The Bombini workers were the frailest little old ladies Stinger had ever seen. He brought the sofa off the porch and helped settle them on it; they looked like a pair of shrunken dolls propped up against the worn cushions. Bees hovered around them, gently forming a protective curtain on three sides, and both Filba and Biffla smiled and blinked, chuckling softly.
"So sweet, so welcoming," Biffla murmured, watching several workers on her shoulder.
"And polite," Filba agreed. "Po-lite."
Gina came over and knelt down in front of the sofa, reaching for their bony hands, gently wrangling their attention. Even the bees settled down as she spoke. "My ladies. May I present the Drone of this hive, Stinger Apini of Hive Mellifera?"
Stinger dropped to one knee himself, bowing his head fractionally and then looked up at them. "Ladies."
They both shifted their bleary gazes and studied him with suspicion despite the fact that he'd just assisted them out of the truck and onto their current seats. Finally the tinier one—Filba—raised her hand, palm out. "A suitor. A suitor for the queen, Biffla. He's very . . . angry-looking."
Stinger wanted to protest, but held his tongue. Biffla's head bobbled a bit as she smiled. "Not angry, sister. Unpolished. He's rough. Handsome though," came her reedy assessment.
Filba nodded. "Quite."
Stinger blushed, and noticed out of the corner of his eye that Gina was doing the same. "Ah, thank you. With your permission, I wish to court your queen, Regina Bombini of the Hive Oligobombus." For a moment none of them said anything; not the old ladies or Stinger or Gina.
Finally Biffla sighed. "So tired . . ." she murmured, resting her head on her sister's shoulder. "Mellifera drone, where is your queen?"
"We have none," Stinger admitted. "My hives have only a figurehead in my daughter."
"From your previous queen?" Filba wanted to know. Stinger shot a look at Gina before answering.
"No. I earned her for meritorious service. She's human, conceived at my Splicer's laboratory."
The two ladies looked at each other knowingly.
"Legionnaire," Filba mumbled. "Definitely angry."
"Hush," her sister chided. "An earned child is no little achievement. And now he seeks to court our queen. I think it's lovely." To Stinger she nodded. "Yes, you may."
Biffla gave a soft sigh and waved a 'get on with it' gesture to Stinger with a wobbly hand, then settled against her sister once again, closing her eyes.
Stinger rose up, dusted off his knee, and took a deep breath. Gina moved to stand behind the sofa, laying gentle hands on Biffla and Filba's shoulders, her bearing utterly regal. He held her gaze for a long moment, finding strength in those fine dark eyes of hers, and then pressed a thumb to the little button at his belt.
Slow strains of Tharides Lover's Rain began pouring out into the midmorning air, a slightly melancholy tune with curls of unexpected complexity. Stinger lifted his shoulders, let his wings snap out with the arrogant flick so typical of the Legionnaires, and stretched his arms out at each side.
Stinger had practiced the Drone's Lure many times; it was a good discipline all on its own. Kiza had once compared it to a Tercie dance called a Strathspey, but he'd pointed out that humans held their arms up high, looking foolish and dangerous. Drone tradition kept his arms out and ready to embrace the queen, should she acquiesce.
He moved. Step by step, letting the music guide but never drive him, Stinger made his wings buzz as he undertook the easy pattern there in the worn grass of the lawn. Any awkwardness he might have had disappeared as he heard the approving hum of the ladies on the sofa.
Now was the trickier part, and Stinger kept his gaze level as he spun twice, repeating his earlier steps, determined to make every move as perfect as he could. His feet cooperated, as did the music, and by the crescendo, when he looked up, Gina had drifted over the sofa to land in front of him, her gaze locked on his. She held out her arms in invitation, the thrum of her wings once again matching frequency to his own. He darted forward, catching her hips, spinning with Gina in a quick duet that lifted dust and dandelion fluff all around them. They spun on, bodies moving closer with every rotation until at last she was fully in his embrace, the centripetal force of their dance bringing her lips to his in a heated kiss.
Stinger knew, dimly, that he needed to slow them both down otherwise the pair of them would fall over, so he pressed his heels to the ground in a tethering motion. When he'd done it on his own in practice it had stopped him, but with Gina's extra pull it took a few more turns, and by then she'd come up for breath, giggling.
"I take youuuuuuuuuu," she said softly, her words tinged with Buzz.
"Good," he huffed slightly, grinning. "Bbbbbecause I'm not doing that agaiiiiiiiin."
She laughed at that, and took another breath, blowing her curls out of her eyes. A quick kiss, and Gina turned, looking to the sofa at her ladies.
Filba had her arm around her sister, their two heads resting against each other, eyes closed, their expressions peaceful.
Stinger knew.
He tightened his arms around Gina as she stiffened, held onto her as realization made her wobble. While she was taller than he was—not by that much, Stinger told himself, she was easy to hang onto, and he simply held her as she gave a soft little sob.
Gently Stinger turned her to face him again and pulled her close once more, letting her cling to him for comfort, taking some himself at how easily she molded to him. This had no lust to it, only a mutual consolation, and he let her settle herself, giving her time to acknowledge the loss.
This was his job now, he realized. Drone. Consort to a queen. Her confidant, her comfort, her companion. They stood together for a long time.
When Gina finally pulled herself away, she gave him a soft buss before turning back to the sofa, her voice soft but clear. "A last gift from the Hive Oligobombus to the Hive Mellifera; take my ladies and use their essence to flourish."
At her words, bees shifted from aimless flight around the farmhouse and quickly clustered in a thick blanket over the still forms of Biffla and Filba. The multi-toned hum grew louder, and a new scent—dried carnations mingled with sage—drifted on the breeze. Stinger let his hands rest lightly on Gina's shoulders; not to hold her back but to let her know he was there. Finally, several long minutes later, the bees stopped clustering and flew off in little groups, swooping away like dandelion puffs, and when they had all gone nothing remained of the two Spliced workers but their faded sundresses now in shapeless heaps on the cushions, and the soft perfume in the air.
Gina stepped forward, bent down and touched each garment lightly. "Gone. I knew they were close, but . . ." she straightened up again and looked at Stinger. "Thank you. For letting their passing be meaningful and . . . right."
Stinger nodded, drawing the back of his wrist across his eyes. He'd seen death often—too often—but these touched him more than he'd realized. "Honored," he muttered gruffly. The dance had left him aroused and tense, but not so overwhelmed with desire that he couldn't appreciate the solemnity of the moment.
Gina took a breath, and then reached for his hand, taking it lightly as she gazed at him. "If we were on Floriana, or at the hill of Lilywood, it would be time to take flight and consummate our bond in the air, my drone. Somehow . . ." she pulled her glance from his and let it drift over the massive cornfields around the farmhouse, "I don't think it would be wise to try that here. Even if the humans wouldn't remember seeing us."
He grinned, shaking his head. "I've enough of a reputation around here as it is. No point in confirming anyone's opinion of me."
That made her laugh, just as he'd intended, and Gina met his gaze once more. "I'm old," she pointed out, her tone light and yet serious. "And my fertility has probably passed. I may be no more than a figurehead to your hive myself."
"I'm older," Stinger replied quietly as he lifted a hand to brush the stray curl from her forehead. "And I want you as you are, Bombini queen."
It was the right thing to say, and she slid into his arms, pressing close once more.
-oo00oo-
Military training and natural instinct had left his room fairly Spartan over the years, but what it lacked in decoration it made up for in general comfort. The four poster bedframe had been one of the first things Stinger remembered refinishing when he arrived on the planet. The oak gleamed, and framed the big mattress easily.
The rest of the room held little enough; a battered dresser with a gilt mirror over it, a pale brocade boudoir chair left over from the previous owners, and double curtains at the single window. The sheers were drawn, letting daylight into the room. He leaned against the doorway as Gina entered ahead of him, looking around quietly.
"Austere."
"Functional," Stinger offered, "like me." Under his breath began to hum.
It worked; Gina's shoulders unclenched and she took a deep breath, shooting him a sidelong look under her lashes as she stepped towards the bed. Her hand slid on the gold and brown satin quilt done in hexagons, and she hummed back.
He stepped closer, and their hums blended, his deeper tone under her husky one, the tune they created both lyrical and compelling. Stinger focused on her, the edges of his vision fading when Gina reached for him, her hands on his chest. Kisses, soft and deep and slow. Stinger let himself play with her soft, soft mouth, marveling at how intoxicating it was. His breathing went ragged, and when Gina unbuttoned his shirt, her warm touch skittering over his skin he gave a groan of pleasure, arching over her, and bringing them both down to the mattress.
Gina seemed just as impatient as he was, and pulled his shirt off with quick tugs, dark eyes sparkling at what lay underneath. Not that Stinger felt impressive by any means but farm life had kept him trim, if somewhat pale. Her hands skittered over his skin, her caresses leaving heated, distracting tingles. He tried to focus on getting her out of the sweatshirt and skirt Kiza had left for her, but his queen was too determined to strip him first, apparently.
He bit back an oath when Gina slid a hand down the front of his jeans, and her hum trilled through her voice.
"Ohhhhwwwwwowwwww."
Stinger gripped her wrist, stopping any further fondling. "Ssssslower," he warned her, feeling slightly drunk with lust. To soften his words he rolled to his side to savor the sight of Gina sprawled on the quilt, her hair messier than ever, her mouth in a relaxed smile.
She relaxed her hand and slid it out again, moving to undo his straining fly instead, and savoring his shivers. "All right, sssssslower," Gina agreed, stretching up to kiss him again.
Gradually they both made it out of their clothing and Stinger felt driven to thoroughly examine his new queen, lightly running his stubbly cheeks and chin over as much of her newly bared skin as possible. Lush was the word that kept drifting in his thoughts as he licked the artful Splice brand at the nape of her neck, and traced the delicate belt of golden merit sigils that circled low on her hips in honeycomb calligraphy. Below them, under the rounded softness of her belly, Stinger gazed at the thicket of dark curls there and fresh desire prickled through him, the tiny jolts mingling of pleasure and pain.
"Mmmmmmmyyyyqueeeeeeeennn," he rasped, brushing his face along her thighs. Obligingly Gina opened them slightly, her own shivers apparent as she did so. The move revealed more of her, and the dampness along the seam of her sex glittered with the honey of her desire.
Stinger dipped lower and let his tongue, hot and wet, slide along the cleft, tasting her, drinking the heady flavors of his queen. He nuzzled closer, letting the taste of Gina bring his lust into sharp, almost painful focus as he did so. This, he knew, this erotic little gesture was what turned the balance now. Now he led the dance, and the queen had to give him his due. Gina sighed, her hands stroking his shoulders, cupping the back of his neck as he continued to suckle and tease.
She gave little gasps, and their intensity grew until Stinger felt Gina's thighs squeeze tightly against his shoulders just as the tender bud stiffened under his lips. He let it pulse against his tongue, riding out her breathy moans of pleasure, and pulling back only when he was sure she was sated.
He rose to his knees, savoring the sight of Gina limp and flushed, her half-lidded gaze taking him in with a blissful smile. She seemed to be torn between looking into his eyes and looking somewhere lower. Not that Stinger blamed her, truth be told.
"To meeeeee, my drone," Gina whispered, and held out her arms.
Stinger had never heard any words so drenched with lust in his life; he slid forward, catching one of her damp thighs over his shoulder and drove himself into her in a single slick stroke, sinking deep into Gina's cleft. The heat of her, welcoming, squeezing made him grunt hard, biting his lips against the drive of nearly overwhelming pleasure that threatened his control. His face hovered over hers, the two of them looking into each other's eyes.
She hummed.
He growled, rocking into her, feeling her hips rise to meet his as they thrust their bodies together, slippery with desire and sweat. Stinger felt his wings snap out even as he drove deeper, kissing her throat, her shoulders, her chin. Gina urged him on, her hands pulling him, stroking muscle and fur, fingers raking his skin in ever stronger stripes. The bed creaked, and he caught a glimpse of her wings against the quilt, amber lace pinned there on the satin.
Too much. He felt the rising surge between his thrusting hips and knew that despite the wish to make this coupling last longer, his body demanded release. Stinger pressed a clumsy kiss to Gina's mouth, trying to whisper to her those important words and found himself breathing in the same ones back from her as she buzzed them, her hands clinging desperately to his flanks.
The rush of climax flared through him in a molten wave of golden pleasure and he muffled his groans against the side of Gina's throat, riding the dying spasms as she clung to his broad back, holding him until his shuddering slowly stopped and he lay on her, damp and drained.
Stinger felt the thudding of his heart begin to slow into something closer to his normal pulse and finally raised his head to look down at his queen. She turned her face meet his gaze and he grinned. Her hair was a wild storm of tangles; her cheeks were pink and her mouth slightly puffy.
"Beautiful," he croaked, "you."
Gina reached up to stroke his cheek. "Keep talking like that and we may have to do this again."
Stinger felt himself grin dangerously. "At your command, my queen."
"But first, maybe a wash and a nap?" she suggested, yawning.
"You Bombini and your hygienic ways," he pretended to grumble, pushing hands on either side of her waist to lift himself from her body. "I suppose so, although we're just going to get damp and, ah, sticky again."
"Lather," Gina giggled, "rinse, repeat. With intermittent naps."
"Pushy queen."
"Pushy drone."