Continuity Note: This story is not in the same version of the Mirror CrushVerse as To the Empire, and has no impact on the primary CrushVerse.
Prologue
His mustache pricks my lips when we kiss, and I flinch.
"Problem, lover?"
"Sorry. There was too much garlic in the Thai basil sauce at dinner. My lips are burning." It's a lie of course, but telling him that I hate the mustache would not go over well.
"Perhaps you should avoid spicy sauces in the future."
"Perhaps I should."
He kisses me again, pushing his tongue into my mouth. As always, there's a faint acidity to his kisses. I wonder if it's something he's doing intentionally, because he gets off on pain, or if it's something inherent to all androids.
As if there are more than one… well, two. But we never speak of the other android. His brother.
My tongue duels with his as his hands reach for the fastening of my cadet uniform. I'm wearing the version that bares my midriff because he thinks it's hot. At least he hasn't insisted on the short skirts that used to be standard for women in the Imperial Fleet. Not that the trousers we wear are any less revealing, skin-tight as they are.
He tosses my shirt aside and removes my bra, ceasing his assault on my mouth to focus on my breasts, my nipples. First licking, then sucking, then biting. His teeth press a little too hard and I whimper.
He looks up at me, his face holding the hint of a smirk. "Too much, baby?"
He wants me to say yes, to be weak, and I refuse. "No," I say. "It's good." He was already shirtless before I'd arrived in his quarters, so now I reach for the gold sash tied around his waist. It's almost the same color as his skin. I cast the sash aside and let my fingers open his trousers. "So good."
His smirk broadens into a menacing grin, and when he attacks my left nipple again, he bites hard enough to draw blood. It hurts, but there's pleasure in the pain, and I hate that, and I wish I could hate him.
I find his cock and wrap my hand around it at the same time he manages to push my trousers to the floor. "No need to use your hands tonight, lover," he tells me, pulling away. He takes one of the sashes – I'm not sure if it's his or mine – and ties my hands behind my back. "On your knees."
He doesn't quite force me to take the position he wants, but when my lips meet his cock he fists his hands into my hair, pulling it rather than giving me verbal directions. I lift my eyes every so often to try to catch his expression, to gauge his… status… but it's not until I feel him throw his head back that I know his release is imminent.
His fluids are also acidic, burning the back of my throat, and it's agony to swallow, but if I don't, he'll tell me I'm rejecting him, that I think he's not worthy of being with an organic, and there's something in his voice whenever he says those things that holds an underlying truth. I wonder, not for the first time, who caused this man – this brilliant, ruthless man – to become so twisted.
Androids don't require recovery periods. I've barely caught my breath when he lifts me to my feet, and then pushes me, face down, onto the bed about half a meter away. He isn't entirely self-centered, though. His cock may be driving into me from behind, but his fingers are at work, too, ensuring my pleasure, ensuring that I reach climax.
He gets some kind of smug satisfaction by knowing he can bring me off.
I'm just at that peak when he tugs my hair again. "Say my name when you come for me, lover," he coaxes.
And I can't help it. I scream my orgasm into the bedspread, all the pleasure and pain wrapped in one word – one name – "Lore!"