Page 59 of Alliance
Then whined.
Because when he walked inthisdirection, he could watch Roz as she finger-combed her spiraling tresses and hummed softly, butt planted on his bedroll with the vital pods hidden in her messy pile of supplies, clothes, and blankets. It was practically a fuckingnest.She’d sat there any time she wasn’t asking Gil a thousand questions about the relay, and Fásach knew,he knew,that if he fell to his knees and pressed his face into the mat, he’d be able to smell her cu—
“You okay over there?” Gil called.
Fásach’s ears stood at attention, and he jolted upright. Roz glanced at him with her sweet little smile and those big brown eyes. Then she looked back out the window, staring up at the relay’s behemoth silhouette.
He licked his teeth and turned the other way.
“Yeah, I’m—” Something tickled his forehead. He rubbed his hand over his facial velvet, and it came back sticky with blood.“Scocite.”
Fásach stalked over to the wall of cabinets and opened the wardrobe. He inspected his forehead in an old-fashioned steel mirror and grabbed a towel, rubbing at his pedicles with vigor.
“You sure about that?”
Gil leaned against the cabinets with a cocky grin. They held up a trash bag and a new rag. Fásach peeled away the velvet overhis pedicles and tossed it in with a wetthlumpthat made the operator grimace.
“Gross.”
Fás snapped his teeth. His forehead itched so good, a mixture of pain and pleasure. He needed something hard to rub against, not his palms. Glancing around impatiently, he grabbed a boot from the bottom of the wardrobe and rubbed his head against its treads with a groan of release.
“At least wipe the blood off first,” Gil said, wetting the rag in the food bay.
“Thanks,” Fásach gruffed. Then he paused, staring at his forehead in the mirror.
Black and shiny, with a hard surface like onyx tree rings, his antlers were about as long as his thumbs, with clean, sharp points. Seeing them was surreal. Something he never thought he’d experience, especially after his youth flew past in a blur of hardship and heartbreak. Most men saw their antlers for the first time in their early twenties.
He looked so much like his tadau now that he hardly recognized himself.
His sire was a welcome ghost, chilling the haze of lust and impatience as he imagined his tadau’s impressive rack. He’d remained in his rut for two decades and had sprouted two sets of straight, black antlers that rose from his head like a crown. When the rot had weakened him and they’d fallen off near the end, his mamau had helped him carve their story into their surfaces with a cap she’d had made to fit his softening claws.
Years later, she’d died on Huajile, and Fás had made sure she was cremated, hugging his tadau’s rack to her chest.
Would Fás ever get the chance to carve his own?
He imagined his head bowed as Roz held a chisel to his antlers, marking the years—
Then fucking her into the bedroll, his teeth around her neck, tongue laving her throat as her esophagus bobbed with a needy gasp, his saliva pooling between her breasts.
“Are you alright, Fás?” she asked from across the room.
He squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face, feeling every ridge of his teeth in a slow arc of his tongue, and gripped the cabinet door for strength.
“Good,” he grunted, hackles rising with an audible shiver. His cock throbbed in agony, but what could he do? They werestuckthere with Gilladh until the storm dissipated because they needed to appear poorly equipped, grateful for the shelter, not suspicious at all. He could go out there and tug himself senseless to relieve the pressure, but Gil would question why he didn’t lay with hispriyainstead. He was screwed, no matter what.
Roz’s hum rose to a soft song and harmony filled the room with warmth and light. Fásach tilted his face to the ceiling, centering himself in the swell of his symphony. That supposed doll breathed life into his jaded, dim flicker of a soul with every heartbeat. She was whiplash incarnate, stirring him into a frenzy one moment, making him drowsy and content the next…
No wonder living code was such a major crime. Roz was in no way an object for entertainment. Who could ever be fooled into thinking so?
No one. And that was the crime, wasn’t it?
She was alive, and whoever built herknewit.
Gil tossed the trash into a compactor and wiped their palms together. “I’ve gotta check on the relay. Make sure the bowl is clear.” They leaned around Fás with a clap to the shoulder, grabbing polar coveralls and the boots he’d violently nuzzled.
“Isn’t it dangerous?” Roz asked, her fingers pausing their busy work. She tried hard to keep the hope out of her voice, but she was a terrible liar. Gil chuckled.
“Don’t worry,na’syali.I’ve been on this rotation for years.” They squeezed Fás’s shoulder and gave him a pointed look. “I’ll make sure to take my time.”
