Disclaimer: obviously none of the characters or specifics belong to me.
Disclaimer II: Ok, I warned you guys in the beginning that this would probably happen. So with this chapter, this story becomes NC-17 due to, in case there is any question, explicit sexual content. If you don't like reading that kind of thing, don't read this one, or only read the beginning and skip over the rest. Consider yourselves fairly warned. :)
Read chapter 8 here.
Chapter 9
Beka couldn't sleep. Part of it, she thought rather petulantly, is that I don't want to sleep. She didn't feel tired in the least. The past few hours should have been draining. She and the rest of the crew had chased ideas around until they were short tempered and surly with one another. Beka had tried, really tried to remember something she was positive they needed to know, something hovering in the back of her mind that she could neither see clearly, nor excise completely from her consciousness. Something important from her hallucinogenic conversation with Twinkle. (How could a conversation with a dead man be anything but a hallucination?) But whatever it was stayed stubbornly unreachable, and Dylan had finally suggested that they break for the night and reconvene in the morning. Get some rest, Beka, he'd said. Maybe you're just too tired. No, that was part of the problem; she wasn't tired at all.
Restlessly, she tossed and turned in her bed until the sheets were a constricting tangle around her. She stared up at the ceiling, thought of Twinkle. Thought of Tyr. Ironically, she remembered that part of what Twinkle had said with crystal clear clarity. Now, you'd best go and reassure that fine young man of yours.
"Tyr is not mine!" she muttered defiantly into the darkness. And he hadn't looked particularly worried when she'd woken up, either. He'd been sitting beside her bed, yes, but slouched with his arms crossed and his eyes half lidded, a particularly bored expression on his handsome face. He'd looked at her and drawled, "Glad to see you're finally awake, Captain Valentine. Now maybe the rest of us can get back to the running of this ship."
She'd tried to speak, croaked something unintelligible, and gratefully taken the glass of water he'd wordlessly handed to her.
"How are you feeling?" he'd asked, no inflection of emotion to his voice. He could have been asking about the efficiency of Andromeda's maintenance drones.
"Ok. Better, I guess."
"If you're feeling better enough to join us, Dylan and Rommie should just be finishing up their interrogation of Trance. I'm sure they're anxious to hear of your return to health."
"Interrogation? I don't understand." Her mind was still a bit foggy. She tried to remember what had happened, how she'd gotten here, but everything was murky and drenched in shadow.
"A turn of phrase," Tyr shrugged. "Perhaps too strong a word. Still, their discussion is one you may want to hear, if you're feeling up to it." She nodded, and sat up experimentally. She couldn't be sure, but she thought Tyr was watching her closely, while trying to appear as if he wasn't.
"I'm good," she said quickly, not wanting to appear in any way weak in front of him. I think he's seen me at my worst quite enough, lately, she thought, not allowing herself to stop and examine why that should concern her so, and slid off the table to her feet. Tyr shrugged, and turned toward the door.
"Very well," he said, manually pushing it open. "A lot of Andromeda's internal systems are still down; Harper's working on it."
She opened her mouth to ask why -- and how -- Rommie's systems were down, but only a croak came out. She frowned, clearing her throat experimentally.
"Are you sure you're all right?" The quick question came accompanied by Tyr's hand on her arm, and Beka found herself startled by both. She looked down at the strong fingers curved around her flesh, and tried to ignore the quick jolt his touch gave her, the sudden flash of memory, of his hands and mouth on her. Desire was instantaneous, a strong and insistent tug in her gut, her awareness of his warm, firm body standing so close creating such a powerful yearning that it robbed her of breath. And all from just the touch of his hand. He let go of her again with alacrity, and she felt a flush turning her face red. Maybe he didn't know, maybe he hadn't sensed the sudden elevation of her heartbeat, the rise in body temperature. Yeah, right. She found herself swallowing disappointment, and trying her best to ignore the tingling awareness of him along every nerve ending in her body.
It wasn't easy. Get a grip, Valentine. You can't go having these reactions with your libido every time you're within touching distance of the man. She'd been going to ask him a question, she remembered. What was it? Oh, right.
"Why can't I talk?" she said, gesturing to her throat. "I mean I can, sort of, but my throat hurts."
He looked away, and she had the impression that she'd unsettled him, somehow. It took him a moment to answer. "You were screaming," he said finally, his voice so quiet she had to lean forward to hear him. "You didn't stop until Trance hit you three times with a tranquilizer."
Three times with a tranq? It was a wonder she was still alive.
Tyr said nothing else, and he quickly turned his back on her and walked out of medical, giving her no choice but to follow. She didn't ask any more questions. She knew, with absolute certainty, that she didn't really want to know the answers.
And that had been the last of any conversation between them. He'd remained uncharacteristically silent during much of the meeting with Dylan, Rommie, and Trance. It was Trance who told her the basics of what happened. On the whole, Beka was glad she didn't remember any of it.
She just wished she could remember what Twinkle had told her. Besides what he'd said about Tyr.
She turned over onto her side, restless again. Tyr, the other reason she couldn't sleep. Ok, so she had a thing for him. She wanted him in the worst way. Worse, whispered an annoying little voice inside her head, than you've ever wanted anyone. So, she was attracted to the Nietszchean. What woman wouldn't be? Physically, he was perfect, and Lord knew, she'd always been attracted to physical perfection. It's a weakness, a stupid, obviously dangerous, weakness. But she couldn't quite convince herself.
Exasperated, finally sure she was never going to get to sleep, Beka flung back the covers and pulled on a pair of sweats. Maybe she could go run laps in the gym, or stare at the stars on the observation deck. Surely, something would take her mind off of him. Eventually.
* * *
Tyr couldn't sleep. He was haunted, by images, memories, feelings and desires, all wrapped up around a slim, athletic package bearing the name of Beka Valentine. She was not his mate. Human, the product of generations of half hazard, mongrel breeding, she wasn't worthy of the honor. And yet, his instincts and emotions responded to her as if she was. The surges of sexual need whenever he was around her, his body constantly, uncomfortably hard and ready in her presence. The protective flash of rage when she was hurt. The uncontrollable fear of her death. It was all becoming a problem too deep to ignore.
"Just chemicals," he muttered to himself, and he knew it was true, on one level. All of his responses were created by chemicals released into his body by the emotional impetus of whatever he felt for Beka. Which identified the problem rather neatly. What did he feel for Beka? Why did whatever it was make his body react to her as it would to a Nietszchean mate? He'd felt lust before for human women, and never had he reacted to this degree. Never had he wanted one with the type of hunger that controlled him, rather than allowing him to control it. The riddle made his head ache trying to decipher it, but his body, quite simply, didn't care. The need to claim her was like a ticking bomb inside of him, and very soon he wouldn't be able to stop it from going off. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out. Not after today. Not after she'd nearly died before his eyes.
His first mate had died. He couldn't live with that again. Ever.
He was sitting in the darkness of the observation deck when the doors were forced open, and then forced closed again. Harper was still working to get Andromeda's systems back online. He tensed, watching her silhouette backlit by the stars. It was her.
Of course, he thought, a little desperately, it would be. The Gods are cruel, capricious creatures, if they exist.
She didn't know yet, that he was there. She didn't have the advantage of his heightened senses. She crossed the room slowly, her arms hugging herself as if she were cold. Her hair was loose, a golden halo around her face. She was barefoot, and wearing sweats and some flimsy little tank it would take him mere seconds to strip from her...
He took a breath, and willed that line of thought to cease. He might as well have willed the stars to wink out. Uncomfortably aware of his body's reaction to her presence, he shifted a bit in his chair, but nothing would ease the ache. Nothing except having her, and being done with it.
Not the best rationalization, but it was the best his mind could conjure up.
"Beka," he called softly. She froze at the sound of his voice, froze and turned her head slowly toward him. Her hands tightened on her arms, and he heard the stutter of her heartbeat as it kicked up its rhythm. Was she simply startled by his presence? He didn't think so.
"Tyr," she said, her voice a little hoarse. Still raw from her earlier experience, or rough with some nameless, mindless emotion? He stood up, a dark, looming figure, and walked towards her. She didn't back away.
What Tyr didn't know was that she couldn't back away. Beka had been rooted to the spot since she'd first heard his voice, the low timbre of it washing over her with a shiver. Oh God, what was he doing here? The thought was frantic, as was her sudden need to escape. She'd come here to forget about Tyr, not confront the situation head on. But she watched him walk toward her, and she couldn't have moved if her very life depended upon it. She could barely breath. He stopped only after coming within inches of touching her, well within the boundaries of personal space. Her whole body started trembling uncontrollably.
"Tyr..." she breathed, a whisper of his name that almost didn't make it past her throat, and filled with a wordless, desperate plea. Even Beka wasn't sure what she was pleading for. Did she want him to touch her? To kiss her again? Or did she want him to leave her alone, in peace? Her body swayed toward his, and she knew that whatever her mind wanted, logically, every other fiber inside of her wanted to touch, and be touched.
Before she could form any other thought, his hand was threading through her hair, cupping the back of her head. They came together without gentleness, without tenderness, the need for one another too strong for such tame emotions. The kiss was hard, aggressive, almost bruising, but it was also passion and lust, and deep driven need. It sent electric shocks dancing through Beka as his tongue slid over hers, his breath hot in her mouth, his hands fisting in her hair so that she couldn't turn her head away from him, not that she would have. Her hands were under his shirt, sliding up the perfect hardness of his chest, over his erect nipples. Tyr groaned. His hips thrust forward against hers of their own volition, and Beka could feel the hard length of his erection pressed against her. She broke away from the kiss with a gasp that was almost a sob. She wanted him inside of her, now, with a suddenness that shocked her.
"Tyr," she managed to pant, "please..."
He growled low in his throat, his lips trailing wet heat down her jaw, down her neck, one of his hands grasping the front of her shirt and literally ripping it from her with a tear of fabric. She trembled for him. She wasn't even sure he'd heard her, until he said, "No, Beka. Not that quick. Not for us." And then his mouth closed over her breast, and she couldn't think at all anymore. His tongue rasped roughly across her nipple, and Beka's body jerked in response.
She wasn't even aware of the little whimpering noises she made, but Tyr was. Even over the blood that pounded in his head, that pooled in his loins with a need that verged on painful, he was aware of every physical response she gave him. He knew that if he said anything to Beka containing the word "mate", she would end this, react as if he'd dashed her with freezing cold water, and walk away from him, possibly forever. But he would not allow that to happen; before he was done, she would be his mate, body, mind, and soul, whether she realized it or not. It didn't even flicker across his consciousness that mere moments ago, he'd been rationalizing how to take her without binding her as his.
He reached his hands around behind, cupping handfuls of flesh, and lifted her until her legs could wrap around him. He held her like that for a moment, his hips pressed against hers as close as they could get through the barrier of cloth, her warmth enveloping him, throbbing against him with her pulse. Then he backed her onto a table that was positioned well enough to keep her body at the appropriate height to his. He wanted his hands free. Even with the table for support, her legs wouldn't let him go, her hips thrusting so that the length of his erection rubbed against her. She moaned, almost sobbing, her breath coming in short gasps, and he moved his mouth to her other breast, his tongue circling the nipple slowly, though it cost him to do so. Every delay cost him immeasurably. She arched beneath him, her body practically bowing on the table. Then her hands spilled over his chest, tugging at his shirt.
"Off," she said thickly, and he obliged her by straightening up and tearing it off over his head. Before he could return to what he'd been doing, her mouth was on him, her tongue licking his abdomen, his chest, her mouth suckling at his hardened nipples. Her hand slipped inside the waistband of his pants and wrapped around him before he could think to stop her. His entire body bucked against her, and she laughed, low and pleased.
He knew then that Beka was not the only one who would be branded by this experience. He knew, and he didn't care. He didn't realize she'd worked him free of his clothing until her mouth closed over him, encased him in the warm, wet depths of Hell itself. He threw his head back, the muscles of his neck straining as she worked that heavenly, hellish mouth over the length of him. She was trying to drive him mad, make him lose control and take her like she wanted him to, fast and hard. His hands grasped the edge of the table tightly enough for his nails to dig into the surface.
"Beka..." he managed. "If you want me inside of you, woman...stop."
As he'd half hoped, half feared, that did stop her, and she sat up, pulling her mouth away from him. They stripped each other of the rest of their clothing with hands that shook and fumbled, and paused now and then to stroke over skin with a heat that nearly burned. Both of them shook, both of them trembled with every touch, no matter how light, and moaned with the feel of a mouth, or a tongue, against skin. He knew she was more than ready for him. He would have known without her scent filling every sense, every awareness he still possessed. But he stroked two finger over the wet folds of her anyway, as if testing. She whimpered, her hips thrusting, seeking, and he obliged her by plunging into those wet, hot depths as far as his fingers would go. She cried out, a shout of pleasure that was almost, but not quite, orgasm. Slowly, so slowly, he eased his fingers out, and then back in.
"Tyr, oh God Tyr..." she said his name over and over, mindlessly. He pressed his thumb, hard, against her clitoris, and she came with a violence that left her shuddering, her cries incoherent. It undid him.
He thrust the hard length of him into her while the tremors from climax still rippled through her body, and her nails dug into his back hard enough to draw blood. It pleased him; it was what a Nietszchean woman would have done. He buried his face against the soft skin of her neck, nipping lightly with his teeth as his hips thrust in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had the tension building again inside of her. She whimpered and shivered as his tongue drew circles over her skin. She tried to speed up the rhythm, wriggling her hips against him, but he grasped them and held her in place, the better to torture them both.
Tyr chose his spot well, a place on her shoulder that clothing would cover, that no one would know about but him, and Beka. He waited, using his mouth on her skin, moving his hands to her breasts, brushing the pads of his thumbs across her nipples, using every advantage he had to make her mindless for him again. Their rhythm was gaining in speed and intensity now, but he couldn't have stopped it if he'd tried. He didn't want to. He could feel every tremor, hear every sigh, sense every electric shock his touch gave her. Sweat built in a sheen over his skin, over hers, as he drew out the pleasure for both of them, building it into a crescendo that was quickly sweeping away his last tenuous grasp on control, on reason. He waited, judged, and with the last vestiges of restraint available to him, set his teeth into her flesh just as the wave broke over them both. Beka arched against him as his seed spilled into her, her cries of pleasure mingling with his as they clung together, shuddering. The moment was long, intense, and well worth every instant of torture Tyr had put himself through to reach it.
In the panting moments after, Tyr wondered, rather smugly, what she would say when she realized that Nietszchean males recovered their strength much faster than their human counterparts. The ritual of a first mating often lasted an entire night, in some cases, longer. Not that he and Beka had that luxury, at the moment. He trailed his lips lightly across her collarbone, placing open mouthed kisses against her flesh that were gentle now, almost tender and loving. He would make their second time together slower, softer, but no less memorable.
Beka's labored breathing was just beginning to slow when he took her mouth in a long, slow kiss that surprised her. She'd expected heat and passion from Tyr. She'd even expected a bit of rough play; looked forward to it, in fact. But the way this softer kiss turned her insides to mush, made her feel...cherished...shocked her as nothing else could have. She found herself returning it without thinking, her hands entangling in his hair, glorying in the feel of his hard, long body pressed warmly against her. She could still feel him inside of her, and he was...he was...getting hard again.
She gasped, and he nuzzled her neck, beginning to move slowly inside of her, a tentative rhythm that seemed to ask of her a question. She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her.
"Tyr," she said breathlessly, a little embarrassed by her body's instantaneous response to him, "I have to tell you, this is the single most incredible sexual experience of my life."
He smiled, that smug Nietszchean smile she usually found so annoying, but somehow seemed almost endearing tonight. "I know," he said.
Strangely, she didn't find that annoying either. In the morning, she thought. I'll be annoyed then. Right now...her breath hitched ...right now I'm just going to enjoy this.
On to Part 10 -- Coming Soon!