by Robin Lovett
Panic takes over me, and I stare out the window, straining to see the Hades. “How far away are we?” The behemoth warship isn’t visible to the naked eye, only to the telescopic lens, so I know my answer: too far.
“We’re already at max speed for this vessel,” Koviye says beside me. He taps the radar screen and makes some new calculations with the coordinates Assura provided. “Our arrival time will be a little faster since they’ve stopped moving, but she’s still six hours away.”
“Damn it.” I flip back to the message’s info to find the time. “She sent this yesterday morning! Why haven’t we received it till now?”
“I guess…” He thinks a moment. “She didn’t know the correct frequency for the Fellamana satellites.”
I sit back in the chair. “And our Ten Systems receptors were destroyed by the Hades.”
“Our speeder only intercepted it because of closer proximity.”
“Stupid.” I scratch my hand over my face. “I should’ve thought of this as soon as they were captured. We should’ve left yesterday.”
“Think, Jenie. What are the chances that Assura still has control of the ship? What’s the likelihood she’s taken out Dargule entirely?” He knows the answer. He’s seen Assura work. He’s right.
“Probably close to ninety percent.”
He pauses a moment, as though translating my human numbers. “I’d put it closer to ninety-five percent, but it’s a similar assessment.”
I stare at the ship, at the countless stars, the infinity of the universe, measuring my breaths, trying for calm. Now I know she escaped and was alive. I have to assume she still is.
Which leaves me room to be upset about the other thing. “Why did she do it? How could she let Gahnin bite her?”
Koviye straps himself into the seat beside me. “Because she wanted him to. I’ve observed; it’s quite pleasurable.”
“You’ve observed? Did you see him bite her?” I snap. My temper’s thickening, not easing.
He shakes his head. “I saw Oten bite Nemona. And vice versa. They gave us quite a show before they left the planet.” He smiles gently, as if he knows I’m going to find this alarming.
There are so many things about that I don’t understand. I don’t even know where to start. “Wait. So. She bit him, too? She has fangs now, like the Ssedez?” This is too much.
“It was part of the change. Over the course of the night—watching Oten and Nemona—”
“You spied on them the whole night?” I’m appalled and can’t help recoiling.
“No. They left their curtains open. Fellamana living quarters are made the same way this ship is, clear glass; everyone can see inside. Voyeurism is a part of our culture. We enjoy watching each other have sex almost as much as we enjoy having it.”
I cringe, not understanding the attraction to this at all. I would never want to be watched while having sex. Ever. It’s private. I would feel violated. “They must not have known you could see them. I can’t imagine Nemona—”
“They knew. They understood we would be watching if they chose to showcase their pleasure where they were visible. And they seemed to enjoy it. Assura, too.”
“Assura? No. Assura likes privacy. I know this. I was with her.” We enjoyed being secluded together in a cabin. Secrecy and privacy were part of what made our time together so wonderful. It was a luxury in our otherwise grim lives with the Ten Systems.
“She and Gahnin participated in the Fellamana Sex Games for everyone to see.”
I can’t help my mouth falling open. “I don’t believe it.” I know Assura. Intimately. I would know if that was something she liked and—
“I assumed that Nemona and Assura enjoyed it because after so many years of hiding their gender and sexuality in the Ten Systems military, it was freeing to have their desires seen and not only known to others but appreciated and encouraged.”
I close my mouth. “I—didn’t think of that.” I pull myself back into the co-pilot’s chair, strap in, and stare at the floor.
My friends have been experiencing a sexual freedom I haven’t even dreamed of. They’ve had extraterrestrial erotic adventures with hot aliens without me. Broiling hot jealousy floods me, and I have no words. If I didn’t have this mating bond curse inhibiting me, keeping me from indulging in what I want, would I feel the same? Is this what I’m missing?
“It’s okay to not want that,” Koviye says softly.
“Have you wanted that? With me?”
He sits back and muses while examining my face. “I’ve enjoyed having you to myself immensely.”
“But you’ve done it before, this voyeurism, and enjoyed it?”
“Yes.”
It’s taking shape in my mind as I hadn’t thought of before. The adventurous sex life he’s had before me. “Have you ever participated in these Sex Games?”
He nods slowly, gauging my reaction. “I have been the main attraction many times.”
“Why?” I try to keep the disgust from my voice but fail. Why he, or anyone, would do something like that is unfathomable to me.
“The Fellamana are all anxious to experience the Exstare, as you have. It’s my duty to share it equally. It’s traditionally regarded to have healing qualities.”
I gape at him. I agree about the healing qualities but… “You are a Sex God!”
He bursts out with heavy laughter, as though this is some sort of insane joke I don’t know about. “Um, excuse me.” He clears his throat and tries with difficulty to stop laughing. “I’m sorry to laugh. I’m not a god. Some say I am, but the whole business is very tiring, I confess.”
“So, you’re like some sort of magic healer among your people?”
“Yes. I am the only one with the Exstare to do as I’ve shown you and gift orgasms by touch and of such intensity. It is my blessing and duty to share it among my people.”
I do the math of what he’s implying. The number of people he must have had sex with…oh gods. I cringe and stare up at the stars. “Being with me is passé for you.” I don’t know why this bothers me, but it does.
“I don’t know this word.” His brows go up in curiosity. “Passé means exhilarating? And uniquely pleasurable, yes?”
I squint. “No. It means routine, everyday, even boring.”
He recoils and scrunches his nose. “That’s decidedly inaccurate.” He seems sincere, but I’m not sure how it can be true.
“We haven’t even had sex.” I lean forward, wanting to make sure he understands. “We’re never going to.”
He reaches out and strokes my hand. “Jenie, we have had sex. There are many different kinds—”
“You know what I mean.” I pull away from his touch and can’t look at him. He doesn’t understand. Which I suppose is for the best. We should and will be ending this relationship, affair, tryst, whatever as soon as we get to the Hades.
“You’re sad,” he observes, giving me that analyzing look I hate.
I ignore him. “We should get some sleep before we get there. We have no idea what kind of situation we’ll be getting into, and I have no desire to arrive exhausted.” Sleeping won’t be easy, but it’ll be easier than sitting here talking to him for another six hours.
He points to the back and says soberly, “The gravity regulator setting is on the right. Seal the door, and it’ll only take a minute to work.”
I unbuckle from the seat. “Will you stay and—
“I’ll sleep here. The alarm will wake me if another message comes in.”
“If it’s from Assura—”
“I’ll wake you.”
I take a deep easy breath. “Thank you.” I have a desire to say something else, more gratitude. Even an apology. But he doesn’t look at me. Whether because he doesn’t want to or he thinks I don’t want him to, I don’t know.
I feel it then—the sadness he’s talking about—the emotion he could no doubt see I’m feeling before I even noticed it. The sadness over what this could’ve been, over what it will nev
er be, and over it ending.
I grasp his shoulder and lean forward to kiss him on the forehead. His skin is warm and smooth, and I can’t help whispering in his ear, “Thank you for sharing your Exstare with me.”
I’m wandering my garden. The flowers are all full of resplendent sparkling lights in the heart of their blooms again. I guess it wasn’t just from having him here last night. I guess it is me.
My body is healthy; it feels more whole somehow. I’m not in pain anymore. I’m in a blissful state of oneness with myself, physically. The garden reflects that. I’m feeling pleasure in myself, and I’m starting to wonder if my mating bond urge has gone into remission, like I’d hoped. I suspect it’s because of whatever he did to me with his Exstare that last time. It was like a completion of something within me.
A calming, an easing of my carnal instinct, kind of like he did to me before with his hands, except this time it worked so deeply, it sewed pieces of me together. I think he made me better. Or that’s what it feels like.
I’m not certain yet that the mating urge is completely gone, but maybe. It feels like it’s gone.
Without conscious decision, I wander the path to the center of the garden, the path I’d never taken until last night. I reach the verdant center, the vegetation gleaming in such rich colors and radiating such life, I can see the leaves growing.
He’s sitting on a rock, arms on his knees, and staring at the ground. I stop and watch him. I haven’t gotten to do that. He’s always so attentive, always looking at me, aware of me. It’s nice to observe him without him knowing I’m here.
He’s dressed how he was last night. His whole body visible, his chest, back, and arms weaving with variant shades of blue. Except the colors are moving differently. Rather than in the usual waves across his skin, they’re moving in swirls, like when water is touched and the ripples grow outward.
I have the urge to trace them along his muscles.
I step forward, and he looks up.
“I can go if you want,” he says. “I just ended up here and thought I’d stay in case you did want me.” He doesn’t say it, but it’s implied: if he’s here, it’s because I willed him here in my dream. My subconscious invited him in.
And it’s right. I do want him here.
Even if I have no idea what to do with him.
I sit down on the rock beside him, and we both stare down at the walkway, an ancient stone layout with green mosses eating away at the circular patterns—which seem to mirror the patterns on his skin.
I glance at him, then back at the ground. Did my imagination really do that on purpose? Or have the stone walkways always looked like this, and they just coincidentally match him?
Unlikely.
We sit in silence, not speaking or looking at each other. I hear him breathing, a gentle, stress-free pattern of inhales and exhales. My breaths have always been longer than any other human I’ve met. With my greater Ulreyan lung capacity, I don’t need to take in air as often.
But his breath is slower, too. It flows in and out in time with mine, and the longer I sit, the more we sync, as though he’s timing his breaths to mine.
“Are you doing it on purpose?” I whisper.
“Doing what?”
“Breathing with me.”
He clasps and unclasps his hands. “Am I?”
I check in again to make sure I’m right, and even when he’s speaking, or my breath starts to quicken, we stay in time together. Our breathing makes me think of how else I’d like to be in rhythm with him, how else we could be in sync, our bodies moving together linked not only by breath but by a carnal rhythm as ancient as creation.
A ritual that links across all species of intelligent life, going by our research so far.
His voice comes low, heated and slow. “Dreams are often a place to explore what one cannot in reality.” He pauses, taking more breaths in sync with me. “Good things. Bad things. Sensual things. Your mind’s imagination is the limit.”
I turn my head to look at him. “My imagination has limits.”
“Only if you think it does.” He meets my eyes, his luminous, ethereally green ones swallowing mine.
I gulp hard, my dry mouth working my throat tight. “There are things I can’t do even in dreams because of the consequences they’d have on my reality.”
“Would what we do here affect your reality?”
I shake my head and glance at my hands. “No. But if I indulge myself here and like it too much, it’ll be that much harder to resist you when I’m awake.” I stare back at him, willing him to understand the severity of this, even though I haven’t told him the full truth. My mating bond is far more serious than merely losing my heart to him. It’s an attachment from the depths of the soul, through the deepest recesses of the mind and body. I would lose all of me to him. “I can’t risk it.”
He pinches his lips, holding his breath.
I hold mine too, as though I have to, as though if he doesn’t breathe, I don’t want to either. Which is…absurd. But it’s a dream, so I can hold my breath as long as I want here, and it won’t matter. Whatever.
He exhales hard and blurts, “Do you trust me?”
I don’t want to tell him yes. I don’t want to be that vulnerable to him. But I can’t lie. “Yes, I trust you.” Not with my heart, but with my body, I do.
“What if I swear to you by the blood of the Fellamana that runs through my veins, by the Exstare gifted to me upon which all the myths of my people rest…” He’s so adamant, the sincerity that streams from his eyes, the truth screaming from every earnest piece of him. “I swear, I will never, no matter what you might say or might desire in the waking world, ever go past your penetrative sex boundary.” That otherworldly green gaze locks with my own. “I’m Fellamana. I’m as interested in preventing an emotional attachment as you are. I shouldn’t—” He looks away, a wave of…something passing across his face. Concern? Guilt?
My breathing detaches from his rhythm. The air hiccups in and out of my lungs in fearful spurts. “I can’t. Don’t tempt me with this.” I cover my ears with my hands. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”
I expect to hear his voice again though my hands try to block out the sound, but nothing comes. I sit there, staring at the ground in silence, determined to block him out.
He makes no sound; he makes no movement.
I glance to the side and see…
He’s not there.
“Koviye?” I jerk to my feet and turn in a circle. “Koviye!” He’s nowhere. He’s gone. As though he disappeared from my dream.
I panic. My hands shaking.
I didn’t want him to go. That’s not what this was. I wanted him to stay. I just didn’t want—well, I do want but can’t because—
Because, why, Jenie? Because you have boundaries to uphold in your dreams? Are you really going to be afraid of yourself even while you’re asleep?
This is no way to live.
My friends are all moving on, experiencing things I’m too frightened to try. Nemona and Assura both mating and giving themselves so totally to alien partners, they’ve joined their species! Both are indulging in the kinds of sex that I have never even considered in my dreams.
And how much have I been missing? Do I really want to spend the rest of my life resisting sex for fear of a mating bond even in my DREAMS?!
“Koviye!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “Come back!” Nothing happens, and I inhale to shout again.
“I’m here.”
I turn around, and he’s standing behind me. Relief rips through my chest. He came back. I never should’ve let him leave. I leap toward him. “Don’t go.”
“I should go.” But he opens his arms, and I meet him. His hands gently cup my face. “I won’t. Not unless you will me to.”
I grasp his forearms, digging my fingers into his skin, wishing I could will him to be real, wishing with all my heart this wasn’t merely a dream. But this is what I have, what we have, so I’ll tak
e it. “I want—I need— Did you mean what you said—your promise?”
He kisses my forehead and whispers against my skin, “Every word.” He kisses down the side of my face to my ear and whispers, “I am whoever and whatever you need me to be. In this moment.”
I pull back so I can look him in the eyes. “You swear, no matter how hard I beg you when we’re awake, in the heat of our hottest moments when my control is gone, you’ll keep your promise? I can trust you to be the restraint I’m afraid I don’t have?”
He burrows his fingers into my hair. “I will never—no matter what you say in the waking world or how you might beg me or how hard it may be to deny you—break your boundaries.”
My heart flies against my ribs as though springing to break free of its cage. “But here, in my dreams…” I have to live. I can let myself experience in my dreams what I can’t in real life. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.
His eyes brighten, his breath quickening at the same pace as mine. “Yes?”
I trace his lips with my fingertips, my body starting to shake with the need in me to have what I’m about to give him. My mouth falls open on words. I pull his head to my level and breathe in guttural thick tones, “I want you to fuck me until I’m so full of your come, it’s dripping from me. Everywhere.”
A long, low groan vibrates from deep within his chest. “Dominaq…” He sinks his fingers into my hair, undoing the pins at my nape, not so gently this time.
“I want you to cover me with your come until there is no part of me not soaked with you.”
He rests his forehead against mine and mutters something in Fellamana. He leans against me, his hard cock pressing against my thigh, and my sex.
I glance down, and we’re naked. I smile at the beauty of my own imagination. I willed our clothes away. How clever of me.
“Now, lulipah?” There’s an urgency in his voice; his breath is gusting against my cheeks.
I glide my hands down his chest, memorizing the contours of his pecs and his shoulders, digging my nails in and testing the firmness of him—more like the hardness. He is mine. All for the taking. He’s going to give me everything I ask.
