BY : Bebe
Category: 1 through F > Andromeda
Dragon prints: 504
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: Tribute

Author: Bebe

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Yeah, sure, I own ‘em. Get them to cook and clean in frilly aprons, too.

Spoilers: None.

Feedback: Please send comments to

Pairing: Tyr/Harper.

Archive: At AFF. All others please ask.

Summary: Tyr may be taller, stronger, and definitely a top, but that doesn’t stop Harper from calling the shots sometimes.

Author's Note: Feels season 3-ish, but not really anywhere in particular.


Harper was doing his best to ignore the rest of the universe and for the most part the universe was reciprocating. After it had treated him kinda like a chew toy, of course, because what the universe giveth it first slammeth you over the head with a few thousand times. At any rate, he was in his preferred machine shop, the ship was working as well as she ever did, and despite the indignities of the day no one had actually tried to kill him, which was a plus. He’d still decided to skip out on other people for the rest of the day, though, and work on something that occasionally required loud banging for catharsis’ sake.

He had been wonderfully alone and even sort of productive for over two hours when the hair on the back of his neck went up. The door was open, so he glanced over at a metal sheet on the workbench, one positioned just so to allow him to see who was lurking. Perfect it wasn’t, but it was good enough for him to make out a tall figure: black hair, brown skin, darker brown leather. Tyr.

Harper kept working, though he kept one eye on his makeshift mirror. If anything, he’d say there was serious indecision going on there, not that Tyr would ever admit to it. Of course, he wouldn’t admit to a lot of things. After ten minutes Harper decided to say something, but before he could quite get the full smart-ass commentary lined up, Tyr moved. Not quickly, no, but with intent and quite possibly giving Harper time to tell him to buzz off. He came to a stop a few steps away. There was another moment of silence, Harper deciding to hold back on the commentary until he knew for sure what was going on, then: “I assume if you objected to my presence you would have informed me by now.”

“If you’re going to talk I do. Unless, of course, it’s to kneel and pay tribute. I wouldn’t mind being told I’m a god for a change.” He kept working, waiting to see the response.

Apparently being snarky wasn’t enough to make Tyr leave today. “You are aware that God is dead.”

Harper rolled his eyes. “So you keep telling me. I said being told I’m a god, not the God. Small gee.”

“Some of the gods were treated very poorly indeed.”

“And still with the talking.” He’d basically stopped even a pretense of working now, resting his hands on the workbench and watching Tyr’s reflection. The other man started to move forward again. Harper held his breath even after Tyr came to a stop right behind him, close enough that one step backward would have meant contact.

“Some of them, however, were treated… quite well.”

Harper’s breath came out, an audible whoosh of air, as Tyr dropped, visible in the reflection as well as a felt motion at Harper’s back. He turned around to find Tyr on his knees, a gleam in his eye that Harper would have called wicked.

“You did say to pay tribute.”

Harper heard himself ordering Rommie to lock the door and engage privacy mode almost before Tyr’s words percolated through. Fortunately he did hear her acknowledgement before Tyr reached for his waistband. “What kind of a tribute did you have in mind?” His throat was suddenly and noticeably dry, such that he had to swallow after that simple sentence. He didn’t get an immediate verbal answer. He did get a physical one, his pants around his ankles in seconds with his boxers following, and he gasped at the first touch.

Then Tyr… stopped. On his knees, a firm grip on Harper as he hardened almost embarrassingly fast, and Tyr stopped. After a beat he asked, “What kind of tribute would you like?” And of course there was amusement in his voice, though the timbre of it was rougher than it should have been for just entertainment at Harper’s expense.

For a second, speech abandoned Harper. It came back pretty quickly, though. It took a lot more than that to shut him up for long. “Your mouth. Use it. For something other than sarcasm.” He was taking full advantage of this, though there was some concern in the back of his mind that this was a hallucination or a dream. Tyr did not do this, ever. The concern didn’t stop him from yanking his shirt off and tossing it to the floor so it didn’t interrupt the view, and what a view it was.

Up until the second he did so, Harper wasn’t convinced that Tyr would actually do it. Then, oh God, he did, and Harper grabbed reflexively for the edge of the workbench to use as an anchor. His knees were threatening to give out, and for good reason. Hot, hot mouth, and wet, and when Tyr flicked his tongue over the tip he nearly whimpered. He did whimper at the unholy things Tyr was doing to his foreskin. Even though he had no idea why his challenge had been accepted, he never wanted this to end.

He couldn’t last forever, though, despite his best efforts, and succumbed after a particularly deep slide, shuddering and groaning and gripping the workbench like it was his hold on sanity rather than just physical support. Finally he sagged against it, still breathing hard, and looked down at Tyr— really looked at, not just watching what he was doing. Harper was oddly flattered to see one hand, the one that hadn’t been gripping Harper himself, pressed hard into Tyr’s groin. It wasn’t often that he felt like he was pushing Tyr to lost control, though it wasn’t like the Nietzschean was made of iron. Except maybe his actual body…

“Okay,” Harper said finally. “This god approves of your tribute.” Then he nodded at Tyr’s hand and by extension its location. “Any ideas on what to do with that?”

Tyr slowly, so slowly, took in a breath and let it out again, punctuating the motion with a flick of his tongue over his lips. “Since you seem to be demanding of me today,” he at last answered, “I assume you have ideas.”

“Lube’s under the pillow on the cot.”

Never let it be said that Harper was unprepared.

They didn’t immediately rush to the cot, ostensibly in the machine shop so Trance and Rommie didn’t bug him too much about working all night rather than sleeping. Harper had to untangle himself from his pants, still twisted around his ankles, and Tyr wasn’t moving at full speed with both the leather and his physical condition. They still made pretty good time anyway.

When Harper got to it, he didn’t so much as pause, instead doing a quick collapse onto his back, practice getting his head on the pillow exactly. He didn’t have to look for the slim tube, just sliding his hand under and pulling it out in almost the same motion. Tyr was still peeling off that leather jumpsuit at the side of the cot, so Harper just waited and enjoyed the show. Just because he’d had his already didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate it. Not to mention, there were always going to be days when there wasn’t anyone around willing to help him out, so why not make sure he had appealing imagery to work with?

Finally Tyr got himself out of the leather casing. Harper generally approved of the skintight nature of it, but there were limits to what inconveniences he was willing to put up with. He was appeased by Tyr getting on the cot and immediately taking the tube. He even obligingly shifted to allow ready access, Tyr’s enthusiasm not having waned in the interim. By the time Tyr had applied the needed amount of the stuff, though, Harper was all but drumming his fingers. “Come on,” he said. “For someone paying tribute, you’re taking your own sweet time.”

“Would you rather I hurt you?” Tyr kind of looked like he was considering it.

“No, but this god demands a snappier pace.”

That made the temporary irritation morph into something resembling amusement. Rather than smile or, God forbid, laugh, Tyr moved Harper’s legs up a little more, braced his knees, and moved.

He moaned. He couldn’t help it. Seeing Tyr kneeling there, feeling the pressure that hovered just on the edge of discomfort… It wasn’t a pained noise, at least he didn’t think it was, but Tyr stopped anyway. Before he could ask, Harper made a “get on with it” sort of gesture. Tyr still seemed skeptical, but that went away quickly as he pushed deeper.

When he paused again it wasn’t because of anything Harper did but because he couldn’t go any farther. He was already breathing heavily, had closed his eyes for the moment, but Harper didn’t see that as any reason to give up. He pushed up with his heels to shift on Tyr before sliding back, biting off another little noise as he did, not that Tyr would have heard him over his own groan at the motion. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“And yet I did.” The dry delivery belied his appearance, perspiration starting to shine on his forehead and chest. Harper felt smug at that, justifiably, he thought. “But if you insist…”

That should have been some sort of warning, but nowhere near as much as the next plunge warranted. Harper gasped and grabbed for Tyr’s wrists, the nearest part he could reach what with Tyr suddenly clutching Harper’s pelvis for own counterweight. For the next few minutes his world shrank down to both sets of hands and each thrust, hard and rocking his body with every breath.

There weren’t many of those before Tyr groaned again. He made a last couple short, sharp drives, curving Harper’s back with the force, before shuddering to a halt. Harper couldn’t quite see his face, those same long braids that were tickling his knees hiding it, but he could hear the quiet gulps of air.

After a minute he squeezed Tyr’s wrists: not enough to be threatening, but enough to be noticed. Tyr did respond immediately, tossing his hair over his shoulders, but still didn’t say anything. Instead he stayed otherwise immobile, just studying Harper until the latter said, “Your tribute was acceptable.”

Tyr snorted, moving just enough to separate them. “At least you stopped talking.”

“Hey, come on, killing the glow here. And there is a glow. How often do I get to boss you around?” Harper tucked his hands behind his head, enjoying the irritation he could see. “At least, boss you around and have you listen?”

Tyr rolled his eyes and got off the bed. Harper did hear the muttering, though, and while he couldn’t be quite sure it sounded a little like, “Far too often.”


The End

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