and hollow for the filling. First blunt shove, more wetness and then the coring, boring push of him, big and hard and oh yes, oh yes, so necessary.

It hurt, not a lot, but enough to raise the hair on his body, enough to open his mouth in a silent aaaah as he fought to take it all so the pleasure would begin.

The first nudge within him, the first pang that was like nothing else, the strange inner chord he could never quite recall afterwards, was never quite sure at first that he liked and then, and then... ah then he was moving, they were moving, the sliding, gliding, stab that turned to pleasure so fast that one minute he was straining not to reject and the next he was eager to grab and hold.

Out, all the way out and then back, hard. The cock in him was circling, stretching him further, stirring his guts and he had a sudden vision of the boy, watching his own cock appear and disappear and he almost came, just from that, just from the thought of the boy and what he could see.

He braced himself against the wall and thrust back, wanting more, wanting all there was. He almost screamed as his shoulders were grabbed and he was pulled up and back until he was sitting, impaled as deep as a man could go, the feel of the cock inside him seemed to come right up under his heart, blocking his breath.

There was nothing to hold on to and he flailed for a moment until he remembered. He clasped his hands behind the sweat-slick back of the boy, the man, and closed his eyes, feeling the stretch of his arse, the stretch of his arms and chests, leaning back to encompass them both, his cock as hard as iron.

Hands, nails, hard over his nipples, down his belly and then grabbing him, pulling hand over hard wet hand, he was shaking now no longer sure which way gravity was pulling, his thighs and belly and balls molten with hard, bright, hot, sweet...

He writhed, breaking his own grip and his partners, falling and coming and shouting and arching so he thought his spine might break and the hands protected his cock as he fell and then pressed him gently for the last few blissful, almost painful, involuntary strokes.

He lay there feeling the man behind him pushing forwards for his own pleasure, the thrust and thrust and freeze before the half-felt, half- imagined pulse and fall.

Good job the man was nae built in proportion to his prick - he'd be smothered else. As it was it was nice, to lie here, feeling the cock inside him subside, feeling the whole length of the man rise and fall with this own breathing.

Eventually they separated and lay side by side, not hand in hand, but hand touching hand until they had to get up and shower and dress. Silent but not unfriendly, no not that at all, tired though and hungry and thirsty.

So they went downstairs and ordered the post-coital special and talked of places they'd been and people they knew until it was time to go back to their ships.

It was the Ensign that mentioned meeting again the following night. "Sorry, laddie, but the Enterprise is away tomorrow." He was flattered at the man's obvious disappointment and he smiled in an effort to soften it. "Besides, I'm not sure how often I could manage making it like that - you're an awful lot for one person to cope with."

"Only because you needed it like that," was the muffled reply, through a mouthful of steak."

"But how did you know?"

He shrugged. "Does it matter? I just knew, I always know." He grinned. "There are worse gifts in the universe. Makes me a lot of friends."

They walked to the public transpads together and it wasn't until the ensign was standing ready for beam up that Scotty realized.

"Hey, laddie, I don't know even know your name!"

The transported began its chiming hum as the Ensign looked at him, startled. "My friends call me Jim," he said.

THE END

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