Dorie 999
Cycle999
“Please don’t tell him!” Dorie 999 begged Aengus, even as she gripped the stone table. He'd fashioned it for Dorie 764, who had been a chef.
Diarmuid rose from his stone chair to rush over to her wooden one while Aengus argued, “Dorcasss, you know thisss isss a promissse we cannot make.”
Aengus had lost control of his sibilance organ again.
They’d been eating the midday meal Dories always insisted on when their pregnancies progressed past three or so moon cycles. Then their mate grimaced, her entire pain center lighting up inside her head, and the sight of it was enough to undo him.
“He isss our prime,” Aengus reminded her.
“I don’t care.” She gritted her teeth. “Just let him be. That’s an—aaaggghhh, fuck you, Diarmuid! Fuck you all the way to hell, you fucking pile of shit.”
This version of Dorie used much stronger language than any of the others. But this was excessive, even for her.
Her outburst let Aengus know that Diarmuid had godspoken her before she could unleash Reverence upon Aengus the sameway she did when she commanded him three moon cycles ago to show him what was in that locked closet.
Dories rarely abused their power over them, but when they did, it was often during these late stages of pregnancy.
Aengus hated to see her upset. But contrary to Dorie 999’s orders, he wasted no time contacting their prime via an eyeline.
Omicron: Her first contractions have started. Are you in the lab above?
Prime: No, I am at the Western Station, running the final trial on the solution we previously discussed.
Omicron: She does not wish you to come. She fears your upset.
Prime: It would upset me more to not be there on her final day. Make her comfortable.
Omicron: We will try.
“Fucking traitor!” Dorie 999 said as soon as Aengus unglassed his eyes.
“We had no choice,” Aengus insisted as Diarmuid scooped her out of the chair and lowered her to the floor nest they had made for her to undergo her labor. “He is prime, and you are in the throes of labor.”
“I will never forgive Dorie 512 for teaching you to talk like this. It’s like arguing with a Shakespearean play—aaaaghhh!”
Another burst of white flared across her skull and the sides of her rounded belly as Diarmuid lowered himself into the nest behind her. “Reverence, you must calm your temper and focus on your labor.”
This suggestion elicited more swears from Dorie 999.
Diarmuid merely kissed her damp temple as he settled her back against his chest. He then pulled her knees up to either side of where the eggless baby was visibly wriggling beneath her distended stomach.
Taking that as his cue, Aengus positioned himself between her legs, opened the front bottom flap of her jumpsuit, then snaked his tongue into her female works to conduct a thorough investigation of how her labor was progressing.
On any other day, this would have been his favorite part of the day.
He was still smarting from Dorie 997’s refusal to engage in sex with either of the variants, and he appreciated that Dorie 999 had continued to enthusiastically receive all of them after her first heat, save for the several day cycles it took to recover from finding out about the broken circle.
He liked not only ensuring that she and the baby drakkon she carried were in good health but also giving Dorie pleasure in the process.
The examinations were pleasurable for all three of them. For Aengus, who got to taste her. For Dorie, whose pleasure burned so brightly as his mouth worked. And for Diarmuid, who was tasked with the job of holding her still while Aengus conducted his exam.
Technically, the check only took three or so wingbeats. But more often than not, the three of them ended up taking much longer than that, with Diarmuid palming her breasts while his dominant male works joined Aengus’s tongue inside her canal.
This midday, however, the mood was much more somber.
