BY : Bebe
Category: 1 through F > Andromeda
Dragon prints: 2720
Disclaimer: 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.

Title: Predatory

Author: Bebe

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Considering that the show’s been over for a few years, does anyone actually believe that I own them now instead of when it was still running?

Spoilers: Gold Trance. And maybe a little bit of what the alternate future that she came from is like, at least as they’ve referenced it in the show.

Feedback: Please send comments to

Pairing: Tyr/GTrance

Archive: At AU and AFF. All others please ask.

Summary: Trance takes what she wants.

Author's Note: Honestly, I have no idea. There’s just a small portion of my brain that just kind of throws these at me every so often. This one I’ve had sitting around for ages, and I decided to get around to typing and posting it.


In the silence of the observation deck, the slow steps were loud to his sensitive ears. They were light, and each one was accompanied by the soft, slightly moist sound of bare feet on dry, flat steel. There were few people that would go barefoot in the public areas of the ship, and his suspicions were confirmed when the walker stepped past his bench. "Trance Gemini."

"Tyr." The girl, skin glowing a muted gold in the low lights of the room, surveyed his appearance as he assessed hers. They were both distinctly out of uniform: simple sleep pants for him, some sort of silky cream camisole and capris for her. He had to suppose that it was her nightwear; he’d never seen either Trance in that particular style of clothing. "Trouble sleeping?"

In answer, he held up his book, his finger still between the pages that he had been reading. "And I suppose your premonitions are the reason for your presence?"

"No, actually." She turned to face him fully. Some element in her expression made him feel more like prey than he was comfortable with. "I was considering my past. The future that I helped you all avoid."

"And what about that timeline has you roaming the ship at night?" He carefully set down his book as she prowled closer.

Her smile was feral, but her tone was almost conversational. "When everybody was dead, when it was just Beka and I, do you know how I supported us? Got the money for food and fuel to keep us going, and for her surgeries? Because she required surgery, after each time we were attacked." She didn’t wait for a reply. "There are a lot of humans— and Nietzscheans, too— that pay a lot of money for an exotic experience. Any time that we stopped at a drift, I would hire myself out. A dancer, living art on some of the better drifts, but on the seedy ones? I was a sex toy."

She was standing next to him now, forcing him to look up to her face. "I would sell myself to people that could afford me for an hour or two, and you know what?" She grabbed a handful of his hair, keeping his gaze on her eyes. "I was good at it. I even enjoyed it sometimes." She let go, moved to stand astride the bench just centimeters from his knees. "The problem is," she dropped down, leaned forward, hands on her thighs, "that now that I’ve fixed it all, I want some of it back. I want hard, fast sex with someone who won’t care, later."

Tyr had been steadily leaning back on his hands, and she had been moving forward. With her last sentence, she’d put her hand on his thighs and pushed herself up close to him. He asked now, "So why are you here?"

She smirked. "Because Harper would care and Dylan would try to reform me."

"And what makes you think that I’m interested?" He saw a glimmer deep in her eyes as she responded.

"Because even the Nietzscheans paid me. And besides," she tugged the camisole off, "all you need is friction."

Tyr just stared for a moment. He had not expected her to start stripping. Even as her hands dropped to her waistband, though, he refocused upwards. "And you assume that I will consent to this why?"

"Because you can’t have anyone else." She started to slide the capris the rest of the way off. "Because you already know we’re not genetically compatible." The pants dropped to the floor, next to the camisole. "Because I’m here and willing." She straddled the bench again, naked but not touching him. "Because you’re still here and have yet to shoot me, push me away, or call for help."

"And yet." He smiled, slowly. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. "And yet you fail to take into account the fact that I am simply not interested." As he’d expected, her gaze darted downwards and just as quickly back up. He knew that in the simple, clinging pants any reaction would have been easy to see.

"Your way it is then. If I can interest you, then we’ll do that I want. If not," she shrugged, "then we never speak of this again. Deal?"

He considered it, surveying her body as he thought before finally nodding. "Very well. I am," he smirked, "at your disposal." He settled back on his hands more firmly and waited.

Her own smile should have warned him. While he waited, smug in his superiority, she leaned forward and bit his chest. It was hard enough to bruise, though not— he realized when she released her teeth— hard enough to break the skin. It was also enough to start adrenaline running through his bloodstream and make him involuntarily extend his boneblades. The second bite, lower on his chest and over to the side, got his heart beating faster and his breath a little quicker. The mild violence was disturbingly appealing, especially when she moved down to his stomach and bit again. This time he gripped the bench more firmly, willing himself not to react to the flash of pain and the sight of those small white teeth against his flesh.

His will did nothing as she moved to bite the upper ridge of his hip, just above the suddenly too-thin pants he still wore. Instead he felt vaguely betrayed as warmth began to gather where he least wanted it. When she started to suck on the spot, the sensation increased: he could feel blood rushing to both the bite mark and his groin.

And then… She stopped. Straightened back up, smiled at him. "What?" he asked more brusquely than he might otherwise.

"You’re interested now." That was all she said. Then she shifted slightly— he caught a whiff of a sharp scent that he’d never smelled on her before— and reached forward to grasp his waistband. It took her a minute, especially since he was being deliberately uncooperative, but she managed to slide his pants down his hips and pull him free. He was still nowhere near hard enough for her purposes, and he realized too late what she was about to do as she leaned over.

For all that Trance’s skin was cool to the touch, her mouth was hot. The contrast between her hand and her tongue was distracting at first, but then she began moving both and he focused more on the fact that he was now reacting quickly to that stimulus. Closing his eyes didn’t help; watching her was worse. If he tried to think of something else, she immediately moved differently, or changed her tempo or the pressure that she was treating him to, immediately recapturing his attention.

It took less time than he would want to admit before he was, if not as hard as he could be, ready enough for her purpose. She let go and straightened up, and before the blessedly cool air of the ship could aid him Trance moved to straddle his hips, protecting him from the chill. Slowly, bracing herself with her hands on his shoulders, she lifted herself just enough to get the right angle and then sank down onto him more slowly still.

If her mouth had been hot, it was nothing compared to this. The heat was just shy of uncomfortable as she slid slowly up and down on him, so aroused and slick that she adjusted quickly to him inside her. Again he could smell that sharp scent, stronger now, and he realized what it had to be as she moved, only surprised that he hadn’t recognized it before. He had never, after all, been in anything close to this situation with Trance before.

He brought his attention back to her motions when she braced her hands against his chest. Even as he watched, those motions became less smooth and practiced. Her hands rhythmically flexed against his skin, her hips still rose and fell over him, but her breath was becoming more ragged and her pace faster. He could feel her thighs beginning to tremble around him. Even the heat that surrounded him, almost burnt him, seemed to increase, and he could feel himself react to that, and the wetness and the movement, the tight glide of her around him, with his own heartbeat increasing.

Within minutes she had closed her eyes and was reduced to short, jerky movements over him, pushing herself down onto him. Without fully realizing it, Tyr started to reach a hand up to steady her and support her motions, but before he got close to her skin she opened her mouth, making a soft "oh" sound. She rubbed against him, her head thrown back, and her muscles rippled around him, squeezing him tighter.

He closed his eyes at that. It felt stunningly good, and he was almost disappointed as she stopped moving, as the muscle spasms began to ebb. When he opened his eyes, it was to her sly smile. "Are you afraid I’m finished with you?" she asked, rubbing herself against him again. She leaned close to his ear and whispered, "I’m nowhere near done," and sat back up as she started to move just a little faster.

This time her orgasm came quickly, the last pulses from the first only barely gone before starting anew. This time her movements were faster, rougher, more aggressive, with not just her hands on his chest but the nails digging into his skin. This time, as she moaned and quivered above him, his own damned traitorous body demanded that its urges be assuaged. Before Trance came fully back to awareness, before the pure need traveled up from the base of his spine far enough for his mind to override it, Tyr gave into instinct.

He gripped Trance’s hip, kept her forced down onto him with one hand while he pushed away from the end of the bench with the other. Such a small shift in his own center of gravity, in hers, but even as vague realization of his actions began to dawn in his mind Tyr pressed her back onto the bench and fucked her, keeping her still beneath him with that same betraying hand on her hip and the other bracing his own body, clutching the edge of the bench above her head.

It was such heat and wetness, with her torso sliding against his with every movement. He set a punishing pace, driving himself into her hard enough to bruise, to drive her into the metal beneath her, not sure whether he did it more to bring this to an end or to repay her for this whole damned exchange.

And she smiled through it.

She kept her eyes open now, watching with a smirk on her lips as he moved. They only closed for the briefest of instants as she came again, one hand squeezing his shoulder as she gasped.

And then, suddenly and mercifully, it was over. He felt his own muscles tighten throughout his body and shut his own eyes, blocking out that smirk as he jerked into her once, twice. As soon as he could, he pulled out and away from her, rolling to his feet and facing the window.

He could hear her moving behind him. That same soft sound of skin against steel, the slight whisper of clothing, and then her breath was against his back. "I have to admire-"

"Get out." He didn’t move, didn’t turn. She paused, and he heard and felt her drawing breath. He didn’t give her a chance. "I said get out. Or have you suddenly become hard of hearing?"

Trance made no more attempts at conversation. Instead he heard her pad over to the door, and it cycling open and closed again. He didn’t turn around until he was sure that he was alone again.


The End

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