On The Dotted Line

Pretty fucking fast, all things considered.

But James didn't know if it Shiv had had her fill by the time the buzz of the intercom announced their time was up.

"Miss Meri...uh, Miss Shiv?" a young male voice said. "We're set up and ready to start shooting."

Shiv abruptly stopped fucking him, turning her head toward the door. She took hold of James' shoulders again, squeezing like she wanted to ignore the summons keep going. After a beat in which she got control of her breathing, she reluctantly stood up off of his drenched cock to go to the panel. She touched the button, and her voice calm when she responded.

"Acknowledged. I will be there."

"Mr. Roberts said to be there in five. No more."

"Acknowledged," she said with hinted impatience.

It was quiet again, and James let out the breath he was holding. At first he hadn't even felt the cold air but then it struck him that the Wraith Raider's body had been keeping him warm and comfortable in a fucking freezer.

Blue balls even as they shrink in the cold.

While Shiv slipped back into her shorts and tank top, James put his kilt back down, stifling a groan of discomfort. She heard it and frowned at him.

"You did not finish?"

He forced a laugh. "Ladies first. Come on, let's get out there and get this over with."

Shiv nodded in agreement but watched him a moment longer and said, "I can promise I will not kill you, McManus. No matter what happens."

He felt true relief, the relaxation causing an answering throb in his cock. "Glad to hear it. I promise the same."

She tilted her head skeptically, and James just grinned, seeing a familiar, competent Operative in place of the desperate beast he'd met twenty minutes ago.

"You will still bleed," she warned him.

"Hey, it's what I do best," he said with another, spreading grin. He couldn't help but feel damned good about outwitting the suits. "Expect a few good punches from me."

"I shall."

Shiv left the room first. McManus waited a few uncomfortable minutes before following. He got out of the room unnoticed when he heard the stage manager calling him. The guy sounded about ready to bust an eyeball from the pressure. Not wanting to make it obvious what he'd been doing unless someone got close to his kilt and took a really good sniff, James sidled down the hall into an alcove with a few cushiony chairs and a soda machine. He was rubbing himself through the tartan to maintain his hard-on when the stage manager swept around the corner.

"McManus, there you are!" Roberts halted. He raised an eyebrow.

The Frother smirked broadly. "You said to entertain myself."

"Don't be a smartass. Get on set, Operative. Now."

Three: Fifteen Minutes

This set is...

"Silly" was the first thing that came to the Frother's mind. Not the sort of place he would have imagined the suits setting up with the hope that he died here.

The designers had placed a low-base, king-sized bed slightly off center, so they weren't supposed to fuck on the floor. He noted the mattress cover was a blazing white, no blankets or sheets, and behind that, there was a ten-step stairway leading up to nowhere; it dead-ended at the cream-colored wall.

Leading off to each side of the stairway was a three-foot-wide ledge running around the semi-circle of the set, and it looked sturdy enough to stand on. The thing that got him, though, were the three metal poles fixed tight from catwalk to stage, and the various swinging bars hanging down on chains from the catwalk. It looked like a combination strip club and aerobatic gymnasium. It wasn't lost on him that all the colors were neutral pastels.

All the better to show the blood.

James McManus had never been gladder for Ultra Violence in his entire career than when he was standing just off camera, half-listening to Roberts rush everyone who was supposed to be working while the Frother removed all his clothing except for his kilt, as instructed. The studio was far from empty. All the techies, assistants, janitors, random office people were here to watch. Two of the Shaktar security he'd seen outside guarded the way, presumably so neither James nor Shiv, each on their own trips, could leave during the shooting.

Because they sure aren't stopping anyone from coming in.

Even a certain, middle-aged receptionist had stopped by to watch the show, giving him an appreciative whistle as two make-up assistants dusted him with powder on his face, shoulders, chest, and back, supposedly so he didn't gleam like a polished stone.

"Frothers sweat all the time on TeeVee," James commented.

"Frothers are normally dolled up in armor and tartans," Roberts bit back, eyeing him critically, then instructed one of the girls, "Get the tops of his feet, just in case."

The blonde assistant obeyed, kneeling down, and she couldn't resist first peeking up his kilt with a giggle, which prompted a smile from James as she dusted his feet. When she started to reach underneath, however, small fingers brushing his hairy legs, he froze. He wanted to just let her, but—

Still a bit sticky from the dressing room. Can't imagine she'll expect the taste.

"How come we don't have a fluffer, sir?" she asked, turning her head, hand tickling his thigh, brushing his testicles. "Do we need one?"

"Stop that, Carly!" Roberts barked irritably. "What, first day? No fluffers with Wraiths. Miss Merithivm can smell you, and she won't like it."

Carly was close enough to his crotch to catch a whiff and wrinkle her nose in distaste, waving her hand in front of her face. "Fine. Don't think he bathed before coming over, anyway."

James was half-hard just from the tease and the idea that Shiv had already "marked" him from other females. That was kind of hot. All too soon, it stated to go down again.

Fuck me. I need my fix next.

The too-sober Frother grew chilly from the cold air being pumped in from the far side, and his erection from a bit ago had subsided. James was positive that, in his current state of mind, he'd get an embarrassing case of stage fright, with or without Carly the Volunteer Fluffer. To give the ASC what it wanted he had to alter his state of mind with the auto-injector. Nothing different there; to give SLA want it wanted, he did the same all the time, although it had been long enough since his last dose by now to know he looked forward to it a little too much.

Shiv was already naked, sitting in a chair across the set from James, facing away from the onlookers and ignoring the chatter. Her back was stiff; she was tense but McManus seriously doubted it was due to people gawking at her nudity but rather her circumstances. The director, Anthony Kurtis, had finally arrived as well and directly approached his "star" with his directions. He didn't stayed long. She'd given a deadly glare to the short, pudgy man, and he stopped talking far sooner than he would with James.

I need to learn that trick.

"Fight her, Mr. McManus, but don't attack her first," Kurtis said, clenching both fists and drumming them down onto an imaginary table for emphasis. "This is a chase, this is resistance, so resist her hard. Don't give up. There isn't anything on the stage that can be used as a hand weapon, so you'll be relying only on the set and what you were born with."

"Yep." James imagined he could see a possible fatality in the director's fanciful, hazel eyes. Fair fight an' all, taking away her drug before giving me mine, ya sleeze.

"Use what we've built for you to use. Remember, it's a twenty-credit dock every time we have to chase you back onto the stage."

I won't remember where Jack shits here in a moment.

"We'll let the camera run and take what we get. Our editors can put together something that will make you both look good."

I know you will. Shut up. My toes are cold.

"Right? Good! We're ready, people!"

Roberts called places and for everyone to "Zip the hell up!" while the red light was on. He said to the Shaktar, "No one comes in or goes out until Mr. Kurtis says, 'Cut!'"

More shuffling around; everyone went oddly still as Shiv finally stood up out of her chair and hit her "mark." Kurtis nodded, scanned the stage and nodded, looking at James.

"Your auto-injector, McManus. Go get it, stand on your mark."

James picked it up from his clothes and equipment pile, walked back to the stage. Everyone waited until it got quiet again.

"Your cue after three, McManus. Three, two, one. Action!"

Heart pounding from anxiety, McManus keyed the auto-injector into his carotid. His heard pounded harder still, a high pitch rising in his ears. Adrenalin flooded his system, and so did the euphoria. His hard-on came back, rigid as steel. His vision changed, subtly at first, heightening to where he felt he could have snatched a fly out of midair. He became highly aware of his feet bare on the thin, beige carpet, and of the tingling in his fingers. He caught the very scent of the Wraith Raider across from him. She was on his kilt, smeared all over his cock.

He knew that scent. Knew what it meant.

He forgot his audience; his world shrank to forget he was in a studio or on a stage as the Wraith Raider moved into the light. She faced him, tall and strong, naked, flexing clawed fingers. She held his gaze without blinking, pupils dilating as she took a slow, deliberate step forward. He barely retained his last order not to attack first, though he wanted to throw that first punch or make that first charge.

Her muscles bunched, held her poised, ready to lunge or pounce. She went still.

Wraiths were patient; Frothers weren't, especially hopped up. His body started to vibrate, and his naked chest heaved, already dampening the powder they'd put on him. He lifted his hands, took a familiar fighting stance. Ready to block, to hit. To engage.

Come on, pussy.

She moved.

A feint, then a tackle on his off-side streaking in from down low, and McManus was on his back staring up at Shiv. She grinned, teeth wickedly sharp, and forced an aggressive imitation of a kiss. The Frother got the first taste of blood, and it was his own.

Get off!!

He jerked his mouth away and snapped teeth at her, tried to throw her when she laughed but she blocked him, keeping his hands tied and bracing her legs wider apart. His heels nearly met his own buttocks and he launched his hips up, jostling her if not pitching her over him. He managed to free one hand, his fingers snagging a weak amount of purple hair before she blocked him again, causing him to yank it out. She yelped and leaned back, backhanding him hard. He felt the blow, but not the pain that should've come with it.

"I shall rape you until you bleed, Frother," she hissed, loud enough for the camera to catch it.

That might have been a line. They were "acting," weren't they? He couldn't quite tell; she sounded like she meant it.

He acted, punching her back. She felt it, falling to the side, stunned and rolling away to avoid his follow-up lunge. His fingers just grazed her back before she got to her feet, and he lunged again, meeting her heel on the way up. Another hit he didn't feel, despite the fact his vision blurred a second.

Next, she got a death-grip on his dreads.

Son of a—!

His growl swiftly lead to a roar as he dove into her, trying to break the hold on his dreads before she landed him like a giant fish. He aimed to throw off her swing, her balance. Something else happened to where he slammed full-body into the side of the bed, his head swimming before it cleared and he saw Shiv gasping for breath. The Frother hopped back up and charged to tackle her, seeing a satisfying flicker of surprise in the she-Wraith's eyes.

She fell back into position, timed it just right and took his outstretched arm before dropping, her feet on his gut, and he was flipped. He landed on his back, rolled and sprang back to his bare feet, sucking greedily for breath as he took off after her.

The she-Wraith fled up the Stairs to Nowhere, sprinting along the ledge halfway around with the Frother on her non-existent tail. Just before he rushed to the platform's edge, she sprang forward stage to grip one of the bar swings, getting away from him as the levers above moved her away from the ledge. She wouldn't be able to swing back close enough to gain the ledge again, and it was too far for him to jump. One, loud shout of frustration erupted as he searched for a way over to her.

"Geddovereerepussy!" he slurred.

"McManus! Stop chasing her! Shiv! Attack him!"

The Frother's overheated brain didn't register the call, and Shiv ignored him and anything else as she swung like a gymnast, showing off her body and athletic as the camera kept going despite the protest. Her feet went up, and up higher, pausing a moment when she was inverted, her nipples poking out under bright lights. The Frother was watching, drooling, bouncing on the balls of his feet grumbling and shouting in frustration before he ran around the platform, rattling the metal framework beneath his weight. Shiv swung twice more before launching to the next swing, snatching the bar, swinging again, and grabbing hold of one of the poles leading to the ground. She spun on her momentum, the bright metal clutched between her thighs.

"Hunters hunt, Frother," she purred. "They do not always catch."

He lifted the front of his kilt in pure defiance, teeth bared like hers. "Same back, Hot Lips. Hunt me. 'Less ye wanna show throat now!"

The she-Wraith cracked a smile then let herself slide down toward the stage. McManus followed on the nearest pole, more free-falling than sliding, his kilt flying up and he bellowed on his way down, landing with a thundering boom on the platform. Off-stage there were quite a few delighted squeals.

"Shiv! Shiv!"

That angry voice again.

"Stop running!"

The Wraith taunted the Frother, sprinted ahead of him, leading him around the stage twice. Tunnel-visioned, he chased her, more noise in the background, and failed to slow when she grabbed one dance pole to swing around and slam her feet into his chest, stopping him cold.

But not for long.

"Ffffffuck!" he wheezed, getting up. The chase resumed, and the second time he fell for that tetherball-to-the-head trick, he bent the pole when his head connected with it. McManus kept getting back up because that's what Frothers did. Some guy kept trying to talk to the Wraith; the prick only just jumped out of their way as they sped past.

"Damn it, Shiv, quit the pillow fight! UV doesn't last!"

Shiv turned more than once to face the Frother. Her eyes were lucid; she ignored the voice coming off-stage, refrained from using her claws or her teeth on him, and she evaded McManus all over the stage. She made sure she could connect on an attack before making a move, while the Frother went wildly, entertainingly berserk and kept her on the move. The alien was the better at hand-to-hand, but she grew tired, unable to leave the studio as she was locked in this contest with him.

Meanwhile, McManus was starting to feel some of the pain. He made a sound at the next hit that gave it away, even though he returned the swing and connected. He kept going. Whoever still stood at the end was all that mattered.

"Fuck. We're out of time, Mr. Kurtis."

"Hey, Operatives, this is a porn shoot, remember?!" bellowed the man.

"Sir?! Do we cut?"

"No," he growled. "Keep going. We'll fix it in post. Get to fucking, SLOps! You're under contract!"

They both heard the voices but only Shiv at last acted on them. She blocked several punches, deflecting the Frother's fists before he could fracture a bone—his or hers. She backed up, leading him on until she was close to the bed. Then she lunged in, seized McManus around his broad chest, and heaved them both backward, toppling them into the mattress. She rolled so that she was on top, straddling him, and used her thighs to bunch the fabric of his kilt up past his hips and expose him while they held each other's arms in a mutual lock.

McManus' bloodshot eyes met Shiv's blood-red, seeing through his diminishing drug-haze that she had all the self-control at this moment. A small but calculating, feline smile registered in his brain, and the Wraith gave enough ground to break the arm lock, bring her hands up, and dig her claws into his chest, causing red blood to well up.

"Fuck!" McManus barked. That stung!

She might have raked down, might have ripped him open had she been in a killing lust, but instead she swiveled her hips, lodged his glans in her slit, and sat straight down on his cock, engulfing it.

"F-Fuck!"

No pain now, but by the high, there was pleasure!

The she-Wraith screamed just like he'd heard in her video as she rutted herself on him. The shrill, grating call didn't startle him this time but made his cock throb and ache; he got even harder inside her. He smelled her again; she enveloped him, stroked his length again and again. He was frothing at the mouth and he only wanted to fuck, and fuck some more!

Wanted to go full-on wild on her.

She can take it.

He wasn't in a dorm. He wasn't with a Clan-brother's sister.

Fuck, yes!

He thrust up, but she held him down any time he tried to change positions.

Fuck.

She restrained him when he tried.

Fuck!

Used him like meat.

Get off me!!

A last, UV-laden surge of power flooded his body as he broke her hold and gripped her arms. He gained his heels again and pushed up, this time he launching her up like a catapult while maintaining his grip, hauling her sideways. He threw her off him by sheer force and his wet prick complained, but he knew he'd be back inside very soon. The she-Wraith could have fled from the bed. She could have gained her feet, been ready to meet him again like so many times before. She had those instants.

She didn't take them.

She paused just long enough.

McManus grabbed her ankle and pulled her toward him, throwing his weight onto her to hold her down and yanking his kilt up and out of the way. She screeched loudly, whether in lust or anger, he couldn't tell; he didn't care. He felt claws sink into his back, breaking skin, dragging down. She opened gashes as she opened her legs, wrapping them around his waist.

He took it as permission.

He took her. Balls deep. So good.

McManus forgot the camera and crew once again; he forgot the Shaktar and the receptionist; forgot the director and the contract. For a few blissful moments, he only knew the intense pleasure, her amazing heat, her unique scent. Shiv didn't try to throw him off; she growled and purred enticing in his ear; it wasn't his name, but it spurred him on as he fucked her, good and rough.

She could take it.

At one point he raised himself onto his elbows, their sticky chests cooling off as he gained better leverage to keep the punishing pace. He paused when she captured his eyes again. That small smile appeared once more, then she slowly turned her head to one side, away from the camera. She held the position, offering him her throat. McManus didn't think. He leaned down to kiss and bite her velvety neck as she had him an hour before.

"I don't fucking believe it," Kurtis hissed.

"Jamesss," Shiv hissed, where no one but him heard her.

There was no way on Mort that the Frother remembered to pull out before he came inside her.

"Fffuck! Ah, f-fuckin' bloody—GAH!"

Nothing but lights behind his eyes, and the final, mind-blowing rush.

"Hold still! Hold it right there, McManus! Don't you dare move, Shiv! Stay!"

The Frother lay atop the Wraith, spent and barely able to move regardless as the wave of drug-induced power abruptly receded. He was only partly aware of Shiv struggling and growling as the two Shaktar forcibly pulled her claws out of the Frother, pinning her arms to the bed; her muscles bunched and flexed beneath him as he held himself inside her.