This is set waaay back in the Second Alliance Chronicle, in the first year after Zha'haabron becomes Ssii'iin. Thanks as always, Joules, for letting me play here!
Lutra.
Revolution
Blissful.
The heat of the fierce R'ren'nkh'ian sun soaked into skin the same blue as a heat-shimmered midday sky...
Gh'vaasti sighed, shifting slightly in his nest of floor cushions, trying to find a comfortable position, something that was getting more and more difficult to achieve the closer he came to the end of this hosting. The young zn'hre squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to concentrate on the sensation of heat playing over cool skin. Far better for his equilibrium to sink into a heat-induced stupor than think about... things.
Change had come swiftly to R'ren'nkh'ia, and to the zn'hre. The first Gh'vaasti had known about it was being brought out of his small cell, into his master's presence and gruffly ordered to leave with the handful of grim, hairy aliens waiting there in the main chamber. He'd stared, shocked into incomprehension. What? Go with them? Why? Had he done something wrong – was this a punishment? He'd searched his master's face for clues but Kk'slaaril's glowing, gold eyes were shuttered – the big lizard wasn't giving anything away. Trembling and fearful the zn'hre had done as he'd been told. He'd left the fortified enclave that was all he'd ever known and boarded the transport with the strangers. A ph'ti'pa, small and non-threatening, had greeted Gh'vaasti and told him he was now under the protection of the Ssii'iin – no one would hurt him ever again.
As if that wasn't hard enough to comprehend, he was taken to the Ssii'iin's enclave, an enormous finger of stone jutting up out of the desert, and that's when life became even more unsettling. Gh'vaasti was allocated a small suite all to himself, given ample food for the first time in his life, treated with courtesy and gentleness, and told if he wanted for anything all he had to do was ask. For someone who'd been regarded as little more than an object and kept on the edge of starvation to ensure his docility this sudden concern for his welfare was bewildering. But still, he was guarded, if circumspectly, and not allowed to leave his rooms. Which was fine as far as the young zn'hre was concerned, he was really too scared to consider leaving and where could he run to anyway?
What did the Ssii'iin want with him?
A fearfully large one of the hairy aliens, sporting a thick, black mane that swept down his back to his knees, had come to see Gh'vaasti shortly after he'd arrived. Gh'vaasti had stared up at his visitor, pale-gold eyes widening in nervous apprehension. The creature wasn't quite as big, physically, as his master but he radiated a raw, brutal power that dwarfed the va'ha'da's presence. And yet he approached Gh'vaasti slowly and kept his voice subdued. He'd lowered himself smoothly to sit cross-legged on the floor, so he was looking up at the young zn'hre, clasped his massive hands lightly in his lap and smiled. The alien - a disquieted 'vaasti realised - was deliberately trying not to frighten him. The creature introduced himself, though his name was unpronounceable, and identified his species as Saiya-jin. Despite his secluded life Gh'vaasti had heard of this race and gained the impression that while his master didn't like them he was respectful of their strength. What R'hoi... something said next made Gh'vaasti blink: Zha'haabron – a zn'hre – was now Ssii'iin, but more astonishingly this R'hoi person was the Ssii'iin's bondmate. Gh'vaasti shook his head, none of this made sense.
How could a zn'hre become Ssii'iin?
By being far, far stronger than his sire - was the Saiyan's smirked response – and by being made to see that the reasons given for the zn'hres' treatment were all lies.
Gh'vaasti listened, open-mouthed, as the Saiyan refuted every single fact of the zn'hres' life. There was no destructive mating urge; the young did not eat their way out of the host's body, and they did not attack each other. There was no need for the debilitating drugs, or to cut the hostlings out of their host, no need to separate siblings, no need for any of the traditions – the Saiyan had sneered the word – that had dictated the way the zn'hre were dealt with for thousands of years. The Ssii'iin had made these discoveries - now there was no disguising the fierce pride in the Saiyan's voice – and decided that enough was enough, the zn'hre would no longer be slaves, brutalised and degraded. Zha'haabron had challenged his sire and won, taken the title of Ssii'iin for himself and now he was setting the zn'hre free to find their true destinies.
Proud words, Gh'vaasti remembered with a wry smile, but the reality of 'freedom' had taken some getting used to. His first meeting with another zn'hre had been nerve-wracking. Gh'vaasti couldn't remember his zn'hre host and in his eighteen years he'd never set eyes on another of his kind. Despite the big Saiyan's reassurances he wasn't entirely convinced that he, or this other zn'hre he was to meet, weren't going to react to each others presence in the way he'd always been told he would.
Lips parted, 'vaasti had gazed at the older zn'hre with something close to wonder, and arousal - there was definitely arousal, Gh'vaasti could feel it warming him from the inside – but it was simply because Vi'risiin was beautiful. The elder's skin and thigh-length hair were almost the same shade of deep, vibrant turquoise, and his large, wide eyes were an intense, shimmering gold. He was tall, broad in the shoulders, with a definite play of lean muscle beneath his smooth skin. Vi'risiin's voice, when he spoke his greeting, swept over and through the smaller, overwhelmed young zn'hre. Gh'vaasti wanted nothing more than to touch him...
"No, not yet." 'risiin's sympathetic, apologetic smile took the edge off his stepping away, "Wait a little while, until we get used to one another." Gh'vaasti nodded shakily and brought his hands back to hang limply at his sides.
"W... would you like some refreshment?" he said after a moment, feeling gauche in the silence.
"Thank you, yes," 'risiin's sudden grin warmed the young zn'hre, returning his composure.
"Please, make yourself comfortable..."
There were over a hundred rescued zn'hre in the Royal enclave and little by little they began to mingle and socialise, supervised at first and in small, uneasy groups, but as they finally came to understand they weren't going to fall prey to the violent mating urges they relaxed and began to enjoy their interactions. They shared their stories and Gh'vaasti was shocked to find he'd actually had an easy life in comparison to some. Kk'slaaril hadn't been gentle by any means but neither had he been unnecessarily brutal, and he'd only made Gh'vaasti host once a year, something of a luxury in comparison to the way other zn'hre were – had been – treated. 'vaasti had listened, appalled, to the too many stories of hostings forced on a zn'hre not fully recovered from the last one, resulting in a gradual wearing away of their health and will. Many of the zn'hre carried scars, too, disfigurements of skin and body attesting to years of appalling treatment.
He'd been lucky, Gh'vaasti realised, his master was a relatively young chief and Gh'vaasti his first zn'hre, a symbol of his wealth and power. Kk'slaaril had only shared him with a favoured few of his followers and allowed no-one else to sire his hostlings. But still, in the years since he'd been old enough to host he'd produced forty-three hostlings and been allowed contact with none of them.
The zn'hre winced and rubbed his distended abdomen, soothing the movement within. He'd been told he could keep these hostlings. The idea terrified him. He didn't know anything about looking after young, the broods had always done that! And they weren't going to be cut out of him, he could birth them 'naturally' if he wanted. Gh'vaasti shuddered, he still wasn't sure how he felt about that. He'd had the privilege of speaking to Ti'aasaan, the Ssii'iin's other bondmate, who'd been the one to discover – by accident – the truth about zn'hre births. The attractive, pale-skinned zn'hre had smiled over the comm-link, eyes twinkling as he'd described what Gh'vaasti could expect. It didn't sound too bad, it wouldn't last very long and wouldn't be anywhere near as physically traumatic as the surgery he'd had to undergo previously but even so, the idea was... frightening.
Gh'vaasti's hostlings would be among the first of the 'free' generation of zn'hre, though they'd been conceived not so much in love as ignorance. Yes, he'd known full well that a zn'hre always conceived when mated but he'd managed to overlook that fact in the flood of delirious pleasure Vi'risiin unleashed in him. That first time had been glorious, 'vaasti had no idea how good sex could be with someone who cared for his pleasure as well as their own, and afterwards 'risiin had cuddled him, a strong hand laid gently over his abdomen, smiling proudly as he sensed the ki of his – their – four hostlings. For the first time in his life Gh'vaasti had dared to believe he could be happy.
But where was Vi'risiin now? Here, ready to help look after his sirelings, as he'd promised? No. Was it Vi'risiin's semen nourishing Vi'risiin's children? No. The liberated zn'hre had been encouraged to think of their futures, to find their places in the new R'ren'nkh'ian society. Vi'risiin had confessed a desire to become a warrior. He'd decided to leave the protection of the Royal enclave – to leave Gh'vaasti – to follow this desire.
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Gh'vaasti's hurt transmuted into scathing scorn, "Zn'hre don't fight."
"We can, and I want to." 'risiin, arms folded across his chest, scowled down at the younger zn'hre huddled miserably on a floor cushion. He sighed and squatted down beside Gh'vaasti. "I'm sorry, zvi'ch, but please try to understand I have to do this." 'vaasti flinched away from the light touch on his hair, refusing to look at 'risiin, refusing to make himself vulnerable.
"Do what you want, it's no concern of mine."
"'vaasti – "
"If you're going, go now," Gh'vaasti snapped, "before I discover in myself a desire for violence."
Vi'risiin rose smoothly.
"I'll return – "
"Don't bother," Gh'vaasti growled to the floor, "we won't be waiting for you."
The striking zn'hre had sighed again then left, padding almost silently out of their suite; Gh'vaasti hadn't seen or heard from him since.
Determined not to wallow in self-pity, Gh'vaasti had taken to heart the Ssii'iin's admonishment to his people to find their futures. He had no idea what he could do, though, he hadn't been raised to do anything but accept the present. A number of the other zn'hre had already found their paths - generally in the arts, music, songwriting, sculpture, that sort of thing – but so far Gh'vaasti had found nothing that called to him. No, that wasn't quite true; he was being taught to read and write, and he'd found such beauty in the formal, flowing script he'd spent many nights staying up later than was good for him, transcribing page after page of text simply for the joy he got from making the patterns of words. His ph'ti'pa tutor said he had a fair hand, something to be proud of, but what good was just writing? It wasn't like he was creating epic stories or beautiful words of his own, he was just copying. His tutor had suggested, gently, that perhaps Gh'vaasti could use his calligraphic skills to record his history, and perhaps the histories of the other freed zn'hre? It was something to consider, 'vaasti thought, it would be more constructive than simply copying someone else's work, and aside from Zha'zhasaan's story the zn'hre had no formal history of their own. It would be good, necessary even, to record the personal viewpoints, and good for future generations to read back to the time when everything changed for the zn'hre.
Gh'vaasti stretched lazily, the idea had merit, but he didn't want to think about it right now. Right now he was living in the present, waiting for the birth of his hostlings.
"'vaasti? Are you hungry?"
The zn'hre stirred, smiling at the sweet voice. La'haaren was much older than himself, around the same height but slight, seemingly frail after a life of maltreatment. He was stubborn, though, with a core of bright metal, and once he'd made up his mind on something nothing could budge him. The dusky-blue zn'hre had taken it upon himself to care for the hosting zn'hre, keeping him company and doing his utmost to ease any discomfort, even the still-raw wound of Vi'risiin's abandonment. Gh'vaasti was very fond of 'haaren, he was companion, friend and lover, and he would probably love the hostlings as much, or more, than their sire might have.
"Not hungry, no," 'vaasti half-smiled from beneath lowered eyelids, "Not for food."
La'haaren laughed, his male part already thickening in anticipation.
"Not for food?" He slid out of the brief bodysuit and knelt beside the reclining zn'hre. Gh'vaasti groaned as 'haaren deftly manipulated him into a fast double climax and he was still panting as his lover helped position him on his hands and knees.
"... zk'vissin..." La'haaren whispered reverently as he pushed in to the responsive body, simultaneously scraping his nails lightly down either side of Gh'vaasti's spine. The young zn'hre arched back in pleasure and for the next little while thought about nothing but his body's responses...
© 2004 April 18th Lutra
