Disclaimer: obviously none of the characters or specifics belong to me.
Read part 4 here.
Chapter 5
I will never understand women.
That profound, or at least profoundly exasperated thought, came on the heels of Beka's third -- or was it fourth -- lightning assault on his person. Tyr pivoted to evade the jab to his kidneys, then ducked underneath an elbow aimed for his throat. And right into the knee she'd positioned unerringly to strike his solar plexus. It was mortifying. She'd never slipping something so thoroughly past his defenses before in their sparring sessions, and to be stuck standing there, sucking wind into his abused lungs, was more than his Nietszchean pride could reasonably take.
Exasperation gave way very quickly to irritation, and anger. He'd understood from the moment she entered the gym that Beka was in one of her moods. She radiated anger in waves. Her body temperature and pulse were slightly elevated, and her body language was...aggressive, to say the least. Someone had certainly ticked her off, and he'd assumed it to be either Rommie or Dylan, in connection with her over-extension of slipstream piloting the day before. Graciously, he'd thought, he'd been willing to let her work some of her anger out in a sparring match. After a few rounds of physical exertion and a couple of well earned bruises, he figured Beka would be feeling better, more relaxed and in control of her emotions.
Besides, he always rather enjoyed their matches. It was amusing to let the human woman believe she had the upper hand when she didn't, and a little challenging at times to keep her from getting it. And it gave him the chance to indulge a secret pleasure he rarely allowed himself: the stimulation of close contact with a beautiful woman he was forbidden to enjoy. As he'd stated on more than one occasion, sex with a human woman would be, quite simply, a waste of good DNA. But that didn't mean it wouldn't be enjoyable, and it certainly didn't mean such a thing had never happened before between Nietszchean and human. Tyr knew, for instance, about Elssbett and Dylan's brief liaison. He simply refused to break his own rule never to lower himself to do the same. But that didn't mean he couldn't test his own willpower and self control. It was usually quite...stimulating to spar with Beka, walking that razor's edge between desire and control. He'd only come close to betraying himself once, and on that occasion he'd wisely ended the match before doing something both embarrassing and foolish. He considered iron control over his emotions and needs another example of his basic superiority, and Beka Valentine presented an entertaining way of testing it.
But today was different. He wasn't enjoying himself anymore.
Instead of pressing the advantage she momentarily held as Tyr struggled to breath, Beka danced back out of reach, her arms in a defensive posture, and said with a definite sneer,
"What's the matter, Tyr, can't handle a mere human?"
He couldn't believe it; she was actually taunting him! As he knew Beka was not stupid, the words foolish and ignorant drifted through he thoughts. Were she a Nietszchean woman, her actions would be taken in one of two ways: a challenge to fight to the death, or a challenge for him to prove himself a worthy mate in combat. Sometimes the line between the two was difficult to perceive. Nietszchean women, much like the human variety, were complicated creatures.
He didn't like to think of either possibility in association with Beka, but he couldn't stop his innate physiological response, either. Adrenaline surged through him, his heartbeat quickening in time with the thrum of blood through his veins. The testosterone automatically released into his system filled him with twinned surges of lust for two very potent things: combat and sex.
Tyr gave a quick grin of bared teeth before he acted, a gesture that should have been warning enough, but likely wasn't in this case. Beka was still fairly nave when it came to his people.
To give her credit, she put up a challenging resistance. She blocked two punches and even landed a solid hit to his ribs. He grunted at the contact, aware it would leave a nasty bruise -- a badge of honorable battle -- but it didn't slow him down. Truthfully, she never stood a chance. His reflexes were too fast, his instincts too honed, and his determination far too strong. He didn't stop until he had her pinned beneath him, his bone spurs a breath from parting the delicate white skin of her throat.
Her blue eyes were wide with shock and uneasiness as they stared up at him. They were both breathing heavily, and even if he hadn't been able to hear the rapid tempo of her heartbeat, he could feel it thrumming against his chest where he pressed her against the floor. But he didn't think her physical reaction was due to fear -- or at least, not entirely. He'd known for a long time that Beka was as attracted to him, physically, as he was to her. It was part of what made his game of control so much fun. He liked to think he wasn't just testing himself, but her, too. Not that she would appreciate it, especially if she knew how much of her emotional state he was aware of. Some people, most Nietzcheans included, found combat an exhilarating aphrodisiac. He'd noted that even among many humans, sex was a commonly sought release after a battle. And Beka, if what he sensed was correct, was no different.
She, too, felt the sudden increase in tension between them. He could feel it in the tensing of her body, see it in the slight darkening of her eyes. True to form, she tried to dispel it with a joke.
"Gee, Tyr, did I wound your pride or something?" She tried to smile, but her voice came out too husky, and her sarcasm too feeble. Tyr remained unfazed and certainly not fooled. To test himself, and her, he removed the spurs from her throat and leaned in closer, so that he could feel her breath warming his skin. He spoke slowly and deliberately.
"I am not the one in a position to surrender, Valentine." He raised an eyebrow, aware that her eyes had flickered to watch his lips move. He moved slightly, adjusting himself to a more comfortable position above her, and not insignificantly, moving so their bodies fit more closely together. She was wearing one of her usual bare midriff shirts for the workout, and her skin was slick and hot against his. As he knew his was against hers. This close, her scent was all around him, the light floral smell of her shampoo mixing with the sweat of exertion. It was pleasant, and made him think of other...exertions.
I should get up and walk away. The thought was immediate and urgent. It sent warning claxons through his mind. She hadn't said anything, and as she lay gazing up at him, she swallowed and licked her lips nervously. He knew exactly what she was thinking, because he was thinking it, too. He could sense the pheromones in the air all around them. But he couldn't quite make himself move. He could still feel the testosterone pumping through his system. He couldn't remember who it was, but someone had once said that males used the chemical for one of two things, and he'd just finished the combat portion. He wanted very badly to partake of the other option that was only too available, particularly with Beka's sensuous curves pressed enticingly against him.
Instead, he forced himself to continue his original purpose, before it disappeared entirely into the fog his brain was becoming.
"Do you yield?" he demanded softly, his voice low and huskier than he'd intended.
Her eyes flicked up to meet his again, and he saw a spark of defiance enter them. It was probably the worst possible response she could have given him. He found her strength one of her most compelling attributes.
"I don't surrender any more than you do, Tyr." Beka shrugged, a movement of her shoulders that, unfortunately, drew her breasts in a short, quick motion across his bare chest. Tyr suppressed a groan. Her shirt was a barrier, but not enough of one that he couldn't feel her nipples tightening in response to his body's stimulation of them. She inhaled sharply, and he knew she was aware, and aroused, but she continued speaking, trying to remain indifferent and off hand. "I guess you'll just have to kill me."
"Perhaps we can find some other...compromise," he suggested, knowing even as he did that too much of his desire was audible in his voice. Her eyes widened in immediate, unmistakable understanding, and she was suddenly squirming to get away from him.
"No, I don't think that would be --"
He didn't let her finish. He didn't even know what he was going to do until he was already doing it, just like the other night, when he'd stroked her hair away from her face as she'd slept. It seemed Beka was able to illicit involuntary responses in him, and this time, his response was to kiss her. No, to brand her. To show her unequivocally that she was his, and no one else's. Mine, was the only rational thought coursing through his brain, a male's response to a viable and willing mate after winning her.
Later, that thought would trouble him, haunt him, and force him to question a few things about himself, but for now all that mattered was the feel of her beneath him, the way her mouth tasted, hot and sweet. She was trembling as her lips parted for him. He scraped her lower lip lightly with his teeth before entangling her tongue with his. The kiss overwhelmed, absorbing his every sense into a maelstrom of wet heat, and the sound of Beka's soft whimpering as her hands threaded through his hair. He wanted her to remember this moment, to understand that no inferior male could ever compare to this. He could sense the tremors of desire as they went through her body, could feel every tiny response she had to him, and he used the knowledge ruthlessly. He rubbed the length of his body over hers, stroking a hand through the silk of her hair to cup the back of her head. He left it there, using his thumb to trace tiny circles over the sensitive flesh of her throat as he deepened the kiss, holding her head in place so she could not try and escape him.
Not that she did. No, Beka surrendered to him more thoroughly in action than she ever would with words. Her hands were all over his chest and back, in his hair, pulling him as close to her as she could. Her body arched against his when he moved, asking wordlessly for what they both wanted. But some tiny glimmer of rational thought remained amidst the heated need that had him by the throat and wouldn't let go. He might have wanted to strip her naked and take her, then and there, but he wouldn't. Couldn't. Never would.
He pulled away reluctantly, heard her tiny moan of protest as his heartbeat thundered in his ears, mingling with hers. Before he could stop himself, his lips had traced the line of her jaw, down the flesh of her throat, and to her collarbone. She shivered against him.
Tyr, through a sheer act of will, froze, holding himself suspended as he fought his emotions down. Need and desire clawed at him, demanding release, demanding fulfillment, but he slowly caged them in with the weapons of cold, calm thought and the force of his own belief system. Tiny tremors rippled over his body as he waged his internal battle, while Beka looked up at him, confused, some of the sexual fog clearing from her eyes. He didn't want to see the expression in them when it cleared entirely. He didn't want to face the accusation, or worse, the hurt. He didn't think he could bear it.
Unsteady yet, but enough in command of his faculties to control himself, Tyr stood. He hesitated for a moment, looking down on her. Her blond hair was disheveled, her lips bruised from the force of his assault on them, and heavy breathing made her chest rise and fall in a very...distracting manner. He couldn't think of anything appropriate to say, so he didn't say anything at all. Instead, he pivoted on his heel before he could make the very tempting mistake of touching her again, and headed off to take a shower.
A cold one, he thought resolutely. Definitely cold.
* * *
Beka stared after Tyr's retreating back, a bit dazed, utterly confused, and beginning to feel the first stirrings of anger. Her heartbeat was slowly decelerating from the overdrive it had just kicked into. How dare he? How dare he? The sheer arrogance! How could the man threaten to kill her one second, kiss her senseless the next, and then just get up and leave as if nothing had ever happened?
"Men," she muttered through clenched teeth, running a hand that still trembled through her hair, "I will never understand them."
On to Part 6