Harper slipped his heel out of his shoe and let it dangle on his toe. Rocking it back and forth with the toe of his crossed foot, he laughed quietly before kicking it into the air and across the room in the general direction of Tyr Anasazi.

"You're stoned. Mr. Harper." Tyr commented as he in turn kicked the shoe towards Dylan Hunt.

"He's can't be stoned, I'm stoned," was Dylan's reply. No one would or could disagree with that statement.

"Aren't we a sorry site," Tyr added, and then he looked over at the young engineer with a twinkle in his eye. "Come over and sit beside me, boy. I want to run my hands through your prickly hair and feel those soft lips of yours against my chest."

"Your chest, Tyr?" Dylan questioned. "One would have thought you would have had your mind on lower things."

"Or harder things," Harper piped as he moved close enough for the large Nietzschean to gather him into his chest with his muscular arm.

"Give the boy time, Captain Hunt. It is so like you humans to want to rush things. As I am just getting used to this perverse activity you have so wonderfully explained to me, I need time to assimilate its nuances. So proceed slowly, Mr. Harper, but definitely proceed."

Harper was in no hurry. It just didn't seem possible. How long had he wanted, dreamed about, craved -- damn it -- needed this man's attention? He'd run out of ideas. Now in just a few minutes Dylan Hunt had come up with the answers to an engineer's sexual prayers and he was going to enjoy it. Whew, if only the room would stop spinning.

* * * * *

"What is this, Captain Hunt?" Harper handed the captain a small stainless steel box, and watched as he flipped open the cover and studied the contents.

"Where did you get it?" Dylan asked back. His mind could not believe what his eyes were seeing.

"I believe I asked first?"

"What does it look like?"

"I know what it looks like; it looks like shit. BUT -- I guess I do have to answer your question -- I found it down in the plumbing traces on level 23, the old crew quarters. It was very carefully hidden in a place where no one would think to look. So I think it is contraband."

"That it is, Mr. Harper, and I cannot imagine which crew member of the Andromeda Ascendant's former crew would have had the audacity to bring this on board."

"Why, what is it?"

"You were close on your initial analysis, Harper, part of it is made up of fecal matter." He watched as the engineer shuddered slightly.

"Yea, but who packs up shit in a metal box and hides it from the rest of the world?"

"Vedrans."

"I knew they were anal, but this is ridiculous."

"It's not what you think. It's not ordinary excrement. It's a mind altering substance."

"A mind would have to be altered to mess around with Vedran shit."

"Not so fast, didn't you say that sometimes on Earth you mixed hashish with camel dung."

"Only when we were very the very lucky."

"Exactly, and as most people know, Vedrans were known for their use of recreational drugs, primarily inhaled gases."

"Yea, blow parties, I remember hearing about them."

"What they didn't spread around was that their bio-systems would actually concentrate the drug after it was used. Make it stronger."

"Would have liked to have been around when they farted." Harper laughed.

"Actually the gases were converted to a solid form and excreted."

"E-W-W-W."

"Most people didn't believe this, but. . ."

"So, you want me to flush this?"

"Hell, no Harper, I want you to let Tyr know that we have it, send the women away, and the three of us will go where no men have gone in the last three hundred years."

"Holy shit."

"Exactly, Harper."

* * * * *

"Tell me why, Captain Hunt, I should have any desire to do this?" Tyr glared at his commanding officer and tossed his long hair behind his head.

"Historical reference." Dylan laughed. "Haven't you ever wondered?"

"I've wondered about a lot of things Captain Hunt. I've wondered about crucifixion and burning people at the stake. Wondered why these methods of punishment were used by ancient humans when a quick snap of the neck would have done the job. Still I have no desire to experience either form of punishment, or for that matter, watch someone die in that manner to see if there were endorphins produced in the executioners that cannot be produced in other manners of death."

"I'm almost sorry I asked?" Dylan dropped his gaze and slowly walked away. Then he stopped and locked eyes again, and smiled impishly. "I assure you Tyr, this is not a form of punishment, it is one of the most intense forms of pleasure. . . the Vedran male. . ."

"Please, Captain Hunt. I know your stories. I've heard about the family groups of multiple Vedran males necessary to attend to the sexual needs of one female. I've heard you go on and on about their half-meter penises and liters of blue cum. You ramble when you get drunk. What's with this drug anyway? As I asked before, why would I have any desire to ingest Vedran feculance into my system?"

"I would think you, a Nietzschean, would understand this better than anyone else. Your sex, when you have it, is for reproduction. Usually prearranged with some woman you barely know to insure the preservation of the DNA of your line. Where's the fun in that?

"It's not about fun. It's about immortality."

"Exactly, and that is what a Vedran would tell you, too. But that didn't stop them from producing the most powerful aphrodisiac drug in the universe. A drug that would make males who were constantly "put upon" to have sex with the "neediest" of females enjoy sex so much that they would actually have relations with each other."

"You mean, this drug. . ."

"Yes, Tyr, why do you think I suggested that the women on the crew visit a spa planet for a few days?"

"Maybe they needed haircuts?" The grin was sly and accompanied by a twinkle of the eye.

Dylan wrapped his arm around Tyr's shoulder and gave him a peck on the cheek. Tonight, 19-hundred hours, my quarters. Don't bother wearing many clothes. They won't stay on long."

* * * *

Dylan felt a twinge in his penis and became aware of the sensation of the silk underwear he was wearing. It was followed by the confining pressure of his leather trousers and the awareness of the individual teeth in the zipper of his fly. He wanted it out, in his hand, or in one of the two men he was watching, reclined on his bed, pleasuring each other orally, as if their entire epidermis had been transformed into a sex organ.

He had expected this of Harper. The engineer was perpetually horny. He liked to let on that it was only women that excited him, but Dylan had been around enough to know that the young blonde was excited by anything including his own hand. The drug had hit him the hardest. As an unmodified human, he could not have modulated the effect of the drug, even if he had wanted to do so. Of course, Harper had had no desire to regulate his yearnings, natural or artificially produced.

Tyr, on the other hand, had come as a complete surprise. Dylan had always figured that Nietzschean sex was quick and not particularly pleasure inducing. In a species where primary pleasure responses were triggered by violence, even the prospect of immortality for one's genes was not THAT exciting. He must have hit a chord when he told Tyr about the drug's professed effect. Tyr had come dressed for the occasion and extremely ready to experiment with Harper. He had watched in awe as Harper had used his teeth to open the buckle closings on Tyr's vest, which opened and slipped off unimpeded.

Dylan's muddled mind wondered what both men would think if they knew that his one experience with the drug had been with a woman and not even with a Vedran female, or a human for that matter.

* * * *

Her name was Granuaile and he never knew her species. He'd never asked; she'd never told. Until recently he had never seen anyone who even resembled her. Small, petite, feminine, dainty: he strung together a list of traits he, as a youth, had found desirable in a woman. Full breasts, pert nipples, flat stomach, smooth thighs, ample ass, and . . . a tail -- a long prehensile tail.

He remembered the first time he had seen Trance Gemini. There was something about her that brought back old erotic memories; yet he had been able to convince himself that not only were these feelings false, but that they were also inappropriate. Trance was similar, but not exactly like Granuaile. The woman from his past had been luscious, wanton, and somewhat predatory. Still she had come along at a bad time in his life and made things better, and for that he would be eternally thankful.

He was serving on a transport ship having just obtained the rank of Master. Basically this made him the ship's navigator, though any number of the higher-ranking officers could perform his function with skill and ease. He wondered if this was the first sign that the High Guard, despite his strong academic performance and combat experience, had noticed a flaw that even his careful self-scrutiny had not recognized. Was he being removed from the track that would eventually move him up the ranks of the Lancer Corps and being channeled into the technical arm of the High Guard? It was a frightening thing to contemplate and kept him awake at night.

The distress call had come through muddled and virtually untranslatable. Dylan had been the first to realize that the message was in an ancient Earth dialect that had been called Middle-English. The ship, with Granuaile and her small crew, has managed to transverse a one-way slipstream portal and, while not that far away in relative space, had found it impossible to find the multi-transit path necessary to return them to Commonwealth space. Not only were they stranded, but they were picking up what appeared to be hostile signals of approaching ships.

Like the knight in shining armor, Dylan had volunteered to go and rescue the damsel in distress.

It read like a bad romance novel, or at least how his friends who read such novels explained them to him. The handsome young captain rides off and rescues the female, charts a path through deep murky space, is beset upon by monsters, has to sacrifice treasures in exchange for safe passage, and so on and so forth. It wasn't that difficult, but it wasn't that easy either. Dylan was the right person for the job. Granuaile realized it, he realized it, he just hoped the High Guard would realize it. They did and on his return he was back on track for captain.

The only reason that he even remembered this woman, and his record for shortest time in rank ever held by a Lancer Corp member, was a result of a slipstream port on the last leg of the complex navigation home. In a strange foreshadowing of his future, the ship had experienced a route that, because of the radiation produced by a nearby pulsar, was subject to severe time-dilation. You basically had to sit and wait for it to open, and that time could be minutes, hours, days or years.

He had expressed his dissatisfaction with the situation with great gusto. Patience was not a trait rewarded by the Vedrans. There had to be a way to predict the opening of the portal to guarantee that the ship would be read for the last transit home. Captain Granuaile had attempted to ameliorate his perturbation with the situation be suggesting that a personal relaxation technique she claimed she had learned from the Vedrans.

Dylan had thought, prior to that time, that he had experienced all aspects of the Vedran culture. The experience this woman proffered was not from that part of the culture ever exposed to high guard officers or cadets. It came from the seamy underside of Vedran life, and involved a drug created and used by Vedran males. How this female, of an undisclosed species, came upon this drug, he never asked. She never told. They just enjoyed.

* * * *

Tyr's penis has grown so large it appeared as if it would explode. The large, mushroom shaped glans was moist with a natural lubrication that Nietzschean men secreted. Dylan remembered how Elssbett had required large amounts of artificial lubrication, crying out in pain necessitating additional applications. Now he understood, what up to that point had been a mystery. It also explained the Dragons preference for anally raping their captives; it was easy.

It was not a surprise that Harper could take Tyr's entire organ in his throat. As he watched the young man's sluttish hunger, his eyes were drawn to his ass and the throbbing muscles of his buttocks. Watching them twitch increased his longing to remove his own penis from its confinement and bury it in the engineer. He wondered, for a few seconds, if the Nietzschean was ready to share his first experience of this kind, and quickly decided Tyr was ready for this and whatever came after.

He bit Harper's shoulders as he entered him, and moved his body slightly so that he could also bite Tyr's chest. As tempting as they were to lick, he was certain that Nietzschean probably craved pain. He worried if Tyr would realize the danger of Harper climaxing while still sucking on his dick. A bite there would not be pleasant. He tilted his face upward and indicated that the sandwich perhaps should have a High Guard rather than a mudfoot filling.

He was right; the combination of Tyr's natural lubrication and Harper saliva had made the entry easy, even for one new to anal penetration. The drug's effect made it all feel natural and pleasurable. The three moved together, as part of some wonderful machine developed for the . . . . . . .

* * * *

Sex with Granuaile had been wonderful, too. She had insisted that he not use a condom, claiming that it would cut down on her sensations. A little ball of some vile tasting substance under their tongues was all it took to produce a hard-on that had lasted for hours. As much as he drove his cock into her body, that strange body with multiple sexual orifices and a tail that could encroach into his own, relief did not come. She rewarded him with moves of a ballerina, or was it a sumo-wrestler. Details seemed unimportant.

The period of time they spent together, a span that he was never successfully able to measure, had ended abruptly with the opening of the slip stream portal. In an instant they were back in known space, conducting relations as the peers they had become, but definitely not as lovers.

The High Guard knew nothing of the diversion; no remains of the drug were left in his system his next physical examination. In fact, until Harper had found the box containing what he immediately recognized as the mysterious Vedran sex drug, he had doubted its actual existence.

He had never found a Vedran, male or female, who would confirm the experience he had shared with that strange woman that night. The closest that he had come, was one female, who had let out a deep sigh and commented something about the way all men were at times.

But the drug, which would make even the most sex drained Vedrans males to engorged that they would have sex with each other, had been used by a female with him. Why? Spawn? Pregnancy? Refused Condoms? Had this woman sought to have his child? What a strange thought to have as Tyr Anasazi pounded away in your ass. Not the act that would make you think of fatherhood, or remember . . . .

This was a drug that worked on your mind in many ways. That made you remember a woman and consider the effect of your genes on hers. Without knowing the reproductive compatibility of the two species. Without knowing which genes were dominant or recessive. Without knowing length of gestation or life spans. A drug which produces hallucinations of madness that overcome even the strongest thrusts of pleasure, and cause you to visualize the blending of gene pools -- and the realization that the resulting spawn would look exactly like. . . .

* * * *

"I think someone has to fuck Tyr, what do you think Dylan." Harper had managed to expel Dylan's cock and return to an upright position. Dylan was still clutching the edge of the mattress as Tyr showed no sign of letting up on his delving of the Captain's lower digestive track.

"While I agree with you whole-heartedly, Mr. Harper, I doubt that Captain Hunt is in any position to do so right now, but if you'd like to take a stab at it. . ."

"I thought you'd never ask."

The increase in verbal chatter led Dylan to believe that the effects of the drug, at least on Harper, were wearing off. It was only a matter of time until Tyr, too, feel the lessening of the euphoria and would probably be upset to find that not only he had fucked his commanding officer until he passed out but was being fucked by someone he definitely considered his inferior. He hoped that Harper would be smart enough to flush the rest of the drug, so that he would not have to order its destruction, fearing that repeated use would seriously impair functions on the ship. As he felt muscles in his body began to produce the spasms that would eventually result in his unconsciousness, Dylan visualized again the face that he dared not to remember. The child that could have come from his union with Granuaile , , , his daughter , , , Trance Gemini!

McJude

April 5, 2003

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