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Full Moon by Mindmeld

The ship hung silent in null-space like a raindrop on an oak leaf. The hull shimmered with the last faint ripples of the Leap shields that had collapsed and caused it to suddenly drop out of hyper. Heat dissipated, metal creaked, wisps of waste gases iced and floated off into the void. Around the ship, locked out by a quantum dimension shift, normal space whirled and knocked to get in, begging entrance.

Inside the ship the crew ran about in an organized noise checking readouts, inspecting panels and reporting their findings in a droning monotone to Captain Hershel, who sat absorbing the input like a stolid sphinx, commanding all he surveyed.

"First things first, people", he said, his voice only slightly louder than normal, "Hull integrity, engine status?"

Engineer Lowe didn't glance up from his panels. "All reads nominal and in the white."

"Good," said the Captain, "at least we're not venting and we can move." He looked to the Environmental station. "Boyd, how's life support?"

The lanky blond man turned and showed some mild confusion.

"I think I found what caused the field collapse, sir, there are some strange readings from the air recyclers that may have triggered an emergency stop."

"Anything life threatening?"

"No sir, just interesting."

The Captain turned back and looked at his viewscreen. "NavCom, where are we?"

Timmerson looked at his panel with an unconcerned look. "The section of null we entered is mapped and marked, sir, we are on course with only point two five percent deviation."

He turned his boyish young face to the Captain, who eyed him with an odd look that made him a little nervous. "Um, it'll be an easy reinsertion, Captain, a cakewalk." Whatever the hell that means, he thought, he never understood old Earth colloquialisms.

"Reinsertion," the Captain said, a half smile flitting across his face. Then he froze, looked around for a moment and perked up.

"Good job, men, we'll stay here for 12 hours and check systems before....reinsertion. Meanwhile, I'm going to my cabin." He rose and headed for the lift. "Do what you must than take the rest of the time off for some relaxation. You've earned it."

He entered the lift and was gone.

Timmerson turned and looked toward the lift. "Am I the only one who noticed how strange our Captain has been acting lately, like that last little scene, for instance?"

Lowe chuckled. "Don't worry about it, we all need some down time." He stood up from his panels and stretched. "As for me, I'm going to go run a visual check on the ship, I only trust readouts to a point." He headed for the lift. "Then I think a little down time is in order, I've been feeling a little anxious myself of late." He had that same odd smile on his face.

The lift swallowed him and Timmerson turned towards Boyd, who seemed more absorbed than usual in his blinking lights. "What did you mean interesting, Boyd?"

Boyd continued to look at his panel then suddenly started. "What?" He looked around. "Oh yeah, well there's something off kilter with the air recyclers. Nothing serious, just an imbalance in the gases mixture."

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Nothing serious, my ass, thought Timmerson, their glandular functions depended on the concoction of gases that the recycler added to the air they relied on for life.

"Are you sure?" He took one last look at his NavCom panel before locking it down and starting toward the lift. "I mean, I don't want to laugh myself to death or have a sudden growth spurt in odd places."

Boyd laughed. "No, it's a minor problem, nothing to worry about. Probably a clogged injector."

"Well, I'm going for a drink. I feel a little anxious myself for some reason. Just need to relax." He entered the lift. "Join me?"

Boyd nodded his head. "In a minute, I'm gonna poke around here for awhile. I hate a mystery."

Timmerson flashed a knowing smile and the doors closed as he was whisked away.

Boyd watched him go, smiled as with some inner moment of reflection, then started at what he had almost thought.

I could use some down time myself, he thought.


Ten minutes later, Boyd stood in front of the Captain's hatch. He had been approaching it when Lowe had exited from it, nodded at him and smiled an almost guilty smile. Lowe adjusted his shirt and took off down the corridor, presumably heading for his cabin.

Odd, thought Boyd, then dismissed it.

He hesitated for a moment and then punched the comkey.

"Yes, Boyd, what is it?" The voice was relaxed and unconcerned.

"Um, may I have a word with you, Captain?"

The door hissed open and Boyd entered. The lighting was low and there was a vaguely familiar odor lingering in the air. Boyd sniffed, trying to place it. It was a strong but pleasing odor that he at once knew but couldn't categorize. A memory from his youth suddenly poked up it's long dormant head and called for attention.

Before he had dedicated himself to the Fleet, he had been a normal, adolescent male with all the drives that come with the job. But when you join up, you agree to forego certain physical aspects of humanity. Sex, for one. It had been decided a century earlier that mixing the sexes on long space flights led to too many complications. So the Fleet had been divided into two distinct and forever separate groups. The female fleet had been assigned to police and hostile action duty. The male fleet was given diplomatic, exploration and shipping duties. Shortly after the split, it was apparent that the problem still existed. Homosexuality on long voyages was a distraction in both fleets. So the Mute Mixture was invented and introduced into the air recyclers. It numbed the areas of the brain and the glands that led to the behavior. While homosexuality was accepted and legal on all the civilized planets and practiced openly on the streets, it was a capital offense in the fleet and those who signed up were locked into it until they retired or died.

It was a system that worked and had kept undesired complications at a minimum for decades. But rumor had it that there was an underground of Fleet personnel who wanted to end the 'Sexual Tyranny' as they called it. It was this that brought Boyd to the Captain's cabin.

He looked toward the dark corner where the voice had come from and saw the Captain lying on his bunk. He was nude with only a towel draped over his lap. He laid leisurely rubbing his stomach and smiling at the nonplussed young officer. Boyd stared at him. Hershel was middle aged but had a damn fine physique and a rugged handsomeness that...Boyd shook the thought from his head. What the hell is wrong with me, he thought.

"What can I do for you, John?" The Captain said in a strange, thick voice.

"Ah, yes, well I have discovered something odd in the gas mixture that caused me some concern and I thought I should report it to you....." His voice lowered and he came to an abrupt halt as the Captain removed his towel to reveal an engorged penis, moist all over as if just dipped in water. Or saliva, Boyd thought, remembering Lowe leaving the cabin earlier. No, do not go there, he chastised himself He felt nervous and strangely anxious as he fought to regain his voice.

"Perhaps I should come back later, Captain." He began to back towards the hatch.

"Lock hatch." The Captain said in a husky voice. "We need to talk, John." He swung his legs off the cot and stood. Boyd couldn't take his eyes off the sticky, pendulous organ that now wobbled and bobbed while the Captain approached him. A pearly drop flew off of it and sailed through the air.

"Let me guess," breathed the man who now stood in front of him, no more then inches away from his face, "You found a...discrepancy in the Mute Mixture and are worried about it."

Boyd swallowed heavily and suddenly felt his legs go limp. But something else wasn't limp. He realized with a shock that he had an erection. This isn't possible, he thought, yet it feels good.

"You'll notice that I'm in a certain condition, John, I have a, um, hard problem." As he spoke he had been bringing the towel he had been covered with up to his face. He now held it under Boyd's face, touching his nose. The towel was wet and musky. And sticky. Boyd realized with a start what it was and backed away, disgusted.

"Ah come on, John, my come isn't that bad is it? And I'm sure you'll really appreciate it in a minute when the Enhancer kicks in." This naked, hairy man in front of him seemed to grow fuzzy and Boyd's head spun.

"I'm sure you have enough sense to realize by now that I tampered with the mixture and, in fact, I am one of those nasty under grounders you've no doubt heard about."

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Boyd's head was filled with cobwebs and thoughts fought to free themselves and form into a coherent pattern. The Captain addressed him by his first name, thought Boyd, he's naked with a wet dick, he's a self-proclaimed traitor, he had fucked with the ships recyclers, and he is now pulling down my pants and fondling my cock. Wait, what was that last thought? Boyd realized with interest that his pants were now around his ankles and the hairy man (somehow he couldn't call him Captain right now) had gotten on his knees and was now licking the head of his dick with great gusto.

"En..en..en..enhancer?" Boyd stammered and thrust his hips out when the man took his turgid length into his mouth and began sucking it. The lips came off of it for a moment, to Boyd's regret, he realized.

"Yes, an intriguing combination of herbs that restores your natural balance." He kissed the cock and said, "in other words, dear boy, you're not drugged - you're natural, returned to your proper balance for the first time in years." The blessed lips went back to what they had been doing.

"Oh Christ," mumbled Boyd as he slipped out of his shirt, dropped it on the floor and began massaging the back of his benefactors head.

He started moaning and moving his hips in time with the sucking, needing mouth and probing tongue. "Captain, I.."

"Call me Tom," interrupted the nice man, talking with a mouth full of hard flesh. Yet another breach of protocol, but Boyd didn't seem to mind.

"Tom, what about the others? I mean, right now, I don't really care but Lowe and Timmerson."

"They're probably doing the same thing right now. How do you think I sabotaged the recyclers? Lowe and I were lovers before we signed up. He's wanted to get his tongue in Timmersons sweet young ass for months."

"Tongue in ass, oh yes!" breathed Boyd.

The wonderful mouth went away and Boyd felt a moment of confusion and disappointment until he heard Tom's voice.

"Gravity off." Said the deep, lovely voice.

They were immediately floating in the cabin. John relaxed as he felt Tom gently spread his legs and turn him slowly around.

"Ah, there's a full moon tonight," said Tom as he stared appreciatively at John's ass.

Tom's tongue found it's way between John's ass cheeks and he began probing the hole with it, licking and inserting it in as far as he could. John felt himself dissolving in this man's embrace and when Tom reached up and put his hands on his shoulders and pulled himself up (or push him down, it was hard to tell in null grav), John didn't resist as he felt the hard rod gently push into his ass. Tom mumbled, "insertion achieved" and began ramming and thrusting. His hand reached around and grasped John's cock and began pumping furiously. John had a brief memory of reading about zero-G fucking when he was a kid. This was fantastic he thought. Suddenly, he felt the fiery surge in his loins that he had not felt in years since his masturbatory adventures as a youth. He and a friend had jerked off together and played around one summer at camp. They had sucked each other off and swore their love for each other. Then his friend had gone on to join the Fleet and he had followed shortly afterward. He had all but forgotten the joy of that linking but it all came rushing back to him now as his hot come spurted from the end of his cock and floated in droplets next to him.

He felt Tom grow rigid than slam into him hard and fast as he came. Tom relaxed and kissed the nape of John's neck.

"Reinsertion anticipated," he purred.

In the next few hours, they made up for lost time. John felt the joy of Tom's come shooting into his mouth, bathing his tongue and running salty and metallic down his throat. They played, tried new positions and fucked themselves into exhaustion. They fell into a deep sleep in each other's arms.

Three hours later, John awoke to an explosive orgasm as Tom finished sucking him off.

"Alright, so I'm with you," he said, "now what?"

Tom sat up and licked his lips. "We're not alone, by now there have been more orgasms in both Fleets than on Clinton's Pleasure Planet in a year. Command will have no choice but to change the rules and give us back our gonads. Hell, maybe I'll even transfer to female ship and suck some pussy for a change of pace."

Boyd began dressing. "I better go check on Timmerson, see if he can walk. Lowe's a pretty big guy."

"In more way's than one," chuckled Tom, now in uniform and once again the Captain.


The lift door opened onto the rec deck and they stepped out. Something did not look right. Then Boyd saw it. Lowe lay on the floor, tied and gagged. The Captain stepped forward and bellowed.

"What the hell is.."

He didn't finish his statement. Timmerson came up from behind and struck him on the head. He dropped to the floor. Boyd stood shocked and unmoving.

"You're under arrest, sir," growled Timmerson.

"Are you alright?" He stepped around the prone body and faced the surprised Boyd.

"Er, ah, yeah." Boyd tried to compose himself and assess the situation.

"How about you, Timmerson, you okay?"

"Ass hurts a little, I had to go along with the insidious plot for awhile until I got all the particulars out of this fucking faggot."

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Boyd nodded, wondering just how long Timmerson had 'gone along with it'?

"Well, ok, now what?"

Timmerson smiled. "We've suspected the uprising was coming any time now and were prepared. The Fleet's in turmoil, there are mutinies and orgasms all over the place. But we're winning!"

"Who's 'we'," Boyd mumbled, starting to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"The Sexual Purity Squad, who else?" Timmerson smiled. "We fight to keep the spirit clean and the mind clear." He was quoting some jingoistic bullshit.

"You were in there with him a long time, Boyd," he eyed Boyd suspiciously, "what happened?"

"Errr, nothing, I talked and played keep away, you know, fake em' out and throw em' a bone, heh, heh." He immediately regretted the bone reference but it had gone over Timmerson's head.

Timmerson smiled. He really is kind of a cute asshole, thought Boyd, who felt those urges coming on, even under the circumstances. He fought for control of his already swelling cock.


They took the two limp forms to a storage room and locked them in. Back in hyper and on their way to the nearest Command Base, Timmerson kept preaching about purity and the need for self-restraint and how heroic they were in the face of adversity. Boyd would agree and then make up some excuse to go back to check on the prisoners. He spent a lot of time checking on them. They couldn't shut off the gravity in the storage locker but they managed. Timmerson was so steeped in his self-righteousness that he never noticed the smile on Boyd's face after each of these checks. A week away from port, Timmerson came back to find Boyd tied and gagged and the prisoners gone in a shuttle. Boyd told him that they had overpowered him, acted properly contrite and secretly worried about the escapees. The last week was hell. They couldn't restore the efficiently sabotaged recycler and Boyd spent the time whacking off and thinking about two hot cocks fucking their way to who-knows-where. We should have mutinied and took the ship, he thought, but knew a small shuttle stood a better chance. He and Timmerson were going to be heroes. Medals, promotions, the whole enchilada.

I should have gone with them, he thought, more than once.


The ship hung silent in null-space like a dropped testicle. The hull shimmered with the last faint ripples of the Leap shields that had collapsed and caused it to suddenly drop out of hyper. Heat dissipated, metal creaked, wisps of waste gases iced and floated off into the void. Around the ship, locked out by a quantum dimension shift, normal space whirled and knocked to get in, begging entrance. But no one was listening.

Captain Boyd sat looking out his viewscreen and smiling to himself. His crew of handsome young men bustled about him doing their jobs. A lot had changed in the last 15 years. The Mute Mixture was more foolproof that ever and most of the insurgents from what had come to be known as the 'Great Space Fuck' had been rounded up and executed years ago. But Command had never found Hershel or Lowe. Even Admiral Timmerson, who had personally manned the search, had given up.

The Captain looked around, a smile of anticipation on his rugged face. And so it begins again, he thought. The minor modifications they had installed while at Liberace Dock were kicking in and he could already feel the stirrings. It was fortunate that he had run into his old camp friend who had left the Fleet years earlier to run certain illegal items for the underground. They had spent a great week together.

"Orders, sir?"

He looked up into the pretty young eyes of the NavCom officer.

"You're all doing fine, standard procedures."

He went through the proper motions, checked to make sure the shuttle was fueled just in case, cast a knowing wink at the Engineer and eyed the ass of the handsome young stud sitting at the NavCom station. Timmerson Jr., he thought, just as cute as your old man.

"Sir, I'm showing an odd imbalance in the air recycler." Johnson at Life Support was tall and dark-skinned.

"Nothing to worry about, I'm sure." I'm going for two this time, he thought.

"Timmerson, come back to my cabin after things have settled down," he said, "I've got a story about your old man you may enjoy." And, he thought, we'll see how long you 'go along with it'. Revenge is a dish best served hard.

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