Princess of the Void

5.28. My Life With You

Four cycles into Sykora’s pregnancy

The combined governments of Earth are waiting outside on a big grassy hill for Grant’s speech. There’s a nuke pointed toward Taiikar. There’s a ZKZ pointed toward Earth. Everyone is waiting for Grant to say that everything will be all right, that Sykora is here and she’ll take care of everyone and that nobody has to fight. Grant keeps going over the speech in his head over and over but he realizes oh shit he hasn’t memorized this. He’s got like a third of it down at most. He’s going to have to wing the speech, and the speech is in three minutes and he can’t find his pants. He hurries through hallways that look halfway like the Black Pike and halfway like his old high school, crimson carpets and lines of lockers, and he’s looking in all of them and where the hell are his pants? He turns a corner and here’s the entire Eqtoran council, here’s the Governess and the Empress and the President of the United States his tenth grade math teacher, all glaring furiously at his skivvies, and he turns tail, goes dashing back into the hall of lockers. And one opens, and a tail tugs him into warm darkness. And he smells her, feels her breath on his neck.

Shhh, she whispers. You can hide here. Hide in me, my love. And he grips her tight, and feels her hips swiveling, and there’s a banging noise on the side of the locker and he’s awake, sprawled in bed, the covers thrown off him. He blinks against the lavender dawn and frowns in sleepy consternation.

His cock is gone.

For a moment of panic he thinks he’s still asleep and then a crescent of it appears, sliding out of thin air like a rabbit from a hat.

“Good morniiing,” a scratchy, feminine voice croons in his ear. “Wonder where Junior went?” The rest re-emerges, shining and slippery in the morning light. “Presto.”

He mumbles a laugh as his mind continues to part from the dream that clutched it. He reaches out and sees his hands ripple as they curve around two plump round invisibilities. “You’re so weird,” he murmurs, and pushes his invisible wife back down onto his cock.

A gasping laugh accompanies the disappearance of his junk. Two unseen hands land on his stomach. He eases his invisible wife up and down, and stares with wry, sleepy lust as Sykora rides him into wakefulness.

This is how he’s been waking up most days, lately. By nightfall she’s often too achey and tired for sex; by morning she’s ravenous.

Her hot breath is on his face. He opens his lips and a camouflaged tongue slips between them. He feels the contours of her body in the air. He knows her so well at this point that he can trace her by touch. He finds her breast, gives it a tender kiss and makes her squeak. He eases back and Junior, as Sykora called it, pops out of its tight home and back into visibility, to a groan of complaint from the woman who was warming it.

He pushes her onto her back. She falls with an adorable eek.

He finds a set of invisible shoulders and pins her to the bed. “Turn visible.”

“Why should I, Maekyonite?”

“I wanna watch your tits bounce while I fuck you,” he says.

Her silky hair flows back into visibility. Her bright eyes, her smile, her flowing curves. Her swelling stomach. “I really was planning to stay on top this time, you know.”

“Sure you were.” His touch glides across the curve of her belly to her breasts. He squeezes and watches what were once perky handfuls swell fat and full between his fingers. “They’re so perfect,” he murmurs.

“You’re just saying that—mmm.” She squirms as he buries his face between them. “Because they’re bigger.” She runs her fingers through his hair.

He kisses one. “Gotta enjoy them now, while I don’t have competition.”

He slips his hands under his giggly wife’s legs and opens them. Her baby bump is big enough now that they need to make room for it when they fool around. He carefully arranges her in the nest of sheets.

“Grant,” she pouts. Her fingers seek for him. “My guts are lonely.”

He kisses the top of her head, repositions himself, and pushes back inside, and her voice rises and cracks in a high, enraptured moan—

And the call incoming tone chimes its insistence through the cabin. An arpeggiating major chord.

His wife’s cry of pleasure morphs mid-thrust into a growl of frustration. “Who’s using the Core tone on me?” She tips her head upside down. “Computer. Hailing ID.”

“Chancellor Treivu, Majesty,” replies the smooth synthetic voice.

“Hellfire.” Sykora puts her hands up against his chest. “I have to take that. I really do. Fuck my stupid Princess Margrave life.”

This is the sort of thing that Vora would normally take care of, but the majordomo is off the ship at the moment on a multi-day intensive, cramming desperately for the accreditation exam. Grant releases his wife and gives her a parting peck on the baby bump.

“Take your time,” he says. “Should I find pants?”

“No.” Sykora holds up a warning finger as she clambers out of bed. “Do not put pants on. That’s an order.”

He kicks back into bed. “Okey-doke.”

She stomps to her vanity and eases into her seat. “Audio only,” she says. “Connect.”

A block chord dings.

“Chancellor Treivu.” Sykora slips into her smooth and formal I’m dealing with the Core voice. “A pleasure to hear from you. What is the glad occasion?”

“Majesty. Hello!” Treivu’s nasal affect prods into the room like a pampered kindek. “Er—is your majordomo not present? I thought I’d get her.”

“She’s busy.” Sykora’s tail wags. “Pardon my audio-only reception and do forgive me if I mute my microphone now and then. I was having breakfast with my husband when you called.”

“Ah. Good, good. Eating for three, aren’t we?”

“Four, in fact,” Sykora says.

“Oh, how lovely. Four children?”

“I’m one of the four, Chancellor.”

“Oh. Of course.” An airy titter. “Did you get my note?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t.”

Grant stretches and sits up as Sykora exchanges pleasantries with regal stoicism. He finds last night’s water glass and drinks some of it. He thinks about his dream again—the Earth dream. He’s had it a few times lately.

He and Sykora haven’t talked about the day since it happened. He’s still not sure what he’d say or how he feels. Some days he wakes up with that same dedication to Sykora and her annexation, some days he wakes up with fear of the Taiikari future gnawing at his entrails. Today is a good day.

“I thought we might move our check-in,” Treivu says. “I have the Princess of the Ivory Gauntlet at our usual time. She’s putting down some sort of challenger at her usual time, so... a little switch. If it’s not too much trouble?”

Sykora’s tail moves in a figure-eight through the air. She glances back at Grant. Her horns grow a few centimeters.

“No, no,” she says. “We might as well. It’s a brief agenda this time, yes?”

“Short as a song.”

Sykora’s tail is flicking in the air. Is she beckoning him over? She looks over her shoulder. The mischievous tilt of her mouth, the lowering of her brows. That is definitely a come-hither look.

“Go ahead and lay it on me, then,” she says. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay, then. First would be the meeting with the Princess of the Bright Covenant. I understand you have some, uh—hostages?”

“Prisoners, yes,” Sykora says. “Privateers that were operating outside of her non-contested territories.”

Grant climbs out of bed and comes to Sykora’s side.

“Ahh,” Treivu says. “That’s different. Isn’t it?”

“Yes, Chancellor.”

“Well, uh—have you had time to think about her counteroffer?”

“Her cousin the Marquess Palatine at negotiations?” Sykora rolls her eyes at Grant. “If she needs a core worlder holding her hand to come to the table I’ll allow it.”

“That does mean we’ll have to be using the Core clock,” Treivu says. “So I’m looking at....this twelveday, at 0900 Piketime.”

“Mmhmm. Let me just check that.” Sykora mutes her audio and gets out of her seat. “Sit,” she says. He sits.

She climbs into his lap and spits into her palm. He gasps as her hand slips between his legs.

“Shh, now,” she whispers. “Be a good boy. Mama’s on a call.” Her tail unmutes her microphone. “I’ll shift my schedule if Dantia can.”

“Oh, splendid,” Treivu says. “Now as for logistics, if you’re having a Core retinue in, they’ll be expecting the usual subsidies on transit costs.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And we’ll be looking for your security memorandum.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And I’ve informed them that your quartermaster is peerless of course, if you’d consent to cater...”

Treivu keeps prattling, and Sykora keeps humming mmhmm, and Grant can’t focus on the conversation because his wife is using both hands now, and her tail, staring into his eyes like a cat tracing a mouse, hovering her lips inches from his.

“I’ll be bringing Lomanza.” Sykora says, nearly into Grant’s mouth. “My majordomo-in-waiting. I’d like to see if she’s really as indispensable as I’ve been told.”

“There’s such a thing as a majordomo-in-waiting?”

Sykora runs her fingertip along the underside of Grant’s shaft. “Just my little joke, Chancellor,” she says, and closes her fist around it again.

“Oh.” The chancellor titters. “Very good.”

“We’re in discussions about her role. To be determined.”

“I understood that Lomanza’s placement was final?”

“Discussions continue,” Sykora says. “Shall we move on to the staffing question?”

“If you’d like.” The shuffling of papers over the line. “This is about your latest Cloud Gate acquisitions?”

“That’s right,” Sykora says. “I’ve conducted my oh—”Grant is counterattacking.

“I—I just remembered I had my notes for this on, um, on a different tablet,” Sykora stammers. “One moment.”

She mutes herself again and claws at the forearm that now buckles across her belly and teases her open. “Beast,” she whispers, but her body is insatiable for him, coating his fingers in arousal as he maps the darkly blushing lips of her vulva. Her own pumping on him hastens. His fingertips nudge into her, into the pulsing, sucking heat.

He kneads her breast and feels her hard, tight nipple push into his palm. “Dish it but can’t take it, huh?”

She takes a whimpering inhale. “I can so take it,” she says, and unmutes.

“So,” she says. “Staffing. I have, uh. Mm. Five new worlds in from the Cloud Gate expansion so far. I’ve conducted my interviews with their Governesses and determined that most of them are fit for their role under my watch. But Governesses Molax and Wreinapal I intend to replace.”

“You’re replacing Wreinapal?”

Sykora is chewing her knuckle with the hand that isn’t pumping her husband’s cock. “Uh-huh.”

“She was well-liked by Princess Kanori, you know.”

“Uh-huh. Hmm. Well.” Sykora’s thighs rub together. Her insides tweak so tight that she nearly pushes Grant’s fingers out. “I’m not Kanori. And I’m—I, uh—oh g—”

She claps her hand over her mouth; her tail flails for the mute button and mashes it just in time to block the cry that Grant wrings from her.

“Majesty?” Treivu asks. “Something the matter?”

“No, no. All’s well. I just, uh— will you excuse me for a couple of minutes, actually? My silly huseband went and, uh, spilled some tea on the carpet. I have to get that before the stain’s set. Won’t take long.”

“Oh dear. Of course, Majesty.”

Sykora slaps the mute on the intercom again, and Grant takes the opportunity to shove all the way to the base of his knuckles. She moans, long and lecherous.

“I spilled tea?” He shakes his head. “Way to throw me under the hauler.”

“Sh—shut up.” Her tail wraps around his waist. “I need your cock back in me.”

“You’re in a meeting.”

“I know I am. I know.” She trusses her hair up into a messy bun. “How fast can you cum?”

“How fast can you make me?”

“Is that a challenge?” She laughs. “Fast.” She lifts a leg to turn around. He catches it and pulls her ankle into the air.

“Uh-uh, little lady.” He grabs the other one and tugs it up to join its twin. He curls his wife against him.

“I know how to make you cum fast, too,” he murmurs in her ear.

None of his relationships lasted long, before Sykora. Too poor, bad work hours, never enough time to put down roots. He’s never had this level of sexual compatibility with anyone, ever. Every time he fucks Sykora he learns a new way to please her, finds a new wonder to appreciate on his wife’s body (today it’s the little symmetrical dimples her tail’s muscle makes just above her butt).

He knows how to recognize her subtler movements when she adjusts herself for more comfort, and separate them from the flailing she does when she’s looking for him to grab her and hold her in place. She knows exactly how far to push it, to bring his aggression out without annoying him or slowing him down. He knows the place right above her tail that makes her mewl like a kitten when his thumbs dig into it. She knows the spot on his chest where her scratchy tongue can make him shiver.

They race the clock. They pull every trick they’ve learned. He pushes the chair out and pivots it to sit them both in front of the vanity, watches the indulgent jiggle and the sleek muscle and the beautiful bulge in her belly, shiny and taut and blue like a ripe tropical berry.

He tilts her face from its twisted-back kiss into the mirror, lets her drink in what he’s doing to her. Her tongue nudges the thumb he’s stroking her jaw with. “You make me look so tiny,” she sighs.

His hands close across her baby bump, cradling it beneath his callused fingers. “You are tiny,” he says. “But getting bigger.”

She pants a breathless laugh. “Big alien brute.” Her hand tightens atop his. “Look what you did to me.”

He leans down past her shoulder and shuts her up with a kiss. In its dark bliss he feels her tighten and churn around him, doing her best to caress him with her Nura’s Belt. It’s not as easy when you’re pregnant, she’s told him. A swell of love pushes his heart against its vault, banishes the breath from his lungs.

He breaks from the kiss and closes his teeth around her horn.

“GRANT,” she yowls, and cums, her legs kicking desperately into the air.

The churn of her rippling muscle is pushing him close to the edge, and he cups his palm gently against her throat and feels the wail he’s drawing from her as he pushes in as far as he can possibly go. His movements turn slow and burrowing. He wants to feel every fold of her.

Her tilts her forward against the vanity, squishes her face against her own reflection as it fogs with her hot breath. He seizes her forearms, both of them in the span of one hand, and binds them in place behind her, uses them as a handhold to bounce her against him, while his other hand cradles up against her racing heart.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” the chancellor calls. “But whoever you have cleaning that might try some sparkling water.”

A scoff escapes Sykora between her desperate panting. “She never shuts up.”

“I know. Let me—” He sits back and shuts her legs, smushing them together, and gasps at the tightening sensation, his fingers cushioned by the plump squish of her inner thighs as he rubs her clit, and they’re so, so close, all squeezing fingers and sliding skin and hot breath.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs in her ear, and she squirms joyfully in his tight grip, back arching and tail wagging madly, and as he tugs her higher, closer, he finds an angle he’s never found before, and she howls, a drawn out, ecstatic “oh, FUCK,” and there’s a spongy ridge rubbing the head of his cock. That’s her cervix, he realizes. His cock is kissing his wife’s womb. The womb he knocked up.

His brain breaks.

A full-body shiver racks her as he gushes into her. “So hot,” she coos. “So much.”

He droops backward into the seat and lets her milk him with her grinding hips. She loves this part, loves to wring as many warm, pulsing aftershocks from him as she can.

A breathy laugh puffs the disheveled hair that’s fallen into her face. “Grant. You got my lips on the mirror, you vandal.”

There’s a patina of blue gloss against the mirror, in the vague shape of her mouth, like Sykora’s ghost is pressing against the pane. He chuckles at its gape-mouthed silhouette. “Oops.” His palms knead her breasts, caress her softening nipples, as he situates her further into his lap. “Why did you even have that on before breakfast?”

“I was going to suck you off and see how much of you I could paint blue.” She slumps her sweaty back against him and takes a deep, hauling breath. “Okay. Where was I?”

He starts to shift. She crosses her legs. “Nuh-uh. I have no time to clean up. You’re staying in. If I’m going to entertain this Inner Core liaison nonsense, I’m going to do it with my husband’s big fat Maekyonite cock in me.”

Before he can argue, she leans forward and hits the unmute.

“Thank you for your patience, Chancellor,” she says, all business again. “So. To recap our previous points, briefly. Dantia’s cousin. Fine. But the meeting will be in Black Pike. And Wreinapal is to return to her previous house. Her title of Governess is revoked, her title of Baroness is restored, et cetera.”

“Yes, Majesty. If you say so.” Treivu’s microphone crackles. “Uh—did you get that spill cleaned up?”

“Never fear.” Sykora wiggles her hips further onto Grant’s semi-hard length. “It’s taken care of. I think I got every drop.”

“Oh.” The chancellor sounds nonplussed at Sykora’s smugness re: carpet maintenance. “Oh, good.”

“Our last piece of business is the Entmok export lanes, yes?” Sykora shifts. A rivulet of Grant’s cum drips from his wife’s tight lips. He shivers as it drifts down him.

“Indeed. I have a number of promising Viscountesses I could pass to you who are ripe for being made Marquesses.”

“From the Core? Hmm.” Sykora reaches past her shoulder and rubs her husband’s scruff. “I’ll review your list. But I’d prefer to keep things internal.” With that last word she flexes something inside. Grant tries to keep quiet.

Sykora exchanges some final banalities and pleasantries with Treivu and hangs up with relief. “Gods of the Firmament keep that tiresome nag away from me for another cycle.” Her tail tickles the back of his neck. “I should take all my calls with her like this.”

“I think I poked your cervix,” he says.

“I think you did.”

”Was that a good oh fuck or a bad one?”

“It was a generally overwhelmed one,” she says. “It felt astonishing. But if you hit that little button on every thrust I think it’ll make my brain implode.”

”I guess that’s what Axyna was warning about,” he says. “That you’d get, uh—shallower. We’ll have to adjust.”

“You’re not talking about my asshole, dove, are you?”

“No,” he lies. “I mean—uh—you’re not either, right?”

She shakes her head. “It’s not nearly as elastic as the front. You’d send me to the medtech.” She plays with his wedding ring. “But if you wanted to pop a finger or something in there while you fucked my throat...”

He twitches inside her.

She jolts and bites her grinning lip. “I think you liked that idea.”

“I like all your ideas.”

“I am going to spend the rest of the day like this,” she decides.

“We have the Eqtoran Council at 1020,” Grant says.

“I am going to spend the next 80 minutes like this, then.” She takes his hands and draws them across her. “I really, really love you. I love my life with you. Do you know that? Do I say that enough?”

“Course you do,” he says. “But I love to hear it.”

She hums and puts her legs up on her desk, burrowing further into his lap.

The aching anxiety that clung to him throughout his sleep has dissipated. He kisses the top of her head. “And I love my life with you, too.”

And they hold one another, and he does love it, loves her, loves the children that they’ll have, loves everything for about eighty more minutes.

And then at the Council meeting he finds out half his Eqtoran workers are quitting.