Ganymede Station Pt. 01

Because of the time spent at the precinct I finally learned the key differences between the station police and marshalls. Police on Ganymede, numbered fewer than a dozen and handled enforcement of Ganymede's laws, protection of its residents and patrolling the streets. Chief Holden prized herself on the fact that none of her officers were corrupt, and if they were found out to be, they were immediately fired, no exceptions. Marshalls were different though, there was only Deacon on Ganymede and while in many ways he acted like a cop, his job entailed hunting down fugitives hiding out here, prisoner transfer off station as required and reporting to his bosses off-world at Olympia, another space station more than twenty times the size of ours. Though it wasn't a direct comparison, he had as much or more rank than the chief, though he seemed content to handle his professional affairs quietly, reporting to Olympia only as the job required. I was interested to learn that he had his pilot's license and could use the police cruiser if it was deemed necessary, he assured me it was almost never the case and I was disappointed.

Living with Deacon and paying a reduced amount of rent allowed me to actually save up some money, a concept that had been entirely foreign before this. I hadn't needed to fuck a man for money in over a month and I didn't miss it at all. Of course, Deacon and I were getting our physical needs met every single day so my sex drive was still getting the workout it needed. I swear he was in better shape as a result and even drinking less. We had healthier food more often, and my wardrobe began to shift to include more professional work attire and fewer clothes that reminded me of my past.

Deacon was watching his shows one night and I realized as I was curled up on the couch that I hadn't made time to draw anything in several days. I popped up to go grab my sketchbook. The marshall glanced over at me but back to his program a moment later. He was already deep into his drinking for the evening. I returned shortly with my book under one arm and a pencil in my hand. I sat back on the creaky sofa and opened the pages in my lap, returning to my last piece, a multi-ringed planet called Jeddenah from the Scabareth solar system.

The marshall looked over at me curiously. "Whatcha got there?" He asked.

I had never pulled out my drawings in front of anyone before. They were deeply personal to me, and I knew I wasn't very talented. Even so, I wanted Deacon to know these things about me, the things that interested me, that made me happy.

"Just drawing some stuff. I like to sketch sometimes." I said.

He pushed himself out of his chair, set down his drink and came over to where I sat.

"Can I see? Do you mind?" He asked.

I shrugged. "If you want to." I replied, feeling suddenly exposed.

He eased down next to me and I handed him the sketchbook with its tattered edges.

Deacon flipped back to the front cover and began to slowly go through each page, carefully examining the work he found there, occasionally with a comment or question. He really appeared to take his time, taking everything in that I had made.

"What's this one? Is that a desert?" He wondered aloud.

"Yeah, there was a sandstorm on Mars I saw on the news. It was really hard to draw, I didn't capture it well." I said with a frown.

"I think you did a great job. I knew what it was and it's not even red." He said.

He looked through more pages. "Are these the trees from the station, by the spaceport?" He asked.

"Yeah, I think they're alder." I said.

"I didn't know they looked so nice. You put so much detail in. Cheyne, you're really good at this." Deacon quietly remarked. I blushed at the comment.

Deacon was turning to the next drawing when I suddenly remembered what was drawn there and I moved to turn another page but I was too slow to react. I bit my lip nervously.

The marshall cocked his head slightly as he scanned the page. In front of him was a large man, sleeping on a couch very much like this one. He wore underwear, a t-shirt and an eyepatch.

"This is me." He stated.

"Sorry, I mean, it is. Is that weird? I just thought you looked so handsome, sleeping like that." My face was blazing with embarrassment.

He regarded the drawing carefully. "It's not weird, I guess it's a compliment, huh?" He was quiet for a little while as he spent longer on this page than any previously. "You think I'm handsome?" He asked in a low voice.

"I do." I said meekly.

He turned to look at me. "Like, for a cyclops you mean?" It should have been a joke, but his tone showed me his shame at his own appearance.

I put my hand on his hairy forearm. "No, not in any way like that. To me, you're the most handsome man I've ever met." I said seriously.

Deacon's eye became glassy and he swallowed. "Thank you." He said, barely above a whisper.

I carefully closed the artbook in his lap and leaned closer to him. He watched me carefully. I moved in closer still to make my desires clear. He was so vulnerable, so attractive, he had liked my drawings, I wanted something more intimate than just a fuck before bed.

Deacon knew what I wanted, my lips were near to his and he shocked me by leaning over and placing his mouth over mine. I pressed against him, moving the sketchbook from his hands to the edge of the couch as I climbed into his lap. I wrapped my arms around his neck and shoulders and felt one of his strong hands gently hold the back of my head. We kissed for many minutes, our tongues danced together and our breathing was hoarse. I pushed my erection against his belly and could feel him growing underneath my rump as well. To feel him surrender to me like this, it was incredible. Our defenses were down, I wanted to exist only in this moment, with him. I broke the kiss only long enough to speak.

"Take me to the bedroom." I said.

"No, we can do this out here." He responded. "I don't go in there."

"It's my room now, and I want you to make love to me on my bed, not the damned couch." I said firmly.

"O-okay." He finally agreed.

Deacon carried me easily to the bedroom door which I reached down and opened. He hesitated in the doorway.

"Please?" I pleaded, stroking his stubbly face with my fingers.

He looked down at me with lust-filled eyes and then into the bedroom before him. "I, I can't do this, Cheyne. Let's go back to the couch." He said, turning around and carrying me back into the common room.

I struggled against his strong arms until he was forced to plant me on my feet. I stared him in the face, my expression something of annoyance and confusion.

"What's the problem? It's just a room." I said irritably.

"There's... too many ghosts." He struggled to say.

"What does that even mean?" I asked sharply.

"Just, leave it alone. The couch is good, we've been doing stuff there for weeks." He said, trying to gently push me in that direction.

I slipped out of his grasp and stood my ground.

"Is it about Eilie?" I asked.

Deacon's face became pale. "What did you say?" His voice disconcerted me, maybe I shouldn't have said anything.

"You, mentioned that name before to me, when I sucked you off that first time. You called me Eilie. That's a scabarethen name isn't it? A woman's?" I pressed him for answers.

He moved past me, over to his chair where he picked up his bottle from the floor where it had been left. He took a couple long swigs.

"Deacon! Fucking talk to me!" I shouted.

He looked back at me, his body was visibly trembling, though I couldn't tell if he was angry or terrified. "She, she was my second wife. Yes, she was the same race as you. That was our room, okay?" He shouted back.

"What happened?" I asked, my voice softer than before.

"She died. She's fucking dead, I'm still here, and it's not your god damned business anyway!" He roared. I took a step back, I had never seen the man truly angry, it scared me a little. Deacon took another pull from his bottle.

"How did she die?" I asked. I didn't want to keep forcing him, but I thought if I didn't ask now, I might miss my opportunity. He clearly didn't want to talk about it, I'm not sure why I felt like I deserved to know.

Deacon shot me a look of disbelieving anger. "Fuck off Cheyne." He spat.

"Why?" I asked, throwing my hands up. "I should just butt out of your life because I actually want to know about you? Because I actually give a shit about you? You just hide away in your apartment, drinking yourself to death and I should just look the other way?" I could feel the beginning of hot tears welling in my eyes.

"I didn't ask for any of that, just leave me alone!" Deacon pleaded.

I moved closer to him, but still left some distance. "I'm your friend, Deacon. I, I want you to be happy, like you've made me but you make it impossible to get close!" I said, my voice shaking.

"You don't want to know me." He said sadly. "I'm just a big, broken man with nothing left to give."

"That's not true." I protested.

"And you, you're not exactly a prize either." He sneered. "You're paid to make men feel special, but I ain't paying you so you can drop the act!"

At hearing his words, I let out a gasp. two tears rolled down my face. "What?" I asked quietly.

"You fuckin' heard me." He drawled.

I was stunned, I couldn't move, his words cut through me like a knife. "You think it's been an act? You think the way I feel about you, all the times we've been together..." My voice trailed off and disappeared.

Deacon said nothing in response, only gulped down more of his drink. He turned his head away, not even having the courage to look me in the eyes after what he had said. I stopped into the bedroom and grabbed a heating jacket from inside. I tugged it around myself and left the small apartment, slamming the door behind me.

There wasn't a plan, I had nowhere I specifically wanted to go. The situation just dictated that I leave, and so I had. So here I was wandering around Ganymede, aimless and frustrated. It was late in the evening, happily there weren't many other people out on the streets tonight. I needed to attempt to clear my head, so I walked to the tiny park and climbed the tall alder tree onto the rooftop. I held my jacket tightly around myself and stared up at the high domed ceiling. Again I considered my life, such that it was, up until this point. It had become better, of that I had little doubt. I finally had some credits, a man I considered a friend, and safety. How was it that I still wanted for more? Deacon hadn't been dishonest with me, he just wanted to keep some personal things close to his chest. Who was I to make him uncomfortable, to spill those secrets? So he had a wife, a scabarethen wife no less. She had died and he still lived in the apartment they had shared, no wonder he drank. It was small wonder why he avoided that room. I let out a resigned sigh. I knew I was in the wrong here. Even though I briefly thought about renting another apartment, I knew I would miss the marshall terribly, even with his secrets and mood swings. Part of me had come to depend on the man but, more than that, I wanted to be around him. When all was said and done, I wondered how he really felt about me? I supposed I was just some dumb kid who could get him off when he needed.

At some point I must have fallen asleep up there on the small roof because I woke up huddled in a ball, blinking in mild surprise. I touched my smartscreen to bring it to life and saw I had been out for half the night. Well, I didn't fancy spending the whole evening out on the street. Somehow in these past several years I had just managed to keep myself in a room, that wasn't going to change now. I knew Deacon would be sound asleep, so I figured I could just go back to the apartment and fall back to sleep in my room. We could avoid each other in the morning.

The trek back was uneventful and when I reached the door to our shared apartment I unlocked it with the keycard and opened it about as quietly as I could. It was dark but I could just make out Deacon's sleeping shape on the couch at the far side of the living room. I was tip-toeing towards my bedroom door when I accidentally bumped into an empty bottle that had apparently rolled across the floor. It was sent clattering loudly back toward the couch, startling the sleeping marshall awake. I bit my lip anxiously.

"Hruh? Is somewhere there?" He asked groggily.

"Just me, sorry to wake you." I said as I pushed my door open.

I could hear more than see the large man sit up and haul himself off the couch. "You going to bed?" He asked, his voice still full of sleep or perhaps the drink.

"Yeah it's late." I said from the doorway. "Go back to sleep."

"No, come on, let's go to bed together." Deacon slurred.

He amazed me by meeting me in the doorway, placing a hand gently at the small of my back and guiding me into the bedroom. He fumbled as he stripped out of his underpants and shirt before clambering on top of the bed, fully nude. The few dim lights from outside the window illuminated him as he lay there on his side. He patted the blanket next to him, invitingly. I followed suit, stripping out of my clothes and climbed onto the modestly-sized bed beside him. Deacon put a big arm over me and tucked me against his body. My heart beat was a quick staccato in my breast. He was so warm and fuzzy against my bare back. I could feel his breath on the back of my neck and smell the alcohol there. I wasn't sure what had caused the change in him, though I wouldn't deny I liked the result.

"Is, everything okay with you?" I asked him, gently rubbing the strong arm that held me. My voice was quiet, like I was afraid of scaring him away.

"Course it is baby. Just missed you is all." He nuzzled the back of my ear with his bristly mouth affectionately.

The marshall had never used a pet name for me before, unless you count 'kid,' and it caught me off-guard.

"Can't believe you actually came in here Deacon, but I'm glad you did." I confessed.

"It's our room baby, where else would we sleep?" He mumbled, giving me a small kiss on the neck. "And call me Henry." A moment later he was snoring softly.

As the realization struck me I felt a cold chill run the length of my spine. He was drunk, asleep, and mistaking me for his dead wife. I didn't know how to respond. I wanted to climb out from beside him, spend the rest of the night on the couch myself but, more than that, I wanted to stay the night wrapped in his arms. His body was so warm, so inviting and it fit with mine almost perfectly. I reached down and brought a blanket up over us, tucking it under his arm and across his side. I kept my head turned so I could watch the slow rise and fall of his chest in the dim room while he slept. He was beautiful in this light as he dreamed. I think, in this exact moment, he was the most perfect thing I had ever seen. The circumstances weren't ideal, he would very likely be upset when he woke in the morning, but for now I simply enjoyed what I had been missing, the feel of a man during the night, acting like he loved me.

CHAPTER 8.

As usual, I began to stir before Deacon the next morning. He was still here beside me, though had turned onto his stomach and was drooling slightly on one of my pillows. I found him to be ridiculously cute and reached into the pocket of my jacket on the floor next to the bed to grab my personal device. I took a picture of Deacon and allowed myself a small smile. I tucked the smartscreen away on the shelf behind my head where it was normally kept and bumped one of the marshall's pictures. I extended my arm back over my head and pulled the framed photograph down to my chest to look at it more closely. It was the one of Eilie, sitting on the bench, turning away. I had actually woken up thinking about her, or more accurately, the life she had shared with Deacon and what it might have been like. She had fine features, pretty, I couldn't deny her beauty. Something about the shape of her ears though, the lips, even her nose in profile was oddly familiar. It took longer than it should have for me to see that her features were much like my own, and not just the passing similarities of our shared race. I set the frame carefully back in its alcove and lay there on my back in the tiny room, thoughtful.

I sat up in the bed and pulled down my sketchbook and a pencil. I wanted to keep the marshall company even as he slept and began to sketch a picture. I had an idea in my head, simple, but I wanted it to be detailed too. I grabbed my device and looked up a picture on it for reference. After a half hour or so I felt like I had gotten it about right. I softly tore the page from the book and folded it in half, tucking it into the back of the alcove on top of my closed artbook.

It was a Saturday today which meant we both had the day off and didn't have to be rudely awakened by alarms, which was always a welcome change to my new routine. Though I was wide awake I had no intention of leaving the bed, not until Deacon did at least. Sometime later he began to grumble and stretch for a minute or so before finally opening his eye. It was bloodshot of course and his eyebrow raised when he focused on me, lying beside him.

"Morning, Henry." I said.

He pushed up to his elbows and quickly glanced around the room to get his bearings.

"Why am I in here?" He asked in a startled voice.

"You brought me in here to sleep last night." I explained calmly.

"Why'd you call me Henry?" He asked.

"You told me to, though you obviously don't remember that either." I said, watching his reactions.

The marshall let his head fall back into the pillow. "I really don't." Came a muffled voice from the pillow.

"You remember our fight?" I asked after a moment's hesitation.

He turned his head sideways to look at me, his face was calmer than I had expected. "Yeah."

I cleared my throat and gave him a searching look. "I'm sorry. It wasn't my business. I think my intentions were good but, I didn't mean to do that to you. I was being shitty."

Deacon rolled fully onto his back then sat up, letting the blanket slip to his waist. "No, it's, it's not right the way I spoke to you. I know you, care about me. I shouldn't have reacted that way." He scratched absently at part of the scar over his exposed chest. "I haven't talked about any of... what happened with anyone since back then. Maybe the harder I try to forget, the worse off I've been."

I was impressed. "That sounded, remarkably deep." I confessed.

"I spent the night in here, something I've been avoiding for years, and I guess it was okay." He replied, staring at the unassuming bed.

I rubbed his shoulder in a comforting way. Deacon looked at my hand as I touched him, then took it in his.

"I should probably get up, get ready for work." He said, moving to climb over me.

"Saturday, no work for either of us today." I mentioned casually.

"Oh, right. Well, I should still take a shower." He decided aloud as he straddled me then climbed off the side of the bed closest to the door.

"Drink some water!" I called after him as he wandered naked into the living room. I could only guess how bad his hangover must be after the way he hit the bottle last night.

I laid back down and took a whiff from the side of the bed where Deacon had just been sleeping. His sweat and warmth were still there, creating a contented smile over my face. Could this be something that we continued? The thought of spending more nights held in his arms thrilled me in a way that nothing else could.

When I heard the water start in the bathroom I decided to try my luck with the big guy again. He never bothered to lock the door and honestly I didn't bother him much while he was in there, though it occurred to me to do so almost every morning. Today was different though, there was no rush, no schedule, and I still felt guilty about the way I had acted the night before. I wanted to show him just how sorry I really was, so I slipped quietly into the washroom where the marshall was already showering. Being naked myself I crept over to the stall and pulled the heavy plastic curtain back just enough to slide in behind him.