Stinger gaped at her, and it was long enough for her to dart forward and lightly press her lips to his in a gentle buss. Gina pulled back, but not completely out of range, and smirked, the dimples around her expression deepening in response to his stunned expression, he was sure.

"W-what?" he managed, caught in a rush of sensations that began with desire and ended with confusion, "what?" Stinger repeated.

"You bring out the imp in me," she told him, tossing her curls back. "Also, your cologne has been driving me nuts. What is it?"

"Soap," Stinger snapped, still uncertain when the conversation had taken a detour.

"With honey?"

"Everything's with honey 'round here! What are you playing at?"

"Nothing," Gina huffed a little, and shifted away, turning her face.

He tensed, not happy with her withdrawal and damning himself for causing it as his stomach tightened. All his senses were alert now, tingling and hyperaware of everything around him. Stinger tried to take a breath to calm himself, but the night air held her scent. "Yeah? Well that was not 'nothing' your Fecundity, not by a damned sight."

She turned her head so quickly her curls bounced, and the dark glitter of her gaze made him warm. "Why do you have to make things so . . . complicated? If it's not clear to you what I'm doing, then I'm doing it wrong."

"It's NOT wrong!" he instantly shot back.

"Well thank you for that-it's not nothing and it's not wrong," Gina grumbled, "so clearly we're making progress."

"It's not nothing, it's not wrong, but it's not what I expected," Stinger enunciated slowly, the effort almost painful. The baser part of him urgently wanted to grab her and show her what a REAL kiss was like, but the roof wasn't exactly the safest place to try it.

Gina let her head loll back and turned her gaze up to the skies, and Stinger watched her shake slightly as she muffled a laugh. He almost felt better—almost—until the moonlight caught the glitter of a tear trailing from the corner of her eye. "Sorry," she murmured, forcing her voice to stay light. "I'm really abusing the hospitality of your hives."

"Hold it right there," Stinger leaned over into her space, not sure if he could handle any more tears than the single one. He reached out his thumb to brush the wetness away, and instead found himself bringing it to his lips, tasting it. As Gina watched him, he closed his eyes and hummed.

Stinger couldn't help himself as the low, urgent tones of his Serenade spun from his lips, an unstoppable response to her nectar. His wings slid free, snapping into a rhythm that added harmony to his buzzsong. When he opened his eyes he realized that Gina was transfixed, and that her wings, her glorious wings were vibrating in the same pitch as his.

He felt slightly drunk; wobbling on the metaphorical edge and not yet dropping over. When she hesitantly hummed back, however, Stinger let himself fall. Actually felt himself begin to fall as the lift of his wings rocked him from his seat on the shingles. Scrabbling, Stinger tried to counter gravity but wasn't having much headway until Gina's hands reached for him, and they locked wrists.

She pulled him back, laughing a little as she helped him, and Stinger let his hand grip hers as his wings moved him closer. "Now it's right. I've sung and you've sung back. Now I kiss you."

"Pushy drone," Gina murmured before dipping her head to accept the warm press of his mouth.

The luscious blends of heat and honey in her kiss sent shocks of pleasure down his spine, jolting him in ways he thought he'd never feel again. He'd kissed before; every soldier had his own adventures, but this—this feeling spiraled around his senses, making both the drone and man within him want to soar.

I've a queen in my arms, he thought dizzily, and I'd die for her now.

Several kisses later Stinger felt Gina pull away from him, taking a deep and reluctant breath as she did so. He loosened his embrace—not enough for her to slip or slip away—and took a breath himself, not sure what was coming next. He had hopes of course, but he was too old and too cynical to let them rule his thoughts. Even up here under the moonlight.

"You are a dangerous one, Stinger Apini," she breathed, smiling.

"Only when provoked," he countered, wondering if he could turn them and use the slope of the roof to be the taller one for a bit.

"Yes that's pretty clear. I can't wait to see you dance for me."

He lifted his gaze from certain distractions to look in her eyes. "Dance? You're serious?"

Stinger knew the traditions that sprang from the ingrained patterns that not even the most determined Splicers could quite overcome. Avians had air battles to decide flock leader; wolves needed to find a single mate for life, and bees, well . . . they had rituals for courtship.

Very specific ones.

Gina nodded. "Oh yes, if you want this to go any further between us. Biology; you know as well as I do that we're hardwired into our ways."

A fairly bad word escaped in his sigh, but it only made her laugh. The ridiculousness of the situation wasn't helped at all by this body's insistence that dancing right now was imperative. However, Stinger knew better than to try it on a roof.

He looked out, over the edge. "Ten feet, easy glide down. Hang on to me."

She did, and while the result was a little awkward, they both managed to stay on their feet, reaching the hard-packed dirt at the side of the house at roughly the same time. Two pairs of wings stirred up the dust, though, and the hum was louder than Stinger liked, even if Kiza's room was on the other side of the farmhouse.

He reluctantly let go of Gina and cocked his head. "So."

"So," she echoed, and shot him a shy look. "You, ah, you know this can wait until later. Morning, even. That would give you time to . . ."

"Choose some music," Stinger told her with cockiness he pushed to cover his own nervousness. "I've got some Tharides—the older stuff, mind, but properly, uh, romantic. I guess."

He watched her puff a breath upward that made her curls stir. "Tharides, oh my. Yes, that would definitely fit, although you'll probably put all the hives in a tizzy."

Stinger laughed. "Like you haven't already just by showing up here. This is . . ." he waved an arm to include the two of them, the farm, the planet in general, " . . . what we get for all our trouble. When I dance for you, it all changes, Gina. You know that."

"I do," she whispered, and he caught the trepidation in her voice. Trepidation he himself mirrored, although he wasn't about to admit it.

"Good. Because if this is all we'll have, and have it only for a little while, then there's no going back, aye? I'll dance for you, Bombini queen, and you'll have me."

Gina nodded, looking as if she might cry again, so Stinger reached out for her two hands, pulling them to his lips, roughly kissing each in turn because he was desperate to stop those powerful tears of hers.

"Sleep," he ordered, his voice gruff. "I'll keep watch."

She dipped her head regally, and slowly walked around the side of the house, her bare feet making no sound. Stinger watched her, and waited long minutes, until he heard her climb the stairs before he followed, settling himself on the sofa on the porch.

He ached, but it didn't hurt. He let his tension ebb away, dropping into the light sleep that would carry him until dawn.

-oo00oo-

Naturally the bees knew.

Stinger watched them shift out of whatever room he moved into, heralding his every step with the sort of delighted buzz that tingled the eardrum. Kiza watched them circle his head like a crown, and then turned her gaze to him, her smile broadening.

"Daaaaad?" she drawled, making his name a teasing question.

He blushed, and cursed himself mentally for it. "Never any secrets in a hive. Haven't I learned that over and over?"

"Terrible gossips, every one of them," Kiza agreed, smirking. Stinger avoided her eye as he poured himself coffee and took his time adding a dollop of honey to it. The day was fair, and the light still soft. He cocked his head, trying to hear if there was any movement upstairs but aside from the bees all was quiet. For a second he hesitated, fearful that only he and Kiza were here and that somehow the night before and everything that would be today had been and were imaginary.

"She's not up yet. I laid out some stuff for her that's, ah, too big for me though," Kiza murmured as she checked her cell phone. "Damn, I'm going to be late! See you tonight!" She rose, swooped to mash a clumsy kiss somewhere between his cheek and chin, then scooped up her purse, sweater and keys, bounding away like a collegiate gazelle.

Stinger watched her go, forcing himself to stay quiet as he looked out the window over the kitchen sink. The better part of his days was spent simply waiting: for orders, and ordeals and outcomes. Today might be no different, he told himself, but the hope deep within him refused to believe that. Today, he'd dance.

He took a mouthful of coffee, wincing at the heat and considered matters. He'd learned to dance, back when Splicers had insisted on all their subjects learning the protocols as part of the integration. Nowadays Stinger suspected the courtship aspects had been dropped from the military Splicing agenda; he himself hadn't been tagged for the breeding program despite being left intact. No, the testosterone within him was for aggression, not procreation. Not that it had been doing him any good stuck here for the last several years.

A creaky stair told Stinger that Gina was heading down, so he busied himself pouring her a cup, and kept his back to the doorway. The escort of bees flowed towards the ceiling and zipped out the half-open window as Stinger turned around, holding out the coffee.

She reached for it gratefully. "Yesssssss."

"Honey?"

"Darling," Gina countered, deliberately misunderstanding him, and arching an eyebrow.

Stinger tried not to smirk, but it was difficult. "Someone's in a mood."

She waved the steaming mug towards him. "Last night was the start; this is the capper."

He laughed and sat down across from her at the kitchen table, his uncertainty fading as he took a good look at his queen's expression.

Gina looked rested. Not completely, but better than she had in the last few weeks or so, and he loved her tousled curls. She smiled back, going a little pink under his scrutiny. "So."

"So," Stinger countered, waiting for her to continue.

"We need . . . witnesses. If this is to be . . . official."

He frowned; in the rush he'd forgotten that part. Witnesses would validate the integration, would insure that everything was done for the good of the hive. Generally they were members in good standing with whoever owned the Spliced, or members of the reigning queen's court. Stinger looked at Gina, who sighed.

"We can bring Biffla and Filba here, but . . . it may well be their last act."

Automatically his free hand slipped over hers, squeezing it. "Are you sure?"

She looked down into her coffee, shoulders set, and Stinger felt the shiver along his own spine, responding to her queenly demeanor. When Gina raised her gaze, her dark eyes held sorrow and assurance. "Yes."