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Far Away From Home	By : mancer Category: S through Z > Star Trek (2009) > Star Trek (2009) Views: 2090 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Star Trek is owned by Gene Roddenberry/Paramount Studios/JJ Abrams. I own none but this writing and the non-canon characters within. Work published for shared fun, not profit.

Chapter List
- 12
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J'Mara acquiesced to Vuron's need for privacy; they returned to her rooms.
Vuron appreciated the utilitarian appeal of her aesthetics. Weapons displayed within easy reach. Clothing stored in a simple, iron bound chest. Thick, winter furs tacked against exterior walls and covering the floors to battle back the chill. The first night she'd carried him back to her private quarters, she'd assembled a rough pallet for the two of them. Simple, just several layers of more fur and a couple coarse woven tapestries.
That first night, she'd stripped his body, bathed him with a cloth from a dish of water heated over the open fire. They hadn't spoken then. Awkwardness and embarrassment from both echoing back and forth. Uncomfortable with the novelty of being within one another's minds.
Invalid, J'Mara's subconscious kept shouting at her. Disgust at her mate's apparent weakness. Trying to swallow it down because she'd felt his strength earlier, knowing that it would return, in time.
Vuron, too, struggled with social expectations. He hadn't let himself be bare in the presence of another since his childhood. The touch of a near stranger, and not a stranger, strained him mentally as she lifted arms and legs so the wet fabric could wipe away their mingled blood.
How they'd compartmentalized these incompatibilities as she revealed more and more of his pale body to her gaze, and he felt her appreciation of his lithe form trickle into her conscious. Her fingers didn't scrub at him, but traced a curve of muscle here, or a scar there, in exploration, rather than treatment.
How his body had shivered. Exhaustion, cold, cracks in his emotions breaking down even his ability to thermoregulate.
“Thermoregulate?” J'Mara had asked, belatedly realizing that, he'd used a word in Klingonese that she didn't have a definition for, rather than a Vulcan one.
“Sh- should be... be able... to...”
His teeth had chattered.
She'd smiled in comprehension, disappearing a moment from his sight to retrieve more furs. Without another word, she'd slipped in with him, wrapping the both of them in a tight cocoon of dead animal skins. Even tucked one, exquisitely soft, dense fur, around his feet.
“You have an interesting tendency of reliving memories,” J'Mara pronounced, pulling him from his reverie.
He tucked his nose against her temple again, hiding the smile that quirked his lips, even if she could feel it through the bond.
“For once, I have memories worth reveling in.”
He could feel both the roll of her eyes and the rush of pleasure as if they were his own.
“Our bond worries you,” J'Mara declared as she stripped the remainder of his clothes from him.
“It is not the strength of it,” he conceded, as their fingers grazed in a slow kiss. “It is the lack of control.” It is as if we are too compatible.
“You are certain you will harness it.”
I am not certain I want to.
The odd thought mingled between them. Vuron couldn't quite decide where it originated from. J'Mara ducked her head a moment, acknowledging for his sake that she didn't either.
They sighed in one breath and slipped between the layers of pelt that functioned as their shared pallet.
“It doesn't disgust you as much now,” J'Mara said.
“For practicality's sake, if nothing else, their use is logical. The furs are warmer than any fabric made on my homeworld.”
An ache built up in his heart. J'Mara's hand slid down to his right side, feeling the strong beat.
“It is a shame your people did not colonize, as mine does,” she murmured. She had no definite figures, like he had, to run through her mind, but he felt the presence of an abstract large number on Qo'Nos, how other planets, other moons, in surrounding systems, and systems far away, held a similar weight of lives.
Vuron allowed himself a shuddering breath.
“Help me forget, tonight,” Vuron requested. “Help me heal.”
“As you command, my love.”
J'Mara kissed him the Vulcan way, her fingers intwined with his. She bit and licked at him at her instincts demanded.
Vuron allowed his mind to roll in the constant rumble of her lust, as a targ might in a pungent aroma, letting it wash over him, invade his every thought.
He bit her cheek and jaw, enjoying the pleasant thunder as she growled at him. The strong column of her neck called to him. The vibrations he felt through his teeth as he took her vocal cords in his mouth a fascinating sensation. She ached for him to bite her there, to mark her, but he refused more than a light hold, uncomfortable with the sensation of cutting off her airway, even if her body had evolved for this kind of play, with jaws filled with sharper, stronger teeth. He took in the curve of muscle at the side of her neck, however, biting and sucking until his jaw ached with the force. Blood seeped into his mouth while she gasped and arched under him. The peaks of her breasts hard and pressing into his torso.
One of her hands guided his fingers there, and he found himself supporting the soft, heavy tissue. His curiosity piqued.
He'd never had much tissue there himself, but had hated it with a passion until the very minute the cosmetic surgeons had put him under to remove it. Never examined it, unless he had to, never tested it for reaction to cold or heat or pressure as J'Mara's mind begged.
Vuron pressed careful kisses to the other side of her throat, marking her symmetrically, washing himself in her pleasure while his attention slipped to the heat in his palm. The hard nub of flesh pressed into the sensitive tissue there.
Her hand closed in a fist over his, their mingled fingers carving deep welts into the soft mammary tissue.
He bit harder, admonishing her.
No, I will go at my own speed, he pushed across their bond, even as his own blood rose to meet her heat.
She released him, her hands digging into his ribcage, so that his sensitive fingers could cup and press and manipulate as he needed to explore this unfamiliar flesh. She moaned above him, her vocal cords thrumming against his cheek.
He repositioned, tucking a thigh between hers so that her gyrating hips had something to grind against.
His lips offered one last gentle press against the two semicircular marks he'd left in her neck before traveling down.
She radiated her sensations back to him.
How his cool mouth closing over one aching nipple felt. How the gentle, fucking timid, explorations drove her to near insanity. Suggesting, at least, that he use that dexterous tongue to his advantage.
Vuron experimented, drawing small circles with his tongue around the sensitive areola, watching in the dim light as the dusky skin darkened with raised blood. Contracted into fascinating, minute wrinkles. How his fingers could almost duplicate the sensation from this nipple's twin, but the panting Klingon beneath him didn't believe it.
He smirked at a suggestion from her. Vuron cupped both breasts in his hands and pressed them together. They weren't quite large enough to bring the two sensitive buds to touching, but side by side he could lick and suck first one, then the other, in quite rapid succession, his thumbs flicking the pert flesh while his mouth worked over them. Found himself aroused by sucking their interlaced flesh into his mouth.
Hands tightened against his back. Sharp claws drawing bloody parallel lines over his ribcage. He groaned and bit at the flesh before him, his dull eyeteeth catching both nubs, sending waves of pleasure through his mate.
She ground her intimate flesh against the hard muscle of his thigh. Her scream took him unaware.
Vuron blinked up, taking in her panting, exhausted smile, the dampness between her thighs, pressed against him. The pulse of her heartbeat against his skin.
“If this was a race, I just beat you.”
A burble of pride warmed him.
“Mmm. Come here. I need a moment to recover.”
She wrapped her body around his, offering warmth while seeking to touch every square millimeter of skin she could. Vuron allowed his mind to center on the sensation of her pulse rushing through her own body, a thick throb slowing to a dull pulse.
“Are you ready for your gift?”
“Gift?” Vuron asked in response. His aching fingers caressing her skin in lazy circles, trailing down her taunt stomach, to her hipbone, and lower.
“Ah!” She bit his jaw. “Not ready for more. You're insatiable.”
Vuron didn't argue with his bondmate; they both knew that she'd been pushing him, that her lust had been sated temporarily. How both craved just a little more while they still-
Another sharp bite brought his mind back to the present.
“Your gift.”
“Yes. Now seems as good a time as any to receive it.”
J'Mara flung her arms up over her head. A playful smile tugged at her lips.
“You wished to challenge each of us earlier. Now I shall challenge you. You have ten questions to guess it.”
Curiosity warmed him.
“Any other stipulations?”
“No.”
“Will I still receive your gift, if I do not guess what it is?”
“You may, if you're a good enough boy.” Her smile turned a bit feral. “You have eight left.”
Vuron hummed and nuzzled into her side. Warming himself with her oven heat while considering his options. She'd retreated again, throwing up familiar mental walls. A basketweave, to his emotional bricks, allowing him flickering glances at what she thought, or intended him to think.
“You thought of something made of bone earlier,” he verbalized after a moment.
“That isn't a question.”
He nodded once in agreement, exploring deeper into her mind for whether he were on the right track.
“You're cheating.”
“You stated there were no other stipulations. It is an item made of bone.”
“Yes. And I am counting that as a question now.”
“As you will. Was this an item recently made?”
“No.”
Six questions left. Hm.
“A ceremonial item?”
“Depends on what one considers a ceremony. I would. You would not.”
A Klingon item then. He should have assumed that, considering it had not been made recently. And the only items of Vulcan-origin would be sitting in the Ambassador's building at the capitol.
“Private ceremony, or public?”
She glowed with humor, but didn't laugh.
“Private.”
His mind catalogued all of the ceremonies he knew of, opening his mind to her, displaying what he had available to choose from.
“Any of these?”
J'Mara did laugh at him then.
“None of those. Four left, love.”
An old, Klingon item, made of bone. Used in private ceremonies, private enough that they hadn't been shared during diplomatic talks with anyone whom had shared data with the Vulcan database. Interesting. His mind took a different turn.
“Is it a weapon?”
“I already gave you a dagger, husband. Are you so bloodthirsty you require more?”
He niggled away at her.
“So, one could consider it a weapon, but you choose not to?” he guessed.
“Two left.”
He pursed his lips at the non-answer. Considered arguing that a question, not answered, shouldn't count on his tally, but assumed that she would tick away at his last precious pair.
“How large is it?”
She smiled then, holding up her hands to describe a dimension a tad shorter than the length of her forearm, but declined clarifying if that meant length, width, or height.
“Is it in this room?”
“Yes.”
His eyes wandered the weapons on the walls. It might be fitting if she decided to present him with a pair of bonding gifts. A functional, modern dagger and an antique? Or a sheath for it? But a sheath a good deal longer than the dagger itself would be impractical.
Her excitement grew as his eyes roamed, pointing him towards the crate where she stored her clothing.
“Shall I retrieve it then?”
She nodded.
Vuron felt the separation of their skin like a physical pain. The chill of the air didn't help.
“Add more wood to the fire,” J'Mara stated. He watched her shiver, fascinated, before turning to the trunk.
Another reason for us to practice being separate, he thought.
You/I do not like the idea.
The odd echo of an agreement that passed between the two of them.
He drew a deep breath, centering his mind a moment without her, focusing on his own internal balance. Speeding his heart up by a minor percentage, allowing capillaries in his dermis to relax, brought the warmth of his core outward. Not a realistic solution, long term, but with a thick pile of furs and a much warmer body to supplement his heat, loosing a degree or two for a few minutes would do him no harm. Through their bond, he felt J'Mara's muscles relax out of their trembling.
“You're blushing.”
“Not quite,” Vuron replied with a smile. “'Flushed' would be a more accurate term.”
He could see his body, through J'Mara's eyes. Willowy and lithe. Pale skin greened, making him appear a bit darker in the meager firelight.
Her eyes, better adapted for stalking in the dark, picked out the oddest things to focus on. The way his feet had paused in an attack stance, without conscious thought on his part. The smooth, clean muscled grace of his limbs – How are you so strong, with so little mass? – and, oddly enough, the thick fringe of his black eyelashes.
Vuron blinked. He hadn't realized that his lashes could be considered thick. Within the range of the norm. Desert adaptations, perhaps? he mused. Or did J'Mara muse?
“Now, you are blushing.”
His fingers cupped his cheek without a thought, realizing the truth of her statement. His cheeks, and ears, were several degrees warmer than the surrounding flesh.
Vuron turned back to the crate and lifted the lid.
Whatever it was, he couldn't recognize the item.
It hadn't been wrapped in anything to obscure it, so he perceived the full length of bone, kinked at perhaps a... one hundred and twenty degree angle? The length on either end of the angle were uneven, doubtless intended to be so. The shorter end had been carved in a bulbous shape, thinning a measure before widening again at the bend. The inner curve of the bend had deep ridges cut into the surface. The longer end....
Vuron felt his cheeks heat further.
The longer end had been recarved; whatever the shape had been originally, it'd been repurposed into an exaggerated Vulcan phallus. The double ridges at the tip an over-exaggerated sweep up and away from the shaft, and tinted green.
“You have found your new sword?” J'Mara's presence reasserted itself through his confusion and embarrassment with a great, burbling mirth. “Bring it here. You are growing cold.”
She sat up on the pallet, wrapping her arms around his bare thighs as he balanced the strange object between his palms.
“I still can not decipher the purpose of this... object.”
J'Mara reached up, slinging a thick black fur around his shoulders. Residual heat from her body surrounded him.
“Just as I thought, uninventive Vulcans. No imagination.”
“You've stated as such be- oooh.”
Her tongue delving into his navel, silencing him. She plucked the item from his fingers, before it slid form his slack grasp. Out of sight and soon out of mind, as her molten hot tongue traced a staccato, interrupted with sharp marks from her teeth.
Hands wandered over his body, fingernails digging hard lines down his pectorals, over the taunt ripples of his stomach. Thumbs passed over the artificial nipples; a thread of disappointment passed through to Vuron. She'd expected a tantalizing thrill, like her own sensitive flesh gave her.
Before the surgery, he hadn't had any interest in tactile sensation there, only in binding down as tight and flat as he could. The loss of sensation hadn't meant anything... until it disappointed his mate.
A hard bite to his hipbone forced his thoughts to the present.
“Meld with me,” J'Mara urged.
“J'Mara... t'hy'la.”
“I can already hear your excuses rattling around in my head. You are worried you will bind us even tighter together. That you mind burn out my mind somehow, or I yours. That you will be overwhelmed with my emotions, or that I might loose myself in you. I do not care. The touch I received from you was wondrous. I could feel every touch through your skin as if it were my own. Every smell, every sound.”
“I was exhausted then,” Vuron murmured. “I worry I might have done something wrong... and I have no training to correct it.”
“And now you are rested and recovered. And I am horny and want your body and your mind.”
A thousand worries passed over his mind's eye, and into hers, since he held minimal barriers against his bondmate now.
She snarled in frustration and picked up one of his hypersensitive hands.
Lips plump, darkened, and hot from arousal pressed against the pads of his fingertips in a gentle, even caste, kiss.
“I am uninjured,” she kissed again. Every ridge of his fingerprints catching on the chapped snags of her lips. “In fact, I feel more alive than I ever have before.” The chaste press changed, her lips seizing at the wrinkles at each joint, the subtle grasp sending minute shivers down his spine. “A sense I've never had before has opened up to me; I hear the drum of my heartbeat, when it had been dead and silent my entire life.”
Her tongue laved the thin webbing between his first and second finger.
He had a response... he really did... but-
He snagged up the hand braced against his hipbone, his fingers stroking and gripping hers. J'Mara gasped at the shared sensation of the rough kiss. Her tongue just peaking over her lower teeth. Vuron traced her lips with the pad of his thumb, pressed into the moist heat of her mouth.
Desire pounded against him. Hard steel against his defenses. Chipping away with amusement, assurance. Desire needing to be fulfilled.
Please.
Stroke after stroke she battered him.
Parts of him chipped away. Resolve. Prudence.
They were already bonded. The mating drives furrowed into their cognizance, appetites galvanized towards acts of procreation, not bloodlust. Well, not killing bloodlust. Incompatibility held little weight, considering how fucking compatible they seemed up until now. Strong survival drives beat deep within each of their chests. Besides, a few bruises, a couple broken bones, meant the pleasure of the mating remained long afterward. Warmed the heart when one's husband no longer warmed a wife's bed.
They groaned as one.
Please....
She sucked on his thumb, her flushed cheeks tucked in with the draw, her tongue laving the seam of his fingernail, sharp teeth scraping long lines from base to tip. Warmth seemed to encompass his entire body, thrilling up from the very center of his body in waves, tingling in sparkling shards of glass to the tips of every finger and toe.
Desire crackled, lightening sharp pangs amid the swirling blizzard of hormones. Electric sparking at each exposed nerve cluster in their skin.
Please....
His right hand left the desperate tangle with her fingers. Fingers traced her eyebrow, her jaw. Their breath panting through clenched teeth. The bone in his thumb grated with the pressure of her jaw.
No need to center, to recite the familiar words to initiate the meld. The moment his fingers grazed over the psi points, he slipped into her mind and she into his.
Falling into a well, dark and all encompassing.
Slipping in between warm, musky furs.
Descending, tumbling, through senses: one moment sharp, monotone detail of sight and sound, the next a tactile realm, muted colors in the dark offering confusing aspects of the world.
Fingers clutching at bare skin. Holding, supporting. Steading one body upright, and anchoring the other to the very ground.
For several, long, painful moments, their hearts beat as one, flickering between the steady rhythm demanded by one body, then the skittering flutter of another. The rapid beat of J'Mara's eight chambered heart tapped a brutal triple step inside his chest; his own organ twitching muscle fibers it didn't possess. His heart raced at impossible speeds as his autonomic responses fought to right themselves, speeding along to his usual two hundred plus beats per minute, hiccuping at the improbable staccato, then sprinting forward again in a vane attempt to regain its proper tempo.
Vuron gasped in intense, unique pain. Heart attack, his mind screamed, muscles clenching to draw his body in, a higher metabolism taking over as a moment of shared panic sent J'Mara's heart racing even faster.
Not just the beat of the heart, but digestion, respiration, perspiration... all of those little functions J'Mara's hindbrain took care of without a thought flooded through their bond; Vuron's conscious control over his own bodily functions spasming with the weight of two bodies, one so alien that even the redundant organs flooded him. Brak'lul. Heart with too many chambers. Extra stomach working through the remains of their evening meal. Even the second liver filtering her very blood overwhelmed him.
They desperately needed to break away, separate their minds, their bodies. The myriad of bodily functions fell secondary to the primary functions, to breath, to pump blood, to fire synapses with the precision needed to complete even the simplest task.
Warmth flooded him. Reassuring warmth.
The unfamiliar warmth of emotion, allowed free reign.
Adrenaline diminished. The mingled rhythm of their hearts slowed.
Benevolent warmth purred through them. Soothing. Being soothed.
A mind comfortable with wrangling panic stepped up. Strong, arms, more a psychological notion then a physical one, wrapped around him. Accepting the hysteria, rather than trying to defeat it with utter control. Acknowledging fear like an old friend. Setting a place at the table for it. Pouring a large goblet of bloodwine for both, settling down, and staring deep into the troubling fire that raged within.
A tremor of nervousness caught Vuron again, as he felt the control slip away, but J'Mara held it, held him, firm.
No need to control. Not in a safe place like this. Warm, loving arms keeping him protected. Nothing but the winter winds howling at the walls outside.
But he needed to control! Every breath, every beat of his living heart, every contraction of masticated food from one lobe of his stomach to another. Without that control, every system of his body would cease to-
Confidence pushed at him again.
A hand sliding over the back of his, holding him tight. Securing him. Reassuring him.
No concrete thoughts passed between them. No words of encouragement or strategies.
J'Mara reached up into the continuing thread of adrenaline pooling in his blood, the practiced ease of an instructor stepping in where a student had overreached their abilities, taking calm command of the weapon in her student's hands before any harm could be done.
Vuron shuddered in her grasp. Stilling himself, body and mind, as he felt an uncountable multitude of minute variables fall away from his conscious control.
Before the panic could rear its head again, he felt the hot press of J'Mara's body against him. Felt the solid beat of her heart through his skin, rather than from inside his own ribcage. The quiet gurgle of her stomach against his thighs.
A new emotion washed over him. Utterly unknown.
Belonging. Acceptance. Turned towards him.
So... all encompassing. Not the head on challenge she'd presented his fear. A different flavor. Something new, even for her.
So soon after the flood of panic, sharing this warmth, this acceptance, this gentler emotion, could be more readily ingested.
Not control now, no control. Just letting J'Mara's subconscious take over all the jobs it'd been designed to do.
As he started to probe further, trying to explore where the threads of one fabric blended into another, a hot tongue interrupted his contemplation. Their minds still indecipherable in tactile sensation. He felt the delicate ridge of a navel in the center of a tautly muscles stomach with his own mouth. He rolled the delicate fold of skin between his teeth. Tasted the exotic fragrance of Vulcan skin through the predator olfactory senses of his mate.
Their earlier play a dull echo, the cyclical touch of J'Mara feeling how Vuron felt J'Mara returned; echoing on and on into eternity.
While his mind leaned back towards contemplation, J'Mara had other ideas. Her hands slipped from his, grasping his hipbones a moment, slipping lower.
Her callused fingers slid between his legs, the back of a knuckle tracing back and forth across his swollen slit.
They moaned as she stroked the very edge of him, coaxing his natural lubricant onto her fingers. Her mouth traced a hot, wet line down to the very core of him.
Breathed in his scent, memorized the acidic, dusky tang of his skin, of his arousal, as her fingers rocked back and forth, dipping in just enough to coax a little more fluid from his body.
He felt the hot steam of her mouth curling around his aching flesh. The scarred knuckle grazing the erect tissue hidden between his legs.
She ached to feel his flesh through his hands, wanted to watch him fingerfuck himself. Stretched out on some dark fur, so that his pale skin would glow in the firelight. Legs stretched out so she could see him part himself for her hungry gaze. Lips parted. Panting heavily with want.
Vuron growled, his fingers digging tighter into her cheek. He felt her lips tighten in a grin a moment before her warm tongue joined her fingers, laving him, delving into his moist folds.
Sensations swamped him, heady flavor and scent swallowed him up, her tongue circling his nub, taunting him a moment before her lips encircled him, sucking the small core of flesh into her mouth. Sharp teeth grazed his aching skin.
His gasping cry echoed in the quiet room.
He came into her mouth, quick and unexpected from the sharp ecstasy her lips and tongue. Her tongue flicked back and forth, riding him out as his hips bucked into her mouth, urging him to shudder even harder.
“No... no more,” Vuron begged, as she started circling around his clitoris again.
She pressed her lips against him one last time before reaching for the bone phallus.
Her fingertips slid back and forth along his slit again, now welled up with his oily lubricant, using her dampened fingers on the bulb, slicking it up.
Vuron's mind shuddered in pleasure. He gazed down at her, curious but not delving into the little curtain of privacy she drew. Or he'd drawn. Hmm. His mind too muddled in afterglow.
Her fingers returned, delving a little deeper now. He groaned.
She'd curled one finger in, that first time, and it had felt wonderful. An odd intrusion, not one he'd let any other, even himself, do before. But her skilled, confident hand circled him again now. Pressed in and curled forward, pad of her callused finger pressing forward on spongy bit of internal flesh, drawing out a long, low groan. The aftershocks hit again, strong enough for the tendons in his thighs to twitch.
She slipped her finger out, that blunt bulb replaced it at his entrance. It felt a hell of a lot bigger than it looked.
“J'Mara?” he asked, a bit uncertain, but her lips returned to the twitching core of him and coherent thought left him.
Pressure against his hole. Wide, a bit painful. She wiggled the phallus back and forth a moment. He felt a bit of concern. Not sure if it would fit.
Vuron caught his lower lip between his teeth.
The Klingon growled in pent up frustration; gentleness and patience a learned behavior, not her preference right now.
“It will fit?”
She sucked him hard into her mouth, teeth gripping him near-painful.
The only warning a subtle flex of her shoulder.
Vuron screamed.
Something subtle tore as J'Mara seated the hard bone deep within Vuron's body.
She bathed her mate in long strokes of her tongue, gentle suction, her fingers stroking on either side of the hard phallus, her mind a mixture of soothing sensations, of begging forgiveness.
You were a virgin, she didn't accuse, not really. Just confused.
I never let him penetrate, Vuron thought, trying to ignore the sharp taste of his coppery blood in his mate's mouth.
His body adjusted, thanks in no small part to the tender ministrations of his bondmate. She gentled the hard surface into its final location, positioning the carved ridges of the inner curve of the bend against his aching erectile tissue, so that every movement of the object was transmitted directly to the nerve-dense tissue.
The bulb inside of him felt unfamiliar, but not painful; tender where the thin membrane of flesh had been torn. J'Mara urged him to clamp foreign muscles down there, gripping the bone.
The vulcan phallus twitched attractively when he did as she suggested.
I like the effect, J'Mara thought. A grin pulled her lips back in a feral, hungry grin.
She opened herself to him, and for a long moment, he saw himself as she saw him.
From this angle, his... cock looked very large. His hipbones curved up and away, exaggerating the view. A perplexed Vulcan met their shared gaze.
The cock twitched again, to J'Mara's mind, in invitation.
She slipped one hand to the underside, her mind agilely switching from thinking of that large bend as his balls to his pubis somehow, as Vuron's Vulcan mind supplied that his testes, if he had them, would be internal, on his dorsal side, above his pelvis, but under his ribcage.
Her hand slipped up and down that smooth surface in a sure, long stroke, pulling those delectable ridges up to rub against him, the bulb shifting deep within. A harder pull and he felt how that bulb had been designed to rub that delightful, concealed location just above the inner surface of his pubic bone.
Through her eyes, he saw a Vulcan male, a complete Vulcan male.
You were complete before, she grinned, her lips stroking back and forth over that green tipped member, Now you just have a new accessory.
Vuron savored the perception of J'Mara's mouth closing over the hard, cool surface. Her tongue swirled over the head of his cock in a mirror of how she'd sucked him off before.
Now, though, she bobbed her head up and down over the hard length of him. Her tongue explored ridges left by the chisel. Hands rubbing in tender places to help his arousal along. Her throat convulsed around the unforgiving rigid member; each draw of her mouth bringing her lips farther down his cock, her lips closer to the very base of him.
Amusement tingled between them as she realized she couldn't deep throat the whole length she'd provided him.
His spare hand stroked her cheek; he memorized every moment of her worship of his body, every swirl of her tongue, every graze of her sharp fangs. The way her eyelashes fanned out over her cheeks as she concentrated. How he felt the vibration of her humming deep in his body. The flicker of gold in her deep eyes as firelight reflected in the dark when she glanced up to watch him. Her engorged lips wrapping around him.
She growled, giving him one last long lick before rising to her feet.
She kissed him the Klingon way, all gnashing lips and teeth. Her hands wrapped around his face, much the way he held her, pressing him close. Her hips ground against him, mashing his cock against the hard planes of her abdomen.
She raced a line of kisses along his jaw, right up to the delicate conical of his ear. Hot breath and deft tongue left him groaning, using her body as support.
J'Mara offered him a single chaste kiss to the pulsepoint in his throat before biting down into the trapezius muscle until the taste of coppery blood filled both of their mouths.
Impatience burned through their bond.
“Took you long enough,” she rumbled against his flesh.
He howled as her teeth gnashed back into the wound. No gentleness. Only lust.
Vuron shoved her away. Fresh ripped in her mouth.
Warm wetness dripped down his chest. Emptiness tingled in his fingertips at the loss of contact.
With a snarl he leapt forward. They grappled for a few moment before Vuron had her flipped, belly down, over her cold iron trunk.
“Tired of me in your mind, my t'hy'la?”
She writhed under his hands. Every square millimeter of their skin tingled at the slightest touch; the bond attempting to reassert itself. J'Mara gasped and renewed her struggles.
“Not in my mind. You stuck in your mind.”
Teeth caught the wrist supporting his weight on the wood. He slid from the grasp with shallow nicks in his skin. A hundred different defenses played out in his mind.
“That!” she snarled, punching him in the chest, bowling him over in a tumble of bare flesh. “Stuck in your mind! Just fuck me!”
A placed foot to her solar plexus flung her across the room. Weapons scattered across the floor as the ancient rack disintegrated under her weight.
He looked at her in a different light. Not just his bondmate, or the instructor, or this caring, careful lover.
The weight of thousands of years of Klingon history stood behind her. Just as the generations stood behind him. The urge to observe every action, examine reactions, experiment with outcomes dictated every action, every aspect, even if he stood as a half-successful example of Surak's teachings.
Before him, skin gleaming with sweat, breasts bobbing with her panting breath, teeth exposing in a feral gleam, stood a predator with very different needs. Not just sexual, of course, but those stood to the forefront at this particular moment.
The fact that she'd controlled herself, for his benefit, thus far spoke to her unprecedented patience.
“You wish me to fight with you.”
A heavy shudder wracked her body.
“We sparred earlier.” Her pupils dilated until he cold see nothing but black. “That will be enough. Stop thinking!”
She circled him. Stalked him.
The gleam in her eye brightened.
He wanted to concede to her wish, but his mind swum.
“You would not be satisfied with a mate who could not beat you.”
A slight nod, barely noticeable in the dark, before she lunged at him. He glided away; agile and infuriating.
“Stop running.”
He stilled his body. Arms relaxed at his sides. She knew the posture well enough not to advance. Prepared for any attack she might offer.
Compromise. A necessary component for survival.
“I will defeat you,” Vuron said. The complete assurance in his voice hauled another large shudder. “Thus, I am not running. I am retreating for strategic advantage!”
His bare foot kicked up the weapon he'd been edging towards. In the dark he'd only seen a flicker of darker brown among the shadows. Leather and old wood met his aching fingertips. He didn't chance glancing down, tilting the weapon a moment to decide by the shift in weight if he held a spear of a staff. Equal weight. A staff then.
Her weight shifted, just enough, to invite an opening for him. Her grin all the more welcoming.
He jabbed quickly towards her shoulder, snapping the lower edge down in an arch as she deflected the blow, as he predicted, up and over to catch her on the side of the head.
In the small room, they had to move in concise, daring patterns.
“You can not win,” Vuron taunted. “I am the stronger of the two of us.”
A knife skittered over bare skin. Green blood ran, swiftly followed by a backhand, a disarming of the utilitarian weapons, and red blood in return.
“Do not play this game with me, husband.”
They grappled a moment, over the knife, before Vuron swept J'Mara's legs out from under her.
“I aim to fulfill my bondmate's desires,” Vuron growled.
He fisted a hand in her hair, lifted her up and tossed over the chest once again. Arm tight around her throat. Every struggle of her lithe body pressed her ass against his hard cock.
He caught the hand whipping around before the shard of splintered metal it held reached his thigh. He ground the bones in her wrist together until she was forced to release it. Pressed the hardness between his legs against her ass and bit the back of her neck with as much pressure as his jaw could muster.
Reveled in the purr she gave in return.
Vuron pinned her hands in the small of her back and released her throat long enough to press the meld upon her once again; forcing his way in, using his innate inquisitiveness to his advantage. Flooding her entire being with his questing thoughts. Washing her away in the deep well of his lust.
You will keep your hands here, he commanded, pressing her wrists tight a moment.
If I don't?
His mind flitted over her memories; Vuron's palm came down hard on the sensitive curve of her rump.
J'Mara yelped then groaned and arched up against his chastising hand.
That does not make me want to behave, her voice warned. In fact-
He smacked her again, harder, as she moved to struggle. He bit the nape of her neck at the feel of his own skin throbbing in time to her pulse.
With a shift of his weight, he exposed more of her skin to his palm. A kick to one foot spread her legs, baring her flesh to alternating strikes to each cheek. Reveling in her gasps and yowls.
Enough, she growled.
He leveled a final blow, knowing her wishes as she knew them, before his fingers slid down the cleft of her. Surprised and not by the moisture he found.
His cock nearly slid from between his legs at the sensation of his fingers delving between her lips.
They clamped their thighs together, increasing the pressure of his intruding digits, as well as keeping her gift in place. Her moisture softening the rough drag of his callused hands to a slide that aroused both.
Vuron found a comfortable rhythm for only a moment before one of J'Mara's groans vibrated through his teeth.
Fuck me.
Hands reached for his cock. Caressing him. Drawing him closer to her heat.
For one blissful moment, he could feel his cock, his own flesh, parting the moist folds of her. Feel the impossible heat as she surrounded him. The tightness of her muscles gripping him, dragging him ever closer into her self.
Their hips bucked at one, conscious thoughts melted away to pure instinct. Fingers digging into soft flesh. Hips pounding bruises into tendons.
Their minds twinned together as their bodies raced to oblivion. Who-gripped-whom and who bled lost in we and us. Time lost in the air dragged in through dry throats. Their world a long dark tunnel closing in around them until-
Darkness.
Vuron's hands slid away, sweat-slick and limp.
Someone whimpered in the dark at the loss of contact.
The fire had gone out.
They remained, collapsed atop one another on the bare ground, until Vuron's shivering annoyed J'Mara enough that she rolled off of him.
Vuron shuddered underneath her as she slipped off of his painfully hard cock.
Fuck. I'm still in your mind.
She scooped up her husband and plopped his limp form back onto the pallet.
Two sets of eyes surveyed the mess of the room in mild curiosity as J'Mara teased Vuron's member from his body. Muscles had clamped deep within him with that last orgasm, making retrieval of the smaller bulb side more difficult than initial application.
“Need to work on your sex talk,” J'Mara grumbled aloud, once she'd plucked the bone away.
Vuron allowed a smile to tug his lips up.
He felt her grin in return. Tasted, as she tasted, as her tongue bathed his member, cleaned it of their mingled juices. Spasmodic muscle clenching radiated from his pelvis. Curious, but not unpleasant.
Her eyes gazed about the room again, finally exploring how much he could see within the darkness. Not much, other than to perceive it was, indeed, dark. The crack under the wooden door allowed some light from the hallway, on occasion, but at the moment, the torches in the hallway were gutted too.
Through her eyes, even without a fire, he could discern the outlines of his body in the furs, the glimmer of metal where the weapons'd been scattered.
“I suppose I could see where this might become an issue,” J'Mara conceded.
Vuron caught up one of her hands, nibbling her palm as she so often did to him.
So exhausted that, for once, he felt no need to examine. To question.
He placed the palm of her hand against his side, so she could feel the steady beat of his heart, and allowed himself to feel. His own emotion, honest, open.
She'd shown him lust, caring, belonging, desire... so many aspects of something his people barely acknowledged.
Love.
As sleep took him, he shared his love with this magnificent, amazing, creative, intelligent, battle-hardened amazon.
An annoyed little huff passed through her lips, but she tugged him into a tight embrace, throwing a leg over his hips, and allowed his weary mind to drag her into sleep with him.
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Far Away From Home