Potions and Philters

BY : Bebe
Category: 1 through F > Andromeda
Dragon prints: 1945
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: Potions and Philters

Author: Bebe

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Pretty, shiny, but ain’t mine, more’s the pity.

Spoilers: Forced Perspective

Feedback: Please send comments to mouse3of3@yahoo.com.

Pairing: Beka/Tyr

Archive: At AFF. All others please ask.

Summary: Sometimes all it takes is a little nudge. PWP.

Author's Note: Very (very, very) loosely inspired by “Cingula Veneris,” by Andromeda Valentine. It’s an excellent story, and I urge you to go read it— after finishing mine, of course!


Potions (1/2)


Beka had been sent to the planet to bargain for the parts only because she was the best person to haggle them down outside of Harper, who was doing the same job on the planet’s moon. She’d managed to get everything they needed off her list, at least that they could afford to get, and was headed back to the Maru to take off for the moon to get Harper himself when she’d seen the small bazaar and decided to stop there. Harper’s birthday was coming up, as well as the day that Trance had said was hers but neither of them believed was the truth, so it seemed like a good idea to stop and try to get some trinkets for them. She’d found a gift for Trance almost immediately, and was wandering around some of the hucksters’ tables when she found one full of colognes and perfumes. She would have passed it by, Harper tending toward a liberal hand with scents, but the one with a label shrieking aphrodisiac properties caught her attention. She’d picked it up for a few thrones as a joke.

Now, back on the Maru, she set a low orbit and pushed away from the controls. She could have stayed on planet until she got Harper’s message to come get him, but on the whole she preferred being in space even for the wait. It promised to be a while, but she had things to do, and the first of them was to stow the gifts before the other two got back on board. One of the little smuggler’s compartments would do; while Trance and Harper both knew the existence of them as well as Beka did, she doubted that they would go to the effort of searching through all of them to find the presents, even if they wanted to ruin the surprise. She’d pried the panel off and set Trance’s in the small nook already and was about to place Harper’s beside it when she stopped and considered the small bottle. It was filled with something amber and the lettering proclaimed it to be the “Scent of Love!” She was already leery of it, but was more anxious about the fact that she knew Harper would probably insist on wearing it at least once, if for no other reason than to bug her. “Well,” she said finally, “I may as well know what I’m in for.” Tentatively, she unscrewed the cap and took a sniff.

She wasn’t sure how she ended up sitting on the floor, clutching the bottle in one hand and the cap in the other, but she was fairly sure that it had something to do with her knees giving out and all the blood in her head rushing downward at the same time. The perfume, maybe? She took another tentative sniff, not getting as close to the open neck this time, and while she didn’t feel like she was swooning there was another definite surge of blood away from her brain. This one went straight between her legs. “Wow,” she breathed, closing the bottle again carefully. “Really does work as advertised.” But did she really want to give Harper something that potent? If he made as many boasts about his skills now as he did, what would happen if his success rate went up? She wouldn’t be able to stand him.

She did her best to ignore the effects of the perfume on her body and tried to think, eventually deciding on a tentative plan and standing to get what she needed. Her legs wobbled on the first attempt, but she managed to get them to work on the second, and she decided that the instant she finished with the bottle she was taking care of the arousal; close-fitting leather pants were definitely uncomfortable when a great deal of dampness entered the equation. It took an effort to go in the opposite direction of the bunkroom and get the test tube from the medical stores.

Beka tried to hold her breath while she poured most of the liquid into the test tube, but she still inhaled more than once before corking the test tube. Each time she had to lean against the counter and remind herself that she could take care of the secondary problem as soon as she fixed the primary one. Finished that task, she refilled the perfume bottle with water. Now instead of an amber liquid it was clear with a faint hint of gold to it, and she held it to her nose to check the concentration. This time, rather than the overwhelming urge, all she got was a faint, pleasant tingle as a little more blood pooled in the area, although that didn’t make much difference when she was already as far gone as she was. “Okay,” she told herself, recapping the bottle before carrying it to the smuggler’s hold where she’d intended to hide it in the first place. “Good for Harper, me, and the rest of the women of the known universe. Now.” She set the cover back into place and turned, leaning against the wall to contemplate the test tube lying almost innocently on the bar. “What to do with you?”

That was perhaps a question left for another day. Not only would she get a message from Harper any time now, but if she didn’t come now she’d scream, and right now the bunks seemed far too distant, especially when she reached up to push her hair back and discovered that she’d apparently spilled a few drops of perfume on her fingers, judging by the smell and the new surge of heat in her body. She sighed and slid down the wall to sit on the floor, unfastening the pants as she did.

It took some wriggling and a second of angling her wrist so she wouldn’t sprain it in the process, but finally, finally she got what she wanted, sliding her fingers over her clit and pressing just right, and almost immediately she spasmed, relief flooding through her at the ease of tension. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the wall, taking a deep breath. That had taken the edge off, had been a good idea, but she still felt like that itch hadn’t really been scratched. In fact… She shifted slightly, finding a more comfortable position. She had a little bit of time at least and could always tell Harper that she’d been working on something and hadn’t been able to get to the comm if she missed his message. He’d been on that moon before and hadn’t ticked anyone off last time, he’d probably be fine.

She could have taken the time to get back to her own bed or ditch her clothes, or even both, but she didn’t want to, not when she felt like this. Carefully, she circled her finger, letting her mind drift to the night on the Obs deck, her recent fantasy of choice.

Candlelight, excellent food, a starscape, and all of it provided by an arrogant Nietzschean who misinterpreted— okay, maybe not entirely misinterpreted— what she was asking, at least initially, and once they’d gotten that straightened out, he’d been, well, arrogant. “Never in a million years,” he’d said, but when she’d leaned over and asked again… It didn’t take Nietzschean eyesight to see what she’d done to him.

She’d ask again, but this time he’d say something instead of just staring at her. Tell her he misspoke, maybe, or that this was only hypothetical and perhaps they should try the practical. Either way he’d stand, making her straighten with him, and then they’d be kissing. She didn’t care how, but she knew he’d have to be good at kissing. Probably one of those genetic enhancements his pride bred in, declaiming and killing people and kissing. Somehow they’d be tangled together, his mouth on hers, and they’d be trying to get both their clothes off as quickly as possible but settling only for getting what was necessary out of the way.

It would be nice if he’d go down her body, use his mouth for more interesting things. Those lips of his… She shivered at the thought of what it would be like, pressed her fingers harder for just a second. It wouldn’t be like that the first time, though, too frantic and rushed. They’d be only as naked as they had to be, so almost not at all, and he’d push her back onto the table, never mind what had happened to the candles and dishware in the interim. Of course, the table would be wider so she could lay back, and he might hesitate before joining her, but then he’d be on her, weight pressing her down and the solid length of him against her, then in her, making her cry out. She slid her hand down at the thought, fingers slipping inside and the heel of her hand against her clit, and it was good but nowhere near as good as it would be to have him thrusting inside her. He’d try to dominate it, that was a given, but she wouldn’t let him, rolling them both over so she was on top of him and controlling the motion. Neither of them would last long; she might come first, her orgasm a trigger for his, but she could see him getting carried away with it, probably growling as he’d push up against her, hot inside her and making her own body spasm in response, both of them clutching and trying to get closer, deeper, more, with their orgasms wracking their bodies.

Beka gasped and forced her fingers deeper as she hovered on the edge. One more grind with her palm and she was as gone as she was in the fantasy, bliss whiting out her mind as all her muscles clenched. She kept it going for a while, triggering new shudders, but finally sagged against the wall, limbs limp and trembling from exertion. She closed her eyes, sighing deeply. If only there was a way to make that come true, complete with the mind-blowing climax.

It took far longer than it should have to make the connection with the amber-filled test tube.



The only reason the repairs were taking as long as they were was because of Beka. Not because of what she was doing or how, but what she was wearing while doing it. They were routine repairs, things that he and Beka had both been assigned to before, while Harper focused on the slipdrive fixes. He had barely noticed when she’d first rushed onto Command deck, survival first priority, but when they had stood down and Harper had started mocking her, he’d had to look. The shirt he’d seen before, black and clingy, with the stretch between the high collar and the shirt itself’s scooped neckline covered with straps. It wasn’t possible to see down it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t possible to imagine doing so. The boots were also normal. It was the stretch from her waist down to them that was different, a short flirty black skirt made barely decent by the black, almost-sheer leggings underneath. He’d never seen her in a skirt before. Harper had been laughing, telling her that she looked like she was trying out for the Ice Capades, and she’d defended herself with the excuse that all her clothes were in the laundry. The way that she’d glanced over at Tyr as she said that made him wonder, but he was willing to excuse it until she slid out of the slipchair, hem hitching up dangerously as she did so, and started to move around. He was able to ignore it when it was most of them doing the most critical repairs, but not after the others had left and they were told to work on the rest of them.

With the threat gone, her scent whenever she came near him was no longer just adrenaline. There was still perspiration, yes, and her heartbeat was not measured as he might expect, but it wasn’t fear that drove her but excitement, the smell of her arousal curling through him and distracting him whenever he was undisciplined enough to sniff her. She also seemed to be bending over and crouching far more than necessary, each time the skirt threatening to expose more than would be advisable of her thighs and rear. He kept his eyes firmly on his own work, with only the most occasional look at what the skimpy clothing hinted at revealing. Finally, when most of the repairs were done, he sat underneath one of the consoles, working on the underside. Finishing that section, he called her over, asking her to check the controls for him. She came over, but rather than standing to the side she planted one foot on either side of his legs, close to the console so she stood straight rather than leaning, and he could see up those long, long legs of hers under the skirt, all the way up to— She wasn’t wearing underwear. It was hard to see under that thin black layer of the leggings, but he was fairly sure that she wasn’t, and he felt his body react and breath come short.

“Tyr? Any problems?” and he reassured her that no, there were no problems, he was going to close this up and she could go back to what she had been doing. She stepped down, glanced back at him in a way that suggested she knew what she had done, but any surge of irritation was swamped by the urge to take care of the result. He put the panel back on, then told the ship that he was leaving, as he had Command that night and wanted to be rested in case of the return of the raiders they had partially dispatched, going without another word to Beka.

The walk to his quarters was agonizing. He headed straight for the shower, turning it first to cold before rethinking it and turning it to high heat. He would have slightly better luck that night, he suspected, if he dealt with his problem outright rather than ignoring it. Within seconds he had shed his clothes and stepped into the stream, letting the steaming water run over him for a moment before reaching for the soap. A quick wash, just enough to get the sweat and grime off, then a fistful of suds and he placed his other hand against the shower wall, resting his forehead against the tile.

If Beka were to walk in right now, he didn’t care if the universe was ending or not, he would have her, especially if she were to come straight into the shower, naked and wanting. Procreation was an imperative, even if she no doubt ensured the existence of something that would prevent that outcome. She wouldn’t let him “have” her, though, at least not at first. He could see her sidling in with him, tugging on his braids to bring him down to her level. Long kisses against that beautiful full mouth of hers, but she was determined to get what she wanted, so one hand would almost undoubtedly slide down and grasp him… His hand tightened around the head of his erection, as hers no doubt would. He wouldn’t let her do that for long, though, too impatient and unwilling to wait, and he’d pull her hand away, place both of her arms around his neck, then press her back against the shower tile, him hard against her stomach. They wouldn’t be able to wait, at least not the first time, and she’d submit easily, letting him lift her and wrapping those tempting legs of hers around his waist to help him hold her up. She’d be wet and welcoming, hotter than the shower water pounding against his back, and make some kind of noise as he moved inside her, clutching at him desperately. He groaned at the thought of how she’d feel around him, knowing that this wasn’t going to last long. They wouldn’t need it, though. Far, far sooner than he’d want her body would be clenching around him as she climaxed, coaxing his seed from him and making him weak in the knees—

His knees did go weak as the surge shot through him, barely keeping him upright as his fingers slid one last time over his shaft. Gasping, he watched the last of the thick spurts hit the wall, closing his eyes and trying to calm down again. He let go to flatten both palms against the wall again, desperate for support of any variety when faced with the problem at hand, so to speak.

Beka Valentine was a complication.

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