By: Pilar (firstname.lastname@example.org)
and Ana (email@example.com)
Spoilers: Its Hour Come Round at Last
Summary: Battle. Victory. Adrenaline. Sex.
Feedback: We love it.
Disclaimers: Not our characters. Belong to Tribune Entertainment.
Warnings: Ok, this is an alternate ending to the finale, written because it was obvious that if they hadn't been bitten, beaten, and dragged off, Harper and Tyr would have been all over each other. No redeeming social value.
to Riana for read-through.
|The meaning of the rhythmic pounding
registered and his mind locked into an endless cycle. Crap, oh crap, oh
crap. The litany was occasionally briefly punctuated by self-recrimination.
Stupid Harper, stupid. Had to go and mess with things you don't understand,
had to push and push. Oh crap, crap, oh crap.
It got louder as more Magog boarded the ship. Same rhythm and chanting over and over, interspersed with occasional cries of hunger. The stuff his brain sometimes dredged up and tortured him with during sleep.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when the hand covered his mouth. And then he realised who it was and, despite the contemptuous words and the overly hard grip, a new phrase joined the litany. Thank god it was Tyr.
If it got bad, at least Tyr would have the guts to kill him.
* * *
He ran through the hallways of the Andromeda, rushing towards where he knew he would find Harper. Magog heavy footsteps rattled through his brain: their smell, the infernal noise of their primitive language getting closer and closer.
Harper stood plastered against the wall, his body showing Tyr the depth of his fear, his mouth jabbering and jabbering. Automatically, he clamped his hand over Harper's mouth and pulled him back towards him, looking into his eyes.
"Their hearing is nearly as acute as mine, yes?"
He could smell the fear coming off the small human; the Magog would no doubt be attracted to it as well. Harper would have to harness his reactions if they were going to get through this alive.
And they *were* going to get through this alive. And uninfested, if he had anything to do with it.
Harper's lack of focus and self-assurance was discouraging, at best. He would have to believe in himself if they were to get themselves through this. A survivor could not doubt his own abilities.
His fingers wrapped through Harper's hair and pulled back sharply. In warning, *this time.* They had a battle to fight, for their lives; Tyr was not willing to carry this for them both. A defeatist suicidal attitude could not be tolerated. He would pull himself together and react with acuity, or Tyr *would* kill him himself.
* * *
He pulled his goggles down on automatic, only briefly paying attention to the fact that Tyr had never faced the Magog. The realisation hiked his fear up another notch.
Watching them swarm forward, he froze, despite Tyr's taunt about his survivor attitude. Oh crap. Sickening flashbacks of Earth merged with the sight in front of him. Even the screams as Tyr shot them didn't pull him out of it. He wondered how the others were doing; they didn't have Tyr. Oh crap, Trance. He hoped she was with Dylan at least.
The shove against the wall woke him up and he started firing, on automatic again. From there, their movements became a rout. They killed, but not enough. They headed towards the core, but not fast enough.
* * *
Magog rushed at them mercilessly. When one would fall, more would pour towards them, stomping over their own dead, unrelenting.
Tyr went into full defense mode, for his own protection, for the protection of the ship and his crewmates. For Harper, even.
There was no time for fear, only for preservation. This far outnumbered; there was nothing to do but fight. To move automatically, rely on muscle memory, to kill.
Looking over at Harper, Tyr was momentarily reassured by his partner's actions. He took down Magog as they swarmed.
* * *
Stuck in the small room, surrounded on all sides, he figured now was the time. One round left. Sure, he'd be leaving Tyr behind but there's no way that guy would suicide. He'd go down fighting. But Harper wasn't going to risk implantation or being a fresh kill for those bastards.
He registered the disappointment on Tyr's face, brushed it off, closed his eyes and waited. It was hopeless, they were defeated; go out quietly, don't fight it.
No, no, no. He opened his eyes. "Wait, wait. I was thinking, maybe they're not so tough, you know? Maybe we can take them in hand to-hand combat." His voice was shaking, he was terrified and there was no way he was going to make himself an easy meal.
The slow smile that spread across Tyr's face was predatory and in any other situation, he would almost expect a proposition. The thought distracted him only briefly, then they were back-to-back, without any more ammo and he was being handed a knife.
The doors were pushed open and then they were coming again, relentless, animals. He heard Tyr's snarling mix with theirs, jerked, stabbed, yanked. Claws ripped into him, then teeth, and he fell screaming, trapped under the stinking weight of too many Magog.
The end, crap, this was it. He wondered briefly about Tyr, struggled to lift his head to see -- everything a blur of fur, blood and pain. The weight pushing him into the floor lifted, and he braced himself for more bites, eyes clenched tight.
When they didn't come, he cracked one eye open. Tyr finished off another Magog, then tossed the body aside. He pushed himself up, looked around at the scattered corpses, and half grinned. Tyr pulled him to his feet, muttered "Access hatch," and tossed him through.
He sagged against the wall and watched Tyr seal the hatch behind them. Grinning weakly, face wounds aching, he nodded. "Tyr, I could kiss you."
In return, he got an impassive glance. "Not now." Tyr reached out and shoved his leg. "Move."
So much for declarations of gratitude. He turned around and started moving forward. Crawling hurt like hell, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving. "Can we get to another reactor core? I could interface with Rommie again, try to get her to head back to safer territory."
"We'll need weapons. Locker first."
"Got it. I know the way." He adjusted his direction and kept moving forward, hoping the Magog wouldn't sniff out their trail.
* * *
Tyr pressed his head to the hatch door and listened closely to silence. Nodding at Harper, he opened it and looked up and down the long hallway. They were just over one of the weapons bays and the Magog had not reached this area of the ship.
The Nietzschean dropped to the floor with the grace of a cat, his feet planting firmly and his legs straight. Harper dropped out beside him, not quite so gracefully. Large hands steadied his balance.
"Thanks for that, back there." Harper's hand wrapped around Tyr's bicep and he turned into Tyr's face, dark and slick with sweat and blood.
"How much more of this can you handle?" There was no time for thanking yet, the battle had not been won, the ship was still under the AI's control and he could hear the screeching Magog thundering through the walls. But his eyes took in the look on Harper's face and reflected it. He threw as much ammunition as he could carry around his shoulders and passed a load to Harper.
Both men had seen better fights. Long and deep claw marks carved into Tyr's chest and over his arms, Harper's face had been left bloodied and scarred. It did not seem like either of them had been infested, but the way that the Magog had piled onto Harper it had almost been as if his fate had been sealed.
Tyr had moved in an adrenaline frenzy, tossing bodies off the human, stabbing through the Magog's thick, rancid fur and slicing deep. Harper's violent screams fueled him on, until the remaining living Magog in the room had been felled.
"Take this one as well," Tyr passed a snub-nosed pistol to Harper and he shoved it into the waistband of his pants.
"The closest core is through this way, not that far."
Loaded down with weapons and extra ammunition, they moved slower than either of them wanted to; the halls were quiet around them, the Magog clamoring through other parts of the ship. Danger was still imminent; Tyr could feel it running through his spine and making the hair on his arms stand on end.
Harper ran behind him, keeping up well considering his extensive injuries. Tyr looked back every few feet and kept the look of worry out of his eyes.
"Through there and to the left!"
They entered the engineering room and Tyr crouched near the closed door, gun readied in case the Magog caught their location.
* * *
He plugged into the port, closed his eyes and reentered the ship's matrix.
"Back again?" The AI in front of him was stern, but at least she wasn't zapping him this time.
"Rommie. Wake up! You know us. Don't you remember?"
Her face flickered quickly, and she hesitated before shaking her head. "No. The stories you tell me are not plausible. Where is my crew?"
"Do you really think six of us could get rid of your whole crew and hijack you if you were fighting us? Yeah, right. Remember. Dylan. The fall of the Commonwealth. Me! Come on, we've spent hours together."
Crap. He tried another tactic. "Fine. You don't have to believe me. But we're gonna get slaughtered here. Is that standard High Guard procedure? And how will you find out what happened to your crew if we're all dead?"
"The purple humanoid can answer my questions after she finishes slipstreaming to our destination."
He smiled with relief. Trance was on the bridge, probably the best place to be. "Right. And how long can you keep the bridge clear? I've seen it in your memory banks; you couldn't do it before. Remember? Your entire crew was slaughtered."
She twitched and looked away. "The bridge is a disaster. The captain is dead. They're everywhere. I have disconnected images. Why are they there? Did you implant them?"
"No. They were hidden from you. I've opened the memory for you, but you can't remember all at once. Please, Rommie. Just get us out of here. If you don't believe us, you can always turn back around later. The Magog won't be expecting you to come back if you run now. It's a good tactic. But right now we're out gunned and we need to *go*. The High Guard doesn't sanction giving the Magog more humans to breed in, do they?"
She stared at him for a few more moments, then nodded sharply. "You reconnect the internal defences. I will tell the purple girl to go to slipstream. If you are lying or attempting to fool me, you'll wish the Magog had implanted you." Her projection vanished, and he sighed, plugged into the weapons controls and started rerouting internal defences.
* * *
Harper's eyes were closed his mind deep inside the Andromeda's central memory banks. His body was an almost lifeless shell in repose, betrayed only by the rapid but steady rise and fall of his chest. Tyr watched over him closely with one eye and the other trained on the door, the seconds ticking by quickly.
This needed to move faster. The Magog would soon locate them again and Harper would not be able to protect himself in this state. Tyr would only be able to keep him safe for so long.
As Harper's eyes began to open, the AI's voice came through the ship.
"Internal defense system restored. Initiating battle sequences."
"Good, you're back. Let's finish this." Tyr put out his hand to help the injured Harper stand and patted him reassuringly on the back letting his hand linger for just a second.
With the defense system online and the warship working on their side again, they just had to rid themselves of the remaining Magog. They braced themselves through another slipstream.
"Who is piloting the ship?" It was the first time he had realized that they had gone through numerous slipstreams during the course of combating the Magog. It reminded him that they were not the only ones left alive.
He could still hear Magog. Could still smell them coming closer.
"Trance. Rommie was forcing her. It'll be okay now, though. We're changing courses and getting the hell out of Magog space."
"Good. Let's go, then."
As they ran through the hallways en route towards central command, they encountered fewer and fewer Magog. With their increased firepower it was finally the Magog who were out gunned.
* * *
He was covered in dried blood, his wounds were sealed and Trance had given him some great painkillers. He left the med bay so she could concentrate on Dylan, intending to go see what Rommie needed help with. He was way too wired to go and relax now; despite Trance's warning that he'd need sleep to recover faster.
Droids were already cleaning up the bodies, taking them to airlocks for jettisoning. He threaded his way around them and other evidence of the battle, the insanity of the day starting to hit him. They'd defeated a Magog invasion force. No one was dead. Rev had gone ballistic and killed some weird Magog as well as a shitload of the normal ones. Beka had managed to hold a swarm off while guarding an injured and semi-delirious Dylan. And Tyr and Rommie's body had been killing machines.
It was another stop on their ridiculously long string of luck, and he was beginning to wonder if Dylan's bizarre idealism gave them all some kind of weird advantage.
Crap, he had to be wired if he was thinking about luck and fate.
Still, lucky for him Tyr had been around. Alone, he probably would have stayed locked in his cycle of fear, an easy target. Maybe now was the time Tyr considered appropriate for thanks.
"Rommie, where's Tyr?"
She appeared briefly before him, looking guilty, harried, exhausted and flickering slightly. "In his quarters."
"Great. You ok?"
The image flickered out, but she answered him. "I suppose. Internal repairs are still occurring. I am attempting to concentrate on them at the moment."
Yeah. He figured she probably felt awful for leading them into hell. "Listen, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have messed around with you, if I hadn't--"
Her voice cut him off. "I gave you permission. I should have known not to interfere with overwritten parts of my programming."
Whatever. They could deal with this later. Right now, he could help her get things up and running again. Thanking Tyr could wait. "Where can I help?"
She flickered back in front of him. "Nowhere. The maintenance droids are doing fine. You need rest. Go."
Yeah, like he could rest right now. Still, he knew better than to argue with her when she was like this. He switched directions and headed towards Tyr's quarters. Once he arrived at the door he strode in, forgetting the courtesy of requesting entrance. Whatever.
Tyr was sitting on his bed, half-dressed and looking at the chainmail shirt the Magog had ripped to shreds. He looked up at Harper, his face blank.
Crap. "Um, hi. I just walked in. Sorry, rude. Anyway, I wanted to say thanks. You know, for not shooting me. For saving my ass. All that stuff." He was walking pretty fast around the room, looking at the collection of weaponry and accessories lying on various surfaces. "Wow. You have a lot of knives. Crap! I lost the one you gave me. It's in some Magog somewhere. Probably floating in space right now. Sorry. I'll find a replacement."
Tyr was looking at him like he'd lost it. Maybe he had. Great, this was going well. Change subjects. Pointing at the shirt, he said, "Or I could fix that for you. You want me to fix that for you?" He was talking far too fast. He couldn't calm down. What was this?
Dropping the shirt to the ground, Tyr stood up. "I can fix it myself. Thank you."
Oh, ok. Fine. That's good. He turned towards the door. "Ok. Well, I gotta go find something to do. Thanks again." He got less than halfway to his destination when a hand on his uninjured shoulder stopped and turned him.
"Post-battle adrenaline rush."
"You're experiencing a post-battle adrenaline rush."
Harper scowled. "I've been in fights before. I've never felt like this after."
"Has it ever been this dire? Have you ever faced your demons before?" Tyr gave him no chance to answer. "You did well today."
The compliment was unexpected. "Thanks. You know, you kept my ass in line. I would've been dead meat without you. Or at some kind of breeding farm." He shivered at the thought.
The slow grin he'd seen earlier spread across Tyr's face again. "Perhaps. But you made the decision to stand your ground."
"Yeah. Glad I did." Fingers were still lightly on his shoulder.
"You smell like blood. And *them*." Slight distaste crossed Tyr's face.
He looked down and took stock of his bloody, torn shirt and his generally sorry state. "Yeah. I'll just--." Tyr's arm reached around him, and pulled out the gun he still had shoved into his pants.
"It's over. I don't think you need this anymore."
He laughed weakly. Ok, weird but whatever. He was being steered towards something. "Thanks, I'm gonna--."
Again, he was cut off as Tyr shoved him towards the bathroom, with a smooth, "Clean yourself."
Harper looked at the shower, still slightly steamed from recent use. He had his own shower. He could use it. He turned to say as much to Tyr, but then shut his mouth. Tyr was twice his size and had just kicked some Magog ass alongside him. If the guy wanted him to use his shower, he would.
He dropped his bloody, ragged clothes to the floor and stepped under the hot stream adjusting and readjusting the showerhead and pacing back and forth in the small shower. His heart was going a mile a minute and even the warm water raining down on his skin did nothing to calm him down. Every inch of his body was tender and sore, despite the painkillers taking away the edge. When he moved even the tiniest bit, he could feel his muscles screaming back at him. He hadn't seen this kind of abuse in a good, long time and he'd have no problem with avoiding it again for as long as he possibly could.
But Tyr had been proud of him, that was nice. And he was proud of himself, really. Sure, Tyr had saved his life, but there were a few times there when Harper had probably saved Tyr's ass too. Guy couldn't be *that* perfect.
Oh, wait. This was Tyr he was talking about. Of course he could. Perfection was what he was all about.
Grabbing a washcloth that hung from a hook, he soaped himself up as gently as possible. Sluicing warm soapy water over himself, his nerves still shattered and his brain working on overdrive, he tried to get himself cleaned quickly so he could get out of there. He felt almost claustrophobic in the small space.
* * *
The door to the bathroom was open, steam pouring into Tyr's quarters. He looked towards the room and could see Harper pacing back and forth behind the clouded glass, his disgusting garments in a heap on the floor. The smell of soap did nothing to mask the putrid stench of blood and Magog he could still smell emanating off Harper's clothes.
They would have to be removed and destroyed.
Even inside the shower, Harper was muttering to himself in a low voice. Tyr watched him behind the glass for a moment, picked up the offensive clothes and quickly assessed their state. He'd let Harper keep the pants.
The small human was compact, his muscles lean but strong for someone of his size. Tyr had not underestimated his capacity for battle, he knew that if Harper put his mind to the responsibility, he would come through. And he had.
Shedding his own clothes, he reexamined the extent of his own injuries. Mostly surface lacerations caused by the Magog's claws, he slowly rubbed more ointment into them so they would not scar.
His chest would never heal to its previous faultless state, he thought, slightly irritated. The wound would signify triumph in battle, but the flaw would be just that. A chink in his near perfect armor.
He listened as the water was turned off in the shower and watched from the corner of his eye as Harper exited, confused. It made the corner of his mouth twitch into a small leer.
* * *
Stepping out of the shower, he noticed that his clothes were no longer in a heap on the floor. Odd. Raising his voice, he called out, "Um, Tyr, where are my clothes?"
"I incinerated your shirt. Your pants are on the chair."
Damn. He'd really liked that shirt. "Can you toss the pants in here?"
Crap. Nudity wasn't exactly something he was embarrassed about, but he wasn't happy with the idea of being scrutinised and probably insulted by some perfection-obsessed guy right now. And anyway, what was Tyr's deal? So self-absorbed, was it really such a problem to toss in his clothes? He was probably obsessing on fixing the chainmail or something.
He shook his head. Get over it, Harper. What else can you expect? Steeling himself, he wrapped a towel around his waist and ducked into the room, bee-lining for his pants. He glanced to one side, hoping Tyr wasn't paying any attention.
The Nietzschean was sitting on the bed, not working on the chainmail after all. What *was* his problem then? It couldn't be laziness.
Hmm, well, Tyr was naked so maybe he didn't want to be walking around acting as some kind of clothes-delivering valet or whatever. Although, Harper couldn't figure out why the guy wouldn't want to strut his stuff. Naked Tyr looked pretty damn--
Wait. Naked Tyr.
"Um, you're naked."
Was that a smirk? "Your powers of observation astound me."
"Why are you naked? You want a shower? Why didn't you say so? You could have kicked me out. Go, have a shower, I'll get out of here." Damn, could he babble any more?
That was a definitely a smirk on Tyr's face. "No. I'm clean."
Oh, right. Steamy shower, obviously damp dreads. Shower accomplished.
* * *
Sometimes Harper was infuriatingly human. Tyr moved nervously around the room picking things up then placing them back down and moving to the next object.
Harper looked back at him, eyes still darting around the room and incessantly pacing.
"Harper! Would you come here? I want to look at your injuries." Now that he had cleaned himself off, Tyr could see that much of the blood that had covered him earlier had not been all his own. That was good. But he still had quite a few lesions that would certainly scar badly if not attended to properly.
Tyr shook his head in disapproval.
"And here I was thinking this was an excuse to get me out of my clothes," Harper grinned lasciviously.
"I do not need excuses for that."
"Yeah, well..." Harper finally sat down on the edge of the bed while Tyr examined every iota of his visible body. The boy was covered in bruises and cuts; it was a wonder that Trance had let him walk out of med bay at all.
"Why are you not taking care of these? I cannot believe that you would let yourself ignore this. Harper, this body is the only one that you have, you can't trade it for spare parts off the Maru."
"I'm all right, Tyr. Sure, I'm hurtin' pretty bad, but I'm alive and we got through it in basically one piece... This is far better than I would have thought I'd be looking. Really. And Trance took a look at me, fixed me up and sent me on my way. So, stop looking at me like I'm dying!" Harper stood and paced again, clearly irritated.
"You need to work off this nervous energy and then you need to rest. And I need to rest. It's the only way the body can properly heal." Tyr moved towards the pacing Harper, capturing him and bringing him back to the bed. With a firm grip on Harper's hips, he sat him back down forcibly yet gently.
"If you wanna rest, I'll get out of your hair. Rommie could use more repair help, I'm sure." Harper's fingers pushed through his wet hair and he made to stand again.
"Would you just sit still for a moment?" Tyr eyed him with irritation and leaned across to get the ointment that he had been putting on himself earlier. Opening the lid to the small pot, he slicked his fingers and began tending to Harper's cuts and gashes.
Harper's pulse raced under the ministering fingertips. Tyr glided the fragrant balm over soft, white skin and felt muscles loosen beneath him.
* * *
He sat with his back to Tyr as fingers rubbed salve into his cauterised, but still sore, wounds. Despite himself, he shivered. What the hell was that crack about not needing excuses to get him naked? He tried to push the thought away. "What's this stuff?"
"It will lower the chance of scarring and help prevent infection."
Huh. Whatever it did, it felt nice going on. "Tyr, I don't have your enhanced senses or anything, but there are certain conclusions to be made when a naked guy is sitting on a bed rubbing lotion into the skin of another guy who is wearing nothing but a towel." Oh, that was really smooth. Could he have said it any faster? He opened his mouth to try again. "Is there something about this whole 'working off nervous energy' thing you brought up that I should know about?"
Ok, that was not so smooth either. "Because, you know, if not, I can put this stuff on myself." Ok, he did *not* mean to say that. He hurried on, "You can even watch if you want." Erk. "I mean, to make sure I do it right." He resisted the urge to slap himself on the forehead.
The fingers were stroking across the wounds on his neck now, moving a lot more slowly than necessary.
This was just too freaky. "What the hell? Is fighting through swarms of breeding machine monsters some kind of turn on for you?"
Tyr's fingers stopped moving and he felt a puff of warm breath behind his ear. "I appreciate triumphing against a brutal enemy and fighting beside another who will not give in, despite his fears."
"So you were turned on?" He tried not to grin as the oblique compliment registered. What kind of sick guy gets hot during battle?
More warm breath against his sensitised skin. "Not then. Now."
A hand reached into his hair and tugged his head back and to the side. The grip wasn't as hard as when Tyr had first yelled at him to get his fear under control. He looked at a slightly smirking Tyr, who in turn looked him up and down.
"And I see I'm not the only one who is aroused."
Oh, shit. It's not like the towel could hide much. "I'm a little wired." Lame, Harper, lame.
"So, you're not interested?"
Damn. He was totally giving out all the wrong signals here. "No, no. I mean, no, it's not that. I'm interested. Sure. Ok. Just surprised, you know?"
He shrugged. "Does it matter? Are we going to sit around talking about this? And by the way, this is starting to hurt my neck." Tyr's grip tightened, pulling his head back further. "Ow! Come on!" He started to pull away but oh, what was that?
Licking. Tyr had twisted his head and was licking, behind his ear, around the implant. Oh. Nice. Lingering battle-high had mixed with the feeling of Tyr's fingers stroking salve across him, and was now being pushed higher by the warm tongue on his skin. He ignored the twinge in his neck for a few moments, then pulled away and turned to fully face Tyr. "So, where's this going? Because the neck licking thing is nice, but there's a lot more we could be doing." He grinned and waggled his eyebrows in a way he knew was totally ridiculous, but he couldn't help himself. It wasn't like he was exactly calm right now.
Tyr moved off the bed, walking around to the foot of the bed, and Harper twisted to follow the movement. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of Tyr naked and in motion. He schooled his expression into a leer, and was rewarded by Tyr roughly pushing him down, pulling the towel away at the same time. "Hey!"
"You're objecting now?"
He shut his mouth.
"And stay still."
"You're the take charge guy, huh?" He lifted his head from the pillows and looked down as Tyr inspected his body, pressing around bruises and scrapes, not hurting so much as making Harper aware of them. "What is this, med bay? 'Cause I don't think I signed on for you to play doctor."
The glare from Tyr made him realise he should really shut up. He grinned weakly and let his head fall back into the pillows. Tyr's fingers probed his injuries lightly for a few more minutes, then - oh, more licking.
Tyr licked around his collar bone, pushing low noises from Harper's throat. His toes started to curl as the wet tongue moved to trace the flat plane of his sternum, and yeah, that was nice, but too slow. He was too wired for this quasi-romance scene. He writhed under Tyr, hoping the guy would get the hint.
His hands were loosely clenching the bed sheets, not exactly fair. He unfurled them, moving one to Tyr's damp braids, the other to his shoulder, stroking, then pushing.
That was the hint Tyr picked up on. Harper felt hands move to clench his hips, thumbs rubbing, pressing hard. He clenched his own hands in response, pulling at Tyr's hair, tugging his face up. "You gonna do what I think you are?" He winked.
Tyr hauled himself up, half-grinning. "Do you ever stop talking?"
"Hey! I've been really restrained for the last --" He was cut off quickly with a hard kiss, Tyr's tongue pushing past his teeth and licking across his palate. Teeth occasionally gripped his lower lip and it took a few moments for him to gather himself enough to do more than passively take it and moan. Braids brushed against the sides of his face, stroking across the cuts on his neck. He shivered, and Tyr released him, grinning again. Harper bit his lip to keep himself from making wise ass remarks. A look of teasing approval flashed across Tyr's face as he realised what Harper was doing.
Restraint had its rewards. Tyr slid back down Harper's body, pausing only bite down, just hard enough, on his abdomen. Harper closed his eyes as warm breath skirted around the base of his cock, coupled with soft licks.
He could really get to love Tyr's tongue.
The licking continued, and Harper groaned as Tyr's hand closed around him, thumb raking up and over, spreading slickness. Good, but it wasn't enough. He needed more, harder. Tugging at Tyr's hair again, he thrust up. "Tyr, come on."
A mumbled, "Impatient," floated up to him, but any reply was pushed aside by the sudden pleasure of Tyr's mouth wrapped around the head of his cock. That fucking wonderful tongue, god, he loved that tongue, flicked out, probing and then pressing up as Tyr started to suck.
There was nothing tentative here, and when Harper thrust up, helpless to stop it, Tyr just swallowed and kept sucking. One hand pushed Harper's hip to the bed, holding it close, while the other moved to stroke behind his balls. He lost himself to the suction and sliding of Tyr's mouth, goosebumps surfacing on his exposed skin. He vaguely registered the urgent sounds coming from his own mouth.
Clenching his hands hard in Tyr's hair, he fought the urge to thrust up, managing to restrict the frantic movements of his hips. "Tyr, I'm --," Oh fuck, the words got lost, and he settled back into groans as fingers pressed harder and Tyr swallowed around him again. A few more sucks and he gave in to the urge to buck up, the movement only slightly hindered by Tyr's hands on his hips. Too good. His hips went wild, he pushed into the heat and Tyr let him. He didn't even want to think about the seriously pathetic noises that he made as Tyr worked him, pushed him, and then pushed him over the edge.
* * *
Tyr razed his teeth over the still pulsing organ as he withdrew from it, a deep hum emitting from his throat and one hand holding Harper to the bed. Harper's eyes were wild; his fingers still wrapped around Tyr's long dreads, the grip loosening as his breath slowly returned to normal.
Or what was normal for Harper. Reaching one hand up, Tyr pressed his palm into Harper's chest; the human's quickened pulse urging through his fingers like electric shocks. His cock lay half-hard against his stomach; Tyr lapped at it once before crawling over him.
He enjoyed the smaller frame; tight hips that would certainly carry the bruises of his fingers for days after, flat stomach and golden-downed chest. The taste of sweat under the flat of his tongue. Teasing him, just to hear him moan again, Tyr licked up the center of his chest. He stopped to lave one nipple to a rigid peak and to snap at it with the tips of his teeth, before retreating to the start of his path to move again and torture the other. Harper's frenzied hands pulled at him, reaching down to grab at any skin he could get his hands on.
His knees parted Harper's legs as he closed in on his face, finally silent.
"Nothing to say now?" Tyr's eyes slitted and he brought his mouth over Harper's, nipping at lips swollen from his own teeth bearing down on them. Harper's hips pressed up at him, cock still wet from Tyr's lips.
Harper babbled something incoherently; Tyr crushed his mouth over his.
Lips, tongue, teeth mashing, grating -- Tyr sucked in his breath and growled from deep in his chest.
His own cock throbbed insistently against the firm expanse of Harper's thigh and he pushed into it, foreskin sliding back and a small moan escaping his lips and disappearing through Harper's. Hands went around his waist, blunt nails raking over the rounds of his ass and scraping up again. Harper pulled him in tighter, eagerly bucking up again and rasping into Tyr's ear, his breath ragged and hot in opposition to Tyr's slow patience.
He liked the tease, the slow build, denying his own body release to push his control.
He liked that Harper could not respond in kind, legs frantically wrapping and unwrapping around Tyr's frame, hands grappling his flesh, moving back to wind in his long hair, finger the curve of his jaw, then grate into his shoulders again. He winced as Harper hit a sore spot and chided himself for the moment of fragility.
Grabbing Harper by the wrists, he brought his hands over head and held them there as Harper tried half-heartedly to wriggle from his grasp. Tyr grinned at him, hair shrouding most of his face, wolfishly eyeing the prey beneath him as Harper twitched and pressed up at him. He allowed him the space that he needed, allowed the pale body to curve towards him before leaning down to press him deeper into the mattress and bite at the juncture of his shoulder and neck. Tyr smiled as he felt Harper push harder against him urging Tyr onto his back until Harper sat astride him triumphantly.
A small laugh slid from his throat, not lost on Harper.
"What's your problem now?" Harper's feet curled under his calves, his nails dragging over Tyr's chest careful to avoid the long gash that marred one pectoral muscle. Mimicking Tyr's move, he captured wrists in his fingers and raised thick arms over Tyr's head. Tyr's snide laugh was louder this time. Harper was not amused, or at least he feigned.
"I do not have any problems." He smiled again, baring his teeth.
Harper's fingers curled around Tyr's achingly hard cock, pulling back on the skin sheath and rounding his thumb over the head as Tyr pressed his hips up at him, near ready to give himself over to his own pleasure. "Oh, the great Nietzschean *does* have a weakness, I see...," Harper mused as he slid a finger down the underside of Tyr's cock and tugged gently on springy, black curls. Tyr's head threw back and his mouth fell open, quickly filled with Harper's probing fingers.
"So, is this stuff is good for all sorts of, ummmm, medicinal purposes?" Harper leaned over the larger form beneath him, reaching for the small jar of greasy ointment on the stand beside the bed and waving it inches from Tyr's face.
"I suppose." He couldn't help but smirk; he allowed his lips the indulgence.
Harper opened the pot, slicking the fingers of one hand generously with the stuff then wrapping them back around Tyr's cock and working him good. Nice. The Nietzschean lay back sedulously, arms still over his head, watching Harper through hooded eyes and holding onto his composure tight. Tight. It was the only way.
Harper was surprising him, he'd known the human would be intriguing and he had not been wrong. The thought made him smile.
Tyr had nearly no response time to be surprised again. Harper impaled himself slowly, too slowly, teeth clenched and eyes shut tight, taut ring of muscle dilating around him as he sunk onto Tyr with an exhale of long-held breath. Tyr's hands went instinctively to Harper's thinner hips, slid around to the backs of his straddled thighs, held his weight until Harper could accommodate him comfortably.
A haste of breath left Tyr's chest as the weight clamped down on him, around him, surrounded him with warmth and sweet, sweet pressure. The moment before Harper began moving was pure torture. Each muscle calmed separately; Tyr's shoulders, Harper's ass, Tyr's neck as it tipped back from the weight of his own head following his eyes back toward the wall behind him.
He pressed his hips upward, urging softly. But urging.
Harper's fingers trailed across the ripped surface of Tyr's stomach, teased his nipples to stiffening, scraped over his skin to find purchase and lift himself nearly off the body beneath him and sink back down. Repeating. Deep. Deeper. Legs spread so wide across wider hips. Moans coming louder now, breath rushing faster. Tyr bit his bottom lip to stifle himself.
Sweat dripped in long rivers down white skin, pooling in the creases of Harper's thighs. Tyr followed them there, waded in with eager fingers and tasted them with his tongue. Hands went back to the posting thighs; controlled swift movements, Harper's squeezed-shut eyes and parted lips.
He couldn't wait too much longer. He wanted deeper, wanted more.
Harper took the baited hint and increased his movements. Faster. More. Tyr leaned up towards him; angled hips and slightly bent knees, wanted Harper pressed deeply into his blankets, wanted to look down at him. Wanted closer deeperfastermore.
With an arm snaking around Harper's middle, Tyr pushed him over towards the bed, slipping out of him and regretting the momentary loss of their bodies' connection immediately. More lube on his fingers, his cock, his hand filling Harper again while he gave himself a moment, just a moment, to breathe. The engineer wrenched beneath him, those teeth grabbing onto the nearest patch of flesh and closing down as Tyr re- sheathed himself, pushing through momentary tightness and furrowing deep.
Yes. Right. Good. His arm wrapped around Harper's waist, the other curling around his neck; he brought his lips close and slid his tongue around sweat-salted skin, the tangy hint of metal and static as he licked over and around the implant and up the arch of an ear. Steady rhythmic pounding increased, semi-hardness pressing against his abdomen, the sounds of their combined moans becoming like an orchestra through his ears to the back of his mind. Right. Faster. Good.
"Fuck, Tyr..." Hands crushed him deeper and hips angled him closer. When the gates opened, he exploded, shaking, gasping, pounding himself deeper until he had nothing left.
As he pulled out, thread of come linked between them, he slid his hand down Harper's body. Tyr held him to the bed and lay on his side, curving their bodies together.
Silence save for heartbeats and heavy breathing. But only for a short time.
"Post-battle adrenaline rush, huh?"
"Yes." The ess was long and deep. "Sleep." He pressed his palm into Harper's chest again and fit his body closer to the human, drawing the blankets around them both.
* * *
Harper woke up stiff, sore, and pressed against something warm and vaguely uncomfortable. He thought about it. A body. A male body. Ok. What the hell had he been up to last night? He wasn't in his bunk, that was clear, and it meant he couldn't be on the Maru. Quickly praying he hadn't lost the ship somehow, he cautiously opened his eyes.
A really well-built, male body. He shook his head, looking at the arm spikes in front of his face, and remembered where he was. Tyr. Magog. Tyr. Shower. Sex.
The grin on his face was involuntary, but who could blame him? He watched Tyr's chest rise and fall for a few minutes, then slowly rolled away and out of the bed. Muscles screamed curses at him, but he pushed on, his heart set on a shower.
Hot, hot shower. Once he was under the spray, he had no memory of actually getting there. Not bothering with soap, he just stood and let the water soothe out some of his aches. Eventually, he leaned forward against the closest wall; glad the spray automatically followed him. The wall was cool; too cool, but he ignored it until it absorbed the heat from his body and the steam surrounding him.
After a while of soaking in the warmth, he heard the shower door open. Automatically, he moved forward giving Tyr room to get in beside him.
"Any hotter, and you will scald yourself."
"I'm not a child, Tyr. I know what I like. I like hot showers." He could feel the other man looking down at him. "Why do you have to be so tall?" He couldn't help himself; his normal routine of grousing at Tyr surfaced automatically. Crap.
The shrug was almost perceptible. "I see no advantages in a smaller stature."
Figured. "How about crawling through conduits and cramped spaces? That's saved my life more than once. And I need a hell of a lot less food to survive."
There was no answer, which also figured. Instead, he felt Tyr's fingers probing around his wounds. Again. He opened his mouth to protest that he wasn't an invalid, but shut it when he decided that Tyr wasn't being patronising, just practical. "How do they look?"
"Well enough. The ointment and sleep helped, as did whatever Trance did for you. The scarring should be minimal."
"How 'bout you?" He turned away from the wall to get a look at Tyr. A non-adrenaline high, sexed-up look. Gashes along Tyr's chest were nasty looking, wet from the water but not oozing blood. "That looks pretty good."
Harper tried to keep his eyes on the wounds. "You, um, heal fast, huh?"
Even with the wounds, Tyr's pecs were gorgeous. The water running down them just added to the picture. "Good thing. Wouldn't want to mess up that physique of yours." Jesus. Who the hell would ever have believed that he'd be in the shower with Tyr? After a night of great sex. After a hellish day of Magog invasion forces.
After all the scrapes the Andromeda had been though. After joining the crew of a 300 year old relic. After pulling that relic out of the edge of a blackhole.
Ok, if his life lately was one wildly improbable event after another, sex with Tyr became less of a shock.
His eyes were straying. He wrenched them up to Tyr's face. Oh, a smile. He smiled back a little.
Tyr's smile turned into a slight smirk. "You're flushed."
Without thinking about it, he reached out and pressed his hand against Tyr's belly. "It's the heat. I've been in here longer than you."
He stroked his fingers lightly. "Yeah. Really. Why else would I be flushed?" Tyr was still smirking at him. He grinned back innocently and slid his fingers down a little further. He kept up the wide-eyed look as he wrapped his hand around Tyr's cock.
The smirk reshaped itself to a feral, sharp-toothed grin, and Tyr leaned down towards him as Harper started to move his hand. The water made the movements sleek, and he happily listened to the soft grunts coming from above.
Tyr pulled him closer, and started worrying at the top of his ear. Harper shivered and continued with the twist-squeeze-release-slide movement he'd established, but the tongue in his ear kept distracting him.
Squirming out of Tyr's grasp, he pushed the Nietzschean against the wall, and licked a path down his stomach. With one more innocent grin up at Tyr, he slid to his knees. Ow. Knees. Damn floor. Ignore it.
Instead, he concentrated on the water beating down his back; Tyr's increased breathing, and the very interested cock in front of him. Moving forward just slightly, he licked down its length, then back up. He kind of wanted to tease, but the position wasn't entirely comfortable, especially with the aches and pains he had today. So, after only a couple of preliminary licks, he wrapped his mouth around the head and slid down.
A hand moved to his head and tightened in his wet hair. Happily, Tyr didn't try to guide him, so Harper just went with his instincts, mouth stretched wide, suction combined with twists of his hand. Still on instinct, he let his teeth graze momentarily, and the hand in his hair tightened and pulled him forward. That made him laugh, the vibration made Tyr thrust forward and then everything fell into a tight, fast, repeating rhythm. Tyr pushed, so Harper pulled back, sucking. Tyr grunted, and in return, Harper hummed, pressing his lips hard. Tyr's hand flexed then gripped harder, and Harper slid his mouth back down.
His own cock wanted a little attention, but he didn't want to let go his grip on Tyr's flesh. Moving his unoccupied hand from Tyr's leg to his hip, Harper pushed Tyr back against the wall and kept sucking as Tyr growled out a warning. Keeping his hand wrapped tightly around Tyr's cock, he moved back slightly and began to swallow as he rode out Tyr's bucks.
When Tyr finished, Harper pushed away and back onto his heels, and looked up. Tyrís face was slack. Nice results. He kept one hand gripping at Tyrís hip, and moved the other down, down between his legs, then curling tightly around himself, stroking fast and hard. He only got a few strokes in before Tyr pulled him up, pushed him half under the spray and against a wall, knocking his hand out of the way.
He leaned forward as Tyr started to jerk him, not rough but definitely efficient and thorough. Arm spikes grazed his belly rhythmically, almost painful. Hot water, hot hand around him, cooler wall against his back, he was nearly in sensory overload. The slip-slide-pump motions got more intense, and turning his head, he bit down hard on the slick arm leaning against the wall. Tyr reached behind his head, pulling it back gently, and he arched forward, groaning, back muscles protesting.
He wasn't about to object though, because the position presented his neck and earlobe up for the taking. Lips on his neck and back up to his ear, and Tyr has some kind of hair-grabbing, ear-licking fetish, and great fantastic hands, and Jesus, when and how did he get this lucky?
The sound of the spray absorbed some of his almost-moans, but not enough. Tyr's mouth was too occupied to smirk at him, so Harper just went with it, let the noises come because Tyr's hand, the brush of arm spikes across his belly, the mouth on his neck were too good.
He flashed to last night, to Tyr fucking him, and the thought got mixed up with the sensations. Rough pump, slow twist, tongue behind his ear, teeth. Again. The thought of Tyr's fingers inside him, another rough squeeze of his hand, more tongue, everything pushed him higher. He bit again at Tyr's arm hard to muffle the groan as he came, twitching and feeling the warmth mingle with the heat of the water falling over him.
Apologetically, he licked the flesh he'd bitten and started to slide to the floor. Tyr braced him under the arms and guided him into the full force of the water. He stood and enjoyed the spray, aware of Tyr washing himself down and then stepping out of the shower. A few minutes later, he turned the water off. Enough showering for today.
* * *
Tyr sat on the edge of his bed, torn chainmail hanging from one fist. His body was still sore, his muscles healing well but still tense. Not as tense as they could have been, though.
The symphonic sounds of Puccini filled his room, strains of a desperate soprano with her heart bleeding out onto the floor. Tyr smiled over at Harper briefly as he stepped from the bathroom dripping wet, a towel wrapped around his waist.
Harper wore an expression of amusement on his face; Tyr turned back to his repair of the chainmail knowing full well that the human was holding back some annoying remark.
He did not have to wait long.
Harper was buttoning his pants; teeth dug into his bottom lip in restraint. He looked as if he was going to explode.
"Just say it, Harper. I know you want to."
"Hey, why would I comment on your choice of music? If you wanna get cozy with shirt repairs to a screeching background, who am I to object?"
Harper clearly had entertained himself, if the large grin that took his face was any indication.
"A little enlightenment would do you some good. The mind can only--" Harper cut him off mid-sentence. Tyr stared at him incredulously.
"Blah blah blah..." He mocked lightly, same grin still plastered across his face. "I have no shirt, Tyr."
Tyr let out a small laugh. "You'll be fine. The ship is temperature controlled."
Harper looked uncomfortable for a moment then moved toward the door. Tyr watched him from the corner of his eye, keeping his attention on the torn garment in his hands.
"So, uhhh... I guess I'm going to go and get a shirt on and, ummm, go help Rommie with repairs. I'll, uhhh... well, I'll see ya later."
"All right." He began a mental list of the things that would need attending to, he should check on Beka, Dylan. Assess weapon damage and usage. The door to his quarters started to slide open.
Tyr covered the distance to the exit quickly, pulling Harper back towards him with an arm around Harper's neck and turning his face up with the side of a hand. Harper's eyes registered shock momentarily, then that grin returned as Tyr's mouth closed moved over his. Tongues slid together inside hot mouths and Harper let out a small grunt as Tyr released him with a shove into the hallway. The door slid shut behind him, but not before he heard a slightly winded Harper grate out,
"Oh. Hey, Beka."
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