The Captain's Harvest

By T.J. Land

The long-suffering crew of the Prayer have found a home. They’ve got a harvest. Now it’s time for a holiday. But while the captain was looking forward to a day spent lying on his back, he’d wanted it to be as a result of a prolonged food-and-sex coma, not arthritis...

• Language: English
• Publisher: NineStar Press
• Release date: Feb 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370204793

T.J. Land

Hi, I'm Land. I write LGBTQA spec fic, porn, and sometimes other things.

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A NineStar Press Publication

www.ninestarpress.com

The Captain’s Harvest

Copyright 2017 T.J. Land

Cover Art by Natasha Snow ©Copyright 2017

Published in 2017 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, NineStar Press, LLC.

Warning

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers.

The Captain’s Harvest

Adrift

T.J. Land

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

About the Author

Dedication

To Carrie and the general

Acknowledgement:

My sincerest gratitude to Raevyn McCann and to everyone who reads my stuff. <3

Chapter One

His hands trembling with anticipation, Thomas held the warm brown loaf up to his face and breathed in, sighing as the smell of real bread made with real flour flooded his nostrils.

It’s slightly burnt on the underside, said Echo, who stood by the oven, watching his reaction closely. Do you want a knife?

Shaking his head, Thomas set the loaf down and tore off a chunk from the corner, shivering at the sound of the crust cracking open. He stuffed it into his mouth and waited a second before he started to chew. As the warmth and flavour spread over his tongue, he made the sort of noise he generally reserved for when Khurshed hit his prostate dead-on. Bread had been one of the many, many things he’d taken for granted back on Earth, only eating it when it was so loaded down with strawberry jam and peanut butter he didn’t even notice its taste or texture. What a spoiled idiot he’d been.

So? asked Echo.

Swallowing and smacking his lips, he said, I’m starting a new religion. We’re all going to worship this bread now.

Echo blushed, bowed, and allowed Thomas to kiss his forehead. It was a shade browner than it had been the last time Thomas’s lips had touched it; finally, after almost a year living on Yusra’s surface, Echo’s milk-white skin was beginning to tan.

Where’d you learn to make something like that, huh? Did you go to a fancy cooking school?

I wanted to when I was a teenager. The only culinary academy on the Moon was expensive, though. I learnt to bake while I was working as a waiter in a pastry café; the manager let me experiment in the kitchen after-hours.

You’re so talented, babe. And cute. And smart. And nice.

No, you can’t have the whole loaf to yourself. It’s our first, and I promised everyone a slice.

Thomas mewled disappointedly as Echo took it back and set it down on the tray before adding, I’m making more loaves for Thanksgiving. You can gorge yourself then.

We aren’t celebrating Thanksgiving, Antoine huffed, striding into the kitchen. "Our first official holiday on this planet is not going to honour that tasteless American celebration of colonialism, gastronomic excess, and wanton cruelty to animals."

As he spoke, he washed his dirt-covered hands in the sink and then poured himself a glass of water. He was wearing a grimy shirt and shorts that exposed his legs and knobby knees to the world, so he’d probably spent the morning foraging for specimens or visiting the nearby ruins again. His legs were building up some decent calf muscles, Thomas noted, and his biceps were getting more defined from all the time he spent lugging his equipment around. He still wasn’t Thomas’s type―pretty face or not, men that skinny just didn’t do it for him―but Thomas was sure Zachery and Khurshed appreciated it.

Thomas shrugged. It makes sense, Ant. We’re celebrating food.

Specifically, they were celebrating Rick’s successful harvest and the resultant fact that bread was making its long-awaited re-entry into their diets.

There are plenty of harvest-related holidays that aren’t as thoroughly appalling as Thanksgiving, Antoine said, his nostrils twitching as Echo passed him the still-warm loaf. He picked up a knife and cut himself a dainty slice. The Chinese Mid-Autumn Festival, the Slavic Saviour of the Apple Feast Day, the Igbo New Yam Festival…

He paused to take a bite, and then another. "The… That other one… Dear God, Echo, this amazing."

I still think celebrating Halloween would be fun, said Echo, after prying the loaf from Antoine’s grasp