Sex as Power
Tyr was in a place he never, ever thought he would be. He was face down on a massive leather bed suspended by chains from the ceiling. Handcuffs, placed not at his wrists, but between the bone spurs on his forearms held him spread eagle on the bed with his long braided hair spread out in a semi-circle around him. Tyr Anasazi, last remaining member of the Kodiak pride, was being fucked in the ass by a kludge who had picked him up in some dingy, nameless, backwater bar. The worst, or was it the best, part of it was that he was enjoying it immensely.
The man was huge by human standards. He was only a few centimeters shorter than Tyr and perhaps 8-10 kilograms more in weight. He combined the muscular standards of Nietzschean genetic engineering with a soft, brooding sensuality sometimes present in human males. That night he had been simply dressed in black denim, without jewelry or body ornamentation. His thick dark hair and been pulled back and plated into a thick coil that came all the way down his back. His countenance could change from a sneer to a smile so quickly and convincingly that Try had been unable to differentiate between what was real and what were manufactured pick-up lines. Whatever, he had been successful.
Earlier that evening
'If you sit at the bar with your arms crossed, the bone spurs on your forearms say it all. I am a Nietzschean. I am only here for you to watch. Look! Why do you think I wear this chainmail shirt? Enjoy! I love to see that look in your eye when you think about what it would be like if I stuck my huge, throbbing Nietzschean dick up your hot little ass. Think about how you would squirm. But don't think too long because it is not going to happen. Unless you want to spend your next year's salary on one of those black market "pseudo-condoms," which will probably break anyway. My fucking you will be the last thing you will remember, before my Nietzschean sperm eats away the lining . . . ah you get the idea, just look. I like to be looked at.'
Tyr Anasazi unfolded his arms and leaned on the bar. He grabbed a huge mug of some horrible tasting intoxicating brew and took a deep drink. He showed no emotion. Those who knew what he was drinking would know what it tasted like. The fact that he could drink it without emotion would draw even more exaltation.
Tyr liked to play games like this in the various little bars scattered across the universe. He thrived on the sexual tension. He enjoyed immensely the smell of men gathered together looking for sex, wanting sex, wanting him, and the delicious irony that none of them would ever have him. No one got hurt with such little games. He got his adulation, the boys got their fantasies, and when one of them thought about him while they fucked someone else the benefit was spread around.
It was rare for someone to come over and speak to him. Everyone knew his situation and their place. Once in a while a purchased drink would appear -- a cheap price for a good fantasy. He just stood and watched.
"Hi, I like your hair."
Tyr spun around and effect of inertia on the braids in his hair created a cascade effect. "What?" He found himself fact to face with a huge human man with black eyes and a small goatee.
"Just an observation. I never had the patience to have mine done like that"
'Damn, this guy was trying to make conversation about fucking hairstyles. He didn't have a clue. Next thing he'll probably ask me where I get it done.'
"What you drinking? I'll buy you another."
"Don't know, don't care, as long as it gets me drunk?" Tyr snorted.
The man turned to the bartender. "Got any Benedictine?" The small bartender nodded his head. "Well bring out a bottle, and mix it 1-3 with the best cognac you have. No I don't want that premixed stuff that comes in the bottle. And put it is a snifter, a very large snifter."
'This guy as queer as they come,' Tyr thought, 'but he sure likes to drink the good stuff.'
"I have my own money, I can pay for this. Don't think I will be any more impressed by your lavish spending propensities than I am by this." Tyr indicted the mug of grog he had been drinking. "It was all that little kludge over there could afford, I know it, I appreciate it, but look what it got him."
"Then you're not for sale. Good, I like that in a man."
"Let's say, I'm worth the price, but not the risk." With that Tyr lifted the snifter to his lips and sipped the golden fiery liqueur. He hated holding the glass snifter, but loved the taste of the liquid as it ran down his throat. He struck another pose and diverted his eyes from the man who had purchased the drink for him. He was not one for casual conversation.
"Where you from? What d'you do?"
'Shit,' Tyr thought, 'He's much more attractive when he just stands there.' "I work on a starship." The man continued to brood. He appeared not to like conversation much either. "Weapons officer." That brought a broad smile to his face. "And you?"
"Just about everywhere. Or anywhere. Been around, seen it all. Yadda, yadda."
"Not much for words, like that in a man. Usually the people you meet here don't know when to shut up. What's your name?"
"Harry. Harry . . .Wagner." He used the German pronunciation. Obviously the man had done his homework when it came to Nietzscheans. It was equally obvious that that wasn't his name.
"Not sure what your name is?"
"Got me there, and yours?"
"Is that made up, too."
"You insult my mother."
Tyr began to feel worried. He was not used to extended conversations in these bars. He rarely got past -- "'hello', 'Tyr,' 'thanks but no thanks' or 'not if you know what is good for you.'" He basked in adoration.
They never had to buy another round of drinks. There were enough admirers entranced by the two bodies, studies in bronze and sepia, that the drinks of the highest quality kept coming.
"Feels good to be worshipped." Tyr stated casually. Harry looked somewhat confused, and smiled back. They appeared to be on the same wavelength.
More silence. More drinks. Tyr was not aware of the effect of the herbs in the Benedictine especially when combined with the rotgut raw alcohol he had consumed earlier. His head was beginning to throb. The night of being the center of attention was about to come to an early end.
"Well," Harry finally spoke, "Are we going to sit here all night in the presence of these adoring subjects, or are we going . . ."
"You've got to be kidding. I don't go anywhere with anyone. I am a Nietzschean."
"Don't tell me this doesn't excite you?"
Tyr didn't have an answer. Sure it excited him. That is why he came here, but sex with him was dangerous.
"Our sperm, it's. . ."
"Shit, I know that. What do you think I am, stupid? I just figured if you were hanging out here that either you had condoms or you wanted someone to fuck your delicious ass."
"Well, now that you put it so poetically. . I don't have any condoms."
Tyr waited for the man to back down. They always did. Reality sat in and they realized that there was no way. . . "Let's . . excuse the statement. . . blow this joint. I have a place." Harry said to him calmly.
Tyr didn't know what he should have expected. It wasn't this. The interior was heavily into dark stone and black leather. More leather than he had ever seen in one place at one time, real leather, expensive leather. Black and Red candles. Harry had spoken very little as they made the two-kilometer walk to his building. Tyr was thankful for that.
"Another drink?" Harry asked. "Some music?"
"No, not now. My head is sort of."
"Can't take the monk's poisons, hey, you get used to it over time."
"Yea, in about five thousand years." Tyr said sarcastically. He was unprepared for the strange look that crossed Harry's face.
"Well," said Harry looking directly into Tyr's eyes and spreading his muscular legs. "You into kissing, foreplay, or do you just want to get naked."
"I'm not sure."
"Into drama, I see, now that's a surprise. You don't need to play super-butch with me. I know where you are coming from. Do it myself sometime. Nice to see what other men can offer."
"I don't lie. I'm not sure. I've never done this before."
"How stupid do you think I am?"
"Not very, or else I never would have come with you. You have to believe me. I have never had sex with a man before. My species frowns upon it -- you could say."
"So you really do hang around those bars for the just for the adoration. Wish I would have though of that one. Could have kept me out of a few . . . ah never mind you don't want to know. If you really are a, excuse me, virgin, this could be quite an experience for you."
Harry had already stripped off his jacket and was lowering his pants. Tyr shuddered. He had never seen an erect kludge penis before. This man was huge. He wondered if Harper and Dylan's organs increased in size that much when they were excited, but figured this man had to be some sort of an anomaly.
"How much control do you have? Do I have to worry about getting close, or is it only if you cum inside me."
"Don't know. Never did that either."
"What do you do?" He scowled at Tyr again. "Honestly, I don't give a shit. Get on your knees and suck me off. I guarantee, I will taste like honey in your mouth."
"As if I would believe you."
"Least I'm not caustic."
Harry was somewhat surprised when the Nietzschean did exactly as he was told. He had not expected it and had a list of other activities they might try which placed Tyr in a less submissive role. Maybe the guy was just horny, or just a virgin.
"You really are a virgin aren't you?"
"Am I that bad." He mumbled, not wanting to remove the penis from his mouth.
"No just that tentative. What do you do for fun?"
He spit the organ out. "Obviously not this." He stood up and looked Harry in the eye. "I came here with you because I found you physically fascinating. My species does not do this. I have never done this. I regard sex as a method of ensuring the future of my genes, which obviously is lacking with you. Quite frankly I would rather play board games. . or figh…."
He didn't quite get "fight" out because Harry grabbed him and pulled him into a deep kiss. "Fight" just didn't come out with a tongue in your mouth. He had never kissed a man before. He was amazed that it was more like a power transfer than an act of interpersonal relationship. Tyr, however, was unsure who had the power that was being transferred.
"Now isn't this better than board games?" Harry gleefully asked him when they finally stopped. "And I bet you cheat at those, too."
Tyr had no comment. The power had been transferred. "If you want to take the Alpha role tonight, kludge, I'm just drunk enough not to try to stop you. It might be an enlightening experience. Stories to share with my crew on long journeys, entries in . .
"Will you shut the fuck up and get your clothes off." Harry watched carefully as Tyr removed his leather pants and chainmail shirt. "Do the gauntlets come off too."
"These are not gauntlets, they are genetically engineered bone spurs. So we are never without at least one weapon."
"Whatever. Long as they don't interfere with the handcuffs."
Harry was amazed. If you categorized the act of sex as a power game, sex with a man like Tyr should have been impossible. Unable to perform without seriously threatening his partner's livelihood in his natural Alpha function, it took great desire and great trust to assume the bottom position. The fact that he claimed to be a virgin may have explained it, or it was just part of his psychological coping mechanism. Harry hadn't figured that out yet, but then tonight was much more about fucking than figuring out.
Somehow, however, the details seemed all pervasive. How caustic was that cum? How strong were the handcuffs? Could the chains take the weight of both of them? Where was his olive oil? Virgin olive oil, the lubrication of his choice from his boyhood, seemed the only one fitting for tonight. Chemical or genetic engineering could not improve on the best.
He'd had powerful men under him in sex before. He didn't want to name names now. Tyr was educated. He would recognize them. Many of them were the men his species held in adoration and with the names they passed down to their children. He thought it was so horribly ironic that this Nietzschean had been giving the name "Tyr" after a Norse god of war.
Sex as power. It was not a concept lost on the Nietzscheans. In his species the woman had that sexual power. They chose with whom they wanted to mate; whose genes they wanted to pass on to the future. Careful genetic analysis was a vital part of foreplay. Kissing and brandy seemed much more exciting. He liked the rich fruity smell of the oil Harry was rubbing on his back, ass, and legs. He liked his hard hands and soft touches. Hell, he even liked the handcuffs.
Nietzscheans had much better muscular control than humans. When it was time for Harry to enter him, he could voluntarily relax muscles normally having to be coaxed to open. Once penetrated, he could initiate movements to respond to the thrusts. He needed to think like this dark man hovering over him. Anticipate, react, receive and enjoy. It was a fun game -- one in which you didn't have to cheat to win.
He had no idea how long the sex act had been going on. All measurements of time seemed to have no relevance in this realm. Relevance to what? Time had lost all relevance long ago. Why was he concerned about time now? How long was it supposed to take? He never remembered it taking this long. He thought male/male sex was usually spurtive, quick and dirty. This man knew what he was doing, and was taking his own sweet time about it.
Harry finally removed his penis and slapped Tyr hard on the ass with his large hand. "OK, virgin boy, you're not any more. You can cum whenever you want, but I am not going to go first. This is your night and I don't want to spoil it for you by being too quick."
"But you seem willing enough to spoil it by talking to much." Tyr could make his sneer known even with his face buried in a pillow.
"You're still a surly bastard, even if you are no longer a virgin."
"I'm not going to spread my genetic material all over your bed, and I have no use or desire for yours. I did like your sex act, found it invigorating."
"It was supposed to relax you. Turn you into a quivering mass of jelly. Make me cry out in victorious rage."
Harry was gone for a long time, leaving Tyr face down on the bed. Perhaps the "Whatever" had been a bit too cynical. He knew kludges were sensitive about their masculinity. Perhaps he had offended him. He was probably just in the bathroom doing what his crewmembers called "jerking off" -- a pointless activity he could never understand. He closed his eyes and thought about game strategy, and strangely enough Beka Valentine naked, before he drifted off to sleep.
"You're not really worth it, but I felt like it tonight. Better with someone else. Don't waste as much when you share." Tyr had no idea what the man was talking about. All he knew was that Harry had returned, now dressed in heavy leather, carved and embossed with what appeared to be silver in designs that he did not understand but thought pleasant. He unfastened the handcuffs and when Tyr sat up on the bed, he threw him a small garment made of the same leather.
"Put it on. I still don't trust you." Harry said, authoritatively, but not unpleasantly.
"What is it." Tyr pictured it as some sort of facial restraint.
"It's a jock-strap for gods sake. A protective jock-strapped, lined just in case this gets you too excited."
Tyr stepped into the garment and pulled it on while sitting on the edge of the bed. It was comfortable and ingenious. The inside portion covering his penis was lined with a fabric whose softness was also indicative of its absorbency. The man was taking no chances with Nietzschean cum.
"What is that?" Harry had placed a small cylindrical object in his hand and attempted to ignite it with what Tyr recognized as an antique fire-starting device.
"Good drug. Bad delivery system. Unfortunately by the time they got the delivery system worked out, they had genetically engineered all the fun out of the drug. I hate to waste it on you, but as I said earlier, it is better with someone." He drew a puff of smoke into his lungs and held it so long his eyes appeared to pop.
"Nietzscheans are genetically engineered to breathe chlorine gas. Do you think this will have any affect on me?"
"Won't know until we try. Don't just let it burn. Try it."
They sat cross-legged on the bed passing it between them sharing deep puffs until it was just a very small piece of burning paper. Harry grabbed it and popped it into his mouth still lit.
"That my kludge friend was totally stupid."
"You don't know how long it has been since I did that, and it feels so go-o-o-o-d"
Tyr stifled the urge to say 'whatever' and suddenly found himself fascinated by the medallion Harry wore around his neck. He crawled over on the bed to get a closer look. His balance was slightly unsteady and he fell against him. He broke his fall and found his face planted in Harry's neck, which he began to kiss and lick.
"So it does make you frisky. This might be fun." Harry lay back on the bed and unfastened the front of his pants before placing his arms behind his head. "Let's see if it improved your cock-sucking ability."
Tyr was not sure what it had done for his ability, but it sure the hell had improved his desire to want to try. He directed his attention to the growing sex organ and carefully used his Nietzschean muscle control until he had lowered his face into the dark pubic hair growing around it.
"Hey, buddy, are you sure you can breathe like that," Harry said patting him on the shoulder. Tyr could not respond, but knew he could last at least 15 minutes without oxygen.
It didn't take that long. He was surprised at the intensity of the orgasm that shot through the big man. He coughed slightly as his cum shot down his throat in time with Harry's muscle spasms. He didn't want to take it out of his mouth. It was still a question of giving and taking. He crawled up Harry's body, wrapping his legs around him as he climbed, and began to kiss his mouth again. This time it was his tongue that did the exploring, and he got to know the mouth as he had known the penis.
"I've created a fucking monster." Harry said with an approving smile, "I like it."
Tyr liked it, too. Perhaps it was the drug that made him aware of the feel of leather-on-flesh. He wanted flesh-on-flesh. He wanted to feel the subtle differences between males of the two species. Harry seemed to sense that too and wiggled out of his pants and vest. They seem to writhe together trying to find new ways to interlink limbs. Tyr had strange thoughts of Harper and Trance sleeping together in the ship's garden. He was surprised when Harry started making strange small movements with his fingers on his chest.
"What do you call that? What you are doing? Never seen anyone do that before."
"I suppose your genetic engineers breed ticklishness out of the Nietzschean anatomy, too. Those guys were big time 'no fun.' What about snuggling. Nipple tweaking? Do you react to that? How about this?" He put his mouth against Tyr's hard flat stomach and blew. It produces a strange noise and an even stranger sensation in Tyr's loins.
"Wow, that was something. Do that again!"
"Either you, my friend are very stoned or very infantile. This is what human mothers do to their babies to make them laugh."
"I don't care, it makes me feel good." Harry was stoned enough to do it again. "Another thing I wanted to try. You lay down on the bed and let you whip your back with my hair."
'And I thought you'd never ask!" Harry thought as he turned over. 'I've got boxes of little things in the back you could try when you get tired of that.'
Harry wished that he had at least started a video camera. His ability to leave of his body and watch as this incredible man beat his back with his flowing hair put him one up on ordinary men, but he would just have the memories. People would pay big money to see this. All that he needed to do was to put that chainmail shirt back on. He watched the look on Tyr's face as the passion rose and the orgasm overtook his body, then chuckled to himself at the uncomfortable wetness he must be feeling inside his garment.
They were back together, intertwined. Harry wondering briefly about the effectiveness of the protective garment and then deciding that it wasn't worth worrying about. Maybe it was an urban legend. A fucking myth. He and Tyr kissed a little, rolled together on the bed. It was fun. It had been a long time since he had bedded someone who was truly an equal. They giggled. Both of them suddenly had become gigglers. He was once again glad that he had not started the camera.
"This is fun," Tyr had to say it.
"Sure was. I don't remember when . . .
"I certainly don't ever remember wearing leather diapers."
"Sorry about that buddy, but a guy's got to protect what's his."
"You mean that of his which isn't lying in puddles all over this bed. How many times did you come anyway Harry?"
"I used to be able to count that high, but I forgot." Now they were beyond giggling and progressing to boisterous laughing. "You know Tyr, I am going to say something that I bet no man will ever say to you, but I bet you would like fucking my sister." He couldn't control his laughter.
"Actually," Tyr tried to maintain his composure. "It is a very, very common bar discussion among Nietzschean men. It is one of the highest compliments a man can receive to be asked by another to combine his DNA with that of his sister."
"Shit, my sister is just a good lay."
"But your sister. . . I am a Nietzschean, remember."
"My sister has a cunt that is lined with solid gold." Harry laughed so hard he started to cough.
Tyr tried to ignore the degrading comment Harry had made about his sister. Humans got like that sometimes. An inborn fear of woman, sometimes they would say things derogatory things just to make them feel more manly.
"You'd probably like our first-officer Beka Valentine. I know she'd like you." Harry shook his head; he had not brought the Nietzschean home to have him set him up with his crewmembers. "Or maybe you would prefer our captain. . Dylan Hunt."
Harry did his best imitation of a deaf-mute. He was certain Tyr had no idea about his relationship with Dylan Hunt. He certainly didn't want to bring it up now. "No, I'm quite content to spend my time with the weapons officer." He smiled and kissed Tyr gently on the lips. "By the way, do you know who you are named after, Tyr."
"Of course, names are important to Nietzscheans. Tyr was a Norse god of war." Harry looked deeply into his eyes. "And what does your name mean?"
"Harry. Dunno. Fury, hirsute."
"But that's your made up name. . . Not your real name . .. What is your real name? Who were you named after?" The phrases were interspersed with quick kisses.
Harry looked at the man's handsome face, those eyes, that hair, those lips, he wondered if Tyr was ready to hear the truth. He wondered where it would take the relationship? What would Dylan say when he found out, and he knew he would find out? He could never hide anything from that bastard. "I wasn't named after anyone." He pulled Tyr's face to his and kissed it hard. "My name is Ares."
"Greek god of war Ares."
"In the immortal flesh."
"Should have known that."
"Why? My god-of-war good looks."
"Nah, the fucking olive oil." Ares had never seen someone so consumed with his own joke. Tyr laughed so hard tears appeared in the corners of his eyes. "Guess it wasn't a put down when you told me about your sister either."
Ares flipped the laughing man over and grabbed for the olive oil. It was going to be one hell of a relationship.