Passionate by Moonbeam

by Cynthia Sax

  “I need to taste you.” Win bent over him and lapped at his broad cock head. The flavor of wild honey burst in her mouth and she moaned. “My Vern tastes sweet.” She tongued his slit, searching for more of his essence. “He’s addictive.” She wiggled her ass. “I want to suck him dry.”

  “Suck me, my Win.” Vern cupped the back of her head, pushing his tip inside her mouth, his girth stretching her lips tight around him.

  She took more and more of him, navigating each crest, each valley, until his cock head tapped the back of her throat. Win wrapped her fingers around his remaining shaft, sucking on him as he vibrated inside her.

  She slid her gaze toward the glass. More scientists had joined Dr. Galbraith. They watched her suck her alien lover’s cock, their foreheads furrowed with thought lines, their mouths set sternly.

  These were her fellow scientists. In the future, she’d meet them at society events or science panels and they’d have seen her this way with her face buried in Vern’s groin, her cheeks indented around his shaft, her chin pressed against his balls.

  For Earth. For Sila. Win swept her tongue along Vern’s ridges as she dragged her lips upward. For us. She met his gaze, concentrating on the male she cared for, the male she loved. She’d sacrifice everything for him, her professional pride, her reputation, her heart.

  Vern pulled on her hair, the sharp pinpricks of pain heightening her arousal. She wiggled her ass, wishing to mount him, to fill her empty pussy with his big cock. She couldn’t. If she did, she’d lose all rational thought, forget about the sperm sample, delay the tests needed to prompt a treaty between Sila and Earth.

  Win bobbed up and down, supplementing Vern’s vibrations with motion. He guided her, his fingers splayed over her skull, buried in her curls. Her world narrowed down to him and her, male and female, alien and human, contemplations of the other scientists discarded.

  Vern’s balls lifted, hugging his body. “My Win,” he groaned. He thrust wildly into her mouth, pulling her toward him, his lack of control thrilling her. She did that to him, made him a wild creature.

  “I am close,” he warned, the skin over his face stretching tight, his lips pressed into a flat blue line.

  Win reached out, blindly patting the table beside them, searching for the specimen cup. She touched hard polypropylene, gripped the cup.

  “My Win,” Vern roared, driving his hips upward. Win hastily straightened and replaced her mouth with the specimen cup. Hot jets of cum splattered against the bottom, the sound resembling raindrops falling on a tin roof.

  “My Win.” He thrust his hips three more times, half filling the cup, and he collapsed, his ass slapping against the surgical table. “My Win.” He stretched his arms out.

  “I’m here.” She snapped the lid on the specimen cup, placed it on the nearby table and joined him, cuddling into his hot body. His chest heaved against her left cheek. His breath mussed her hair. “We got our sample.”

  “You are pleased.” Vern brushed a curl away from her face, his touch gentle and loving.

  “I’m pleased.” Win gazed up at him.

  “Good.” Vern nodded. “I wish to please you.” He drifted one of his fingertips down her cheek, his caress curling her toes. “You mean everything to me.”

  “Do I?” Win snuggled deeper into his muscular form. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever meant anything to anyone.

  “Yes.” He traced her lips slowly, carefully, as though he had a lifetime to love her. “When I look at your beautiful face, hear your voice, smell your scent, my chest heats. I am told this is the human love emotion and it is damage I do not ever want to fix.”

  “My Vern.” Win blinked back tears, the love inside her expanding exponentially, overfilling her heart and spilling into her soul. “I love you too.” She sucked on one of his ridges, tasting the salt of his skin.

  Vern turned his head toward the glass. Win followed his gaze. The scientists watched them. Dr. Galbraith rested her forehead against the partition. Her mouth moved. Win heard nothing.

  Vern chuckled, amusement lighting his face, making him appear even more striking, more handsome. “I have four siblings, Dr. Galbraith,” he said louder. “They are all male and without druzkas.”

  “Sweet rings of Saturn.” Dr. Galbraith’s groan rolled through the laboratory. “Please note that the test subject has superior hearing.”

  Win pressed her lips against Vern’s chest, muffling her laughter with his warm skin. She was loved. She was envied by one of the top scientists on the planet. She had never been happier.

  Chapter Seven

  Eight planet rotations later, Vern watched the Earth Talker footage on a primitive viewscreen, his attention riveted by the carnage. The Mravenecs had grown brazen, attacking a major settlement, causing much damage before the Silans had stopped them. There had been too few Fixers on the arriving ships and numerous humans had been terminated.

  “Why are the human Rulers doing nothing?” he asked. “The Mravenecs will attack again and more precious females will be terminated.”

  “Dr. Galbraith says negotiations with the Silans have started.” His Win rubbed a square of fabric over her wet hair. She had wrapped a total body garment around her lush curves, concealing her pale skin from his view.

  Vern terminated the power to the viewscreen, transferring his full attention to his druzka. “You wear too many garments.” He tilted his head back and inhaled, smelling her womanly scent and the sweet fragrance of her hair cleanser. Will the hair cleanser make her pussy juices taste even sweeter? His spicka hardened. “And you do not smell of me.” He feigned a frown. “Males will not know who you belong to.”

  “Everyone knows who I belong to.” His Win strode toward him, her hips swaying enticingly. “They’ve watched you claim me numerous times a day during the past eight days.” She glanced toward the clear divider. Human males and females with small viewscreens watched them.

  “I must claim you again.” Vern lunged forward. His Win shrieked, jumping away from him. She didn’t move fast enough. He grabbed her by the waist, lifted her off the floor and smashed their forms together, her breasts flattening against his chest. “I have you, druzka.”

  “You always have me.” His Win laughed, leaning back, trusting him to hold her. Her moist curls flowed down her back, wetting his fingers. “Should I hook the electrodes to you or to me this time?”

  “I will strap you to the single-ass support.” He carried her to the well-used piece of furniture. “And suck your pussy dry.”

  “I just took a shower.” She wiggled, the scent of her arousal increasing, torturing Vern. “I’m very wet.”

  “I’m very thirsty.” He set her carefully on the white padded surface. “I—”

  “You have visitors,” Dr. Galbraith interrupted them, her breathless voice filling the chambers. “I suggest you dress quickly. Shit. I have to go.”

  Silence followed.

  “It’s not like Dr. Galbraith to use profanities.” His Win jumped to the floor, her bare feet smacking against the tile. “Here.” She tossed him the garments the humans had provided for him, garments he refused to wear.

  “I am a Fixer.” Vern set the light-brown ass covering and gray chest covering on the single-ass support. “Fixers wear blue garments.”

  “You’re on Earth.” His Win pulled a chest covering over her head. “Fixers wear different colors on Earth.” The fabric of her chest covering was green, a color only Silan Rulers wore, and it transformed his Win’s hair, causing the tendrils to glow as though they had been lit by fire. “No one will think you are damaged if you wear gray or brown.”

  I will wear these Earth garments for my druzka. Vern donned the chest covering easily, the neck opening tearing slightly, the soft fabric stretching across his ridges. His arms were exposed. Fixers never bared their limbs in public. He flexed, excited by that small act of rebellion.

  The ass covering was more challenging. His large thighs ripped the light-brown garment. T
he metallic fastener did not function, no matter how many times he pressed it. “The ass covering is damaged.”

  “Humans call them pants.” His Win’s voice sang with amusement. “I’ll help you.” She slid one of her hands down the garment she called pants. Vern’s spicka hardened even more, his shaft vibrating vigorously.

  “I like the way you help,” he drawled.

  “This is not helping.” His Win laughed. “Out of my way, spicka.” She pushed his shaft to the side and tugged on the metallic fastener, closing his pants. “There.” She appeared pleased. “That’s better.”

  “That is not better.” He pulled on the fabric, trying to ease the pressure on his spicka. “This is fabricated for a smaller male.”

  “It isn’t designed for an aroused Silan.” She cupped his varles through his pants, her action increasing Vern’s torment. “We’ll—”

  Metal rasped against metal as the doors to their chambers slid open. Threat. Vern sprang forward, spreading his arms out and widening his stance, putting his big body between his Win and any potential danger.

  “You’re magnificent even in human clothes.” Professor Roberto gaped at him. She wore the same brown shoulder covering she’d worn during the Mravenec attack. There was no damage under her pale-blue eyes.

  Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko, Warrior Miar Najazd and Talker Mowca Bawic stood behind the small human female, their expressions grim. They wore the uniforms appropriate for their statuses. “Fixer Vern Zajac,” Ruler Arystokrata addressed him first. “You appear,” his gaze lowered, “human.”

  “I had no Fixer garments, Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko.” Vern lifted his chin, unprepared to show weakness in front of his Win.

  “My Vern’s clothes were given to him by his human hosts.” His reckless female ducked under his arm. “If he hadn’t worn the clothes, they would have been offended.” Her face twisted as it always did when she fabricated a lie.

  “Your Vern?” The Ruler raised his eye ridges. “Fixer Vern Zajac, you were told your druzka could not return with you to Sila.”

  “I am not returning to Sila.” Vern wrapped one of his arms around his Win’s waist, willing to terminate his own Ruler or any other being to keep her.

  “He’s right.” Dr. Galbraith appeared in the doorway, her yellow hair mussed, her white garment crooked. “We need Fixer Vern to help smooth relations between Earth and Sila.” She pushed her body between Ruler Arystokrata and Warrior Miar.

  “Sweet rings of Saturn. You’re even bigger than Fixer Vern.” Dr. Galbraith tilted her head back, gazing up at Warrior Miar, and her mouth dropped open.

  Warrior Miar stared down at her, his body scarily still. His face flooded with black pigment, signaling that he was either very angry or extremely aroused.

  Earth Talkers had reported the termination of Warrior Miar’s druzka. The Silan wouldn’t be aroused by any other female. “Dr. Galbraith is a Fixer.” Vern rushed to fabricate a fix before Warrior Miar vented his anger on the small human female, jeopardizing the Earth-Silan alliance. “She would not damage Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko.” He stepped forward. “Fixers do not fight.”

  “Warriors do not fix,” Warrior Miar repeated, his voice strangled with emotion. He captured Dr. Galbraith’s face between his big hands. “I thought you had been terminated.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear.” Dr. Galbraith smiled shyly. “Have we met? What am I saying?” She laughed, her pitch resembling that of a young human female. “Of course, we haven’t met. I would have remembered you.”

  “I would never forget you.” The grim Warrior caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. “Druzka.”

  “Druzka?” Vern and his Win repeated. Ruler Arystokrata groaned. Dr. Galbraith and Warrior Miar ignored them, acting as though they stood on a planet occupied only by them.

  “What Dr. Galbraith was trying to say before she lost her mind,” Professor Roberto rolled her eyes, “was that at least one couple should remain on Earth. Otherwise it looks like you only want our women and you don’t care about our people or our planet.”

  We do only care about the females. Vern opened his mouth to share that truth.

  “We call the beings in these roles ambassadors.” His Win clasped his arm, her body vibrating with excitement. “My Vern could be Sila’s Ambassador to Earth. He’s a Fixer, able to fix situations not requiring a Ruler’s decision-making skills or a Warrior’s battle prowess.”

  “I am not a true Fixer,” Vern admitted, unable to lie to his Ruler. “I have interest in other statuses.”

  “I am aware of that damage,” Ruler Arystokrata admitted.

  He is aware of my damage? Vern met the Ruler’s gaze and saw no disapproval in his swirling green eyes.

  “That damage, as you call it, makes my Vern more human.” His Win touched his gray chest covering. “My people will feel more comfortable with him. They’ll understand him and he’ll understand them.”

  “Please consider that solution, Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko.” Dr. Galbraith rejoined the conversation, her fingers linked with Warrior Miar’s, her face pink. “You’ll have time to think it over. A treaty has to be negotiated between Sila and Earth and I have to run more tests on Fixer Vern and Dr. Tilsdale.”

  “Dr. Galbraith.” A soldier ran into the chambers. “You’re needed at Headquarters. There’s been another attack.” The young male’s face was pale. “The other aliens.” He glanced at Warrior Miar. “They stopped it but not before…” His voice cracked. “It’s bad, Doctor.”

  “You will require more Fixers.” Vern released his grip on his Win. “I am a Fixer. Take me there.”

  “I will take you there, Fixer Vern Zajac.” Warrior Miar nodded.

  “You will take us both there.” His Win took Vern’s hand, her fingers trembling in his palm, the scent of fear surrounding her. She met his gaze. “Where you go, I go.”

  The heat in Vern’s chest spread.

  * * * * *

  “Someone’s touching me.” The woman attempted to turn her head. She was unable to move, Vern having gripped her neck, holding her steady.

  “Look at me.” Win acted as though Vern wasn’t there, not talking to him, not looking at him. The victims were traumatized enough by the attack without coming face-to-face with a blue-and-green alien.

  They’d designed a system to prevent that occurrence from happening. The army had curtained off a corner of the medic tent and patients were brought one at a time into the space, Vern remaining hidden until they lost consciousness.

  Only one stubborn old woman, Gladys, had stayed awake while he removed the shrapnel from her face. Now fully healed, the former schoolteacher sat in a chair at the end of the stretcher, gazing at Vern as though he was a god.

  Win ignored her, too tired to think of anyone or anything other than her current task. “Someone is touching you.” She held the patient’s hand. “I am.” Beads of perspiration covered the woman’s golden skin. Blood splattered her formerly white blouse. She had been sitting in a park during her lunch hour, reading a book, when the Mravenec assault began.

  “My leg.” The woman’s voice grew softer, the lines around her mouth and eyes flattening as Vern eased her pain.

  “Don’t worry about your leg.” Win maintained her firm tone. The patient needed her strength, not her sympathy. “Look at me.”

  The woman blinked up at Win, the time intervals between the blinks increasing until her eyes closed. She breathed deeply, a semi-smile on her face.

  “She’s asleep.” Win set the woman’s hand on the pillow.

  “I cannot fix her.” Vern peeled the torn clothing away from the woman’s severed leg. “I cannot fix what is not there.” Agony edged his voice, an agony Win shared. They’d seen so much suffering today, so much death.

  “Fix what you can.” She touched his arm.

  “I will.” Vern sighed and wrapped his long fingers around the damaged limb. He closed his eyes. His face turned blue. His breathing grew ragged. His healing was painful to wat
ch, the effort straining his body and decreasing his energy reserves to alarmingly low levels.

  Win watched Vern closely, prepared to stop the process if necessary, determined to protect him, the alien male she loved. Jagged edges of skin stretched over the injury, stemming the bleeding, sealing the wound. Vern added layers upon layers of healthy epidermis, not a single scar marring the brand new skin.

  “It’s a miracle,” the elderly schoolteacher whispered, awe in her voice.

  Vern’s shoulders slumped. “She has no leg.” The sadness in his predominately blue eyes tugged at Win’s heart. “If she had a leg, then it would be a miracle.” He swayed.

  Win rushed to his side. “You have to rest.” She held him upright.

  “There are more humans to fix.” Vern leaned against her, his body heavy, his skin hot. “The next damage might belong to another male’s druzka.” He rested his chin on her shoulder. “What if that druzka had been you?” he murmured. “I would want the Fixer to continue, to damage himself if necessary.”

  “I can’t allow you to damage yourself.” She clutched him closer to her. “You’re too important to me, my Vern.”

  “I’ll help, miss.” The schoolteacher patted Win’s back. “I’ll talk to the wounded men or women. You help your young man.”

  My young man. Win murmured a thank-you and helped Vern to stand. At some point during the day, he’d stopped being a huge scary blue-and-green alien and had become her young man.

  “Stay here, love.” Win lowered Vern to a chair hidden between the curtain and the wall of the tent.

  She poked her head out of the curtain folds, into the main section of the tent. Patients moaned. Bodies writhed on narrow cots. Doctors and nurses rushed down aisles, yelling instructions, their scrubs splattered with blood.