If you are under 18 years of age, this is not for you.
If you are offended by male/male relationships, then do not read this work.
This story contains some slight nonconsensual elements.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This is a copyrighted work of fiction. All right reserved.
Unlike my previous work, this is a fantasy/nonhuman based work. This is a new genre for me to tackle, hopefully you will enjoy it. I always look forward to feedback and comments.
To Colandra, who edited this chapter, thank you for all you help. I really appreciate the time you take from your life to help me shape my hobby into something that is a little easier to read.
Terror filled Zasha, spurring him on. He clutched his open tunic to his chest and fought panic. He was desperately searching for the hiding place he and his twin sister, Cora, had used when they were children. It was a concealed underground chamber, used long ago as a storehouse, and they had discovered it by pure accident. They had often gone there to play when they were very young. He prayed to Areala that he could find it again, even though it had been more than ten cycles since he had been there. He could not return to the castle now, it was sure to be locked down because of the threat of an outsider in the area. Zasha was glad for that threat, it was what had spared him from being raped.
Zasha knew he was never supposed to leave the castle without an escort. His reason for sneaking out was innocent enough. The soldiers were in the area, making some of their regular rounds. He had only wanted to see them up close. He had never intended to be seen by them, much less mistaken for one of the lovers for hire that often followed the army. He had accidentally stumbled upon a pair of soldiers who were bathing in the stream. Zasha did not know that was where those who sold their bodies would wait to ply their trade. It was very unfortunate for him that he had not known such a thing.
Zasha had always admired the men who served as soldiers for his nation. Every time he had seen them in their uniforms, they had been tall, lithe, and handsome. They wore their hair pulled back high on the back of their heads, and their uniforms were always immaculate. He had wanted to see them in the field, going through their training exercises, outside of the confines of the royal court. He wanted to know what their everyday life was like, how they looked out in the field, not in their dress uniforms. He had gotten a much closer look than he had intended.
Zasha had been searching for the troops he wanted to observe, when he had heard deep voices and followed them to find a pair of men bathing in the stream. He had hidden, wide eyed, behind foliage, as he watched the pair splash each other, as they played and frolicked. He had gasped aloud when their playful antics had turned heated as the pair began to embrace and kiss. The sound of his gasp did not go unnoticed. Two pairs of eyes had turned to Zasha's hiding place as he had stood frozen, unnerved by the site his voyeurism had captured. Their was no stigma in his culture for those who loved the same sex, but Zasha had been well guarded against almost all carnal knowledge. He only had basic sexual knowledge, and had certainly never seen anyone locked in a sensual embrace. He had been shocked to feel the heat that spread across his face mirrored in his groin. The pair had moved towards him, one of them easily lifting him from the branches that were no longer enough to hide him.
"So pretty," one of the soldiers said, as he ran his fingers through Zasha's deep purple tresses. Zasha had shivered involuntarily, too frightened to speak, as the other man had stroked the quivering moth-like antennae atop Zasha's head. The intimate touch caused Zasha to cry out as he felt himself harden under his tunic. His body had grown warmer, answering the clever fingers.
"Mmm. You are very sensitive," the one who had stroked had said. "Come and join us, we can pay you well."
"No!" Zasha had not been able to put any force behind his refusal. His fear, coupled with his confusion at his body's reaction, seemed to effect his power of speech. He had not been able to convince them that he was truly unwilling. The pair had caressed him gently as they unclothed him, each taking turns holding his wrists captive, kissing his face as he cried and protested over and over.
"What a lovely game. We have not been able to enjoy someone as sweet as you in decades," the taller soldier was saying as he nibbled across Zasha's soft lilac skin. He sucked on a violet nipple and said, "If your antennae were not fully formed, I would not believe you were of age to work as a lover."
"I am not a lover, I am the Prince...Stop! Not there!" Zasha's body had betrayed him when an exploring tongue swept across that most private place. He had shuddered in shock as his essence filled the other man's hand while one of the pair had sucked that puckered hole as the other stroked his small member. He had felt something prod at his entrance right before an alarm was sounded. It pierced the air, warning of an intruder. Suddenly released from their grasp, Zasha lie trembling. The soldiers had kissed him and told him that they were sorry, but they must go. Zasha had lain unmoving while they dressed quickly and left him lying there, several heavy coins on the ground next to him.
Once they were gone, he had dressed haphazardly and fled, his mind a mass of shame and confusion.
Zasha caught his bare foot on an unearthed root. he fell headlong, wrenching his wrist and slicing his palm open on a hidden rock. The pain caused him to gasp as he felt his flesh rend. There was no time to stop and heal himself. He had to find that hiding place so that he could calm himself and wait until it was safe to return to the palace. He was sure to be scolded terribly when he returned. By now, his absence would be noted, his parents and sister were probably frantic with worry. Guilt could come later, right now he was traumatized with the memory of those caresses.
He heard a sob escape his throat as he stumbled again. A fallen log was the culprit, causing him to land on his hands and knees in the rich soil of the forest. As he forced himself to his feet, he thought he recognized a marking in the bark on the tree in front of him. He sobbed in relief when he pushed aside underbrush and saw the door that looked almost identical to the forest floor. He grasped it in his trembling fingers and tugged, he was shocked at how easily it opened. He descended inside the passageway, allowing the door to shut behind him. Safely obscured from any chance of being seen, he finally allowed himself to fall apart.
Gowron was dying. He could not believe he had been so careless. He was only on this planet to observe and scout, but he had been distracted by a luscious smell in the air. Deep inside enemy territory, the place where he most needed to be free from mistakes, he had made a fatal error. He had stood to taste the air with his tongue, that moment of distraction was all it had taken to be spotted by an archer. A moment was all it had taken to be pierced by an arrow. A moment was all it had taken to be mortally wounded. Even so, in the first moments of his injury his training had allowed him to evade capture as the alarm went up. That sweet smell still taunting him as he lost more and more blood. He covered it best as he could as he fled, not wanting to leave a trail to be followed.
He stumbled, noticing the sound of the ground he fell on was unusual. Brushing aside vines, he miraculously found a door hidden on the forest floor. He grasped it, pulling it open with the last of his strength. He tumbled inside, crawling as far as his weakening body would allow him, following the sloping passageway until it opened into a room. He moved to the farthest end from the entrance and leaned back against a stone wall.
Finally free from that torturously sweet smell, he sank into unconsciousness.
A scraping noise followed by loud, wracking sobs, disturbed him as he lie waiting to die. That damn smell was back, filling the air as he pried his eyes open to watch a small figure crawling on the floor. Its small arms were outstretched, trying to feel its way in the pitch black. Hmm, it seemed these creatures were at a disadvantage in the dark. Too bad Gowron would die with that knowledge.
The creature was sobbing uncontrollably. It disturbed him for some reason. He had the urge to pet and comfort the small being. It was an alien feeling. Breathing became more difficult. That sweet smell from earlier had returned, filling the stone cavern, mingling with the smell of the earth.
It was coming from the small creature.
Gowron could see places on the creatures body that were warmer than normal. There were tracks down the creature's face, where tears were flowing. When the creature stood, its slender arms and delicate hands crawling over the wall, Gowron could tell that the creature was a male, despite its size. The heat patterns radiating from its groin announced that he had recently felt ecstasy.
Gowron's eyes widened when the creature presented him with its back. There was a warmth radiating from an intimate place there, too.
The creature was very small, yet Gowron sensed it was not a child. The way it moved was too mature, and Gowron could see tiny traces of heat in a feathery pattern extending from the creatures head. He knew enough about the creature's race to recognize the sign for adulthood. Gowron knitted his brows as the small male's fingers sank into a recess in the wall, accompanied by a sound of triumph.
A light flashed, hurting Gowron's eyes and blinding him for a second, before allowing him to see outside of the infrared spectrum.
It was truly a lovely image to behold before death took him. Long hair flowed, reaching the creatures slender hips. It was a deep rich purple, only a few shades off black. There were two braids at each temple. The braids connected as they reached the base of the creature's skull, forming into one, larger braid. Bits of leaves and grass were here and there in the mussed coif.
Flawless skin in a shade of soft lilac, unique even for the creature's purple skinned race. A small heart shaped face, and full cupid's bow mouth that was a few shades darker than the lilac skin. Gowron could see that shade was mimicked on a nipple peeking out from the open front of the creature's soft green tunic. He wondered if that same shade graced more intimate areas.
The small male appeared to have a slight softness to him, unlike the warriors that Gowron had seen. He was sure that skin would give way very pleasantly to slightly forceful caresses.
As the creature turned to face him, Gowron was granted a full view of the male's face. Its eyes had lovely violet irises. Its eyes were enormous. And not just because they were wide with terror and shock, as they noticed Gowron's presence in the room.
A strangled sound escaped its throat as the antennae on its head quivered and laid back in fright and apprehension. It shrank back against the wall, trembling and scooting away from him.
Gowron felt suddenly bereft; he did not wish to be the cause for such distress to the tiny male.
"Shhh. I wish you no harm." He addressed him in the common tongue.
Gowron did not even have the strength to shrug deprecatingly, so he just nodded his head towards his wound. "Even if I did, I could not act on it in my condition."
"You..." The creature's voice was shaking badly.
"I...I am dying. I'll not harm you."
"You're dying?" The male said, still trembling, but at least able to finish its sentence.
Gowron chuckled. It hurt. He closed his eyes and allowed his tongue out to taste the air, the delicious, sweetly saturated air.
"Yes. Very soon I believe."
"I'm sorry." The creature was crying again. No wracking sobs this time, just gentle tears rolling down his cheeks.
"How many cycles are you? You almost look like a child." Gowron's pain was fading. He was sure that his time was approaching.
"I'm twenty eight cycles." The creature seemed to have stopped crying. Gowron was glad. He wanted to hear more of that voice, to let it usher him into death.
"Is that an adult in your race?"
Yes, just like this, engulfed in this wicked, teasing smell, speaking to this beautiful, exotic being. It would not be too bad to die this way.
"Yes, though I still look like this." The voice was closer. "I'm...different."
"Hmm." Gowron could not seem to form words. Small hands touched his wound as he slipped into death with a smile on his face.
The last thing Zasha had expected to see in his secret hiding place was the frightening, and enormous figure of another race slumped against a wall. He had been shocked senseless as he activated the endless flame orb. It was a product of his sister's earliest strides in sorcery, and they had hidden here long in the past.
The sight of another being in the enclosed place with him almost frightened him enough to make him faint. The creature was huge and fearsome looking. When the man had shushed him and assured Zasha he meant him no harm, Zasha had noticed the wound the man had indicated with a nod of his head. Zasha could tell it was deadly.
Unsure of what to do, but certain the creature could not harm him, Zasha studied the stranger carefully. He was unlike anything Zasha had ever seen. Even slumped against the wall, he could tell the creature was tall. Taller that any other person Zasha had encountered. Unlike Zasha's slender, willowy race, the creature's muscles were large and heavily defined. His hair was in varying sizes of dreadlocks, and it spilled all around him. The locks would probably hang to his knees, if he were standing. The eyes that were regarding him were completely golden, faceted with different shades of gold. The only break in the color was a vertical black iris, like a serpent.
Those eyes made Zasha shiver for some reason.
The alien's skin was completely smooth, and upon closer inspection it appeared to shimmer in the light. Zasha realized that it was varying shades of gold, brown, and black. Its face was a light golden brown and darkened towards its hairline, and down either side of its throat. The edges of the lighter color gave way to the mixture of other color that flowed together seamlessly, creating geometrical patterns.
Like its body, there was no hair on its face, neither eyelashes nor eyebrows, instead there was darker skin on the area around its eyes, and where brows would be. Its lips were also a few shades darker than the surrounding skin. Geometrical patterns were visible on all the skin Zasha could see, and they appeared to continue down the creature's chest, exposed by the gap in its clothing.
Zasha was brought back to the seriousness of the injured man's plight. The creature's jerkin was torn, and stained with blood. Its leather leggings had not escaped the blood and were also covered with earth.
"You..." Zasha could not even speak. He had never heard of such a race as this frightening, yet beautiful thing before him. He could sense it was a dangerous creature, but that did not change the fact that it was more attractive to him than any other being he had ever seen.
"I...I am dying. I'll not harm you." The man was saying.
"You're dying?" No. Zasha did not want him to die. He inched closer.
"Yes. Very soon I believe."
Zasha could hear the slowing sound of the creature's voice. He was startled when a forked tongue darted out to taste the air.
The creature was much nearer to a serpent than Zasha had guessed. Now that he was closer, Zasha could see the patterns he noticed earlier were on scaled skin, and they were almost exactly like one of the poisonous serpents Zasha had been warned of since childhood.
Movement around the stranger's body drew Zasha's eyes, and he realized what he had thought were dreadlocks were actually a myriad of tentacles, each one looking like a serpent unto itself. Some were thick as his wrist and others thinner than his smallest finger. They were writhing around on the ground slowly, almost contentedly, Zasha thought.
He had decided. He would not allow this being to die, even though it was supposed to be an enemy. Everything in Zasha told him he must save this creature.
"I'm sorry." Zasha did not know why he was apologizing for the wound. For some reason, he felt certain he played a part in it.
"How many cycles are you? You almost look like a child."
"I'm twenty eight cycles." He kept talking to the dying man, trying to distract him, as he moved closer, needing to be close enough to touch the wound.
"Is that an adult in your race?" The creature was close to death, so very close.
"Yes, though I still look like this." Finally. Zasha was close enough to touch the cause of the creature's deterioration. "I'm...different."
"Hmm." The creature said, as Zasha laid his hands on him, not a moment too soon. He threw back his head, and poured his power into that gaping tear. Praying to Areala that such a wound was not beyond his ability.
This was different than any healing Zasha had done before. It was no mere triage, or even an intense outpouring for a serious trauma. He did not just feel like a vessel pouring out his power, he was a direct connection to the source. An unending wealth of power flowed through him, using him as a gateway to bind and knit the broken body beneath his hands. It was a blessing, a binding, a bridge between Goddess and mortal. It burned like fire and purged like a flood.
The world flashed white and dissolved around him. Zasha felt himself become weightless. He was Nowhere and Everywhere. Gowron stood with him.
Ah. It seemed he knew the creature's name now. Gowron turned to look at him with disbelief in his eyes before looking forward. An unspeakably beautiful woman was standing before them. She was nearly impossible to look at. Light radiated from her, seeping into Zasha's skin. He knew her immediately. This was his goddess, beloved Areala.
Goodness and Love radiated from Her like rays of the sun. She was clothed in a robe that appeared to be living plants, constantly shifting and blooming, thousands of flowers opening to the warmth of Her smile. Golden skin that reminded Zasha of the fruits of the first harvest. Eyes the color of the first tender shoots of spring beheld them. All around her flowed her silver hair, shifting and shimmering, mimicking the way rain danced in the wind on a warm day.
As they stood staring at her overwhelming beauty, She reached and took a single silver hair from her flowing locks. She pulled their right hands together, laying Gowron's on top of Zasha's before binding them together with the silver thread.
She spoke, the sound of bubbling waters and growing things.
"Bound. Now and forever. You share your wounds. You share your joys. You share you lives. This is My Touch. None may sever it."
She turned her gaze to Zasha. She caressed his cheek, though there was a small smile on her lips, Zasha saw great sorrow in her eyes. Foreboding ran along his spine, even in this sacred place.
"Go, my child. Take my gift to the darkest places. There will be much need of you before the end. Know you carry My Touch with you."
She turned and looked at Gowron, but she did not touch him as she had Zasha.
"I entrust him to you. You have the strength to tether him to this world. A time will come when he will not hear my call, you must be the binding for him then. Now go, and carve your path as best you can."
A sudden pull was tugging Zasha back from that place. It was like being sucked through a whirlwind. Zasha watched as the silver thread pulled taut, as he was jerked back into his own world.