My first thought when I awoke was how much I really wanted contact with my essie. They could tell me how long I'd been out. They could also tell me whose tongue was in my mouth.
Yeah, I've been told my priorities need adjustment.
I tried to pull away, but whoever had me stuck in a lip lock had one hand firmly wrapped around the back of my skull. Mr. Molester had his other arm wrapped around my waist. I scrabbled for his fingers, trying to break one of them like I'd broken Creepy Stalker Guy's digits.
Or that's what I attempted. I could barely move my arms. I was still stuck in high viscosity accel gel. My eyes popped open on more darkness, and I did the only thing I could do. I screamed and bucked like a wild thing.
Cut that out!
I recognized that disturbingly smooth baritone. Creepy Stalker Guy had me in his clutches and was having his way with me. Of course, to do that he had to get me out of the acceleration couch. There was no way to get into or out of an Imperial Dress Uniform in a couch. With two of us inside it was difficult to even move beyond sliding back and forth.
I pushed away from him again and realized his arm around my waist wasn't the only thing holding me in place. We were still piling on the gees, accelerating as fast as the little shuttle would go. Decelerating, really, since I was on top of him now, instead of being crushed under his weight. He made a better resting spot than the side of the couch. At least Creepy Molester Guy was useful for something.
Just when I thought he might not be a mass of useless flaming clutter, he spat in my mouth. A steady stream of something blood warm forced its way down my throat, half of it going into my lungs before I thought to swallow. Mint, lime, and cayenne filled my mouth. My nostrils burned in sympathy. I hated spicy food, and this bastard was forcing me to breathe it. With him pushing goo into me, I couldn't even keep screaming.
For the first time in my life, my clone father's memories came in useful for something other than historical trivia. He'd worked with telepaths in the past, and I drew on his knowledge of how to pull my scattered, flickering thoughts into one coherent statement, pushing it outward with all the disgust that filled me.
That's really gross.
That finally got a reaction from him. The flow of lime slime stopped, and his chest went tight beneath me. Tighter. My gut clenched as I realized why he was moving normally in this stuff. He had full augmentation. I was no slouch when it came to hand to hand, and despite the stigma of being a Blank, I'd even been elected team captain of my dodge ball team during my last year in the Outer Rim fleet's school ship. None of that mattered. Creepy Molester Guy could literally break me in half without hardly trying.
It's not my idea of a good time either, Middie.
On top of all that, he was a telepath. He couldn't read my mind without my essie's cooperation, but father's memories told me telepaths could read body language well enough they didn't need to read minds most of the time. He would know what I was about to do the moment I thought about it. I was trapped in the dark with Creepy Molester Guy and I couldn't even see.
That, at least, he could do something about if he had full augmentation.
Can we at least have a little light?
A moment later the lights filtered through the glop surrounding us. I could see, sort of. Acceleration gel was normally transparent, sort of like well-made dessert gelatin, but my earlier struggles had frothed things until the whole couch was full of cloudy green goo. All I could see clearly were Creepy Molester Stalker Guy's eyes. My stomach clenched, and I inadvertently gasped in another lungful of minty lime glop. CMG's voice was smoother than my clone father's memories of hundred-year-old whiskey. His eyes made me forget all about that. Flecks of fiery red sparkled in a field of cinnamon; his pupils drawn down to tiny dots. I stared, entranced, watching the pretty, glittery eyes. His lashes were a darker shade than his eyes, but still had gorgeous auburn highlights, and his eyebrows followed the whole red-brown theme.
Pressed up so close our lips were touching; I couldn't see much beyond his eyebrows and cheekbones. Even that limited view was enough to start my heart pounding. It was absolutely unfair. Creepy Molester Guys were supposed to be overweight, greasy, and whiny, not slim, seductive, and smooth. I pushed feebly at him again.
A little space, please?
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Having to say 'please' grounded me, lighting an acid fire in my belly to replace the butterflies. No matter how hot he looked, this was the guy who stalked me for days, dislocated my hip, and forced himself on me. No matter how weird relationships in the Corps get, stalking does not equal romance, and rape does not beget love.
Do you have enough gel in you to keep from passing out?
If it weren't held in place by acceleration gel and Creepy Molester Guy's lips, my mouth would have dropped open. The past few minutes replayed in my head. Whoever this guy was, he'd saved my life not once, but twice. First, he caught me mid-death-plummet, then forced the oxygen rich acceleration gel into my lungs when I was suffocating. My brain was still doing flip flops when his mocha caramel voice slipped into my head again.
I guess not.
Yummy voice or not, his mouth still tasted of tacos and mint. He got me again; when I tried to keep from swallowing the disgusting glop, pressure forced more of the slime into my lungs. The stuff tingled as it went down, the way air will when the ship's oxygen feed is set a little too high. Some blew back out my nose, since Creepy Stalker Guy, now demoted back down from Molester, didn't have fingers free to pinch it shut. I forced a thought through the sensory overload of whiskey voice, hot minty lime slime, and fiery oxygen sweetness.
Enough!
The flow of gel cut off instantly. Sudden realization of how much I needed the air kept me from blowing it back out through my nose. Instead I held my breath, hoping there was enough oxygen in the gel inside me to keep me awake until the shuttle was done with the high gee maneuvers. That thought lead to another. I wanted to kick Creepy Stalker Guy's ass for, you know, stalking me, but with his demotion from Molester to Stalker I no longer wanted him dead. I sent out another thought, secretly wishing I didn't have to let a Stalker into my head even this much.
What about you?
His eyes crinkled, although from so close I couldn't tell if it was from anger or amusement.
I'll be fine.
With that, he went silent and still, his gaze fixed on my forehead. It meant I couldn't look him in the eye, couldn't make him acknowledge me if he chose not to. He still held me in place, our lips locked together. I wanted to struggle, but the whole low oxygen thing made me stop. Acceleration gel has oxygen in it, but not as much as you might think. Full augmentation lowered the body's need for it. Creepy Stalker Guy was enhanced. I was trapped with a stalker who was either a Senior student or worse, a fully augmented Imperial Serviceman. I was still a Middie, still short of my sixteenth birthday, and still completely unaugmented until my essie got permission to start the decade long process.
At least he wasn't spewing slime down my throat anymore.
The shuttle's autopilot wonked something at us, but the gel was too frothy to carry the sound properly. A ship's AI would adjust for something like that, but the idiot autopilot just wonked again, then went silent. A few seconds later, Creepy Stalker Guys' gaze met mine again, his eyes narrowing.
I need you to slide down a bit and...
He must have felt my tension skyrocket at that point because he stopped mid thought. His arm slipped away from me, the gel sliding in to replace it. With the heavy gravity it held me in place nearly as well as he had. The hand behind my head shifted, turning my head to one side. He forced me to turn through the gel. My other option was to let him snap my neck, and I'd had enough brushes with death today.
One hand on my head, the other on my hip, Creepy Stalker Guy turned me around until my back rested against his chest. I tried to wriggle free again, but all I managed was to grind against him in what he probably thought was a come on. Disgusted with my inability to defend myself, I went limp, saving my oxygen for when it might do some good. He took the opportunity to push me down until my head was level with the top of his chest. Of course, that also ground my butt against his crotch. Greased by the gel, levered down by the force of his hands on my shoulders, my hips slipped between his spread legs. I hoped the increased gravity ground his gonads into guacamole, but between the gravity, the gel, and the lack of oxygen, I was still helpless.
Stay loose. It will hurt less that way.
Of course, I tensed when he said that. I had no idea how he thought he was getting at me through my dress uniform pants, but some guys with full augmentation could tear through small arms proof cloth like cardstock. He slipped his arms around me, one around my breasts, the other around my waist. I had no idea what he was doing now. Despite plenty of guys harassing me back in my old fleet, I'd never indulged in sex. That subject was yet another my clone father's memories had in abundance, although I shied away from them.
Of course, his memories took the opportunity to play out scene after unwanted scene of he and Grace going at it with clothes on. One or both of them fully clothed, even one particularly vivid image with him in full battle armor and her wearing nothing but lightning and a wicked grin. Those images were absolutely not what I needed at the moment.
Will you quit squirming?
Creepy Stalker Guy's voice in my head brought me back to myself. On the one hand, I was thrilled to find a less painful way to short circuit my dear old clone father's hated memories. On the other, I could tell I'd been reenacting some of those memories. I hated him oh so very much, in new ways each and every day.
This is really going to suck.
Great. I was going to be molested, and not only did my parental unit's memories of grinding help my molester get his jollies, Creepy Stalker Guy wasn't even enjoying it. My self-esteem slipped down another notch, and despite my resolve to struggle against the creep I went completely limp.
Gravity chose that moment to push every ounce of gel in the compartment up my nose. The fiery sweet smell of oxygenated slime forced its way into my brain, Creepy Stalker Guy's groan reverberated through the couch compartment, and then, mercifully, everything went black.