Author’s Note:
This is an unedited, ongoing serial that will eventually be published in novel form. Plot/characters/elements are subject to change as it is being written. It’s currently in 1st person/present tense, but I may change it to past tense, excluding the first chapter which will act as an intro. Read at your own discretion and take note of story tags below.
Genre: Post-Apocalyptic sci-fi
Tags: prostitution, graphic sex, large age gap, violence, theft, drug/alcohol abuse, depression, rape, gang rape, cannibalism, murder, incest, child/infant death and abuse, general abuse, (more to be added as the story goes)
“So, who is he?”
Finally. I look over at Pytre. He’s lying on his cot, staring at the ceiling like I’ve been doing for the past hour. “Remember the Gulchtown boy-whore?” I ask.
Slowly, Pytre turns to face me, his hazel eyes wide. “How is he alive?”
I figure he means the withdrawal and rapid aging. I think about all the cock-sucking and decide to keep my mouth shut. “I don’t know.”
“He should be dead.”
“Yeah.”
A few seconds click by and I try not to squirm under Pytre’s shrewd gaze.
“What is he to you?”
Well, technically Apple’s my property, seeing as how I bought him and all, but I’m not sure that’s what Pytre wants to hear. “We travel together,” I say gruffly. “And what about you? How are you still alive?” I think about the cannibals and add, “because of the drug, I mean. Isn’t it the same as Apple’s?”
“His name is Apple?” Pytre’s somber expression finally cracks for the first time in days and he lets out a little laugh.
I smile at him. “Yeah. Stupid name.”
“Poor kid.” Pytre shakes his head with another soft chuckle. He shrugs. “I’m not on any drugs.”
I frown, confused. “You’re... not?”
“No.”
“You said you were.”
“I did not. As I recall, I stated that the Disciples of Rime and the whores of Gulchtown take something similar. I never said I did.”
I wipe my hand over my mouth, staring at him. I’d been assuming all along that he could possibly be as old as thirty… But then Ghest had been forty and looked like a wizened, crusty old man-child. Pytre is still a fresh-faced teen. I feel uncomfortable and look away.
“Sorry, I just figured...”
“I’m nineteen.”
Alright so he is older than he looks, but not by much. “Ok.”
“At least I think I am. I came wandering into the compound when I was just barely walking age, they said,” Pytre murmurs. I look over again and see he’s got his eyes closed. “A one-year-old, alone in the wastelands. They searched for a week for my parents and found no trace. I was a miracle... given to them by Rime himself, they said. Maybe Rime reborn.” He laughed. “What a crock of shit.”
My frown deepens. I’m no believer, and it is a crock of shit, but it bothers me hearing Pytre talk this way.
“They raised you.” Would account for what I had perceived was a long life of worship. Hard not to absorb some of that serenity when you’re fed it from age one. I wish Pytre could find a little of that serenity now. I have no idea what to say to take the hurt away.
“They did, yes.”
Again, we lapse into uncomfortable silence. We’re saved by the door banging open and Apple trudging in, his jaws parted in a cavernous yawn. He sees me lying on the second cot and sighs dramatically. “No, no, don’t get up. Really. It’s not like I’m the only one working these days.” He leans over and yanks the pillow out from under my head. He throws it down, kicking dirty clothes out of the way, and stretches out on his back on the hard floor. He’s wearing a bright-green sleeveless jumpsuit, open to just above his groin. A patch of crinkly blond hair is visible above the zipper. Sighing, he folds his hands behind his head and closes his eyes. “Actually, I’ve been bent over backwards for the better part of an hour. This feels nice.”
“Turk again?”
His eyes snap open and he shoots me a look that’s either defensive or nervous. “Yeah, why?”
“Aren’t worried your ass is going to fall out?”
“My ass is just fine.” He frowns and looks away.
I’ve been assuming the way he’s been acting the past few days is because of Pytre, but maybe it’s something else. I look over at Pytre and he’s gone back to staring at the ceiling.
“Did you pay the water bill?” I ask Apple. We’re down to one jug of potable water.
“No.” Apple’s forehead wrinkles up and he lifts himself up on his elbows, staring hard at me. “Turnbull said to say he knows who you are, and we can get our water elsewhere. But he didn’t say it so nice as that.”
“Fuck.” I rub my face.
“What the hell does he mean?”
“It’s nothing,” I say, shaking my head. Maybe Pytre’ll be well enough to secure a new source of water tomorrow. He’s got an honest face and I have to stop showing mine if we want to stay alive. “Never mind.”
“I wanna know.”
“Go the fuck to sleep,” I growl.
“Asher hasn’t told you who he is?” Pytre asks.
“Who’s Asher?” Apple asks, turning to the Rimer.
The look on Pytre’s face is almost comically confused. “He is,” he says, gesturing to me.
Apple’s mismatched eyes find me again. I can’t help but laugh. It never occurred to me to tell him my name.
“Cael Asher,” I say.
Apple studies me for a few seconds and turns back to Pytre. “Why’d he tell you his name?” His tone is peevish.
“He didn’t have to. He’s well known.” Pytre smiles at me. “He’s the man who saved the human race.”
I scoff and turn over in the cot, facing away. I have half a mind to leave, but if Pytre’s going to give Apple a history lesson, I should stay here and make sure he gets the facts straight.
“Then, why do they spit in his food?” Apple asks.
“Because he couldn’t save all of them,” Pytre says quietly. “What do you know of the last days of Earth?”
“Only a little bit. My people weren’t from Earth.”
“Of course, your people were from Earth. You’re human, stupid…” I mumble, eyes closed.
“Bertchel says I weren’t born there and neither was the whore that whelped me,” Apple replies, sounding annoyed, but a few seconds later he adds, “So, what happened to Earth?”
“About forty years ago, something called a ‘catastrophic climate event’ happened on Earth. No one knows exactly what triggered it, but there was no stopping it. The world was ending,” Pytre tells him. “No one could decide what to do and no one could agree when Doomsday was. The world was in chaos.”
My eyes are shut tight now and I’m trying to keep the memories from getting their hooks into me. Half the planet was in flames by the time the World Government collapsed. Sometimes, when I’m overtired, the smell of a campfire makes my hands shake and my bladder feel real weak. I see burning bodies in my dreams.
“Corporal Asher and a dozen soldiers seized control of a buildyard where there were finished colony ships just sitting there empty. He got them fueled up and sent out a message: We are leaving the world.”
I swallow and cross my arms, gritting my teeth. I’d been only a year older than Pytre when I stood before that swelling crowd of hopefuls. Somehow in all the mayhem I’d found clarity and purpose. We couldn’t wait for a failed government to save us. We had to save ourselves.
“People started arriving. Little by little at first, then by the busload,” I say quietly, taking over the story. I don’t bother turning to face them. I don't want them to see the pain I know is plastered all over my face. “There were tents as far as the eye could see… too many people for twenty-nine ships. We barred the gates to the buildyard, but they kept coming, right over the razor wire.” I frown, thinking about the disorder and confusion of those last days. “People were killing each other over food and space. A platoon arrived, Marines… they tried to retake the ships, but the people just tore them limb from limb. Half the Leaders of the World Government were telling us to wait, the other half wanted me in front of a firing squad. Some of the colonies were vowing to keep us from ever reaching their orbits.
“Then... the earthquakes got worse. Six ships were lost when the ground collapsed beneath them... lost about a thousand people too, maybe more. We couldn't wait any longer… so we had a lottery.” I shake my head slowly. That had wasted so much goddamn time. “I took forty thousand with me. I left the rest to burn.”
The silence is dense in our small hostel room, then I hear the other cot creak and feel Pytre’s hand land softly on my shoulder.
“The human race owes you a debt.”
“What if I left too soon? What if I could have taken more?”
“What do you mean?” asks Apple. “Sounds like you got out of there, nicky-time-like.”
“There’s no way to tell if the world did end, or if I pulled the trigger too soon.” I open my eyes and turn onto my back. I never burden anyone with the shit in my head—why the fuck am I doing it now? “Too many ships passing through the wormhole collapsed it. There’s no way back. What if I was wrong? What if Earth was around for another month? Another half-year? We could have built more ships. Could have saved more.” The loadmaster had said the same thing, over and over, until he let himself out the airlock one night.
Pytre’s mouth twitches to the side and he shakes his head, his expression sympathetic. “Like you said, there’s no way to know. You know you did the right thing… besides, could the colonies have supported more than what you brought with you?”
I curl my lip at him. “That’s bullcrap and you know it.”
“Sorry… I don’t know what to say and I’m afraid if I quote Rime you’re going to punch me.”
I blink. I’d as soon cut off my balls than lay a hand on Pytre, but Apple decides then to put in his two credits.
“The past is dead… why’re you still fucking a corpse?”
Eyebrows raised, I look over at Apple. He’s sitting cross-legged next to Pytre on the other cot, his chin on his fists and his blond curls shadowing his eyes. Blocking out the past is probably the only thing that gets him up in the mornings—I can’t imagine his life has been anything short of a nightmare.
“You saved the humans. Yippee…” he says in a flat voice, then gives me a little grin. “Did you get a shiny medal?”
I shake my head, but Pytre does the honours for me. “When they arrived, the colonial council stripped him of his rank, citizenship, and sentenced him to two hundred years hard labour in the asteroid mines.”
Apple whistles low. “Ouch. But… I thought you saved the human race?”
“In light of that feat, they reduced the sentence. I did thirty years.” Thirty years digging tungsten out of a crater in the dark, alone except for the stars and the hiss of oxygen in my ears. Feels like a dream now.
“That’s not fair,” Apple says, his expression subdued.
“It’s not,” I agree. “They should have put a bullet between my eyes.”
Pytre and Apple share a glance and I sigh, sitting up. I scratch the back of my head and shrug. “Now you know why they spit in my food.” I roll my shoulders, feeling stiff. “Best you two get some shuteye. I’ll go deal with the water situation.”
+++
An hour later, I’m back at the hostel having secured enough water rations for a week. I don’t like dealing with off-market water merchants—who knows if we'll get sick drinking the crap they sell—but it’s not like we have a lot of choice at this point.
I key in the code and push open the door to see that both Pytre and Apple are fast asleep on their respective cots, leaving me the floor. With a sigh, I pull off my dusty jacket then unlace my boots, stretching out on the cold grey laminate. I’m exhausted, but not tired, so I lie there trying to clear my thoughts.
After a while, I feel like I’m being watched—I look over and see that Apple is awake. He stares at me for a few seconds, his face devoid of expression, then quietly gets out of bed. I frown as he undoes the rest of the zipper on the green jumpsuit and lets it fall to the floor. Naked, he stands over me and I’m surprised to see that his dick is hard.
I glance over at Pytre as Apple straddles my thighs. The Rimer is dead asleep but Apple reaches over my head and taps the light, dimming it further.
“What are you doing?” I mouth. Of their own accord, my hands find Apple’s pert backside. He sighs softly and arches back as I squeeze his warm flesh. He feels good. Just as I’m about to open my mouth to ask Apple again what he’s up to, he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. For a moment I don’t do anything, but he moves his mouth insistently, his hands around the back of my neck, and I can’t help but let him in. I close my eyes, tentatively moving my own tongue against his as he settles his weight on me. I don’t remember the last time I kissed like this. I let him breathe for me for a bit and my tongue gets bolder. Apple tastes like lemon for some reason. It's sort of nice.
My dick is waking up, but it’s as confused as I am. This isn’t fucking… this feels like that other thing that people do. That word that I won’t use because I have no business saying it.
Apple pulls back to look down at me, his eyes sparkling in the dark. He’s breathing as hard as I am. I move my hands, stroking them up his back, his skin so smooth against my hands. I like the feel of his nakedness on me. Experimentally, I scratch his back lightly and I’m rewarded with a hushed groan—I remember I’ve done this to someone before, long ago. My hands take over, rusty muscle memory at best, and slide down his back, cup his buttocks, squeeze, then rake his thighs gently with my nails again. He sits up straighter, rocking his pelvis, so I shift my hands to his waist, thumbs stroking his taut belly, then slide my palms up his chest. His nipples are hard between my fingers and when I give them a good pinch, he gasps quietly. I want to kiss him again, take my time with it, but his hands are at my belt and in a matter of seconds, he’s freed my cock.
Panting, I’m running my hands up and down his thighs—distracted, involuntary movements because my entire focus is on Apple spitting on his fingers and reaching back, his eyes half lidded. He’s up on his knees, one hand around the base of my cock to guide it, and pauses with a smile… then he sinks down, his ass swallowing my dick down to the balls in one smooth motion. Fucking hell, that’s sweet. I close my eyes, stifling a moan, and breathe out slowly, savouring the feeling of my cock buried deep. When I look up, he’s staring down at me, his expression somber, unreadable. He slips his hands beneath the hem of my shirt and strokes them up my belly, his fingers raking through the thick, greying hair there and up onto my pecs… then he starts to move. My hands find his waist again and I can feel the rhythmic rolling of his hips and pelvis as he rises and falls, fucking me at an unhurried pace.
My heart is beating so fast I’m breathless—he rises up to pause with just the tip of my dick threatening to slip out, and I groan, pulling him down so I can bury myself back to the hilt inside his slick hole. My chest starts to hurt, and for a second I’m worried that I’m having a heart attack.
Hey, it’s not a bad way to go, blowing my last load into a good-looking kid like Apple—but the pain passes and I chalk it up to how hard I’m tensing… the pace is so slow it’s a tease, and I need more. I grab the back of his neck and pull him down, eagerly kissing him again as he opens his lips to meet mine, and I take over the pace, thrusting up into him hard until he’s gasping the air right out of my lungs and the slap of skin-on-skin is loud enough that I worry it will wake Pytre.
At the last second, I turn my head, breaking away from Apple’s hungry mouth, and clench my teeth as I empty my balls inside him, biting back a deep groan of pleasure. Shit, when was the last time I felt this good? Maybe never. The aftershocks jerk my legs out straight and I’m twitching and shuddering beneath Apple, trying to catch my breath as he smiles down at me.
His dick is still hard, but he hasn’t cum yet. Can’t have that.
I sit up, arms looping through his to coax him backwards onto the floor and I lay beside him, kissing him for a bit. My hand strokes his shaft and up over the head to catch the dribble of precum, using it to swipe my thumb back and forth over his banjo string, before returning to a firm grip to start all over again. I know I’m pretty good at this.
“You’re driving me crazy, old man,” I hear him whisper. Grinning, I keep playing with his dick a while, teasing him until he’s trembling and covered in a sheen of sweat. I kiss him again, breathing in those raspy breaths for a moment, then move down his body, kissing and nibbling—first his neck, then a nipple between my teeth and I bite harder. Apple makes a sharp noise and I can’t tell if he’s objecting or enjoying it, but I don’t linger to find out. My mouth finds the head of his dick and I lap up the salty drop at its tip before rubbing my lips over the smooth skin.
Apple’s hips twist and his pelvis jerks up, his desire making him greedy, so I slide my finger into his ass at the same time as I suck down his cock—he lets out a quiet whimper, bucking his hips again as my finger slips further into his cum-slick hole to tickle his prostate. I feel the head of his cock swell in my mouth and he’s shaking so hard it’s almost like he’s vibrating, so I push a second finger inside him and press on his gland, my tongue and lips working him faster now.
It doesn't take long. Apple gasps and my mouth fills with his seed, salty and bitter, and I swallow it down as his ass clenches down over my knuckles. Drawing back when his body goes limp, I swallow again and pull my fingers out of him. His eyes are closed and he’s smiling from ear to ear. After a minute or so, he cracks an eyelid, finding me in the dim light. His smile slips.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
There’s something funny about the way he says it, like he’s thanking me for more than taking care of his dick. “Don’t mention it.”
“I mean it,” Apple says. Then he sits up and kisses me again, but this time it’s a quiet kiss, and for some reason that worries me.
“Ok,” I say awkwardly when he pulls away.
His forehead wrinkles up as he stares at me with those striking eyes, then his expression shifts into its usual combination of sass and good humour. “But, you know, a good blow-job doesn’t mean you get the bed,” Apple says with a wink. He climbs on to the cot, still naked and collapses on his stomach.
“Right.” I sigh and stretch out again on the floor, tucking my dick back into my pants. Pytre is still fast asleep, his breathing deep and measured, and I’m glad he missed… whatever that was.
Bemused, I close my eyes—I can’t tell whether I’d like a repeat or if I’d like to forget it ever happened.