Tell No One

Tell No One.

Chapter 4

“Explain”

Vua Rapuung’s words had caused a knot of indescribable tension to form in the shaper’s stomach. Her headdress too echoed the feeling, by knotting its tightly packed tentacles together in a somewhat ornate fashion. At least they had lost their disorderly motion, Mezhan Kwaad thought to herself.
It was with a great deal of perplexed agony that the shaper realized she knew not how to respond exactly. For one as analytical and articulate as she, this was sheer confusion of the purest form. It would not matter what she responded, she reminded herself, he could only rely on his words to discredit her, a master shaper could surely be trusted more so than he…could they not?
Even so, Mezhan Kwaad tried to choose her words as carefully as she would have plucked a tissue sample from the nutrient tanks of her damutek.

“You do not already know? I think the answers you seek lay within your own mind.” She began, shapers hand tensing, should she infuriate the warrior, she would need to dispatch him quickly. Yet Mezhan Kwaad hoped, for selfish reasons alone perhaps, that it would not come to that.

Vua Rapuung’s expression was benign enough, but the subtle movement or tension of bunched muscle beneath his tattooed flesh, were clearly interpreted by the maa’it implants that beset the shapers shimmering green eyes. Even his subtle changes in body temperature displayed his confused frustration – amongst other things.
That sent a unfamiliar shiver down Mezhan Kwaad’s nerve laden spine. Lust, she thought at last after a moment, it rolled off him in heavy waves, she too only mirrored it, yet in a more controlled way perhaps. Such things did not come easy after this length of time, not through this much conditioning.

“You have inflicted upon me something I cannot seek to explain myself,” He responded after a while, “This…ache, this pain is like no other, these thoughts…I cannot be rid of them! I thought that by coming here, it would slay any illusions my mind may have concocted of…” Rapuung seemed to choke on the last few words, his mouth went unbearably dry and he shook his head once to indicate that he was going to say no more. Some things were, perhaps, best left to the silence.

Rapuung’s words had been harshly spoken, almost scathing in fact, but that did little to deter either of them. Mezhan Kwaad had taken no offence to them, harsh, scathing…this was Yuuzhan Vong life, the only way she had ever known. What she was about to respond however, could be seen as condescending – and warriors didn’t seem to favour those who gave them impromptu reminders. Filling in the gaps Vua Rapuung had left to the eerie silence, Mezhan Kwaad spoke up.
“What you seek is forbidden to all of Yun-Yuuzhan’s children, shapers of my rank more so.” She needed to be sure, adamantly certain. If Rapuung faltered now, this could never be. If it had been down to her and her alone, the gods would have nothing to do with it, because they too were nothing – a myth, a tool. This was perhaps the best way to gage his reaction. When all was said and done, would he be willing to step over the line?

Vua Rapuung was taking his time to consider her words, thought perhaps not as thoroughly as some of the religious fanatics among his caste would have. His continued stoic silence must have unnerved the shaper some, he thought, but there was little he could do about that until he had made his choice.
Inwardly, the warrior turned her words this way and that, his every emotion was warring with a deep rooted dedication to the true way. But doubt had long since planted a seed in his mind, one which grew veraciously by the second. Instead of quashing it when he had had the chance, Rapuung had nurtured it, allowed it to grow, flourish, and now he knew – it would surely consume him.
Every fibre of his being ached for her cruel touch, as it ached for the boundaries by which they were both bound, to be broken. The gods had turned a blind eye to such forbidden acts before, even his brother had all but admitted to it! Why should they not be lenient here? He had been nothing but devoutly loyal to the true way all his life – as well his multitude of implants and gloriously spectacular scars showed – if he were just to take this one thing for himself…

Vua Rapuung gazed back at Mezhan Kwaad as longingly as any warrior could. She kept her feelings well concealed enough, but every so often he would catch little glimpses of something less inconspicuous going on behind those peculiarly enchanting eyes of her’s - small yet delicate slips in her resolve.
The shaper was raw temptation.

“The gods have woven the unthinkable between us,” He began, his voice softening some, “Yet I have thought of nothing else all cycle but –“ The warrior cut his words short again, letting out a growl of annoyance at his inability to speak what it was that plagued his mind. One question that he added silently to himself,
‘What if the gods truly have turned a blind eye? What if they have given us special dispensation?’

“Yun-Txiin and Yun-Q’aah have dared Yun-Yuuzhan’s wrath before,” Mezhan Kwaad pushed ever so gently, “Who are we to say they would not dare to do so once more?”

Vua Rapuung’s obsidian eyes glittered with surprise, was this a sign from the gods? Or could this mysterious shaper see more than their caste suggested with those multifaceted eyes? No, the only creature that possessed that magnificent quality was a yammosk, the telepathic many tentacled war coordinators that were bred, not shaped.
This had to be some form of sign! The shapers’ words had echoed his very thoughts at that moment, the gods had to have heard them.
The warrior felt near giddy with astonishment intermixed with trepidation, he wanted to exclaim aloud his thanks, but to do so was to risk turning the eye of Yun-Yuuzhan upon them all. He would keep his peace, and give silent thanks when he was once again alone in his minshal. This was far less a victory as it was insightful.

Mezhan Kwaad continued to watch him expectantly, the incandescent glow of the succession pools dancing off her figure, adding a sense of motion to her stock-still form. Even her tendrils had stilled to a mild quiver every so often, coiled down tightly to her scalp as they were. He was responding positively, Mezhan Kwaad’s analytical mind deduced. His bunched muscles had relaxed some, the levels of stress hormones, she had detected with one of her multitude of internal implants, had faded next to nothing.
A smouldering ember sparked to life within her heard, renewing her sense of weigning hope, the need for this. She could feel her tendrils stir, ache for his attentions, though the notion as to why – she could not explain. It was forbidden to touch the head in her domain, many had fallen afoul of that in the past, yet here she was, wishing for the forbidden yet again.
Her tendrils were not the only part of her that craved his dextrous attentions, she had wondered what it would be like to feel the fiery embrace of another, often. What it was to simply feel, be lead by something other than conditioned doctrine. Now it seemed that moment was nearer than it had ever been in her initiate years, she would hold onto that with all she could muster, multi implemented hand and all. Even the intensity with which that thought had sped through her mind surprised her. What had this warrior done to her? What madness was this?
And yet she knew, every lust-soaked part of her knew. Her thoughts were saturated by him, there would be no escaping from this, nor did she wish there to be one.

Analytical mind made up, she took several steps towards Vua Rapuung, feeling the intensity of his gaze upon her with every well placed step she took. Tendrils dancing in curiosity, flicked up and then curled in slow deliberate movements as if to taste the air for the first time. She raised her shaper’s hand slightly, drawing close enough to touch the warrior.
He did not flinch, did not shy away or look upon her with suspicion. Whatever Mezhan Kwaad were to deal him, he would take, embrace. And as if it had never been absent from her mind, the shaper found that resonance in his dark eyed gaze. A deeper understanding for which there were no words. Her hand ghosted over his gaunt left cheek, falling down his neck – but never once making full contact with his sweat sheened flesh. It came to rest over his chest, her multi implanted hand sending her sharp jolts of glorious pain in throbbing bursts, indicating a heartbeat below the surface of his ribcage.
Perhaps this was why masters of her caste never took lovers, she thought, one could never truly lose themselves before they were reminded that they were a shaper again. Caught forever in the unending analytical processes and protocols yielded to them by the divine. It would have almost been sad, but Mezhan Kwaad had given up on pity in the crèche of her domain.

Closing her eyes, tired of analysing all she saw, she committed his gaze to memory.
For now, Mezhan Kwaad simply wanted to feel. Embracing him fluidly, she felt him return the embrace, strong arms enveloping her willingly, eagerly – holding her close. No words, not a sound passed between them in the split seconds before their lips met for a painfully sublime and passionate kiss. And for the first time since her birth year, Mezhan Kwaad could truly say she had felt.


Tell No One,

Chapter 4: Part two

She had expected him to be hesitant at first, but how wrong, she realized, she was.
Vua Rapuung deepened their kiss, tongue caressing hers so seductively the shaper felt her fingers curl at the tips, grasping and breaking the soft flesh held beneath. Rapuung tensed, but took the pain as well as any warrior of his rank should. He was, perhaps, trying to assert himself in some minor way, it was not a common situation for one such as he to be in after all – set upon by a high ranking shaper. And, Mezhan Kwaad thought with much amusement, she could not have that.

Warriors, she had come to learn, were a proud and arrogant caste, perhaps it was the years of conditioning that made them this way? But she had yet to meet one who wasn’t determined to assert their authority over those who challenged them in some way.

Shaper’s hand trailing ever so lightly down his spine, she gave silent thanks for the fact he only wore the customary loin-cloth that the majority of warriors wore when not attending to more prestigious duties, or about to go into battle.
The various sharpened, and sometimes delicate, implements adoring the eight fingered hand, travelled the patterns woven by the tattoos and intricate fissures embellishing his blue-grey skin.
Vua Rapuung broke their feverous kiss but for a moment to savour the sensation of a white hot pain, intermixed with a subtle sense of pleasure. It curled its acidic way up his spine and exploded in a flourish of intense agony near the base of his skull.
He had heard the rumours of what, exactly, shapers could do with their intimate knowledge of Yuuzhan Vong anatomy and their mystical protocols, but never had he imagined sensations this delectable. Nor had he imagined their effects so…sudden.

The warrior gasped sharply, feeling Mezhan Kwaad’s spitefully beautiful hand wander over his spine, as if sensing out the right spots to inflict more delightful unfamiliarity’s on him. Her elongated, dextrous fingers teased and manipulated the nerves beneath their spiteful touch, and the delight Vua Rapuung saw echoed in the shapers eyes was immeasurable as she observed the ways he tensed and pushed against her touch.

She drew him close once more, his lips found hers quickly, his hands exploring the fine contours of her body through the stainless white oozhith that hugged her skin as if it were her own flesh.
Vua Rapuung’s head swam with the heady scent of his shaper temptress, wishing that he could become completely intoxicated by it alone. A silent reminder of what he hoped would soon transpire here. He allowed a deep guttural growl to escape him as their lips parted again, there was no doubt left in his mind, any flicker of a doubt that may show it’s self would be quashed in an instant. Every fibre of his being wanted this, wanted her.
His hands on her were feverously hot, merciless in their motion, but nowhere near as painful as her hands were bound to be in their touch.
Before, the warrior had seemed content to tempt and tease the shaper through the second skin of the oozhith, it’s cilla delving deeper into her pores, causing a familiar sting to rattle her nerves wherever his fingertips applied pressure. But now it seemed Vua Rapuung had grown impatient – a common fault with warriors – he was already grasping at the living garment, prying it away from her pallid skin.

Mezhan Kwaad could feel his breath, falling in warm, shallow exhalations against her lips, his lust filled gaze fixated on her with a burning intensity. The shapers senses were more alive with sensation now than they had ever been, perhaps it was the allure of the strictly forbidden, but this far outshone any of the heretical acts she had performed in the confines of the damutek.
It was selfish, for no good but their own, and yet she craved it – the unknown, and sharing these unknown territories with another…with him. Could they really take these next few tentative steps? Or perhaps more poignantly, could Vua Rapuung turn his back on centuries of strict doctrine? Mezhan Kwaad could not give him the chance to reconsider his chosen path.

The shaper pulled away from him suddenly, and a certain nervous tension coiled in Vua Rapuung’s muscles. Had he been wrong in his assumptions?
Mezhan Kwaad had turned on her heel slowly, deliberately taking in the sights and sounds of the succession pool cavern, the sound of water filtering in through the damutek’s roots, fed by an unseen source, the bold mernip youths coming up for air before diving back beneath the surface of the clear water – renewing their glow through much needed oxygen.
Maa’it’s reflecting the little light there was, the shaper stopped once again at the edge of the main body of water. Taking a moment to regard her reflection, distorted by the water’s gentle motion, she waited – listening. It was not long before she heard him take several steps toward her, stopping only when there was barely a hairs breadth between them. Large, strong hands were placed gently upon her slender shoulders, the shaper could almost see his questioning gaze as his reflection joined her own.
She would have smiled with a deep satisfaction, if she had not thought the risk of his conscience rearing it’s fanatical head was not still liable.

“Mezhan…”
She felt his lips brush her earlobe enticingly as he spoke, his voice deep and saturated with lustful promise. Tilting her head back and round to one side as if to respond to him, she captured his lips in a tantalizingly teasing kiss – silencing him in an instant. Now was no time for words, she thought as she leaned back into his warm, inviting embrace. Her kisses left him near breathless, and when she was sure he would surely crack, Mezhan Kwaad took one last suggestive glance at him, before delicately stimulating the oozhith she wore, into detaching it’s self from her form. The living robe rippled slightly, before beginning it’s fluid retractment of deeply secured cilla, flowing down her body inch by blissfully painful inch to finally pool at her feet. Giving the warrior no time to respond, she slipped into the cool water of the succession pool before them, relishing the faint sparks of pain that still echoed in her nerves from the oozhith’s detachment.

Rapuung’s eyes glittered playfully, this had just become more interesting, he thought as he observed her, now looking back at him with the same expression she had worn when they had shared in their amusing banter the day cycle before. Just as it had then, her expression spoke a thousand words of the forbidden to him, daring him to go that one step further. Daring and damning him at the same time, for he knew once he went through with this – and gods he wanted to – there would be no going back.

Mernips feeding on the silt that had come to settle at the pool’s black yorik coral floor, scattered as a large, tattooed foot was planted firmly between them and their source of nourishment. This was shortly followed by another as the warrior stepped into the luminous, cool water to join the shaper in her impromptu bathing.

This was far from inconspicuous should they be disturbed, but as they both fell into the other furious embrace, all caution was thrown to the wind.
‘Let the god’s fury rain down upon us!’ Mezhan Kwaad thought viciously, ‘Let them show their wrath now, if they truly existed, they would not allow this to continue, to let this go unpunished.’ There were no gods, and Vua Rapuung would come to know that too, in time.

Clawed hands renewed their pliant worship of ritually adorned skin within the proximity of the warrior’s hands’ path. Every so often, he would draw blood with one deft movement of a taloned digit, drawing out a hiss of aroused anticipation from his forbidden love. It would scar, that had been his aim – for all time such marks would be a silent reminder of the precious and passionate moments they had shared here. One only they could decipher. No priests and their rituals of sacred union, no needless ceremony to confirm their dedication to the true way of things, just them and them alone.

Mezhan Kwaad allowed a slight elongated gasp to escape her lips as she felt Vua Rapuung’s hands finish their fine and detailed work. As intricate as the work of a shaper, and twice as attentive – he was a rare and exquisite breed to say the least.
When she lifted her still searingly sore leg to examine the fresh wounds through the glassy surface of the water. She nodded approvingly when she noted their close proximity to those inflicted on her by the priests during the ceremony that had occurred the day before.
Lowering her leg - ignoring the pain that assaulted it, nutrients in the ever flowing water causing her wounds minor discomfort – she turned her attentions back on the object of her affection, pushing him back against the wall of the pool, his hands quickly vacating their prior resting place to steady himself as she pressed herself against him, lips crushed to his, drawing out another growl of pure and blatant arousal from Vua Rapuung. Indeed, this was made all the more apparent by his now painfully hard malehood, pressed firmly against her inner thigh.

She looked at him then, fixing him with that look that was pure, raw temptation, her tendrils coiled and unfurled as seductively as she writhed against him, beneath his ministrations – goading him on silently.
He shifted suddenly, taking her by surprise - that was evident in the brief startled shiver that ran through her shapers headdress in waves. Mezhan Kwaad bit out another small gasp as she was lifted slightly, turned, back now braced against the very wall the warrior had been pushed against only moments before. Positioned precariously as she was, weight now supported by the warriors firm grip on her, she felt the tip of his throbbing malehood now press teasingly against her all too eager sex.
Surprise still painting her flushed expression, the shaper clearly struggled to hide her own arousal, eyesacs darkening was not merely a sign of Yuuzhan Vong anger after all – among other things.

Mezhan Kwaad saw conveyed in the warrior’s eyes, his own lust fuelled but silent challenge to her. This whole thing, everything leading up to this moment had played out like two rivals warring for primacy. Their little mind games with each other, all of this, a mere echo of a larger call to challenge that both had heeded well. A challenge that the shaper was going to meet with a need laden fury.

Meeting his mischievous gaze, the shaper wrapped one leg around Vua Rapuung’s taut waist, then agonizingly slowly – relishing a sensation so alien to her, she had to give voice to it – she lowered herself onto him, sheathing his hard length within her sumptuous warmth.

Rapuung’s eyes lost some of their focus, instinct taking over from a higher level of control, unable to keep himself from thrusting the extra distance into her slick velveteen folds. So caught up in his own unexpectedly sublime pleasure was he, that he barely heard the shapers’ cry. Mezhan Kwaad had won this small victory, but this was not over yet.

Initial shock fading, the mist of sublime sensation dispersed some, and the temptress that she was, began to move against him in rhythmic motions, reciprocating as the warrior began to thrust into her, meeting her rhythm. The shaper’s vision blurred into a haze of exquisite, tormented ecstasy, and somewhere at the back of her mind most occupied with her vaa tumour, Mezhan Kwaad could vaguely recall thinking that the spiteful, jagged coral implants that adorned shoulders and torso – cutting keenly wherever they made contact – were not the only things he had modified.

Picking up his pace, Vua Rapuung continued to thrust into her warmth, tension within him building with every movement, every touch. His nerves were alive with sensations like no others he’d felt before, both pleasure and agony driving him towards his release, his need for her thriving in the moment. But when he thought his senses could reach no higher level of awareness, she reached out to him, his tactile love. Drawing him close, her kisses – lust incarnate as the hand she had reached out to him so tentatively with, snaked around to cradle the back of his skull almost affectionately. Mezhan Kwaad lingered a moment, before lightly nibbling on his lower lip – lightly being just enough to draw blood. A sumptuous distraction, she thought, feeling a needle thin spine push it’s way painfully from the index finger of her shapers hand.
The tension within her too was rising to a level she could barely contain, his thrusts drew her ever closer to the unavoidable edge.

Spike-littered implants, scored her flesh in numerous places that the shaper knew she would certainly feel come the day cycle, Vua Rapuung delighting in the slight whimpers of anticipated bliss she afforded him, each time a new spine made contact with her sacred flesh. And just when she felt herself teeter on the edge of sweet oblivion, she drove the needle like protrusion at the tip of her index finger, part way into the flesh and sinew that covered the base of his skull.
A pain more potent than any he had ever encountered during numerous escalations, exploded like acid upon his nerves, rendering his vision to nothing but a white mist of agony – descending upon him – but with it, in its wake, came a rapturous, searing pleasure that tore into his senses. He too gave voice to a feeling so exquisitely extreme, there were no comprehensible words, and as he did so, he was pitched firmly into his release.

Feeling her forbidden lover firmly in the ruthless grip of orgasm, Mezhan Kwaad abandoned any control she still had, letting his last, furious thrusts tip the tenuous balance within her. Nestled firmly in the embrace of agony born pleasure, she felt herself tense around him uncontrollably, giving herself over completely to the waves of her own orgasm coursing through her writhing form.

For several long moments they lingered where they were in their lasting embrace, enjoying the last ebbs of sweet sensation and passions spent. They had taken that final step…taken each other, there was no going back.
But as they rose from the water, to rest upon the banks of the succession pool, neither of them paused for second thought – content to simply bathe in the afterglow of their forbidden tryst, resolute in their dedication to a secret that they would keep forever between themselves.