Hey, lot. So sorry – I've been crazy busy with the craftin' and such, but I thought I'd give you this scene to tide you over for a bit. I wrote it a while ago, but was expecting another scene to come between this one and the last... Mind, the scene never came, and to be honest, it was pretty ugly, and I can't say you would have wanted to see it, anyway. Stork likes to keep his horrors to himself, after all. Suffice it to say... Stork was found by someone who didn't quite like the 'look' of him. Try reading Dotskip317's "Human" – it was the inspiration for this part of the backstory. He made his way back home, scarred and shaken, and looked for a little comfort in what way he could find...
xxxx
I hardly heard the hatch open.
"Hey, Stork – !"
By greeting, my lips were clasped in his, the typically cool, clammy skin unusually cold and dry. I imagined it was because of the weather outside, but I couldn't say much – he'd wrapped his arms around me, and was moving me back against the counter while his mouth assaulted mine.
When he finally broke for breath, he gasped, pressing his forehead against mine – a now familiar sign of affection that seemed decidedly different, now. I looked up to his eyes, but rather than sharing one of our 'meaningful glances', his eyes were squeezed shut.
It was then I noticed that his left was brown. A number of cuts marked his naturally smooth skin. I stood, agape, as I glanced him up and down – his shirt was torn, and a sleeve ripped – from a black leather jacket I hadn't seen before. His expression was pained, and I felt an urgency in his hands as he held me that genuinely scared me.
"Piper," he whispered. He shook his head, a hand winding itself in my hair. The tips of his fingers massaged my scalp, leaving me tingling with conflicting emotions and chemistry. He bared his teeth, like he were fighting back a hiss, and shook his head again. "Piper..."
"Stork...?" I didn't know what to ask him. I knew he needed me, but... My eyes were transfixed on the dark gashes that were everywhere. That disgusting bruise on his eye. The tatteredness of his clothes. His shirt was rather battered, I saw now, and I wondered with horror what other damages he'd taken on under it. That I couldn't see yet.
He shook his head again, as if trying to discourage some fly from his air. The small, green ears flickered, and I saw a purpling at the base of one of them. I realised his arms had me gripped tight to where I couldn't move, and to be honest, his fervent grip was beginning to hurt me.
"Piper," he whispered again, urgently. His eyes opened, then, and he looked to me.
The panick in those eyes. You'd swear he was an animal – a helpless gazelle, chased by some kind of viscious beast. This wasn't the morbid fascination of death that had him so twisted, entranced and yet fearful – the fear of respect. This was absolute panick. Mind-numbing terror. Further emphasised by his left eye attempting to twitch, but his eyelid only fluttered slightly under the swelling, and it was disgusting.
"Stork..." I started again. "What happened to you?"
And then he broke into tears.
I... I'd never seen Stork cry. I mean, there was that one time, with Fluffykins, but... Well, we'd all cried. It was a touching moment. But this...
His hands were a vice grip as his arms clutched me close. All I could do was... comply. I wrapped my arms around him, attempting to comfort. His neck fell over my shoulder, his head nuzzling against me, rubbing almost roughly, wetting my skin with his tears. I tried to rub my hands over his back, but... I was horrified to see that the random clippings from his shirt continued on his back. There were outright gashes here, and I could see where the shirt had gone darker than natural from his...
I attempted to swallow the lump in my throat, but it lodged itself. Horror, disbelief, and worry filled me. As this poor, abused Merb held me, crying like I'd never seen him, I felt my heart break.
"Stork..." I whispered, moving my fingers lightly over his back – trying not to hurt him any more. "Stork, baby, what happened?"
He tried to speak, but his words were unintelligible through the weeping. Frustrated, I realised he was in no state to speak. So I did what I knew would calm him down.
"Shh... It's okay, babe, I gotcha," I whispered, and I reached an arm over his back – dear god, it was still wet! I shut my eyes in horror – and stretched up and up... finding the collar of his shirt, and then his neck, and then that crook of hair.
I made sure to make smooth, soft strokes. I avoided his left ear – it had looked rather swollen, and instead gingerly caressed the right. It was very long until his sobs subsided into smaller weeps... and finally mere whimpers.
He took deep, shuddering breaths. He still had me in a vice grip, and was nuzzling me, smearing me with his tears. My heart was breaking as I held him, scarcely aware of the counter digging into my hip around his hands.
"There there, I gotcha," I whispered, over and again. His ear danced slightly at my words, and after a long, gut-wrenching while, he withdrew.
He sniffed, the action moving his whole head. His eyes were closed again, but softly this time, not squeezed tight. He set his forehead on mine, and I looked at him. Waiting.
He sniffed again, and his eyes once more opened to look at me. The usual yellow was tinged in streaks of red, and neither of them opened very wide. I thought of him as a child, then, and took the hand that was stroking him to do so again.
His eyes fluttered closed as my fingers kneaded the hair. I told myself it was natural grease that made it a little sticky, but I didn't dare to check. His sniff was quiet, and even his grip loosened to a reasonable amount of strength.
I couldn't help but smile. All the years he'd spent pushing me off, and all this time it was as easy as that to calm him down from a calamity so great.
I sobered. I looked down at the damage he wore, and wondered again what doom exactly it was that he'd just endured.
He opened his mouth and took in a shuddering breath. And then let out a deep sigh. He tilted his head up, then, and kissed me once more.
It was soft, and gentle. Tears stained his lips – and mine, I'm sure – but I pretended not to notice. The hand in his hair moved still, keeping away from the offensive ear, while the other picked a spot of his back and stayed there after making sure the skin it touched wasn't oozing any life.
I have to confess, I was surprised when his hands reached down to my ass. I wasn't going to complain, but he then outright picked me up, and deposited my bum on the counter.
I might have over done it with the scalp massage, I thought to myself, but it was a bit late for that. His lips were soft, tentative, but also quivering. His fingers trailed up my body, but they shook. I could feel the vibrations through my clothes as they traveled up my spine, traced the width of my back, and followed the curves of my sides. He moved himself between my legs, constantly kissing.
I had stopped with the fingers, and rearranged myself (with the opportunity of his hands otherwise occupied) so that my hands could stroke his chest. I slid my fingers across that sensitive zone – I squeezed my eyes shut so I didn't have to see to confirm the wound I felt there – and he gave a heavy gasp.
I opened my eyes to see his face. He broke off the kiss, meeting our foreheads again. He shook his head, that grimace on again. His teeth bared in a hiss, but he muscled through it. I glanced down, and gingerly moved my fingers in that sacred place, but without touching the wound. His breath was heady, and his lips sought mine once more.
It was in this touch-and-go manner that he sought his relief. I wish I'd known more about my part in this game, but I did my best to learn as I went. The more successful I was, the more he could think of me instead of his wounds. So I did my best to not bring attention to them. When he removed his ship suit, I could see a lot better. See that he'd been beaten up rather badly, to put it lightly. Thick gashes here and there that looked like knife stabbings. Cuts from near misses. Big bruises that would be there for a while. Tears were in my eyes as I trailed my fingers alongside one shoulder, eyeing the swelling on his side – broken ribs, I'd imagine. I didn't want to see the back. I confess, I was scared to. I knew I likely would, but right now... Right now, I was already so sad for my love, I couldn't bear to see more.
I kissed him as fervently as he kissed me. His arms hadn't taken much damage up top – though the bottom was scarred from his defenses. I helped him ungarb me, and his lips took to my skin. I left a trail of kisses on his neck, and he on mine, before lingering lower, and clutching at my breasts with desperate hands. I found smooth skin on his arms, and held on for dear life as he tenderly touched me, as if I'd vanish any second. His nuzzlings and suckings were the most gentle and fearful he'd ever done. I was used to a steady firmness from him – a humouring experience that he would share if I so desired. But now, it was he who needed me. It was both terrifying and empowering. But with that power came a heavy, heavy burden. But for my love, I would do my best to help relieve him of his pain.
Or at least distract. But when at last he saw fit to make use of his mount, I was surprised by how easily he did so with the counter. His hands held me surely as he moved me closer, and my hand carefully moved from arm to neck, driving him mad with my fingers rather than the wounds that stretched all over his body.
His first entrance was a question, a prodding. I moved my hips, pushing forward, encouraging him. He often lost himself in love, and I did hope it would do him good. He hesitated, I think, but took my invitation. But his motions were smooth, unsure. As tentative, and as needful as his kisses, but I pushed back. I squeezed what little I could, and his fervent kisses ceased.
"Piper..." he whispered, and I again marveled at the beautiful form of his spine and hips. How his thin frame held such power.
"Stork," I whispered back, trailing my fingers softly through his hair. I resisted the temptation to lock my ankles, for fear of what damage I might do to the ghastly mystery. But the sound of his own name, whispered in his ears, must have given him hope.
It was still tentative, and worried. And then reluctant, but trying. But before long, he was desperately lost in me. I couldn't help but smile, the chemistry drowning me in bliss, despite the situation. He let out a moan, a weak, rattling sound he hadn't made before. Growls, yes. Often. But a moan...
I groaned. He was breaking my heart. I wanted so to relieve him of his pain. Or to distract him from it. "Stork," I whispered again, like it was a spell. "Oh, Stork... Please..."
He gasped, and I felt his hands on my hip tighten. He clenched his teeth in concentration, and I panted at the increase in speed and power.
"Come on," I whispered, encouraging him. "Oh, Stork..."
It was certainly helping. The grip tightened all the more – a more natural strength, like I'd come to be used to. A seething hiss escaped his teeth, and I watched as the last of his panick died, and was replaced with the all out desire of this.
"Oh, baby," I sighed, scratching ever so slightly at his scalp.
A low growl. That was my Stork. That was him. Confidant, and rough. Harsh, unfeeling, too strong, and not-human.
"Come on," I said again. "Stork..."
The growling increased. His grip on my hips tightened even more. His head was at mine, those lips finding my ear, and teeth gripping and tugging.
I gritted my teeth. Harder than usual. I'd over done it again.
I let out a whine, and he relented, but only to travel to my neck. He nibbled and sucked, and I found myself focusing more on his oral assaults than the muscle he was pounding in and out of me.
"Stork..." I whispered, this time with worry. Had I gone too far?
But his head was away from me again. He was panting heavily, going full throttle, and I slapped a hand to the counter to balance myself. I let out a small gasp as he kept on, barreling in and out and in and out and in and out and –
And then he stopped, clutching me close. My eyes flew open wide, and I took in the contortions of his face, his mouth snarling, once white teeth painted in something else. I watched his body convulse once, twice, a third time, and then melt.
Panting, he keeled over, collapsing into my arms. I was flabbergasted at the suddenness of it all, but held on. Two green feet slid on the tile as he leaned on me, and I could only wrap my arms around him.
What the hell? was all I could think.
xxxx
Pretty graphic, yes... I was surprised, too – Stork started out rather shy with his smut scenes, but this one was pretty severe. This will be one of those things that makes First Mate Piper a bit anxious about asking Stork the Captain too many questions. Because she doesn't really want to know. But, what's the saying? All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing...