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So she fitted her stasis gun to the lock and gave the dial a decisive twist.
The Korlene was already peering at the door as she walked in. "I've been expecting you, Captain," he nodded coolly.
"Yeah? Why?" She kicked the hatch shut behind her and leaned against it, head tipped pugnaciously down. Whatever this Korlene was doing to her mind, she was determined to figure it out today. Now.
"You need me."
She felt a bitter little laugh escape her. "I'm a Fleet warship captain. I need a great many things. I need consistent mail from the circuit vessels. I need to clean the ship before we make our yard time next month. I need fucking macaroni and haggis. I need an Army counterpart who isn't a manwhore. I need to get the nerds off my ship. I need more pelding beside the lower drive banks." Unasked, she took the little seat by the bare desk in the near corner. "You can't help me with any of that."
The Korlene looked like he'd always lived here, a person supremely at ease in his environment, effortlessly adaptable. Once more his beauty bludgeoned her, even as he sat on his bunk in a shapeless Sick Bay robe. He smiled now. "No," he agreed, "but those needs are professional. Your actual needs? Your real needs?" He spread his hands. "Those are more personal. And you know what they are."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Attack was Pixy's default setting anyway, but this creature's absolute coolness and self-possession were scaring her enough to make her want to kick him. She thought again about her young, unscarred feet.
"You want to know my name," he went on, ignoring her, his eyes steady and gorgeous. "You've been told I don't need one. But you want me to be called something." The buzz still rattled her brain, but either she'd become used to it by now or it had begun to make her think it might not be so bad. "You're thinking about it now."
"Thinking about what?" All at once, she was finding it hard to breathe. Worse, she heard a choke in her voice that usually meant she was getting horny. She didn't dare think about whether she might be getting wet.
"About me having a name." He arched an impudent eyebrow. "So that you can scream it as I enter you."
"Fuck you," she breathed, knowing he was absolutely right. And why wouldn't he be? He was in her head.
"You'd like to, yes." He smiled, the most radiant smile she'd ever seen. "Because you need me."
Pixy shook her head mulishly. "You're implying that I traveled a few thousand light-years, expended 513 solids and another four dozen torpedoes, risked an infantry company, and had a panic attack in a fucking shuttle... just because what? You summoned me or something?" She hesitated, but plunged on anyway; there was no point in hiding anything. "So that I could get laid?"
He shrugged. "That's precisely what you're thinking about." Pixy caught her breath, remembering the dwarf planet, the ill-fitting suit. The throb between her thighs even before she'd heard this Korlene speak. She was quite certain she was soaked already, even now, and when she glanced startled at her prisoner, he was nodding. "See?" He did not sound smug, just matter-of-fact. "You need me."
Pixy did not trust herself to speak now, and hated it. She shot up out of the little chair and swept from the cell without a word.
* * *
She ran into her chaplain on her way back toward her office, and almost stopped to tell him about what had happened with Byskop in the shuttle, back in the Cone when she'd lost it. "Good afternoon, Captain," he beamed.
"Rabbi." She hesitated, and he noticed.
"Everything going well?" There was nobody else in the corridor, but he nodded back the way he'd come, anyway. "I'm free in my office, if you want to chat..."
"I'm busy, thanks." She didn't move, though. The man had been incredibly helpful to her when she'd gone through her TCR, and she hoped he knew that, but she'd never tell him so. "Just... you know. Minor dissociation."
"Stress," he nodded. "How was it, going planetside on that last placer operation?" he asked, his shrewd eyes crinkling above his beard. "First time shuttling down since you died, ma'am."
"It wasn't a major problem," Pixy replied shortly. "A little hairy, but I got over it. I'll be just fine."
He smiled, then threw a mock-casual riposte as he turned to go. "You know," he shrugged, "when I was feeling stress? After my TCR? I found it useful to quit being a Marine, go off to yeshiva, and change everything about my life." He grinned to show it was a joke, then went serious for a bit. "So that's probably not helpful to you. I do sometimes wonder how I'd do if I went back into combat, though."
"Yeah?" Pixy tossed her head, eyes narrowing. "I can arrange that, if you really want."
"Oh no," he laughed, "my wife would kill me." He stepped off. "Door's always open, ma'am."
"I'm the captain," she snapped. "Every door in the ship is always open to me." She stalked away to his indulgent chuckle; Rabbi Bermudo was easily amused, she'd noticed. Even when she didn't mean to be amusing.
* * *
Their orders for the yard came through two days later. With some relief, Pixy shouted for Commander Jatsupa: this was XO business. "Yard orders," she barked, handing him the classified 'slate. "Get us there and then handle it."
"Aye aye, ma'am," he mused, scanning the orders. "Ah. The multipurpose torpedoes. And they're also installing the new Wirelock system."
Pixy's head snapped up. "Why do we need that?" Wirelock was for keeping the ship steady without human inputs, like an autopilot.
Jatsupa shrugged. "It's a Fleet-wide decision, ma'am. Every ship is getting them, and the system's already been shipped to the torpedo manufacturer for installation." He turned to the OOD. "Do you know where torpedoes are made, Ms Restuta?"
"No sir." She didn't look like she relished learning, either.
"Pight Systems. Its facility is off Chaeraea Prime. Get us there." He glanced at the captain. "Star-plot is fine. Lay a speed course."
"Aye aye, sir."
Pixy swallowed her displeasure about the use of the star-plot; it didn't do to undermine the XO. Jatsupa was a good officer. "I'll request block leave from Fleet," she told him.
"Don't request, ma'am. Just tell them we're taking it." He shrugged. "By the time they get around to complaining about it, we'll already be there."
"Huh. Good point." She nodded. "Carry on then."
She stalked from the bridge, her mind persistently ignoring the big question she'd been wrestling with for days now: what to do about the Korlene prisoner? Wrae Juno's legal research suggested that the status of a slave taken as part of a military operation, provided the slave came from an allied species, was immediate freedom and safe passage to the planet of choice. "Great!" Pixy had enthused, getting to her feet, but Juno had held up a warning finger.
"Thing is, ma'am, this wasn't technically a military operation. It was academic, from Fleet Research."
Well. Fuck. That put a wrench in the ol' interphaser. "Figure that out." Juno had looked severely up from behind her legal desk.
"I'm not sure how, Captain Pfeiffer," she sniffed. She often got precious about the legal side of her duties. "I'll need to transmit a request to the AI attorney at the nearest Fleet Hub."
So Pixy was left to stride past the brig hatch every day, trying to ignore the itch in her brain and the gush in her panties, trying to forget the Korlene's luminous eyes... the soft curve of his face... his fine hair...
Ah. And there was the gush, again.
She threw herself into her kicks at the gym, smashing hard at the sparring robot, feeling her feet sting, then ache, then go numb as they left little bloody smears on the target. "Good job, sailor!" the robot cried, until she shut it the fuck up with a flurry of heel strikes to its mock-smiling mouth. She loved how her new body moved, its muscles springy and smooth, her back able to rotate all the way with no pain.
So she was feeling good, in that special kind of tired way that she sometimes got after a really strong workout. The kind of good that she wished she could remember how to repeat every day, the kind of good that seemed so fleeting. Like reliable orgasms these days. And that was the thought that floated through her mind as it came up against the buzzsaw of the Korlene's mental screen, just as she passed his door, already breathing hard and with dopamine flying untrammeled through her brain.
She didn't even have to think about whether she should pull out the stasis gun and smash the lock. She just did it, bursting into the little cell with her face already flushed past the fading line of her decapitation scar, and heading down into her chest. It looked as if the prisoner had not moved since last time she'd seen him, sitting on his bunk, waiting with a patience that seemed eternal as his eyes glowed into hers. And, if he'd been waiting this long, he seemed content to wait even longer until she spoke.
So? She did, kicking the hatch closed behind her. "What do I need?" she demanded.
He smiled. "Do you doubt that I know? That I can give it to you?"
"Jesus H Buddha," she whimpered, feeling demeaned as he merely nodded.
"I thought you didn't." The Korlene sat there in a halo of calm self-assurance that Pixy felt like she could see. Or feel, definitely, reaching out to her, a force like a wall pushing against her whole body without shoving her back. The man on the bunk merely stared. "You have fewer doubts by the second. I feel it." He smiled warmly. "Do it."
"Do what?" Pixy whispered, her body rank in her nose. She smelled sweat, and some fear, but overpowering everything else was the thrilling scent of her own pussy, hopelessly excited. Her clothes were a vise, squeezing her.
"Do what you need," the prisoner shrugged, and Pixy felt her knees trembling under the force of his eyes. She could feel him in her mind, probing, sampling, but to her shock she found she craved it. It was comforting, a profound awareness that this man knew her, every part of her, even the missing ones. And that he knew the pieces that would go into those missing places, that he had that power. She stepped toward him, willingly, obeying his command: do what you need. She needed him, suddenly and powerfully, and she stood before him in the prison of her clothes and knew that he'd be what she'd been looking for... for how long?
Who could say? Certainly not her. Not now. She was finished trying to solve problems, for the solution sat placidly on the cell bunk in front of her.
He watched inscrutably as she took a deep breath and peeled off her top. Workout clothes didn't usually bother with staytabs, so you had to actually remove them, but in this case it wasn't a problem. She wanted to expose herself to him, doing it herself rather than letting a machine do it, and she didn't need him nudging at her mind to know that he approved. She worked the top over her short hair, dropping it sopping to the deck, and stood there with her tits proudly exposed.
It didn't hurt her back anymore when she stood up straight and presented her dark nipples to the Korlene, fixing him with her purple eyes: older eyes on a younger body, and the man on the bunk was telling her he could help her integrate the two. And she was begging for it, without words, without shame.
He nodded. He knew.
She unrolled her bottoms, feeling the sweat pooling in her navel, brimming over to run down her belly and over her mound as she undressed. Her clone had arrived with a severely trimmed bush, and Pixy had discovered she kind of liked it that way. So the Korlene leaned back on his propped arms, inspecting her newly-supple body, taking in the young muscles that Pixy had mastered since the transplant, his face giving nothing away.
But it didn't need to. Her mind felt it, his approval a soothing salve on her brain, bringing comfort and eagerness and... something else. Something emotional, something like caring. Almost like love. It spread all around her, from her head to her chest to her cunt and back again, stoking fires that didn't really need to be stoked, until she felt the certainty she'd once felt.
The confidence. The knowledge that she could use her body to please this man. That everything would go smoothly, perfectly in synch. As it should. As it once had.
And so she sank to her knees on the deck of the holding cell, peering up at him with shining eyes. He did not smile, just staring at her, caressing her mind, building her thoughts. Helping her. And it made her want to give him everything, in return, her body and her soul and his pleasure.
When her hands drifted across his thighs, converging where his legs met, grasping a cock already hard and straight, it felt right. Perfect. Expected as well as accepted, its heat almost tangible through the medical oversuit Dr Reilly had given him. And as her hands closed around the erection she found there, her brain already flooding with her own pleasure, and his, he looked down at her.
And, at last, he smiled.
She worked the flimsy oversuit bottoms off his hips and felt her pussy gush as she revealed his penis, from its velvet head down its rigid shaft, then to the plummy balls at the base. Her mind filled, overflowing with warmth and delight, and she lowered her head to suck his cock. Nothing in her past compared to the effortlessness of this. In Pixy's mind, this was not a squalid blowjob in a bare holding cell aboard a Fleet warship: this was warmth and togetherness, a connection already forged and proven, two puzzle pieces already cut and waiting to be fitted together.
He tasted sharp and sweaty. Reilly had irradiated him with some sort of antiseptic during the medical exam, and she inhaled its scent with the sweat rising from his skin, the pungency stabbing straight at her cunt. She spread her thin lips over his head, tongue already lashing along his flesh in spite of the slight tingle of numbness where the scarring was. No matter: she wasn't just experiencing the Korlene with her wounded tongue. She was experiencing him everywhere, in her mouth and her mind and her soul, and she arched higher so that she could go deeper, offering him more of herself.
Her surrender made her leak some more.
Pixy had never been able to go all that deep, her genes cursing her with a shallow mouth and a chancy gag reflex, so she'd long since learned to please men in other ways. She worked the sides of his dick now, inching up and down, up and down, soft wet nibbles leaving his skin shiny with her spit, and all the while her fingers traced gently along his inner thighs, making endless patterns that grazed his balls as they passed. He did not groan, and she did not look up to see him react: she didn't need to.
Her mind told her she was doing fine. Whether that came from her own body, or from his telepathy, did not seem to matter; their link was already seamless.
Unasked, a thought came into her mind, a compulsion from him, and she obeyed at once as she lifted her lips off his cock in a long, trailing string of saliva: she knelt there nude, staring into his face with more concentration than she'd mustered in months, and when she spoke it came out as a breathy moan. "I need you," she told him simply, and he nodded.
Because, of course, he already knew. His sexual compass had pointed her way, unerringly, from the moment Tirving had appeared in orbit, and what was happening now was merely the fulfillment of that connection. He flexed his body, curling up on the little bunk to lean down toward her, his face to beautiful, so kind, so real, and as his lips and tongue reached out to hers, Pixy sighed a long, contented breath into his mouth, her whole body tingling.
She knew he wanted her to ride him. And so she got to her feet, not even worrying about posing or posturing or appearing sexy, knowing he wanted nothing from her but herself, honestly and completely given, and stood before him naked and sweaty, her legs between his. His hands caressed her thighs, then her ass, before reaching high to flick her nipples. He nodded at her gasp, holding his arms up so that she could finish undressing him, so she pulled off the soft Fleet Medical overshirt in one motion.
He turned, lying on the hard bunk, his penis jutting like a gun barrel above his belly. Pixy had always had a slit long and generous, stretched by years of rapacious supply officers on innumerable cargo runs, but she'd been unsure how this new, younger body would react to a man's penetration.
And yet? Now, in the moment, as she swung her legs astride her man and prepared to impale herself? She was amazed to find she wasn't even worrying about it. Because she knew that whatever she did would be enough for him, as long as she held nothing back, and so as his hands found her hips once more and she raised herself up, she stared into his eyes and positioned herself.
That first touch of his dick was a blunt, fiery kiss, insistent and yet gentle, just the right size to pop smoothly through her labia and leave the tip inside her, feeling almost exactly as every other cock always had, back in her old body. The elation she felt at that, as her doubts and fears melted away, made her grin ecstatically as she relaxed her thighs, feeling herself grip him tightly as she slowly rode him down.
"Oh, fuck!" she gasped, her pussy voracious like it had always been back when her mind was as young as her body, her clit whining at her mind as it dragged along the top of his cock. Dimly she was aware she was wetter than she could ever remember being, that her cunt knew how badly it needed this dick, pulling it into itself as though it had its own will.
Before she knew it, Pixy was settling her trimmed bush against the Korlene's coarse pubic hair, her vagina wondrously and vigorously stretched around his invading penis, gripping him tightly. She knew at once that she was tighter than she'd been, that she could pulse and grip her muscles against him, that she could use her body to make him feel good. She smiled warmly now, holding him deep inside her, savoring both the sensations of her own body and the satisfaction she was giving to his.
And then, his mind lashing out at hers in a lustful spasm, he twitched his cock within her.
It was a prod, a spur, shocking her into motion at that deep level that her mind could help her body remember. At once Pixy launched into the sinuous grinds she'd always enjoyed when riding a man, the motions unfamiliar to her new joints and muscles, her back feeling so remarkably free now without that terrible injury from the Pulver.
At once she realized she was going to orgasm before he did, and the thought bothered her as it always did: her mother had always cursed her selfishness as a girl, and the complex had lasted into adulthood as a lingering sense of guilt whenever she came first. Pixy Pfeiffer could sulk for days about a misplaced climax.
But today? No. Her mind was calm, at ease, completely in tune with her body as it rode the splendid man beneath her on the cot. She felt beautiful, sexy, invulnerable, and as she looked down at his beatific smile, she knew he wanted her to let go and lose it.
It crashed into her, mind and body, attacking as thoroughly as any enemy battlecruiser and just as destructively. Only his mind brought her through it, keeping her alert with that weird, encouraging presence within her head, reminding her that she needed this. She needed to experience it, to be restored by it, and so she was as she thrashed atop him, feeling his cock and body tether her to the mundane reality of her life while her brain fled far away within bounds the Korlene set, the climax boiling through her with scary force.
And that's how Pixy Pfeiffer figured out how to cum again.
