The next day, Raynor woke up on his creaking, broken mattress.
The aches felt like the Emperor's petty reminder of his daily heresy, but the real punishment would come if he let Sarah slip back under full Hive control.
He couldn't wait for her to regain strength.
Time strike while the iron was hot.
After changing into the least filthy set of oil-stained coveralls he owned, he skipped most of the usual scavenging run.
He returned to the purification pool vault far sooner than yesterday. No pipe-slugs, no fluorescent fungi, no industrial grease.
Just him, a half-full squeeze-tube of emergency nutrient gel, and the insistent throb between his legs that the System had been quietly amplifying for the last eighteen hours.
The pink arrow was already flashing when he crawled through the vent.
[WARNING: Target is on high alert. Multiple lower-tier Tyranid life signals detected.]
Same dozen Hormagaunts. Same coiled Sarah in the corner, forked tongue still rasping over the crystalline scab on her forelimb.
The instant his scent reached her, every gaunts' head snapped toward the gate—then hers.
He didn't hesitate.
"Activate Dialogue Protocol."
The drill-through-the-temple pain hit instantly. Hormagaunts froze mid-leap. Sarah's towering frame jerked upright as though marionette strings had been yanked.
A long, furious hiss tore from her throat-parts, but her body couldn't move.
[Stasis field active. Mental Strength dropping rapidly: -11… -14…]
Raynor stepped through the rusted gate, palms raised, voice low.
"I didn't bring dead things today. I brought milk."
He unzipped the front of his coveralls.
His cock was already half-hard from the System's passive tampering and half from his own twisted fetishes.
Sarah's compound eyes contracted to pinpricks. A ripple of confused pheromones rolled off her—anger, disgust, and something else the Hive had never named.
[Raynor]: "You need biomass. Real biomass. I'm willing to provide."
He stroked himself once, slowly, letting her see the bead of pre-cum catch the faint fungal glow.
[Sarah]: (mouthparts twitching, a wet clack-clack-clack)
[System Translation]: Revulsion. Recognition of mammalian reproductive chemical signature. Hunger conflict detected.
"You're starving," he continued, stepping closer. "The wound's eating you faster than you can regenerate.You need foreign code. Something your adaptation protocols can actually use.
"Mental Strength: -19."
He was running out of time before the field collapsed.Raynor sank to his knees in the shallow sewage, close enough that she could have gutted him if the stasis broke.
Instead he reached out—very slowly—and guided the tip of her uninjured forelimb toward his groin. The serrated edge hovered a millimetre from fragile skin.
"I'm going to feed you," he whispered. "Not through your stomach. Through a different opening. You have the anatomy for it. I've seen the way your lower plates flex when you're stressed."
Sarah's whole body shuddered. A long, keening sound—not quite rage, not quite pain—escaped her.
He didn't wait for permission the System wouldn't let her give.He pressed the blunt head of his cock against the seam where her abdominal plates met the smoother, softer ventral membrane.
The surface was warm, almost feverish, and slick with the same thin, sweetish ichor that leaked from her wound.The plates parted—just enough.He pushed.The first inch sank into humid, ridged muscle that immediately clamped like a living vice.
Sarah's entire frame spasmed, a guttural, wet hiss exploded from her maw.
He didn't stop. He increased his pace, pleasure overwhelming his brain.
It felt like fucking the inside of a velvet-lined gauntlet designed by a sadist.
"God…" he groaned, hips jerking.
Sarah's head snapped forward, mandibles wide. For one terrified heartbeat he thought she would bite his throat out.
Instead her long, black tongue lashed out—forked, dripping—and wrapped twice around the base of his cock where it disappeared into her.
The forked tips stroked the underside of his balls in slow, deliberate drags.
She was tasting him.
Raynor gripped the edge of a rusted pipe for balance and began to fuck her in earnest—short, careful strokes at first, then longer, letting those inner hooks of her cavern rake him on every withdrawal.
Each time he bottomed out he felt something deep inside her ripple and drink, pulling nutrient-rich fluid straight through the thin membranes that lined her reproductive tract.
Her tongue tightened, stroking faster, almost encouraging.
Mental Strength: -28.[WARNING: Synaptic overload approaching.]
He didn't care. One hand found the base of her wounded forelimb. Very gently, he pressed his thumb against the edge of the crystal scab. The moment he did, her inner walls clamped down so hard he saw stars.
She was feeding.And she was learning.
"Smart girl" he breathed.
The next time he pulled back her tongue followed, dragging wetly along the entire length before plunging into the slit at the tip, probing, tasting deeper.
The forked ends flicked around his crown and he came with a choked shout.
Pulse after pulse jetted straight into her.
He could actually feel the nutrients being absorbed—warmth spreading up her ventral plates, the crystal on her forelimb visibly dimming, shrinking by a millimetre.
When he finally stopped shuddering, Sarah's tongue uncoiled slowly. A thin strand of mixed fluids connected them for a moment before snapping.
She exhaled—a long, shuddering hiss that almost sounded like relief.
[Stasis field collapsing.]
[System Prompt]: Unusual biomass accepted. High compatibility detected.
Energy value: Extremely High.
Injury recovery progress +18%.
Favorability +14.
Current Favorability: -35.
Raynor collapsed backward into the sewage, chest heaving, cock still twitching in the cold air.
Sarah regarded him for a long moment—compound eyes no longer pinpricks, but slowly dilating facets.
Then, very deliberately, she extended her tongue once more… and licked the remaining mess from his softening length in one long, possessive sweep.
No translation appeared.
She simply turned away, curled back into her corner, and resumed grooming the slowly-healing wound.
Raynor stared at the ceiling, heart hammering."At least for today," he rasped, "I'm not biomass."A new line blinked onto the interface:
[Daily Task: Daily Feeding — Alternative Method (1/1)]
Reward: Favorability +3~8 (guaranteed non-negative)
He laughed—hoarse, exhausted, half-mad.
The 41st millennium really was going to kill him.
But not today.