The Fall Part One

Posted on Fri Nov 7th, 2025 @ 8:16am by Lieutenant Darius Korveth

1,948 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Cloak & Dagger - Intel Ops
Location: Somewhere in Orion Space
Timeline: Three and a half years ago

The air in the orbital station's lower decks carried the familiar scent of Darius's childhood—recycled atmosphere mixed with engine lubricant, stale alcohol, and the particular musk of too many bodies in too small a space. He'd forgotten how much the criminal underworld smelled like home.

Darius Korveth leaned against the bar, nursing a glass of Orion brandy he hadn't actually drunk from in twenty minutes. Across the dimly lit establishment, Rezzan held court with three other Syndicate operatives, his laughter cutting through the ambient noise. The Orion pirate was everything Starfleet Intelligence's briefing had promised—dangerous, charismatic, well-connected, and exactly the kind of asset they needed inside the Syndicate's operations.

Everything Darius had trained for, everything his father had inadvertently prepared him for, had led to this moment. Navek Korveth's name had opened doors that would have remained closed to any other Starfleet operative. His sister Zara's reputation as captain of the Serpent's Edge had provided additional credibility. The story was simple: black sheep son tries the Federation life, realizes he doesn't fit, comes crawling back to the family business.
The story was also mostly true, which made it perfect.

His communicator—disguised as a standard personal device—remained silent in his pocket. No contact with his handler. No contact with Ryan. For the next three weeks, Darius Korveth was exactly who he appeared to be: a half-Orion with criminal connections looking to prove himself worthy of the Syndicate's trust.

Rezzan's eyes met his across the room, and Darius felt the familiar flutter of mission adrenaline mixed with something more complicated. The pirate was attractive in a dangerous way that Darius recognized all too well—sharp features, confident bearing, the easy violence of someone who'd killed and would kill again without hesitation.

You're doing this for Starfleet, Darius reminded himself. For the intelligence. For the mission.

Not for the first time, he wondered if Ryan would understand what this assignment might require.

Three days of careful positioning paid off when Rezzan finally approached him directly. Darius was running a diagnostic on his "ship's" cargo manifest—fictional, but detailed enough to withstand casual scrutiny—when a shadow fell across his table.

"Darius Korveth." Rezzan's voice carried the particular cadence of someone who'd spent their life in the Syndicate's upper echelons. "Navek's wayward son."

Up close, Rezzan was more imposing than he'd appeared across the bar. The Orion stood perhaps six-two, with the kind of lean, dangerous build that came from years of violence rather than recreation. His emerald skin was darker than Darius's own light-medium green, marked with faint scars that spoke of a life lived outside Federation law. Sharp features, high cheekbones, and a mouth that seemed perpetually curved in something between a smile and a sneer.

But it was the eyes that caught Darius off-guard. Deep brown, almost black, with an intensity that reminded him uncomfortably of Ryan. The similarity was superficial—everything else about Rezzan screamed danger and moral flexibility—but those eyes held the same focused intelligence.

"That's me," Darius replied, carefully calibrating his tone between confidence and deference. "The prodigal son, returning to the fold."

Rezzan slid into the seat across from him without invitation, invading his space with the casual entitlement of someone used to taking what he wanted. "Starfleet didn't work out for you?"

"Starfleet worked out fine." Darius met his gaze steadily. "I didn't work out for Starfleet. Turns out they don't appreciate officers who remember where they came from."

"And where exactly did you come from?" Rezzan leaned forward, close enough that Darius could smell the particular spice-and-metal scent of Orion pheromones. Not enough to affect him—both being male limited that particular biological weapon—but enough to be noticed.

Over the next hour, Darius laid out his carefully constructed story, letting Rezzan probe for weaknesses while demonstrating just enough knowledge of Syndicate operations to be credible. He name-dropped connections, referenced cargo routes his father had used, and carefully avoided mentioning his sister Zara beyond acknowledging their... complicated relationship.

The conversation flowed into drinks, drinks into dinner, and dinner into the kind of negotiation Darius had been trained to recognize. Rezzan was recruiting him, yes, but the nature of that recruitment was becoming increasingly clear.
"You know," Rezzan said, his hand finding Darius's wrist across the table, "trust in our world isn't built on resumes and references. It's built on shared risk. Shared... experiences."

Darius felt his stomach tighten. This was the moment. The mission required Rezzan's trust—deep, personal trust that would make him vulnerable enough to turn over information without even realizing what he was doing. Seduction was one option. Violence was another. Proving himself through criminal action was a third.
But Rezzan was choosing the first option, and the mission parameters gave Darius latitude to use whatever methods proved most effective.

"I'm not interested in being anyone's entertainment," Darius said carefully, testing the boundaries while not shutting the door entirely.

Rezzan's laugh was low and dangerous. "Entertainment? No. I'm interested in loyalty. Commitment. Proving you're all in." His grip on Darius's wrist tightened slightly. "Your father understands this. Your sister certainly does. The question is whether his wayward son has the stomach for it."

The challenge was clear, and refusing it would mark him as weak, unreliable, not truly committed to the life he claimed to want. Darius had known this might be required. He'd discussed it with his handler. He'd even—gods help him—discussed the possibility with Ryan before taking the assignment.

Intellectually understanding something and facing it are very different things, Darius thought.

"My quarters," Rezzan said, standing and releasing Darius's wrist. "One hour. Prove you're Navek Korveth's son, or get back on whatever transport brought you here and stop wasting my time."

He walked away without waiting for an answer, leaving Darius alone with his untouched drink and the cold reality of what came next.

Fifty-eight minutes later, Darius stood outside Rezzan's quarters, hand hovering over the door chime. Every instinct screamed at him to walk away, to find another angle, to preserve what he had with Ryan.

But the mission required this. Rezzan's network was too valuable. The intelligence was too critical. And Darius had made a choice when he accepted this assignment.

He pressed the chime.
The door opened immediately, revealing quarters that were surprisingly spacious for a station in Syndicate territory. Rezzan stood by the viewport, silhouetted against the stars, still wearing the same clothes but with an air of predatory patience.

"I wasn't certain you'd come," Rezzan said.

"I'm here." Darius stepped inside, letting the door close behind him with a finality that felt like sealing a tomb.

What followed was a negotiation Darius had never experienced before—not with Ryan, not with anyone. Rezzan took control immediately, his hands directive rather than questioning, his mouth demanding rather than inviting. There was no tenderness here, no consideration beyond the raw assertion of dominance.

"You're used to being in charge," Rezzan observed, reading Darius's tension with practiced ease. "With your human husband, perhaps?"

The mention of Ryan felt like a knife between his ribs, but Darius forced himself not to react. Rezzan's intelligence network was better than anticipated if he already knew about the marriage.

“I left him when I left Starfleet. We’re done. I don’t love him anymore, I’m not sure I ever did.”

Darius didn’t mean those words. He did love Ryan. The line had come unrehearsed. They were just words with no meaning, behind them. But those words felt like more of a betrayal than they physical act the as about to commit.

“What I had with him means nothing and I don’t have to prove anything to him anymore.



"No," Rezzan agreed, his voice low against Darius's ear. "Here, you prove yourself by letting go of control. By trusting me. That's what I need to know—can Darius Korveth surrender when it matters?"

This is the mission, Darius reminded himself as Rezzan's hands grew more insistent, as he was guided backward toward the bed. This is what getting the intelligence requires. Ryan knew this might happen. We discussed it.

But discussing theoretical possibilities and experiencing the reality proved devastatingly different.

The physical mechanics were familiar enough—Darius wasn't naive about his own sexuality—but the emotional landscape was foreign territory. With Ryan, intimacy meant partnership, meant shared vulnerability and mutual care. This was something else entirely: a test, a transaction, a demonstration of commitment to a world he'd left behind.

Rezzan's expectations were clear, and Darius found himself in the unfamiliar position of yielding, of being the one overwhelmed rather than the one leading. Every instinct fought against it, but the mission required him to play this role convincingly.

So he acted. He responded when expected, made the sounds Rezzan wanted to hear, allowed his body to be positioned and used in ways that felt fundamentally wrong not because of the physical acts themselves, but because they happened with the wrong person for the wrong reasons.

Think of Ryan, he tried at first, but that made it worse—a desecration of what they shared.

Think of the mission, he corrected, but that turned the encounter mechanical, robbing it of the authenticity Rezzan clearly expected.

So instead, Darius stopped thinking entirely. He let Rezzan's aggression wash over him, let his body respond on instinct rather than intention, let himself exist in the moment without examining what that moment meant.
And somewhere in that surrender—somewhere between the calculated seduction and the mission objective—something shifted.

Rezzan's intensity became compelling rather than threatening. The loss of control became its own kind of freedom. The danger that permeated every touch, every demand, awakened something in Darius that he'd spent years trying to suppress: the part of him that belonged to his father's world, that understood violence and risk and the particular thrill of survival on the edge.

When Rezzan's mouth found his with bruising force, Darius kissed back without pretense. When strong hands gripped him hard enough to leave marks, he arched into the touch rather than enduring it. When Rezzan's voice turned commanding, something in Darius responded with genuine heat rather than calculated performance.

No, some distant part of his mind protested. This isn't supposed to feel good. This is the mission. This is betrayal.
But his body disagreed, responding with an enthusiasm that had nothing to do with Starfleet Intelligence and everything to do with the criminal's son he'd tried so hard not to be.

The rest blurred into sensation—Rezzan's weight, the rough treatment that somehow felt right in ways Ryan's gentleness never had, the particular satisfaction of being claimed rather than claiming, the dark pleasure of existing in a world where violence and desire intertwined without apology.

Afterward, Darius lay in Rezzan's quarters staring at the ceiling, his body marked in ways that would take days to fade, his mind struggling to process what had just happened.

"You're better at this than I expected," Rezzan said, his voice carrying satisfaction and something more dangerous—genuine interest. "Your Starfleet husband teach you to be so... adaptable?"

"No." The word came out rough, honest despite himself. "He didn't."

Rezzan laughed, a sound that promised future complications. "Then perhaps you've been playing the wrong role all along, Darius Korveth. Perhaps you were never meant to be the one in charge."

Darius said nothing, because there was nothing safe to say. His mind catalogued tactical information—Rezzan was already lowering his guard, the vulnerability that made him recruitable was beginning to show—but his body ached with the evidence of his own response.

TBC

Lt. Darius Korveth
Chief Strategic Operations Officer
USS Valkyrie

 

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