Drayke

by Alana Khan

  I skim from here. The long and the short of it is that the first night is fellatio, the second night is anal, and the third night is...just what you’d think it is. The article went on and on about every little specific way it is supposed to go down, no pun intended. But the basics are pretty, well—basic.

  I call out to Axxios, still in his twin’s room next door; he’s back in Drayke’s exam room in a heartbeat. I gesture for him to take a seat and order myself not to blush.

  “I understand about the…” My cheeks are already heated and I’m stammering, but I promise myself I’ll finish this conversation. “Gates. What I don’t understand is how this is supposed to help me, or Drayke, or your brother.”

  Axxios pins me with his stare. “I didn’t really say this would help you or Drayke, I’m afraid. It would only save Braxxus's life.”

  He pauses. Does he want me to beg for him to explain? When I glance back at him I can see he’s anguished, staring down at the floor, shoulders slumped.

  “I feel like drack asking either you or Drayke to do this when I have no real long-term solution. But it’s my brother’s life hanging in the balance, so, yes, I’m asking.” He takes a deep breath and continues, “Here are my thoughts after reading all that material. This bonding process has been going on for millennia. Drayke couldn’t be the first male to have devolved into this state.

  “The way I see it, the first gate can be accomplished with a male who is comatose. It appears whether he’s awake or completely out of it he’s capable of getting an erection.” He glances over at the bed and the tent Drayke’s sprouting at his hips announces the truth.

  “The second gate will...uh, require his participation. So my hypothesis is that completing the first gate will give him a respite. I assume he’ll regain his sanity for a period of time. It is in that window that I’m hoping he’ll perform surgery on my brother.”

  Both our heads swivel toward the door when Braxxus emits a long, low moan. Axxios jumps up to check on him, but returns in less than a minute. “I thought maybe he was regaining consciousness, but no.” He shakes his head. “Seems worse, actually. He’s panting constantly. Unable to take anything but the shallowest breaths.”

  “The medbot, the equipment, seems pretty sophisticated. Can we just ask it to fix your brother like Steele asked it to give Drayke a shot?”

  Axxios shakes his head, sadly. “Even with all this technology,” he gestures to the medbot arms in their holsters on the walls, “they need a physician to program them, to tell them what to do, to orchestrate their intricate movements. I’m the most technically savvy person on this ship and this is far above my abilities.”

  “So Axxios, you’ve read all this material, I only got to the first article. What will happen if no more gates are opened after the first one?”

  He sighs. “I read all of it. I crawled all over the Intergalactic Database, Nova. At some point, and I don’t know how long it will be, he’ll regress to where he is now. Before that, he may choose to commit sanctu, ritual suicide.”

  The room is bathed in complete silence for long minutes. I’m not even thinking, I’m not capable of it. My brain is like a frozen computer.

  Axxios seems about to put his hand gently on my knee, but pulls it back, obviously thinking better of it.

  “I’ll leave you to your thoughts, Nova. You’re a good female. It was generous of you to even listen to my request. I’m a selfish male. I shouldn’t have asked. But I’ll never regret the supplication, not really. I’ll go to my grave knowing I did everything possible to save my brother. But I’ve done everything I can do. Now the decision is yours.”

  He reaches out and this time he does gently touch my knee, holding it there until I raise my tear-rimmed eyes to his.

  “I’ll respect your decision, Nova. If you can’t do this, I will understand. I promise I’ll never hold it against you.”

  He stands up, thumps his chest with his fist, and bows his head low. It is the highest sign of respect a gladiator can bestow. It is deeply meaningful to me and touches my heart.

  “Truly, Nova, the choice is in your hands.”

  My eyes are too full of tears to see anything more than a watery blur, but I hear the door close behind him and know I’m alone with Drayke.

  I scoot my chair back over to Drayke’s bedside and pet his head. It helps me think.

  This ship is now my home. I have nowhere else in the entire universe to go. I’m not going back to Earth; these people are now my family. I’ve never said one word to the male, but in a way, Braxxus is like family, too.

  Even though I haven’t known him long, I have deep feelings for the male lying on this bed. After my initial distrust, he’s proved to be the kindest, most attentive male a woman could hope for.

  A tiny smile touches my face as I remember him in the solarium, feeding me with his own dracking hand. Then the smile fades and I’m aware of sexual desire sparking between my legs. There is no arguing that under different circumstances I’d be more than happy to put my mouth and lips on him.

  But the bonding, the forever thing? No one could say yes to that after knowing someone for such a short period of time.

  I play things out in my head. So I open the first gate with Drayke, he gets back to his old self, he patches Braxxus up—if that’s even possible. And then what? He slowly or quickly devolves and we’re back to where we are right now?

  It suddenly strikes me that this might not be so terrible. It won’t be a hardship on me, it’s not like I’m making some huge sacrifice to touch Drayke. I know I’d like it, didn’t I beg to do this the other night? It might save Braxxus's life. And it will bring Drayke back on line mentally, maybe allow him to make his own decision about sanctu.

  I walk out and enter Braxxus's room. It’s the same dimensions as mine, but its presence is filled with Axxios who is hunched over his twin’s bed and weeping. I don’t think he heard me enter.

  “I’ll do it.”

  He whips his head toward me, eyes wide in question.

  “I’ll do it. How long do you think he’ll have before…”

  “I read all the literature, Nova. I have no idea. The gates are supposed to be opened one each for three days. As far as the symptoms, I don’t know what happens if the Second gate isn’t opened.”

  “I want to do this in our cabin,” I say firmly. If this is going to happen, it will be done in a way that is more comfortable for me, and in the way Drayke would want it done. “I want him untied.”

  “We can move his bed to your cabin, no problem. But when that sedative wears off he’ll start raging again. You have to maintain your safety, Nova.”

  “As you said, the Dacian race has survived for eons with these biochemical quirks. I’ll have to trust that when nature takes its course, the biological imperative will dictate that the male doesn’t kill his female in a rage before the gates are all opened. I’ll take my chances,” I say that last part with finality; I’m not budging on that.

  He nods. “As you wish.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Nova

  Grace’s soothing music is playing through the computer in the background; Drayke is lying on the bed. He’s on top of the comforter but still covered by his hospital sheet. He’s nude; someone stripped those filthy, uncomfortable clothes off him while he was sedated.

  Maddie brought me an industrial-sized pot at my request. I’ve filled it with warm water and it’s sitting on the stand next to the bed. I re-read the description from the scientific article. It addressed the specifics of how followers of Lord Anteros performed their rituals for opening the First Gate. I’ve heard Drayke mention his God, I’ve heard him pray, and I know he’d want me to follow these instructions as closely as possible. I’ll respect that.

  There are no bathtubs on a vessel like this. Thus, no “ritual bath.” But I take a long shower, while I listen to the calming electronic music. I’m relaxed. There’s only one thing I can count on in this whole process—Drayke will not hurt me. Of thi
s I’m certain.

  I find a white shirt in his closet which is mostly filled with those sexy blue jumpsuits he wears when he’s not impersonating some asshole slave owner on one planet or another. It’s clean and smells fresh and seems like something an innocent female might wear to greet her male for this ceremony. Or at least it’s the closest thing I have that will honor this process.

  I pull the bedside table as close to the bed as possible and pull off Drayke’s sheet. I can’t help but suck in a long breath. Awake or comatose, Drayke’s body is a beautiful sight to behold. He’s almost spare, there is no extra meat on his bones. That masculine form of wide shoulders, narrow waist and hips, and long muscled legs must be the pure luck of genetics.

  After having been in the company of only gladiators for the past two years, and MMA fighters prior to that, I can appreciate the stark masculine beauty of a man who isn’t muscle-bound. A man who, just through daily activities and great DNA, is in peak physical condition. I can see his musculature under his gorgeous blue skin. He’s strong and handsome. To me, he has the perfect male body.

  I begin washing him at the top of his head. I don’t want to soak him, but I use a washcloth to smooth his hair. I wash his face, taking great care to reach the corners of his eyes, his ears, his mouth. I’m taking this as seriously as I know he would on what in his mind would be his wedding night.

  Grabbing the washcloth, I wet it again and wring it out, then move down those muscled shoulders and pecs to his slim waist. Back up to arms, fingers, and palms.

  As I go back to the pot of warm water and wring the washcloth again I can’t help but stare at his cock. It’s hard. It has been since we’ve been back on board the Slacker from Aeon, and probably long before that. I can’t help but focus on his body’s perfection. The particular shade of blue is so beautiful. His cock and balls are hairless, and their darker color draws my eye, beckoning me.

  I’ve been trying to do this ritual bath as chastely as possible. It would be the way Drayke would want it—to come to me clean and ready for beginning a life together. But I’m already so aroused; my mouth is dry, my core is clenching. Balling my fists, I curb the desire to stroke him.

  Though I’ve been keeping the pace of this ritual as slow as I think Drayke would want it, my movements speed up of their own volition. I avoid the jutting cock that is almost imperceptibly pulsing near his navel. Washing his hips, I note the firm hip bone jutting from unmarred skin.

  I try not to think of my skin, blemished by dozens of cuts and surgeries, not to mention the grisly scar at my amputation site. It would draw his attention if his eyes were open—I know with certainty he’d find me beautiful, scars and all. I recall him gently kissing the site of my wound the other day. It was a gesture of deep and complete acceptance, which is what I offer him now.

  After rinsing the cloth, I wipe down his meaty thighs, his calves, ankles, and feet. He’s uncomfortable in fancy highborn clothes—he told me that. He had to practically sell his soul to pay off his student loans. I don’t think he had a particularly privileged life. But his skin is perfect, with no scars to draw the eye. He’s never been a slave, never worn a pain/kill collar, never been beaten. I’m glad for him. He hasn’t had to struggle.

  Except for now. The woman he’s bonded with has rejected him, which has caused untold pain. His eyes clearly show how much he cares for me. I’ve tried to tell myself it’s only the bonding hormones, that I could be a brainless, toothless degenerate and he’d still want me because of chemistry. But that’s a lie. I know it. I’ve known that from the start.

  He cares for me. He’s done more than tell me, which is the easy part. I watched my brothers say things to girls since I was in grade school. They would say anything to get what they wanted—to get a girl in their bed.

  But Drayke isn’t like that. He’s done more than tell me things any woman wants to hear. He’s shown me with his behavior. He’s been kind and honest and almost-embarrassingly protective. Most obviously, though, he hasn’t pressured me about bonding. And look where that’s gotten him. Comatose and on the razor’s edge of insanity.

  I refocus back on his blue skin and perfect body. My tongue presses against my bottom teeth, my jaw tight. I can’t wait to get on with this.

  “Computer, dim lights.” I don’t want dazzling brightness, nor do I want to do this in the dark. I want to see every second of what's to come. I know it’s cheating to even think like this, but in a way, this is my wedding night, too.

  I rinse the cloth again and wrap it around his cock. Sucking in a quick breath, I don’t move a muscle. I’m not even touching his blue flesh and I think I’m more turned on than ever before in my life. Even through the soft cloth, I can feel his blood pulsing beneath my fingers. It is so intimate, touching him here. I wish he’d open those cobalt eyes and talk to me. I want to hear how this feels to him. I’ll have to imagine it for him. How erotic it must be to have the female he’s fantasized about grab him in this private way.

  I slowly wipe from base to tip, then back. I don’t know whether I want to keep this as chaste as possible, or if it should be foreplay. I decide the bath should be the bath, the sex should start afterward. I dip below to wash his balls and decide the bath is complete. I toss the cloth into the water. The sound of the splash catches my attention. Then I turn my eyes back to him and drink in the sight of him.

  The ritual bath felt good, appropriate. It’s only now that I’m about to do other things to Drayke’s body, that a little voice in the back of my head begins to protest that this poor man is comatose. I guess it is a little pervy. If he were doing this to me when I was out of it, I think I’d be pissed.

  But I settle down immediately. I know this is what he wanted. I honestly don’t think he’d be offended. This thought is like a starter pistol in my mind, but I ratchet things back and remember the instructions in the journal. What's next? A prayer.

  “Dear Lord God Anteros,” I begin shyly. But this is how Drayke has addressed his God, I want this to be just the way he’d want it. “I don’t know anything about you. But I know Drayke believes in you and prays to you. Drayke is a wonderful male, and if he thinks you are a just and merciful God, then I offer these words to you.

  “Drayke is a good male. He deserves the very best in life. He should have a female who will cherish him and bond with him and be good to him for all the days of his life. For his sake, I ask you to provide that for him. Please forgive me for...playing the system. I only want to bring him back to his regular self. Let him live through this and find a better female than me to bond with. Someone who will love him and give him the life he deserves…”

  I thought I had more to say, but I don’t. My libido vanished and I’m sad. Not just sad—bereft. I just asked Drayke’s God to find him someone better than me. I know I’m not the right female for him, but that doesn’t make me happy about praying for him to move on. It’s interesting to discover a deep character flaw at a time like this, but I only now realize that I just might be the most selfish person I’ve ever met.

  I lie on my left side next to him and put my right arm across the expanse of his chest. My arm still has a light wrapping of gauze over plas-film. Good, I don’t want to have to look at it. I place my right leg across his hips, avoiding his erection. I just hold him like this for a while.

  I breathe in and out. Slowly, just like I learned in jiu-jitsu. Focusing on the breath clears the mind. Now that I’m in the moment, I allow my attention to stray to my body. I catalog every thought and feeling as it drifts through my mind. The softness of his skin. The way our breathing seems to sync without effort. The beauty of his profile. The tightness of my nipples. The desire pooling in my pelvis. My core pulses with desire. As I watch it, it builds and ignites.

  I shift my weight and straddle him. I’m wearing the white shirt, but no panties. My core is inches above his abdomen; I want to grind on him, suddenly aware that I’m already dripping wet.

  “Slow down, Nova.” I whisper to myself. “
You have all the time in the world.”

  I bend my head to kiss him. I feather kisses to his forehead, gently graze each eyelid, then ply kisses to those full, muted magenta lips. For the first time tonight, I get a response. Almost imperceptible at first, his lips press back. When my tongue delves inside, I’m bathed in his taste. I toy with his tongue, which begins to lick mine in return.

  He groans. I hadn’t expected that. I sit up, not wanting to hurt him. This position puts my open, wet core directly on his muscled abdomen.

  He makes another noise, this one not a groan; it sounds sexual, excited. I bend down again, to resume kissing. My slick slit is firmly planted on his flat belly. A sound escapes me, almost echoing the noise he made a moment ago. Yes, I want this, is the message it sends.

  My teeth scrape downward, along his jawline, gently along the cords of his neck and toward his nipple. Down farther, past his six-pack, avoiding the pulsing cock. I nip the tender flesh above the hipbone, then down to the crease between torso and thigh. He likes this. I know because that garnered a slight hip thrust. I wonder if that brilliant brain is coming back online.

  I’m now on my knees, crouched between his spread thighs. My core no longer has anything to press against; hot need pulses there. I cup his balls, which elicits another hip thrust. As I explore his tender sac, he moans again and bucks his hips.

  “Drayke.” I want him here with me. I want his presence, I don’t just want his body. I want Drayke back the way he was, vibrant and earnest and funny. My heart clenches in desire. Not sexual desire, but desperate hunger to have him. All at once I realize how much I like him. We’ve been together almost every moment since he rescued me from Bellona and I don’t want to be without him. I don’t want him to fade away into insanity.