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Liberty, Go [Japanese: kokyūten 呼吸点, Chinese: qì 氣]: a vacant point immediately adjacent to a stone in any orthogonal direction. Liberties can be claimed by an opponent's stone, curtailing their influence and constraining their mobility. Negating all liberties surrounding the opponent's stone results in its capture.
The tale of her stunning defeat was written across the board between them. Black stones, hemmed in by white, outmaneuvered and outplayed.
The battle had been fiercely fought. For an hour and a half, they'd gone back and forth, their wits and wills clashing across the grid. Liberties had been lost. Stones had been captured. Territories had been claimed. All of it had culminated in a final decisive move. The bold gambit that should have sealed the game had been her folly instead.
Meren should never have underestimated an opponent like Variks.
"A word, my dear," the old Scribe purred.
"Hm?"
Meren looked up from the board. Variks sat across the table from her, the stun cuffs already dangling from his claws. She'd never seen him look so smug.
"A word," he repeated.
She blinked. Then, understanding dawned.
"Oh, uh." She glanced around Variks’ quarters as if the room would manifest a suitable word for her. Her eyes came to rest on the stacked plates they'd set aside before starting the game. "Dinner? Dinner works."
Variks nodded once, ever so faintly.
The next few minutes were spent in quiet, inconsequential conversation as they cleared the board, returning the stones to their bowl. Empty glasses joined the cleared plates, stacked high and neat. Lastly, the board itself was tucked away with great care, a cloth wrapped about it to protect the priceless wood.
Once the table had been restored to its original state, Meren scanned the room, taking stock.
Variks' quarters were small and spartan, the furnishings limited to the table where they'd been playing, a 'chair,’ an upended-weapons-crate dresser, and the Scribe’s nest. A couple tapestries bearing House sigils adorned the walls, their edges frayed and worn. A few stacks of books and datapads had been neatly arranged atop the dresser, along with the occasional bauble or trinket. A small stack of folded linens sat atop a low chest alongside the nest.
The quarters themselves had been fashioned from an amalgamation of inmate containment pods, cleaved at odd angles and spliced back together. The end result was a single, irregularly shaped room, its alloy walls uneven and warped. There were no windows, only a sole door that opened to a forgotten workspace deep within the bowels of the Prison of Elders.
Meren found it cozy despite the austere surroundings. It had been difficult not to grow fond of the little corner of the Reef Variks had carved out for himself.
"Now, my dear," Variks said, drawing her back. He'd retreated from the tableside and now stood in the center of the space, regarding her expectantly. "What am I to do with you, hm?"
"Oh, you have ideas," replied Meren. "I know you."
In their previous encounters, they'd stuck to the basics, more concerned with acquainting themselves than experimenting with their newfound arrangement. That wasn't to say they hadn't enjoyed their time together. Far from it. Still, there were a host of possibilities waiting to be explored. Their wager just happened to be a convenient excuse to delve into them.
As expected, Variks didn't deny the claim. He simply chuffed, looking her over, his two left hands lazily toying with the cuffs.
"Come here," he beckoned.
Meren rounded the table, approaching him, her pulse quickening. He looked good without his mask and helm. It wasn't often she got a chance to admire the sharp angles of his features or the crest of silver setae atop his head. Even his intimidating maw of needle-sharp teeth held a certain appeal, though she wasn't keen on receiving another bite to the shoulder anytime soon.
When she'd drawn close enough, Variks held up a claw, stopping her short.
"Disrobe."
The word came out in Eliksni, sending a strange shiver down Meren's spine. There was something about the way the guttural rasp of it resonated in his throat. The same command delivered in her own tongue wouldn't have had the same effect.
"We're just getting right into it, huh?" she teased.
Variks' mandibles twitched in the approximation of an alien smirk. "These were the terms of our wager, yes? Perhaps you are having second thoughts?"
Their wager, as agreed upon at the onset of their game, had been simple. Whoever won the match would have the loser at their mercy for the remainder of the evening. Free to take whatever liberties they saw fit. The pilfered stun cuffs that had wound up in the mix, courtesy of Meren's overconfidence, were the proverbial icing on the cake.
"And let you hold it against me until that Hive god-monster of yours shows up?" she retorted. In hindsight, the ‘end of time’ might have been more apt. But with the way things looked to be panning out, the two were probably one and the same. "Not a chance."
That earned her a sharp look, but the Scribe pressed no further. He took a step back.
"Disrobe," he repeated, slowly lowering himself into the chair that served as the focal point of the room. It was a crude, haphazard thing, fashioned from a ragged piece of hull plating stripped from some derelict Golden Age vessel. A layer of furs had been packed over the back and seat, forming a makeshift cushion. As far as improvisational furniture went, it served its purpose admirably.
"Yes, sir." The words were out of Meren’s mouth before she could think better of them.
Variks' posture shifted. His back straightened, and his claws stilled. For a moment, Meren thought she'd misstepped.
Then, a low growl rumbled through him.
"Good." His voice had lost its measured cadence, the tone dropping into a husky, predatory rasp. He'd evidently enjoyed the unwitting display of deference.
Meren's fingers were already moving to the borrowed uniform's collar, slipping the clasps open. With each one undone, a sliver of pale flesh was revealed. She made a show of it, savoring the hungry look in the Scribe’s eyes as they followed her hands, tracking her fingers' progress.
By the time she'd loosed the final clasp, his gaze had taken on a distinctly feral cast.
"Slowly," he ordered.
Already in the process of opening the uniform’s jacket upper half, Meren slowed. In an agonizingly deliberate motion, she slipped the material off her shoulders, shrugging the garment down. Beneath, a dark bandeau hugged the swell of her breasts, a simple design meant to be functional rather than fetching. Variks' eyes lingered all the same.
The upper half of the uniform now hanging off her hips, Meren moved to the belt, working the buckle. It might have come undone more quickly than Variks liked, judging by the subtle flare of his mandibles. He said nothing, however, as the clasp came free, the jacket's weight peeling the whole thing down to pool about her ankles.
Stepping out, Meren nudged the pile aside with a foot. She'd never been particularly good at making a show of stripping. Today wasn’t looking to be the day she’d improve, either.
"The remainder," Variks rasped suddenly in Eliksni.
By that, he meant the bandeau and bottoms. A brazen display of expectancy - unlike him, especially considering his order only moments ago.
Meren teased the material of the bandeau, tugging it upward and letting it snap back against her skin. "Patience," she chided.
It earned her a chitter of admonishment and an expectant look.
"Alright, alright," she relented, reaching for her bottoms.
Fingers hooked beneath the waistband, Meren bent forward as she tugged the bottoms down. It was the worst part of any strip tease - the awkward maneuver of peeling the garment off one's legs. Somehow, it always managed to look so seamless and alluring when other people did it. Meren, however, achieved a result that could only be described as 'newborn livestock learning to walk.’
Thankfully, either Eliksni didn't have a particular appreciation for the art form, or Variks was willing to overlook her lackluster efforts because the Scribe did not seem at all dissuaded. If anything, his stare had grown hungrier, his claws drumming a steady rhythm against the chair's lone armrest.
With a final, ungainly flail of the leg, the bottoms were gone, and Meren straightened, working the bandeau off, baring her breasts. Once free, she momentarily considered tossing the black band of fabric at him, but decided against the idea. There was no telling how an Eliksni - a Scribe especially - might react to projectile undergarments.
"Happy?" she asked, turning in a slow circle.
"Mm," was the noncommittal reply. Variks had sunk into his seat, reclining against the furred backrest, legs splayed. One of his four hands was toying with the cuffs, another rested on the chair's arm, and a third was draped across his thigh. His fourth had disappeared beneath the hem of his robe, the appendage's current occupation unclear.
Meren swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden heat pooling in her stomach.
"So?" she prompted, taking a suggestive step in the nest's direction. She desired nothing more than to collapse into the pile of furs and drag him down after her. He could do whatever he wanted to her once she got him there.
The motion did not go unnoticed.
"No." Variks stopped her. Without another word, he raised the hand from his thigh. Two clawed fingers curled inward, beckoning.
Meren was there in three strides.
"Sit," he said.
"On the floor, or?"
Variks' eyes fluttered shut, the expressive parts of his face twisting as if he'd been struck by an abrupt, debilitating migraine. When they opened, the exasperation was gone, replaced by a patient, long-suffering look.
"My lap, Meren," he clarified, each syllable pronounced with excruciating care.
"How was I supposed to know?" she huffed. Then again, when she thought about it, it struck her that an Eliksni might not grasp the reasoning behind her question. Their anatomies didn't lend themselves to some of the less couth intimate acts that required kneeling on the floor.
Variks didn't bother dignifying her defense with a response. Instead, he simply reached for her waist, guiding her onto his lap. The action drew a squeak from her as she was maneuvered over his knees to straddle his thighs. She had to grab the chair's armrest for balance.
"Much better," he said.
The position wasn't unfamiliar. Spread across his thighs, Meren met him eye-to-eye, the height difference between them all but neutralized. Two of his hands had come to rest on her hips, and a third, the one that had disappeared beneath his robe, had reappeared, tracing lazy circles across her bare thigh.
She couldn't help but smile at him, reaching up and cupping the side of his face. "Hello," she murmured.
"Hello yourself." His reply was warm. His claws tightened around her hips, drawing her closer.
Their foreheads met - or, her forehead met the sloping flat of his brow just above and between his eyes. Either way, the contact was a comfortable one, full of fondness and warmth. If Meren had to settle on a human analogy for the gesture, it was akin to a kiss.
She'd never admit to it, but the sentiment of it made her weak in the knees.
"Variks." His name escaped her as a whisper, her hands burying themselves in the furs draped across his shoulders. She didn't have anything else to say. Just his name.
He understood.
A hand cupped the back of her head, tilting her chin up enough to get at her neck. The first press of his muzzle was tentative, a soft nuzzle against her pulse. The second was a proper nip with the point of mandibles, accompanied by a soft, resonating growl. Meren's fingers curled into the fur, her breath hitching as his tongue traced the curve of her throat.
So badly did she want to surrender to the feeling and lose herself in the heat pooling between her thighs. Her fingers were already drifting downward, searching for the hem of his robe.
"Ah," Variks chided, catching her wrist. "Patience."
"Oh, you're going to drag this out, aren't you?" she accused as she squirmed in his grip.
Variks stilled her with a hand tangling itself in her hair, a light tug eliciting a sharp gasp. He waited until she remained docile to answer.
"Perhaps," he admitted. "Is this not what you agreed to? Leaving our…fun to my discretion?”
"Well, yes, but-"
Another tug cut her off, and Variks pressed on, his words spoken in a silky whisper.
"All you need do is say the word, my dear, and we will stop. Say it."
The grip on her hair had loosened, leaving her free to pull away. Yet, she stayed, trapped between his hands and the unyielding wall of his body.
"No," she murmured.
"Hmm." A free hand crept up her thigh. "As I suspected."
The next nip was harder, teeth pinching the juncture where her neck met her shoulder. A slight whine escaped her, her back arching as the sting was soothed away with a swipe of his tongue. Then, his muzzle was buried against the crook of her neck, drinking in her scent.
It was a strange, bestial thing, the way he seemed to savor her, snuffing through his teeth against her throat, his chest vibrating with a deep, satisfied hum. The sound did little to ease the ache between her legs. The soft groan that followed didn't help either.
"Meren..."
Her name had never sounded so good.
"Please." The word escaped her in a desperate sigh. "Please, Variks. Just-"
The plea ended in a gasp as one final nip was delivered, a sharp sting that quickly dulled. Then, a soft snort, and Variks withdrew.
"Begging so soon?" He was definitely toying with her now.
Meren didn't answer. The hand in her hair pulled, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were bright and hungry.
"What of all the ideas I have yet to share?" he went on. "The things I could do to you."
His voice had taken on a low, dangerous quality, his words punctuated by a soft chitter. If she hadn't already dampened his robes with her anticipation, those words alone would have done the trick.
"Fuck," she murmured.
"That is the objective, yes." Variks' amusement was obvious. "But not quite yet, I think."
The hand in her hair withdrew. He sat back, at the same time pushing her upright, putting some space between them.
"Let me look at you," he purred.
Being exposed and vulnerable under his scrutiny had taken some getting used to. The first time, there had been apprehension bordering on fear. The second time had been less harrowing, the third more enjoyable. Now, she found it a bit thrilling, being subject to his predatory stare.
Meren sank back onto his thighs, allowing him the space to take her in. Just what he was appraising, she wasn't sure. From what she'd gathered, her breasts didn't particularly interest him - not the way they would a human, at least. Human faces didn’t seem to do much for Eliksni either. Perhaps her soft curves and the dip of her waist held an appeal. It was worth asking later, provided she remembered.
For his part, Variks appeared pleased enough with the view. One claw came to trace a lazy trail from her navel, up her sternum, to the hollow of her throat. It rested there a moment, the pressure light but the threat still present. Meren swallowed, and the digit slid up her neck, catching her chin.
"So delicate, the human form. So fragile," he mused, almost to himself. "How easily I could break you."
His words were empty threats. Even so, Meren's pulse quickened.
Variks' other hands had begun exploring in the meantime. One had drifted back down, cupping her rear, giving it a generous squeeze. Another had slipped up her thigh, claws leaving faint red trails in their wake. The final was occupied with the cuffs, their owner seeming to have forgotten they were even there.
"And you," Meren managed, her hands landing on his front, splaying across the emerald of his robes, "are so...sturdy. Everywhere."
"Sturdy," he echoed flatly. "How flattering."
"I thought soft-shelled was an insult. By that logic, sturdy should be a compliment."
A slow blink crossed all of Variks' eyes. He did not argue the point. Instead, he took hold of one of her wrists, moving her hand to the bandolier across his chest.
"Assist me with my robes," he instructed.
An obedient Meren didn't hesitate, her fingers going to work on the clasps.
Undressing him was going to be a hassle - it always was, with the amount of accouterments Variks insisted on wearing. His robes, the ceremonial stoles, the fur mantle. Not to mention the assortment of belts, sashes, and buckles holding it all in place. And that was just the superficial layer. There was more underneath. No wonder he admitted to frequently sleeping fully clothed when she wasn't around.
Still, there was something satisfying about stripping each piece away, revealing the form beneath. The way each belt sloughed off, the buckles clinking against the floor. The way the stoles slid from his shoulders, pooling behind him in the chair. The way his robe fell open, the cloth parting at his sides, revealing the faded synthsuit beneath. It felt almost like unwrapping a Dawning gift.
It took a bit of doing, but when the furs and the robes had finally been peeled away, Meren at last got to sit back and admire the view.
It was easy to forget, with all the layers he wore, just how lithe Variks was. The suit’s pliant synthweave hugged the lines of his wiry frame, highlighting the rigid angles of chitinous plating, the gaunt hollows of his shoulders, and the narrow taper of his waist. He'd never been a warrior, and it showed in his build. Still, his leanness held its own appeal.
There was an allure to it, the hard lines and planes of his alien physique. Something about it stirred an undeniable fascination in her. A desire to peel away the suit and map the contours of his body. Run her fingers along every plate and seam of his shell. Explore the softer, more sensitive flesh in between. Meren was certain she'd never tire of looking at him, let alone touching him.
Variks, for his part, did not protest her scrutiny. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it. The gentle rumble resonating through him told her as much.
"What of me, hm?" he asked at last. "Does what you see please you?"
"You know it does," she answered, eyes wandering down his abdomen. Just south of his waist, his arousal was painfully obvious, straining against the confines of the suit. She wanted nothing more than to palm him through the synthweave, coax a few of those beautiful sounds out of him.
The thought must have been plain on her face because a disapproving subvocal vibration rolled through the Scribe.
"Oh, no, no, no." He tutted, catching her wrist before she could put the thought into action. "We had a wager, my dear. Do not forget."
"I remember."
"Do you?" Variks' grip tightened. There was nothing cruel about it. Only hungry. "Your other hand. Bring it here."
She didn't press for elaboration. When she offered the second, both hands were taken in his and brought together. Meren steeled herself for what she knew was coming.
Yet Variks did not simply snap the cuffs on her. Reaching for something behind him, he retrieved his scribal stoles that had been offcast. The fine, embroidered cloth of the first was brought to her left wrist and wound about it in a series of delicate loops up her forearm. When it had been secured to Variks' satisfaction, the other was brought to her right wrist and likewise wrapped. The whole process was done with an almost reverent care, as if he were performing an old sacred ritual. Meren didn’t know what to make of it.
"There," he said once he'd made the last pass, tucking the stole’s loose end beneath the wrapping. "Now."
Without further preamble, his lower hands opened the cuffs, his mechanical primaries taking hold of her wrapped forearms. He took care to ensure the stun leads had been disabled before guiding her wrists into position. The cold metal closed around the first wrist, the soft bannercloth wrapping cushioning the bite of the restraint. A click, and it locked in place.
"Too tight?" Variks' eyes had fixed onto her own, searching.
"No."
The right cuff closed around her other wrist, the process repeated. Then, it was done. Her fate sealed.
The irony of becoming a metaphorical prisoner within the Prison of Elders - and at the Warden’s hand - was not lost on Meren.
She glanced down at the cuffs. They were wide, bulky things designed more to restrain alien inmates than a human. The weight of them wasn't too bad. Her range of motion, however, was severely limited with her wrists locked together as they were. Variks' handiwork with his stoles kept the metal from digging into her skin at least.
Meren gave them an experimental tug. They held.
She looked back up.
"I will ask you once more." Variks' eyes had not left her, watching her closely. "Are the restraints too tight?"
"They're fine," Meren assured him.
"And you are certain you wish to continue?"
The question was delivered with a gravity that belied the levity of their previous banter. Variks meant every word. All she had to do was say 'no,’ and he would release her without complaint.
"I am," she replied.
"And you will say the word if it becomes too much?"
"I will."
"Good."
All at once, the solemnity gave way, replaced by a predatory air. Meren could feel the shift in Variks’ body, the tension that suddenly coursed through him. It was mirrored in his face, his mandibles drawing tight against his jaw, his eyes narrowing.
Then, all four hands were on her.
With one pair, he hauled her forward over his thighs, dragging her against him. Another tangled itself in her hair, tipping her head back, exposing the column of her throat. The remaining hand busied itself working his suit's closure, tugging the garment open.
In seconds, Meren’s world was reduced to a haze of sensation. Fangs on her neck, pricking her skin. Claws raking across her hips and thighs. Hands - so many hands, tugging her hair, teasing her breasts. Over it all came the rasp of Variks’ voice, growling a steady stream of filthy promises.
Powerless, Meren surrendered to the onslaught. Every nip and scrape was a flare of pleasure-pain that went straight to her core. Every caress a tease, stoking the flames of desire higher. She desperately wanted to touch him in turn. With her hands bound, however, all she could do was arch into his grasp, offering herself up. She'd never felt so powerless.
It was exhilarating.
Extricating himself from the synthsuit took some doing with how indisposed Variks was. More than once, the motion of unfastening the complex seal was arrested as he had to abandon the task, turning his focus to devouring Meren's neck or rolling a stiff nipple between a thumb and forefinger. He managed to wrestle the suit open eventually, though, the synthweave peeling away, baring his torso to Meren's hungry gaze.
By then, their exchange had grown heated, Meren practically delirious in the Scribe’s arms. Variks, in turn, was panting lightly against her, cool breath washing across her heated skin. The harsh sound of it sent a fresh wave of heat rolling through her, her thighs squeezing insistently against his.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the impassioned frenzy ceased.
"Enough," Variks rasped, composing himself as his hand slipped from her hair. It was joined by the others, pushing her upright, separating them.
"Whyyy?”
The whined word only earned her a hissed shush, a chiding look, and a finger of one of his secondary hands pressed to her lips.
"Patience," he crooned once again, only this time, the word came in Eliksni - the High Speak.
At that point, Meren had half a mind to tell him where to shove his patience. But she bit the retort back, knowing he'd only drag out the torture further if she did. A sulky, petulant glare would have to do.
The look had little effect on him. His expression didn't change.
"There, there," he murmured.
The finger pressed to her mouth trailed down, tugging at her bottom lip. His eyes followed, lingering there.
It was at that moment that Meren, in her infinite wisdom, took the opportunity to catch the tip of the digit in her mouth, closing her lips around it. She sucked.
The look on Variks' face was priceless.
He froze, all his eyes wide and bewildered, his mandibles twitching spasmodically. The reaction pleased Meren to no end. If the sight of a human sucking his finger had come as such a shock to him, then he was going to be floored by the other things she was capable of with her mouth.
"What-" he started, only to be cut short as Meren drew his finger deeper, swirling her tongue over the claw and pad. The sound that came out of him was an odd cross between a wheeze and a groan.
It was difficult to keep a straight face, but somehow, Meren managed. She even had the gall to raise a brow at him, daring him to do something.
For a moment, the unease in his posture made her sure he would call it all off at any second and simply send her away. That would be a first. Instead, Variks rallied, his bewilderment morphing into something more eager. His finger twisted, hooking the edge of her cheek. A second joined it, forcing her mouth open and slipping in.
"Is that all?" he challenged. "My dear, you disappoint."
He punctuated the statement by pressing the pair of digits against her tongue. In return, Meren made a show of sucking on them, her tongue escaping to swipe between and around. It had the desired effect, drawing a shudder from the Scribe.
"How...crude," he breathed.
Still, he appeared quite taken with the display. The way his eyes were fixated on her mouth, following the movements of her lips and tongue, spoke volumes.
And Meren, for her part, was enjoying herself.
There was something deliciously debauched about the way his fingers filled her mouth. The taste of him - the lingering leather of his discarded gloves, the faint coppery-saline tang of Eliksni skin; it was intoxicating. And the way his thumb had drifted downward, tracing the curve of her chin, threatened to drive her mad.
Yet the best part was the way his eyes never left her. Even when she pulled off, drawing back and releasing his fingers with a wet pop, his gaze remained, eyes half-lidded. He was utterly enthralled.
"That how you want me to suck your cocks?" Meren prompted, leaning in.
The enthrallment was shattered in an instant.
His posture went rigid, eyes blinking out of sync. "Variks begs your pardon?" he croaked.
"Oh, for Traveler's sake..."
Meren couldn't believe she was about to have to spell this out for him.
"Suck. Your. Cocks," she enunciated. "Do I need to draw you a diagram, or can you work with that?"
"Ah, no." The abashed look on his face was almost comical. "I have… read of this human practice."
"And?"
"I would not subject you to such a thing."
She gave him a long, flat look. "That's your only objection?"
The hesitation in his answer told her everything she needed to know.
"You can't tell me you're not curious," Meren went on, undeterred. "What was that you always say about the old Scribes being 'relentless in their pursuit of uncommon knowledge?'"
"This is not a scholarly pursuit, Meren."
She held up a finger awkwardly, having to twist and lift her joined arms to do so. "But it could be. Think about it: an exchange of cultures. I teach you a little bit about the more...unorthodox applications of the human mouth. And you..."
"I...?"
"We'll figure that out later," she dismissed. Eliksni anatomy had a lot going on. She'd have to give it some thought.
For a long, tense moment, Variks sat, staring at her, his eyes narrowed and calculating.
"What is the phrase," he said finally, "that humans say about cats and curiosity?"
"Are we seriously delving into linguistics right now?"
"If relevant."
The words had barely left his mouth before Meren was scooting back unceremoniously, attempting to get off his lap. She was too horny to play verbal chess with him. "That's it," she said. "I don't care who won the damn bet. You're going to sit right there and let me down, and I'm going to make you wish you'd asked for this sooner."
To her surprise, no argument was offered. Only his hands, gently guiding her off his lap, helping her stand. Once she'd gained her footing, he released her, sagging back in the chair.
"You are adamant about this," he observed.
"Obviously, you need to consent a little more enthusiastically," Meren replied, "but..."
Variks eyed her. He was quite the sight, reclined in the chair, the synthsuit’s closure hanging open, baring his chest. Even the outline of his arousal hidden beneath the material was still visible. Remarkably, it didn’t seem to have diminished despite their near-foray into cat-centric idioms.
"Very well," he said at last. "Make me 'wish I had asked sooner.'"
"Alright, but fair warning: I'm about to ruin you."
Variks' face was a picture of skepticism. "We shall see."
Meren took the challenge in stride, a pleasant smile gracing her lips. Then, she was lowering herself to the floor.
Getting on her knees could have been precarious, without the use of her arms for balance. Yet somehow, she managed, sinking to the floor between Variks' open legs. The fact that she hadn't lost her footing or done something equally clumsy was a testament to how badly she wanted him in her mouth, really.
So far, everything seemed to be going smoothly.
Yet once down, Meren hesitated. Not because she was nervous - she'd done this enough times before to know what she was doing. Nor was it the prospect of Variks' alien anatomy. Rather, it was the realization that she was kneeling. Before him. She’d completely failed to consider how the simple act would be perceived by an Eliksni.
To them, kneeling was deference to the highest degree. A gesture of absolute submission before a dominant figure. One did not simply kneel cavalierly before another, even if they were intimate. A quick glance up revealed the full extent of the act’s effect on the Scribe.
The look on Variks’ face had shifted, the skepticism gone, an openly-lecherous smolder now on full display. His claws had dug into the chair's armrest, his whole body drawn taut. If he hadn't agreed to her demonstration, Meren doubted he'd have remained seated much longer.
"Fuck," she muttered. She had half a mind to simply abandon the whole plan and let him have his way with her right then and there. But she held her resolve, settling back onto her heels.
"Your mind has not changed, I take it," came Variks’ voice. It had taken on a husky quality, the words almost a gnarl.
"No," Meren replied. "I just need you to" -she motioned vaguely with her joined hands to the area below his waist- "help me."
The instruction didn't need clarification. The next moment, his two lower hands were moving, working the suit's closure open the rest of the way. A couple fastenings were undone, and then the synthweave seam was falling open, allowing the two slender lengths hidden beneath to spring free.
To Meren's satisfaction, he appeared just as ready for her attentions as she was to give them. Both of the tapered appendages were fully everted, forcing the slit between his lower carapace plates wide. Flushed a deep indigo, they glistened with a sheen of slick arousal. The tapered tips were already leaking, a faintly opalescent fluid dribbling down their undersides, mingling with the copious natural lubricant.
No matter how many times she'd seen them, the sight never failed to captivate her.
"You are staring," Variks rasped.
Meren's eyes flicked up. "Yeah, well, have you seen yourself?" she countered. "You're kind of impressive, you know."
"Mm."
Meren wasn't sure if that had been a noise of acknowledgment or one of amusement. Regardless, the reaction wasn't an immediate refusal, so she pressed on.
Fortuitously, her position on the floor put her at the perfect level for her objective. The most she had to do was reposition herself a bit. Shuffling forward, she managed to get her hands up enough to reach the twin shafts. The soft rumble of approval that sounded from above was all the encouragement she needed.
Her hand wrapping around the base of one of the shafts had him purring, a thin, airy sound that only intensified as she began working him in slow, even strokes. Her wrist was at a terrible angle for it, and it didn't help that his anatomy bifurcated so sharply at the organ’s base, making it tricky to get the other shaft to cooperate and join its partner in her grip. Still, with some discreet finagling, she got her fingers around the second length, the pair twitching eagerly as she fell into a languid, easy rhythm.
"That's it," Variks breathed, the words almost lost beneath the resonance of his purr. "Like that, yes."
Within seconds, his lengths had fully engorged - not that they'd had far to go. A pleasant dichotomy of firm and yet pliable, they strained in her grip, throbbing and rippling against her palm. Her fingers had barely been able to wrap around them before, but now, they were forced to spread, struggling to encompass the new girth.
It was at moments like this Meren wondered how both of them had ever fit inside her. She could still vividly recall the ache and stretch of the first time their bodies had joined - the burn that had faded into an exquisite fullness. The memory sent a fresh rush of heat through her, her thighs squeezing together to stave off the mounting need.
Variks, however, seemed less preoccupied with memories and more concerned with the present.
"Mm. Good." His voice had deepened, becoming more gravelly. "Very good."
His praise emboldened her. Taking a deep breath, she leaned in, lips parted. He was close enough that she could almost taste him.
"Wait!"
Variks flinched back just as her mouth was about to brush one of his weeping tips. She drew away a fraction, looking up. Uncertainty clouded his face.
"Your teeth," he fretted, his expression growing pained. "You will be cautious, yes?"
Meren blinked. The absurdity of him worrying about her teeth bordered on comical.
"No," she replied, a little too quick. Then, realizing what she'd said, amended, "I mean, yes. Just...trust me. Okay?"
Variks let out a low hiss but seemed to acquiesce, relaxing a bit. Still, his claws drummed out an uneasy staccato on the chair's armrest.
"Eliksni would never partake in such… depravity,” he muttered.
Hands still wrapped around him, Meren soothed away the mental image of a maw full of Eliksni fangs with a long, steady stroke of his cocks, eliciting a full-body twitch. "I imagine it wouldn't end well," she agreed. "Now, just relax."
Without waiting for a response, Meren moved in, her tongue darting out, flicking across the underside of one of the swollen tips. His reaction was immediate, a sharp intake of breath followed by a growl.
"Easy," she murmured, her tongue making a pass over the other. This time, she caught the faintest taste of him - an unfamiliar, musky tang accompanied by the distinct, cloying notes of Ether. A heady combination that had her wanting more.
Meren didn't give him a chance to recover before closing her lips around one of the tapered heads.
If he'd responded to the brush of her tongue, it was nothing compared to the sound he made when her mouth closed over him. It was somewhere between a trill and a groan that quickly devolved into the neediest whine she'd ever heard from him. She would have to make a point to gloat about it later. For now, she had more important matters to attend to.
A careful bob of her head took him deeper, his slender length sliding across her tongue. The taste of him flooded her mouth, stronger now. Sharp. Bittersweet. Addicting. She couldn’t get enough.
Easing herself down, Meren worked him deeper still, his shaft twitching in her mouth. The neglected twin brushed her cheek, the cool, slick appendage twinging alongside the throbbing of the one between her lips. It was all she could do to ignore the aching, insistent heat between her legs and focus on the task at hand.
Still, determination drove her. If he'd never been sucked off, then by the Traveler, she was going to give the best damn head of her life.
When Meren had taken him as deep as she dared, she hummed, drawing back and sinking down again. Another pass, hollowing her cheeks. A swirl of her tongue. And once more. Then, with a last, teasing suck, she was pulling away, her mouth popping off the tip with a lewd, wet sound.
A glance up revealed a very different Eliksni than the one she'd started with.
Variks had melted, the rigid line of his shoulders gone. His claws were no longer drumming a restless beat on the chair's arm, now flexing and unflexing in place. Rapture was written plain across his face, only magnified by the sweet sound of his shallow, rasping breath.
Meren couldn't help but grin.
"How's that for depravity?" she asked, the question accentuated by another coy swipe of her tongue.
For one of the few times since she'd met him, Variks appeared to be at a complete loss for words. No matter. That just made it easier for her to continue.
Releasing his cocks for a moment, Meren caught one of his secondary hands resting slack on his thigh. It didn't resist as she guided it to her head, allowing him to bury his fingers in her hair.
"Don't pull," she instructed, returning her hand to his arousal. Then, she went back to work.
This time, Meren set her sights on both. They fit inside of her, so it stood to reason her mouth could manage the pair. Probably.
Wrapping her lips around the twin shafts didn't prove as daunting as she'd anticipated. The tips were narrow enough that she could comfortably take them together. The girth of the shafts beyond was a bit tricker to accommodate. It wouldn’t be an issue, though.
A little bit of perseverance and a lot of saliva saw her through.
Soon, Meren was reveling in her small victory, her lips stretched wide around him, her tongue sliding along the underside of his shafts with each bob of her head. Her hand worked what didn't fit, stroking in time to the rhythm set by her mouth. Through it all, the restrained sounds of Variks’ enjoyment spurred her on, the limp weight of his hand resting on her head, his claws flexing sporadically in her hair.
That soon changed.
By the time Meren had worked up a decent, if sloppy pace, Variks was starting to catch on. The hand on her head was growing bolder, applying pressure, urging her down a bit further. His hips were beginning to twitch, chasing her mouth. It was only a matter of time now before he started fucking her mouth outright. Which, honestly, was just fine with her.
Almost as if on cue, the once gentle nudge of his hand turned insistent. It forced her down unexpectedly, her mouth taking his cocks further than she'd dared. It was all she could do to try not to gag as he hit the back of her throat.
The noise that left him made the tears worth it.
It sounded like a ragged, breathy warble that morphed into a guttural groan. There might have been an Eliksni curse mixed in somewhere. Completely out of character for him if that was the case. But damn, if it wasn’t the hottest thing she'd ever heard.
The thought was short-lived. The hand on her head was suddenly a firm, guiding force, setting a new pace matching the roll of his hips. Not quite as deep as before, but more urgent. Desperate, even.
All of a sudden, sucking Eliksni dick was her life's calling.
Above her, Variks' labored breathing was audible now, hissing and huffing through his teeth. She couldn't look up without losing the rhythm, but she could picture his expression. Eyes half-lidded and hazy. Mandibles drawn tight. Chest heaving. It was a shame she was too preoccupied to watch him come apart.
Within seconds, the marked writhe and twist of his cocks against her tongue signaled the nearing of the end. That was something she'd come to learn about Eliksni anatomy. Their dicks had a mind of their own, undulating and curling about each other at the most inopportune times. Sometimes, it was amusing. Sometimes, it was just plain weird. Right now, it was an incredibly erotic, if not strange, addition to the experience.
A sudden rush of that sharp Ether-tinged musk suggested her triumph was imminent. His quickening breath and the frantic, stuttering jerk of his hips all but confirmed it.
"Meren," Variks croaked. "I am-"
That was the last warning she got before he seized up, claws tangling themselves in her hair.
Then, a sharp yank.
It stung, but at least he’d had the wherewithal to pull her back, his cocks sliding from her mouth. And not a moment too soon. Meren had barely squeezed her eyes shut before he was painting her front with pearlescent ribbons, a harsh grunt accompanying each shuddering pulse.
It was probably for the best, too. Swallowing a mouthful of Ether-rich seminal fluid would have been...unwise. Even if the idea of having the Scribe cum down her throat appealed in ways she hadn’t anticipated.
By the time he'd finished, Meren had been thoroughly defiled, a moiré of Eliksni spend already congealing across her breasts and collarbones. A few errant spurts had managed to reach as far as her neck. Her hair and face, thankfully, had come away unscathed.
"Shit," she muttered.
The curse wasn't so much about the mess or the faint ache in her scalp and jaw, but rather just how easy her task had been. In a matter of a minute and a half, maybe less, she'd brought the eloquent Scribe to his proverbial knees. Never had she seen him unravel so quickly nor so spectacularly.
It couldn't have made her prouder.
Variks unfortunately was in no state to congratulate her on her accomplishment. He'd sagged back in the chair, a limp, spent heap, his head hanging over the back of the seat, his eyes closed. Only the sporadic rise and fall of his chest indicated he was still alive.
"You're welcome," she told him, wiping the back of her bound hands across her mouth and chin.
No response.
Meren sighed, settling back on her heels. Her knees were beginning to ache. Not to mention, the whole tits-out, wrists-bound-in-her-lap thing was losing its appeal now that his hands weren't on her.
"Feel free to return the favor whenever you're ready," she added.
Her words seemed to rouse him. He cracked two eyes, peering down at her.
"Hm," he grunted. His eyes promptly closed.
"Good talk."
She laid the sarcasm on thick. Maybe too thick. She was rewarded with a chuff.
"Allow me a moment." The words were almost mumbled, spoken to the ceiling. "Variks must gather himself."
"Yeah, I bet."
This time, a chitter.
As far as gathering himself went, the Scribe didn't look to be making much headway. If anything, he'd only settled further into the chair, his lower arms going limp at his sides, his upper folded over his chest. The sole bright side was the state of his lower anatomy. His arousal hadn't flagged in the slightest despite the apparent lack of blood flow to his brain.
Unlike human males, Eliksni had no issue with repeat performances. She'd learned that just the prior evening, in fact. They could, and would, go again and again, provided their partner was willing. Which meant so long as Variks didn't accidentally fall asleep, she could expect a full return on her investment in short order.
In the meantime, Meren managed to get to her feet. It was only a few steps to what passed for Variks' kitchenette, a countertop with a hot plate for a tea kettle and a few shelves for storage. Cloths were kept somewhere around there. She'd seen Variks retrieve them once or twice.
Finding the cloths was easy enough. Getting one to cooperate was another story.
The task of cleaning up proved far more difficult than it needed to be, with her wrists still locked together. On top of that, Eliksni ejaculate had a nasty habit of congealing into a sticky, stubborn goo. An alleged reproductive advantage, according to Variks. A pain in the ass, according to her.
She didn't even make it halfway through the job before a pair of clawed hands caught her waist.
"Allow me," Variks purred.
She hadn't even heard him approach, too intent on the task at hand. Now, he was flush against her back, his front pressing her into the counter, his claws skimming across her sides. He must have shed the synthsuit entirely because there was no telltale rub of the coarse material to be felt as his legs bracketed hers. Only cool, smooth chitin.
"Didn't realize you were so eager to help," Meren shot back, playfully trying to push against him but failing. He had her pinned. "What happened to gathering yourself?"
"When a prize is to be claimed, one gathers their wits quickly."
One of his hands came up, plucking the rag from her grasp. A dismissive flick of his wrist cast it aside, sending it fluttering to the far end of the counter.
"And what a prize," he continued, the words whispered alongside her ear. The hand that had taken the rag was now sliding over her front. "Laid bare. Waiting. Wanting."
As if to accentuate his point, the hand drifted lower, pressing between her and the counter, slipping between her thighs. It didn't hesitate to find the aching heat of her center, the pad of one of his fingers parting her.
The intrusion was met with a shudder and a bitten-back gasp. Her body had been strung so tight for so long that the simple touch threatened to shatter her.
"So warm. So wet." He was speaking Eliksni again. "So needy. What a poor host I would be to leave a guest...unsatisfied. And after indulging my curiosities so fully. Such a generous performance should not go unrewarded, yes?"
His finger slid deeper, forcing a whine out of her. It was joined by a second, stroking over her folds, slickening themselves with her arousal. The pads were rougher than human fingers, the claws that tipped them sharper. Still, they found their mark with the same practiced ease as any lover, teasing over the swollen bud of her clit.
"Ah, there we are.”
A note of satisfaction colored his words, yet she didn't have the presence of mind to respond. Instead, all she could manage was a broken keen, her head falling back against his chest. It was almost embarrassing how a few strokes and the threat of those claws had her already falling apart.
Variks took the opportunity to press his hips closer, the hard lengths of his erections sliding against the small of her back. They twitched with interest.
"How easily you yield," he continued, his finger working a torturously lazy rhythm. "I wonder..."
There was a note of mischief to his voice. A dangerous thing, paired with the way he'd trailed off.
Meren managed a breathless, "Wonder what?"
What he did next caught her completely off-guard.
His response was a grab for her wrists resting on the countertop, his mechanical claws clamping around the cuffs. In the next instant, her arms were hauled above her head, stretched taut, forcing her onto the tips of her toes. He held her arms in place with a single, strong prosthetic arm, leaving his other hands free to continue their teasing.
"Your limits." A palm pressed against the flat of her stomach punctuated the answer. It dragged her tight against his front, allowing him to grind along the small of her back. "You have proven a...resilient partner. What other pleasures can be wrung from you?"
A fresh surge of arousal rolled through her at the prospect.
"Try me," Meren dared.
Even with the position she found herself in - arms strung up, dripping onto his fingers, and very much at his mercy - the words came easily. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that Variks would take her up on the challenge.
Yet when he did, it wasn't the immediate, aggressive sort of thing she'd hoped for. Rather, it was a methodical sort of torture. The drawn-out tease he so regularly seemed to fancy.
Between her legs, his finger continued to work her in slow, agonizing circles, his other hand drifting up, cupping her breast. A few tender kneads had her nipple perking. He toyed with it, rolling between forefinger and thumb, drawing the peak into a stiff point. The sensation had her biting back a moan.
"Oh, do not hold your voice," he soothed. "I would hear you. Every sound. Every sigh."
The words were followed by a sudden nip to her shoulder. It didn't quite draw blood, but it was close. Even so, the bite was enough to make her cry out, the noise quickly turning into a wanton whine as his thumb and forefinger closed around her other nipple. He rolled the tender peak in time with the deft strokes of his other fingers.
His ministrations, as always, had a predictable pattern. Gentle, exploratory caresses that gave way to teasing, then pleasuring. His hands would start at her hips, slide up, and stop at her chest. Once there, they'd play her like an instrument. A squeeze here. A pinch there. Sometimes, the graze of teeth. Always, the threat of claws. It never failed to leave her a trembling, breathless wreck.
This time was no exception. She let him consume her…to her own detriment.
So caught up was she in his attentions that Meren failed to notice the loss of one of his hands until it was encircling her throat. That was different - very different. The touch made her shudder.
"Breathe." His instruction was spoken with an undercurrent of dark amusement. "Or...perhaps not."
It gave Meren pause. That single saving word flitted through her mind.
Still, despite Variks’ ominous words, the pressure didn't come right away. Just the cool metal digits resting lightly against her skin, the threat of danger. It offered her ample time to object, should she so choose.
She didn't.
With the barest squeeze, the grip tightened, fingers pressing into the sides of her throat. Even if he couldn't feel it with his prosthetic fingertips, Variks had found her pulse, thumb and forefingers resting over the frantic thrumming. Meren let her eyes slip shut.
"You like that," he murmured. The realization was accompanied by a slow, purposeful pressure, impeding the flow of oxygen-bearing blood.
A more rational Meren might have balked. The Meren currently pressed against Variks' counter and grinding back against his dicks as his hands besmirched her had no such reservations.
"More."
It was the most coherent word she could form.
Her mind had descended into a haze. The hand teasing her breast was a distant thing. The cold claws pressing against her throat had faded. All there was was the mounting pleasure of the finger between her legs, working her closer and closer to that forbidden edge.
Variks obliged her.
The finger’s pad pressed down, the pace increasing. At the same time, the grip around her neck tightened, claws digging in. She couldn't breathe. She didn't care.
For an instant, the pressure built uncomfortably. Then, a glorious, weightless sensation took hold. She was suspended in bliss, held at the precipice of something wonderful. All she had to do was fall…
Variks denied her.
To Meren’s misery, his hands withdrew just as she'd reached the brink, leaving her panting and wanton. The renewed rush of blood was a dull roar in her ears - the surge of air a rattle in her throat. She was dimly aware of her legs shaking, the only thing keeping her upright being his iron grip on her wrists above her head.
"Oh, you're a fucking sadist," Meren wheezed.
Her words were met with a chittering laugh. "I am no such thing." He'd switched back to her tongue, rasping out the words in that way she found oh, so enticing. "Perhaps if you ask nicely, I will give you what you want."
She couldn't see his face, but she knew damn well his eyes were smirking.
"I'm not begging," she said. That’s what he wanted even if he hadn’t stated it outright.
"So certain?"
His hips twitched forward, driving his arousal against her backside anew. The friction was accompanied by a faint wetness, the head of his cocks leaving a smear against her skin.
"Shit." The expletive escaped her in a groan. "Fine. Please."
"Please what?"
She could have strangled him.
"Fuck. me."
"That is not begging," he crooned.
"Damn it, Variks-"
A hand caught her chin, squeezing her cheeks. It angled her head to the side and up, her neck craning. She could just barely make out the wicked glint in his eyes over her shoulder.
"Beg," he repeated, "or be left unsatisfied."
Meren's jaw worked. A part of her wanted to continue to spar with him. But the more present part - the part that was desperate to be filled and fucked senseless - won out.
"Please," she managed, "please, fuck me...sir."
The honorific was an afterthought, tacked on hastily at the end. Yet the reaction it garnered was immediate.
"Be careful." The words were growled, his eyes blazing. "Such deference does not come without consequence."
There was a note of warning to the words. She could have heeded it. Should have, if she'd had a shred of sense left. But instead, Meren did the opposite.
"Yes, sir."
That was all it took.
The next moment, the hand on her jaw dropped away. The other released her wrists. Then, in a blur, she was being wheeled around, redirected from the counter to the table a few paces away. A firm palm between her shoulder blades forced her down, bending her over the flat surface. The edge pressed into her hips, her joined wrists sprawled in front of her.
Meren had no time to adjust her position before the weight of Variks' body followed, pinning her in place. One of his hands braced on the table, two more gripping her hips. The other was between her legs, spreading her wide.
It took Variks a few moments and a bit of repositioning to meet her at her level and find the right angle. At one point, a sharp nudge had her rising up onto her toes, lifting her hips. She heard a faint, carnal hiss as he lined himself up, and then, finally, the heads of his cocks were parting her folds, nudging the resistance of her sopping entrance.
"Last chance," he snapped.
"If you don't fuck me, I swear-"
She never finished the threat. His hips pressed forward, sheathing himself in one, smooth stroke.
He was a tight fit. Always was. A little bit of discomfort, followed by an incredible fullness. Meren couldn't have stopped the sharp gasp that tore itself from her throat even if she'd wanted to.
Above her, Variks wasn't in any better state. A shuddering breath escaped him the moment he bottomed out, his hips coming flush with hers. He went still, his hands going tense where they gripped her. The faint whine of servos in his prosthetic arm was audible as the hand braced against the table flexed.
"Still so tight," he ground out. "After so much."
It was an attempt to maintain the upper hand. Yet the slight waver in his voice betrayed her effect on him.
"Cut back your Ether intake if you can't handle it, old man," Meren goaded.
The jab had its desired effect.
"Insolent."
His hiss was paired with a snap of his hips. It drew a gasp from her, a grunt from him. The next was a little slower. Still deep, but a tad more controlled, more deliberate.
"Impudent."
Another thrust. A sharp inhale.
"Foolish."
Beneath his words, a rhythm began to build.
"But, ah, how good you feel."
Then, he was moving in earnest, setting a rough, punishing pace. Each hard stroke had the table legs grating against the floor. Meren's knees would have buckled had she not been pressed flush to the edge.
And yet, for all the force he used, every motion remained calculated. There was restraint behind each roll of his hips. A finesse to the way his claws dug into her bare skin.
That was one of the things she enjoyed most about being with him. For all his talk, Variks was, in reality, a considerate lover. A few snide comments here and there aside, he’d never been anything less than careful, always aware of how deep he was going, how much she could take, and when to push her. Even when riled, he hadn’t crossed the line, never letting his baser instincts get the better of him. And this time was no different.
Each stroke was a delicious, toe-curling assault that left her panting and writhing. She didn't have the leverage or balance to return the motion. Nor were her bound wrists any help. The most she could do was to remain on her toes and let him have his way with her.
Not that she was complaining.
Variks was certainly doing the work, the sounds he was making the perfect compliment to the slap of his body against hers. Grunts, the occasional chuff, and an almost musical variety of trills and warbles had mercifully superseded his snarky commentary. All the better since Meren's ability to formulate coherent retorts, let alone the words for them, was rapidly diminishing.
Soon, she found herself fully lost in the rapt cadence of his hips. Eyes closed, breaths ragged, her whole world became the feel of him filling her again and again. The occasional tug on her hair. The scrape of his claws over her hips. The sweet sound of his strained breath above, mixing with the slick sounds of their coupling.
Out of all the lovers she'd taken, none had ever left her feeling so thoroughly claimed.
From the haze of pleasure, it was Variks' voice that pulled her back then.
"Meren..."
Her name came little more than a rasp. Still, the way he'd said it, so wanting and genuine, had her clenching around him. The sudden squeeze forced a strangled growl from him, and his rhythm stuttered.
"How easily you undo me," he managed, recovering.
The words heralded a change of pace. A second later, a hand returned itself to her hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking her head up. Her back arched. The new angle allowed him to plunge deeper, striking a spot inside her that had her crying his name.
"Yess, like that," Variks hissed, his claws pricking her hips. "Say it again."
Another tug of her hair sent a pleasant pain through her scalp. A matching burst of heat drenched her center.
"Fuck!" Her curse dissolved into a moan.
Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be quite what Variks was after. He growled.
"My name, not profanity."
"Variks, fuck, Variks, please-" The words tumbled out of her in a garbled, incoherent litany. It seemed to please him regardless.
"Yes," he panted. "Yes, that's it. Again."
At that point, the hand in her hair loosened its grip, but stayed firmly entwined in her dampened locks. One of his remaining hands, however, had other plans. It was between her legs before she'd had a chance to fully register its absence at her hip.
When he found the swollen bundle of nerves above where they were joined, she repeated his name all right. She shouted it.
"Variks!"
Whatever he growled after that didn't matter. She was gone.
The next thing Meren knew, a white-hot euphoria was taking hold. It ripped through her, setting every nerve alight, reducing her to a shuddering, quivering wreck. All the while, his name fell from her lips, the only thing left in her mind.
He was the sweetest sin she’d ever known.
Gradually, the flare of pleasure dimmed, fading into a delectable warmth. It took the last of her energy with it, leaving her drained and boneless, slumped against the tabletop. She would have stayed that way, content to drift, had the real world not begun to filter back in, her senses awakening one by one.
First, it was the feeling of the cold, hard table surface beneath her chest. The faint ache in her scalp from the fist in her hair. The sting of claws at her waist. Then, the sound of ragged, shallow breathing above her. The sharp, salty-sweet musk of Eliksni arousal. The slick, lewd sound of a pair of cocks pistoning inside of her. Last but most prominent, the dull throbbing between her legs as Variks chased his own end.
Thankfully, that end didn't seem too far off. Variks had reverted entirely to Eliksni, the words he did get out near-unintelligible even in his native tongue. His tempo wasn't faring much better, growing more and more erratic. A grunt accompanied each staccato jerk of his hips.
Determined not to miss out again, Meren managed to angle her head enough to catch a glimpse of him, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut, jaws open in a rictus of enraptured concentration. He looked every bit as wrecked as she felt. The sight made her involuntarily flutter around his lengths.
That did him in.
His grip suddenly tightened, his body going taut. Then, a guttural snarl. Her name. A final, desperate plunge.
The cool rush of his release was her reward.
Meren wasn't sure how long it lasted. All she could say for certain was the sound he'd made was nothing short of obscene. She'd never heard such a raw, uninhibited, filthy noise in her life. And the best part? She'd been the cause.
With the aftershocks finally fading, Variks came down growling, the noise dissolving into a shuddering purr. The slump of his body across her back followed not long after, a full-bodied sigh accompanying the collapse. The hands that had been so tightly gripping her went to the table, bearing his weight. His forehead fell against her shoulder. It was only a matter of seconds, then, until the rumbling purr started up again, vibrating against her back.
"Fuck."
That was the first word Meren could muster. The only word, really.
"Language," the Scribe chided. It came out muffled against her shoulder.
"Can't even get thirty seconds to bask before you're on my case," she mumbled. "Unbelievable."
The chuckle that followed was full of warmth. Satisfaction.
"Perhaps this is a poor time for admonishment," he admitted.
"No shit."
"Language."
The banter had Meren grinning despite herself. It was almost enough to make her forget about the fact she was bent over a table, her breasts mashed up against the cold, warped metal with a pair of Eliksni cocks still buried inside of her. Almost.
She was about to suggest a change of position when she felt the cuffs around her wrists click open. Variks had produced the key chip from somewhere. Gingerly, he eased her hands out of the restraints, unwinding the stoles from her forearms and letting them fall to the table.
"Are you all right?" A soft note of concern colored his voice as he set himself to massaging her freed wrists.
"Better than."
He hummed, a pleased sound. "So you...enjoyed yourself, yes?"
"Oh, you're fishing for compliments now," Meren teased.
"An honest assessment, nothing more."
His hands continued massaging, thumbs rubbing over the joints of her wrists. The attention felt nice.
"Consider my mind well and thoroughly blown, then," she replied. Then, for clarification's sake, "If you understand that expression."
"I am familiar," he said. "Though I do not recommend translating it literally to Eliksni, should the need arise."
A quick mental translation had Meren snorting.
"Noted."
A comfortable silence settled between them as Variks’ careful kneading continued for a moment longer. Then, he was easing himself out of her and up, taking her with him. He held on long enough for her to steady herself before finally letting go, allowing her to stand on her own.
Being vertical was nice. Being unbound and able to move was even nicer. The feeling of Variks' release dribbling down and gelling on the inside of her thigh, though? Not so much. And the state of the table, smeared with a combination of sweat, saliva, and spend? Even worse. It would probably be best to mercifully jettison it into one of the Prison's fusion reactors.
Variks fortunately seemed to have a plan for her, at least. A cloth - one from the countertop - appeared in his hand, which he promptly used to return her to some semblance of decency, murmuring gentle praises and apologies the whole way. He was sweet like that, she'd found. Never one to leave her unseemly or uncomfortable.
"Thank you," she said once the job was done and she was clean. Or at least presentable.
"Think nothing of it, my dear."
The reply came as Variks turned his attention to the mess that was the table. His expression darkened a fraction.
"The mess will wait" was his final verdict.
Then, without further preamble, he scooped her up in his arms, gathering her against his chest. It caught Meren completely by surprise.
"Hey, woah-"
The Scribe had never been so bold as to pick her up. Sure, he'd grabbed her, pinned her, or hoisted her onto the dresser once or twice. But full-on cradling her? That was new.
The sudden shift in dynamic wasn't her only concern, however.
"Your back," she protested, despite the fact he'd already begun walking. In the last day alone, he'd levied enough offhand microcomplaints about aching joints, muscles, and vertebrae to fill a standard Vanguard field report. Carrying her would likely only exacerbate whatever chronic discomforts plagued him. "You shouldn't-"
"Hush."
That was the end of the argument. A record-setting short one, at that.
A half dozen steps saw them from the table to his nest, the bedding and furs still haphazardly strewn from that morning. Rather than try to wrestle everything back into place, Variks eased her into the middle of the jumble, joining her a moment later. No sooner had he hit the furs than he sprawled out on his back, an arm extended if she so chose to accept the invitation.
And, oh, how she did.
The topic of cuddling was another thing they hadn't broached yet. At least, not officially. The first night they'd slept together, she'd fallen asleep curled up in his arms and had woken very much separated. The second night - last night - had ended much differently, with the both of them more or less passing out in a tangle of blankets and limbs. It wasn't a large enough sample size to establish a precedent. But as long as Variks' arm was there...
She scooted over to him, laying her head tentatively against his chest. The chitin pillow under her cheek wasn't exactly comfortable, but the gentle rise and fall of his breathing and the steady thrum of his hearts made it easy to ignore. A clawed hand came up, stroking her hair, and the rest of the world melted away.
For a while, the two of them lounged like that, content and quiet, simply enjoying the moment. After a long day touring the near-entirety of the Prison of Elders and the preceding, well, activities, the simple pleasure of a soft nest, warm blankets, and a sturdy Eliksni beside her were more than enough. Even so, something about their most recent encounter gnawed at her.
"I'm sorry for calling you old," she murmured.
A rumble came from deep in Variks’ chest, an amalgamation of a chuckle and a purr. "It is not an incorrect assessment," he replied.
"Still."
She felt him shift, his arm half encircling her, pulling her closer. His breath stirred her hair.
"If you were truly apologetic, you would allow an old Scribe some rest, well-earned."
It was a roundabout way of telling her to be quiet and enjoy the moment, which she could have appreciated had the temptation to tease not reared its head.
Meren smiled against his chest. "What happened to all those other ideas of yours? Or was that all just talk?"
Though she'd thoroughly enjoyed herself, she'd have been remiss to let him off the hook after all his talk of 'wringing new pleasures from her.'
"Ah, you are insatiable." Variks’ eyes closed, and he settled deeper into the furs. "But worry not. A Scribe's words are never empty. Rest assured, I will see mine through."
She didn't doubt him, of course. But neither was she so naive to think his promise didn't come with a caveat. A predictable one.
Meren shifted her voice to mimic the accent he reserved for the Guardians and the Awoken. "Patience, yess?"
The Scribe cracked an eye. Studied her for a long moment.
"Less than you assume," he finally replied.
A quizzical look crossed Meren's face. "What does-"
The rest of her question was lost when his arms closed around her, pulling her wholly into the circle of his embrace. When he spoke next, a hint of that predatory edge had crept back into his voice.
"The night is long, my dear," he purred. "We have only just begun."