Page 84 of Technically Abducted
Through our connection, I feel the exact moment when my pleasure triggers his—the way my orgasm cascades through the bond and ignites his own. His bioluminescence flares almost blindingly bright as he comes deep inside me, his entire body shuddering with the intensity of it. The water around us seems to capture his light, holding it for precious seconds before gradually fading back to its normal gentle glow.
"Finn," he gasps against my throat, his arms locked around me so tightly I can barely breathe. "My Finn."
The possessiveness in those two simple words undoes me completely. Tears spring to my eyes—not from sadness but from overwhelming relief and joy and love. After everything we've been through, all the misunderstandings and separation and longing, we're finally where we belong. Together.
We stay like that for long minutes, still joined, my legs wrapped around his waist and his arms supporting me in the water. Our breathing gradually slows, our heartbeats finding a synchronized rhythm. The empathic connection between us has settled to a warm, contented hum—not the desperate intensity of before, but something deeper, more permanent. Like it'sknitting us together on some fundamental level neither of us fully understands yet.
Eventually, practicality requires separation, but Tev'ra doesn't let me go far. He keeps one arm around my waist as we float together in the gently glowing water, my head resting on his shoulder, his free hand tracing idle patterns across my back.
"I've been thinking about this every night for three weeks," I tell him, my voice still rough with emotion. "Replaying our last time together over and over, wondering if I'd ever feel that connection again."
"As have I," Tev'ra admits, his fingers threading through my hair. "I would lie there, surrounded by darkness, and remember how you felt in my arms. How your pleasure flowed through our bond. How complete I felt with you."
I raise my head to look at him, studying the familiar planes of his face—the high cheekbones that catch the light of his bioluminescence, the deep golden eyes that seem to see straight through to my soul, the subtle patterns of light that pulse beneath his skin in perfect harmony with his heartbeat.
We kiss again, slower this time, the urgency replaced by something deeper and more lasting. When we finally leave the hydration pool, our skin wrinkled from extended immersion, the stars are fully visible through the transparent ceiling, casting silver light across the dwelling.
We dress in silence, occasionally reaching out to touch each other as if confirming this is real, that we're truly together again. As we prepare to return downstairs, to check on Alex and begin the process of settling into our new shared life, Tev'ra pauses at the threshold.
"Finn," he says, his expression serious despite the contentment still flowing through our bond. "I want you to know that I will do everything in my power to help you feel comfortable here. If the proximity to water becomes toodistressing, if you need modifications to our living arrangements—anything at all—you need only ask."
The sincerity in his voice, the depth of his concern for my comfort, makes my chest tight with emotion. This is what love looks like, I realize. Not grand gestures or dramatic declarations, but this thoughtful attention to what might cause fear or pain, and the commitment to address it.
"I'll be okay," I tell him honestly. "It might take time to get used to living surrounded by water, but..." I take his hand, feeling the familiar pulse of connection between us. "You make the scary places safe, remember?"
Tev'ra's smile is radiant, his bioluminescence brightening in response to my words. "I remember."
We make our way back downstairs, hand in hand, to begin our new life together. Through the windows, I can see the shoreline, the gentle waves lapping at the edge of the dwelling, the alien stars reflected on the water's surface. This strange world with its endless oceans and alien customs should terrify me. By all rights, I should be paralyzed by anxiety, surrounded by the very element that has haunted my nightmares since childhood.
Instead, I feel something I've never experienced before—a sense of absolute rightness, of belonging exactly where I am.
"Welcome home, Finn," Tev'ra murmurs, squeezing my hand gently as we step into our shared future.
And for the first time in my life, I understand exactly what that word means.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tev'ra
Finn sleeps peacefully beside me, his breathing deep and even. The hydration pool session left him exhausted—the combination of physical exertion, emotional intensity, and the lingering effects of transit between worlds taking their toll on his human physiology. I watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest, still unable to fully believe that he's here—in my home, on my world, permanently.
His face in sleep is softer, unguarded in a way he rarely allows when conscious. The careful defenses he maintains, born from years of self-protection, fall away completely. I trace the contours of his features with my gaze, memorizing details I never thought I'd see again after our separation. The faint freckles across his nose, the slight curve at the corner of his mouth, the way his eyelashes rest against his cheeks—each small perfection a miracle I nearly lost through ignorance.
The exhaustion is understandable. In the span of mere hours, Finn has traveled between worlds, confronted his water anxiety in my personal hydration chamber, and begun the monumental task of adjusting to a completely alien environment. That he's managing at all is testament to his remarkable resilience—a quality I've admired since our first assessment interactions.
Below us, in the underwater chamber, Alex has also succumbed to rest. The dwelling's monitoring systems confirm he settled into sleep cycles approximately twenty minutes ago, after spending considerable time observing the marine life through the transparent walls. His adaptation appears to be proceeding with surprising ease, though I suspect the full emotional impact of being on an alien world—particularly oneassociated with a childhood experience he long believed was hallucination—has yet to fully manifest.
My communication device chimes softly—the fourteenth attempt from my creator-parents since our return. I've been avoiding this conversation, using the immediate demands of arrival and settlement as a convenient excuse. But now, with both humans resting and no urgent tasks requiring attention, I have no logical reason to delay further.
I carefully extricate myself from Finn's side, pausing when he stirs slightly at the loss of contact. Through our empathic bond, I sense his momentary disorientation followed by the warm pulse of contentment as he settles back into deeper sleep. I pull a thermal covering over his form, ensuring his comfort before I move away.
I step from the sleeping chamber into the communal area, where I won't disturb his rest. The early evening light streams through the transparent walls, casting golden patterns across the dwelling's interior. Outside, the twin suns are beginning their descent toward the horizon, their combined light turning the water into shifting planes of amber and violet.
The integration process will begin officially tomorrow—Council representatives will arrive to conduct preliminary assessments, establish Finn and Alex's legal status, and initiate cultural adaptation protocols. Tonight is a brief respite, a moment of private adjustment before the formal procedures begin. All the more reason to address my creator-parents' concerns now, while we have this window of relative calm.
I activate the communication interface, and the familiar holographic projection of my creator-parents' dwelling materializes in the center of the room. They appear immediately, as if they've been waiting beside the receiver. Perhaps they have been.
"Offspring!" Creator-parent Vel'tha exclaims, his bioluminescence flaring with relief. "We were beginning to consider filing a formal inquiry with the Council regarding your status."
