Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kyrimorut, 70 days after Gaftikar

Nothing happened. Fi willed his sphincter to relax. He had to piss; he could feel the pressure in his bladder.

He held his dick, hand shaking, and breathed out slowly, the way he’d learned to do when his body wouldn’t cooperate. Still nothing. The silence stretched, and Fi’s face burned with embarrassment.

“Can’t go,” he mumbled at last.

“Well I can’t leave. You’ll fall over.”

The embarrassment fleshed out into anger. Sev had sussed his situation quicker than Niner could find wrinkles during a uniform inspection.

“Shab,” Fi cursed, and that was one word he had no problem saying.

“Don’t be a di’kut, Fi. No use avoiding the obvious.”

The obvious waste of flesh Fi was.

Fi couldn’t even get out a full sentence. Jaing and Parja waited on him hand and foot. Helped him use the fresher. Helped him shower. Helped him eat. Jusik with his physical therapy and his force-assisted speech coaching lessons. The humiliation was never ending, and as much as Atin liked to tease Fi about his refined tastes, he was an elite soldier, not a cruster.

Besany hadn't stopped shivering since she’d first caught sight of Lemmeloth on her tail, and a marriage proposal wasn’t going to make it stop.

She said yes.

It had always been too late to refuse.

Ordo was scrupulous enough to warn a man before he killed him and then murmur about needing a shave afterwards. Bes’ika came out of the same mouth as now answer me before I have to start breaking things.

But it wasn’t morning, and there was no professional courtesy in the way he kissed her.

Made her wet, and she begged for him.

She pulled his head down with her ankles around his neck, and his breath came hard and fast and loose.

He was careful — exact, in the beginning; she’d shown him what to do with those warm hands. Now he was almost punishing, and Besany wanted it. He flipped her over and drove blooms of heat into her pelvis with the hard grip of his cock.

Some things could only be exorcised this way. A selection of life’s injuries had been pushed deep, and ramming them even deeper caused them to burst and drip out— a purulence of the soul.

Besany stopped shaking.

Ordo lay on her, dead weight. She didn’t think about anything else but him.