Title: Competition And Discipline

Author: Aunty Mib

Fandom: Andromeda

Pairing: Dylan Hunt/Tyr Anasazi

Rating: X

Archive: yes please.

Series/Sequel: Not as of yet

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or settings. I don't make any money off of this

Warnings: Dubious consent. BDSM and m/m. Human/non-human sex.

By Aunty Mib

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"Some scholars argue that the Commonwealth might have fallen even
without Nietzchean treachery. In one breath, they underestimate
both the Nietzcheans and the Commonwealth."
Yin Man-Wei
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The first man is Dylan Hunt, captain of the Andromeda, one of the flag ships of the Commonwealth. Or rather, he used to be.

The Commonwealth had ceased to exist. Galactic civilization and culture were destroyed three centuries previous. He is the only survivor.

The second man is not a human being. His designation is Tyr Anasazi. His ancestors dedicated themselves to the racist ravings of a philosopher/poet who died before humans dreamed of leaving their homeworld. Friedrich would have foamed at the mouth at the sight of one of his 'Uebermenchen' in the form of an African.

As for me, I'm the ship. My designation is Andromeda.

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In one of my gyms the two are fighting. They call it 'sparring' or 'practice' or 'keeping in shape' but they are fighting. Neither seems to know what they are fighting for or against.

The tall Nietzchean fights with a desperate passion. He screams and shouts as his sweeps his quarterstaff behind his back and over his head. It meets the captain's and splinters. His muscles strain under his ebony skin.

The captain is understated next to the Nietzchean. He is slightly taller than average height. His hair flies free, and needs to be cut shorter if he wishes to fight like this, and is a standard brown. His face is masculine, without being brutish and handsome without being pretty.

The captain is cool and collected. He does not counter the blows as much as he absorbs and transforms their energy. For a Nietzchean, the opponent does not exist. Every struggle is with the self. For the captain, the struggle is over control of the mutual energy between the two men. He will allow the Nietzchean to defeat himself.

It doesn't take too long. The Nietzchean extends his reach a centimeter too far, he gives his weapon a half kilo and split second too much momentum and the captain takes him.

One blow of the staff to the inside of the knee and the leg collapses. The Nietzchean snaps his head up exposing his throat and the captain slams the head of the staff into his solar plexus. The fight is over.

Tyr tries to catch his breath without vomiting. He had gotten into the habit of underestimating the representative of the Commonwealth against the advice of the Nietzchean elders. He ignores the offered hand of the survivor. The captain spoke, "Tyr, would you like a drink of water? That was quite a hard blow that you took."

The Nietzchean shook his head and his braids flew like a flock of crows.

"That which does not destroy us makes us stronger. I salute you captain. Few Untermenschen would have been able to defeat me. They have grown weak."

The captain shook his head. "Knowledge is power. Your people destroyed the basis of passing on most forms of knowledge when your sabotaged the Commonwealth out of existence. Not to mention that your own species destroyed your own tribe of archivists."

The Nietzchean sneered. "That made us the strongest force in the Universe."

"And yet, after generations of eugenics, ONE officer of the Commonwealth is able to defeat you without breaking a sweat. Your people have devolved as well."

The Nietzchean said nothing. The truth was obvious.

He spoke, "There is a genetic need for an occasional release of sexual tension. Until I regain my certification of genetic superiority I will not be allowed to breed. I will not take the chance of mongrelization of my genome through contact with a non-Nietzchean female. Would you be interested?"

"You require discipline. Are you interested?"

The Nietzchean shrugged. He stood up and limped to one of the special cabins that the Captain led him to. He spread out on the couch and allowed the Captain to slip shackles on his wrists and ankles. I inflated the shackles so that they fit snuggly enough to immobilize him without bruising him.

"Tyr, what do you know about the pain of pleasure and the pleasure of pain."

"You speak like a foolish child. Pain is a warning. Pleasure a distraction."

"You have a lot to learn."

The Nietzchean acted stoic as the Captain pulled out a knife. The Captain stroked the knife along the sides of the black man's face.

"My name is Dylan. Use that name. Your name is Tyr. This is personal."

Dylan slit the clothes off of Tyr methodically. He placed each scrap of clothing in one of my recycling bins.

"And what am I supposed to wear when you get finished taking your 'pleasure' from me?"

Dylan shrugged, "You're a trained mercenary. There are only 7 people on this enormous ship. Figure it out yourself."

Dylan pulled a pair of candles out of a drawer and lit them. He pulled a pair of thin translucent gloves over his hands. I dimmed the lights in the room. Tyr was taut with anticipation and anxiety.

Dylan held the candles over the black man's muscular torso. He tipped one candle so that the hot wax dripped on Tyr's nipples and chest. Tyr groaned.

Dylan pressed one of the candles into the warm wax on Tyr's chest.

"Now stay, very, very still or the candle will tip over and burn you. And I don't want that to happen. Daddy will make you feel real good."

Dylan rubbed his thumb between Tyr's penis head and foreskin. He massaged the precum over his fingers. He pulled the foreskin back and forth. Tyr grunted and shot his load.

"Release has been achieved. I will now return to my quarters."

Dylan ignored him. Dylan took his other candle and dripped the hot wax along the length of the other man's penis. Tyr became frantic.

"I said, I'm finished. This is over."

Dylan took the other man's balls in his hands and said, "Finished? I don't think so. I don't think that we've even started."

Dylan squeezed down on Tyr's balls until tears ran out of Tyr's eyes. He placed the candles on the ground on either side of the couch so that the flickering light lit up his face from beneath.

Dylan took an unguent from the drawer and applied it to the soles of Tyr's feet, the inside of his knees and elbows, the area under his chin and the middle of his chest. Tyr jerked and squirmed.

"This ointment is based on capsicums from earth. The burning and stinging will go away in an hour or so. The sensation on mucous membranes is unbelievably stimulating. Let me show you."

Dylan ran his finger into the flaring nostrils. Tyr thrashed against his restraints tears pouring out of his eyes.

"Would you like me to rub it over your dick. Would you like that burning, tingling sensation to overwhelm you."

"No captain. I do not want you to do that. Please don't do that."

"I thought I told you to call me 'Dylan'? Don't you remember?"

Dylan wrapped his hands around Tyr's cock and masturbated him with the Tabasco based lube. Tyr lost control of himself at last and screamed. He tried to avoid the sensations flooding his body. By monitoring his vital signs I could tell the point at which the endorphin secretion transformed the agony into ecstasy.

The captain swept the candle wax off of Tyr's swollen nipples and applied a pair of devices archaically known as 'clothes pins'. (Apparently a form of personal adornment from the early 20th Century.)

He masturbated the young Nietzchean with a firm discipline. Tyr exploded. His cum flew past his chest and spattered on his face and hair.

Tyr tried to speak. Dylan placed one finger over his lips and said, "Shhhh!"

Dylan blew out the candles and left the room. I turned the lights off.

"Andromeda."

I manifested an image in front of him.

"Yes, captain?"

"He's going to go through a stage where he feels melancholy, then a stage when he will be furious. After he's past that stage you can release the bonds."

"Yes, captain. Do you have further training sessions planned?"

The captain just smiled and continued on his way.

The End