This work of fiction is owned by the author and may not be reproduced in any fashion without the author's express written permission. LEXX, its characters, and its situations are owned by the Sci-Fi Channel. No copyright infringement is intended. All other rights available under the law belong to the author. Copyright March 2000.
Stan fumed.
He liked fuming, it gave a sense of purpose to his rather pathetic life. At least if anyone asked, he could claim that his valuable time was being well spent, sitting here on the deckplates and glaring.
Not that the deckplates cared or anything.
Not that anyone would. Ask, that is. Or care.
But Stan didn't really care. The only thing he cared about, truly cared about, slipped into his thoughts at every possibility. And it didn't answer to "Xev". She was pretty in a sex-slavish sort of way but, let's face it, she had been built to some mindless lower-middle-management-administrator's lust-filled hopes and dreams.
He was just a security guard, Class Four, and, as such, his dreams were like him. Shallow and simple, and sex was always prominently featured.
Stan knew perfectly well that he wouldn't kick Xev out of bed for eating Devraiian lotus eels -- no matter how disgusting that fermented yashi sauce smelled and tasted and sounded -- but she wasn't enough. He wanted more than just a woman.
Even a woman who was part cluster-lizard. And, well, she was rather cold.
On the other hand, cold...was just what he wanted. What he desired. What Stan knew was about as likely as His Divine Shadow returning from the dead to open charity kitchens for the Brunnen-G refugees. Sure, no pain there.
It was all the fault of a certain Brunnen-G who lay sleeping the sleep of the not-so-innocent and very-definitely-deceased.
Still , Stan considered, maybe dead was the way to go here. What could be the harm in fondling the guy's panes? Kai's dead, he'll never know.
Decision made, Stan picked himself off the deckplates -- which didn't notice to any great extent -- and made his way toward where his late date slept. The walk didn't seem very long...particularly when one was determined. Stan was nothing if not determined, he needed to get laid and he needed it now.
There. He could barely make out Kai's black-clad form behind the frosted glass, his colors of eternal mourning only serving to emphasize the spare lines of his body. Fitting that a man long dead and dressed in black stayed in a coffin, dressed up however nicely.
Dark light diffused from somewhere inside, giving its silent occupant an ethereal glow. They danced around the edges of his brain, flickering soft warnings of disquiet, but were easily ignored in favor of the secrets they hid. Stan edged steadily closer to the glass and pressed his hand to its surface. Surprised to find its texture so smooth, his mind called up the image of how smooth Kai's own skin might be, under the death and destruction he wore like a cloth of doom. Stroking the glass gently with one hand, he allowed his mind to wander freely through its sewers.
Such a lovely mouth, lips made for sin and lust. How he longed to press himself to those lips, sucking that lower lip between his teeth and nibble on it until the end of the world exploded around them. Small sounds escaping that mouth, gasps of lust and pleasure, half-words and partial-breaths, the language of love spoken by her inhabitants, and Stan longed to enjoy the fluency of fulfillment.
His own muttered snatches of the language jerked from him, an incomplete soul, hands moving of their own accord across the glass, across his body, across the depths separating them. Stan closed his eyes, pressed himself to the lie, and wrapped himself in fantasy.
In hair as black as the space that surrounded them, and so long he could wrap his body in its curls, safe in a robe of pleasure silk, Stan felt joined with a body not his own, a body all angles and just as elegant as geometric shapes on a holopage. Cool skin pressed against his own, hot and slick with need, touching him everywhere, rose a steam between them, eating all the air, driving him to take his breath from one who no longer needed it....
A hand on Stan's shoulder sealed the final nail in his short time, and he wailed his finish to the LEXX, at once embarrassed and dismayed. Certain who it would be, knowing it meant endless teasing until death, probably even after death -- Xev'd freeze him just so that she could wake him up every now and then and laugh at his perversion -- Stan turned slowly to face his accuser.
Kai stood before him, silent and still.
Stan didn't know what to say. Or how to say it. Or any of those other girly things, come to think of it.
So to speak.
Finally, Kai spoke, his voice as calm and measured as always. "What is it you seek from me, Stanley?"
"I ... I ...." The former security guard swallowed the libido that suddenly tried to climb from his balls up his throat and out his mouth, and tried again to form coherent words. "I'm not sure?" Stan watched the younger ... older man and tried to guess his reactions. While he knew himself not to be the best judge of either character or emotion, he did remember what he had heard about the Brunnen-G, richly decorated snatches of story, song, and legend.
A romantic people, given to philosophy and art and culture. Dreamers and Doers and Singers of Songs. Builders and Thinkers and Righters of Wrongs. Strong and fierce, whether they be at war or in love. Everything they did, they did with emotion; no one had ever accused one of them of being understated. They fought hard and lusted hard, but everything had proper stages of place and time and reason. Stan recalled that hair played some part in the wedding ceremony, could not recall it exactly, but knew it had to be why Kai's hair was so long and so artfully upswept and braided behind him.
Kai was unmarried.
"I want," he began again, "to stroke your hair. To touch you. To remind myself that I'm alive."
Stan saw that his companion had not moved during his musings, nor during his short speech of wants. This both concerned and frightened him.
Shuttered dark eyes peered behind heavy curtains, seeping into his sodden soul, thrusting darkness into the light, burning water into his air and earth. And Kai saw into his heart and knew. He knew, as Stan did, that lights led to water, hidden and deadly by time and by fate.
"Very well." With that pronouncement, the former assassin deftly coded his cryochamber with some commands before taking Stan by the hand and leading him toward the glass coffin.
"Wait." Kai stopped; Stan drew back slightly. "Why are we going there?"
"I must sleep as my supply of protoblood is limited. It is also private." A glance flitted his way, veiled in something Stan could not identify, something delicate as a cloud of lacenwings. "I have set the chamber to open in ... a short while ... so that you do not freeze."
"No fear of that." Stan felt as if his blood was going to shoot out his ears, and his pants fit rather more tightly than normal, particularly where the wet spot was. Yet, uncomfortable did not matter right now as he followed Kai into the chamber and settled in the bunk. To his surprise, it was firm but molded itself around their bodies. His shock must have showed on his face.
"The surface presses close to occupants to ensure that nothing is wasted." Kai's soft voice sounded right in his ear, warm puffs of not-breath rushed into his body, warm where the rest of him was cool. His lust's clothing, almost silken and textured of a vaguely reptilian nature, pulsed with warmth, pouring down his back like a molten river, seething right to his pleasure centers.
"Nothing will be wasted," he heard himself say before diving into the boiling water's depths, tasting the glow of the glittering soul shining within his lover, within himself. The water tasted like home.
After all, still waters ran deep.
Please feed the Muses.
© 1997 evermore4@verizon.net
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