"What happened?" Beka stepped out from behind the door, an anxious look on
her face.
Tyr put his index finger to his lips in the universal sign of silence. Beka pouted, but waited until he had closed and bolted the doors, before her facial muscles foretold that she was again going to question him. He silenced her with a soul-searing kiss, which in seconds turned into an invasion.
Beka countered his attack with one of her own. With strength she did not know she had she pulled him to her. Their bodies crushed together, buckles and zippers crunching and clashing. Leather creaked. A growl rose from deep within the Kodiak to emerge round and full when at last they broke their embrace.
"My Lord.My Lord." The guards were pounding on the doors. "My Lord.are you all right My Lord."
"No damn it, I am not." He roared. "I have a baby to make and people keep interrupting me."
Beka put her hand over her mouth and doubled over. Her shoulders shook, tears began to spill from her eyes. She tried desperately to contain the laughter. Sputters and snorts escaped.
Tyr swept the ball of giggling woman into his arms and strode across the room to deposit her on the bed. She rolled over and buried her face into the mattress and laughed and laughed and laughed. Slapping the mattress with the palms of her hands. Tyr stood over her, considering his options. Eventually she calmed, rolled over and sat up.
"You have a plan. It is written all over your face. What is it?"
Watching him think had become one of the perks of sharing his quarters. He would turn inward, focused on the energy of his firing synapses. He was no longer self-aware. His flesh relaxed. The stiff spine that defined his strut loosened. She waited, watching for the moment when his decision was made. His hands gave him away. The long, graceful fingers equally capable of bringing death or joy would move. First to his face to stroke his beard, then to his waist to sit on his hips for a moment, before they began to take inventory of his personal weapons. His habit, which she had detected when only she was in his presence, was a gambler's tell - vulnerability. She knew he suppressed it when he was in public, ever controlled, ever the stoic. He honoured her with his trust, each time he permitted her to witness the ritual.
"We have options, which are not yet a plan." Tyr gave her the paper. "But first I must communicate with Nestor."
Beka examined the note, while he pushed the intercom button.
"Nestor here." A disembodied voice floated in the room.
"Nestor, dismiss the men. Ask them to return at 06:00 tomorrow."
"Is there a problem, my Lord?"
Tyr paused to consider his response, "I need a clean up crew sent to my quarters and a relief guard detail. Hodur attempted to interrupt the ritual. I want him placed under house arrest."
"No child yet my Lord?"
His second in command had a Nietzschean view of procreation. That Tyr had not completed the impregnation was a greater disappointment than the odd behaviour of a member of his command staff.
"No child.yet." Tyr cut the connection.
"What is it about making babies that makes Nietzschean males so pompous?"
The tone of voice Beka used was not dripping with her usual sarcasm. She appeared to genuinely want to know. Tyr had acted as her cultural mentor for many years on board the Andromeda; it was easy to slip into the role once more.
"Immortality is a powerful motivation." He sat on the edge of the bed. "Other people believe in a life after death. We do too. Our life after death is our children. And then, of course, there are the orgasms!"
"Orgasms?" Beka was too curious to punch him in the arm in response to his outrageously smug grin.
The first father had heard tales of the pleasure that accompanied a successful impregnation. The first mother had been told that she was responsible for ensuring her own pleasure, for men could be selfish in the act. No one had told either of them how to ensure the pleasure. So the couple had, once again, to rely on their own inventiveness to achieve the mysterious promised pleasure.
Tyr removed his shirt. Beka snuggled in the crook of his arm, the right side of her face resting over his heart. She lifted her legs so that they stretched across his lap, her heels resting on the mattress. Tyr placed his right hand on her thigh. His left rested on her waist.
"How did they achieve the mysterious, promised pleasure?" Beka asked, her breath creating a warm trail across his chest.
"The how must wait until later, we have to consider our options."
He tilted her head up with his right index finger. His brown eyes gazed into her blue eyes intently.
"But I will tell you that together they found their pleasure six times and never once did he leave her body to achieve the half dozen little deaths."
He captured her mouth with his. She melted against him, liquid heat igniting in her inner core. Her abdominal muscles tightened. Her knees grew weak. She returned his kiss tenfold, then pulled away.
"Six times? That's the minimum standard for all Nietzschean males when creating a baby?"
Tyr smiled, "The minimum."
"And this only happens when making babies? Other times, when pleasure is the only purpose of the act? What happens?"
"I cannot speak for all Nietzschean males. Three or four times at best, but that is rare. Say three."
"Guaranteed?"
"Guaranteed."
Tyr put his index finger to his lips in the universal sign of silence. Beka pouted, but waited until he had closed and bolted the doors, before her facial muscles foretold that she was again going to question him. He silenced her with a soul-searing kiss, which in seconds turned into an invasion.
Beka countered his attack with one of her own. With strength she did not know she had she pulled him to her. Their bodies crushed together, buckles and zippers crunching and clashing. Leather creaked. A growl rose from deep within the Kodiak to emerge round and full when at last they broke their embrace.
"My Lord.My Lord." The guards were pounding on the doors. "My Lord.are you all right My Lord."
"No damn it, I am not." He roared. "I have a baby to make and people keep interrupting me."
Beka put her hand over her mouth and doubled over. Her shoulders shook, tears began to spill from her eyes. She tried desperately to contain the laughter. Sputters and snorts escaped.
Tyr swept the ball of giggling woman into his arms and strode across the room to deposit her on the bed. She rolled over and buried her face into the mattress and laughed and laughed and laughed. Slapping the mattress with the palms of her hands. Tyr stood over her, considering his options. Eventually she calmed, rolled over and sat up.
"You have a plan. It is written all over your face. What is it?"
Watching him think had become one of the perks of sharing his quarters. He would turn inward, focused on the energy of his firing synapses. He was no longer self-aware. His flesh relaxed. The stiff spine that defined his strut loosened. She waited, watching for the moment when his decision was made. His hands gave him away. The long, graceful fingers equally capable of bringing death or joy would move. First to his face to stroke his beard, then to his waist to sit on his hips for a moment, before they began to take inventory of his personal weapons. His habit, which she had detected when only she was in his presence, was a gambler's tell - vulnerability. She knew he suppressed it when he was in public, ever controlled, ever the stoic. He honoured her with his trust, each time he permitted her to witness the ritual.
"We have options, which are not yet a plan." Tyr gave her the paper. "But first I must communicate with Nestor."
Beka examined the note, while he pushed the intercom button.
"Nestor here." A disembodied voice floated in the room.
"Nestor, dismiss the men. Ask them to return at 06:00 tomorrow."
"Is there a problem, my Lord?"
Tyr paused to consider his response, "I need a clean up crew sent to my quarters and a relief guard detail. Hodur attempted to interrupt the ritual. I want him placed under house arrest."
"No child yet my Lord?"
His second in command had a Nietzschean view of procreation. That Tyr had not completed the impregnation was a greater disappointment than the odd behaviour of a member of his command staff.
"No child.yet." Tyr cut the connection.
"What is it about making babies that makes Nietzschean males so pompous?"
The tone of voice Beka used was not dripping with her usual sarcasm. She appeared to genuinely want to know. Tyr had acted as her cultural mentor for many years on board the Andromeda; it was easy to slip into the role once more.
"Immortality is a powerful motivation." He sat on the edge of the bed. "Other people believe in a life after death. We do too. Our life after death is our children. And then, of course, there are the orgasms!"
"Orgasms?" Beka was too curious to punch him in the arm in response to his outrageously smug grin.
The first father had heard tales of the pleasure that accompanied a successful impregnation. The first mother had been told that she was responsible for ensuring her own pleasure, for men could be selfish in the act. No one had told either of them how to ensure the pleasure. So the couple had, once again, to rely on their own inventiveness to achieve the mysterious promised pleasure.
Tyr removed his shirt. Beka snuggled in the crook of his arm, the right side of her face resting over his heart. She lifted her legs so that they stretched across his lap, her heels resting on the mattress. Tyr placed his right hand on her thigh. His left rested on her waist.
"How did they achieve the mysterious, promised pleasure?" Beka asked, her breath creating a warm trail across his chest.
"The how must wait until later, we have to consider our options."
He tilted her head up with his right index finger. His brown eyes gazed into her blue eyes intently.
"But I will tell you that together they found their pleasure six times and never once did he leave her body to achieve the half dozen little deaths."
He captured her mouth with his. She melted against him, liquid heat igniting in her inner core. Her abdominal muscles tightened. Her knees grew weak. She returned his kiss tenfold, then pulled away.
"Six times? That's the minimum standard for all Nietzschean males when creating a baby?"
Tyr smiled, "The minimum."
"And this only happens when making babies? Other times, when pleasure is the only purpose of the act? What happens?"
"I cannot speak for all Nietzschean males. Three or four times at best, but that is rare. Say three."
"Guaranteed?"
"Guaranteed."