The Galactic Pantheon Novellas

by Alyce Caswell

  ‘I bet you did,’ Dom said wryly.

  The Iceine wondered if he was blushing. Dom’s smirk seemed to confirm it.

  ‘So can I have the vidcam back?’ the mortal asked.

  Rasson hesitated. He could very easily hold up his hand and teleport the item into his palm, courtesy of a miniature vortex of ice. But an idea had just occurred to him. ‘I will make a bargain with you, Dom Zhang. You may have the device in return for your promise to…to consider becoming my consort.’

  Dom lifted a hand and twirled it towards Rasson, a gesture that invited an explanation. ‘And by “consider”, you mean…’

  ‘You will be staying here — with me.’ Rasson swallowed, grateful that Dom couldn’t hear the pounding of his very hopeful heart. ‘For one Old Earth year. You will get to know me and like me. I am sure of it.’

  ‘One month,’ Dom said immediately. ‘That’s all I get for vacation time per year. I have a job. Remember?’

  ‘Yes, I remember,’ Rasson hissed.

  ‘You only get that much because I’d rather have you on hand to deal with any lingering problems from the water snapping my spine. Pretty sure you could have grabbed me before that happened, but let’s not get into that.’

  Rasson simmered in silence. The mortal couldn’t have known that while Fayay possessed telekinesis, Rasson did not.

  ‘Now, I’d like something a lot warmer than this robe,’ Dom went on, waving that same hand from crown to hip, indicating his attire. ‘And a shower. And drinkable water. And food — something piping hot. Seafood’s acceptable. I’ll also need a new communicator, if mine’s trashed, so I can contact my boss.’

  Rasson fought the urge to march over and shake the mortal by his shoulders. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘What do I call my captor?’ A lift of an eyebrow. A sardonic smile.

  ‘My title…’ Rasson drew a breath. ‘In the Galactic Pantheon I am known as the Iceine.’

  ‘Ice…ine. Not terribly impressive. Or unique. The desert god’s known as the Desine, isn’t he?’

  ‘I have a real name,’ Rasson said, trying not to sound too defensive. He had never appeared to those few who worshipped him and given them a special name to call him by, the way Fayay had (the mortals called the Watine ‘Oceania’). ‘It’s Rasson. But, as my consort, you may…you may call me Rass. No one else has ever been afforded that privilege.’

  Dom’s gaze remained level. ‘Rasson. I wish I could say it’s nice to meet you, but it’s really not.’

  There was nothing to be said to that.

  Rasson turned on his heel and marched through the tunnels of the fortress he had made for this ungrateful mortal, for the man who had been offered a rare and wonderful opportunity — and had refused it.

  No, he refused you, Rasson, the Iceine’s inner voice taunted. It sounded so much like Fayay that Rasson actually paused and scanned the area for his brother’s presence, but ‘Oceania’ was still on another planet.

  ‘He would have accepted if I wasn’t so hideous,’ Rasson moaned.

  CHAPTER THREE

  If Dom wasn’t afraid of the god impaling him with an icicle or something, he would have outright laughed at the naivety of his captor.

  Rasson simply took it at face value when Dom said he liked to go for morning jogs if time permitted — in reality, he hated any form of exercise that didn’t yield a satisfying result. Climbing mountains and scaling walls to find that perfect angle with his eyes when the vidcam’s lens failed to do it was more his kind of thing. But the jogging gave him an excuse to record the tunnels — the vidcam dutifully trailed after him, along with Rasson — so that he could attempt to form some sort of cohesive map of his prison.

  It took three entire days to realise that there was no exit. The fortress seemed to have been grown rather than built. When Dom asked about this, the god replied, ‘I made it for my consort. So that you would have a suitable home for this climate.’

  Suitable home. Galactic Gods, it was a freaking iceberg.

  Despite his opinion on the matter, Dom forced himself to say pleasantly, ‘No one’s ever made anything for me before. As gestures go, it’s a pretty impressive one.’

  Rasson smiled shyly in response, his baby blue eyes falling to the floor.

  Sometimes when Dom looked at his captor, he couldn’t quite believe he was standing in the presence of a god — this pale, vulnerable waif that he could easily pick up and bend over his lap for an afternoon of leisurely spanking?

  Anyway, Dom wasn’t going to feel bad about getting Rasson’s hopes up — he really wanted to avoid saying or doing anything that might make the god kill him out of spite. Not that Rasson seemed particularly vengeful. No, just a little quiet and uncertain — and, if Dom was honest, more than a little attractive.

  Stark it, Dom had forgotten how much he liked slim pretty boys, especially the ones with long eyelashes. At least Rasson didn’t have the typical mop of hair that fell over his eyes. But somehow he managed to look coquettish without it.

  Once or twice Dom had considered bedding the god, just to say he had, because who else could make such a boast?

  But then he remembered that he was a prisoner, cut off from the galaxy in more ways than one. He had managed to contact his boss using a borrowed communicator that Rasson teleported away as soon as Dom was done with it. Nisha’s dedication to abrupt conversations meant that she hadn’t bothered to ask Dom why he’d wanted to take time off. He wished she had — he’d always cashed in his vacation days instead of using them before now. It should have been suspicious.

  Dom had decided that he might as well keep working; he had a backlog of footage to look through. Although the vidcam was in perfect condition and its year-long battery (as promised by the manufacturer) was still going strong, the tiny playback screen wasn’t ideal for editing. Part of Dom’s job was cutting vids down to the best few minutes to save space and time when uploading them to the Collection.

  Rasson had firmly refused Dom’s request for a techpad, which would have made things easier — probably because the device would have also allowed Dom to use the Web to send for help. Apparently the god of ice knew enough about tech to remove the Web-chip from Dom’s vidcam, so at least he had that. It kept him from getting bored and doing things he shouldn’t even be considering.

  Like trying to find out what Rasson looked like under that robe…

  Often Rasson would sit near him, not close enough to see what Dom was doing, but close enough that the heat of his presence caused Dom’s shivers to abate. Other times the god was gone for hours, tending to what he called his ‘duties’. Rasson had assured Dom that during these absences the iceberg would look after him and keep him safe, as if it was some sort of living, thinking being. Maybe it was.

  Any food that was offered to Dom seemed to appear out of nowhere. He suspected that his captor was capable of teleporting from world to world because he definitely recognised one desiccated squid as a delicacy native only to New Sydney, which was at least eight days’ starship travel from his current location (Rasson had kindly confirmed that Dom was very nearby to where he’d fallen).

  At night Dom was allowed to retreat into the privacy of his bedroom. Somehow hot water could be piped into the ensuite’s shower without melting the entire structure, which was amazing and duly appreciated — not that Dom would ever admit this to a certain god.

  He wasn’t stupid enough to think that Rasson ever truly left him alone, so once he was done with his nightly routine he lay between the thick furs on the slab that served as his bed and did nothing to ease his mounting frustration.

  Days without being able to release himself had to be the reason he eyed the god so frequently, Dom decided.

  One afternoon while they were in the bedroom’s antechamber, which was large enough to accommodate several ice-hewn pieces of furniture draped in furs, Dom asked, ‘Have you ever been with anyone? Sexually, I mean.’

  Rasson, sitting cross-legged on the recliner opposite Dom, see
med to freeze into that position. This wasn’t entirely infeasible for a god of ice, Dom supposed, but he didn’t fail to notice those blue eyes darting towards the nearby corridor, betraying the god’s sudden desire to escape.

  ‘No,’ Rasson finally answered, sinking back onto the recliner. ‘Because I only intend to be with one man.’

  Galactic Gods, you’re just too precious, Dom thought, unable to help his smirk.

  ‘Only one?’ he echoed. ‘You have no idea what you’ll be missing out on.’

  Rasson levelled an even stare at Dom. ‘Many of my brothers and sisters are content with the ones they have. Just as I will be.’

  Dom filed that information away for later. Gods and goddesses choosing mortal spouses was the sort of information that could net him some serious coin-chips if he sold it to a mediaist. He nodded silently, projecting a look of interest, hoping to hear more.

  ‘Perhaps they chose better than I did,’ Rasson added in a small mutter.

  ‘Yeah, this is one fish you might want to throw back in the sea,’ Dom said with a laugh.

  The god frowned. ‘No. I would not discard you so thoughtlessly. Not as you did to all those men in your footage.’

  Dom’s lip twisted. ‘Better to leave before they get the idea to do it first.’

  ‘I will never leave you.’

  Perturbed, because he knew Rasson meant it, Dom tossed his vidcam over his shoulder (its small hoverpad ensured that it never hit the floor) and kept his voice light, teasing. ‘Promises, promises, Rasson.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mean every moment of every day,’ the god said quickly. ‘I have my duties, just as you have your work.’

  ‘What about when I sleep?’ Dom asked, quirking an eyebrow.

  That shy smile again. ‘Sometimes I remain to watch you.’

  Dom felt a small, unwanted shiver of delight race down his spine. He’d been right.

  ‘Can you turn invisible?’ he asked.

  Rasson blinked, apparently startled. ‘In a manner of speaking. I can shed my human form, which makes it easier to spread my awareness across my domain. If I choose to, I can also merge and become one with this iceberg. And I can even stow my presence in a single cube of ice.’

  ‘Huh,’ was all Dom could think to say to that.

  Later that evening, when he returned to his bedroom, the feeling of being watched intensified and the furs stacked on top of him felt heavier and more oppressive than usual. Dom stifled the groan. He knew he shouldn’t even be considering this, but his balls starking ached and it wasn’t like he was going to ask the god to get involved…

  Dom kicked the furs away from his overheated skin, then yanked off the clothes that Rasson had teleported in from somewhere to replace the ones Dom had lost.

  He definitely didn’t imagine that sharp intake of breath.

  Dom took a moment to look down at his body, smiling in satisfaction. Still taut in all the right places. Still a lure for the prettiest of pretty boys. And gods.

  ‘I’m going to lose it if I don’t deal with this,’ Dom said matter-of-factly.

  He pinched one nipple, which was already standing upright in the cold air, then pinched it again, groaning as hot sparks shot through him, tightening his already roused member. Dom’s other hand skimmed along his side, over his hip, and then down between his thighs. Usually he spent some time stroking and teasing the skin beneath his balls. But tonight he couldn’t wait. His hand moved straight to his shaft and encased it.

  He kept the rhythm slow at first, his strokes long and even, but after a few minutes of this doing nothing for him he changed tempo. Instead of obeying, his cock began to slacken in his grip. Dom growled in frustration. He needed this, stark it. If he didn’t finish now, then he wouldn’t be able to trust himself in Rasson’s presence tomorrow. He would probably end up doing something very, very stupid.

  It then occurred to Dom that his obstacle wasn’t speed, but lack of stimulation.

  He blew out a sigh and opened his eyes. ‘Rasson. Can you show yourself please?’

  A spike of ice immediately shot up from the floor, growing and filling out into the figure of a man. Rasson was wearing that silksein robe, as always — the flimsy fabric did nothing to hide the god’s obvious desire. Dom had wondered if it was possible for the god to become aroused when he was part of the iceberg. Clearly it was.

  ‘Help me out here,’ Dom said. ‘Can you take off the robe?’

  ‘My…why?’ Rasson frowned down at himself. ‘I am naked beneath this.’

  ‘Yeah, I guessed that. But I need to have something to focus on.’ Dom forced a flippant grin. ‘Not usually a problem for me and I’ll probably get there in the end anyway, but if you wouldn’t mind…’

  Rasson’s fingers strayed to the front of his robe and he bit his lip, an action so mortal, so normal and so very sweet that Dom almost got off the bed and went to him.

  ‘You want to see my naked form?’ Rasson clarified.

  ‘Galactic Gods, Rasson! Yes!’ Dom said, silently hoping that he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.

  Rasson shifted awkwardly, his gaze locked onto the wall behind Dom. ‘I’m not sure you understand what you’re asking me to do.’

  ‘Wait, is this because you don’t want to be naked in front of me until we’re married?’ Dom asked, catching the flicker of hope on Rasson’s face. He felt momentarily guilty for using words he’d known would get a reaction from the god. ‘Because I’m clearly naked already.’

  ‘It is only fair,’ Rasson murmured.

  Score, Dom thought as the robe fell, puddling around the god’s feet.

  Dom was so used to seeing Rasson as slim and gentle, but the hardness thrusting out proudly between his legs definitely wasn’t slim or gentle. It was a glaring contrast to the god’s form and the girth promised a tight, torturous squeeze into a confined space —

  ‘Yesss,’ Dom hissed, pumping himself more vigorously.

  He didn’t usually submit to his partners in that way and would never have chosen it as his fantasy, but stark…!

  Dom groaned, trying to focus on the physical sensations instead of the source of his unbearable arousal. He actually thought he might have succeeded — until that last, heart-stopping moment, when he looked up into the pale blue eyes that watched him with rapt attention and naked desire.

  ‘Ah,’ Dom gasped as his cock pulsed. Warm fluid pooled onto his abdomen.

  He kept his fingers moving for several more seconds, until a second intense spasm wrung him dry. Dom sank further into the furs, his hands limp on his thighs as he forced his breathing to even out. His pounding heart was less willing to obey.

  ‘Beautiful,’ Rasson said softly. ‘I could never grow tired of this view.’

  Dom swallowed, dredging up much-needed moisture into his mouth. ‘Yeah, you could. Give it a few centuries. You sub-level gods live for a while, don’t you?’

  Rasson laughed gently. The dark lust that had marred the god’s porcelain features was gone, though his stiff, thickened member was still announcing its interest. ‘Oh, we do, but the exquisite pleasure on your face just then…the way you looked at me…’ Rasson’s voice hitched. ‘Those images will stay with me for eternity.’

  ‘Glad to be of service,’ Dom said with a wink.

  He shook out his lazy limbs and rolled off the bed, staggering his way over to the ensuite. He grinned to himself, imagining what Rasson thought of his perfect arse, then stepped beneath the hot spray that helped him scrub desire and sweat from his body. He couldn’t help but think of those fingers — those long, delicate fingers — trickling over his skin instead of water.

  ‘Don’t go there,’ Dom cautioned himself. ‘If you do, he’ll never let you go. Just three more weeks and you’re out of here.’

  When he returned to the bedroom, the god was gone — and so too was his presence. Dom paused and tipped his head to the side. He couldn’t explain how he knew he was alone, just that there was an absence…an absence of warmth,
an absence of promise and protection.

  Shaking his head, he pulled the furs back over himself and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Rasson roamed the frost-crusted plains, the snow-capped mountains and the iceberg-studded seas, his insubstantial form allowing him to straddle thousands of worlds at once. He stopped to weaken the pack ice that had captured the landing gear of a starship — the vessel’s exhaust ports had melted the surface when the ship landed and the decrepit engines had cut out afterwards. The repairs hadn’t taken more than an hour, but that had been enough time for the ice to harden back into place.

  The ship was stuck fast. And the planet was so isolated, so far from the usual shipping lanes, that it would take months for anyone to respond to the crew’s distress call — months they did not have the supplies for.

  All it took was a single thought to free them from their predicament. Their fearful cries at seeing the ice retreat so rapidly faded into murmurs of awe. One even whispered their thanks to the nameless ice god and Rasson paused, startled and pleased, before moving on to the next mortal who needed him.

  In the beginning, under Fayay’s tutelage, Rasson had helped only those whom dumb luck had afflicted rather than those who were careless. But as the decades had passed, as the mortals increasingly became the only people he saw, he’d found that he could no longer remain deaf to their pleas for help.

  Rasson knew he shouldn’t be doing this; he shouldn’t be trying to save everyone the way Kuja did. The rainforest god had even started telling the mortals outright that he was their ‘god of lost causes and casualties’, that anyone could go to him, no matter where they lived. So arrogant, so much like the Desine, the fool who had let love lure him from his duty.

  Fayay is right — we should never let the mortals distract us, Rasson told himself as his presence glided over a glacier smothering an ocean’s shore on some distant world. It is just as well that Dom rejected me. He’s distracting enough as it is.

  He didn’t expect the glacier to respond, but it did, in a voice that boomed and echoed, as though it was trapped inside an abyss. You know the Watine only says these things because he is bitter about the past. Be honest, Master. Is the mortal distracting you? Or is he giving you something you lacked?