Disclaimer – I own nothing of Blakes Seven beyond the collected DVDs.
They'd been on the London almost two months and things had by and large settled down into a routine. People had fallen into acquaintanceships for mutual benefit and life proceeded comparatively safely and not too uncomfortably for most of the inmates.
Avon was not amongst those. He had steadfastly resisted overtures, objecting to the sadistic nature of most of them, taking the view that such protection was no better than what it sought to prevent. Blake he avoided on general lack of principle. He had thus far avoided victimisation, but he was near starving as the suppressant-laden food turned his stomach; bored as a mere forty or so subjects to observe interacting failed to hold his genius intellect's attention and exhausted from the general level of watchfulness it took not to get raped or murdered on the prison ship.
Blake watched the pale sociopath, as he lay on his bunk, eyes heavy-lidded but alert, a disinterested mask concealing his real thoughts and emotions. More importantly Blake noticed the way in which he stayed still, even his careful body language failing to conceal that he was tired and the way previously fitting clothes now hung off his frame. Blake concealed his vindication at that. The man was weakening. Soon he would be forced to reconsider his position and would be positively begging to work for Blake.
At last everyone seemed to be asleep and Avon slipped out of the bunkroom to shower, savouring the quiet as he did so. So relieved and exhausted was he that he failed to observe the two men stealthily following him. He stripped efficiently and was about to step under the lukewarm irregular stream of water when a powerful blow sent him careening into the wall, head smacking into the tile before he slid to the floor, dazed. He felt rough hands flipping him over, yanking his thighs wide and terror skittered through his mind even as he could not frame a coherent thought.
Gan stepped in through the doorway and plucked both aggressors from their squatting positions, lifting them by the scruffs of their necks and slamming them together brutally. They fell, then scrambled to their feet and ran, not bothering to fight for their prize. Gan shook his head, not even for the sake of Blake's scheme would he stand by and watch another human being be brutalised. As he watched the much smaller monochromatic man began to emerge from his stupor, cautiously running blunt fingertips over his skull.
Avon came up to his knees gradually, wincing at the duck egg lump and grazed cheek as he squinted up at his so-called rescuer. He tilted his face upwards coquettishly, all too aware of having fallen from the frying pan into the fire. He supposed he had better show his gratitude before the mysterious giant decided to extract payment for himself. He reached for the man's fly and slowly, gently reached into the trousers, then underwear to draw out the heavy length of muscle.
That pale face turned up towards him and for once those notoriously empty dark eyes showed some fleck of awe and gratitude. Gan was surprised at that, since what little he had heard of the man emphasised self-reliance and bitter cynicism. Bruises were already seeping into the white expanse of skin on display and with his vulnerability and offering stance the man looked somehow more naked than the mere absence of clothes implied. The hands upon him were warm with roughened skin and strength in those blunt fingers, indubitably male hands, for all the slender physique and unashamed doe eyes. Said eyes dipped for a moment and the cap of dark hair dropped, bizarrely to plant a chaste kiss on the head of Gan's swiftly hardening penis.
Gan shuddered, eyes rolling as one hand steadily, firmly caressed his shaft in long sweeps while the other crept up his inner thigh, teasing him for a moment before settling to the task of rhythmically fondling his balls. Their gazes locked fleetingly once more and Gan's breath hitched as sensation washed up into the unmistakeable building tingle of a growing orgasm so Avon's lips parted and his own breath quickened. His focus was entirely on Gan, hands not neglecting his pleasure for a second as his dark eyes focused on him with the intensity of worship.
Gan's whole body halted in tension, eyes slamming shut and face twisting in le petit mort. Warm ejaculate hit Avon's cheek and throat, slipping a little to slide down his jaw in solemn viscous progress.
'We'd better shower.' Gan eventually managed, helping Avon to his feet politely and internally marvelling at the comparative fragility of the still compellingly male prisoner.
As they finished the clinical soaping down, slightly awkward after their encounter Gan cleared his throat and paused delicately as he buttoned his shirt. 'You needn't worry about disturbed sleep or showers in the future.' He was rewarded by an upward twitch of the corners of the other man's mouth, the closest he'd come to a smile since his arrival on the London.
A/N – to those of you who may astutely point out that Gan has a limiter, yes, but that only prevents him from killing. In this case he knew he would not need to kill and there are many cases in the first two series in which he hits or otherwise harms guards without being troubled by it. (In fact I seem to recall one incident where he manages to kill a Federation officer….)