I sigh.
"Well, if we ever had any doubts about how shady the island is," I say with a sigh, "now we have proof. He said it himself: definitely not a resort. It’s an experimental program with rigid rules, and unfortunately the core principle is all or nothing. We play, or we’re out."
"Yep, that about sums it up," Salt says sourly.
He steps in front of me, and I feel his hands at my waist, unbuttoning my pants.
"Let’s get this over with quickly. I really want to get out of this damned office."
He drops to his knees in front of me, frees my cock, and starts stroking my mostly soft shaft with both hands, opening his mouth to occasionally lick just under the head.
Despite all the tension and irritation in the office, it’s actually nice to see Salt so eager to help. I appreciate it a lot. There’s even a strange satisfaction in it, especially knowing he was clearly jealous over me, which catches me off guard considering what I suspect about his escape plans. Still, I’ll take it. It’s a solid boost to my ego.
About three minutes later, I manage to fill the container. The procedure is not nearly as sexy as I would have liked, but it gets the job done.
We leave the room, and the doctor says,
"Wait here a moment. I will take a look under the microscope and let you know right away."
So we sit again in the chairs by his desk and wait. Salt is tense, staring at the floor, lightly tapping one foot.
The doctor finally comes back to us.
That irritating face of his slips into a smile again. These people are unbelievable, they reset to their default fake grin every few minutes like it is programmed.
"Fortunately, on this front we do not have any problems, and there is even a kind of good news," he says smoothly. "There are plenty of long-lived sperm cells present, which are actually required for fertilization in the case of a beta. That is another very positive sign. Which is why I will repeat myself and strongly encourage you to attempt intercourse, and by doing so, put off indefinitely what I will call the emergency procedure."
"Emergency procedure, my ass," Salt mutters under his breath. "A fucking euphemism for rape."
His lips press together again, so tight they must be hurting.
"I will see you again in four days," the doctor says, and this time he reins in that cheerful smile, probably because he finally notices it does not go well with our dead expressions. We’re not a particularly receptive audience.
Together with Salt, I leave the office, both in a seriously off mood.
"Salt, this is your decision," I say quietly. "I do not want to put any more pressure on you. Whatever you decide, that is what we will do."
As we step outside the hot sun hits us immediately.
Salt winces slightly.
"And what about your other objections?" he asks. "You did not want to sleep with me because…" He makes a vague, messy gesture with his hands. "You know. Because we do not have that thing between us that maybe should be there… under ideal circumstances."
"That is true," I reply, "but sometimes in life there are things more important than forcing yourself to chase perfection. And making sure you are not subjected to what is basically medical rape definitely falls into that category. Protecting you will always be my priority as long as we are husbands."
Salt turns his face away, as if he does not want me to see his expression, but I can literally sense his emotions spiking wildly, almost as strongly as if they were my own, which is weird.
"One thing I don’t get. Why would they use Drax on me? My hormones and symptoms are looking promising."
I raise my eyebrows, surprised he hasn’t connected the dots. "Salt… I think this is their way of applying pressure. They use Drax in two ways, and this one would be a punishment for resisting. You either do it or… you’re out."
"That’s sick."
"Yeah."
Salt presses his lips together tightly.
We slowly make our way back to Unit 71.
