A turgid colour. Somewhere between brown and red and purple; maroon--and darkening. Tyr's upside-down face and down the blood trickled. He was disgustingly dizzy and feeling dumb in the head, hanging by his knees from a horizontal steel pole in his quarters. The bitch was good for an ab workout but not much in the way of emotional relief.
Tyr was sad. But to save face, dignity, sanity-preserving self-delusion and other Nietszchean niceties, he manifested it as anger. Self-loathing arse-over-head.

All this displacement, lack of home, lack of love and power and no chance to tend the fruit of his magnificent loins. The cyclical nature of the universe made its example on him. He, torn from his family at such a young age in turn had to abandon his new one...or what there was of it. Oh, yes, it hurt. The kind that had you body-wrecked and gasping with dry sobs in a corner, were you less than a hulking Alpha. The kind that, hulking Alpha that he was, still got to him.

By way of comfort, he reached up and stroked his cock gently. It was a reassuring motion, which would at the very least supply him with some much-needed endorphins. He thought of his wife. The goddess, the intellect, his perfect complement. Of Beka's pouty mouth and glaring attitude and tempting little black shirts, and the kind of blond timeless grace she had once she shut up. Harper, too, ever-scared and hard sometimes in his presence. His small body made to be nurtured and before oh so close to death and great, more angst. Not helping. Maybe he'd try a good drunken stupor.

Why did he have such an affinity for blondes?

He ignored the beep of the door. Tried, at least.

Again and again it went and he swung himself upright, amazing muscle power but he had no one to preen for. A curse under his breath, too much weakness, Tyr. Lament was NOT anger and since when had his feelings stopped complying to his will? He slapped himself and it made a ring inside his brain where all the blood was still pooled.

"Tyr, Dylan wants to speak to you! Personally!" was what Harper's voice yelled outside his door.

Blood-rushed, shirtless, messy-haired and half-erect he stalked to the door. It was a sight for anyone with a pulse, much less an anyone with human, male hormones. Harper's eyes went very wide for a second.

"Um...am I intruding on something here?"

Tyr scoffed. "My quarters are in privacy mode and you've rung entrance 12 times. The logical deduction is that I do not. want. to be. disturbed."

Harper was staring surreptitiously at the bulge in Tyr's pants. Not surreptitiously enough for a Nietszchean eye, however, and the boy would have realized this if he ever employed his vast intelligence in a logical manner.

"Sorry."

"What does Dylan want to see me about that warrants a personal messenger and not our convenient comm system?"

"Well, I lied. I just wanted to know what was the matter."

Tyr stared down coldly. "Goodbye," he said and, with a dramatic swing of hair, was gone. A door pressed shut in Harper's face.

Fool. Tyr felt too old for these people. He missed Freya. Nubile, resplendent and blonde, dead. His purpose in life, far away. His fucking purpose.

A sting of pain in the heart for the things he didn't have. And there were Drago-Kazov neanderthals with dozens of children about their knees, blessed and fulfilled though they had no worth in their bodies save a good pair of bone spurs. While he hopped around space wasting the time he could be with Tamerlaine. If the universe were different. If there were no danger. But for now he was a waste. That's what it came to. He screamed a kicked the table.

This required further indulgence. He would punch excercise equipment next. Release the toxins. Make sweat pour from his body lest tears dared do so.

A march to the gym, shirtless still, the anger close to becoming visible steam off his skin and only after some seconds of walking did he notice a shuffling gait alongside him. Harper.

He swung around, pressing the boy to the wall by his neck, mouth trembling. The hallway was empty and blessedly the ship's holo didn't pop up.

"I distinctly remember telling you to leave me."

There was a hint of guilt, maybe. But quiet enough to ignore.

Was that a smirk coming from the face desperately being crushed into the wall? Unbelievable.

"It's your animal magnetism." Choke. "I can't .tear myself away." Harper smiled to appease, as best he could under the circumstances.

Harper's right to be treated like a human being notwithstanding, it was becoming a supreme excercise in control not to punch him through the wall. Tyr just stared and shook and kept his hand firm over throat. The pulse underneath was audible. If it were only louder than the boy's insistent voice.

"So...uh...where are you going?"

"To beat the crap out of things and if you do not want to be 'things', be gone NOW."

Dash, smack, roughly he moved his hand and whipped Harper 3 meters away, stalking off. "Oww," a fading aftercry.

His vision was a mixture of red and black and he didn't notice any sweat though he was covered in it. All his muscles were fairly crying, a pleasant pain and fuel and he wouldn't stop, just hit and hit through the ache. It was futile to imagine he was hitting anything other than the punching bag...after all, the universe had no face. But it was pleasant for the while, the way his sped up bloodstream ran loud enough to block out thoughts. Heartbeat louder than heartbreak, a concentration on the task at hand so precise as to generate obliviousness. Over and over he smashed his fists into the bag and at one point they began to bleed.

The panting subsided then and after a while he had no energy left. He bandaged his hands and slouched on a bench, staring.

At some point Harper walked in, with a towel. He wrapped it around Tyr's calm body, lingering a touch too long everywhere. In spite of himself Tyr accomodated to the slow wipe. He was suprised to note that his dick had not gone down.

Maybe it was pleasant. Just maybe, he wasn't committing or anything.

"Harper, what do you want?"

"It's not about what I want."

Harper's eyes were undemanding. He finished towelling and rubbed his fingers along the bandages. "Don't be insulted. I won't pry if you don't want me to but you shouldn't be alone when you feel like shit."

That was a bit comforting. Purely for physical reasons, of course. Tyr smiled.

"Since when do you know what I need?"

Harper shrugged, joy underneath his skin straining not to burst out. Flashed a charming grin.

"I'm just having my way with you while you're vulnerable," he said, and quickly looked down.

The impulse was to chuckle but Tyr's mouth was dry. His blood rose to the surface again and he bent over Harper, imposing. One hand travelling along the boy's leg. Out of his control.

A small body made to be nurtured climbed on him. To nurture. He clasped arms around the firm press of it, a hard-on directly over his. Hands in his mass of braids and a pliant mouth under his and maybe the lament could wait. All he heard were their matching pulses.
 

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