Breaking Through Limits (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 12

"Come on, let's go." Harry had barely entered the door to their quarters and already Tomlinson motioning for him to go out again.

"Where? I have an info-vid from home." Harry held up the small oblong one-use holo projector that had come in the mail. The Academy was notorious for taking its time getting mail from home to the cadets so he wasn't surprised that this was the first thing he'd gotten. He wasn't exactly homesick —so many strange things had happened to him since he'd left Earth that there wasn't time for it —but he was eager to see the familiar faces of his parents and friends.

"It can wait." Tomlinson was already out the door.

"Dammit. All right." Harry tossed his package on the bed and followed reluctantly as Tomlinson walked with long strides down the narrow metal corridor. They passed a few other cadets but most of them had turned in for the evening. It was only an hour until lights out and students at the Academy were strongly encouraged to be in their room studying at this time.

"Do you know what today is?" Tomlinson asked, not looking at him as he spoke.

"No. What?" Harry lengthened his own stride to catch up to his tall partner. "Well, what?" he asked again when Tomlinson didn't answer immediately.

The older cadet gave him a sidelong glance and a humorless grin. "It's our three-week anniversary. Do you know what that means?"

In the past Harry probably would have protested his partner's use of the relationship word "anniversary" but now he just frowned at Tomlinson. "No, should I? Is it some kind of special time period as far as Needlers are concerned?"

Tomlinson barked a laugh. "Hardly. What it means is that we only have one more week until we actually get our Needle. This time next week, we'll be in the deep dark."

"This time next week," Harry repeated, letting the thought sink in. Of course he knew the days were passing, but he was ashamed to admit that he had been thinking less about their ultimate goal than he should have been. Of course he had been slightly distracted by the confusing emotions his tall partner brought out in him during what had become their new routine.

After dinner they usually went up to the Needlers' shooting range for a couple of hours and practiced on the simulator. As always, Tomlinson murmured in his ear and pressed against him, but now he routinely unzipped Harry's uniform and ran long fingers down his chest and abdomen to stroke his cock. He never let Harry come —not during the practice anyway, but despite that, Harry found that a strange thing was happening. His partner's hands on his body, rather than detracting from his shots-fired to targets-hit ratio, actually improved it. He didn't know how it was possible but it was true. He never shot so well or hit so many targets as when Tomlinson's long fingers were caressing his aching shaft with that slow, almost casual stroke. Tomlinson would talk to him about targeting angles and the Needle's specs at such times, never mentioning what was going on below Harry's belt but never stopping the slow, delicious torture either. Harry's scores were rising steadily and in fact, twice in the past week he had run a perfect course.

"Very good , Green Eyes," Tomlinson had whispered in his ear. "Perfect, in fact. Do you want your reward?"