Tristar

Chapter XII

           D’Hare saw the King, the indirect cause of his broken hand, while he waddled back to Jacobson's room.  As they passed one another, D’Hare felt the long lost stare at his backside.  Ever since Gregory had come, it had been absent.  He then noticed that the human was gone.

            “Where's your bitch?”  D’Hare snarled.

            The King took a contemplating moment to answer, but when he did, it was with a cruel smile.  “He fell.”

            D’Hare waited to see the extent of damage on Gregory.  When the man never showed up, D’Hare stomped to Jacobson’s room.

            "I'm back," D'Hare announced.

            "I see," Jacobson retorted.  He slothfully picked the syringe resting beside his arm.

            D'Hare plopped down beside Jacobson and snorted.  "You seem a little bitchy today."

            "This is perhaps one of the most stupid ways you have harmed yourself, D'Hare," vapidly Jacobson snapped as he stuck D'Hare's hand none too gently with the syringe.

            “Ow,” D’Hare mumbled.  It changed to a pleasurable purr as the powerful anesthesia was thrust into his blood stream.       Jacobson disposed of the syringe by inserting it back into his med kit.

            “Go to your bed and sleep, that will be basically the only thing you’ll be able to do,” Jacobson commanded.

            D’Hare wobbled out the room.  The walls banged as D’Hare ricocheted like a pinball off them until he came to his room.

            A chill fell down Jacobson’s back.  Not even the King could make him feel such a sick feeling.  David pinned Jacobson onto the bed.  Hoping D’Hare would hear, Jacobson screamed.  David quickly covered Jacobson mouth before he could let out a sound.

            “Mnn,” Jacobson mumbled.

            “Just be quiet and good,” David chuckled.

            He flipped Jacobson on his back and began to horrific ritual.

            It was much like before; quick, messy, painful, and degrading.  David's sick seed spurted into Jacobson, mixing with blood.  David was about to pull out, when suddenly his body went rigid then collapsed. 

            Jacobson looked back to see the King with a blade made of a boney material running the underside of his palm.  David’s blood coated it and the King's hand.  The blade retracted back into the King's flesh.

            David, who had been one of the King’s favorites, so much that he had threatened Jacobson’s position of safety,  was only give a forlorn shrug by the King.

            “Ah, so this has been what he was doing to you.  I never thought he would truly follow through.  Poor fool,” the King softly spoke.

            The King sauntered out.  Jacobson stared at David’s body with shocked open eyes.  A sinful hint of satisfaction was at the back of his mind.

            He then thought of D’Hare, he was in a very venerable position.  Jacobson ran to the door, but found it locked.  He tried to yank the door off and yelled with all the volume he could muster.

            He was a kitten.  A warm, loving kitten who just wanted to roll around on the bed, not an asshole marine who hated everyone.  D’Hare moaned.  Everything felt so soft.  He couldn’t get enough.  With no reason to tell him not to, D’Hare began to strip off his clothing.  The more his skin touched the bed, the faster he stripped.

            The King watched with pleased interest.  He walked up to the bed and even he was surprised when D’Hare looked at him with half-lidded eyes and a slight smile.

            D’Hare reached out and touched the King hands.  His eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. 

            “Whoa, your hand feels cool,” D’Hare slurred.

            He continued feeling the texture of the hand, entertained by it more than a child with candy.

            The King pulled open the front of his robe, revealing the abdominal flesh and all the slender, carved muscles and jaunting ribs and hips.  He took D’Hare’s hand and placed it over his ribs.  D’Hare eyes widen in more surprise.  It felt even cooler.

            The King, slowly so he would not aggravate the marine, slid onto the bed.  As he did that, D’Hare hands slid around his ribs, feeling the muscles, then circled to his back, and clung onto the shoulder blades.  D’Hare felt other protrusions alien to his knowledge of anatomy.  He should’ve felt unease by the features, but under his conditions, he wanted to touch them all with glee. 

            The King took his robe off and let it slide to the floor.  A ray of small spikes ran down the Kings spine.  On his shoulder blades and folded along his back were two wings.  Perhaps they looked insect-like, similar to a Basque, or dragon, like the Red Hythox.  Whatever their structure was, the touch was amazing.  D’Hare couldn’t describe it.  After passing over the wings, D’Hare ran his hand up, down, and around the spikes.  They were as smooth as glass, but were also as sharp. 

            The King pressed his body against D’Hare.  The marine’s eyes flew open. 

            “Gah!”  D’Hare yelled out.  The touch was explosive. 

            The King rolled his hips, slow and deep.  D’Hare’s own loins responded eagerly.

            As D’Hare’s fingers curved over the King’s shoulder, the King’s long nails trailed over the curve of the humans ass and down the cleavage.

            D’Hare shivered; the light touches of the talons felt like spider legs.  He anticipated the bite.  

            The King slid an index finger into the tight orifice.  D’Hare, under any circumstances, would’ve been displeased, but the King softly rolled his hips forward to combat the unpleasant feeling.

            D’Hare moaned softly.  He couldn’t decide between the pain or pleasure.  It became tougher when the middle finger was added.  It all ended when the King removed them.

            “Put them back,” D’Hare moaned.

            The King chuckled and laid his body against D’Hare, pinning him down.  The over sensation of skin pacified D’Hare’s want for the moment.

            Normally, having the King penetrate him was the second most disgusting thing he had ever expeieranced.  The first was expelling that egg.  Now it was everything he wanted.

            “Fuck!”  D’Hare screamed.  The strange feeling of having the King inside him almost made him cum. 

            D’Hare had no clue where to put his wondering hands.  He settled for wrapping them around the King neck.  They constricted when the King began to move, shifting his hips forward.

            Much like when the human wasn’t under lustful circumstances, D'Hare was loud. 

            “Ah!  Fuck!  Damn it!”

            D’Hare constantly cursed and moaned.  Though it was loud a repetitive, the King smiled in satisfaction.

            “Faster,” D’Hare gasped.

            The King did just that.  The two bodies slapped against each other.  D’Hare’s screams had ended as his body began to contract, tighter every time the feeling of euphoria increased.

            D'Hare reeled back while his eye did the same to the point only his whites were visible, which was also the color that blinded his vision.

            In a much calmer fashion, the king lowly groaned. 

            The King noticed a white fluid against his abdomen.  He cupped a sample of it and held the fluid in front of his face.  Curiously he stared at it, watching its viscosity.  He licked the liquid off his fingers.  It was very salty and he was sure others would have thought it had an awful taste.  However, he smacked his lips and looked to the human.

            Through sprawled out on the bed, the human was still awake, though barely.  The sharp eyes were closed and the mouth open in boisterous breathing.

            Perhaps another round.

            The King guided D’Hare over his body.  He slowly pushed D’Hare’s hips back, impaling the human's body over his cock.  D’Hare hissed, but not from pain.  The feeling was still good.

            D'Hare was on top.  Normally, he would’ve taken the chance to punch the King’s face in, but now his weak body shook from the aftershock of the orgasm before and the anticipation of another.

            God,” he lowly moaned. 

            D'Hare reached for the King's scalp but yipped in the sensation of his carapace locks.  His fingers curled in, feeling the dry, stern tendrils.

            The king slowly and deeply guided D'Hare's hips.

            “Tell me, were you jealous?” the King playfully asked.

            “No,” D’Hare moaned.  Because of the situation, the King could see that D’Hare was lying.

            “Don’t lie to me,” the King sang.  He popped his hips up, causing D’Hare to cry out.

            “Just…just a little,” D’Hare admitted.

            The King smirked, “I see my plan did work.”

            The King closed his eyes and when they opened, they were the color of burning lava.  D'Hare felt an overwhelming sensation overtake his body.  It was like anything D'Hare could describe other than it felt like all his sensations were put to the max.

            Both gasped out.  The King's lips parted slightly as he silently screamed.  He, along with D'Hare, collapsed.  Slowly the King's eyes returned to their normal black, while D'Hare blacked out.

            The King climbed from the bed and weakly told himself, "I must be more careful with that."

            The door finally opened.  Jacobson quickly rushed out and to D’Hare’s room.  He saw the King dressing and a still D’Hare laying on the bed naked.  Jacobson rushed over and before he could inspect D’Hare, he began to accuse the King

            “What did you do?” snarled Jacobson.

            The King looked back at his handiwork and smirked.

            Jacobson then noticed, with some embarrassment, D’Hare state.  Flat on his back, D'Hare had all his extremities sprung out with the sheets being the only thing covering his nakedness.  The marine was even drooling on the pillow.

            “Putting him to sleep,” matter-of-factly the King replied.

            The King left while softly giggling.  Jacobson bit his lip as he observed D’Hare and felt the burn of guilt.  He quickly sprinted out when D’Hare shifted, moving the sheets and shamelessly exposing himself.

            After much deliberation, Jacobson placed the syringes full of anesthesia into a safe hidden cubbyhole that he hoped that even he should forget was there.  Perhaps testing the indigenous herb solution on D’Hare wasn’t the most intelligent thing.  Jacobson slid the door shut.  He briefly wondered if using D’Hare for all his drug trials was ethical.  He shrugged and reviewed his catalogs of plants.

 

            With every wound Megan would patch up, a new cut of guilt would be inflicted on her.  Bridgette gurgled in excitement, perhaps bragging about her kills, but Megan couldn’t remove the feeling that she was responsible for all the wounds.

            The hybrids had joined out of choice, despite fighting for a race that wouldn’t accept them.  Bridgette didn’t fight for the survival of the human race, but for her.

            “You really didn’t need to fight for me,” Megan stated.

            Bridgette scooted around and mewed.  She wrapped her arms around Megan’s neck and pulled her close.  Nose to nose they touched.  They stared into each other’s eyes, not with lust, but something very similar.

            Bridgette began to remove her torn shirt.  Oddly, Megan took off her over lab coat.  More clothes slowly crept off.  Both women mirror each other; pants would come of, the other would come off.  A bra was undone; the mirror did so, too. 

            They tightly, yet softly embraced each other as two naked bodies, melding into each other.  There was no furious grasps, but feather like touches, exploring and testing.  It was all slow and luxurious.  It was much different than with a man.  Instead of power and animalistic need, it was tender and ever going.  The smell of sex and sweat was absent and was replaced by a slight, fresh scent, similar to flowers.

            Megan did not know how much time had passed until she woke up in her bed, naked.  She pulled back the ruffled comforter beside her and saw a sound asleep Bridgette also bare except for the sheet over her body.  The Xiphod had a death grip on her pillow. 

            Unlike some of her reasonless sex acts, she felt no regret.  Contentment comforted her.  Perhaps there was some logic to this strange relationship.

            Megan inspected Bridgette’s wounds.  All but the deepest were gone.  Megan looked at herself and noticed she had gained a few bruises and a hicky or two. 

            Megan returned to comfortably laying in her bed, with the addition of another heartbeat.  This was defiantly one of her better sleeps.