Title: After the Rescue

Part: NEW 46/73

Author: Karmen Ghia, karmen_ghia@yahoo.com

Series: TOS

Romance Code: S/Mc and then some.

Rating: NC-17

Appendices: http://members.tripod.com/karmen_ghia/atrappendices.html

See part one for disclaimers, etc.

"No, no, don't move, beautiful one," the general murmured, laying a commanding hand on Hraja's silky shoulder. "Let me look at you." He let his fingers glide down Hraja's chest to his nipple, which hardened obligingly. "We should savor this moment." Which he did for about one nanosecond before ripping off his robe and climbing on top of Hraja.

Kmordri ran his tongue over Hraja's firmly clenched teeth. "My guard is right outside, Hraja," he warned, running his fingers through the quadroon's blond hair.

Hraja relented and let the Klingon tongue explore his mouth. 'Maybe this is all he wants to do tonight,' he thought hopefully.

Kmordri slid his hand down Hraja's torso to caress the youth's hardening cock.

'Stay down, damn you,' Hraja despaired at his penis. 'Maybe this is all he wants to do tonight,' he thought optimistically.

The general ran his lips over Hraja's subtly ridged brow, pointed ears, long neck, over-large right shoulder, and down to his erect amber nipples, which he sucked to an even harder condition. He dragged his tongue along the youth's hard belly and down into his downy golden pubic thatch. Recalling the advice of his valet, he relaxed the back of his throat and exhaled as he devoured the honey colored shaft to the root.

Hraja rolled his head on the pillow and tried to think bland thoughts, conjugate verbs, something, anything not to be driven wild by the Klingon on his cock. 'Perhaps,' pant, heave, 'perhaps, maybe this is all he wants to do tonight,' he thought, desperately, stifling an abandoned moan.

Quite pleased with the way events were progressing, Kmordri decided they were both ready to move to the next level. He pulled his mouth off Hraja and rolled him over.

Hraja, recalling the valet's advice, got his arms around a pillow and buried his blushing face in it. He could feel Kmordri's breath on his back as slick gloved fingers probed him. They rubbed against the hard place behind his penis that made him feel faint, tingly and desperate. He felt warmth radiating into his muscles as the fingers, first one, then two, stretched him as they slid all the way in. The fingers withdrew and returned with a colder lotion. The last thing Hraja felt slipping past his tight ring were three fingers and then he could feel nothing but the weight of the Klingon on his back and between his legs.

Kmordri sat back on his heels and peeled off his glove. He lubed his cock before slipping on a sheath. Next time or perhaps the time after that, when his lover no longer needed his muscles topically anesthetized, he would know how this felt, flesh in flesh. But for now, this was fine as he truly did not want to hurt the youth. Kmordri had actually given some thought to how this would feel for Hraja and concluded that, inconvenient though it was, this was truly the best way to proceed. He centered his cock and pushed beyond the tight ring. He stopped when he heard Hraja's sharp intake of breath.

"Are you all right? Does this hurt?" Kmordri asked quickly, holding very still.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, it hurts," Hraja lied. He was not in pain but what he could feel of the sensation of the Klingon's cock entering him was so bizarre, so personally invasive, it was alarming and Hraja, for all the valet's careful preparation, was shocked to the core of his being.

Recalling his research, Kmordri waited for the youth's muscles to give up their reflexive fight and then pushed in a little more. "Nonsense, I'm sure you're not feeling any pain."

"But..."

"Shhhh," Kmordri gently pushed Hraja's face into the pillow as a warning that he was not going to tolerate any mischief. He continued to work his cock in a little at a time. He knew he was not hurting the youth but he wished also not to frighten him.

Hraja buried his face in the pillow and fought down his panic. This was the first time he could remember losing control of his body to another person like this. His submission was complete; he was helpless. He could stop the Klingon taking him with neither words nor actions. This was bad enough: what was the sense of being beaten to pulp or killed this evening? Hraja knew the best strategy was submission but it was so difficult to stay still when his whole mind and body wanted to leap up and run from the room to find a dark place to hide. He squeezed his eyes closed tight as he felt Kmordri's full length settle on his back and legs. He was further horrified when the Klingon reached underneath him and began to stroke his still hard cock.

"At least your body is enjoying this, Hraja," Kmordri murmured in his ear as he matched the strokes of his hand to his strokes in and out of Hraja's ass.

Deciding he didn't want Hraja to be too sore tomorrow, Kmordri lengthened his strokes enough to bring them both off quickly. He rested a moment a top the sobbing youngster before he rolled off. He lay on his back catching his breath and listening to the sobs subside. He was tired and too mellow to care what the quadroon was crying about. Kmordri knew Hraja was not physically hurt so he couldn't be crying from pain. This crying didn't sound like that anyway, this crying reminded him of crying at funerals. And, frankly, at the moment it did not interest him. He rose, stripped off the sheath and tossed it aside. The Klingon put on his robe and slippers and left without a word. He went back to his own bed and, after a brief chat with his valet, slept better than he had slept in years.

Hraja was so relieved Kmordri was gone he nearly began to cry again. He sat up, fought down his panic and pulled himself together. 'What for?' he thought in despair and flopped back onto the pillows. 'There's no one to talk to about this, no one at all.' He buried his face in the pillow again as the door slid open.

"Of course you can ask General Kmordri, but I assure you he asked me to look in on Hraja and that is what I am doing," Amanda said, entering.

Hraja sat bolt upright: "Yes, he did! I asked him to, so get out, Klingon."

The guard looked at the two unarmed and harmless beings before him, and decided he would ask the general and departed to do so.

Hraja collapsed sobbing into Amanda's arms and was eventually comforted.

"How'd you know to come?"

"I heard him pass my door and I knew he'd come from here."

Hraja buried his face in Amanda's neck. Kmordri's step was embedded in both their brains.

"It's all over now," she soothed in Standard. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, but..." Hraja wasn't sure what words he wanted. "He...he made me .... he made me helpless, powerless..." He trailed off as the door opened again.

Kmordri's valet came into the room and crossed to the bed. He waved the guard away and looked the two prisoners over with a critical eye.

"You were not summoned but perhaps you should stay," he said sternly to Amanda in Romulan, hoping she could understand. He turned to Hraja: "I understand you did very well tonight, the General is quite pleased."

Hraja started to groan but cut it short when he felt Amanda's hand tighten on his arm warningly.

"Yes, quite well," the valet continued. "It is necessary, however, that I examine you..."

"Don't touch me!" Hraja recoiled.

"....if you are bleeding you need attention."

"DON'T..."

"Hraja," Amanda said gently in Vulcan, hoping the valet would take it for an obscure Rom dialect (which was exactly what it was). "Please, you might be hurt and .... and you really don't have any choice, do you?"

The valet knew good sense when he heard it, even in a dreadful dialect, and hoped Hraja did, too. It would be unpleasant to have to call in the guards after such a splendid (as he had heard from the general) night.

"Oh, all right," Hraja exhaled and hesitated. He and the valet looked at Amanda.

"I'll be over here when you're finished," she said, moving across the room to look at the tapestry covered wall. She uncorked a bottle of Klingon brandy and poured a largish snifter.

The valet pulled a robe from the closet and helped Hraja into it and then into the bathroom. He found no significant damage but would try to convince the general to let the youth recover for another day before making his second penetration. After all, there was no rush, was there? He cleaned Hraja up and rubbed some healing ointment into the tiny tears and helped him back to bed.

"Here drink this." Amanda handed Hraja the brandy and got a nod of approval from the valet. "Would you take the message to Prince Khat that I will finish the night here?"

"I guess there's no harm," the valet said, leaving.

Amanda watched the door close and slipped into bed beside Hraja and put her arms around him. She had no idea what to say to him or even if he wanted to talk but she could feel his relief and gratitude as he curled up next to her and pulled the covers over his head. She held him all night and felt almost as helpless and useless as she had when Sarek was kidnapped.

'At least I'm here with them,' she thought calmly. 'Maybe this time I can... do something, anything to help instead of wringing my hands from a distance.'

So, she was not too distressed by Malira's 'Shut up, girl, no one is talking to the 'help' today.' At least she was around to be told to shut up.

"Please don't tell Amanda to shut up, 'grandmother' and she is not 'help'," Hraja said mildly to the ferocious Rom princess. "She is our friend."

"Yes. Please, Mother," MajaKhat murmured. After all these years he still hesitated to contradict her.

Malira rolled her snapping black eyes and refocused them on Hraja: "I want to know, Hraja. We're going to need that Klingon and if you have some special influence..."

"I have NO influence, Rom." He cut her off and crossed the room to get away from her.

Malira was raised to consider retreat to be merely fighting in another direction. She turned to regard her son, who headed for the other side of the room. She then turned to find Amanda gazing at her. "What are you looking at, girl?" she snarled at her.

"Your jewelry."

"My jewelry?" Malira was taken aback. She wore lots of jewelry but never thought about it much.

"Yes. It's quite nice."

"Thank you. I made it."

"Really?" Amanda took a tentative step forward to get a closer look and stopped uncertainly.

"Yes, yes. Come over here and I'll show you, girl." Malira waved Amanda to a seat at the table and dumped all her jewelry on it. She explained what had inspired her and how she had designed each piece, the techniques she used to cast, stamp or sculpt the metal, bone, stone or wood, her preference for opaque jewels to brilliants, for white metals over colored ones. She was talking so intensely about her art that she did not notice her son and grandson had joined them until MajaKhat spoke.

"I remember when you made this, Mother," he said picking up a heavy necklace of intricately filigreed platinum encrusted with stones. "I was eight and you let me choose the order of the stones."

"Do you remember how you did it?" Malira asked, amused.

"Of course. I rolled them in my hands and poured them in a line and told you to start from the eastern end." Master Khat smiled at his mother. "And you did."

"It was good advice as you can see, my son." Malira patted his hand. She looked at Amanda and back at MajaKhat: "Why is this girl here? She is ... too fragile for this part of the galaxy."

MajaKhat told her the story of their abduction and how Amanda had stayed by him and Hraja to offer whatever aid and comfort she could, regardless of the risk to herself.

"So she is the most dangerous combination in a woman," Malira said, rising. "Loving, brave and fearless. Admirable, but those kind of women don't last long out here. However, they do make wonderful martyrs and we'd have almost no mythology without them." She lifted the necklace MajaKhat still held in his hands and draped it around Amanda's neck. "You might as well have something pretty to wear as long as you last." Malira paused as if forming the word in her mind before her mouth. "Amanda."

"Why are we here, Mother?" MajaKhat asked after a short silence.

"You haven't guessed?" Malira asked. "You're about to become the Emperor of the combined Klingon-Romulan Empire."

"You can't be serious, Mama."

"I'm as serious as a phaser barrage against an unfortified position." Malira looked hard at Hraja. "This wondrous consolidation of Empires was engineered by the Klingon your Hraja refuses to discuss with me."

"That ... thing arranged this all by himself?" MajaKhat was horrified that their health and welfare were in the hands of that ... thing, KmordriYhet.

"Weeeeellll, he had some help. My father and ex-husband did us all a big favor by dying so conveniently close together and without obvious heirs. Except you, that is. KmordriYhet's uncle is the Klingon Imperial Regent until tomorrow and then he becomes the Supreme Imperial Administrator of Klingon and Klingonese space. My cousin, Prince Adrajesi, will become the Supreme Imperial Administrator of Romulus and Romulan space. This is just a front, though, KmordriYhet will run this end of the empire for his uncle. With my help, of course." She paused to beam at Hraja. "That's why I'm so pleased you're leading him around by the nose, my grandson."

Hraja simply stared at her.

"And what am I supposed to do in all this, Mother?" MajaKhat asked.

"Hmmm?" Malira broke off her contemplation of Hraja. "Oh. Stand up straight, look good at Imperial functions, sire an heir off one of these females I picked out for you and generally do whatever else you're told to do."

"I see," MajaKhat sighed, realizing there was no point trying to reason with his mother when she was in this galaxy conquering mood. "You know, Mother, we're all rather fatigued from our journey. Do you suppose we could meet again after a few hours?"

"Of course, my children." Malira rose and swept from the room.

MajaKhat, soon to be Maja I of the Klong-Rom Empire, turned to his son and his mistress and said two words: "We're fucked."

* * *

"You must be joking," the Hierophant Kroldt said to General KzijietHaat. "He's a priest and a painter and now he's an Emperor..." He trailed off, staring at the vid screen before him.

"OUR Emperor, Kroldt. A creature of the Yhets' now."

They watched the vid of the Coronation in silence. Neither wondered who the dark haired woman standing behind Princess Malira was.

* * *

"Oh my god. Please tell me this isn't true, Ripley," was all Admiral Jessup could manage to his aide as they watched Maja I being crowned emperor by the Most Holy Meta-Pashtun of the Most Holy Romulan Church.

* * *

"STOP IMAGE!" Spock was on his feet and, for him, ashen.

"Sector image. Close on sector 8." Kirk's voice was flat with shock. McCoy next to him was speechless. "Magnify. Close on sector 8.1. Magnify. Close on sector 8.6.2. Magnify. Stop."

"What in god's name is she doing on Romulus?" McCoy whispered into the stunned silence of the bridge.

* * *

"I believe we have discovered the Lady Amanda's whereabouts," T'Pau said to Sarek the Vulcan.

"Indeed."

* * *

"She makes a great brunette. Wonder why she's never tried it before," was all Hobie had to say about Amanda's appearance at Maja I's coronation. He, Jir and Maja were watching it in one of the three little ships moving very quietly through Romulan space.

"Did you see Hraja? Help me look for Hraja, Nolo. Scan back to the beginning, wide angle, slow." Jir was upset and doing a bad job of hiding it. How they were going to 'rescue' the Klong-Rom Emperor, Maja I, his son and their 'friend', the Vulcan lawyer had not a clue.

"Malira," Maja hissed. "What's that crazy witch up to?"

* * *

"What did Laninin say?" Ling asked Qhoshi, his lead empath whore, confidante and Managing Director of Talljet Inc.

"He liked the music," Qhoshi answered dryly, referring to Maja I's coronation vid, which she'd played for Laninin, the son Yrit and Gvo had sold to the Talljets five years ago.

"You'd think all that prophetic Magidrian, Cmovi and Phol blood could give us a forecast on the future instead of a music review." Ling was testy because here, on Dhrgestera, he was so far away from the action and he was worried. Seeing Amanda but not Hraja on the vid had shaken him badly. He was very concerned for all of them and simply wanted everyone home and dry.

"Wait 'til he hits puberty, Ling," Qhoshi murmured in her low, warm voice that had coaxed the secrets out of a thousand beings. "If we live."

"Don't be negative, Qhos. Things are bad, but not that bad." Ling wondered if he was convincing anyone, least of all Qhoshi. Since he had settled the Commune on Dhrgestera, they had been joined by Jir's theater company, which had recently been kicked out the Orissian Empire by the Sultan. He was tired of Jir roaming the galaxy, and of feeding his actors in his absence. Smig, Jir's secretary, and Phr-tolnet, Jir's co-star, had sent a frantic message to Qhoshi when things became really difficult on Orissa. And that fine lady had simply sent a ship to bring them to Dhrgestera, found them a space to rehearse in, put them on a strict allowance and left them to their own devices.

Qhoshi was a busy woman. She was the only other non-Talljet, aside from Stez, Ling's lover since W. Vul. Prep., who had Ling's complete trust. She had earned it and treasured it. They had met in a temple on Yzreina where Qhoshi was about to take her final vows to become an oracle priestess. The Yzreinains, especially the women, are a highly empathic species. Jir had recently finished the business plan for his joyhouse and required four to six Yzerianians or Ocacatarians for it to succeed. He wound up with three Yzerianian females, two Ocacatarians males and two Deltan orphans, a brother and sister, that looked after the housekeeping and garden. (These last two he'd won in a card game on Brophria and they were useless except for being good natured, tidy and easy on the eyes. Ling made sure they had good educations and offered to set them up somewhere but they preferred to remain with the 'house'.)

Qhoshi had been born into the priestesshood and never thought she'd do anything but spend her life contemplating the mysteries of the Yzerianian Oracle. Ling had simply mentioned that it was a big galaxy and it had plenty of other mysteries to contemplate and that was all it took, that and a long look into Ling's gentle eyes - she and two sister novices packed their bags and left with him. She had traveled quite a bit, with and without Ling, ran the joyhouse with precision and compassion, managed the day to day affairs of Talljet Inc. in Ling's absence, and, along with the other empath/telepaths, she looked after Laninin. Qhoshi had spent her life around empath/telepaths but she had never seen a child so strong. With a firm but gentle upbringing he would probably become an oracle. Without it - a monster. Qhoshi and the other joyhouse residents had been dubious when the baby Laninin had come to live with them but in time they had grown to love him so much his removal had become inconceivable. The Deltans, understanding Laninin's orphan state better than anyone except Ling, had adored him from the gitgo and had carried him around like a doll until he could walk on his own. (He adored them, too.)

"Look, Qhoshi, I'm a little nervous," Ling confided. "Things are bad and I've a feeling they're going to get worse."

"Yes, as I was saying."

"Yes, exactly as you were saying, my dear, and right as usual." Ling smiled at his friend and Managing Director. "Here's the worst case scenario: the planet systems around the Tossarian Autonomous zone decide they smell blood, try to push into our space and drive us out of it. We've lost the oblique support of the Klingons and the united Klong-Rom Empire is going to lull everyone that doesn't know better into a false sense of security. I suspect the fighting will come down this way and push against the border of Federation space. Well before that happens, I want you to take everyone to Vulcan, to the Sas and lay low until the storm passes."

"All right, Ling, wonderful big picture, let's do some details." Qhoshi like to know exactly where every stone might be. "Exactly what systems are you worried about?"

"The Ertig system has been restless for years. The Mvovlris, Drobshri, Sovla, and Brishrji systems will follow the Ertig if they think they can improve their position."

"When all they'll really do is splinter and make themselves vulnerable to the Klong-Rom Empire or whatever."

"The Klong-Rom Empire is doomed to fall apart, it's merely a stopgap to avoid a war until the two empires can work out who they want on their respective thrones. It's in everybody's best interest not to start another Klingon Romulan war. That's how poor MajaKhat got dragged into all this, he's just a figurehead until the real power emerges. However, I doubt those idiot Yhets can keep the peace. I've a very serious feeling we're in for another nasty Klong Rom war. In that case, our space and the systems around it that are in the non-aligned corridor between Klingon and Federation space will be pushed against Federation space to avoid the fighting in Klingon space."

"Ling, most of the galaxy outside of the Federation would have to be at war for that to happen." She looked into Ling's eyes. "Unless it's already started."

"It has, Qhoshi. It started when the Tziviian Pirates decided their Autonomous zone was too small and the Tossarian Pirates were too weak to be a threat anymore. Too weak because the Tossarians didn't finish the 'invasion' they started last year. The Klingons have gone from that area and the Roms are quieter than usual due to the problems, now solved, of imperial succession. Also, the Federation has thinned out their border patrols in this quadrant because the isolationists on Terra want to forget this end of known space. This has given every scalawag from here to there the idea that none of the three major powers in the known galaxy will lift a finger if they decide to grab some more space. And, you know, dahling, they're right."

"Aren't these scalawags afraid of the united Klong-Rom Empire?"

"Not as long as the Yhets, now the major clan there, are too busy consolidating their own power and settling old scores to notice the rest of the quadrant going to hell in high heels. The non-aligned space folk will simply grab as much as they can and sort it out with the Roms and the Klongs later. In the meantime, the amount of damage they can do to us is astronomical."

"I see. Well then, perhaps Laninin did say something useful."

"Which was?"

"He said he enjoys will be enjoying to enjoy being in the hot dry place."

"Vulcan."

"Vulcan."

* * *

end of part 46

This story also lives at http://members.tripod.com/karmen_ghia/

Appendices: http://members.tripod.com/karmen_ghia/atrappendices.html