Dangerous Love (ONC 2019 - LGBTQ)

1. Chance Encounter

☆ Dedicated to ldmorris2 and his story "My Friend Carl" for the ONC 2019 - and the first person to vote for my story! ☆

The shuttle slowed as it approached the Space Terminal outside Avalain. "Here we are, ladies and gents," announced the pilot in cheery tones, as he docked the shuttle neatly in its bay. The slight jolt as they came to a halt startled the last few dozing passengers into wakefulness.

"Welcome home to those of you who are returning, and welcome to Avalain for those who are making their first visit. It's twenty-two hundred hours local time and a lovely thirty five degrees Celsius outside. Please remember to take all your personal belongings with you and thank you for choosing Hermes Flights today."

The pilot stood and waited with a professional smile for the passengers to file out directly into the terminal. It had been an intra-planetary flight from Gambier in Belus' northern hemisphere, so there was no need for anyone to pass through the Residential Status and Bio-Screening channels.

Patrick Morgan hauled his backpak out of the storage unit and followed the man in front down the passageway. He rolled his shoulders, shaking out the kinks caused by dozing against the side of the shuttle. Much as he loved travelling, it was good to be home. A hot shower, with real water instead of a chemical spray from a fresher unit, then bed...

He emerged, blinking, into the bright lights of the terminal. Unusually for this time of night, every seat in the main hall appeared to be taken. A few shapes were stretched out on the floor, against the wall, evidently asleep—or passed out. He remembered then, that the terminal was kept open for transient people to shelter when the weather was extreme; those who couldn't—or wouldn't—afford a hotel room.

A young man, lying on his back on one of the metal benches, with his head on a khaki duffel bag looked up briefly as Patrick passed. Patrick stopped in mid-step. Surely he knew that face, despite the day old stubble on his cheeks.

"Ted? Ted Quinn?" he asked, only slightly hesitant. Those dark brows over blue eyes were so distinctive. The man looked up, those very brows raised in cool enquiry.

"I'm Patrick. Patrick Morgan. We were in school together, here in Avalain, about ten years ago..." But the man was shaking his head.

"Sorry, mate. You've got the wrong person."

But Patrick didn't think he had. A man never forgot his first crush, even if it had never been reciprocated. "Are you sure?" he persisted. "You look just like him."

The man swung his feet to the floor and sat up in one effortless motion, suspicion now clouding his features. His spacer-suit was rolled up to the elbows, revealing well-muscled forearms, heavily tattooed. "What do you want?" he challenged, and Patrick backed away, flushing as he realised the man thought he was trying to pick him up.

"Nothing, I'm sorry. I just thought... if you were Ted, I'd offer you a place to stay tonight."

Those eyes continued to bore into him, and Patrick floundered on. "Just to sleep, I mean... not—uh, I have a spare room..." What was he doing? Just stop, he told himself, before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.

"S-sorry, I'm sorry to bother you," he stuttered. "My mistake." He turned to go. What an idiot.

He had only taken three steps before... "Wait," called the stranger, in commanding tones. "I have a cousin, Theodore. Maybe you're thinking of him. He calls himself Theo now."

Patrick spun around. It was true, Theodore had been Ted's full name.

The stranger smiled, changing his whole expression from threatening to engaging and Patrick's breath caught in his throat.

"My name's Harlan, Harlan Quinn, and if that offer's still open, I'll take you up on it. For the spare room." He smiled again.

Don't be an idiot, Patrick told himself. He might be Ted's cousin—or not—but you don't know this man.

"Sure," he heard the words coming out of his own mouth. "I live on the other side of Avalain. We can take a hovercab."

Patrick gave the driver his address then fell silent as they wove expertly through the streets. He was hyper-aware of Harlan's edgy presence beside him on the backseat, an aroma of day-old sweat tickling his nostrils. Neither man spoke, not wishing to start a conversation in earshot of the driver, though Patrick's thoughts were racing at a hundred kay an hour, mostly summed up by "What the hell am I doing?" Was it too late to change his mind?

Eventually they drew up outside Patrick's small house and he hesitated for a moment before paying off the driver. Was it too late to give Harlan enough money for a hotel and then send him on his way? Much as that might be sensible, he just couldn't bring himself to be so rude. Too polite for your own good, Patrick, my boy, he told himself, leading the way into the house.

"Would you like a drink? Kafi? Or tea?" he asked, breaking the awkward silence. He could only hope he didn't sound as nervous as he felt.

"You don't need to worry about me," said Harlan, seizing the comet by the tail. "I'd love a shower, and then you can point me in the direction of your spare room. I won't be any trouble, I promise."

"It's no trouble, I was going to pour myself a small one anyway," answered Patrick, deliberately misunderstanding. He held up the bottle. "Brandy?"

Harlan folded his arms and leant against the counter. He wasn't unusually tall, but for some reason he seemed to fill Patrick's small kitchen. "All right. Thank you."

"I haven't seen Ted... uh Theo, for ages," babbled Patrick. "Do you know what he's up to?"

"Not really," said Harlan. "We're not particularly close. Last I heard he was in the Patrol, somewhere off-world." He took the glass from Patrick. "Cheers!" He swallowed the drink in one gulp. "So what do you do for a living, Patrick?"

"I'm a travel guide. I take small groups of people looking for a back-to-nature experience into the wilderness, help them set up camp and make sure they don't get lost. That sort of thing. You?" he ventured after a small pause.

"I'm in personal security, but I'm between jobs at the moment," said Harlan. "I'm on my way to Syden to look for a new assignment. I've got a ticket for tomorrow's shuttle flight but I thought I'd save some money on a hotel."

"Ah. Right," said Patrick, feeling a little reassured. Not that he would have chosen to sleep in a terminal, but Harlan was probably quite capable of looking after himself.

"Have a seat," Patrick invited, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and sitting down. He topped up his own glass, then put the bottle between them.

They chatted for awhile, about Patrick's trip to Gambier, where he'd just completed a tour into the mountains, and Harlan's hopes to find work in the larger city of Syden, and then Patrick yawned, unexpectedly. He noted with some surprise that they'd managed to polish off a half bottle of brandy between them.

"Well, I'll show you the shower, and your room, and leave you to it, if that's all right. I'm a bit knackered, to be honest. Long day."

"Fine by me," said Harlan rising to his feet. He took the sheets and towel Patrick gave him and disappeared into the spare room.