Suddenly One Seefran Morning

BY : Bebe
Category: 1 through F > Andromeda
Dragon prints: 779
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: Suddenly One Seefran Morning

Author: Bebe

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Not my characters by any stretch of the imagination, only what I do with them.

Spoilers: Season five?

Feedback: Please send comments to

Pairing: Beka/TRhade

Archive: At AFF. All others please ask.

Summary: When Rhade transgresses, Beka demands an apology.

Author's Note: Sometimes I think that there isn’t enough porn with Beka and either Rhade in existence. Whenever I think that, I feel the need to make sure there’s more, and occasionally that translates to fic.


Rhade waits on his bed, a bottle of Harper’s finest— a dubious distinction at best— balancing on his stomach. He’s barely drunk any of it, only a swallow or two. Maybe three. He knows he might have Beka looking for him soon, after the message he asked Harper to relay, and even if it would take more of the bottle to get him drunk he wants his wits about him. He needs to, dealing with her. So he lies back and studies the level, trying to decide whether he can risk a little more and enjoying the cool feel of the glass against his bare skin in the desert heat.

He doesn’t have long to decide before there’s hammering on the door, accompanied by Beka shouting, “Dammit, Rhade, I know you’re in there! Open up!” He sighs and sets the bottle down next to the bed before getting up and crossing the room to another cavalcade of banging. The flimsy door, salvaged and makeshift like everything else on Seefra, is there more to give him advance notice of anyone wishing him ill rather than keep them out. It won’t stand up to much more abuse, he thinks. Or at least its connections to the wall won’t. As he draws closer, he decides the weak point is the simple latch, not because of its intrinsic strength but because he can hear a scratching noise as Beka slides a skinny piece of metal between the door and the frame to lift it, apparently deciding that he isn’t going to open it for her. He knows what she’s using because he can see the tip of it protruding, but it recedes back to her side when he reaches for the latch; probably she can see his shadow approaching.

However she knows, the metal piece has disappeared and her hands are bare when he opens the door. She’s glaring at him, but he steps back anyway and she takes it as an invitation, pushing the door farther open and coming in. The door drifts back to its closed position, but well before it gets there she demands, “What the hell were you thinking?!”

“When?” He suspects, of course, but he’d rather not incriminate himself if she’s angry over something else.

“Oh, this morning. When you told Dylan that I had my shipment canceled. You know, when he was looking for free transportation to yet another threatened group on yet another planet and I’d already told him no?” It really is a shame that she’s so angry at him specifically; she is possibly at her most attractive when she’s mad at someone, with her cheeks pink and eyes bright.

“Oh, then.”

“Yes. Then.” She bites the words off.

Rhade shrugs, trying to look surprised. He doesn’t think it’ll work, but it can’t hurt to try. “I didn’t know he wouldn’t at least ask you.”

“Because it’s not like you don’t know that Dylan the Do-Gooding Dynamo won’t stoop to a little larceny if it’s for ‘a good cause.’” Balling her hands into fists is probably an unconscious gesture rather than a threat, but he checks for adequate distance between them anyway. “If you honestly thought it wouldn’t hurt to tell him that, you would have told me yourself instead of letting Harper tell me.”

“I was leaving the bar. I knew you’d be back at some point and it was easier than chasing you all over the town.” Although, yes, there was an element of thinking that if Dylan didn’t ask then Beka would be less likely to take it out on Harper than on Rhade. He’d had been hoping that she wouldn’t decide to track him down if that were the case, but hope is feeble when it comes to Beka not taking action over her ship. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed since arriving here.

“Yeah, ‘cause there’s just so much town to chase me over.”

He winces at the sarcasm. “There are enough places to look that it was simpler to just leave a message with Harper.”

“That’s your story and you’re sticking to it?”

“Yes.” He sighs. He’d mostly been expecting her to just threaten to shoot him already, and he’s surprised she hasn’t just either threatened or shot him. It isn’t usually like her to just come in and snipe at him for very long. “Beka, what do you want me to do? I told Dylan. He took the ship. He’s halfway to Seefra 9, or at least on the Andromeda already. He’ll be back eventually and I don’t have a ship to go after him with.”

“And neither do I, because you decided to run at the mouth!” She crosses her arms and leans back against the door hard enough to slam it the last centimeter shut. He can hear the latch drop into place. “What I want is to have a paying job, not the freebies I keep doing for everyone around here, since I still need fuel and parts every time the Maru gets shot at whether I get paid for it or not. Any chance I had of getting a new one went up in smoke the minute Dylan heard about the canceled one, and it’s your fault.”

“And you want me to find you a new one?” Probably no good odds exist of him finding something if she can’t, but if it means that she doesn’t end up shooting him he’ll take it. Being shot doesn’t exactly increase his odds of survival, after all.

“That would be great, if you could. At this rate I’d settle for a damned apology!” She huffs and straightens.

It’s hard for him not to notice the way she pushes off the door with her hips. It’s hard for him not to notice anything, really, as close as they’re standing. Beka’s attractive and he’s only Nietzschean, after all. He still manages to come up with a response even with his attention straying some, but it might not have been the smartest response. “Nietzscheans don’t usually apologize.”

“Right, because that would be something that would not terminally piss off everyone around you!” She throws her hands up. “Are there any circumstances where you try not to annoy the whole universe?”

“Our wives?” Jillian probably was the only person he’s ever really apologized to, come to think of it.

“Great. Fine. Of course. Maybe try apologizing to me based on how you apologize to them? I might not even shoot you if you do, even though you deserve it.”

“I don’t think—”

“I know you don’t think. You proved that this morning. Never mind.” She shakes her head, apparently frustrated. “I’m not even going to bother. I’m just going to go back to Harper’s and—”

He kisses her. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have done it. She’s made no secret of her dislike for him, never mind that he can smell her attraction even while she belittles him. But she had told him to apologize like he would to a wife, and while he may be taking liberties with doing it he doubts she can actually view him any more negatively.

For a second she stiffens, surprised, and doesn’t respond. Of course, responding includes shooting him, so not responding there can only be a plus. He doesn’t force anything, just presses his mouth to hers and waits for a reaction of some kind. She does, eventually, and it doesn’t involve reaching for her gun. Instead she tilts her head a little to fit their lips together a little better and parts her own just the slightest bit. Pleased, he darts his tongue forward to taste.

She does taste good, and he wants more. He’s still a little surprised when she not only cooperates but responds in kind, though he’s not going to complain, not after being attracted to her for over a year and being able to smell her response to him for the same. After a second she reaches up and twines her fingers into his hair, holding him close, something that he doesn’t mind at all, especially when she immediately increases the pressure of the kiss. The intensity increases, too, her mouth demanding on his, and he growls faintly as the scent of her arousal rises around him. He lets his hands drop to her hips and pull her closer until their bodies are flush against each other and discovers that he likes the feel of her pressed against him. She seems to, too, not only letting him but edging a little closer, and he can feel himself hardening at the contact.

Just kissing isn’t enough anymore. He leaves her lips for her neck, sucking and enjoying the whimper and accompanying wriggle that escapes her when he does. Inspired, he moves a centimeter or two away and does it again. This time there was no wriggle, something that disappoints him, but she tightens her grip on his hair and moans, and he’ll take the encouragement. He repeats the motion.

Almost immediately she pulls his head back, taking his lips in an aggressive kiss. He isn’t sure if he suddenly did something wrong or not, but as long as she’s not pushing him away… That concern disappears as she controls the kiss, exploring his mouth and not giving him much room to protest, not that he wants to. He does want to get back to what he was doing, though, and as soon as she releases his mouth he goes back to her neck, this time catching the edge of her long vest with one hand and pushing it to expose more, though some of her shoulder is still covered by the straps of her tank top. It’s a surprise when she twists in his arms, and he immediately loosens his grip; if she’s suddenly changed her mind, he doesn’t want to be hampering her. He isn’t sure whether to be relieved or not when she isn’t trying to get away and instead pulls her hands free to shed the vest. It lands seconds later somewhere halfway across the room, probably on the chair, judging by the sound. He decides on relieved when she slides her fingers into his hair again and guides him— quickly, roughly— back to her shoulder.

Her skin is warm against his lips, and she reacts so well when he scrapes his teeth over it, fingertips pressing against his scalp in encouragement. He keeps going, finding new areas and surprising new sounds out of her in response, and works his way down along the edge of her top to the upper curve of her breast. Her skin’s soft here, the swell of flesh tantalizing, and he wants more than the shirt exposes. Impatient, he grasps the bottom edge of the shirt in one hand and pulls. The slash of the neck slides down with the tug, and now it’s not just the uppermost parts that he can see but the valley between them, even if most of the actual breast is still covered by her bra. He doesn’t care, now that he has what he wants, and he keeps working his way down until he’s pressing his lips, his tongue against the side of one inner curve. He can taste the salt of her sweat here, the faint trace of dust stirred by walking through the streets of Seefra flavoring it, and he laps insistently at her skin for more.

He’s distracted by her hands slipping from his hair and over his own bare chest, wondering for a second if she’s going to push him away, tell him to stop, and he’s beyond glad when instead they settle at his waist. Her fingers slide over the band and settle at the center, starting to work at the lacing of his pants. Beka’s agile touch unknots it quickly and starts to loosen the actual web of the leather string. The ease of the pressure over his erection is welcome, but before she can actually get to the point of touching him with no barriers between them he shifts his feet back, just enough to make it hard for her reach with the way they’re standing. It’s not that he doesn’t want her hands on him, but that he doesn’t want it at the door; obligingly, her hands come to rest instead against his chest, one thumb brushing a nipple in a surprisingly tantalizing caress.

He pulls away from her cleavage with difficulty, having been enjoying the way her soft flesh responded to him, but pressing his lips against hers again is almost as enjoyable. He gives up holding onto the shirt and grips her waist, pulling her close to him at the same time that he pulls her with him. Fortunately, she divines his purpose quickly, or at least chooses to humor him if she doesn’t.

It’s not far to the small table, only a few steps. It’s salvaged and looks rickety, but he’s sure it’ll hold at least part of her weight, given how many times he’s relied on it as a support on his way to the bed on his worst nights. The distance still seems far too long before he stops them next to it. She groans and breaks the kiss. “This is such a bad idea,” she mutters, but she doesn’t seem to worry too much about that, as she immediately reaches for the lacing again.

“Maybe.” He doesn’t say anything else, especially since she follows the one word by sliding her hand inside the leather and he’s too distracted by the sudden rush of sensation. He manages, after a moment, to gather himself enough to reach for her clothes. The button is easily undone, as is the zip, and the material slides easily down. Her underwear comes with it.

With nothing now to block it, the smell of her is strong and irresistible, and it overwhelms the last of his sense. He grabs her hips, bare and warm under his fingers, lifts her, with her arms going around his neck to steady herself. She takes advantage of the closeness and tilts her face to his, catching his lips in another kiss even as he sets her on the table, but he needs more now than just her mouth, welcoming as it is. That doesn’t mean that he turns it down, pressing his tongue to hers while he pushes her pants down to the tops of her boots, and she whimpers obligingly when he strokes fingers behind one knee afterward, curious about the unexplored soft skin there. He’ll have to explore it more. Later. The image of her sprawled naked on his bed, heels digging into his back as he mouths everywhere he’s never been allowed before, makes his heart beat harder.

Now, though, he only wants one thing. One hand on her hip while the other shoves his own clothing farther out of the way, exposing only as much as he needs to, and then he’s close enough to feel the heat from between her thighs. She’s wet, the tip of him sliding briefly before he finds the right spot by touch— he doesn’t want to stop kissing her to see, time enough for that in the future— and he pushes forward.

She cries out, the sound muffled against his mouth, and he freezes. He’s barely inside her, but she’s incredibly tight around him and he’s suddenly afraid that he’s hurt her, that he’s gone too far too fast. It’s a breathless moment before she speaks, the words an unmistakable order. “Don’t stop.”

“Are you sure?” He wants to obey that order, more than he’s ever wanted to obey one in his life, but he can’t hurt her. He can’t risk this.

“Yes.” And there’s steel in her voice. To emphasize, she brings him down for another kiss. He can’t resist anymore. He dips into her mouth at the same time that he drives fully into her, and he revels in her response when she moans and her nails dig into the nape of his neck. This is what he wants, has wanted since he first smelled her attraction to him if not before, and the pleasure he feels at that success briefly overwhelms that of the physical sensations. Only briefly, though; the way her muscles grip him and the warmth surrounding him feel incredible, and he can’t hold still for more than that second before he’s incited by the pounding of her heart in her chest, the quick tempo for what he’s doing to her, and he pulls almost out of her, as far as he dares, before plunging back into her depths.

Rhade repeats the motion when she seems to like it, her kiss harder against his lips when he does. The way her body strokes his when he thrusts, the dizzying smell of her sex, even the press and release of her knees against his thighs with each rock serves to beg him wordlessly to keep going, and he doesn’t want to stop. He rejects even slowing down, the knowledge that if he continues like this it will all be over far too soon not enough to convince him. Another slide inside her, another, and he’s shaking with how close he is. She digs her nails in again when he manages to pause for just a second to catch his breath and try to regain some control. It’s more encouragement than he needs.

Groaning, he gives up on any idea of pacing himself, of making her come first. Next time, maybe, but not now. Instead he grips her hips and moves more quickly, surprising another cry that he swallows in the kiss as he drives into her. Her body tightens even more in response, an incredible torture, and he’s gone in seconds, his whole body shuddering at the force of the orgasm that overtakes him then. It’s a long time before he regains his senses, his panting breaths loud to his own ears, and he eases his fingers slightly, aware that he was digging into her skin.

He raises his eyes to meet Beka’s, unnerved by his failure. She looks long-suffering, but otherwise not angry or frustrated, or worse, derisive. Before she can say anything, though, he kisses her deeply, his tongue playing against hers. At the same time he pulls gently out of her, groaning again at the hold her body has on his sensitive flesh, and tries to decide what to do to atone.

She makes it easy. When the kiss ends, she releases his neck and looks playful as she leans back on her hands. “Well?” She raises one eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re done apologizing, are you?”

Relieved that she’s willing to give him a second chance, he smirks. “Not at all.” Before he lets go of her pelvis, he tugs her forward again to the very edge of the table, the force of his final thrusts having pushed her back slightly. She lets herself be tugged, a hint of curiosity overlaying the playfulness, but the curiosity clears when he goes to his knees before her. He takes a deep breath and appreciates their mingled scents, strong on the air when he’s this close, and presses her knees farther apart. Her ankles are still caught by her pants and underwear, the boots not allowing him to pull them down more, and he debates taking off the boots but decides against it. Time for that later, and with her feet tucked back under the table and her thighs stretched like this he has enough room to work.

He glances back up at her face one more time, appreciating her expectant look, and then leans forward. Even watching what he’s doing, the first lick still makes her jump, and he’s pleased when the second encourages her to undulate against his tongue. She’s just as responsive for the rest, arching her back when he dips into her to better taste them both, and the way she whimpers when he flicks at her clit makes him want to take her again. First he has to please her, though, assuage her anger for his telling Dylan, and that thought forces him to focus. Pushing all other concerns away, he redoubles his efforts, licking and sucking eagerly at any spot that yields a response.

It only takes a minute. Soon Beka’s moaning and trying to close her knees against him, her whole body quivering in one long series of spasms as he continues to lave her clit, and it’s a while before she comes down from the high, her heartbeat slowing. He gives her one last kiss, right where she’s most sensitive, and then sits back on his heels and studies her.

Her eyes are closed, and there’s a sheen of perspiration on her visible skin that matches his own. They’ll be dry soon enough in the desert air, though he should get her some water, especially if he wants to repeat the effort. In that second, with her clothes disheveled and her cheeks still flushed, she looks like temptation personified, and his body stirs again in response. Then her eyes open and she’s smiling at him, still playful. “That was an apology?” He nods, not sure what else to say, and the smile widens. “Well,” and she straightens on the table, “I can think of a lot of other things I’d like you to apologize for.”

Rhade stands as she reaches for him.


The End

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