Rat and Fox

ADULTS ONLY

Contains explicit male/male sex.

Pairing: Avon/Tarrant.

Summary: When Scorpio’s gravity generators malfunction, Avon and Tarrant discover that some things are more fun in null g. Fourth series.

Disclaimer: Blake’s 7 belongs to Terry Nation and the BBC. No infringement intended.

Tarrant felt the slight disorienting wobble as he walked toward the flight deck. It lasted only for a moment, but he recognized it immediately as a glitch in the gravity generators. He swore to himself tiredly. The whole-ship pressurization had only been on for a few hours, and already they’d lost the main long-range sensor, the temperature control had developed an annoying five-degree fluctuation, and now the gravity was failing. They’d been afraid that pressurizing the entire ship would drain too much energy from Scorpio‘s other already marginal systems, and it looked like they were right. They would have to depressurize the rest of the ship again. But not until after they’d fixed the gravity generator—it would be hard enough to work in null g without trying to do it in environmental suits.

He turned and headed towards the engineering section, where he knew Avon was already at work on the temperature control. That would have to wait—better the occasional flash of heat than having everyone floating all over the ship. With any luck, they’d be able to fix the gravity generator quickly, before it failed completely.

Perhaps. But knowing Scorpio, not likely.

* * *

One wasn’t always pleased to be right. Tarrant was still five steps away from engineering when his right foot failed to reach the deck. His forward momentum carried him a few more strides down the corridor, even though his long legs were walking only on air. He flung out an arm, and with an amazing amount of grace, maneuvered himself over to the bulkhead, where he snagged one of the rings set into the side at regular intervals. Of course, it wasn’t the side any longer—it was any which way he decided to orient himself, and it was easiest to stretch out along the row of rings and pull himself along hand-over-hand. He settled into the motion with practiced ease. It had been a regular exercise at the Federation Space Academy, learning to be comfortable in null gravity. So there was no sense of panic or vertigo at suddenly having no “down” or “up.” Just a weary exasperation at having yet another vital system failure to repair.

With an easy flip, he turned himself to face the door, hooking his left foot through one of the rings as he hit the control to open the door. Inside, the room was a disaster of floating bits and pieces, reminding Tarrant absurdly of an ancient thing called a “snow globe” he’d seen a long time ago back on Earth. And one of those floating bits and pieces was a large, flailing, leather-clad bit called Avon.

Tarrant bit his lip to keep from laughing. The poor man had plainly never dealt with null gravity before, and was not having an easy time of it. But it would be more than his life was worth to make fun of Avon in distress, and in any case, it wasn’t in his nature to deliberately make a fool of anyone.

“Here, Avon. Stop a moment, and I’ll come and get you.”

At this point, Avon managed to grab the leg of a table and hold himself still. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his patrician features, probably as much from panic as exertion. You wouldn’t get so hot if you weren’t armored in all that leather, Tarrant thought. But, like the laugh, he kept it to himself.

“As you can see, I am not in need of your help.” Avon’s attempt to be lofty was somewhat impaired by his position, clinging to the leg of a table.

“Fine.” Tarrant smiled good-naturedly. “Then perhaps you’ll help me repair the gravity generators.”

A slight grimace touched Avon’s features. “That was my immediate intention.”

A voice broke in on the intercom. “Avon? Tarrant? Is anybody there?”

Tarrant punched the button on the intercom by the door. “Vila, don’t worry. Avon and I are in engineering, at work on the gravity generators. Just grab hold of something and stay put.”

“Easy for you to say. I’m a long way from the galley. What if I get thirsty?”

Tarrant grinned at Avon, who returned an exasperated smile. “Well, if you can get to the galley without bashing your head into the bulkheads, go ahead and try. But don’t expect any help from either of us if you knock yourself unconscious along the way. We’re busy down here.”

“Yes, yes. You’re very busy. Fix it quickly, won’t you? My head is spinning, and I hate it when my head spins sober. It’s such a waste of head-spinning.”

“Fine, Vila. What about Dayna and Soolin? Are they all right?”

Soolin’s voice answered first. “I’m fine. I’m in the main storage hold. I’ll stay put, thank you, I’ve no desire to go crashing around the ship without gravity.”

Then Dayna: “I’m all right, too. I was in the corridor, but I’ve managed to reach the flight deck. Slave apologizes profusely for the gravity failure.”

“How kind of him. We’ll try to do this as quickly as possible, everyone. We’ll let you know as we progress.”

* * *

Four hours of frustrating, sweaty, cramped, elbow-bumping, tool-dropping work later, there was still no gravity on Scorpio, and tempers in engineering were failing as well. It had quickly become evident that there was to be no easy fix—the energy drain had caused a fault protector to fail, resulting in burned-out connections throughout the generator. They were short on replacement parts, still suffering intermittent blasts of heat from the erratic temperature control, and sore from having to brace themselves in place in unaccustomed ways.

At least Vila had stopped pestering them every five minutes to know how soon they’d have the gravity fixed. Once they’d realized the repairs would take a while, Avon had advised the others to get into the bunks on the flight deck, where they’d be safe if the gravity returned suddenly. Perhaps Vila had done that, and fallen asleep. Or he’d just gotten tired of having Avon snap at him that it would be fixed when it was fixed, and he’d know it because he’d be flat on the deck. Either way, they’d worked without interruption for the past few hours.

Now Tarrant watched, biting his lower lip, as Avon, intent on the bit of circuitry he was attempting to cajole into pretending to be quite a different bit of circuitry, placed a probe against the deck and released it. Tarrant caught the probe as it floated gently away, and tucked it back into the toolkit. It was no good warning Avon he was about to lose another tool, Tarrant had found. In the first place, it disturbed his concentration and caused him to spoil the delicate connections he was trying to make. And in the second place, it reminded him that he was entirely unaccustomed to working in null gravity, while Tarrant was at home as a fly in soup.

“Can’t you find a ditronic converter?” Avon asked, his voice tight with irritation.

“I’ve told you, there aren’t any.” At least four times. “Perhaps we should leave off trying to fix it. Gravity generators are common as dirt, we could find a replacement at any spaceport.”

Avon glared at him. “If you don’t mind flying the ship all by yourself, as none of the rest of us can function properly without gravity. And I hope you can operate the weapon systems as well, in case you run across any Federation ships along the way. It’s at least six days to the nearest base, do you really think we can make it that far without gravity?”

Tarrant sighed. “All right. Bad idea. But you’ll have to find a way to fix it without a ditronic converter. I’ve looked and looked, and there just aren’t any.”

Avon stared at the recalcitrant mass of circuitry he was trying to repair, as though he could cow it into submission with his stern gaze. Then he let out his breath and nodded decisively. “Have we any converters at all?”

“Yes. Several kinds.”

“Well, bring me one of each. Several of each. I’ll see what I can cobble together.”

* * *

Tarrant had spent the first hour, after locating a null g worker’s belt and clipping Avon to the bulkhead near the gravity generator, swimming about the room, gathering up all the loose bits of floating detritus and tucking them away into kits and cabinets. He therefore had a pretty good idea of where to find things, especially after sorting through every nook and cranny at least a dozen times searching for various items Avon wanted but Scorpio willfully refused to have. Now, he kicked off the bulkhead and launched himself toward the cabinet where he knew the ship’s meager supply of converters resided. It was a bit tricky, trying to retrieve one or two items while preventing the rest of the cabinet’s contents from wandering free. There were straps and nets, of course, to restrain things in under null gravity conditions, but they were in the same state of disrepair as the rest of Scorpio, and most of the contents had been simply tossed in. One had to keep batting things back into the cabinet while searching for the objects one wanted. And not too hard, or they’d just bounce right back out. All the while clinging to the bulkhead with one foot braced between two nearby cabinets, to prevent oneself from also wandering away.

But presently Tarrant managed to tuck an assortment of converters into his belt, and chase all the stray items back into the cabinet and close the doors against them. It would really be rather amusing, if he didn’t have a sadly deteriorated gravity generator, an increasingly irritated Avon, and a frustrated crew waiting on him. He’d always enjoyed the Academy’s null gravity exercises. He smiled to himself as he remembered a few of his more adventurous exercises….

He turned back to Avon and prepared to launch himself toward his crewmate. Avon’s face went dark, and he turned at once back to his work. But in that split second before he turned, Tarrant saw—what? Envy? Resentment? Fascination?

Avon had been watching him. There was something intent, almost intimate in that brief glimpse of Avon’s gaze. Tarrant felt his face grow hot. Forcing a hearty smile, he loosened his boot from its perch and kicked himself into the air towards Avon. “I’ve found four different kinds of converters. I hope you can do something with them.” He stopped his flight with one hand against the bulkhead next to Avon, and began pulling the items out of his belt and handing them to his crewmate. “Here’s a seratronic converter you ought to be able to make do for a ditronic, but have a care with it, as there’s only the one.”

Avon took them, looking over each one with a critical eye. “Yes, the seratronic should do. Now, can you find me a flux changer?”

* * *

Nearly five hours into it. The converter had finally been worried into working, and now they were trying to figure out how to replace a whole row of burned out microcircuits with nothing but standard parts.

“We’ll have to take out the whole board,” Avon muttered. His voice was becoming rough from the strain. “Rebuild it and patch it in with whatever microcircuitry we can salvage.”

Tarrant nodded wearily. “And hope it doesn’t blow out again before we can get the holds depressurized.” His arm was aching from clinging to the bulkhead. He hadn’t belted himself in, as he’d done for Avon, as he was required to swim off in search of parts every five minutes or so. He pressed his free hand into his stomach, trying to suppress its rumbling. Neither of them had eaten since the gravity had gone out. No point suggesting a food break, though—there weren’t any null g food containers on Scorpio, and the last thing they needed was globs of escaped food clogging up the ventilators. But perhaps they could just close their eyes for a few minutes.

“Avon, what do you say we take a break before we start on this next bit? I’m exhausted, and you must be too.”

“We need to finish this.” Avon didn’t even look up from his work.

“Yes, of course. But we’ve been at it for five hours. And this is going to take at least another several hours. Ten minutes’ rest isn’t going to make that much difference, on way or the other.”

“Go ahead and rest then, if you need to,” Avon said. “I’m going to keep working.”

Tarrant sighed. Well, of course, he wasn’t going to take a break if Avon wasn’t. He knew what the problem was—aside from Avon’s usual pigheadedness, that is—Avon was unsettled by the lack of gravity. It made him feel helpless. Possibly queasy as well. It happened to nearly everyone, at first. It had happened to Tarrant, the first few times. All he’d wanted to do was finish his tasks as quickly as possible and get through it, so he could have his weight back and feel which way was up again. And in this situation, when it wasn’t just a training exercise and there was no guarantee that they’d be able to put together enough improvised bits to fix it and every minute they were helpless in space was another minute of extreme danger, it was no wonder Avon was driving himself to the limit.

Avon’s elbow crashed into his, and a handful of parts went bouncing off the bulkhead and off into the air. Avon made a noise of barely suppressed fury. “Tarrant. I realize it’s difficult, there being so much of them, but could you kindly keep your limbs out of my way?”

Tarrant didn’t bother to answer. He cast himself off the bulkhead with a push of his arms, bending backwards into a lazy somersault, catching a spinning probe on the fly, and heading himself with a twist towards a piece of circuitry. He caught a glimpse of Avon as he tucked himself into a ball to rebound off the opposite bulkhead, diving off in the direction of another of the lost parts. Avon’s face was stricken: eyes squinting as if in pain, tiny spots of red high on the cheeks of an otherwise pale face. Tarrant almost felt ashamed. Yes, he was showing off. Yes, he was rubbing Avon’s nose in it. And that was a big mistake, not only because it was an unkind thing to do. They had to get the gravity generator fixed. They had to do it soon. And Avon was under enough stress already.

Feeling somewhat chastened, Tarrant rounded up the rest of the lost parts and swam back to his position beside Avon. “Here. Sorry to have got in your way.”

Avon regarded him inscrutably for a moment, then took the parts with a brief nod and turned back to work. “I suppose you learned that in the Federation Space Academy.” His tone was mild and conversational.

“Yes. We had regular training exercises to learn to maneuver in null gravity.” Well, perhaps it would ease Avon’s insecurity to know just how much training it required to reach this degree of comfort with no gravity. At least, it might ease the strain to have something to talk about. “At first, our instructors would turn off the gravity for brief periods, ten minutes or so, until we learned the basics of getting around. Then there were longer periods, during which we were required to perform certain tasks. The most advanced exercises consisted of a whole series of tasks. We’d be sent out in small cruisers, two cadets at a time, with our gravity generator on a timer. Sometime after we’d left port, the gravity would go out and the shipboard computers would present us with a list of things we were required to do before the gravity came back on. We had two hours in which to accomplish everything on our list. I came to quite enjoy those. If you were good, you could complete your list in less than an hour.” Tarrant grinned to himself at the memory. “Then you had plenty of time for the last task, if you were inclined to it. The one that wasn’t listed on the computer.”

Avon didn’t turn from his work, but Tarrant could see the slight prick of interest in the set of his head. “The last task?”

“The Null G Club. Sex in null gravity.”

Avon’s lips twitched in a brief smile. “Sounds like more trouble than it would be worth.”

“Oh, no. It’s really quite enjoyable, once you’ve worked out the logistics. You just have to be careful not to crash into the bulkheads. Or to drift away from one another.”

Avon’s eyes narrowed slightly, as he considered the possibilities. “I suppose you would have to hold onto one another as you go.”

“Or one can hold onto a table or chair, while the other grips him, or her.”

“Or one could strap the other down to a table, so he can’t drift away.”

Tarrant chuckled. “That’s generally considered cheating, but it has its devotees.”

Avon nodded. He was smiling now, in that particularly Avonic way, worldly but not entirely jaded, willing to be entertained by lesser mortals. “I suppose I can imagine the appeal.”

“Of course, the null-g purists insist that the participants should float free, holding only onto one another. But that rather limits the available activities.”

“Yes. I suppose it would. I imagine oral sex would be amenable to those restrictions. One could wrap one’s arms around the other’s hips, and hold on quite handily.”

Tarrant grinned. Avon was getting into it now, with just the trace of a hazy spark in his dark eyes as he visualized the scene. “Yes. And it’s quite egalitarian, with no top or bottom, up or down.”

“I expect that’s important to some people,” Avon said thoughtfully.

“There are those who find it difficult to take what they see as a subordinate role,” Tarrant agreed.

“Not that that problem would ever afflict intelligent men, like us.”

“Of course not.”

Avon turned back to his work. But the slight smile remained on his face. Presently, he stopped, carefully put his tools safely in the toolkit, and nodded to Tarrant.

“I believe I’m ready to take that break now.”

* * *

Tarrant’s breath stopped in his lungs. Was Avon seriously asking him to…? He’d only meant it as a bit of fun, to lighten the atmosphere and give Avon something else to think about. He’d never really wanted—

Or did he? Avon was attractive enough, with those deep, dark eyes and catlike smile. And he was sharp, that was the important thing, sharp as a razor, intelligent and clever and perhaps more than a little dangerous. One wanted to know what fires burned beneath that carefully cool exterior. One wondered what lurked beneath the leather.

Not that a quick tumble in null g was going to tell him that. It would be a hint, perhaps, or possibly just another tease. It might make things easier for them down the line, or it might just make them impossible. It was a risk—but then, everything was a risk, wasn’t it? And it was a risk that promised no small pleasure, unlike the vast majority of risks he was lately obliged to take.

There was something of a challenge in Avon’s smile. Something that said, You might be better than I am at picking up stray tools in null gravity. Let’s see if you’re better at this as well.

Tarrant liked a challenge. He returned Avon’s smile. “I was hoping you would be.”

* * *

Getting out of their clothing was the first challenge. There was something terribly embarrassing about spinning round and round in midair with a leg caught in one’s trousers, and Tarrant hoped to avoid that, for both of them. At the FSA, they’d learned to do it this way: hook feet into rings or around table legs while taking shirts off. Anchor one foot while taking off trousers, one leg at a time, switching feet midway. One generally needed help getting boots off—that could end up being quite complicated, but fortunately there was a table Tarrant could brace himself behind in order to pull on Avon’s boots, while Avon remained attached to the wall with the null g worker’s belt. And, of course, the clothing couldn’t just be carelessly tossed aside to float free around the room, unless one wanted to risk a boot in one’s face during a passionate moment. Tarrant bundled both of their things and tucked them away in a cabinet.

It was impossible to take such activity entirely seriously, although Avon allowed no more than the occasional sardonic chuckle at the more absurd moments, along with frequent comments about the foolishness of the entire enterprise. There was a spark in his eye, though, and a sly sense of enjoyment that Tarrant hadn’t seen before. Perhaps Vila was right after all, and Avon was capable of having fun. There certainly hadn’t been much occasion for it lately.

By the time they were facing each other naked, however, holding each other at arm’s length and floating in lazy somersaults in the air, the amusement had faded. They were both a bit out of breath; both a little overheated. They were both bright-eyed. Tarrant felt his hands trembling ever-so-slightly on Avon’s shoulders. Tiny drops of sweat formed, but did not trickle down, on Avon’s chest. It was the exertion of getting clothes off under unusual conditions. It was nervousness and stress. It was the human desire to snatch a bit of intimacy in the midst of uncertainty and unrelenting fear.

But it was more than that. It was Avon’s smooth, slender body, white as marble, finally revealed. It was the trust that nakedness implied, from a man who’d been betrayed far too often for trust to come easily. There were fine scars tracing that marble skin; scars that rendered the man vulnerable and human. Tarrant felt a sudden rush of affection. He pulled Avon close, and gently, tentatively, placed a kiss on Avon’s full lips.

Avon’s arms slid around him, holding him firmly, and he returned the kiss with Avonlike concentration and delicacy. If Avon’s intention was to prove just how good he was at this, Tarrant thought dizzily, he was off to a great start. Then one hand slid down his back, over his buttocks, and Tarrant sighed and closed his eyes, and gave himself up to the moment.

The back of his head bumped into the bulkhead. Tarrant pulled his mouth free, chuckling, and put one hand behind himself to gently push off into the middle of the room again.

They drifted a while in silent bliss, kissing, stroking, experimenting with arms and legs to see how they would cling to each other, and how they would spin. If asked, Tarrant might have said he was allowing Avon time to get used to floating gravity-less and free. Perhaps he might have admitted that it was a pure, sweet, timeless pleasure; a closeness he rarely allowed himself anymore and was afraid he’d never have again. Or maybe he’d have just said, Why not?

But, good as it was, there came a moment when he wanted more. Tarrant wrapped his long legs around Avon’s and reached his hand between, sliding it down Avon’s firm stomach to card his fingers through the thatch of dark fur at his groin, and stroke the length of Avon’s cock. Avon stiffened; a slight tremor ran through his body; a tiny gasp escaped his lips. Just the smallest reactions—but from Avon, they were major concessions. Kissing Avon’s neck, and his chest, Tarrant began to work his way down Avon’s body. When he had reached the lower curve of Avon’s belly, however, he felt a restraining hand tighten in his curls.

He lifted his head to look at Avon.

“It will no longer be necessary to keep your limbs out of my way.” Avon’s smile was hazy, his eyes back-lit by some strange glow. “I’d appreciate it if you’d send a few of them up this way.”

“Happy to oblige,” Tarrant said. He untangled his legs from Avon’s and began to turn himself, gripping Avon’s hips, until they were turned end-to-end, and he felt Avon’s hands on his thighs.

“That’s better,” Avon murmured. Tarrant could feel the warm air of Avon’s breath on his groin, sending shivers through him. Then Avon’s hands drew him close, and Avon’s cheek was nuzzling his crotch, and rubbing against his stiff cock, and Tarrant let out a strangled moan.

Tarrant’s hands tightened on Avon’s buttocks, and he pulled Avon to him, feeling chest against belly, thigh against shoulder, legs floating, as they turned together, drifting on currents of air.

Avon’s tongue, hot and wet, slid down the shaft of Tarrant’s cock. Avon’s mouth engulfed him, and Tarrant felt his hips thrust, and Avon’s arms encircled him, and he was helpless in Avon’s grasp.

There was only one thing he could do. Tarrant found Avon’s cock with his own mouth, and returned the favor.

* * *

It was only necessary to reach out a hand every once in a while to push away from the deck or bulkhead. Otherwise, they were floating in infinity, joined mouth to cock and hip to arm. The pleasure suffused them, and built slowly, and took them both with piercing sweetness.

* * *

Avon sighed, wiped the sweat from his brow, and frowned at Tarrant. Three long hours it had taken to rebuild the microcircuit board. Twice they’d run into dead ends and had to start over from scratch, all their delicate work for nothing. But finally, it was finished and ready to try. “This had better work,” Avon growled softly. “There’s nothing else I can try.”

Tarrant nodded. “You’ve done a remarkable job, Avon. If it doesn’t work, it’s not your fault. We just didn’t have the parts.”

Avon returned one brief nod, then took a deep breath, and pressed the activator.

They both fell to the deck with a thump.

“Ow,” Tarrant said, laughing. “I’ve never enjoyed falling on my back quite so much.”

Avon lay tangled in the null g belt. He tried, unsuccessfully, to scowl. “Well, get up off your back and help me out of this.”

Still laughing, Tarrant moved to unbuckle the belt. Then they stood, facing each other, suddenly unsure.

“Well.” Tarrant cleared his throat. “We’ll need to replace the generator as soon as possible in any case. No telling how long this will hold.”

“Yes. We should head for the nearest spaceport.”

“I hope the others are all right.”

“Vila’s been strangely quiet. I wonder if the fool did smash his head against a bulkhead.”

“I suppose we’d better go check.”

There was a slight pause. “Yes. I suppose we’d better.” Then Avon turned and headed for the door.

Tarrant waited, indecisively, until Avon reached the door. “Avon.”

Avon turned.

“It was good… working with you.”

“Yes. It was good.” Avon’s smile said more than his words.

“Well. We’d better go.” Tarrant began to walk towards the door.

Avon waited until Tarrant reached him, and they walked out together.

“You know,” Avon said conversationally, “We really should schedule some of these null gravity exercises on a regular basis. This sort of thing might well happen again, and we ought to be ready to deal with it.”

Tarrant felt a slow grin spread across his face. “Yes, we should. I could prepare a schedule of exercises for the crew, just like we had at the FSA.” Without mentioning the Null G Club, of course, he added to himself. Although, if it happened to occur to anyone….

Avon continued to look straight ahead, but there was a slight smile on his face. “Exactly what I had in mind.”

end.