Entanglements: Sequel to Gardening Tips

BY : Lursa_and_BeTor
Category: 1 through F > Andromeda
Dragon prints: 4498
Disclaimer: I do not own Andromeda, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Harper paces in his quarters on Tyr’s flagship. His bare feet sink into the luxurious depths of the pale aqua carpet covering the floor. There is a very subtle swirl pattern to the carpet that suggests the swirl of waves lapping and eddying on a beach. Harper looks up from the carpet, pausing in front of the large painting dominating his bedroom. This one is the ocean at sunrise. In the outer room, there is another huge painting of ocean and beach. Both paintings are originals and exquisitely done. Neither is anything that he could have ever afforded to hang on his walls before. The paintings, the carpet, are proof that Tyr had the room readied with him in mind. Not a single decoration or thing in the room is generic. Everything from the ocean-scented soap to the drawer of boxers and closet full of cargo pants and brilliantly colored shirts to the selection of flexis had been chosen with care to please him. But what he wants most is not in the room.

He hasn’t been alone with Tyr since he arrived on board. At first it had been enough to be on the same ship, to work with Tyr again and to share the excitement of defeating the Magog Worldship. After that he had waited but Tyr had not come to him. And when he tried to go to Tyr’s quarters…the humiliation of discovering from the frigging guards that Tyr was with Goldie Über and not to be disturbed or interrupted.

Harper scowls. He can’t believe that Tyr has been holed up with Charlemagne since last night. Fine. Tyr’s busy. Goldie Über is busy. Well, he can frigging be busy as well. In fact, he has made certain that he will be good and truly busy, just in case, Tyr gets around to deciding to grab some kludge booty after all.

Harper turns sharply to look at Rhade. The Nietzschean is perched on the edge of the lavish bed, watching him. Despite the sumptuous softness of aqua sheets and piles of silk and velvet-covered pillows; despite the light, gauzy hangings framing him and the purely decadently depths of the bed, Rhade sits as gingerly as if there is a cactus under him. Probably wondering if Tyr is gonna show any time soon.

“What is the matter?” Rhade asks softly with an uneasy glance at the doorway.

Harper hunches his shoulders. Dark thoughts had come to him late last night amid the images of Tyr and Charlemagne together. Had what he shared with Tyr been real? Had Tyr seduced him only for the tesseract bomb? That’s something that Tyr is capable of doing. Hadn’t Tyr told him upfront that for Nietzscheans, sex was never just about sex? That it was for…how did that list go…power, mastery, desire, reproduction, revenge and alliance. And when he asked which categories he fit into, Tyr had named, desire, alliance aowerower. Harper sighs. “I want to go home.”

“This is your home now.”

Harper stalks up and down in front of the bed. The thick carpet effectively muffles the aggravated stamp of his feet. “Is it? I have been sitting in this stupid room since we blew up the Magog with nothing to do and no one to talk to.”

“The Progenitor…” Rhade begins in a quiet, soothing voice.

Harper spins around to glare at Rhade. Anger burns through him as he remembers the guards stopping him at Tyr’s door; telling him where Tyr was; who Tyr was with. “He’s in with Charlemagne…again. He and Goldie Über have been sucking up adulation since the battle. In fact, he’s been in there all night and most of the day.”

Rhade shoots another uneasy glance at the open doorway. “And this displeases you?”

“Hell, yes, it ‘displeases’ me. I’m the one who did all the work. I’m the one who made the stupid bomb from instructions that looked like a badly designed jigsaw puzzle, by the way. I’m the one who gave the instructions on how to deploy the bomb and all I get is a pat on the head and told to go off to my room like a good little kludge while Goldilocks gets the glory and…AND he gets to spend ‘quality time’ with Tyr.” Harper scowls balefully.

It had felt good, so good. Standing on the command deck. Destroying the worldship. The admiring looks that had come his way. Tyr’s open pride in him. The giddy atmosphere of joy and triumph then…it had all fallen flat when he looked around discovered that Tyr was gone and so was Charlemagne. He was the one who created the bomb. It should have been his bed that Tyr sought out first. He should have been the one rewarded with Tyr’s time and attention.

“I’m sure the Progenitor did not say that.” Rhade tentatively leans back against the pile of pillows. “He would not hurt you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Harper flexes his toes in the thick carpet. He traces the subtle, curving pattern whis his foot. It hadn’t even been Tyr telling him where the bastard was; it had been the damned guards. No doubt, word would get around to Goldie Über, about how the kludge had come looking for Tyr only to discover his lover was bedded down already with Charlie. He can already see the smirk on Charlemagne’s face. “Well, he might not have said it in so many words but that’s what he meant.”

“The Progenitor has many duties, Harper. He is the leader who vanquished the Magog.”

“Correction.” Harper jabs a finger in Rhade’s direction. “I vanquished the Magog. Me. He just gave the order and gets to take the credit.”

His hands curl into fists. He is not going to be taken for granted. He is not going to be tamely, dutifully waiting for Tyr to decide that it’s time to throw the kludge a treat. Harper forces a smile to his lips and sits down close to Rhade. “I’m not mad at you, Telemachus. I’m just tired.”

“Then I shall leave you to your rest.” Rhade stands hurriedly. He glances sidelong at the doorway.

“No. Don’t go.” Harper lowers his voice to a seductive tone as he curls up on the bed. Can he seduce Rhade into staying despite the Nietzschean’s qualms about being here in his private quarters, in his bedroom? He’s been with Rhade long enough to know exactly which buttons will get the response that he wants. Harper slides his hand oh, so, slowly up Rhade’s hard thigh. His fingers caress tightening muscles through the black fabric. “Stay.”

Rhade looks down at the human. His hand reaches out, brushing over Harper’s hair. “I really must be going. There is no longer a need for me to be here.”

“You mean that, now, that I’m back with Tyr, I don’t need comforting?” Harper asks in a soft, coaxing tone as he curls his hand around to explore Rhade’s inner thigh. Yeah, that’s the tone to take with Rhade. Imply that only Rhade can satisfy him. Whatever it takes to get Rhade down on this bed with him.

“That is true.” Rhade widens his stance, exposing more of himself to Harper’s slow, tantalizing explorations. His deep voice is taking on a hoarse note. “You are the Second Consort. Your place is with the Progenitor.”

“Well, I’m not with him, am I?” Harper smiles knowingly; his eyes dark and wicked as his hand eases higher. Gotcha. He’s gonna have Rhade spread all over his bed any seconw. w. He’s not gonna be the only one to go looking for his lover and find his lover busy with someone else. If Tyr thinks to find him meekly sitting around while Tyr is off fucking Charlie, Tyr has another think coming.

“I…the Progenitor…” Rhade gasps.

Harper cups his hand around the hard cock thrusting against Rhade’s tight pants. His fingers tease, dancing provocatively. He is not going to be rejected and left alone tonight. Rhade can just get his tight ass into bed and start comforting.

Harper’s smile deepens as he imagines the look on Tyr’s face when the Nietzschean finds out about this little ‘cheer-up Harper’ party. “I already told you. Tyr is with Charlemagne. He’ll probably be there all night. I’d rather not spend tonight alone. Stay.”


Tyr stalks softly into Harper’s bedroom. He can smell sex and Harper and…the scent of another. One who has no business being here now that Harper is back with him. His lips curl back in a snarl as he stares coldly down at the lean form curled around Harper, one hand cupped possessively over the human’s shaft and balls.

He has spent the better part of two days finalizing numerous alliances as a result of his triumph over the Magog. He has spoken to the Commonwealth Triumvirs. He has been in contact with his First Wife and discussed his intentions for the United Nietzschean Prides with her and Charlemagne. He had indulged his aggressive need for mastery to the full with Charlemagne in between talks with allies. He had come here, expecting to find his Harper ready for him; looking forward to soothing himself in Harper’s embrace.

Yet, here, his Second Consort is snuggled in the arms of Telemachus Rhade. Perhaps he had chosen a little too well when he picked Rhade for the role of comforter. Better than he had intended. One of the reasons that he selected Rhaas bas because all evidence pointed to Rhade preferring women as partners. He had not wanted any Alpha to become too emotionally involved with his consorts.

He had doubted when Charlemagne first warned him of the situation and suggested that Rhade be reassigned but his shrewd First Consort is right. Rhade has forgotten his place and presumed far too much. Relaxed too much as well to continue sleeping peacefully despite his entrance into the bedroom. Rhade should have wakened the second the outer door opened. He could have been an assassin.

Tyr growls, low and menacing. The scent of his anger rides the air like the ominous smell of ozone in a thunderstorm. “You forget yourself, Alpha.”

“Progenitor!” Rhade starts awake, recoiling from the scent of danger filling the room. His early morning erection wilts under the Progenitor’s baleful stare. Rhade hastily eases away from Harper and rolls off the far side of the bed. He hesitates; his clothes are on the other side of the bed where Ty loo looming.

“Don’t let me keep you.” Tyr’s voice is poisonously soft as he moves closer to Harper. He trails a hand over the human’s smooth shoulder; his fingers glide lightly, possessively over the silken coolness of Harper’s pale skin.

Tyr’s cold stare narrows on Rhade. He will have to see that Rhade receives an invitation to the Celebration. Outwardly such a coveted invitation will be a fitting reward but ensuring that Rhade is there to see him take his pleasure with both his consorts…that will be only the beginning of reminding Rhade of a comforter’s real place. Charlemagne will see to the rest of it.

“I’ll be going.” Rhade hesitantly edges around the end of the bed. He grabs his pants and quickly yanks them on. “The Second Consort was a bit distressed earlier.”

“What upset him? Who?” Tyr frowns. He glances quickly at the relaxed lines of Harper’s body. His frown eases as he listens to the soft pattern of Harper’s breathing and catches the glint of blue eyes under lashes. So, Harper is awake and aware.

Does Rhade realize…no. Tyr snorts. Yet another reason to dismiss Rhade. From the looks of it, Rhade is more likely to blindly follow Harper into trouble than to keep the human out of it. More proof of Harper’s cleverness and charms but Rhade should have sufficient intelligence to refrain from doing more than appreciating those charms from a respectful distance. Tyr breathes in, savoring the scents of fear and appeasement rising from Rhade.

“That is a discussion you should have with the Second Consort, sir.” Rhade dares to move closer, leaning down to quickly snatch up the rest of his garments.

“No. Telemachus, don’t go,” Harper murmurs sleepily. He rolls over, his hand sliding across the bed where Rhade had lain. His lashes flutter as he peers out beneath them at the two Nietzscheans.

Rhade gives Harper an appalled look as he slowly backs away under the cold amber stare piercing him. “I must leave, Harper. The Progenitor is here.”

“Leave us, Comforter.” Tyr growls ominously. His fingers comb gently through the human’s spiky blond hair. Harper is his. Rhade will find that out in an unmistakable way during the Celebrn asn as the Admiral watches Harper respond, writhe and cry out. To judge from the recording of what had occurred between them on Charlemagne’s ship, Rhade had never wrung the kind of uncontrolled passionate response from Harper that he had never failed to elicit. Let Rhade see Harper writhing and crying out his name.

“As you wish, Progenitor.” Rhade hurries out of the room, clutching his clothes.

Tyr gazes down at Harper. His consort looks delectable, sprawled on his stomach amid the rumpled aqua sheets. His gaze follows the line of Harper’s spine to his mark then the hard swells of Harper’s ass. He can’t wait to sink into Harper again and to feel Harper sinking voluptuously into him. No one else can give him that pleasure. But first, he will enjoy tasting Harper again and covering the human with his scent. He will not have Harper smelling of another. Tyr yanks his leathers off, carelessly tossing them over a chair. He eases into the wide bed and gathers Harper into his arms.

“Tyr?” Harper stirs and pretends to blinks sleepily up at Tyr for a moment. He frowns, making a show of looking over Tyr to search the bedroom. “What are you doing here? Where’s Rhade?”

Tyr growls at the question. His eyes darken with annoyance. There will be no more Rhade. There will be no more comforters period for Harper. He will never allow Harper to live apart from him again. “I sent him away.”

“Why?” Harper pushes firmly away, pressing his hands against Tyr’s chest. “What? You finally decide to make time for the kludge? Thank you, no. Send Rhade back.”

“No.” Tyr slides his thigh over the human’s side and tightens his arms, pulling Harper back to him. He buries his face in the curve of neck and shoulder, inhaling Ha’s s’s scent. He has missed this so much, the way Harper feels in his arms; the delicious scent. “I don’t believe I will. There is no longer a need for your comforter.”

“Why not?” Harper asks, breathlessly as Tyr’s hot mouth closes over his dataport. It’s hard to think, to remember what he is mad about, curled into the wonderful velvety warmth of Tyr’s body with Tyr’s magic mouth on him. Then he rubs his cheek against Tyr’s wide shoulder and catches a trace of Charlemagne’s tart scent.

“You are my consort. You belong to me.”

No. No. No. Tyr is getting nothing from him until this gets straightened out. Harper squirms out of the embrace, pushing Tyr back. “I’m your Second Consort, remember? So I rank, where…below all your wives and Charlemagne, right?”

“Harper…” Tyr sighs. He’s been doing little but endlessly talking, arguing, ordering and negotiating for the last two days. He doesn’t want to argue or talk or negotiate. He wants to feel Harper writhing underneath him. He wants to feel Harper clinging desperately to him. He wants to hear Harper call out his name. Then he wants to feel the exquisite thickness of Harper’s shaft pressing inside him.

“Yes or no.” Harper demands coolly. He yanks the aqua sheet up, tucking it firmly around his waist.

“Yes.” Tyr leans up on one elbow, staring at the exasperating human. Harper had never been one to care about titles and rank, so why the sudden interest in knowing the exact scale? Hmmm. Perhaps it is an effect of discovering the reality of living among Nietzscheans and knowing how closely they track such things. Being confronted with the First Consort in person? Could Harper be uneasy about his status and authority…his place among Nietzscheans? Tyr’s gaze slides longingly over the creamy pale skin of Harper’s chest and the dark peach of his nipples drawn tight. “My First Consort, my First Wife, they outrank you. You are equal with my Second Wife but outrank my other wives.”

“Why did you even bother? I mean why did you want me?” Harper huffs with annoyance. The next thing he knows, Tyr will be drawing little hierarchy flowcharts on the sheets. Trust a Nietzschean to think that he is asking about his ranking in the Nietzschean prides when what he really wants to know is where he ranks in Tyr’s heart. The hungry way that Tyr is staring at him has his cock rising and hardening. It’s been so long since he shared a bed with Tyr. Perhaps sheets aren’t enough of a deterrent. Harper swings his legs over the side, scoops up his green boxers and scrambles into them. Does Tyr love him or is this whole damned relationship about the tesseract bomb?

Tyr lies back against the pillows, watching Harper with hot eyes. His voice is husky, seductive as he holds out his hand. “Come back to bed, Harper.”

“No. No. Answer the questions. You’ve got what, thirty wives from the best Nietzschean stock.” Harper stalks around the bed to stand, staring down at Tyr. “You’ve got Charlemagne. That’s everything anyone could want. Any Nietzschean anyway. What do you need with me?”

“I told you, Harper.”

“Told me what?” Harper crosses his arms over his bare chest to keep from reaching out and running his hands over the long, muscular body being flaunted in front of him. How will the short hair feel under his palm? Harper taps his foot impatiently as he waits for an answer.

“I thought you understood. You knew who I was…what I am.” Tyr gazes thoughtfully at Harper. He stretches slowly, setting off a ripple of muscles that draws the human’s hungry eyes to his aroused body. “You understand what that means for my people.”

“What was I supposed to understand? That I’m the kludge you had to get so that you could have someone to make the bomb you needed to blow up the Magog? You felt you had to get a little kludge booty to do that? Hell, Tyr, I would have made the bomb for you anyway.” Harper hugs himself. He turns his face away from the temptation sprawled on his bed.

“No.” Tyr sits up. He strokes Harper’s arm. “It was not like that. It…is…not like that.”

“Then what?” Harper scowls and takes a step back. “We make the bomb that shows the Spirit of the Abyss the big bang theory up close and personal and what do I get? I get to watch you celebrate with Charlemagne? Forgive me for being unable to contain my enthusiasm.”

“I wasn’t celebrating with Charlemagne.”

Harper turns a hot glare on his lover. “Liar. You smell just like him.”

“He is my consort….” Tyr spread his hands in an exasperated gesture. Charlemagne is his First Consort with all the rights and privileges to which the position entitles him as being a powerful and high-ranking Nietzschean in his own right. Harper must learn to accept the presence of his First Wife and First Consort in his life.

“So am I!” Harper snarls. “Oh, that’s right. I’m the KLUDGE consort!”

“Don’t be angry, Harper,” Tyr soothes softly. He reaches out, wrapping his hand around the human’s wrist. He can feel the rapid beat of pulse. The dangerous glint in the vivid blue eyes; the sharp scent of his consort’s simmering rage is intensely arousing. Tyr presses his lips to Harper’s wrist, flicking his tongue over the cool skin. “I have hidden nothing from you. I told you everything. Come to bed.”

“Not everything.” Harper yanks his hand back. “You didn’t tell me about this celebratory orgy you and Charlemagne are gonna do.”

Tyr slides his hand slowly over the contours of his chest, trying to get Harper to look, but this time Harper’s smoldering blue stare remains firmly on his face. He tilts his head, trying to read Harper’s emotions. Is Harper jealous? The thought brings a smug curve to his lips. “I want you there as well.”

“Are you out of your mind? You expect me to let you do me in front of a bunch of people…Nietzscheans?”

“Yes.” Now would probably not be the time to remind Harper about the effects of pheromones. Or mention what it will be like to be in a room full of aroused Alphas, the combined scents of their desire on the air…not to mention the overriding effects of his own powerful pheromones…or that Charlemagne is the only other Nietzschean to even come close to his level of pheromone strength…what two two them could do together to a room full of Alphas. It’s been a long time since there was an event worthy of a Celebration. He is looking forward to it; to sharing the event with Charlemagne and Harper; to taking what is his in front of his people.

“You’re crazier than a sun burned Nightsider if you think I’m going to fuck you in front of a crowd.” Harper snipes. His vivid eyes are full of disbelief.

Tyr smiles, sliding his hand lower, tracing the hard muscles of his stomach. He can hardly wait until the time for the Celebration arrives. Already his shaft aches with anticipation. “Only a few Alphas will participate.”

Harper shrugs with pretended indifference. He waits until Tyr reaches for him again and then asks blandly, “Will Telemachus be there?”

Tyr growls ominously as he pulls Harper down into the bed with him. He rolls over, tucking the human beneath him. “You have grown too fond of your comforter. I am not sure I approve of this closeness.”

Harper shrugs. He lowers his eyes. He can hide the pleasure in his eyes at Tyr’s nearness and touch but not the swelling hardness of his cock. He likes Rhade well enough but it is Tyr that he has yearned for all this time. But no need to let Tyr know that. “It’s your own fault. You are the one who sent him to me and then told me I could do whatever I wanted to with him.”

“You were not supposed to become so…attached.” Tyr leans down, holding his parted lips just over his lover’s mouth.

“I’m not attached.” Harper cups his hand over the back of Tyr’s head, pulling the Nietzschean down. He moans, yielding his mouth to the invading heat of Tyr’s tongue. Oh. Ummmm. Tyr tastes so good. Feels so sumptuous. Harper moans again, curling his tongue over Tyr’s. Arching his hips to rub his aching cock against Tyr. No. No. He shouldn’t be doing this. No being easy. Harper pulls away. He looks up into the glittering amber eyes. “So answer the question. Will Rhade be present? Will he be there?”

Tyr’s narrows his eyes. His full lips assume a dangerous curve. “I am beginning to think that you prefer Rhade to me.”

“That’s not an answer.” Harper stares coolly back, watching thoughts slide across the beautiful amber eyes. If worry over how he feels about Rhade inspires Tyr to spend more time with him and keep him closer, good. He is never going to allow Tyr to hand him over to a damn comforter again.

“Yes. Your precious comforter will be there.” Tyr lowers his head to nuzzle Harper’s throat. “But he’ll only get to watch. He will not be permitted to touch you.”

Harper arches his throat and clasps Tyr’s shoulders as the Nietzschean lavishes a series of kisses, licks and nibbles around the circle of his dataport. Well, he knows Tyr better than to expect the Nietzschean to fight fair. That’s okay. He’ll enjoy the attention for now but Tyr is still not getting any Harper booty tonight. “Why not?”

“Because you will be with me.”

Time to push just a little further. Make sure that Tyr got the ‘no more comforters, the no more ignoring Harper’ message. “What if I want him to touch me…or I want to touch him?”

Tyr growls and bites Harper’s shoulder in warning. “I will not permit this. You are mine, you will be with me.”

Ummmm. Harper curves his hands over Tyr’s head as the Nietzschean slides lower to kiss his chest. He kinda misses filling his hands with the long braids but the short curls feel good, soft and warm against the palms of his hands. “I thought you’d have Charlemagne with you.”

“He will be.”

What! Harper pulls his lover’s head back and stares into the dark face. “You’re going to do us both!?”

Tyr’s full lips curl into a smile full of sensual promise. “Oh, yes.”

Harper snorts. Fine. He can hold his own against the Goldie Über any day when it comes to claiming his share of Tyr. Still it sounds like he better set a few ground rules and limits on what he will and will not permit. “I’m not going to let Charlemagne touch me.”


“No.” Harper stares directly into the amber gaze. Let Tyr see that he is completely serious and determined on that point. “Hell, no. I’m not letting him do me. I’ll just lea

“This is an important thing, Harper.” Tyr eases back up and brushes his lips over Harper’s. “I want you there as a participant. I need you there.”

Harper frowns. He traces the lines of Tyr’s ears. With all the hair, he had never noticed before how charming Tyr’s ears are. He leans up to nibble experimentally. “I don’t understand. I’m gonna be the only human there, right?”

“Correct.” Tyr presses closer. His hands tighten possessively over Harper’s flanks.

Ummm. The nibbling certainly got a positive reaction. How about…Harper traces the delicate folds with his tongue. “Isn’t this mainly a Nietzschean ‘love fest’?”

Tyr moans and arches, sliding a hard thigh between his lover’s legs. “Correct, Harper.”

Oh, yeah. The Harper is good. He nips sharply at a shapely earlobe. “So do it without me. I’ll stay in my room. Tell everyone I’m sick.”

“I won’t do that, Harper. It is very important that you attend. It shows that my consorts are of one accord.”

“So, what, you need my approval?” Harper shakes his head. “I don’t believe you. You’re the Nietzschean messiah. What does it matter what I think?”

Tyr gazes into Harper’s eyes for a moment, weighing what he should say. Harper has a certain reputation among his people. More than Harper is aware of. Harper is a dangerous man, in his way, as dangerous as Charlemagne is. A casual rivalry over his attentions will only whet the two of hinsornsorts sharper but a real animosity must be avoided. His people must see the consorts dealing amiably together or at least, seeming to. He wants no uncontrolled factions swirling around rival consorts.

“You are well-known among my people, Harper.” Tyr presses his forehead to the human’s. “It is you who is the Angel of Death, not Hunt. My people tell stories of the battle of Witch Head and when I learned that it was your skill, your genius that defeated the Nietzscheans, I shared that with my council. Your fame grew. Now you have again obliterated a people…an entire species…and their god.”

Harper shudders and turns his face away. “You make me sound like a monster.”

“No.” Tyr dusts reassuring kisses over Harper’s pale cheek. “Not a monster. Someone powerful. Someone who has proven that he is the ultimate survivor…that his genetic worth is assured.”

“What are you saying?” Harper asks, turning back to look into the amber eyes.

“There will be those Alphas who will want to add your genetic matrix to their own.”

Harper smiles slowly. His eyes brighten. “So, wait…are you saying that since I blew up the Magog Worldship the chicks are gonna dig me?”

“You are considered desirable as a potential mate and father.” Tyr traces the line of Harper’s smile with his fingertip. “Many females will approach you to offer alliances.”

“Sweet!” Harper grins broadly. “Who’d a thought that my ruthless side would get me the babes?”

Tyr smiles. Not only will it get Harper the attention of Nietzschean women but it will also win his consort, the regard of Alpha females. “You may expect to be approached by alpha females from several prides.”

“Alphas? No way!” Harper squirms deliciously with excitement at the idea. Then he stills and frames Tyr’s face with his hands. “Whoa. How will you…how do you feel about that?”

“I am honored.” Tyr turns his head, pressing a kiss in each palm. “It is one more validation that I chose wisely when I chose you as my consort.”

“Good.” Harper nods. His eyes sparkle with mischief as he runs his hands over Tyr’s wide back. “So, do I get to do them all?”

Tyr snorts with amusement. “Hardly. But consider each offer carefully.”

“What’s to consider?” Harper chuckles. “I just pick the cutest babe, right?”

Tyr shakes his head. Always the political and strategic context of a relationship must be considered as a factor. His human might find that decidedly unromantic but Harper should never lose sight of that aspect of Nietzschean nature. “Allegiances are not something one jumps into unadvisedly. One must carefully consider the benefits and disadvantages of each offer.”

Harper deflates visibly. “It’s political. Even sex is political?”

“Especially sex.” NietNietzscheans!” Harper sighs in exasperation. “So this celebration thing is sort of an audition?”


Harper frowns at Tyr. “Then why are you doing it? You already have dozens of wives.”

Tyr laughs. He rises up on his knees and deftly slides off Harper’s boxers. He tosses the boxers over his shoulder and closes a greedy hand over the rosy thickness of Harper’s shaft. “Maybe I just want to sink into your sweet ass in front of all my people.”

“Wrong answer, big guy.” Harper snorts. Like that’s gonna happen. His ass is staying out of this. “Try again.”

“As leader of my people I must sanction the allegiances.” Tyr reverses his position and slides down the bed, placing the swollen darkness of his cock temptingly close to Harper’s face. He nuzzles Harper’s tense thighs. “My biochemistry will overwhelm all others so the chance that there is subterfuge in the…negotiations…is miniscule.”

Harper licks his lips and leans forward, nuzzling the cloud of dark curls, breathing in Tyr’s rich scent. He feels almost dizzy with arousal now. He has to have a taste. He has to. “There’s that whole pheromone thing again.”

“You understand.” Tyr’s hot mouth closes over Harper’s shaft.

“I’m starting to get the hang of it.” Harper slides his mouth over the thick cock. Ooooh. So good. His hand closes eagerly around the plush length. His other hand strokes teasingly down the cleft.

Oooh. Ummmm. The Nietzschean’s mouth feels so wonderful, so good on him. The hard pull… the velvet caress of tongue. He can’t hold out much longer. Harper clutches at Tyr’s hard flanks, working ardently over the delicious thickness filling his own mouth. He can’t…he can’t…ooooooh, Harper arches, spilling himself into Tyr’s eager mouth. Harper redoubles his efforts and is rewarded with the heat of Tyr’s climax.

“Good.” Harper pats a hard flank. He leans back on the pillows. “That was so good.”

“You are magnificent, Harper.” Tyr crawls up and gathers Harper in his arms, pulling the human down between his spread thighs. He takes the human’s mouth in a searing kiss. He pulls back, regarding Harper’s swollen lips and flushed face with satisfaction. He wants to watch Harper take him again; feel Harper pressing delightfully deep inside him, claiming him in a way that no one else could. “Now, I want you to ride me. I want to feel you pushing inside me…deeply…the way you did before I left Andromeda. The way you did that first time.”

“My pleasure, Big Guy.” Harper grin has an edge of malice. Tyr is so not getting any more from him tonight. Nope. No booty tonight for the Nietzschean who went to ol’ Charlie’s bed first. If Tyr wants it, he better come here first. “I probably shouldn’t ask this, but I gotta know, okay?”

Tyr closes his eyes, visibly bracing himself. “You may ask me anything.”

“Okay, this is sort of a sappy question,” Harper warns as he slides an arm over Tyr’s damp chest. He feels mildly ridiculous, asking this but he has to knowre hre he stands. “But…what…how do you feel about me, Tyr?”

Tyr frowns in puzzlement. He opens his eyes to meet Harper’s gaze. “What are you asking? You know that I love you…what is this question?”

Harper caresses Tyr’s short hair gently. His fingertips trail over the graceful arch of ear. “I need to know if you love me as much as the others.”


“Yeah. Charlemagne…the wives….others.”

Tyr bends down to brush his lips over Harper’s. How to make the human understand? Harper isn’t going to like the answer but it is the only real one. The lesser wives had been carefully selected for character and genes; they were mainly tokens of political alliances with no claims on his heart. Most of his personal time went to his main and most highly valued mates – his First Wife and First Consort…and now, Harper. How to explain that each of them filled a unique need in his life; that each touched his heart and were precious to him? “I wish I could make you understand, Seamus. I love you all.”

“Sure. I understand.” Harper nods slowly.

For a moment, Tyr hopes that it is so but a chill settles over his heart as he looks into cooling depths of his consort’s eyes. He sighs. How can one measure and weigh love? He does not love his First Wife more that he loves Charlemagne or either of them more than he loves Harper. He loves each and appreciates the unique beauty and traits of each. Would Harper prefer a pretty lie from him instead of the truth? "Harper, do you understand?"

"Oh yeah. Sure." Harper sits up, jerking himself out of Tyr’s embrace. His blue eyes narrow with temper. “A means to an end. That’s all I was. You’re as bad as Dylan, you know that? He sacrificed all for the Neo-Commonwealth and you sacrifice all for your precious Prides. You’re exactly the same.”

Tyr hisses at the insult. He rises up on his elbow and glowers. “I am not like Dylan Hunt.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you are.” Harper turns his back to Tyr and lies down again. He scowls against his pillow. He should never have asked. He can’t believe that Tyr tried to fob him off with that I-love-you-all-the-same crap. Still…Tyr did admit to loving him…his heart warms. Tyr valued him enough to ask him to be his consort. So what if he isn’t the First?

In fact, he has an advantage over ol’ Goldie. Goldie’s the big, bad Archduke so he can’t stay with Tyr. Nope. Ol’ Charlie’s gotta run around doing Archduke things…holding court…running his duchy thing or whatever it was that Goldie was over. Bet that Third Largest Fleet thing took up a chunk of time too. Yep. The Harper has a definite time advantage in the Tyr sweepstakes. His job is one that travels. He can do the engineering thing wherever. While Charlie’s off playing with his fleet, the Harper can be snuggling up to an armful of Tyr. Yeah. He can work with that. A smile edges his lips.

“Harper…Seamus…” Tyr presses a line of kisses across the human’s rigid shoulders, trying to woo his consort back into a more amenable frame of mind. “Make love with me.”

“Nah. Not in the mood.” Harper hides a grin. He hunches his shoulders in mock irritation and moves away from Tyr’s touch. Nope. No booty for you, Mister Progenitor. “I’ll wait ‘til the grand orgy.”

“I won’t be able to give you my full attention at the celebration.” Tyr warns. “I must also attend Charlemagne.”

Oh, gonna play it like that is he? Harper rolls back over to face Tyr. “I know that. And, frankly, right now that doesn’t sound like a bad thing. So, let’s set a few ground rules shall we?”

“Ground rules?” Tyr gives him a wary look.

“Yeah.” Harper stares sternly back. He plumps up the pile of pillows behind him and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “First, of all I’m not going on my knees for you in a crowd of Übers. You’re so not going to have my ass. You can fuck ole Charlntilntil you both pass out but my ass will remain untouched.”

“At least allow me to caress you…touch your ass.” Tyr curls close, nuzzling Harper’s pale throat. His tongue dances around the dataport. “Slide my fingers inside you.” Tyr murmurs seductively.

Harper bites back a moan. Damn, it’s hard to think clear when Tyr does that. “Yeah, okay, fine, but no fucking.”

“Agreed,” Tyr hums against the dataport. His arm slides possessively over Harper’s chest. “I can bring you with my mouth.”

Harper considers as he strokes the hard muscles of Tyr’s arm. That doesn’t sound too bad. If he just has to do something with Charlie, he could live with Charlie doing that to him too although he isn’t enthused about the idea. “I’m fine with that. Hell, I’ll even let the Goldie Über blow me…but I’m not blowing him.”

“Charlemagne prefers pain to pleasure anyway,” Tyr whispers in his ear.

“Oh yeah? He’s into those games?” Harper blinks. Well. Now. That puts a whole new spin on things. He wouldn’t mind hurting Goldie. After all it’s for a good cause and everything.

“Yes.” Tyr settles, pillowing his head on Harper’s chest. “He especially likes his rings tugged.”

“Rings…as in plural?” Harper squints down at the top of Tyr’s head. “How many does he have?”

“You will see tomorrow.”

Harper snorts. “I can hardly wait.”


You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story