Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“You are cleared for docking bay fifteen.”
“Roger that.”
Frey watched Rone maneuver the small shuttle around the station and into the narrow space that must be the approved docking bay.
The journey had been a relatively short one compared to others he’d made before with Arpell.
This time, however, he’d experienced the whole thing from the viewpoint of the small bridge.
Always before, he’d been kept down in the hold with the cargo, only being allowed into the main cabin to eat and service his master.
Surprisingly, Rone hadn’t relegated him to that miserable space, instead keeping Frey with him the whole time.
He slept and ate when Rone did and accompanied him whenever he returned to the bridge to check on the automated systems and the ship’s progress.
Frey hadn’t let that decision go to waste, watching Rone avidly, if surreptitiously, learning the way the Travian vessel worked.
It might come in handy sometime, like when he had a chance to escape.
And he had to believe that time would come or he’d go mad.
Rone allowed him to sit in the co-pilot’s seat, too, giving Frey the perfect vantage point.
The alien system wasn’t so very different from human ones.
He supposed there were only so many ways bipedal mammals with hands and opposable thumbs could configure their world.
Even in their short stint aboard the craft, Frey felt he’d learned enough that he could actually pilot and navigate something similar, given the chance.
As he paid attention in particular of how to dock the ship, he tried not to squirm.
God, his hole ached like a bitch. He hadn’t felt this used since the early days of his captivity.
During the time they’d waited for Kuren to give Rone his assignment and while on this shuttle, Rone had fucked Frey practically nonstop.
And, when he wasn’t plowing Frey’s ass, he was fucking his face.
Frey’s body was swimming in the Travian’s cum and obviously his scent, which was the whole point, of course.
Rone had marked Frey to the nth degree, in expectation of taking him among other, different Travians.
There would be no doubt to whom Frey belonged.
The fact that Rone continued to pleasure Frey as much as Frey could handle didn’t diminish the extent to which Frey felt like a pawn, either.
“Docking complete. Prepare for inspection.”
Rone took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “This should be interesting.” The comment was directed to Preen, who perched on the far side of the instrument panel.
More and more, Frey had come to appreciate that whatever plans Rone had, his other ‘pet’ was in on them. They really acted more like partners than anything else. After pressing a space on the panel, Rone heaved himself out of his chair, then turned to leave the bridge.
“Come, Frey,” he said without looking back. He assumed his pet would obey and, of course, Frey did.
Preen jumped down and scampered in Rone’s wake without command or even invitation.
Yeah, the small creature was definitely in on whatever the hell it was they were doing.
Frey lagged behind, curious, but apprehensive too.
He knew the drill. Travian soldiers would board, inspect the cargo and either ask uncomfortable questions or not.
Any time these custom officers showed signs of suspicion, Arpell had always deflected or bribed them, really, by offering up whatever piece of Frey the other guy wanted.
Regardless, it always ended up with Frey being even more miserable and Arpell being allowed to take his dubious cargo into the station.
After what had happened with Kuren, Frey had to assume Rone would use the same ploy.
His hole clenched in automatic fear. Frey could only hope that he’d get away with a blow job. Those were always easier to handle.
The rear hatch was already open, no doubt the purpose of Rone hitting that console button. Two imposing Travians swaggered in, armed to the teeth as usual. The taller of them eyed Rone.
“Sire Rone?”
“As my ship’s registry says.” Rone’s tone held a note of amusement to Frey’s ears.
The soldier tapped on a tablet in his hand. “You are carrying fabric?”
“As the ship’s manifest says.” Again, Rone acted as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
The soldier’s gazed flicked up and over to Preen before landing on Frey. “If you’re going to bring those things onto the station, you have to leash them.”
“Of course.” Rone kept up his pleasant facade, which seemed to irk the inspector for some reason. A weird dynamic was brewing between his master and these other males.
The head inspector tucked his tablet under his arm. “We need to inspect the cargo.”
“This way.” Rone sauntered toward the cargo bay, opened the door and gestured for the two others to precede him. He glanced at him and Preen. “Such fun.”
Frey understood a lot of what Rone and Preen said to each other using their sign language.
They didn’t seem concerned, either, that he did.
Rone never admonished Frey when he used it to speak with the other pet.
At a time like this, he really appreciated the benefit of being able to communicate in a secret way.
His heart thudded, though, as he approached and entered the cargo bay.
Because Preen had slipped in, Frey assumed it was okay for him to, as well.
The customs inspectors had already opened one of the containers.
A sea of black something or other was visible from where he stood.
The soldier first ran his tablet across, down and around the container, then dipped his hand inside it, rummaged around a bit before standing back up and resealing it.
The other guy did the same thing with other parts of the cargo.
Rone stood just inside the door, legs braced, arms folded in front of him. He looked utterly bored.
Sweat trickled down Frey’s back. He couldn’t help being nervous.
He knew Rone transported something entirely different from cloth.
How those other things were being hidden mystified him.
Maybe some containers had legitimate stuff, and the others the illegal stuff.
If that were the case, the customs officers looked like they intended to check every single one.
Surely they’d find the illegal cargo, and what would happen then?
Rone would be arrested or even summarily executed.
Preen and Frey would be confiscated, just like the other objects in the ship, then auctioned off maybe?
Or, would these Travians get to claim them as some kind of bounty?
They both eyed Frey every now and again as they searched, and he didn’t like what he saw in their expressions.
Rone casually moved to Frey’s side and slid his palm down the back of Frey’s head.
It was a gesture Frey had become well used to and even liked, no matter that it was kind of like petting a dog.
The touch soothed his heightened nerves, and if Rone wasn’t concerned with the search, Frey supposed there was no reason for him to be.
He knew Rone was sharp as well as deadly.
No way he’d walk into a situation that would bring him down.
The head inspector re-sealed the latest container and strode toward Rone.
“All seems in order so far, sire, although I find it strange that a high-caste male would stoop to ferrying merchandise.”
Rone curled his fingers in Frey’s hair, the only sign the question irritated him. Frey made sure to keep his expression the same, even though the grip stung.
“Do you?” Rone leaned forward and peered at the insignia on the inspector’s breast. “Zerith, is it? I would think a male from the Th caste would appreciate industriousness.”
The other male’s nostrils flared. Oh, man, he didn’t like that little dig.
Frey hadn’t quite worked out the details yet, but he understood the Travians slotted themselves into some kind of hierarchy.
He was beginning to get the idea that Rone came from some rarified part of his people’s society, making it all the weirder that he’d inserted himself into such obviously unsavory commerce.
Maybe he fell into the black sheep category of his family and had been kicked out to make his own way in the universe however he could.
Or, he might just be a more refined version of the kind of opportunistic thug Arpell had been.
After a few tense moments, the inspector turned his attention to Frey.
The gaze made Frey want to squirm. No, run away.
He knew that look and any moment now, this guy would say something to Rone about how this irritating inspection of his cargo would stop if Rone gave the customs officers something else to occupy their time with.
Then Frey would find himself bent over one of those containers, being plugged at both ends.
A shudder ran down his body. He couldn’t help it.
Rone tightened his grip. This time, though, the hold comforted Frey because it felt like a claiming, as if there were no way Rone would let this other fucker touch his pet.
The moment Frey thought that, he cursed himself for the rose-colored glasses thought.
Foolish hope would crush him. How many times did he have to pound that fact into his thick skull?
“Such an exotic pet you have.” The customs inspector licked his lower lip. “Rifling through the cargo of a male such as you seems like a waste of time. I can certainly think of more interesting things to do.”