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"To the totality of purposes of the perfect Law there belong the abandonment, depreciation, and restraint of desires in so far as possible." - Maimonides
The Legion contact protocols never mentioned much about tercie sexual politics and norms, other than don't fuck under-developed species. They made the penalties stiff enough that only a few brave souls made the effort, which made for wild and unbelievable stories that became Legion apocrypha on tercie sex. Frankly, most of it was nowhere near as salacious as what was known about Entitled appetites, but Entitled used sex for commerce and contract as much as (if not more than) for pleasure, which took some of the titillation out of the gossip.
What most tercie worlds did have were a dizzying mix of sexual mores: who could fuck who, how, when, with what, which, in a universe where anything was possible, made for fascinating, if improbable, bunk talk.
When Jupiter made it amply clear she wanted Caine in her bed as well as in her life, he'd spent an illuminating few weeks trolling Google in between their frantic and often all-to-short sessions kissing and touching in Stinger's barn, in the little hideout he'd kept in the big tower, on the breakwater by the planetarium - moments stolen from their acclimation to Jupiter's new (and yet not) life.
It was in the barn, both of them strung tight from weeks of furtive and interrupted indulgence, that Jupiter undid his pants, asking, "Please," and "Can I?" and "Do you want?" and he said yes, and yes and yes, tipped her head back and bit her throat. That first time was as much awkward and uneasy as it was glorious, as they both edged around their expectations of what the other would want, but by the fourth time, when Jupiter, hips rolling under his, desperately working toward another release, half-begged, half-demanded him to hold, to not to come yet, Caine had flown right to the brink at her words even as he panted, "As you wish, your Majesty," against her sweat-slick skin. He fucked her through two more orgasms, wanting to crawl out of his own skin with frenzied need as he begged, "May I come, please, your Majesty, please?"
Time had stopped as Jupiter, eyes wide, watched him tremble. Silence stetched between them, pulled him further and further from his tightly-held control, which snapped into white-hot, agonizing relief when she stroked a finger along his cheek and said, breathy and astonished and aroused all over again, "Come for me."
As he lay sprawled over her after, gasping, a little dizzy, a little confused that something as simple as an orgasm could feel like that, like he'd been spun out of orbit, helpless and grasping and burning, all he could think to say was a fervent and earnest, "Thank you."
There was more Googling after that, and a few very frank discussions about what she wanted ("Is it creepy that the one part of being a space queen that really excites me is you on your knees?" Caine tipped her chin up, kissed away the self-conscious moue of her mouth then sank to his knees before her. "No, your Majesty."), about what he wanted ("I'm a soldier. I... like orders." Jupiter traced the line of his jaw, bit her lip, cheeks flushed, and asked, "And discipline?" and Caine swallowed hard. "Yeah, that too.") all of which ended with them both sweaty and sated, and a little closer and clearer on how they fit together.
Todays' revelation was that Earth tercies had some weird ideas about position during sex as it related to dominance. He asked Jupiter about it, and she sighed. "Yeah. The last guy I dated had to be on top or he felt emasculated, but then liked to accuse me of topping from the bottom, so, he was kind of a douche all around."
Caine shook his head, pinning her to the bed as he slid into her for the third time that morning. Tercies. As if his physical position over her when they fucked had anything to do with that. It made no difference if he was fucking down into her, fingers tight on her hips to hold her still, teeth at the pulse in her throat. He was hers, and she was everything.
Sure, he might hold her down sometimes, tie her hands above her head, leave bruises and bites under the swell of a breast or high up on the inside of a thigh, but it would be only at her command, and only at her command that he would come, when he was slick with sweat and aching for release, just like now, hips stuttering against hers as he fucked her slowly, just as she liked. He asked, just to hear the shiver in his voice as he begged, "Your Majesty, please, please let me come," to hear the lazy pleasure and power in hers as she denied him yet again: "Not yet, Caine. Just a little while longer."
He gritted his teeth and slid his hands down her thighs, cupped his hands under them and pressed them back, spreading her wide as he leaned in and got his knees under him to maintain the slow, steady pace his queen commanded. Urgency thrummed through him, like he would split open from the need, the pressure in his belly, in his cock. "Jupiter, please, can I, I can't, I have to..."
Jupiter stretched up to stroke his brow, down the line of his nose. She rolled her hips and squeezed, and he swore under his breath. "Mmm, no. Just a little more. A little slower."
Once lazy morning they'd played for hours, until he was wound spring tight, and when she came over him for the last time, riding him hard, she kissed him gently as she eased off, all languid, contented bliss. "Come on. Let's have lunch."
She'd helped him dress, pulling his pants up over his hips, fastening them over his straining cock as he panted, fingers curling into fists at his side. They'd eaten, Caine struggling to focus as she brushed against him, stroked his arm, fed him bites of egg and toast with her fingers. Then she dragged him out of their little apartment to the market, where he forced out nods or quiet a "No" when she offered up something for his opinion, when all he wanted to do was kneel before her and bury his nose between her thighs and beg to taste her, to rut against her until she stroked his cock or allowed him to do it.
After the market she led him down to the lakeshore, the cool breeze off the water cooling his flushed skin even as she settled on his lap and kissed him: his mouth, along his jaw, the tips of his ears, the tendons corded tight in his neck because she rocked her bottom against him, making him squirm and gasp. Caine panted, "Fuck, please," against her lips, licked her fingers when she pressed them to his mouth to stop his pleading.
"Right here?" Jupiter teased, her breath warm against his ear. "In front of all these people?"
Caine cupped her face in his hands and licked at her mouth. "If pleased you, your Majesty, I would go to my knees right here and worship you with my tongue, touch myself until you gave me release."
He got a moment's satisfaction at her sharp inhale and the flooding scent of her arousal. "Touché," she said with a wild grin and pulled him to his feet, discretely helping him adjust his erection to be slightly less obvious, burning away that hard-won moment of smug victory in a flare of desperate need at the firm drag of her fingers along his aching cock. "Let's go home."
At home they'd made dinner, Jupiter's gentle commands to "mix this" and "chop that" all that kept him tethered to the moment, and after, as they sat curled on the little couch, ostensibly watching a movie, she'd scraped her fingernails up the inseam of his jeans. He smelled her desire, but when he tried to touch her, she tapped his nose and shook her head before she slipped her hand down the front of her pants, between her legs, and wiped her wet, slick fingers across his lips before she went back to her slow caresses.
When she finally led him to bed, she pinned his wrists and took him in her mouth, worked her tongue from base to tip, then rode him, coming three times (she made him count them) before she collapsed to the bed. She drew his hand to his cock, wrapped his fingers around it, and cupped hers over them as she urged him to stroke himself. "Jupiter," he pleaded, and she shook her head, forcing his hand into a steady rhythm until he writhed on the sheets, lost to anything but her scent and the desperate ache that consumed him. He teetered on the razor edge of pleasure and pain as she nipped his hipbone, bit his nipple, and then along the line of his jaw to whisper against his mouth: "Come for me. Now."
The whining growl startled him when he realized it came from his throat and release hit him like a nova, everything in him expanding out in an ice-white blaze of sensation. He flung his hands above his head, desperate for purchase as he bucked his hips, Jupiter's small, smooth hand on his cock dragging out the shuddering waves of bliss until he rolled away and gasped against the sweat-soaked sheets.
"Caine?" Jupiter's worried voice brought him back over to face her, and she cupped his cheek. "Was that okay? You didn't safeword, but oh my God; you look like you're not even in there-"
"Fuck yes," he managed, pawing at her arm, desperate to reassure her as a gentle lassitude flowed through him, slurring his "Yes, my queen, my queen," as he slipped helplessly into sleep.
It had wrecked him enough to scare him a little, made him useless to protect her for that whole day and for the hours before he finally woke in the middle of the next in a disoriented, boneless sprawl (which filled him with guilt and made Stinger roll his eyes and say, "Clearly me and the highly trained guards I supervise are utterly useless, eh?"). Jupiter sat curled up by the head of the bed with her tablet, a bottle of water - which she handed to him - a beautiful smile, and a soft, warm kiss.
It was the best night of sleep he'd ever had in his life. He hoped she'd do it again someday.
But not today, not now because he wouldn't survive it, not when his thighs burned from the slow, steady thrusts, when her sweet, ripe scent saturated every breath he took.
"Can you keep going? You can for me, right?"
It was rhetorical - he'd never deny her this, and she knew it - and he squeezed his eyes shut, panting against the swell of her breast. She'd let him ride right to the cusp every time he'd been inside her that morning, then teased him back to the edge over and over while she came down from her release, fingers and murmured admonitions of "Don't come. You can't come yet," feather-light on his skin. "Yes, your Majesty."
"Oh, you're so good, Caine." Jupiter dragged her fingers down his chest, over his abs, to curl them around his hips. Her thumbs settled into the hollows there, stroking gently and pulling a whimper from his throat. "So good." He loved how she praised his control, marveled at it, took so much pleasure in it, and wondered if he should admit he practiced this for her, bringing himself to the brink, again and again, denying himself so he would be ready for her to deny him.
She wriggled under him with a satisfied sigh, and he bit the soft skin of her breast to anchor himself, to hear her gasp, to smell the shift in her scent. "I was thinking," she said with remarkably conversational tenor, "that one of these days I should tie you down, all spread out, and just leave one hand free so you can touch yourself while I fuck your mouth. Maybe leave you like that the whole day, make you stroke yourself all that time but not come, while I sit in that chair over there and watch you. Tell you when to start and stop, how fast, hard or soft."
"Blood and bone, Jupiter." Caine dropped his forehead against her shoulder, worried the rounded curve with his teeth, fucking into her harder until he felt her fingers dig into his hips. The first time she'd idly described in vivid detail what she wanted them to try next while he was buried inside her, he'd come hard enough to see stars.
That had pleased her to no end, and she often took agonizing advantage of that reaction. "Maybe I'd lay next to you and make myself come again and again, so you can smell me and hear me but can't touch me. Just yourself. Until that's all you can think about, smelling me and begging to come. And you know what?"
Caine summoned a strained, shuddering, "What?"
She reached down between them, and he felt her fingers slipping around her clit, around the base of his cock buried inside her. Then they were in his mouth, wet and slick and he licked and sucked at them frantically. "I'd say no."
He lost control for a few seconds, fucking into her with abandon. A sharp tap on his nose brought him back, and he shook with the effort to hold still, delighting in her grin at having pushed him that far, that close to breaking. "Okay?" she whispered, and he nodded. She kissed the corner of his mouth, tipped his forehead to hers, and said against his cheek, "Good, because I want your mouth on me now."
Caine stared at her and managed, barely, not to whine. "You're terrible."
"Watch that tongue. I want it in me, not sassing me."
"Jupiter, please. Let me... I need to..." He rocked into her, slow and deep, just as she liked. "Please, your Majesty. Please let me stay inside you, let me come inside you, let me come..."
She tried to glare sternly, but the smile quivering in the corner of her mouth ruined the effect. "Caine, your mouth, now, unless you want to take up the topic of your orgasm tomorrow. I can pencil you in around 3?"
"Tyrant," he muttered affectionately against her throat, and she laughed breathlessly, joyously, as he dragged out of her and shuffled down the bed and licked the wet sheen from her thighs, licked up to bury his tongue in her, drown in the scent and taste of her. He was too close to get as completely lost in it as he usually did; the silk slide of the sheets against his cock gave no real friction as he helplessly squirmed against them, no use in tipping him over the edge he so desperately wanted.
Not that he would even if he could. Not until Jupiter said.
Still, his awareness faded enough that when her fingers wound into this hair and tugged his mouth from her slick skin, he had no idea how long he'd been tasting her. She flushed from her cheeks to her nipples and sweat rolled down between her breasts - she'd probably come at least twice, and was on the cusp again. "Come for me, Caine."
He held on by a bare thread at the command, just enough to say, "With you, Jupiter. Please, with you."
Jupiter dragged him back up, up inside her, up to her mouth to lick the taste of herself from his lips as he groaned and fucked into her hard, until she shuddered under him and gasped his name over and over, and only then did he let go. The tight coil of relentless longing freed in a brilliant burst, streaking down his spine and burning through him, a fevered bliss that stole his breath and turned his heart to thunder as he came with a strangled, inarticulate shout.
A quiet, "God, I love you," eventually worked its way through the river-rapid rush of his blood in his ears, followed by, "Seriously, I love you, but you're really heavy."
With a contented grunt, Caine flopped to the side. Jupiter immediately sprawled over him, legs tangled with his, a hand over the still-wild beat of his heart. He slung an arm around her and wriggled until he could bury his nose in her hair. Fatigue rolled through him in a slow, cresting wave, a tranquil langour he'd only ever known in Jupiter's bed. He'd never once dreamed his body could relax so deeply, or that his thoughts could still outside of a hunt - another gift, among many, that she'd bestowed upon him. His jaw cracked in an enormous yawn, drawing a drowsy, easy laugh from Jupiter. "Someone needs a nap."
"Mmhmm." He nipped at the curve of her jaw. "Someone keeps tiring me out."
"Good tired, though, right?"
Caine twined his fingers between hers, over his heart. "Perfect."