This took longer than anticipated because I wanted to do it right. I feel like everyone's been waiting for it for a while and therefore there were certain expectations. I hope I've delivered. Let me know =)
Nose wrinkled, Hwynn took in the mess which was her arm. Inflamed skin with the lingering cast of infection had been seemingly haphazardly stapled together, creating a patchwork effect she might almost find laughable if not for her deathly constitution.
The past however-long had passed in a feverish daze for her, snippets of sound and the all-pervading pain laced chill being all that she could recall. She'd woken disoriented and ill, barely able to roll to the side fast enough to retch the contents of her roiling stomach - which had amounted to bile - that simple effort leaving her trembling and perspiring. The fact she could actually still articulate her hand, no matter how small the movement and how excruciating the pain, was some kind of cruel joke. How the hound hadn't shattered her radius and ulna, she'd never understand. Why the blue eyed male had treated her was less of a mystery - he wanted her to reverse his muteness, a miracle she couldn't perform if she was dead.
He'd left her on the floor. No blanket, nothing to cushion her head - not that she'd been coherent enough to notice before now. She wasn't bunking with the hounds any longer, however. Her bleary eyes struggled in the low lighting, but the room did look to sport something akin to a bed covered in furs, and mounted above it a gargantuan xenomorph cranium. Nearly every available square inch of wall space was occupied by skulls, in fact. Were she not contemplating throwing up again, she might have liked to study them up close. The blurry silhouettes of several didn't appear to be any species she was familiar with - not that it surprised her a species which had been space faring as long as Yautja had would have discovered far more lifeforms than humans had yet.
The door opened to reveal another silhouette which quickly resolved into her self-serving saviour. He wore his battered armor, the white eye slits glowing wickedly as he stepped inside. A strange violet substance had splattered his torso and she saw as he stalked towards her that his hands were also liberally coated. Something else he'd killed, she deduced. He paused, towering over her, and one of those large hands - capable of prying a hound's jaws open - curled into a fist.
What had she done now?
Glancing down, she remembered the puke. "I hope you're not expecting an apology for that." If he wanted her to fix his voice, he shouldn't have left her caged with those beasts - none of this would have happened. It defied logic, even if she was well aware he loathed her - all humans, it seemed.
He lifted his arm and the wrist device incorporated into his vambrace sprang open. Hwynn watched with unease as he jabbed the thing with what she imagined to be more force than strictly necessary. Over his shoulder, the dented metal casing housing what revealed itself to be a plasmacaster slid back, the muzzle of the weapon protruding and angling down towards her. Before she even had time to reassure herself of the absurdity of fearing he would kill her now it hummed to life and discharged.
Twisting away from the incoming fire was a knee-jerk reaction, and one that wrenched her poor arm badly. That she was still alive and present to experience that discomfort was processed with the speed of a snail. Carefully uncurling from the fetal position, her gaze darted first up as the plasmacaster receded back inside its curved housing, and then behind her to the fading glow of the red hot deck plating and the scorch mark surrounding it, which were all the evidence which now remained that she'd been sick. A shiver inadvertently travelled the length of her spine.
What an asshole.
Janitorial duties rendered, he bent down and caught her by the 'scruff' of her lab coat.
"Stop - wait!" she squawked in alarm, yelping at the pressure this placed on her injured shoulder. "What are you doing?! Stop!" It was pointless, but that didn't prevent her from bawling at him as he proceeded to haul her across the room and through a second doorway she'd failed to take stock of. She was deposited on some kind of grating and a moment later scalding hot water rained down from above, prompting another yowl of pain. When she attempted to crawl away from the spray he ruthlessly applied his clawed foot to her chest, shoving her back.
Hwynn huddled in a ball and resigned herself to being boiled alive. Minutes passed. She cracked an eye open to find the smaller room empty. Unnerved by the silence in which the male could move about, she managed to heave herself out from beneath the shower of burning water, but the short interaction had totally drained her. Forced to slump against the wall by the doorway, she tried to collect herself.
Something clattered to the decking, rousing her, and she realized in exasperation both that she'd drifted off and that she once again had company. Raising her head, she blinked up at the male. Unattired apart from a loincloth now, he balefully returned her stare for a beat before stepping beneath the spray, evidently unbothered by the high temperature - which was in keeping with the ambient humidity and temperature of the ship, she supposed.
None of the cadavers had been as large or well developed as he was and she couldn't help wondering what aspect of his size was due to genetics and what was simply age. There were certainly marked variations between his physical appearance and that of the two specimens they'd been holding on the station. The double upper tusks and more prominent cranial ridge, most notably, but she could now see he also looked to possess additional bony spurs on his ankles and elbows. Were expressions of such variations just the luck of the genetic lottery, or were they linked to specific lines of Yautja - subspecies, even?
Whether or not the male minded her unabashed scrutiny it didn't even occur to her to question until he hit a panel which apparently controlled the shower, disengaging the water, and then kicked a vessel she hadn't been aware was sitting on the floor towards her, spilling half the contents. He disappeared into the adjoining room as she leaned forward to examine the rudely supplied offering of what seemed to be some kind of dehydrated meat mixed with a handful of nuts and a plump ruby fruit.
So, nearly dying carried with it the perk of being fed.
Dubious of the meat and fruit, Hwynn started with the nuts. She didn't know if her empty stomach would tolerate anything too substantial and decided to give it some time before she attempted eating more for fear she'd wind up tossing it all back up. The stench of singed puke still clung to her nostrils and she was in no rush to repeat that experience.
The burst of rolling clicks were evidence enough Zihrait was aware without the benefit of his sight that she was standing naked before him. His hand remained splayed across her clavicle as he tilted his head slowly, mandibles flexing as though he faced some great inner conundrum.
He'd never given her reason to suspect he found her attractive. Whereas his body was a masterful study in raw primal strength, perfectly evolved to hunt and kill prey both large and small, hers - hers was frail and small and soft.
Jaele resolved to allow him to determine if he had any interest in her physically. There wasn't a question in her mind about her own desires. Seeing Pheist and Riot interact, it was easy to admit that was what she wanted - what she'd wanted with Zihrait for some time now. Even knowing she'd continue to disappoint him training-wise, she'd always been eager for him to return to the planet, for his quiet and observant companionship as well as the simple pleasure of looking at him, enjoying the play of well-honed muscles beneath his beautifully patterned hide - and his eyes, so vividly scarlet. So sharp. She'd wanted to weep at their loss, but he was still perfection in every sense of the word.
It surprised her when he released a shuddering rumble. His mandibles had parted and he was leaning forward, chest swelling with air as he drew in deep inhalations. The sudden manner in which he shoved her back against the wall set her heart into a panic. Grasping his wrist in both her hands, she tried to mediate her own breathing, which had increased tenfold. He took her by the arm with his free hand, ignoring her hold entirely as he began to twist her to face the wall, the reverberating purr urgent now and battering her eardrums at this proximity.
"No!" she somehow managed to force out past the mute terror gripping her. "Not like this! Not like this!" Her very soul was on the verge of withering up and dying if he continued, it would kill her. It would kill all that she was.
Whether he understood the frantic plea or not, he surely sensed her distress. He released her just as abruptly as he'd pushed her into the wall. The near deafening rumble vanished and he stepped back, putting some distance between them - giving her space as she slid down to the floor, legs too weak to support her. She felt both hot and cold, dizzy from the fear induced adrenaline spike.
He'd stopped. She repeated it to herself over and over. He'd stopped, he hadn't meant to scare her. He didn't want to hurt her. She'd unwittingly squeezed her eyes shut, but cracked them open when he emitted an uncertain chuff. He stood a few paces away, but as she watched, lowered himself down to kneel on the decking. His tusks had been drawn in tightly and he dug his talons into his thighs, visibly agitated by her reaction.
It occurred to Jaele she knew precisely nothing about the intricacies of how Yautja were intimate. Maybe what he'd done had been normal, maybe it was how he was accustomed to behaving in this situation. She digested that for a moment while he likewise appeared to struggle to process what had just happened. He called to her a second, and eventually a third time, each gentle expulsion of air gradually soothing her anxieties to a more manageable level.
She got up when she felt able. Made her way to him hesitantly. Even seated in a kneeling position, his head topped hers. His eyes flickered to and fro, as though searching through the void of blindness for her, and she lifted her fingers to one sloped shoulder to reassure him of her presence. Tusks twitching at the contact, he broke into a subdued and undulating purr. She stood there and let the muted sound wash over her for several minutes, vigilant for signs he might attempt to escalate matters again, her confidence returning with every passing second he did nothing instead. The humble posture and pacifying purr reaffirmed her conviction that he had no wish to harm or frighten her.
He allowed her to bury her hands in his dreads, to let their smooth lengths slide through her fingers. To trace his mandibles and powerful jaw. He shut his eyes and permitted her to lightly stroke her fingertips over the closed lids. His indulgent patience took her breath away.
Reaching down, she took his hands and set them along her hips, encouraging him to use them as she was, to learn her body as she learned his. When he stretched his digits he was able to completely span her waist. Talons skimmed her ribcage as his hands moved slowly upwards, encountering the underside of her breasts. His palm more than smothered her meager endowment, but the sensation of his calloused hide passing over the sensitive peak made her knees grow weak again and she clutched at his thick neck to steady herself. This gave him pause, and worrying she'd given him the impression she hadn't liked his touch, she pressed her lips to his outer jaw and let them ghost across the unexpectedly velvety flesh which stretched between upper and lower mandible. The rest of his hide possessed a distinctive pebbled texture, but his cheek was soft and delicate. She couldn't resist nuzzling it, aware of the way he held his inner fangs protectively closed.
It wasn't until she pushed herself more firmly into his hands that they continued their suspended perusal. Like someone wanton, Jaele shoved her chest against them, seeking that delightful friction again, and Zihrait caught onto the unspoken demand with alacrity. He flattened and kneaded her small breasts, purr swelling at the faint noises of enjoyment which escaped her as heat and need pooled low in her belly. His ministrations couldn't be described as gentle, but neither were they forceful, and she sensed that he was very much taking cues from her body language. All it took was the slightest pressure on the back of his head for him to obligingly lower it in the direction she wanted. His tusks flitted over her, pinching her tender flesh as he worked out what it was he was meant to do, hot breath gusting across a nipple causing her to squirm in anticipation. She could feel him open his jaw and exhilaration flooded her with the recognition that she was poised, naked and panting before his wicked maw. Delicious wet heat rasped against the taut bud and the plaintive whimper it elicited induced an answering guttural rumble from him. His fangs closed over her breast, grazing but never breaking the skin as his tongue swept around and across the areola, thoroughly laving the acutely sensitive peak.
Her legs were buckling, fingernails sinking into the hard muscles of his shoulders as she struggled to drag enough oxygen into her lungs. Desire; a yearning hunger to feel his sculpted predatory physique flush with her own had built to an all-consuming pinnacle. She groped for his arm, pulling, stepping back and urging him to his feet. The sudden absence of moist heat over her breast only intensified her need. Practically dragging him up and over to the bed, she snatched the loincloth from his hips without reservation, freeing the rigid length of his straining erection. Like the rest of his abdomen, groin, and inner thighs, it was pale yellow and in keeping with his proportions. Male anatomy had never particularly interested or impressed her before Zihrait, but gazing at him after he'd carelessly ripped the makeshift bandage from his torso and stood looming over her, vital and robust, her heart clenched at his magnificence.
She wanted to touch him, to hold him. When he closed in as though to herd her back onto the pelts, she prevented him by merely pushing on his chest and instead indicated it was him who should lay down, tugging and manipulating until he gave in to her insistence with a forbearing grunt and stretched out on his back. Jaele climbed onto the furs, running her hands up over his legs to his thighs. The uneasy burst of clicks alerted her to the fact he was uncomfortable with this approach. She carefully slid astride him and smoothed her palms over his chest, mindful of the myriad shallow wounds from his excursion the previous night, watching as his engorged member twitched with each pass her fingers ventured lower. When he seemed relaxed enough with her wandering caresses, she risked brushing her wrist over the tapered head, fascinated by the emergence of a pink tip with what looked to be tiny barbs. He shifted beneath her and produced a conflicted snarl at the contact, but made no move to otherwise stop her, which she had to assume he would if he truly didn't want her to touch him there. Drawing her fingertip down the swollen length prompted further fidgeting, but it wasn't until she wrapped her hands around it that he boisterously objected, sitting bolt upright with mandibles extended.
But he didn't grab her. Didn't shove her away. Just sat, talons sunken into the pelts, frame tense. She reached up with one hand to soothe him, threading it through his dreads, while the other glided gently up his erection and then back down. The minute quiver of his muscles increased along with her experimental strokes. It was obvious no female Yautja had handled him in this manner before, and the extreme privilege he was granting her only stoked the burning ache in her core. She gripped him tighter and he growled zealously.
Any inhibitions which might have lingered over what was to come had fast deserted her. She adjusted her hold and lifted herself, fitting him to her slick entrance and guiding him in - ready, so ready. His torrid rumbling resonated through and between their joined bodies and deadened the sharp stretching sensation of his penetration as she lowered herself onto him, giving herself time to accommodate his substantial girth. Beneath her supporting hand, Zihrait's abdominals were like granite, his own hands fisted in the furs - the depth of extreme control he was exerting apparent as he allowed her to tilt and rock her hips, finding the best angle with which to accept him fully inside.
A thin sheen of sweat had broken out across her skin when she finally settled against him, somewhat taken aback to find his breathing was almost as erratic as her own. He provided her a small reprieve before disentangling his talons from the pelts, grasping her waist, and lifting her, partially withdrawing, giving himself room to thrust back in. There wasn't a doubt in her mind he was exhibiting unparalleled restraint, but the rhythm and depth of his strokes still approached the threshold between pleasure and pain. One of his hands travelled up her side, cupping the sore flesh of a breast, ragged talon scraping the nipple and Jaele moaned at the ecstasy of the clenching, throbbing response it evoked. Shameless, she shoved his fingers down between them to rub against that most elusive nub of her sex, grinding herself into him, chasing the high, seeking the sweet release of pressure building inside.
It was the vibrations coursing from Zihrait's body into her own as he threw his head back and bellowed his climax which in turn drove her over the edge. She clasped herself to his heaving, shuddering frame to ride out the waves of blissful euphoria while echoes of the ardent roar died away. As her heart rate slowed, she listened to the thundering double beat of his own with her ear pressed to his chest in awe.
It took a considerable amount of time for him to bestir himself, and only then to collapse lazily back onto the bed, taking her along with him with a muffled squeak of surprise. She lifted her head to look to him in question, lips curving at the small tremors still wracking his otherwise limp form. One of his hands was still trapped between them, the other having fallen to the side, but he seemed supremely unconcerned as he laid with his eyes half lidded and mandibles askew. Raising her torso to help free his arm, she realized he was yet fully stiff inside her despite the hot and curiously coloured seed leaking out around the base of his still buried shaft. Not so curious when one recalled the vivid blood coursing through his veins, she supposed. She had to nudge him in order to prompt him to move his hand - which amused her greatly - and then resettled on his chest.
The languid purr he released when she pressed her lips to his warm hide was everything.