Close Encounters 03: of the Sixth Kind

I am running. On the run. Again. My lungs are two loaves of agony in my heaving chest, screaming curses at me with every gasp of air. My legs pump me forward even though they are full of lead and liquefied packing peanuts.

Faster, Val.

My toes and the balls of my feet fight for purchase on the moss-covered, uneven ground.

Run!

My heart is pounding in my head so hard that my skull seems to be pulsing like the Yellowstone volcano, and boy, I won't be surprised if I slip on this slippery goddamn ground and hit my head and my brain spills out like hot lava.

Or maybe, realistically, something like... porridge. Really warm porridge, the kind that burns your tongue if you don't gently blow it before putting it in your mouth. Gotta be modest, you see?

Because that's what happens to your brain when you have several consecutive weeks of mindbogglingly good sex three to four times a day. Your cerebral matter turns to mush, you get struck dumb by the cock, and then you end up running.

For entertainment purposes. Like a crazy person.

Through a bloody forest.

Without shoes. Or pants. Or panties. But with a large, animated penis lodged inside my vaginal channel, which should be the most ludicrous aspect of the whole picture, if it weren't for the backdrop of me - Valerie Magdalena Greene - ... running.

Not from a fire or anything. Just for fun. Not my fun. Someone else's.

(It'll be worth it in the end, promise.)

(Yahh. Unless I die of cardiac arrest before then.)

(They'd never let you die, Val.)

(... can't... think... must... breathe. Keep breathing. Whooo...haaa... whooo... haaa...)

There's a crashing noise in the underbrush directly to my right and I suppress a reflexive frightened shriek and swerve left, or as left as I can with all the trees in the way. There's a narrow path - there are actually many paths crisscrossing the grove - that opens up to my left just at that moment and I immediately follow it because it makes the godawful running a fraction easier. The number of leaves that smack me in the face is marginally lower and the ground is almost even.

It occurs to me that this was part of some strategy just as a dark, large and solid arm snakes around my middle from behind me, killing my momentum abruptly, and I literally swoosh through the air in a (probably graceless) half-circle like a character in a Street Fighter game before I'm hammered flat onto the forest floor. I can practically hear the "Finish her!... FA-TA-LI-TYY!" echoing in my ears.

(Or was that Mortal Kombat?)

(I should ask Bane and Rune whether we can get an Xbox and start the day by running in a video game instead.)

To be fair, it doesn't hurt. Much. They'd indeed never let me die, but no one said they'd treat me with kid gloves. They also know by now that I, in spite of me being a fragile, delicate and overall weak ass human, can take it, and exactly how much.

(And that you like it.)

(Yeah, but no one asked you, so.)

In any case, I hit the spongy ground with an "Ouff!" and a breathless curse and take a split second to lie, stunned, on my belly.

Rediscovering my breath, I try to writhe away, flail my arms to maybe get a hold of the stem of some sturdy vegetation to help me get back up, but to no avail. A hard, hot body pins me down, a hand presses me down on the side and the base of my skull, thereby blocking any head movement and also, conveniently, rubbing my face in the dirt. I sputter.

Personally, I think Bane likes doing that for old time's sake. The first time I met the guy, I ended up with a mouth full of carpet while he fucked me. Ever since then, he apparently gets off on grinding my face into the floor and hearing my muffled grunts of frustration.

I think it's Bane's version of foreplay.

"Too slow, little human," he chuckles into my ear.

That, and the shit-talking.

(Maybe it's also because he knows you kinda like it.)

(Yeah, thanks for that insightful commentary.)

Seconds later, I'm hauled over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried to the place I've started calling "the bedroom" even though it's not a room and there are no beds. It's a small, enclosed area in the heart of the forest protected from dripping dew and falling leaves by a couple of sun sails, laid out with springy, smooth mats made of some type of dried grass, dimpled with seven-foot long, shallow ditches in which the Dryth occasionally rest.

They don't really sleep as such. Dryth doze, sometimes, like cats. The only one who sleeps like a goddamn log is me because my two guys fuck me to noodly-limbed, even-my-pinky-toes-are-sore, sweat-drenched, jelly-brained-what's-my-name-again-and-why-am-I-dripping-everywhere exhaustion (and sometimes a bit farther than that) every single day and night.

Woe. Woe is me.

Thing is, they also only let me sleep once they are completely done with me, and then only let me sleep as long as they can be patient. Once it overcomes them again, they shake me awake and sometimes they tell me to run just so they can have fun catching me.

I mean, it's honestly nice to be wanted with that sort of intensity and insistency, even though I guess it's not terribly girl power of me to admit it.

I'm living the dream right now, though. It's stranger than I pictured it in my brain as a teenager, but it's the dream alright.

While on Earth, I've come to realize that the truly fictitious element of all romance novels isn't the 6-foot-tall-stupid-hot-straight-and-inexplicably-single guy falling for the wallflower girl who's 10 pounds away from her ideal weight among having other issues, nor the unlikely series of coincidences that brings them together and leads to their unlikely yet inevitable H.E.A.

No, it's the part where one person is certain about loving and wanting one other person and is uncompromising in their pursuit (and also manages to not be a creepy stalker while they're at it).

In real life, people are lukewarm and wishy-washy with themselves and one another, especially when compared to my alien boys here. Depressing, I know.

So I really don't care much if Earthians would tell me that my boys are obsessive, overbearing and controlling, and that I should not indulge and encourage them or whatever. Earth is far, far away.

And to their credit, they did let me put on my boob strap this time before they chased me into the woods. They're learning.

But man, I wish they'd let me get my eight hours just once, and dial it down with the bloody cardio.

A wave of frustration, fuelled by the leftover adrenaline from the wild chase, has me banging my fists against Bane's lower back. (Where his kidneys would be if he had any, which I don't know he has. But just on the suspicion that there might be kidneys, I drum a little more viciously, accompanied by a couple of creative curses.)

Bane chuckles. I can feel it in my midriff which lies across his wide shoulder.

Cocky asshole. Just you wait.

I draw in air, cup my hands around my mouth and holler, "Rune!"

Their game (of which I am, technically speaking, the gaming device) comes with an unwritten rule: Whoever manages to deliver me into the bedroom gets to fuck me first, and the other one has to watch us for a time before joining in.

Of course, this leaves the option of intercepting the other as he makes his way to the bedroom with me and stealing his prize.

It's macho alpha male bullshit in my opinion, but who am I to deny them their fun? Lord knows the Dryth have too little entertainment in their lives as it is.

(Maybe it's also because they know you kinda like it.)

(Look, could you not?)

They stick to their own rules like honorable sportsmen, but neither Bane nor Rune much likes to be the one who has to wait on the sidelines. They are not patient, my two Dryth.

"Rune! Over here!" I yell again, and Bane grumbles and quickens his pace considerably, and also claps a hand down on my right butt cheek - just to hold me steady and make sure I won't fall as he weaves through the underbrush at a breakneck pace, I am certain. I swallow the yelp, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

I'm just inhaling to get out the next call for my captor's only natural enemy when there's a shout from the side and we topple to the floor, hit. I am half-caught (by Bane, I think) and rolled almost gently, getting away with little scrapes and a mild case of vertigo as I lie, spread-eagled, on the tatami for a second, looking up at the dark blue sails that are quickly becoming so familiar. Huh, I must've been close to the bedroom the entire time.

Judging by the sounds of flesh hitting muscles and bones and low snarls, Bane and Rune have collided with all the gentleness of two football players at the Superbowl. Just without the clothes or the padding, or the referee, or the general sense of sportsmanship, and adding some serious teeth and bony protrusions and several stones more muscle mass... On second thought, it's not a good simile at all. Forget I mentioned football players.

Precautionarily, I scramble out of the way in order to give the boys a bit more space to lock horns and find myself crouching behind the flat rock at the one side of the bedroom, peeking over it to see who's winning.

It's honestly hard to tell for a bit. When wet and in the aforementioned shade, both Rune and Bane are almost the same shiny dark gray, and they are both wet and dirty from their run through the forest right now. Also, there's two additional limbs - their prehensile tails - in the mix and their inhumanly shaped torsos and their hips and hip sockets allow for a wider range of movement than a human male could ever have. It all makes it difficult for me to figure out exactly what and whose what I'm looking at at any given point in time.

Think Cirque du Soleil, just more savage, with even more muscle mass and without the flesh-colored panty hose, and add a dash of two indistinguishable CGI robots fighting in close-up in one of those terrible Transformers movies. There, that's a good simile, I think.

Bane and Rune extreme-graeco-roman-dryth-wrestle it out for a bit, grunting and snarling at one another, and I consider, for just a second, running away to keep the game going.

But then I consider for another second and come to the conclusion that that would mean more running, and that that's something we're going to avoid at almost all cost.

So I sit back on my haunches, pluck a bit of moist greenery from a nearby branch and wipe my face and torso and my boob strap, quite worn around the edges after all the tossing about and manhandling, clean (or cleaner) with its dew, and watch them.

Rapt.

I mean, from a purely technical, pragmatic standpoint, what the two males are doing is real pretty to look at. They are both clearly grappling champions and their movements are sleek and sinuous while still packing a massive punch. They also know each other really well. They're making poetry in motion, together.

From a non-technical, non-pragmatic standpoint... excuse me, but I'm starting to drool a little.

You know, I was never a fan of wrestling before. I may or may not have been an idiot before, I think.

Then again, the WWE doesn't hold a candle to this. Not even if the WWE dudes were as gloriously naked and nakedly glorious as Bane and Rune are.

And they are hands (and tails and all other appendages) on. Intensely. Not even remotely no homo.

Ohh man, I'm into that. A lot.

It's not like the two of them ever shy away from one another when I am wedged between them like the lucky bitch I am. There is always plenty of touching and grazing involved, and I'm pretty certain that two guys can, uh, feel each other when they double-team a woman (even if they're not as generously endowed and in possession of an independently mobile penile unit as the Dryth are). Far as I can tell, Bane and Rune never had a single problem with that.

Until now, however, I have never seen them together from a distance. I was always smack-dab in the middle, always mostly cross-eyed with animalistic lust, never able to appreciate them from afar, and how yummy it looks when they're locked together like that, all shimmery dark skin and rippling muscles and legs and tails all knotted up together, with Rune on top and Bane underneath him...

Fuck, is it me or is it getting hot in here? I fan my face with the leaf I had just cleaned myself with.

Now kiss, I think and giggle, and the giggle gets stuck in my throat when they do.

Holy. Mother. Mary. And Jo.

It's a very... Dryth-y kiss - more sensitive, less blunted people might rather call it a "mutual oral mauling", and a couple others may think they're just trying to eat each other's faces - but it's a kiss, alright. There's tongues tangling and thrusting and teeth nipping and gasps for breath and dominance and fuuuck me.

Both guys break the kiss and immediately swing their gazes towards me at the same millisecond and I guess I may have moaned those last two words out loud. Oops.

We look at each other for a beat, both pairs of Dryth eyes shimmery with luminescence - curiously, Bane's eyes have taken a red-orange color that's more usual for Rune, and Rune's looking at me through bright brassy yellow irises that I've only seen on Bane so far. I'll wonder about that later, when I'll be able to string two thoughts together without getting distracted by the pulse pounding between my legs.

"Ah... continue?" I suggest, feeling myself going red in the face for no good reason. I thought I'd lost my last shred of modesty about two years ago in my previous shit show of a job at a brothel at the end of the universe. I'd thought myself embarrassment-proof. I mean, I'm sitting here with a goddamn Dryth spike lodged in my vagina, feeling sort of empty because I'm getting used to having two in there, for Christ's sakes.

Rune gives a low snarl and starts crawling forward, right towards me, all lupine grace and intensity, glowing eyes fixed on me, and I get a small chill in the back of my neck. His eyes are too bright, the color's still wrong, and while Dryth aren't very expressive, especially Rune's face is not normally so... hard. There's a harsh set around his mouth, a tightness of muscles in his cheeks that I don't think I've seen before. It's like he turned wild. I can see his erection pointing right at me like a spear.

I can't examine it any further, though, because Bane grabs his fellow male mid-crawl from below, and immediately, they're wrestling again, rolling and writhing around and growling low. They're both going for the jugular this time. I see Rune sink his dagger teeth into Bane's upper arm. Not a love bite, that. Blood wells forth. I shiver a little.

I guess I sometimes need little reminders that these guys are dangerous. Vicious, sometimes. Volatile. That they're not human - even though they treat me well enough - and without human inhibitions.

Bane, despite being just an inch or two smaller and not quite as wide in the shoulders, somehow manages to roll Rune onto his belly and lies on top of him, pinning him flat onto the ground just like he did me just a couple of minutes before. He even puts his hand into Rune's neck, too, his other hand gripping one of his arms and pressing it on his back.

Unlike wimpy old me, Rune has big muscles cording his neck and shoulders and upper back, though, so he fights the hold, bucking like a rodeo horse. His tail comes up and winds around Bane's throat, boa constrictor style.

Bane somehow ignores this, leans in and bites Rune's ear.

I blink. What the heck.

He's... actually biting the shell of Rune's left ear, adorning black piercings and all.

Rune makes a strangled noise like I've never heard any Dryth make before, almost like a desperate shout, and suddenly goes soft underneath Bane. The fray-ended tail of his unwinds from where it was looped around Bane's neck and falls to the side, twitching gently on the floor. His other limbs stop fighting, too. His fists uncurl and open up. His eyes close.

Surrender. Like a switch has been flicked. Just like that.

It's amazing to see. I didn't know that a Dryth could physically do that. Submit. Yield and become soft. I had always thought that something in their DNA or their upbringing (or possibly both) made it impossible to them, hence their fearsome reputation across the universe.

I can hear them both breathing hard even from a couple of feet away. Rune's eyelids flutter open and I can see their color is back to its normal honey-and-sunset shade, maybe a bit darker. His tail thumps the ground rhythmically. He twists his upper body just a bit and manages to free his right arm from where it was stuck against Bane's body, then lifts his hand and reaches up to put it against Bane's shoulder. Not to push him away or fight him off, just for the contact.

And suddenly, they're both rocking together, with Bane rubbing against Rune, between his thighs because those noises I've heard both of them make before plenty of times. Rune gets the bedroom eyes I always see when I'm giving him head, a sleepy, contented expression, and lifts his hips in sinuous counterpoint to Bane's movements.

Good Lord. My boys are so hot and so beautiful. I literally sigh wistfully, feeling just a little spark of pride in the mix because I like to think that it was me who introduced them to this type of beauty. Who taught them about giving and taking pleasure, taking one's time. Enjoying it and oneself.

Bane speeds up, apparently nibbling Rune's ear the entire time. I wonder why the hell I never had that idea. I may have nibbled every other square inch of each of their bodies - I suspect they secretly think it's adorable when I attack them with my puny human teeth - but not Rune's ears, even though they were one of the first things that I noticed about him since Bane noticeably doesn't have any, and neither did any of the other (five) Dryth I had personally encountered up until that point (so far as I can remember anyway).

Once upon a time I also thought that Rune had hair where Bane had none but I have since learnt that the strip of growth streaking his skull is more like the comb of a chicken or some kind of anemone. It's spongy and sentient, it puffs up a little and changes its hue when he's agitated (or has some sort of Dryth emotion anyway), and it's definitely an erogenous zone (or whatever the equivalent of that is for the Dryth).

Right now, it's practically waving at me, the tips turning a deep, glossy shade of blue-black, and my fingertips are itching to stroke and caress and pull it and rub my palm all over it and I'm already there, I've already got up and come out from behind my useless hiding spot and padded over to them.

The lure is just too strong and I am weak for these two.

Both Rune and Bane start purring loudly when I comb my fingers across Rune's skull and scratch the base of that strip with my fingernails, and then moan low because Bane speeds up yet again. Rune's tail swishes across the tatami floor in time.

I get flat on the floor, arrange myself and then fit my mouth, upside down and a little awkwardly, against Rune's just because I feel I need to right now. He tastes like blood from having bitten Bane in the arm earlier, but also like sweet fruit he must have eaten from the trees, and like hot male. Like him. I moan into the kiss and pull him closer, nibble and lick and nip, sucking down his shout of relief once it comes over him. Bane follows promptly, finally letting go of Rune's ear which is oozing a little bit of blood, his eyes back to their normal coloring as well even though his pupils are so dilated they only leave a golden-yellow corona.