Saturday, September 03, 2011

An Undercover Fling

by Adera Orfanelli
Cover art: Bryan Keller
ISBN: 978-1-60521-677-5
Genre(s): Futuristic, Hot Flashes
Theme(s): Gay and Lesbian
Length: Hot Flash
Page Count: 23

Garst knew he'd have problems taking an assignment on Trell's station, but he has no other choice. Besides, three years ago a bust went down, leaving him flying off and Trell with too many questions. This time it'll be different. First, he'll have to convince Trell that he didn't mean to leave him hanging three years ago and that he wants to continue their relationship. Oh yeah, and convince Trell that what he's doing now isn't really illegal.
An Undercover Fling
Adera Orfanelli
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Adera Orfanelli

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Trell checked the ident card of the alien coming through port, trying hard not to stare at its six tentacles and three eyestalks. All kinds came through here, and it wasn't Trell's place to judge. Apparently this was the "it" summer destination, though he thought it funny people made summer pilgrimages to places without any changing climates. He simply had to compare ident cards with the files, make sure the tickets looked legit, and scan luggage for contraband. An easy job for a guard like him, and frankly, after some of the things he'd done, Trell liked the mindless work.
No worries, no danger. He'd lived that way for three years now, and had no desire to go back to working actual Port Intelligence cases. Some saw his move to port guard as a step down. He saw it as a step onto peaceful street.
"Ident card, please," he intoned, his hand automatically reaching for the card.
"Who'd you piss off to get this job?"
The laughing baritone voice shook Trell straight to his bones. He stopped, the weight of the ident card not registering in his hand. Memories of tangled limbs and sweaty bodies, of working side by side on a mission, and of betrayal, still white-hot and painful after all these years, rushed through him. Trell closed his fingers around the card.
He scanned it, the vivid blue eyes peeking back at him from the anachronistic plastic piercing his stupor. "I volunteered for it." He slapped the card into the man's hand. "Any bags?"
"Aren't you going to say hello? Fuck, aren't you even going to turn and look at me?"
Against his better judgment, Trell turned. From the unruly mop of dark brown hair to the blue eyes twinkling with mischief, and a body built for work and play, Garst Stone hadn't changed. "Garst." Trell nodded. "Any bags?"
"Just this one." He patted the stuffed rucksack hanging off his shoulder. Trell waved the wand over it and, satisfied his ex-lover wasn't carrying any contraband, motioned for him to pass. "You're free to go."
Garst didn't move. "When are you off?"
"Why does it matter to you?" Trell countered. He glanced at the line forming behind Garst. "I have work to do."
"It's been three years, man. Surely you can have dinner with an old friend."
Trell tensed his jaw. "I think we were more than that, Garst. And it's been a damn long three years. I get off work at twenty hundred hours. I usually have dinner at the Rusted Wrench down on the lower level of the main court. If you want to have a meal with me, I'll be there. Now, if you'll excuse me."
"You always were an inflexible bastard," Garst said, his chuckles softening the blow of his words. "I'll be there."

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