B.L.A. The Mouse: Wow, thank you so much for your kind words! I think 'twisted' is an excellent word to describe that particular relationship. It can only get stranger!
River of Trouble: That was quite a read! I did that when I was starting this up again, and it took me a good while. I'm so flattered! Sorry this update took awhile; I plead NaNo and finals. The next ones will definitely come faster than this.
Diamond Gargoyle: Woohoo, I'm always happy to rock socks! I'm with you on that; fanfic makes me feel the exact same way. They could have done SO MUCH with the show!
Warning: this chapter may veer into M territory.
Chapter 22
When Beka Valentine walked into Command about an hour and a half later, after a very thorough session of what her father had called "necking," a decadently long, hot shower and a change of clothes, she was so absorbed in thinking about Tyr's possible return to her life that she just about jumped when Charlemagne announced crisply, "Captain on deck."
She shot him a curious glance, but half a second later, she understood his announcement. Every Nietzschean crew member spun toward her as if on cue, made a fist with their right hands, slammed their right forearms against their chests, spikes facing outward, and then shot their right hands out at shoulder level, palm up. It was clearly some kind of salute, and the pause that followed just as clearly signified that they were waiting for something. Heard thudding in her chest, Beka returned the salute, albeit more hesitantly, and they relaxed in unison. Only when they returned their attention to their console did Beka turn to Charlemagne. He shrugged at her, eyes wide and hands spread. She managed not to laugh, but only barely.
Having spent the last few days on Castalia and traveling on her own, Beka found that she had missed her post as Captain in command of this gorgeous vessel. Nothing particularly exciting had occurred during her ambassadorial stint, but the pleasure of knowing the minute changes to her ship delighted Beka more than she had expected. They were remaining in orbit around Castalia at Dominique's request, with a brief message of approval from Darjella. Sensors picked up riots and political upheaval from the planet, but the anger seemed to be mostly directed inward, toward the water-breathing politicians in charge, not the remnants of the Volsung people.
"Captain," the communications officer called, "a ship is requesting permission to board. It appears to have departed from the Volsung asteroid."
Beka smothered a grin. She had worked closely with the Volsung for the past few days, was arranging a marriage between them and the Jaguar Arch Duke, and was credited – not erroneously – with avenging their slaughter, but Solomon sounded just as suspicious as he would have been of a Kaldaran hive ship claiming to bear the captured Vedran Empress.
"Onscreen."
She recognized Dominique but not the older woman sitting beside her. She could guess, though. They made the fist to heart gesture, and she returned it a bit less tentatively than last time. "Nice to see you again, Dominique"she said, "Are you going to introduce me?"
The older woman glared at Dominique with the sort of flat Nietzschean expression that Beka had some to understand. Oh these silly humans, it said.
"Of course. Beka, allow me to present the Volsung Matriarch, Marsay Reyne, out of Delphine by Viktor. Matriarch, this is Captain Beka Valentine of the Shining Path, out of Thalia by Ignatius."
Beka could not remember if she had ever told Dominique the names of her parents; she rather doubted it. Dominique must have done some research. And she still wants to be my sister ? The Matriarch dipped her head imperiously. She looked nothing like Ishtar Nikei, the Jaguar Matriarch, and more like Beka's mental imagine of Nietzschean Matriarch. She wore her jet black hair in a short cloud around her head, and from what Beka could see, she was dressed in a severe dark blue suit that would not have looked out of place on a high-ranking FTA inspector. Her dark eyes drilled into Beka through the viewscreen.
"You're cleared to dock," Beka told her when her console reported a green light. "Charlemagne and I will meet you at hangar deck two." She turned to face Charlemagne, who was deep in conversation with with Solomon. As if on cue, he nodded to Solomon and faced her with the wide-eyed look of happy anticipation she had learned to associate with particularly thorny challenges. It was not especially comforting.
-o-
"Beka," Charlemagne said to her after their meeting with the Volsung Matriarch had ended, "you know that I find your steadfast abstinence from most forms of chemical psychoactives enormously admirable."
Beka barked a laugh as she smoothed a silky lotion over her calves. As soon as she returned to her quarters after that agonizing encounter, she had stepped into a hot shower and did not emerge for almost an hour, when Charlemagne had chimed at her door. She could have stayed in there for another hour if her legs could have held her, but when she realized that he came bearing Viennese coffee, fragrant with cloves and cinnamon, with a silver dish of whipped cream and two large slices of what he reported to be pumpkin cheesecake, she forgave the interruption. Their unofficial ship's baker, the sporter of colorful berets married to the fiercest weapons officer Beka had ever met, had never made a cheesecake during the relatively short time he had been on board. Beka had not dared dream of cheesecake, yet there it was, marbled ivory and pale orange, flecked with spices.
He took a sip of coffee and gazed openly at Beka as she spread lotion over her skin. "But if a respectable Nietzschean were ever driven to drink," he continued, "it would be over a Matriarch. No one could blame me, you know." He sighed at his cup as if wishing he could conjure up a finger or two of brandy.
Beka raised an eyebrow. "Nobody's stopping you. Surely you have a bottle of something ludicrously expensive in your quarters."
He nodded. "Of course, but I feel it would be... improper of me to drink before a lady who did not partake."
Beka paused in her lotion routine to catch his eye and grin. "Ah, now I see the problem. You've mistaken me for a lady. I can't imagine how you made that mistake after that, ah, thorough examination of my every character and genetic flaw I just sat through."
Charlemagne snorted, which Beka thought must have been the least graceful thing she had ever seen him do. It was reassuring, in a way, that he was just as wrung out by that horrifying reenactment of the Spanish Inquisition as she was. Beka drained her cup, taking care with her lotion-coated fingers, ate another bite of cheesecake, and let it melt on her tongue before returning her attention to her elbows. Like many of the finer things in life, Beka had learned of this heavenly concoction from Tyr. The man know his bath and body goods; she had to hand it to him. Charlemagne had even noted his recognition of the scent with no little surprise.
Now his eyes were trailing her fingers as they danced lightly over her knees. "I don't suppose I could convince her to spend a day with my Sabra questioners," he mused. "She would give them the kind of education you cannot buy these days."
"You should wait at least until you're sure that Dominique isn't going to call off the wedding or smuggle a nuke in her garters."
He shook his head. "Dominique Mayae is determined to have you for a sister, perhaps moreso than me for a husband. What we witnessed was not the Volsung Matriarch attempting to convince Dominique of the error of her choice. She was resigning herself to the idea."
Beka raised her eyebrow in a look of horror that was only slightly feigned. "That was grudging acceptance? Then why did I have the strong urge to yell, 'I give up!' fifteen minutes in?"
"I imagine that she hoped you would. I cannot truthfully say that I did not have a similar moment of weakness." He grimaced into his cup.
Cruel as it was, Beka could not help a snort of her own at that. Poor Charlemagne. Beka had received the entirety of the woman's questioning, but a few of those questions had centered around Charlemagne's capabilities as a lover. The Matriarch was more frank than Beka could imagine being with the few close girlfriends she'd had in her life, and quite probably for the first time in human history, she had seen Charlemagne Bolivar flush with discomfort.
"Has he regularly brought you to orgasm, Captain? Sexual release is extremely important in the bonding of married Nietzscheans, and I will not have Dominique married to an inferior lover."
"Keeping in mind your inferior senses, how well did he stimulate your various erogenous zones? Sexual intimacy to Nietzscheans is far more than mere penetration."
"Would you ever consider admitting your sister into your sexual union? Many married Nietzscheans find that this greatly enhances the bond both among sisters and between wives and husbands. I strongly suggest that you discuss it. What is your experience with human women? Would you know how to please your sister?"
By that point, Beka was too numb with horror to register much shock at the questions, but Charlemagne had made a kind of choking noise when the Matriarch had said the word 'orgasm.' Beka had not dared to look at him directly, and she had answered as discreetly as possible. The woman had seemed annoyed but not surprised by Beka's reticence to discuss these matters. Not only were the questions intrusive and unsettlingly clinical... but for a brief moment before the bald-faced insults had set in again, they had set Beka's mind wandering down a very distracting path.
And now, with Charlemagne's eyes tracing the curve of her thigh as it disappeared underneath her robe, her mind wandered back to that first question. She had complete confidence that he could, and that he would be very creative in doing so. It had definitely occurred to her before; such a long time had passed since she had had that particular pleasure. Her interlude with Charlemagne that morning was the closest she had come to sex in far too long, and all day little reminders of it came back to make her shiver. She shivered now.
His penetrating blue eyes missed nothing. "Are you cold?" he asked softly.
"A little." She shook her head. "Not really."
He gave her a gentle smile. "Please, have a seat." He patted the inch of chair next to him, and she laughed. "You've had an excruciating time of it, Beka. You learned of the return of Tyr Anasazi into your life less than four hours before you were subjected to a harangue of epic degree, even by Nietzschean standards. You should consider me prostrate at your feet. But first, I must insist that you sit."
She was balanced a little precariously in her usual lotion position, with one foot perched on the low ottoman where Charlemagne had set the tray. The thought of sitting was inviting, and with the added inducement of Charlemagne metaphorically prostrate at her feet, she found she could not resist the offer. She rubbed her hands hastily on the robe she wore and hesitantly lowered herself to his lap, folding her legs alongside his so she was facing him. Her robe gaped around her knees, and his hands immediately settled on her waist. They were so warm against the thin fabric of the robe, like they could burn through at any moment.
"You have denied yourself so long," he murmured. "Your discipline amazes me. Perhaps you even had good reason to keep yourself from me. But now, Beka... you're our champion. You've declared your willingness to take Dominique as your sister." His lips curved. "You've vouched for my sexual prowess. You are no longer playing a game, and you must realize that you are finally in a position of strength."
His hands tightened, and Beka's breath caught. He shifted one of his hands to her neck, pulled her close and whispered into her ear, "Enjoy it." She shivered again as his warm breath tickled her ear and stirred a strand of hair.
She wanted to reply with something equally sultry, but her mind went blank. The rising, tingling haze robbed her of words, but fortunately she did not need words to communicate just now. She slipped her hands inside the very snug, silky sweater he wore and let her fingers dance along the low, hard ridges of muscle underneath. The smooth fabric above her fingers and the heat of her skin underneath made her sigh with sensuous bliss. His breath hitched and tickled her ear again, and she exhaled raggedly at the sensation.
She pushed herself closer to him so that her hips brushed his waist. The sudden sensation at her core made her gasp and lit her up like a fuse. Dizzying waves of heat washed over her as his hands caressed her body through her robe, and she ached to feel the crease and press of his skin against hers. Without warning, she shoved him backward and for a brief moment savored the look of surprise on his face before curling her fists around the hem of his shirt and yanking it upward. They struggled for half a second, and then the shirt had tumbled to the carpet and he was gloriously shirtless in front of her.
He was beautiful. Part of her could not believe that she was touching something so gorgeous, so magnificently sculpted, but most of her didn't care. He pushed back her robe roughly, and goosebumps raised on her skin. He encircled her in his powerful arms and stroked and squeezed her flesh until she moaned.
"Not here," he rasped. She wanted to argue, but when her mind cleared enough to think about it, she realized that her legs were already aching in their bent position. A second later, he raised himself to his feet, supporting her weight easily, and crossed to her bed in a few quick strides. Before he laid her on the bed, he lifted her chin with one finger and stared into her eyes. His eyes were a darker blue than she had ever seen them and so riveted on her that she could hardly breathe. He pressed his lips to hers as they fell to the bed. He tasted sweet and spicy, like cinnamon and cloves and cheesecake. When his tongue flicked hers, Beka arched her back and abandoned herself to the hot, the damp, the tingling, and the incessant thrum of desire.
B.L.A. The Mouse: Wow, thank you so much for your kind words! I think 'twisted' is an excellent word to describe that particular relationship.
River of Trouble: That was quite a read! I did that when I was starting this up again, and it took me a good while. I'm so flattered! Sorry this update took awhile; I plead NaNo and finals. The next ones will definitely come faster than this.
Diamond Gargoyle: Woohoo, I'm always happy to rock socks! I'm with you on that; fanfic makes me feel the exact same way. They could have done SO MUCH with the show!
Warning: this chapter may veer into M territory.