Sans Raiment

Author’s note: It’s a bit of a shorter chapter, but nothing wrong with that. Not as much detailed smut because I’m all smutted out right now.

AlbelTheTwisted: Thank you for your kind reviews! I’m glad you enjoy the story. I love it when people review and tell me what they like and whatnot.

And thanks to benten and CrimsonRain for your kind reviews too!

Chapter 6

The plant was the first thing to hit the wall, then the chair. Then smaller things, like the food replicator and his pillows. Cliff growled, picked up the chair again, and bashed it against the wall, hard enough to leave a dent in the thick steel. He was in the throes of a rage he had not felt in years; he wanted to pummel and destroy everything in his path. That was the only way to curb the dangerous rage boiling in his blood. He broke many of the things in his room, even going so far as to smash the television. After several minutes of trashing his room, he began to calm and could see straight again.

Cliff stood amid the mess he had made of his room and collected his breath. His chest heaved, the air burning in his lungs. The last time he had been so consumed by anger, he had been a teenager, fighting with one of his classmates for calling his mother a whore. Bastard deserved the broken jaw he got, in Cliff’s opinion.

This time, though, the room did not deserve the punishment he had dolled out. Once his breath was even and he had his wits about him, the man began to right everything he had upturned. He swept the plant into a cup he had and threw the broken pot away. The dent in the wall would have to be buffed out later, but that wasn’t important. Cliff turned his attention back to the object of his derision.

Dragging the chair back to the communicator, Cliff sat down and stared at the screen where Albel’s latest letter was displayed. He sighed at it. The previous letter had been bad enough, with the rape Albel had endured. But now, Cliff discovered, Albel had been raped, tortured, and Vox had fucked with the young captain’s head so bad he didn’t think he could speak out. He wondered how Albel had lived with the bastard so long. Life with the duke must have been mental torture as well as physical. Cliff recalled hearing about some mental condition where people who endured physical abuse, even though they hate it, come to fall in love with their abuser. Maybe that was what had happened with Vox.

The man read over the details of the abuse again. Hearing about how the duke had laced into Albel with the riding crop made him cringe. As a highly wanted vigilante, Cliff had undergone some painful torture, but he was not sure if the pain compared to that of a whipping. A whipping was long and drawn out; at least when he was stabbed he could grin and bear the pain as it slowly throbbed to a dull ache. It also probably helped that he was a Klausian who had magnificent resistance to such agony. Albel, despite his coarse, crass nature, did not have that benefit. As he read the letter, a niggling in the back of his mind made Cliff pause. He recalled seeing scars on Albel’s back once. They had been long, slim lines that crisscrossed over the young man’s back. Were those remnants of Vox’s abuse?

It had been a pleasant evening when he had first seen the marks. Just after returning from the 4-D world, the group had been recovering in Peterny before they moved on to Aquaria’s capital. He and Albel had waited until the rest of the team had gone to sleep before leaving the local bar and heading up to the captain’s room. After their first encounter after defeating Crossell and then reuniting after the vendeeni attack, the two of them had made a habit of sneaking off to fuck. They didn’t think it wise to disclose their relationship quite yet.

Albel had been sitting on his lap, his back to the man, grinding his weight down on the cock buried inside of him. Cliff had run his hands over the young man’s chest, squeezing Albel’s nipples between his fingers and earning a breathy moan. The body on his lap shivered and muscles clamped around his cock. He thrust upward, pinning Albel’s hips down, pushing further to brush against that spot that made the young man gasp and squirm in pleasure. He continued to thrust, hitting that spot over and over, his own body shuddering each time the captain trembled and clamped around him in response.

As they moved, getting closer to their climax, Cliff leaned forward and kissed Albel’s shoulder. When he opened his eyes, he noticed that there was a line running from one of the captain’s shoulder blade to the other. He brushed his fingers over the line, thinking it was perhaps a lock of hair. Albel shivered at the touch. The line had not moved; it was not a piece of hair. Intrigued, the man leaned over the bedside to switch on the lamp.
Albel grunted unhappily, blinded by the flood of light. Cliff leaned closer to the young man’s back, tracing his fingertips over, what he could now see, was a scar. There were many more running along the Elcioorian’s back.

“What’s this?” He asked, moving his hand down Albel’s back, touching more scars. He had not noticed them before, somehow. He supposed it was because of how light they were. The marks did not appear to be deep and they had had time to heal.

Cliff was still touching the marks when Albel stirred suddenly, dislodging himself from the man’s lap. He turned and crouched on his haunches, unphased by his nudity as he stared at Cliff with guarded eyes.

Cliff blinked at him, surprised by the sudden change in the captain’s mood. “Is something wrong?”

“Why were you touching me?”

The man paused, very confused. “We were having sex and then I just noticed—”

“Noticed what?” Albel cut in, voice sharp.

“…The scars on your back. What are they from? They look like whips marks or something. Are they from when you were in the dungeon?”

“It’s none of your business!”

“They look like they had hurt. Are they—”

“I said it’s none of your business!” The captain screamed, eyes blazing in anger.

He had shut up then. From the dangerous, crazed look on Albel’s face, he knew that he was digging into a sore subject. Whatever had caused those scars was something the captain did not wish to recall. He looked at Albel, crouched naked on all fours, hackles raised in alarm. The young man looked like a cornered, feral animal, ready to kill to protect itself.

Cliff had smiled calmly, putting up his hands in a sign of defeat, and reached over to take the young man by the shoulders and drag him close. He was met with minimal resistance. Albel struggled some, but once the man had wrapped his arms around him, the young man calmed. His body seemed to melt against Cliff’s, comforted now that the unpleasant topic of his scars had died.

Cliff pulled his lover onto his lap again, though this time they were facing one another. He lifted Albel slightly and slipped back into the captain’s body. Albel tensed and hissed in a breath, then wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders and leaned in to bite the green lines on Cliff’s neck. They picked up where they had left off, moving together, gripping each other, until they collapsed in a sweaty heap with one another.

As Cliff thought back to that encounter, he recalled that he had, incorrectly, thought that the scars were from the time Albel had spent in the Airyglyph dungeons. He had seen the whips in the torture chamber himself. Now that he knew the scars were the cause of sexual sadism via the hand of a twisted old rapist, he wanted to go back to his ignorant bliss. Thinking of Vox screwing Albel was disgusting enough, but thinking of him tying a younger, vulnerable Albel to a bed and beating him was sickening. When he had first read the letter, he had wanted to throw up, but his rage had won out over that urge.

Another memory came to mind as he dwelled on the truth behind Albel’s scars. As he and Albel had gotten closer, their sexual play began to get more adventuresome. For some time, Cliff had fantasized about cuffing Albel to the bed and having a bit of play-rape. Being with someone as stubborn as Albel had aroused his desire to subjugate, but it was not in Cliff’s nature to forcefully subdue, except in battle. It was appealing to envision the surly captain chained, hissing, then eventually, after soft petting and kissing, allowing himself to be mastered.

One evening, he had tried to introduce this fantasy to the young man. After getting Albel wet and worked up, he had shown him the handcuffs and explained, as sexually as possible, that he wanted to tie the captain up and fuck him. He had expected some opposition, but not the ranting and raving that Albel went into. The captain had slapped the handcuffs to the floor and started screaming about how disgusting Cliff was.

The door slammed minutes later and the man was alone. After being the recipient of such a tirade, Cliff felt as disgusting as Albel had said he was. Since that encounter, the idea of subduing the captain in bed was not as appealing. Albel’s reaction suddenly made perfect sense and Cliff felt a touch of guilt. He had not intended to hurt Albel by bring to the surface those horrible memories.

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After several hours of debating what to do, Cliff had not thought of a way to respond to Albel’s latest letter. The last one had been hard enough to answer; now he was at a loss for words. He had been lying in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, thinking over every encounter he had with Albel. He tried to pick pieces from each memory that would make sense of what he had just learned.

Quickly, his head began to ache and Cliff felt the need to get up and move around. He walked down the halls of the ship, ignoring the greetings from his shipmates, trying to wander away from the memory of the letter sitting on his computer. No matter how he tried to dislodge it, the image of Albel being beaten by Vox stayed in his mind. Eventually, his feet led him to the virtual reality chamber. He stood outside the door for a moment, thinking. He decided to go in.

He milled around the chamber for a moment before going over to the control panel.

“Computer; replicate bedroom setting.”

Several beeping sounds echoed in the room, signifying that the computer was starting up, and a moment later the metallic chamber melted away into a brightly lit bedroom. Cliff went over to the bed and traced his hand over it. Even though he knew it was all an elaborate creation, it felt real. The coverlet felt soft and when he approached the fire he had told the computer to add, the heat that radiated from it felt real.

After giving the room an onceover, making sure it was perfect, Cliff addressed the computer again,

“Computer; replicate human form, Albel Nox.”

There was more beeping. Seconds later, a figure appeared in the center of the room. He turned to look at it. Albel—no, a computer rendition of Albel—stared back at him. Cliff went over and circled the figure. When he reached out and touched the figure’s arm, it recoiled and growled.

“Computer, replace form’s natural attitude to reciprocation.”

Another beep. The next instant, ‘Albel’s’ face softened and he reached his arm back to Cliff.

The man took him in his arms and buried his face in the figure’s hair. The body in his arms was vaguely cold, a leftover from the computer’s image generation. Albel returned the embrace, resting his head on Cliff’s chest. The man knew it was all fake and he would likely never hold the real Albel tenderly in his arms, but at the moment he felt the need to hold the captain. After running his hands over the figure’s body, he pulled away to kiss Albel’s lips. The image returned the kiss, pushing closer and wrapping its arms around the man’s neck.

Cliff groaned in appreciation. Perhaps he had been away from Albel too long. Even knowing the body in his arms was a computer replication, he felt the blood rush to his groin. He slowly stepped backwards, leading Albel to the bed and then lying him down. When he crawled on top of the body, he looked into the image’s eyes. Deep vermillion eyes stared back. They were almost identical to Albel’s, but they lacked the spark of life and defiance that was always in the captain’s eyes.

Ignoring the fact that he was not with the real Albel was difficult to do, but Cliff managed to get over the unpleasant knowledge and began to do something he had never done with the real Albel; he made love. While he kissed the figure, he slowly pulled its clothes off, running his hands over the perfect replication. Albel kissed back, pawing at the man’s clothing and running his own hands over Cliff’s muscles. He leaned over and kissed down the man’s chest, slowly unzipping Cliff’s pants and pulling his erection free. Cliff groaned and arched into the figure’s hand, ignoring the slightly cold feel of its touch.

Cliff pulled away minutes later, cock hard and dripping precum. He pushed the figure onto its back, spreading its legs and sliding the pair of purple panties down its thighs. Just like Albel. He laid down and pressed his body against the image, feeling a similar hardness against his stomach. They began to kiss again while rubbing their bodies against each other. Cliff reached down and found Albel’s entrance, pushing a finger in. The figure gasped, but he knew it was not from pain. The program could perfectly simulate sex, right down to eager little gasps and moans.

He did not worry about preparation with the computer simulation. After removing his finger, Cliff sat back on his knees and positioned himself at Albel’s entrance. He pushed the tip of his cock into the figure’s body, sliding in slowly out of habit. Beneath him, the image tensed and shuddered, sucking in a breath and then letting it out in a quivering sigh.

The difference between the simulation and the real Albel was obvious. His cock was not buried tightly in a warm, moist passage as it would have been with the real captain, but instead it was a cold, slippery channel. It was not a very pleasant sensation. After holding still for a moment, becoming accustomed to the feeling, Cliff pulled out slowly, then thrust back in. Albel responded, arching his back and pushing down on the man’s cock. Cliff hung his head, feeling a blush of shame creep into his cheeks. He pushed the shame away though and began to thrust, setting up a slow and even pace. The figured moved with him, holding him, squeezing him in an intimate embrace. When they climaxed, they shivered and clung to one another. When he opened his eyes and looked down, Cliff came eye to eye with the figure’s smiling, serene expression.

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Cliff left the virtual reality chamber red faced and ashamed. As he walked back to his room, he thought about what he had just done. He could not believe he had had sex with a computer simulation of his lover. Perhaps the reason he felt so ashamed was because a part of him had enjoyed the encounter. He missed Albel more than ever, after reading the horrid letter. He wanted to be by the captain and hold him. Even if Albel would hit him and push away, at least they would be close.

He sighed when he got back to his room and sat down. He wouldn’t be seeing Albel for a good while, he knew. The ship would land on Klaus in another few days. After that, they would be traveling to another planet to address problems that the rogue federation members were causing. For a few minutes, the man thought of ways to get the Elicoorian by his side. He could send a ship back to retrieve the captain, but who was to say Albel would agree to come, or that Maria would agree to let him come along?

After thinking about it for some time, Cliff decided it was best to leave things as they were. He and Albel would continue to send letters back and forth and once the mission was over, he would go back to Elicoor and they would sit down and have a heart to heart talk. Hopefully, by that time the need for their letter correspondences would be over.

When he at last found the stomach to write back to Albel, Cliff communicated those plans. He made no comment on the abuse, merely said that Vox was as bad as he had expected, but he wanted to know more.

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When Albel received the letter, he was disappointed by the shortness of it and the lack of comment Cliff had made, but he supposed he had to give the man time to digest the information. The young man sat at his desk for a few minutes, reading over the short response. He switched the communicator off.

Thinking of Vox so much had tired him and he wanted to sleep the bad memories away, back into the depths of his mind where he had left them, forgotten for years. It felt purifying, in a way, to share his past with Cliff, but the man’s response had left him unsatisfied. When he crawled into bed, warning the maids not to bother him, Albel thought of his absent lover. He was beginning to miss the warm bulk of the Klausian’s body when he slept. Despite Cliff’s warning that they would not see one another soon, the young man hoped he would be able to see the Ox soon. He was starting to regret his rash dismissal of the man.

~END

The mental condition Cliff refers to in the beginning is Stockholm syndrome, where, as he explains, a captive falls in love with a captor because they depend on the captor to survive. In Albel’s case, his literal life does not depend on Vox, but his social life and the comfortable life he has depended on Vox.