She feels just like a drak, and a breath in confirms she smells like me now, too. I flick aside an errant thought that I'd like her to smell like me for far different reasons, then focus on the feel of her under my hand.
I reach around her side, noting the differences in texture. I grab on to the front of her waist to hold her in place as I drag my other hand down her spikes.
I wonder if they will help me better assess her strange shifts in emotion.
When I reach the transition to her soft skin, I stop pondering and focus on sensation. I pause, waiting to see if she will tell me to stop, but all she does is let out a few panting breaths.
My hand continues its slow glide, reveling in the softness, not just of her skin, but in how pliable she is. I might have to stop using squishy as an insult. I had no idea just how alluring it could be.
As I squeeze one of the globes, she lets out a low moan. It makes things uncomfortably tight along my belly in response.
The scent of her heat surges, but she is also trembling. It is a sign of deep trust for a Maj'Ra to display vulnerability.
My chest fills with pride that she would offer that trust to me, but I don't want to push, afraid she will take offense. Afraid she won't let me do that again.
I don't like admitting to fear, and my warring impulses sicken me. Completely unacceptable for a veteran of my status.
I let out a long breath, then slide my hands off her and take a step back.
Before, her vulnerability might have disgusted me, but that was when I saw her as weak. Now I take it for the compliment it is.
A determination to be worthy of that trust crests within me, spreading out from my chest into my limbs, which twitch with a need to hold her again.
Not right now. She needs something altogether different from me now.
She turns to me as her suit covers her, though I do get another tantalizing glimpse of her chest. I'm sure it would be just as pleasant to squeeze. Her suit doesn't cover the spikes, just fills in the space between them.
Kira looks like she's anything but calm, even a little defeated. I have to remind myself to exude nonchalance, for both our sakes.
At some point, I'm not sure when, I stopped feeling unconcerned with her changes. I can no longer just focus on their utility but am now also wondering if they might be a threat to her health.
It's a shock, but I'm just as alarmed as she is. Showing it won't help her, though.
She has the genetics of at least four different species. It isn't natural, even to me, a species that has been heavily genetically modified. Ours was just an amplification of what already existed.
Not the traits of others.
I can't say I have a lot of practice at it, but I try to be a soothing presence.
"Don't worry so much," I say. "The only expression that really fits you is that mask of rage you like to wear so often."
Alright, I'm not very good at soothing people. It's always better to focus on your strengths, so I decide to needle her until she's snarling at me again.
She snorts, but the sound lacks its usual bite.
"I mean it," I continue, my spines shifting as my amusement builds. "This slumping doesn't suit you. But a visage that promises death? That's the Kira I know."
She glares at me, but I can see the faintest hint of a smile trying to break through. I keep teasing her, determined to get a reaction.
"Come on, bare those blunt little teeth at me," I coax, my tone light. "You know you want to, regardless of how impotent they are."
When she doesn't respond, I decide to take more drastic measures. I whip my tail around and whack her on the side, which elicits a nice growl and a firm hand on her sword in warning.
The next one lands on her rump, mostly because I wasn't nearly done touching it, but the outraged squeal I get is a different, just as inciting, reward.
"Stop it, Drasuk," she hisses, swatting at my hands.
I keep going, and finally, she gives in, laughing out loud. She lands a punch on my last incoming tail swat, but it's half-hearted, her anger replaced by amusement.
