Authors: Tracy St. John
Bevau milked him hard for every drop,
still ramming himself in tight with each stroke. Clajak felt
himself turned inside out in the effort to expel all the longing
from his gut. At last there was no more. He was empty.
Yet Bevau kept stroking him, turning
pleasure into that awful exhilaration that happened to Clajak’s
cocks once they’d finished with climax. Sensation overloaded his
wits at the continued intimate contact. It was too much to be
stood.
As so often happened, orgasm had
released chemicals that counteracted the intoxicant from Bevau’s
fangs. Clajak was his own master again, in control of his mind. He
shrieked as Bevau continued to stroke and fought to escape the
maddening grip.
Bevau, trained fighter that he was,
could not be overcome. He powered Clajak down to elbows and knees,
continuing to fuck and play with him all the while. Clajak’s
desperate attempts to break free seemed to excite the Nobek more.
His hips pumped hard and fast, smacking the Dramok’s spanked flesh
as he hurtled to climax. His hand pistoned up and down Clajak’s
overly-sensitive cock, every tug a nightmare of ticklish
agony.
All the bucking in the world couldn’t
dislodge the prince’s tormentor. Just as Clajak thought he would go
insane, Bevau unleashed a drawn-out groan. His hand on Clajak’s
shaft froze, sprang open, slammed to the floor. Warmth filled the
Dramok’s ass.
Clajak was vaguely aware of collapsing
to the fur rug. He thought Bevau fell on top of him, but wasn’t
sure. Things were confused for several minutes as he melted into
the relief of not being fucked within an inch of his
life.
A weight lifted from him. Gravity
seemed to let him go, weightlessness moving him about in the air in
a slow arc. Bevau’s stunning face hovered overhead like the moon on
a cloudless night. Then Clajak floated on the billows of a cloud.
He could even see himself from a distance, laying on puffs of white
purity while a god drew the cloud’s fluffy expanse over his still
form.
He blinked. He wasn’t on a cloud. He
was looking at himself through the ceiling mirror, laying on his
white linen-covered sleeping mat. The god was Bevau, tucking him in
and cooing in an absurd sotto voice.
“Aw, look at the poor Dramok. Are you
tired, little man? Are worn out from your fuck?”
Clajak found the strength to grab a
pillow and swing it at Bevau’s laughing face. “You are a bastard.
You know that?”
Bevau batted the pillow away, still
laughing. “At least you look sick and exhausted for real now.
Emperor Tidro is going to think you took a turn for the worse. You
should thank me for providing you extra cover.”
The man was too pleased with himself.
Clajak’s temper began to make itself known. When he figured out a
way to get Bevau back, the Nobek was going to be so
sorry.
“You are a thousand times an asshole. A
million times!”
Bevau could have cared less about
Clajak’s ranting. “Yeah? Still want to pursue me as a potential
clanmate?”
The question made the flash of temper
fizzle out. All at once, Clajak was laughing.
“According to Egilka, being my clanmate
is sometimes the worst possible punishment of all. So yes, I still
want to court you. More than ever, in fact.”
Clajak laughed even harder when Bevau’s
eyes rolled in disgust. Had the Nobek really thought he could
change the prince’s mind with incredible sex?
The day after pretending to be ill,
Clajak went to his office in the Government House. With Bevau busy
at the training camp and Egilka back at work following his
conference, Clajak was all too happy to escape his father Tidro’s
kind but smothering attempts to care for him. It was a relief to
come into his official work space with bright morning sunlight
streaming from the live outdoor feed vid panels. The atmosphere was
pleasant in Clajak’s comfortable office with the sound system
playing soft music and a portion of his art collection surrounding
him with beauty.
With Zarl and Irdis off-planet and
Yuder on the other continent dealing with territorial flare-ups
between aggrieved governors, Clajak wanted to rack up a few points
by keeping his parents’ official duties up to date. His own
schedule had been cleared for the trip, so he had time to devote to
being a good son and Crown Prince – in his own way, of
course.
He and Korkla met for breakfast first,
settled on an itinerary, and got to work. His aide had forgiven him
for ducking out of the trip to Joshada. Korkla even commented on
Clajak’s incentive.
“I commed Emperor Zarl’s aide to see if
there was anything specific they wanted done while they were gone.
Your mother and father mentioned their relief to not have to come
home to work that has piled up,” Korkla said. “They are
grateful.”
“I have to make up for skipping out on
them,” Clajak said.
“It’s too bad all your scheming was for
nothing. With your luck, Pwaldur will show up here and demand an
audience. Then you’ll have to spend time with him
anyway.”
Clajak made a show of banging his head
on the sitting area’s table. “Don’t remind me! It would be the
ultimate justice, wouldn’t it? One of these days I’ll learn to do
what I’m supposed to.”
Korkla laughed and patted him on the
back. “Don’t be in such a hurry to mend your ways. I don’t think
any of us could stand the shock.”
Clajak laughed with him. He didn’t mind
teasing from Korkla. The man was dedicated to him. Korkla always
looked out for the prince, particularly when Clajak did things not
in his best interests.
They spent most of the morning dealing
with the small items that had cropped up during Clajak’s parents’
first day of absence. They were insignificant tasks, but put
together they could eat up two or three hours of a monarch’s
precious time. Clajak thought with pride of how Zarl, Irdis, and
Yuder could return home to find their calendars up to date, with
nothing but the most current duties to be performed.
He answered messages, researched legal
issues, and sent requests for more information where he thought
appropriate. Through the first three hours of the day, Korkla
bustled in and out of the office, updating Clajak on matters and
clarifying the prince’s questions and concerns about legislation
coming up at the next Royal Council meeting.
During that time, Clajak’s thoughts
sometimes turned to Bevau and the delightful time he’d had during
the Nobek’s visit. Tidro had returned with their lunch to find
nothing amiss. Clajak had been amused to find his lover was just as
adept at hiding the evidence of their hijinks as the Dramok
was.
He’d let Bevau and Tidro do most of the
talking, watching the pair and gauging their reactions to each
other. They’d gotten along splendidly. After Bevau’s departure,
Tidro had turned to Clajak with a smile. “I like him. You could do
much worse for a clanmate, my son.”
One potential dissenter down, an Empire
to go.
Egilka escaped the punishment Clajak
and Bevau felt owed to him, having come in late from his day-long
conference. For one thing, Clajak had thought how much fun it would
be for both he and the Nobek to get Egilka at once. For another,
the Dramok had noted how tired and dispirited Egilka was when he
dragged in well after sunset.
Clajak chewed on his lower lip, not
seeing the vid document in front of his face. He was worried about
his Imdiko. Egilka put his heart and soul into his work, and his
latest recommendations for restoring Kalquorian women’s fertility
had met a chilly reception from other researchers. The consensus
more and more was that the Kalquorians’ damaged DNA could not be
repaired. Many wanted the money earmarked for a cure to be
diverted. Most advocated research into finding a way to
successfully clone Kalquorians, although that path seemed as doomed
as reversing the damage done by the long-ago virus.
Clajak felt bad for his clanmate.
Egilka had been so defeated by the conference that the Dramok
hadn’t told him how Bevau’s visit had gone or that Tidro had given
his approval of the dual breed Nobek.
He knew Egilka well. The Imdiko had to
process his disappointment before he could be encouraged by other
potentially positive news. By this evening, Egilka would have
recovered his drive. A day at work would re-invigorate him. When
dinnertime rolled around, the Imdiko would be bubbling over – at
least as much as Egilka was capable of bubbling over – with a new
sense of purpose.
Then Bevau and I can think
of the appropriate punishment for him siccing Tidro on the two of
us,
Clajak thought, a lascivious grin
lighting his face. It would have to be a good reprimand, the kind
that would keep his Imdiko smiling for days. He could almost hear
Egilka pleading for mercy he didn’t want. The desperate note,
whispered in a strained tone...
Clajak blinked back to
reality and realized he actually
did
hear Egilka’s voice in that very pitch of anguish.
His clanmate’s voice came from the reception area outside of
Clajak’s office where Korkla’s desk sat. The sound was too low for
the Dramok to make out the words, but there was no mistaking the
tense timbre of Egilka’s tone.
Clajak stood and hurried to the open
door that led to the reception area. Many people did not realize
the prince was in today. Only Egilka and Korkla stood
there.
Korkla had his hands on the Imdiko’s
shoulders, his eyes wide. Had any other Dramok touched Clajak’s
clanmate, he would have taken offense. However, Korkla was a man
Clajak knew he could trust, one with a beloved Imdiko of his
own.
It was not Korkla’s hands on Egilka
that made Clajak freeze. It was the wide-eyed shock on Korkla’s
face. It was most especially the tears sliding down Egilka’s
cheeks.
Korkla was speaking. “I received the
same message just seconds before you came in.”
Egilka words could finally be
understood. “Korkla, I can’t be the one to tell him—”
He stopped as Clajak recovered his
ability to move. The Dramok rushed to Egilka’s side. Without pause,
Clajak wrapped his arms around his weeping clanmate.
“By the ancestors, what is this?
Egilka, what has happened?”
The Imdiko opened his mouth. Closed it.
Egilka looked at Korkla, who had let go of him to step back. Clajak
had never seen the two men look so helpless. So horror
stricken.
Korkla reached again, this time taking
Clajak’s arm. The aide brought himself under control with great
effort, though his voice was choked when he managed to speak. “We
need to talk about this in your office, my prince. Please. This is
not a matter to be discussed where someone might walk in on
us.”
Clajak’s thoughts were a tangled mess
as Korkla steered him and Egilka into Clajak’s private chamber.
Someone had done something to Egilka, something that brought him
running to Clajak. Dozens of different scenarios, each worse than
the last, sped through the Dramok’s mind in the three seconds it
took for Korkla to usher them into the sanctuary of Clajak’s
office.
He’d kill whoever had harmed his
Imdiko. The shattered look on Egilka’s face demanded no
less.
“Door closed and locked,” Korkla said
in his new strangled voice.
Clajak looked at the two men, men he
trusted above all others. Egilka covered his face with his hands,
shaking with soft sobs. Korkla looked from him to Clajak. Shock
returned to the aide’s sharp face.
Korkla opened his mouth. His lips
moved, but nothing came out. He stopped and shook his head. The he
took both princes’ arms and shoved them towards the seating area
where he and Clajak had enjoyed a lighthearted breakfast only hours
ago.
“Sit,” he managed to say.
Clajak remained on his feet. His temper
was on the rise, fed by confusion and fear. Why wouldn’t they point
him in the direction of who had upset Egilka? “What the hell? Tell
me what’s happened! Egilka, talk to me.”
Instead, the Imdiko dropped his hands
from his now splotchy face. He joined Korkla in tugging Clajak down
to a seating cushion.
Egilka wrapped his arms around Clajak.
He held on, as if he drowned in storm swept seas and the Dramok was
the only one keeping him above the surface. His brimming purple
eyes looked into Clajak’s.
In a voice barely above a whisper,
Egilka said, “There has been an accident. The shuttle that took
Zarl and – and your mother. It – it – it—”
Words failed the Imdiko. He sat there,
his mouth gaping open, as if it had become stuck. Egilka’s neck
corded with effort as he tried to force himself to continue. A thin
wheeze escaped his throat. Nothing else.
Korkla knelt before Clajak. His hands
curled around the prince’s shoulders, much as how he’d been holding
onto Egilka when Clajak had come upon them. The aide’s grip
tightened.
He spoke low, his voice shaking. “The
shuttle crashed on Joshada. Everyone but Zarl and Narpok has been
killed. Zarl is in very bad condition, Clajak. He probably won’t
make it. The doctors on Joshada are trying to stabilize him to
return him home for treatment.”