by Alana Khan
Tyree
“Tyree,” Axxios catches my attention. “I could never go to sleep after that close call. I’ll drag in a mattress and sleep on the bridge until we leave Emirus. You can go to your cabin. I’m fine here.”
I protest. I don’t want to be derelict in my duty, but Axxios insists.
Grace is still at the comms panel, eyes following my every move, waiting patiently. I’m sure she wants to talk, that’s why she wandered in here hours ago. I gently grasp her wrist and walk with her into the hallway.
I hear a lot of happy noise drifting toward us from the mess hall. I’ve discovered that almost dying makes people hungry—and horny. My hunch is most of the other males will be eating a snack just long enough to check in with the female they were mated with when we were at the mercy of our captors. If the female is interested, there will be loud bedroom activity going on behind many closed doors in less than half an hoara.
My cabin is in a different direction than Grace’s. I pause and she pulls me to the side of the hall and pierces me with her soft blue gaze.
“I came to the bridge to ask you to help calm me, Tyree. But wow. I certainly encountered a different side of myself tonight. I can’t believe I looked him straight in the eye like a total badass,” she laughs. “I’m still not sure I’ll be able to sleep even though I know it’s irrational. Do you think you could...use your powers to help me?” She glances away.
“Of course, that’s why I offered. Grace, you just kicked ass on the bridge. You stood up to Gren, looked into his grotesque, vicious face and gave him hell. You wanted to fire lasers and destroy that ship. And yet the idea of playing your beautiful music sends you over the edge? I don’t understand.”
She looks at the floor, deep in thought. “It’s a fear I’ve fought for a long time. It’s not logical, I know.” She shrugs.
“It’s such a disconnect. On the bridge with Gren your hands were steady as a sniper’s, now they’re starting to tremble when you just think about the concert.” My throat tightens in sympathy for her, she’s struggling so hard. I tamp down the urge to hold those hands and kiss her palms.
“I never said my fears make sense, Tyree. That’s why it’s called a phobia. It’s unreasonable. That doesn’t make it any less real. Will you help me?”
Chapter Three
Tyree
“Let’s go somewhere private,” I gently grab her upper arm and head toward the solarium, my favorite room on the ship. The floor-to-ceiling windows that encircle eighty percent of the bullet-shaped room, as well as the see-through dome, provide a great view of the universe.
Grace edges to one of the panes and looks out quietly for a moment. “So vast. So beautiful,” her voice is low and filled with awe.
“Yes,” I admit earnestly, but I’m paying more attention to the lovely woman at my side than the expanse of dark space.
“Grace, have you ever wondered why you have this performance, what did you call it, phobia?”
She takes in a deep breath and slowly releases it through pursed lips like she’s gaining control of her emotions. “No.”
“Maybe if you give it some thought—”
“I haven’t wondered, Tyree, because I already know.”
There’s a long silence. “Okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” My hand reaches out to stroke her arm, but I snatch it back before I make contact.
“It’s not that. It’s just...my response is totally out of proportion, you know?”
“I don’t understand.”
“The reasons don’t seem that big a deal when I say them out loud. I think other people will think they sound small or petty, even ridiculous. This is about something that happened a lifetime ago. Other people would have moved on with their lives and followed their dreams. They wouldn’t still be affected so profoundly by something a jerk did over a decade ago.
“And me? I serve people breakfast drinks instead of living the life I want because it distressed me so deeply. If I tell you the truth I’m afraid you’ll judge me, think less of me...not like me.”
Those last three words were spoken so low I barely heard them. “I’m not other people, Grace. Give me a chance.” I want to divulge just how much I like her but now’s not the time.
Slowly at first, she tells me about a male in a parental role she had as a child. She tells me a handful of abusive things he said and did to her. Somewhere in the middle of her story, she lets me hold her small hand in mine. Toward the end, she’s cuddled next to me, her head on my chest, my arm around her shoulder.
I’ve had male hormones coursing through my body for weeks, but I think this is the first moment I’ve felt truly, fully male. I have my female in my arms. I’m providing her comfort.
“I don’t think less of you. The real Grace is the one I saw an houra ago on the bridge. She was standing in her full power in front of a vicious bully with no thought of her own safety. This fear you have comes from the primitive part of your brain that doesn’t listen to reason. There’s nothing I’d like more right now than to help you with it, to calm you. When you’re relaxed I get more access to the real Grace.” I swallow, then announce bravely, “I like her a lot.”
She rewards me by looking deeply into my eyes. There’s something about her gaze, this connection, that makes my heart squeeze in my chest.
“Tyree, when you...crawl into someone’s mind, can you read their thoughts?”
She’s afraid I’ll violate her privacy. It’s my job to reassure her. “It’s...a challenge. I developed the skill of pushing thoughts and feelings at the other person, rather than taking thoughts and feelings from them.” Then I tell her a strong, simply truth, “I’d never hurt you.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want you to read my mind. I’m too private for that.”
She places her palm on my cheek, then sifts her fingers through my hair. I shut down every iota of awareness, every other particle of my thinking, and focus on this one thing—her gentle touch. Drack my cock at this moment. Drack its pulsing neediness. This non-sexual, gentle contact is more important than anything else.
I ease into her mind like a whisper of a breeze and press a calming gust of peaceful energy toward her. In less than a minima she takes the first relaxed breath I’ve seen her inhale since Zar told her about the concerts.
She moves her hands to my shoulders and begins to hum. It’s a lilting melody that reminds me of folk tunes we used to sing on Larian. Her body sways with the music and I move with her. Other than standing on my father’s feet and “dancing” with him when I was a youngling, I’ve never danced before.
The intimacy of moving with this female, my female, might be as close as I ever get to the fantasies that haunt me day and night. I breathe in her scent as I place my hands chastely at her waist. I tamp down the urge to lodge my fingers in her hair and press her mouth close for kisses. I discard the urgent thoughts of moving my hands lower and pressing her against my insistent cock. I focus only on the connection we’re sharing right this moment.
She expels a soft sigh. I feel her muscles relax even more. Her face rests on my pectoral muscle, I can feel her gentle humming on my skin. The feel of her soft body pressed to mine, the beauty of her simple tune is like a precious gift. She’s allowing me to see little glimpses of her soul. The more I get to know her, the more connected I feel.
Grace
I wake in my bed the next morning filled with a feeling of peace like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Growing up in total chaos with my mom stole any sense of safety I might have had as a child. My muscles feel loose, my thoughts are calm.
Then fear slams into my brain. I let my guard down with Tyree last night! I danced with him, for goodness sake. For weeks I’ve been trying to hide my attraction, but I’m certain falling into his arms and humming softly against his warm skin gave that away.
My hand flies to my throat in fear as my mind bombards me with worry thoughts. I was a virgin by choice when I came aboard this ship because I
made a conscious decision as a child that I never wanted to be with a man. Hearing my mom panting and moaning in the next room under some nameless guy scared and disgusted me.
The men came and went, the type of drugs my mom was high on changed with availability, but the behaviors—her indiscriminate fucking, her neglect of her daughter—they stayed the same. Oh, and as I got older, the look in the men’s eyes changed, too.
At a young age, I learned who people really are—weak, needy, demanding, easily addicted, and selfish. And straight or sober, men want to stick penises into vaginas. It seems to mean nothing more than a moment’s pleasure. It’s gross and meaningless and I made a promise to myself I wouldn’t partake. I don’t need it. I’m above it.
The time I spent with Shadow, the forced mating in that awful cell, the physical pain—that just cemented my decision to stay happily single, unattached, and non-sexual.
I have my music. It brings me peace and joy and will never leave me or call me names or bitchslap me. I can have a great life, even a million miles from Earth. All I need is my new friends, my own little room, and my instruments.
But for the first time in my life, I feel attraction to a male who’s not up on a movie screen. I have to be honest with myself, last night in the solarium it wasn’t just my throat that was humming. My entire body was humming with the awareness of Tyree’s masculine presence.
It’s like I’m riding a whirlwind. So many thoughts are flying through my brain at once. Even more interesting is what’s going on in my body. Everything I’ve tamped down for the last twenty-six years has escaped from the container I’ve kept it in. With a vengeance!
My nipples pull into hard points just remembering those moments. Awareness awakens between my legs. I’m acutely conscious of one particular spot which is sending me increasingly urgent signals. It wants pressure. I build up my courage to explore and realize I’m damp. Energy is pooling in my stomach—maybe lower.
I use my timeworn formula to pull my mind away from these sexual thoughts and feelings. I think of a new combination of musical chords and rhythms. Not working!
I grab String Thing. Music helps. It’s always helped. My fingers are clumsy and nothing I do makes my brain pay attention to anything other than the drumbeat of my pulse, the tingle of my nipples, and the wetness of my core.
In the past I read a lot on the Internet about sexuality, arousal, and attraction trying to figure out why I wasn’t like any of the other girls at school: preoccupied with boys, flirtatious, and promiscuous. I never really found the answers I was looking for. And now this. Urgent sexual need is snaking along every nerve and synapse in my body.
How many times in the span of two months can a person’s whole life change and come crashing down? First I’m abducted from Earth and involved in a revolution. Now my whole sense of self is hijacked.
Nope. I’m having none of this. I’m returning to normal, at least my new normal. I’m going to take a shower and get dressed. I’m going to carry my instruments to the solarium, and I’m going to play. I’ll dive into the enchanting altered state of my music. The place where hours can pass as though they’re minutes. The state where Grace disappears and is so fully in the moment she has no thoughts but the present.
I’m going to avoid handsome Tyree of planet Larian. I’m going to figure out a way to be calm all day and go to sleep tonight under my own power. I don’t need help from the gorgeous male I danced with last night. I am not interested in him. Whatever aberrant behavior is going on in my body right now is a response to fear and sleep deprivation. I’m still the Grace who is not attracted to anyone. I don’t need males. I certainly don’t need Tyree.
Tyree
I tried all day to think of anything but the moment Grace and I shared in the quiet of the solarium last night. I’ll admit I’ve been unsuccessful. I’ve been humming the tune we danced to last night. My life was simpler before my dracking Transformation.
The constant erections. The obsession with Grace. I need to figure out how to manage myself, manage my body. I’m going to find Shadow—he’s in a relationship now, he must have done something right with his female. At least he’s been a male his whole life, which is a credential I don’t share.
I shower, bind my loincloth so tightly it hurts, and search for him. Ever since he bonded to Petra and realized he had nothing to prove to anyone, he rarely goes to the ludus, the gymnasium, to work out. He could be anywhere on the ship as he experiments with new things: from navigating on the bridge, baking in the kitchen—which some of the males tease him about—to tinkering in the engine room.
I find him in the last place I look, the ludus. Interestingly, he’s not lifting weights or sparring. He appears to be trying to ensure none of the other males on the ship are watching his female, Petra, who’s working out on the rope they’ve hung from the ceiling. He’s standing between the males and her, staring at them, arms crossed over his chest, and glowering.
“Shadow,” Petra calls, “come twirl the rope for me.” She gives him a sexy smile. He trots over, grabs the rope and forces it into lazy circles as she goes through a dizzying routine, most of it with her head facing the floor and her feet toward the ceiling. They’re talking in low tones that make me wonder if it’s private verbal foreplay. By the look on Shadow’s face and the erection at his hips, I believe I’m right.
Even though he and I are friends, I still harbor resentment at the way he treated Grace when they were forced to mate. He was so angry then, so closed off to anyone and anything—especially his emotions. But he found Petra and mellowed. He smiles frequently now and wants to help everyone on board. Grace forgave him. I try to forgive him, too.
I don’t want to interrupt them, so I grab a bar someone else was using, take about half the plates off, and lie back on the bench to press some weight. It’s still heavy, but I don’t need a spotter. I’ll just keep an eye on Shadow and catch him when he’s done flirting with his female.
After a few minimas, my arm muscles are quivering. I can’t do this anymore. I saunter over, acting casual.
“Hey, Shadow, got some time?”
“Sure, Tyree. I’ll catch you at dinner, Petra.” He leans over and kisses her smack on the lips, then cups the globes of her ass and grins at her. “Later,” he promises, his eyes molten with lust.
This proves one thing, people can change. He’s not the angry, isolative male I met a few lunar cycles ago.
“What’s up, brother?” he asks.
I’m honored. The gladiators use that term with each other. I never thought I would be on the receiving end of the word.
He pointedly takes one look at the sides of my loincloth, bound so tightly the fabric is cutting into my skin and turning it purple. “Female trouble?” He winks at me.
“Can we get out of here, Shadow?” Every male on the ship can’t wait to get an earful of this conversation. As a child, I was taught that gossip was the province of old ladies, but I’ve never met a bunch of people more gossip-prone than a roomful of gladiators.
We walk for a while, then end up in the small, rectangular dining hall. The undecorated room is deserted except for Maddie who’s puttering around in the adjoining kitchen making so much noise she could never overhear us.
“I’m interested in a female…” I realize what a fool I am, coming to Shadow of all people to speak about Grace. They were thrown into a cell together and forced to mate. He was an asshole to her at best, cruel at worst. She’s forgiven him, quite publicly in fact. When they're thrown together on the ship they’re cordial to each other. But talking about her might make both of us uncomfortable.
“You’re interested in Grace. Everyone knows it. Not a secret.” He shrugs.
Why exactly did I come to Shadow for advice? I forgot what a dick he could be.
“Yes,” I nod my head, why argue when he knows the truth. “I want to get to know her. I want her to...like me. I have no idea what to do.”
“And you came to me?” he laughs. “I was a com
plete drack to Petra when we met. It was a miracle she saw through my shitty side to the charming male underneath.” He gives me a lopsided grin and a wink.
I rise from my seat. I could die of old age waiting for Shadow to say something helpful.
“Sit down, brother. I wasn’t always a dracking gladiator, before that I was a dracking playboy. I have some moves.”
“I don’t want moves, Shadow. Grace is sweet. She’s a ball of nerves. She’s shy. Getting to know her shouldn’t be a move. It should be like unwrapping a delicate package. It should be like stroking a fragile amantine wing.”
“You did need me for something, Tyree. You needed to have this talk so you could say that. See? You know exactly what you need to do.”