We collapsed together. A tangle of limbs and scales and sweat and furs. For one long, quiet moment, I was empty of everything except the feeling of being held by two males who had, in their own broken circle way, been pleasing me for years.
I exhaled.
And then the heat came back.
Again.
I let out a keening noise like a wounded animal as a new, sharper need worked its way through me, even though both Aengus and Diarmuid were spent.
“Give us a wingbeat,” Aengus said. His voice was calm, but his face had taken on a grim shadow.
Without a word, Diarmuid dived between my legs, like a fireman called to duty. His forked tongue snaked out, soothing the ache he wasn’t able to meet so soon after we all came.
“It’s not enough.” The heat rolled through me like something with teeth.
My wolf was going crazy, loudly whining for relief as the heat continued to spill out of me.
“It’s not enough.” I began to sob—then grabbed onto Aengus's flaccid length with one hand, even as I ground my messy core into Diarmuid's mouth with my other hand fisted in his white hair. “Please fuck me! Please fuck me! Please fuck me!” I chanted.
The air in the room changed.
“You will cease this action.”
I raised my eyes to find Orpheus standing at the end of the bed.
Coldly observing me sobbing to be fucked, with one variant’s head buried between my legs.
Every Lifetime
Cycle999
Fenrir Prime found Upsilon standing outside of his south-facing sleeping quarters when he alit.
His flame had gone mostly dark, and the too-bright white of Widower’s Madness circled his head like a second crown of horns.
“Did she expel you from our rooms?”
“Yes, for attempting to godspeak her into the squatting position once more. She has already tired. And she begged to lie down. But…”
The Widower’s Madness white flared, pressing further into the black. “You must convince her to try. It’s the only thing we can think of to ease the pathway of the hatchling.”
Fenrir Prime re-shelled into his hominid form, knowing he would more than try. If he had to plug his ears—like the tale Dorie 998, the European Mythology professor, had told him of Odysseus and the sirens—he would do so if there was even a small chance she would survive this pregnancy.
Dorie 998…
They had done everything right, given her species every advantage and superhuman powers, and still she had died from being unable to expel the baby from her body.
Fenrir Prime entered the room to find Dorie upon the bed, naked and propped up against Omicron. She wore no clothes muting her burn, and Omicron had a cool cloth pressed to her forehead, his own flame blue and calm, despite the circumstances.
His other hand stroked her large, distended belly while they engaged in the conversation they were both so fond of, even though her flame had gone gray and weary.
Fenrir Prime often came home to find them in this position, especially on the occasions when he missed last meal to work on the solution he’d been trying to synthesize, aided by journals from the Dories who’d fallen through the fertility matching portal with an abundance of medical and fauna knowledge.
Omicron looked up toward Fenrir Prime, but Dorie’s eyes remained closed, her head resting against the variant’s chest. “You know, I really liked keeping the journal this cycle,” she said. “I think next lifetime I want to do something like that.”
Widower’s Madness flared around Omicron’s steady blue flame. He knew what their mate did not. Right before their deaths, the last few hundred Dories, including the ones who did not know they would be returning, had posited about what they would do in the next lifetime.
Even the one who had returned to her original Wölfennite faith in her adulthood had suddenly believed in reincarnation.
