Zasha's Capture

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He was still pressing into the flesh over Gowron wound. Only the wound under his hands was gone, along with any mark on the flesh that showed it had been there.

He drew a breath to speak the creature's name, but was interrupted by the squeeze of tentacles wrapping around his throat. They coiled around his wrists, pulling them behind his back. More encircled his soft belly and chest, sinking into his giving abdomen, as they tightened and lifted his body off the ground. Zasha stared into wild, golden eyes, as he felt even his thighs and ankles being bound by living ropes.

He hung helplessly before Gowron, struggling uselessly against his bonds. He was pulled close to those endless, golden eyes. The bonds around his throat mercifully loosened enough for Zasha to breathe.

"What did you do to me?!" Gowron hissed.

Zasha was so shocked at the feeling of those appendages wrapped all around him, he could not speak. They were smooth, a silken touch encasing supple muscle, and so strong his struggles had no effect on their grip.

Zasha recognized confusion, anger, and something unknown, in Gowron's eyes, right before that wicked tongue of his flicked across Zasha's lips. In spite of the dire situation he was in, a jolt of pleasure shot through him.

"What did you do to me..." Gowron's voice was very soft. The tone still sent a frisson of fear running up Zasha's spine.

Fear, and something else.

*****

Impossible. He was dead. He should be dead!

Gowron had been slipping into the last world, when fire had erupted through his body, and he was snatched into a vision. He could still feel the tightness of the silver thread that bound his and Zasha's hands. He knew Zasha's name!

A magician, the beauty had to be a wicked sorcerer. A spellbinding was the only thing that could be affecting Gowron this way. There was no reason he should feel such an unbearable attachment to this tiny male. No reason Gowron's heart should ache at the expression the bound Zasha was showing him. No reason he should wish to release him and caress all such trepidation from him.

The Tsa'tsay felt such feelings only for their mates.

Gowron remembered that voice...

Bound. Now and forever.

Gowron pulled Zasha close to his face, loosening his grip on the tiny throat.

"What did you do to me?!"

The only answer was small gasps of air, and struggling limbs. Those abnormally large, violet eyes, were opened impossibly wide. Gowron allowed his own eyes to roam over Zasha's face, pausing to look at the parted, quivering lips.

He pulled Zasha even closer, close enough to flick them with his tongue. He could feel the jolt that went through Zasha's body.

"What did you do to me..."

Gowron gave up the fight. He surrendered to his feelings, wrapping his arms around the tiny form and thrusting his tongue past those open lips. He allowed his hands to roam through those silky tresses, finding those feathery antennae, and brushing them softly with his fingertips.

Gowron loved the shudders that answered his caresses. He slowly began to lower Zasha, loosening, but not unwinding, his tentacles, as he brought him closer into his embrace. He was fully prepared for Zasha to recoil once his grip on him loosened.

Gowron had not been prepared to feel tiny hands on his chest, tracing over his scaled skin. He had not been prepared for the moans, or the fervent response to his invading kiss. He had not been prepared for the press of Zasha's firm erection on his thigh.

*****

As Gowron brought Zasha close into his embrace, Zasha found himself assaulted with a pleasure he had never known. This was nothing like the experience he had earlier today with the soldiers.

That serpentine tongue assaulted his mouth, wrapping around and squeezing his own tongue. Rational thought fled him as Zasha surrendered to Gowron's will. He splayed his fingers across that silky, scaled flesh. The feeling of being caressed with all those squeezing, stroking tentacles, fanning the flames of his arousal. When he felt some tug at the waist of his leggings, he could not stop the moan that escaped him.

Zasha was suddenly lifted in the air, the tentacles at his waist replaced by Gowron's seeking hands. Once the leggings were pushed out of the way, Gowron lowered him again. He had broken off the kiss and was seeking out Zasha's nipple, left vulnerable by the open tunic. When his hands found Zasha's hardness, Gowron made a hissing sound.

It was exactly like a snake, and his tongue vibrated delicately, on the very tip of one of Zasha exposed nipples. Zasha threw back his head and cried out, overwhelmed by the combined sensations. He gripped Gowron's shoulders, clutching them for support, and felt more tentacles wrap around his forearms. Gowron's hands were inside of Zasha's leggings, one working him slowly, teasing back and forth over the length of his shaft, while the other cupped his sac and massaged it gently.

"No one else may touch you again." Gowron was saying. Zasha felt his cock being gripped tighter as Gowron spoke. "I claim you as mine, my Tsar'sen. My mate. All of this is for me alone." With that last statement, Gowron rubbed Zasha's twitching hole. At the same time he increased the pressure and speed of his other hand. Zasha shivered, knowing he wanted no one else to touch him like this. He felt his imminent orgasm. His head was forced down, allowing Gowron access to his mouth. The feeling of all those rubbing, massaging tentacles, along with the sucking and stroking of Gowron's tongue and fingers, pushed Zasha over the edge.

"Gowron!" Zasha cried against his mouth, as he spurted into Gowron's waiting hand. His body arched, taut as an archer's bowstring, for what seemed like eternity, as he rode out his orgasm. He collapsed into the expanse of Gowron's chest, trying to catch his breath. He watched as Gowron raised his hand to his lips and licked it clean, all the while keeping his eyes locked with Zasha's.

Zasha gulped, suddenly wondering what Gowron would taste like. He slid his hands down Gowron's chest, over the ridges of muscle, down to the waist of his leggings.

Where he encountered dried and crusted blood.

He snatched his hands away. Horror filled him as he realized they were also covered with Gowron's blood. Gowron looked down in confusion, and then back to Zasha's face. Zasha was surprised at the expression of understanding. Gowron opened his mouth to speak.

A creaking sound rumbled in the air. The door, someone was opening the door! Zasha dove for the endless light's orb, extinguishing it. At the same moment his sister's voice rang from the entrance to the stone cavern.

"Zasha! Are you here?" Cora's voice was frantic. He turned to Gowron, even though he could not see him.

A tentacle once again wrapped around his throat.

*****

Gowron had pleasured his Tsar'sen for the first time. Watching Zasha had given Gowron almost as much pleasure as touching him and enwrapping him. He had never imagined taking such a creature as his mate, but now he would never touch another. The way Zasha had reacted to the Words of Claiming, without even knowing of the ritual, proved Zasha was indeed his destined Tsar'sen. Zasha had come in his hand, offering himself in the most intimate way.

When Gowron had tasted the offering, he had been surprised at the sweetness that filled his mouth. It was almost the exact same as the sweetness that Zasha released into the air. The cry of his name as Zasha came still echoed in his ears. Zasha had gazed at him with those large eyes, as Gowron felt those tiny hands slide down his chest, tracing over his chest and down his stomach. When they reached the top of his leggings, a look of shock crossed Zasha's face as he removed his hands.

Gowron did not understand until he looked down and saw the remnants of his injury. The blood that had seeped into his jerkin and leggings was dried. He had somehow forgotten that he had just been snatched back from the verge of death. Only then did he notice that his blood soiled Zasha's hands as well. He understood the expression on Zasha's face. He opened his mouth to reassure him, and was interrupted by another intrusion into their hiding place.

"Zasha! Are you here?" It was a female's voice.

Zasha abandoned his lap to scramble for the small orb that was lighting the chamber, in a second they were thrust into darkness once more. When Zasha turned back to Gowron, the only thing that crossed his mind was that he would not allow anyone to take Zasha away.

He grasped Zasha's throat with a tentacle to keep him silent. Gowron watched Zasha's eyes widen, as he shook his head, and tugged at the limb encasing his throat.

"They cannot find you here!" Zasha whispered vehemently. Gowron did not understand.

"They will kill you!"

Gowron understood. If Zasha did not answer, they would likely search the cavern. He released him.

It crossed his mind suddenly that Zasha could very well betray him. How could he not have thought of that sooner? Panic filled him as he heard Zasha say, "I'm here. Stay there, I have a light here with me."

"Thank Areala," the female voice was saying, "I remembered where this place was by Her grace. The intruder still has not been found. I had to bring our own personal guards, Mother and Father will be angry when they find out."

The voice faded a bit as she moved towards the opening.

"Hurry Zasha, we must get back to the palace."

Personal guard. Palace. The words echoed in Gowron's mind.

Zasha was royalty. How had he not guessed? It seemed his capture of Zasha was not going to be so easy.

Zasha turned towards him, obviously unable to see, reaching out with his hands. The seeking gesture touched Gowron in a way he had never experienced. He reached out and pulled Zasha close.

The enormity of the embrace dawned on Gowron. He and Zasha were about to be separated. He had no way of knowing when they would be reunited.

"I have to leave you," Zasha whispered.

Gowron could once again see the tracks of tears roll down Zasha's face.

"I will come back for you, wait for me. You belong to me, I will come back to claim you." Gowron kissed Zasha passionately. Wanting to make sure he was understood.

"I'll wait for you," Zasha was sobbing. "I will wait, as long as it takes. You have to come back for me."

One last kiss, and Zasha was gone, lighting his way with the orb. Gowron watched as Zasha turned back to look at him one last time, before disappearing into the corridor that led to the hidden door.

The sound of the door closing left Gowron alone with only his and Zasha's promise.

And that damned sweet smell in the air.

*****

Fifty Three Cycles Later

Zasha knelt and packed a poultice into the soldier's wound. When the soldier grunted in pain, Zasha wished for the countless time that he could use his healing on every injury. Even after seventeen cycles of war, he still was not used to sounds of pain from the injured soldiers surrounding him. Unfortunately, healing took a great deal of energy. He needed to save that for those soldiers who would die without immediate healing.

He found it a bit ironic that he worked in such close proximity to the soldiers, considering the experience he had in the past. He had long ago forgiven the two men, understanding they were mistaken. He had come to realize that they had meant him no harm. Besides, he was a healer and his gift was needed.

Many of their race were granted the powers of healing, some directly from the Goddess herself, and others with the knowledge of herbs. Out of all those blessed by Areala with the healing touch, Zasha was easily the most powerful. He knew why. Once, long ago he had been Touched by the Goddess herself. He pushed that memory back inside him, refusing to dredge up those painful thoughts. There was enough pain and misery around him without adding his own personal demons. He prayed that today his healing would not be required.

He moved down the line, cleansing and treating the various wounds. No matter their pain, the soldiers always thanked him. Zasha smiled at each of them, sometimes he recognized those he had healed before.

"You look stunning again today, Zasha." The speaker was one of the soldiers Zasha had healed more times than he cared to remember. A few of them barely in time.

Zasha laughed. He was covered in blood, sweat, and dirt. He had not been able to really cleanse himself in weeks, and his hair was a filthy, tangled atrocity.

"Strange, Taran, your eyes seem to be uninjured. Did you take a blow to the head?"

"Perhaps." Taran grinned. "I hear that a kiss from a Princess can heal almost anything."

Zasha smiled. Taran did not know how close to the truth he was with that bit of flirting. It was a well kept secret that he was royalty. It would be a dangerous thing if it were to fall into the hands of the enemy. Zasha remembered how hard it had been to convince his sister that he should be involved in the war. She had argued that he was next in line for the throne, but Zasha had told her that her children could take his place if something happened to him. He had been blessed by Areala, and though no one knew he had been Touched, he knew his place was where he could help those who needed it most.

As the eldest twin, Cora had become ruler after his parents had been killed in the first wave of attacks. By some tragic coincidence, they had been out touring the region where the enemy's portals had opened unexpectedly. Their peaceful nation had been dragged into war.

It had been a disastrous time. Cora had to take the throne, and command of the army, at the young age of sixty four cycles. She, like Zasha, had been nearly helpless with grief and shock in the beginning. Thankfully, there were trusted advisors there to help her. Even so, she had proved to be an amazing queen, holding the Faerian together, as they fought against the invaders.

The attacking race were from a planet near the end of the same galaxy as Zasha's people. There had been no warning of any impending war. The Faerian and the Garkian had never had any contact at all, due to the conflict of their basic beliefs.

The Garkian worshipped the dark Goddess, Vrasam, who was Areala's sister. Areala was the goddess of peace and healing. Vrasam was the goddess of strife and death. It seemed that both goddesses blessed their followers with power. Where Areala granted the gift of healing, Vrasam granted the opposite. Her gift was the ability to withdraw the life force of others. Thankfully, it seemed Vrasam granted very few her gift, and those blessed with it had to be able to physically lay hands on their victims, skin to skin. In the first few months of fighting, this had not been known. The results had been catastrophic. Entire troops had been wiped out. Zasha shuddered in revulsion at the memory of what had been left of those killed by the cursed touch. It was an atrocious way to die, the life force being drained until nothing was left but a shell.

After the discovery, Cora had ordered every warriors to be coated with a substance that clung to their skin, preventing direct contact. It was easy enough to remove with water mixed with certain herbs, but that formula was a cherished secret, even Zasha did not know the compound.

His niece and nephew had actually invented it. Mora and Naban were also twins. Naban was the eldest, but they looked almost identical. The two of them were gifted with herbs. At only twenty two cycles, they were already more skilled than the elders.

Long ago, when Zasha had first realized that he was blessed with the gift of healing, he had gone to the temple to seek guidance and answers. A priestess had told him that Areala watched over the needs of her people, granting her blessings to the benefit of her followers. He believed it. He wondered how many soldiers lives had been spared due to his own gift. That was a fraction of the numbers spared by the medicine of his niece and nephew.

Mora and Naban had been born five cycles before the war had started. His sister had married a common soldier, the Faerian did not believe in arranged marriages, and they had been blessed soon after their union. Dafa and Cora had been ecstatic at the birth of the twins, and Zasha remembered the boundless joy he had felt as he had touched the tiny pairs of hands.

It had been a rare moment of happiness amidst his feelings of loneliness and abandonment, but even that had been disturbed. He remembered the stabbing pain he had felt a mere second after the bursting joy. It had felt as if his right eye were splitting open, it had been so intense he had actually lost consciousness. He still had a phantom ache there now and again.

"Thank you Princess."

The voice pulled him from his musings. Taran was smiling at him. Zasha was finally done dressing his wound.

"You are welcome, Taran. I hope I don't have to see you for a while."

"Ah! How sad! If you would accept my advances, I wouldn't have to resort to being wounded just to see you."

Zasha just grinned and moved to the next soldier. It was true, Taran would probably offer for Zasha seriously if he gave the man any indication that he would accept. But he would not. Zasha might have been abandoned, but he would not accept another in place of the one he loved. Even now he remembered in detail what had transpired fifty three cycles ago.

It had been a long time. He had come to accept that he would never be united to another. So many cycles, watching and waiting, visiting the secret chamber over and over, looking for any sign. After twenty cycles had passed, he had slowly begun to despair. After thirty, he had resigned himself to his fate. When Mora and Naban had been born, he had felt himself beginning to live again. They were the light of his world, along with his sister.

For many cycles after the initial separation, Cora had urged Zasha to find a mate. She had introduced him to many suitors, both male and female. Some he would have been seriously interested in, if not for the one already in his heart. He had finally told his sister that he was only interested in one person, and if that person returned to him, then and only then would he bind himself to another.

Cora had told him that she knew he meant it, and that she also knew he had been different since the day she had found him in the woods. Zasha had only looked at her; he had refused to answer the unspoken question. After that, she had never mentioned it again, and she no longer pushed him to get married. It still pained Zasha sometimes to see how happy Cora was with Dafa and their children, but he pushed those thoughts away when they came to him. He did not begrudge his sister's happiness. One must take what little bit was granted in these times.

He pushed the thoughts from his mind and set to treating all the soldiers who had been left to his care.

Hours later he had finally attended all the wounded that had been left to his charge. He walked to healers tent and fell asleep as soon as his body hit the cot, surrounded by the sound of soft breathing from the other healers.

A deafening explosion woke him. Shrieks, screams, and an awful acrid smell assaulted his senses. His ears were ringing and he felt dizzy, as if he had taken a blow to the head.

The healers were panicking, running here and there. Zasha dashed outside of the useless protection of the tent.

And stepped into total chaos.

An enormous ball of fire was burning right in the middle of the healers encampment. Zasha saw the bodies of soldiers lying everywhere.

"Wounded! Heal the wounded!" Zasha was trying to get the attention of other healers as he ran towards the body nearest him.

It was too late for that soldier.

He ran to the next, searching for those who were not beyond his help. The number was too few. He lay his hands on every soldier he could find with even a tiny bit of life, pouring his power and energy into them.