by Loki Renard
Vulcan
She’s right. She was not made to break. She was made for me to take, and I am just as tired as she is of holding back, of trying to do the right thing, of guessing what the future holds. As far as I know, there is no such thing as the future. There is just the past, played over and over again.
Tres has better instincts than I do. She knows what she wants and what she needs - and that, is me.
I pull her from my thighs and I stand her up against the cave wall. This is not the time for careful, gentle love making. This is the time to break barriers, to release my seed, to throw caution to the uncaring wind and to give her everything.
Tres screams as I take her like an animal, thrusting into her from behind, her palms leaving marks on the cave wall as I plunge into her from behind, bouncing her bottom on my rod time and time again.
Tres
Is this what you wanted?” His hand is wrapped around my throat, pulling me back as he slams inside me, his cock rough and dominant. There was little warning, no romantic build up, only my testing and my teasing, my demand for him to take me as roughly and completely as I need to be taken.
I live in a world of confusion, twisted times, strange creatures, but this thing plunging between my thighs, this is simple and animal and right. This is what I need. What he needs.
“I’m going to spend myself inside you,” he growls in my ear. “And then there will never be any tearing us apart.”
“Yessss,” I hiss.
His other hand wraps around my hip, his fingers strumming at my lips, teasing the pleasure bud back and forth, helping me take the intense ravaging he is subjecting me to as he pushes my body to the very limits of capacity. He is impossibly thick and hard, and my body does not feel strong enough to contain him, but it must. I must prove that I can be his equal, that I can take what he has to give. And if I cannot, then I do not care if he destroys me, because I have seen the end, have felt the hand of destiny drawing me down. This feels so much better, riding a rough and powerful cock which slams inside me over and over, his hot snarling breath wrapping around me along with his massive clawed hands.
“Ungh… unggghh…. mnngghhh…” the sounds I am making are not coherent, nor are they pretty. They are primitive, guttural grunts each of which marks another rough intrusion to my sensitive core. I arch my back and lift my hips and submit my flesh to Vulcan’s lust, feeling myself tumble through levels of sensation and pleasure which are deeper than any that came before them.
I am wetter than usual, my juices mixing with his as he emits a fluid inside me, a slick substance which not only eases the passage of his rod inside my grasping sex, but which intoxicates my very soul. I feel our bonding as a physical thing. A connection is being formed that will never be broken, and as he jerks back and shoves his head forward, releasing hot spurts of potent alien seed inside me, I know I have been transformed.
“It’s done,” he pants, his fangs against my back, his massive hands holding me up so I cannot fall to the cave floor. “You’re mine.”
I am his aching, satisfied, forever mate. I feel his essence coursing through me, his strength mixing with mine. I feel new purpose, complete connection, and something I have never had in all my days - a true reason to live. Every life born into the world has its own force, I know that. I have seen it in every struggling blade of grass and bold insect flying through the air in spite of the threat of the birds above. But I was prepared for death for so long, it never occurred to me that I might be part of it all too. Vulcan has showed me what it is to belong. He has made me part of him, and I will fight for us, from now until our dying breath.
I would say that, but I cannot do anything but moan incoherently as he collapses to the floor with me, cradling me in his arms. We are both utterly spent, and ready for the deep sleep that only truly satisfied lovers enjoy.
Chapter Five
Vulcan
“Have you killed those Galactor peons yet?”
It is morning. My lust has been discharged. I feel good about life, even though it is taking place in the wrong place and time. Or at least, I did, until Krave started jabbering in my ear again.
“It was night. I had to protect her from predators.”
“You had to protect who from predators?”
Damn. Damn. Fuck. Tyank hasn’t told him, and now I’ve dropped myself in it.
“What’s her name, Vulcan?” Krave half-sighs, half-growls the question.
“Tres. And she’s mine as much as your girl is yours.”
“We’ll talk about girls later,” he says. “In the meantime, go kill those Galactor peons before they destroy the world.”
“Krave…”
“Fine. You can take the girl with you when we get you out of there. And we’re getting close to getting you out of there. So kill those Galactor peons, and come home.”
“I have your word on that?”
“Yes, Vulcan. We’ll pull the girl too. Tyank told me.”
“He told you? So you were fucking with me?”
“I think I’ve earned the right to fuck with you, Vulcan,” Krave drawls. “I’m supposed to be on a universal honeymoon with my girl, and here I am, trying to pull you out of a time crevasse.”
“And I’m very grateful for it,” I say, trying not to dry-retch at the words.
“Anyway, this girl you’re with. We’ve been looking at her. She doesn’t seem to have any place in the time strand. Best guess, she was supposed to die before you stopped that from happening. So you can keep her without destroying the world.”
I’m smiling. Broadly.
“Thank you, Krave.”
“Just kill the Galactor peons and get this done, Vulcan. You and I have a lot to talk about when I get you back up here.”
The communicator powers down, and I am alone again. Alone, but with a future finally in sight. We are going to leave this planet, start our lives among the stars. There will be so much to teach Tres. So much to show her. She’s going to love the future.
In the meantime, Krave is clearly irritated with me, which is unfair. The timesplosion was not my fault. The Galactor ships were in orbit because they were attacking our station, built over the location of the old Earth. Whether I was here or not, they would be. In fact, if I think about it, the fact that I am here might be the only thing standing between humanity and the end of the world. I’d like to point that out to him, but the communicator is, as Tres would call it, nothing more than a silver rock right now.
I am not going to be rescued until I have rid planet Earth of the Galactor aliens. I should be furious that my rescue is conditional; instead, I do not mind nearly as much as I would have thought. This primitive planet needs protecting from the other invaders of its soil, and none of the humans are capable of protecting themselves.
Tyank called me a hero the other day. Maybe I am becoming one.
Tres is stirring.
“Was the mean one yelling at you again?” She opens her sleepy eyes and brushes some of the fiery mop of hair out of her eyes. “I thought I heard his voice.”
“He was,” I say. “I have to go hunt these creatures. I want you to…”
“Stay in the cave,” she sighs. “I know. I’m starting to feel like a rabbit in a burrow.”
“That’s temporary,” I say. “Just until we find somewhere safe.”
“Somewhere else to hide,” she sighs.
“It has only been two days since you were pulled from a plank,” I remind her. “We won’t hide forever, but right now I want you out of the way. I need to keep you safe.”
“But the only place I am safe… is with you.”
Tres
He gives me one of those looks that I can’t understand. Sometimes his expressions are obvious. At other times, I don’t know what they mean at all. This is one of those times. Is he angry at me? Does he know what he means to me? How helpless and lost I am in the world now that he took me from my dying place and forced me back into life?
“I’m no
t going to let you be hurt. Ever,” he says, putting his big hand over mine. His claws extend out, his massive palm curling over my fingers. “I’m going to keep you safe. No matter what I have to do.”
His incomprehensible alienness fades and I feel the connection between us strengthen. I trust him. He saved my life. I hope it wasn’t for nothing.
“Stay here,” he says, more gently. “I will be back as soon as I can.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“If I am not back by the time the sun sets…”
“Yes?”
“Wait longer,” he growls with a wink.
I would wait an eternity for him. As he turns and descends from the little nest of love which has become my home, I feel a little tune coming to my lips. He has returned my song to me, and for that, I love him.
Vulcan
I have to deal with Galactor. Quickly. I want to go back to Tres. I have never truly been attached to anyone. I am supposed to be forever bonded to my clutch, but I left that to travel alone without a second thought. Being away from Tres is not so easy. Every moment away from her is pain. I feel it in my chest. I feel it in my bones.
I try to focus on my mission. The Galactor peons must have been thrown down to Earth at around the same coordinates I was. They made their sign in almost the same place I found Tres for the first time. So they must be nearby. I am surprised I didn’t encounter them. Surely they would have made for the high ground too. They should have found the same caves I did.
The only other place I can see to hide is the woods. It is a less advantageous position, but that is Galactor all over. They always choose the inferior approach, because they always care about cost, and reducing it. The woods are easier to reach than the mountains, so that is where I start my hunt.
The trees are so dense they hide the sky and everything that is not five feet in front of me. I scan for tracks, seeing little paths where deer and other small animals have made their way through, browsing on the low foliage.
It is peaceful here, another little world inside a world. I could be tempted to let my guard down and enjoy the natural beauty of a prehistoric Earth, but there are vicious Galactor peons here, waiting to ruin it, so I can’t.
“WELL HE SAID HE WOULD COME BACK!”
They weren’t hard to find.
Apparently, the Galactor tactical approach is to sit in the middle of a forest and scream at each other. I can see two of them through the trees. They both seem to be naked, as I was when I arrived. Apparently, clothes don’t make it through time holes.
Crouching down, I listen to find out what their nefarious plans are. Something disgusting and vile, I imagine. I want to simply slaughter them, but listening in gives me the chance to figure out how many there are. If I kill these two, but leave one alive to run, that will make this entire process that much harder. Sometimes going slower makes things go faster.
Galactor is not a species like us scythkin. They are a corporate alliance. They have several different species working together under their umbrella. The murketeers manage the paperwork, but for fighting, they employ the warboys, a species comprised entirely of male members who reproduce by inseminating females of other species with fully formed zygotes. They are a threat to this planet in more ways than one. A scythkin could never impregnate a female human without killing her. A warboy can simply implant the proto-fetus inside her and have it gestate in the usual way. That would be truly disastrous.
Warboys have, occasionally, in the past, proven to be something of a match for scythkin. They are very large, almost twelve feet tall. They do not have any sharp blades or edges, but they do have a thick, very hairy, almost impenetrable hide. They come in a wide range of colors. The ones I am looking at now are sleek, black, and shaggy. They almost look like animals, save for the crafty intelligence which burns in their dark eyes. Their musculature is very evident under the pelt which covers them and makes clothing pointless in most cases, though they usually wear uniforms anyway. The same could be said of scythkin, though I always liked to wear clothes when I had enough mental energy to worry about what covered my body.
I knew that warboys were the most likely Galactor creature I would encounter down here, but I am still not pleased. I had hoped that it was a weaker member of the Galactor alliance, something easier to dispatch. These animals tend to be lumbering, cold beasts, wading through their enemies without concern for their own well-being. They have to use weapons to be truly dangerous because they lack our natural offensive capacities. They don’t even have sharp teeth capable of tearing flesh. They have no fangs, and they only eat plant material. I am not worried about them hurting me. I am worried about dispatching them quickly, and ideally, without them ever knowing I was there.
It is strange to hear them arguing. Usually they grunt at one another if they say anything at all. They must be very worried to be shouting and carrying on like this. I tell myself that I am not worried about my ability to kill them. They are isolated and I am sharper than I have ever been, ready to do what I have to in order to make my way home.
“They’re never going to see that signal,” one is saying to the other.
“Yes, they will. It’s huge.”
“It can be as huge as it wants to be. It’s probably more than two million years in the wrong direction.”
The warboy on the left sighs and throws his bit meaty arms in the air. “That theory again, Wencel? We are not on ancient Earth.”
“There are stone age humans here. Where else could we be?”
“Stone Age isn’t specific enough a place in time to be found. The stone age lasted over three million years, and then five thousand years later, there were people using cellphones. So even if you’re right, it doesn’t help. Galactor isn’t going to be able to pin-point three of us down here in the middle of time, and even if they could, they wouldn’t waste the resources.”
I can hear their desperation. They are stranded, just as I am, and just like I am, they are desperate for rescue. But they do not have a clutch the way I do. Nobody wants to rescue them. To Galactor, they are nothing but losses to be cut. They have probably already been scratched off the cosmic accounting spreadsheet somewhere in the future.
That sign they’ve laid out in the crops isn’t a real attempt at being rescued. It’s a hopeful waste of time which will never be seen by anyone who actually cares. I have never, in my many years of existence, felt sorry for my prey. I have never empathized with them. There has only ever been something organic between me and what I want. But right now, I do feel the stirrings of empathy. I squash them immediately. Now is not the time to start caring about who I kill.
I focus on the fact that there are three of them down here. I should wait until they are all in the same place. Then they can be dispatched all at once. If I attack now, I risk being flanked by the third. This should be done quickly and it should be done without mess. It would be terrible if humans were to see these creatures, worse, if they saw both the warboys and me killing them. This is one battle which will have to happen in silent darkness.
While I think, they are deciding to go after the third one, who apparently went out to scout the area. I am surprised at how restrained they are being. I would have thought they would go crashing into the first human settlement they found and demand that the humans serve them.
I trail them as they head out on a path made by their third member. I am surprised they don’t seem to notice my presence. They have excellent senses, and they are accustomed to doing battle with my kind. I expect them to turn at any moment and charge at me, the two of them making for potentially dangerous foes. The idea of them doing that fills me with excitement. It has been too long since I indulged in real physical battle. I need to unleash myself on something worthy, something that can fight back, do real damage.
They go deeper into the bush, their words lost to me as I keep my distance. I wonder if they are trying to set a trap for me, if the previous argument was nothing more than a ruse. I am aware
that I am moving further and further away from Tres with every step, and I am concerned for her. She has still not impressed me with her will to live, and I do not know if she is capable of running and hiding, let alone fighting, if she were to encounter hostility.
A cry ahead of me snaps my thoughts away from Tres. There is real anguish in that sound, and it comes from both the warboys. They are howling, a sound which seems to make the trees rustle with sympathy.
I approach them slowly. They are crouched over the body of a slain creature in the middle of a clearing. At first I am confused as to the reason they seem upset, then I realized that the butchered figure on the ground is not an animal. It is one of them.
A dead warboy. I have not seen many of those in my time, and never butchered like this one.
The humans must have hunted it down and slain it. Tres tried to warn me that such a thing was possible, but I would never have believed it if not for the fact that I am seeing it first hand.
The two warboys circle around the body of their third. He is not merely dead. He has been decapitated. The hands and feet have been taken as well. The legs and arms are tied down to stakes, suggesting that the humans tied the warboy down while he was still alive and butchered him.
It is a deeply unsettling sight. This is the dark side of humanity, the side which is so easy to forget about or ignore when I focus only on the sweetness that is Tres. This is a cruel little species, soft and weak, but capable of nastiness unlike any other.
I have never once considered humans to be dangerous. I still don’t truly consider them a threat, but I admit I am now forced to consider them with more respect. They are savages with nothing but stone chipped tools to bring down their prey. Scythkin have failed to prevail in battle against warboys before, so the fact that a small tribe of human males managed to bring one down is almost unthinkable.
“Flenders,” one of the warboys says. “They took his head. They carved out his chest. They have butchered him like an animal.”
“How could they have bested him? They are so weak and so primitive.”