Hemlock drifted into a half slumber, slumped against the railing, when claws grasped the back of his collar and lifted into the air. Like a mouse in a cat's mouth. He gasped, arms and legs flailing, his right knee clicking in pain, but there was no person, no assailant to fight against. Only air.
A furious wave squeezed him as he flattened against the ceiling of the corridor with a thud. "Skulking around in the dark, hobleg?" The voice echoed in his mind like a thousand hisses and propagated sharp pains through his cranial nerve to his temples. Hemlocked screamed, though it was quickly muffled by an invisible force down his throat.
He choked, fingers twitching, but paralyzed under the weight of the force. He felt the moment when the panic welled up in him, as his head began turning against its will. He couldn't even grit his teeth as the tendons on the other side of his neck began to strain.
Then a real voice boomed in the corridor, the sound traveling all around him, enveloping him. "Enough."
The pressure released is a petulant flick and he dropped to the platform, though his body hovered just before reaching the ground, lowered gently like a babe.
"Go get ready for the sync." The timbre of the strange yet familiar voice soothed his ears and the tension in his neck, and he tried to crane his neck to see his savior. It only worsened the extended tendons and he whimpered, trying to relax the spasms.
"It's disgusting how he keeps scrounging around looking for scraps around here. You saw what he was doing last time. Wiping the floor with his own body." The expression of disgust manifested as a black knot inside Hemlocks stomach. So this is what they thought of him.
There were only footsteps approaching him. Clicking in that predatory way he'd shuddered remembering. His shifts usually didn't coincide with their departures or arrivals, but the Odyssians seemed to be holding irregular schedules these days. Bad luck had them cross a week ago and again today. If he survived this, he would ask for a transfer. He did not wish to risk death.
The choking force gripped him again, lifting him off the ground to shove him out of the way, but as his body moved, the vial fell out of his pocket, rolling to Blackthorn's boot. The snarling manner in which Blackthorn laughed pierced his skull. The force bit into his limbs, entangling with his nerve and drawing them out little by little. He couldn’t scream, but in his mind, all he could think was the pain. The voice in his hissed again, "Is this what you want? To be dominated like a bitch in heat." The force tightened around his throat and his skin tingled. His body was whipped to hover in front of Blackthorn and he gazed in horror directly into the face of the one they called the Nightmare.
"What a vile creature you are, how utterly delightful. Maybe, I will take you as my pair? Wouldn't that be interesting." Blackthorn's red eyes glistened as he smirked, the scarifications adorning his face in jagged lines. He wore them like trophies unlike Hemlock.
Then a stillness overcame Blackthorn that made Blackthorn relax and slump like a kitten in the mouth of its mother. "That is enough, Draighaen." He saw now, who the other man was. The Navigator of the Thorn Odyssian. Codename: Hawthorn. He averted his gaze, unable to behold the emanating waves of allure for much more than a moment. Where Blackthorn had been terrible and horrifying in his sharpness and ferocity, Hawthorn's visage head an aura that went beyond the base nature of symmetry or attractiveness. He was Grace embodied. It wasn't a matter of love or lust, only the simple fact that Hawthorn was blessed with uncharacteristically androgynously good looks.
Hemlock's body returned to his own function, slowly, the force unraveling his bad leg last, then with a precise release, let him go in the one position his ruined joint allowed. He watched as Blackthorn disappeared down the corridor. Silent and mindless, bewitched by none other than Hawthorn.
"I believe this is yours." Hawthorn's outstretched hand gleamed a pale verdant green in the starlight as he held the purple vial out to him. He took it into his own fingers, and for the briefest moment, his fingertips touched Hawthorn's palm and he could have sworn he saw a shiver run through Hawthorn's body.
He stood, mouth agape, mainly because his brain had short circuited in the last few moments from the whiplash of Blackthorn's wrath versus Hawthorn's gentle nobility. Hawthorn straightened and cleared his throat, his eyes flickering to meet Hemlock's frozen stare. "I myself have not had the time to secure a pair. Would you by any chance like to spend your sync with me?"
He did not answer because he fainted.
Nothing would explain why he had, but all the energy in his body had abandoned him, darting down the dark corridors with Blackthorn which somehow seemed more real.
When he came to, he was being carried, in Hawthorn's arms, to his chamber. As they passed through the mess halls and many corridors, nearly every head turned to watch Hawthorn walk amongst them. No one dared approach, and stepped out of his when necessary. A silence had fallen over the crowds as he'd passed.
To people like him, or even the ones in the higher pool ranks, a person like Hawthorn was a king amongst men. With unexplainable powers that could not just control things, but people, he possessed what all wished. Irrefutable power. It was why Odyssian pilots were considered the hallowed few. They were gifted with the Force as many of them called it. Only those with the gift could become a pilot.
Even if this was all a dream and he'd only just passed out on the deck of the Flight decks, this was by far the most wonderful dream he'd imagined.
It was until they'd reached his tiny chamber and it seemed Hawthorn had every intent to scour every corner, and examine every object in his possession. The man even sniffed at his other civ outfit with deep inhales, then after standing there, smelling his unwashed clothes, he remarked, "How is it that you smell so good?"
Hemlock sputtered in the cramped corner where they'd managed to cram a tiny chair between the wall and beds. "Sir?"
"Sir?" Hawthorn laughed, then stifled it behind a hand. "No one has called me sir before."
He frowned then tried to use his eyebrows to express his confusion. Hawthorn grinned then, approaching him, "I do love the way your face looks. So expressive. I don't even have to read your mind. Everything is right there."
Hawthorn laughed when Hemlock's eyebrow twitched unbidingly, betraying him yet again. "See? Right now you're asking yourself, how do I ask him a question?"
Hawthorn folded his legs and sat on his bunk, peering at him. "You can ask me like you would anyone else."
His brain sluggishly strung a few words together, "I'm not sure I understand… sir." He couldn't help add the honorific. It felt wrong to not be formal with the navigator. He was after all one of the most powerful beings on this roaming ship.
Hawthorn rose again, his interest piqued by something else in his cabinet. This time his old hat. "Hemlock, right?" he asked.
Hemlock nodded.
"I think you've very attractive and I am here to coerce you into spending the sync with me as my Omega." Hawthorn stated as he prodded and brushed the old corduroy of his cap.
Hemlock gaped.
Hawthorn continued, "There are many things you don't know about yourself, and that interests me as well." Hawthorn placed the hat back into the cabinet and turned to him. "I must insist. I've taken a fancy to you, so please do not say no."
Hemlock swallowed.
Hawthorn waited patiently for his response, even though in Hemlock's mind, his choice was already made.
"Ok." He said. Unsure of everything except maybe the inkling of a thought that this was all a very elaborate dream under the inducement of pasarine. Perhaps he should drink more of it if this is what it led to.
Hawthorn's smirk was downright murdering him with the way his teeth shined. "I assure you, none of this is the pasarine. I'm very much real."
He croaked when Hawthorn stepped forward and held his chin is his fingers and dipped his head to kiss him. He melted and let Hawthorn's strength catch him as he was lowered to the bunk.
Hawthorn's entire body pressed against his, his leg propping against his groin. He startled at the contact in those parts of his body. His distress must have been broadcasted because Hawthorn backed away. "Ah, I forgot, Until you've taken the hormones, you will not react." The expression on his face was too refined for him to decipher, but he didn't feel relief when Hawthorn stood.
"Let’s go somewhere there's more room."
"Like where? I think the suites have all been taken."
"The suites? What are those? I have my own rooms."
Rooms he'd said. Rooms.
Hemlock's mind swam.
This must be a dream.
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