Missed Connections (50 page)

Despite their irregular schedules and differing personalities, Cyril and Scottie got along. They got along so well, in fact, that more than one of their squad had asked point-blank if they were fucking.

Cyril scowled at the latest offender, who was of course Mona. "That's a ridiculous question, especially coming from you."  Everyone knew she and Leon were screwing in a supply cabinet every chance they got.

"Oi, I've got the personal experience to ask then, don't I?" she insisted quietly, giving them a half grin. "Not like I'm going to turn you in or anything. I was just curious."

"Because, what, you want to start a support group, darling?" Scottie asked sarcastically.

Mona grinned wickedly. "Nah, I was going to suggest an orgy, but I suppose it wouldn't work out what with you two preferring men. You'd steal Leon from me and I'd be left all alone."

Cyril frowned. "What makes you think I prefer men?"

"Oh, maybe the fact that you've got his bloody head in your lap and your fingers are running through his hair," Mona suggested.

"Purely platonic," Scottie said. He hadn't bothered to open his eyes. "Cy's helping me get rid of a headache. I'm afraid you'll have to consign him to the role of angel of mercy, not sexy devil."

"Aww, you'll always be a sexy devil to me," Mona said.

"I'm so relieved," Cyril deadpanned, and both of them started laughing.

"Fine, fine, it's a bromance, not a romance, sorry for asking," Mona said, backing off. "See you two later for a jump? There's a plane going up at four. One more toward your low-light certification."  Experience with HALO jumps were another hoop the military recruits had to put up with, a more rigorous version of high-g training than the scientists got in their quaint little centrifuges. A specialized jet—one Cyril's father had provided for the mission—could take as many as four people into the highest levels of the atmosphere, where they would fall to Earth in their HALO suits.

"Not today," Scottie said for both of them. "I'm not putting myself through that unless I'm headache free, and I can't give up Cy until then. Have fun, luv."

"Oh, I will."

Scottie cracked an eyelid and watched her walk away. "That girl gets far too much excitement out of near death experiences."

"HALO jumps aren't near-death experiences," Cyril argued, still scratching through Scottie's hair.

"Bloody close enough. And have you seen her tactical scores? Something goes wrong, I want to be on Mona's crew, she'll manage things even if she has to beat her ship to pieces doing it."

"Better if nothing needs to be managed at all."

"Yeah, but how realistic is that? Murphy's Law, the only law I live my life by:  whatever can go wrong, will. Been true enough for me, at any rate."

"Me too."

"And for the record, it wouldn't bother me," Scottie said casually.

"What wouldn't bother you?"

"If you prefer men."

Cyril's hand froze, and for a moment it felt like his heart stopped beating. "What… "  He cleared his throat. "I mean. I."  He couldn't get the words out.

Scottie rolled over onto his back so he could look up at Cyril. "It's 2067, Cy. I know Russia's a bit behind the times when it comes to social equality, but even there, isn't it all right to be who you are nowadays?"

"For some people," Cyril forced out. "For people who aren't Vasily Konstantin's son, maybe."

"Your father really has a problem with it?"

Cyril started to laugh, then stopped when he realized how crazy it sounded. "My father's pretty old. He was born last century. His parents were politicians within the communist party when it ruled Russia. He's so set in his ways it's amazing he can keep anything down other than vodka and caviar. And he… " Cyril shrugged.

"He never quite got what he wanted, when it came to his kids. One of my older brothers is in jail for bribery and murder, the other one spends most of his time passing out in nightclubs. I was supposed to be his bridge, the half-American tool that would help him gain a foothold in the States. He wanted me to go to business school, he had everything planned out. Before my mom died I could ignore him for the most part, but after she was gone I went to live with him."  Cyril's throat tightened reflexively around his words, choking them off despite himself. He'd never talk about this with anyone before, not even his dogged therapist.

"S'okay."  Scottie took Cyril's hand and rubbed his thumb over the knuckles, soft and soothing. "Go on."  The encouragement helped, and Cyril cleared his throat.

"When I was sixteen, he caught me with another boy. We weren't doing much, just messing around, but Vasily acted like the world was coming to an end. He pulled Alex off me and had his bodyguards take him away, and then he made it very clear to me that my sort of perversion wouldn't be welcome in his house."  Cyril's jaw ached with a phantom pain sometimes when he stared in the mirror, looking at the scar on his chin left by his father's belt.

"I came back to America as soon as I could and joined the air force," Cyril finished. "I went into engineering instead of business, signed up for the Mars program, and you know the rest."

"Not really," Scottie said. He reached up and cupped Cyril's cheek in his hand. "Not all the rest. But I'm looking forward to learning more."

Cyril knew he was flushed but there was nothing he could do about it; his heart didn't want to obey him. Scottie smiled crookedly, then dropped his hand. "The vampires in medical want a few more vials of blood after yesterday's antiviral cocktails. Shall we go and let them prick us, then?"

"We might as well get it over with," Cyril agreed, glad Scottie had dropped the earlier subject so easily. They both stood up.

"You aren't alone, you know," Scottie said before they left for medical. "In your preferences, I should say."

"No?" Cyril asked quietly.

"No," Scottie confirmed. "Not at all."

The ISA recommends speaking to your family no more than once a month. You may not pass along classified information of any kind, including but not limited to: your training regime, the specialties of your fellow candidates, any proprietary information about MB1, any technical details about Project Evergreen, and/or your mental and emotional health. We recommend sticking to neutral topics such as telenovels, or the latest viral kitten videos. –ISA Project Evergreen Handbook

One of the big ideas that the psych team pushed at Cyril and the rest of the squad was the concept of their "new family."  They were encouraged to consider themselves as part of a "new family," consisting of everyone else in the program, and to slowly cut ties with their "old family" in order to make the inevitable separation easier to take. That change in perspective was assisted by limiting each person's contact with the outside world and monitoring every interaction for signs of flagging conviction and enthusiasm.

For most people it wasn't a problem. No one offered themselves up as a candidate for a mission to Mars if they weren't already prepared, whether by circumstance or by choice, to leave everything and everyone behind. For Cyril, it was no problem. He was effectively orphaned, and happy to be so. For some, like Shekar and Leon, it was harder to pry themselves away from the lure of their extended families. Leon had already been warned once for over-sharing; one more infraction and he'd be kicked out of Evergreen.

Then there was Scottie, who was just a lucky bastard and knew it, because the only living family member he had was in the same boat. Regulations were dramatically relaxed for him, and so he made it a point to connect with Sophie live at least once a week, usually syncing their tablets so they could watch a movie together. When Scottie first invited Cyril along for movie night he declined, thinking it too personal to join them. Scottie had persisted, though, and Sophie made Cyril feel welcome. Scottie, on the other hand, made him feel downright useful.

"Fucking thing," Scottie griped, smacking the surface of his tablet. The holoprojector flickered in and out, finally going dark. "Bloody hell, now I've lost her completely."

"You can't treat your tab like a piece of lab equipment," Cyril said. "Give it to me."  Scottie handed it over and Cyril ran his hands over the smooth casing, tutting softly at it. "Poor baby, is the big mean American always this awful to you?"

"I'm not awful to her, she's just a saucy little minx who can't decide whether she's turned on or off by me," Scottie muttered.

"I think Sophie is right, you're just bad with fine machinery."

"And I think this marriage of minds between you and my sister is perfectly horrifying," Scottie replied. "Despite what you may think, the woman doesn't know everything about me. Her words are not the instruction booklet for my life."

"Of course not," Cyril said, turning the tablet on again. He held it out toward Scottie. "Get us in."

"Rage, rage against the dying of the light," Scottie recited dutifully. His voice key unlocked the tab, and the function icons blossomed into existence above the screen. Cyril reactivated the connection to Sophie, and a moment later she was there, shaking her blonde head.

"I told you not to let him touch it," she said.

"I should have listened."

"I'm right bloody here!" Scottie protested. "Who's got the doctorate in cryogenics and superconductivity? Oh, is that me? The one who does practically nothing but work with machines day in and day out, and you want to blame this damn thing's malfunctions on me?"

"Within your sphere you're brilliant, darling," Sophie soothed, "but outside of it you're rather impatient. Your little tab isn't meant to deal with hamfisting."

"Woman, I'll have you know—"

"Who did the foster parents make work the family projector for the entire seven years we lived with them?" Sophie demanded. "I'm sorry, who was that again? I believe it was me, your
little
sister."

"I only broke it once!"

"Once was enough for the McMurtreys. They didn't let us watch anything for months, it was terrible."  She looked down and tapped her screen a few times, and then the opening scenes of Iron Man 13 filled the tab's projection screen. "Hold him down if you have to, Cy, just don't let him bugger up the connection again."

Cyril reached over and wrapped his arms around Scottie's shoulders, which softened from their defensive stance after a moment to go lax and comfortable in his grip. Scottie turned his face and kissed Cyril's shoulder, and Cyril smiled contentedly. "I can do that," he promised Sophie.

Strict adherence to Project Evergreen's timeline (as laid out in Section 1.c.2) is required by every mission candidate. If you fail to achieve your required competencies, be advised that you may be asked to leave the program. Remember to update your progress logs on a weekly basis, and maintain open channels of communication with your superiors, so that any potential issues may be dealt with as soon as possible. –ISA Project Evergreen Handbook

Cyril woke up slowly, barely aware of the transition between dreaming and awake. He felt so good, simultaneously lethargic and energized, and he thrust up gently into the warm, wet cavern that surrounded his cock.

Said warmth promptly sat up under the sheet. "Awake at last, luv?" Scottie asked, his voice amused and a little rough.

"Oh my god, what are you doing, don't stop!" Cyril hissed, pushing his lover's head down. This was one of his favorite things, waking up to Scottie. It was one of the safest ways they could be together, tucked away in one of their rooms where there was no surveillance, early in the morning before the halls were more crowded. Sometimes that meant slipping into each other's beds and curling up together, warm and quiet and sleepy. Sometimes it meant meeting in the shower for a quick hand job before they went on with their day.

And then sometimes it meant Scottie sneaking into Cyril's bed to wake him up by giving him head, which was just perfect as far as Cyril was concerned. He threaded his fingers into Scottie's hair and tugged him forward, urging him further onto his cock. Scottie never seemed to mind the manhandling; he even went so far as to forcibly put Cyril's hands into his hair sometimes, but today he had something else in mind. He pulled off, crawled up Cyril's body and silenced his moan of displeasure with a sticky kiss as he wrapped his hand around both of their cocks.

"D'you know what today is?" Scottie asked between kisses as he started to stroke them. His touch was a little dry, a little rough, and Cyril loved it.

"Mmm… the day… that you fail to follow through… on a blow job?" Cyril teased as he spread his legs wider, arching up into Scottie's grip. "Oh, fuck," he breathed.

"No, Cy," Scottie chided, nipping lightly down the side of Cyril's jaw until he pounced, digging his teeth in for a moment just behind Cyril's ear. Cyril writhed against him with pleasure, trying not to push up into the pressure. They had to be careful, they couldn't leave marks, but it felt so good. "No, this is the start of our final week before we move on to Los Alamos. One more week—" Scottie tightened his grip, "—of training here, and then two beautiful weeks of leave before we're due in New Mexico. Two entire
weeks
, luv. D'you have any idea how many times I'm going to fuck you in two weeks?"

"More than I can count, I hope," Cyril managed. "But what… what makes you think you'll be doing all the fucking?"

"Because you want it, luv," Scottie purred in his ear. He shifted up until he was on his knees, and Cyril's legs were bent in two and splayed as far apart as he could comfortably get them. "You're desperate to feel a cock in this pretty little arse of yours."  Scottie used his free hand to lightly circle the rim of Cyril's hole, making it quiver with anticipation. "You haven't had it in years, have you luv? Years, you've been neglecting your needs. S'not good, that. You need to be filled up, you're aching for it."

"Yes," Cyril moaned, pulling his legs back further with his hands. "God, I do, I need it."  He did ache for it. Cyril hadn't had a lot of time to get a handle on sex, but what he'd had before joining the service, he'd made the most of. He'd fucked and been fucked more ways than he could remember, in bathrooms and alleys, in handsome men's beds and in desperate men's cars. Cyril preferred to bottom. He wanted the sharpness and the pain, and the sweet, slow glide into ecstasy when it was done right. And when it was done the other way, well, he zipped up and went looking for the next person to fill the void inside of him, with the bonus of them not having to bother to stretch him for the second round. He could suffer, gladly, for the sake of having it done right in the end.