Author's note:
This is the seventh chapter of
After the End - Part 3
, the final novel in my dystopian erotic romance trilogy. If you enjoy intensely provocative sex with a power play twist, handsome male heroes in emotionally satisfying relationships, and unconventional happily ever afters -- you are in the right place! These books are full-length, publication-quality, and currently being offered free of charge. :)
Descriptions of each book can be found in my bio by clicking my user name. Feel free to drop in on specific chapters or sections based on your mood or interest, but the dramatic tension is strongest if you start from the beginning of Part 1. As always, I appreciate hearing your reactions and feedback. It truly does help me create the best stories that I can for readers to enjoy.
Content warning:
This chapter depicts a character assisting another character to process difficult emotions related to a past experience of sexual violence. This chapter also depicts a character experiencing anxiety and panic.
Tags for this chapter include: #bisexual male, #future, #dystopia, #novel, #romantic, #married, #male submissive, #polyamory, #triad
_______________
Julian:
The morning after Graham's declaration, I was summoned abruptly from sleep by the all-too-familiar sound of brusque rapping on the door and a predawn messenger calling my name. I was out of bed and pulling on clothes before my conscious mind even started calculating possible reasons for the visit, my motions so practiced they were almost pure reflex. A report this early could only mean trouble, but I heard nothing beyond the muted ambience of Fort Laurel waking for the day and my two companions stirring behind me. A true emergency would be heralded by sirens rather than the single camouflage-clad soldier I found when I slipped out into the faintly firelit January chill.
"Patrol in sector twelve just radioed, sir," the messenger announced. "They're taking fire and have engaged enemy combatants near Route Four. Reinforcements requested."
I gave her a quick nod in acknowledgement. "I'll inform Captain Lansing."
It was known within the community that Graham spent most of his nights in our quarters, and he and Avery were already mostly dressed when I stepped back inside. I sent my husband to marshal Fort Laurel's guards while Graham and I hurried to Third Battalion's base to hear the report's details and coordinate a joint response to the skirmish, on the northeastern border of the lands we defended. Squads from Bravo and Echo Companies had been helping keep watch in that direction since the attack that left Avery stranded, and no aggression had penetrated to populated areas, but any bullet could be the one that ends a life. We hadn't yet learned much about who was responsible; our attempts to make peaceful contact had been met with violence, and the few homesteaders in the region could only tell us that the threat was new.
Our counter-offensive mobilized quickly, but by the time additional troops reached the remote woods, the raiders were gone. We posted extra patrols and searched most of the afternoon for possible bases of operation, but we had little to show for our efforts by the time we trekked home beneath the pastel winter sunset.
Avery volunteered to cover a shift on watch that evening for one of the guards who'd been reallocated to the east, and Graham needed to report back to his commanding officer, so after grabbing a quick dinner in the main hall, I walked home alone.
I took advantage of their absence to tidy the place up a bit. Avery tended to throw things onto whatever surface was nearest, including the floor, without regard to the amount of time it would take later to dig through haphazard piles of clothing and supplies when he needed something. I, on the other hand, believed in the old adage:
a place for everything and everything in its place
. I always knew exactly where to find my things, because I always returned them to the exact same location. Items I shared with my husband, or that he'd borrowed, took longer to locate.
With Graham's return to our relationship, Avery had been paying even less attention than usual to keeping order. We didn't even own that many belongings -- no one here did, when every scrap of material was so laboriously produced -- but with none of them being put away, they seemed to have multiplied. I made the bed and folded the extra blankets, collected our toiletries back onto the washstand, and hung his scattered shirts on their pegs by the door. Then I straightened: the boots and moccasins into a row under the bench, the books and notebooks by order of size on the desk, the trio of candles into formation on the nightstand. Some have called it obsessive, but my preference for order doesn't arise from fear or discomfort. I simply find it easier to focus when errant shoelaces and mismatched corners aren't distracting me.
Avery tries to be considerate of my desire for neatness, but since it doesn't actually matter to him, he finds it challenging to be mindful of where he's putting things every morning and evening. With only a single small room split between us, I simply did most of the picking up myself. I found it annoying at times, but in another sense, I appreciated that he was relaxed enough to be unbothered by chaos.
With my surroundings satisfactorily organized, I seated myself at the desk to add notes to the logbook I kept of Fort Laurel's tactical situation. The official reports and statistics were filed in the command center, of course, but keeping my own records helped me perceive patterns that weren't always apparent from a granular perspective. When reading my notes back several months later, I often noticed different details, which could be useful when planning for similar situations or seasons in the future. It also helped me track what factors impacted our security the most and how we could best prioritize limited resources and manpower.
I was still jotting down my summary of the conflict with the unknown aggressors to the east when Graham knocked and announced himself at the door. I hadn't been expecting him, since he knew Avery would be away half the night. In the couple of weeks since our reunion, most of the time we'd spent together had included the three of us. After watching my husband mourn over the captain for all of November and December, I was more than happy for him to occupy most of our new partner's attention.
Yet despite the late hour, Graham had come to see me, alone. A disconcerting flurrying sensation started up in my gut as I went to let him in, which intensified at the sight of his familiar features -- sharply defined jaw and cheekbones, jaunty eyebrows, and near-permanent hint of smirk about the mouth.
"Hey, Major," he greeted me as he often did, using my title as if it were a nickname he'd personally chosen.
"Hey," I replied, withdrawing to prop myself at the edge of the desk while he shut the door. He leaned one shoulder against the frame, the sculpted swells of his chest and crossed arms outlined by his snug knit sweater. No matter how much discipline and command I had over my body, I'd never felt at ease in it the way Graham seemed to in his. Even the most casual stance exuded confidence, despite him not being particularly tall. And those surprisingly green eyes, sweeping me with the same trained fighter-pilot precision that allowed him to scream toward targets at twelve hundred miles an hour and pivot the jet at any angle under extreme gravitational forces without losing track of position... He was bold without being obnoxious, direct but rarely with the intention to offend. Unapologetic in a way that was magnetically attractive.
Technically we were on my turf, but there was an edge to his open gaze that made me unsure where our boundaries were. And that stirred more of the nervous anticipation I wasn't sure what to do with.
"Avery's on watch," I sallied, but one side of Graham's mouth cocked up slightly, as if he saw through my attempt to use my partner as a smokescreen and found it amusing.
"I know. Came to check in with you." The words were benign, yet his flirtatious tone crackled dangerously with static electricity.
I couldn't think of anything to say, which wasn't a difficulty I was accustomed to. Thankfully, after a moment he went on.
"So things got...kind of intense, last night. If I overstepped..." He trailed off, but his bright, curious eyes watched for my reaction.
