TEN.

his lilac eyes fixated on the windshield, you could not help but feel your heartstrings being ripped apart at how caleb is ignoring you like you were of no importance. in hindsight, whenever a conflict arises between you two, he’d always be the one to step up and tie back the strings into reconciliation - but now, the tides have changed, and your heart aches.

frustration emerges until you couldn’t bear any second daring to pass by without caleb truly by your side. you finally rise from your place and step towards where caleb was, the sounds of your shoes on the mechanical floors catch the attention of the colonel. he whips his head to the side, the corners of his lips still pursed into a thin line.

as your eyes finally meet, it’s as though your sadness was vindicated as caleb stares at you with such indifference. buried in the depths of his glistening, amber tinged lavender irises is an emotion welling deep inside his heart, a spark of longing gleams within. “caleb . . .” you utter his name, grief lacing your tone.

was it really of grieving, that you already miss the person despite him being within your reach, alive and breathing?

or was it the version of him in the past, that feels like an unending prison wherein the two of you are bound by the shackles of the very memories you used to share, although bittersweet?

he hums in response, proceeding to break off the sad gaze the two of you shared. he turns away, pretending to look at the device in the opposite direction and tinker with whatever available options. however, as if syncing your mind with his, you manage to grab his wrist, the onyx, thick leather of his uniform making it harder to hold still.

“why are you like this?”

guilt washes over him yet you receive no response.

“can’t you at least pretend to be the caleb i used to know back then?”

his frail front shatters, letting his emotions take over. with one swift movement, he pulls your arm, encaging your body with his warmth - a tight embrace lolls you into an ephemeral comfort. his raven strands brush on the plane of your chest, burying his head. “would that be sufficient to truly make you happy?” despite his words being muffled, there was a hint of pain in his tone.

tears start to burn your eyes, fists balled as you hit him with barely an ounce of strength you had left. your bodies now closer than ever, straddling his legs yet an imaginary distance draws you further apart from him. caleb undoubtedly feels the same, and out of desperation, meets your pained eyes once more and softly press the margins of his lips onto yours, particularly the lower lip.

your body remains static, as if the time comes to a standstill. caleb takes this opportunity and proceeds to grip both of your wrists accordingly, raising both above your head with just one hand. his breaths begin to deepen, and yours as well, unable to take in everything that is unfolding. you couldn’t help but just wait for what he does next and caleb does not waste any more of his time.

his free hand presses a button from the bottom right corner, a hologram of option flashing the words ‘autopilot: off’. skimming over the projection with both familiarity and proficiency, he toggles the switch, making the aircraft run on its autopilot built in feature. he does all these without breaking off eye contact, the plush of your lower lips starting to swell as he unravels the chaste kiss into an open mouthed one, your saliva beginning to mix with his.

your tongues dance in a melancholic rhythm, in understanding with shared thoughts of wanting to blur the barriers separating you from him. you close your eyes and bask in the feeling, yet caleb doesn’t, intending to etch this memory as deep into his subconsciousness so he never forgets.

as you withdraw from the kiss with heavy-lidded, lust filled eyes, a trail of saliva connects your lower lips to his. he then lets go of your wrists after a minute, only for his gloved fingers gliding all the way to your chin, thumb drawing obliques on the corner of your lips. a strong sense of temptation pools in the pits of your stomach, yearning for more of the colonel’s touches and kisses. caleb picks up every detail of your body language, the previous stern expression on his face softens, a serene smile settles.

“what did i say? only i know you best . . . and can treat you best.”

a chill rakes your spine as you feel caleb’s hands toy with your breasts, stature wobbling but the male already anticipated this. a black mist emerges, the small diameter of your spatial surrounding warps, your body beginning to weigh heavier than ever. in realization, his evol momentarily holds you down, pressing your clothed region harder on his growing erection.

your brows furrow, overwhelmed, but then, the colonel wouldn’t be quickly appointed if he wasn’t as perceptive and always one step ahead of his opponent. his fingers skillfully tug at the hem of your clothing, removing the confinements of the fabric until your tits spring free, coming out in its full glory. the icy temperature within the cockpit traces shivers all over your skin, yet a foreign heat brushes over the very goosebumps.

caleb leaves kitty licks on your left tit, working his way up to the middle until the areola, the tip toying with your now hardened buds as he continually teases your body, granting him a flinch and a muted moan as a response. a strange itch starts to settle, a sense of deprivation lingers the more caleb gives your nipples attention. while your other bud is being toyed with his fingertips, he seizes the other with his mouth at this point in time, sucking on the flesh, still twirling his tongue around the bud.

a moan bubbles from your throat, unexpectedly feeling good from this foreign sensation. caleb keeps his eyes peeled open, remembering to ingrain every moment deep within, again, so he never forgets. the strange feeling sends shockwaves to your system, disrupting the harmony in your body as you begin to feel lightheaded.

sloppy sucking noises echo within the cockpit’s walls, meshed with caleb’s grunts of satisfaction alongside your moans with effort to be stifled. “let your voice out, it’s just you and me here.” he states in between breaths, still ravishing your body as if he was a predator lapping up his frail prey.

powerless before the colonel, you give in to his wishes, now letting naughty noises come undone with little to no embarrassment, solely focusing on feeling good. your mewls play an alluring tone to his ears, as if they were a reward for him being so good to your body that you feel like you’re about to ascend to the seventh heaven, if it ever existed.

caleb’s slate white trousers start to tighten, mainly the crotch part - he was getting impatient. he jerks his hips upward, arms wrapping around your waist as he moves you in sync with his movements. with the slightest friction and contact, a grunt bubbles from his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing at every shifting.

you lose track of everything that was happening, and all of a sudden, you find yourself naked atop his lap, heart thrumming thrice faster. with rather bleary vision, all you could make out of the sight in front were the gold chains glimmering from the dim lighting of the cockpit and the longing dancing in caleb’s eyes. he loosens the tie on his neck with one swift movement, proceeding to unbuckle the belt, setting free his dick from further restraints of his pants.

his breaths jagged, you could watch on how his clothed pecs rise and fall in irregular intervals. “the colonel is playing the game of unfairness.” you poke out of impulsiveness, but he understands as he also undoes the intricate enclosures of his torso’s uniform. a rewarding view then welcomes your vision, beads of sweat continue to rivulet down the sculpted plane of his chest. you place your hand at the middle, feeling his heartbeat pulsate along yours, matching in rhythm.

“i can’t keep still anymore.”

a burst of energy courses through caleb’s body, propping your body up just enough for his tip to meet with yours, guiding your hips - rubbing along your slicked labia. he throws his head back in gratification, the sound of his hat falling flat follows. at this point, his uniform has become so disheveled yet he doesn’t pay attention to any of that, he’s fully anchored on ravishing your body right before him, ready to be devoured.

with enough preparation, he finally thrusts inside your walls, your insides wrap around his girth, a comforting warmth wallows his cock whole. he groans, teeth gritted and pushes through to move. meanwhile you were there, feeling every crevice of your insides filled up from how big and thick he is. a naughty thought slips in your mind, if he’s always been at this size, why didn’t you do this sooner?

but perhaps it’s the waiting game that makes this a lot more rewarding.

simultaneously, caleb thinks the same. all sorts of lewd temptations rush to his consciousness, you were so tight that he feels cumming on the spot. you hook your arms around his neck and caleb accepts the gesture, his lips closing in on the shell of your ear. his ragged breaths ghost caresses on the part, sending chills up and down your spine all the while he builds his pace, rocking his hips, filling you in.

it was painfully slow, yet he hits the spot at every thrust. he savors every passing moment, “you’re so tight . . . you’re coiling around me.” he expresses, creases forming on the temples of his forehead. “how about you? are ya’ feeling good?” a visible struggle paints your expression that the colonel could only chuckle. “i reckon that you are as you cannot answer me anymore.”

he says as a matter of fact as all it took was a quick glance at the holograms in front of him, projecting the look on your face from the security cameras installed in the cockpit. one was from above, another just behind caleb’s seat, perfectly positioned to display how truly good you were feeling. he bites his lower lip and employs his evol once more to lighten the burden on your body, providing assistance to rock your body up and down in sync with his hips.

more deep growls of pleasure escape caleb’s lips and in between were the irregularities of his breaths. he tries to halt the knotting feeling surfacing inside him as he pumps himself into you deeper than before, the curvature of his cock just enough to make the tip kiss your g-spot, making your limbs shake in response to the sensation. a thick bead of saliva streams down the corner of your mouth, in which caleb pays attention to once again, basing on the holographic projection in front of him.

“you’re so beautiful.” he muses as he pulls out, only to fill you back up with every bit of his strength. “show that face only to me.” he says, repeating the same pattern of his thrusts.

“you’re . . .” you mumble, trying to muster strength to answer caleb’s lewd request. you attempt to catch your breath, “you’re the only one who i’d allow to do this to me.” upon hearing your response, bold hues of red tinge his ears, his momentum significantly picking up way beyond the male’s volition, as if it was his primal instinct acting.

all sorts of thoughts stir up in his mind— that should be right, he should be the only one. the only one who can hold you like this, the only one who can see you like this, the only one who can make you feel like this. it’s only him in this world.

selfishness? possessiveness? for him, these are terms used for folly, just mere misdirections of his true intentions. all he wants is to have you by his side, all he yearns for is his your touch; and only by doing so your safety can be guaranteed.

so it should be right for you to feel the same. after all, he’s the only one who understood you best - he has memorized every bit of your body language down to your little habits as if it were the back of his hand. he does all of these, so he never forgets.

never shall he ever forget.

“you’re the only one for me. and i’m the only one for you—“

“—no one can change that predestined fact.” his voice, seemingly like a soft reminder for your aching heart, manages to leave a searing mark.

After what felt like an eternity of suspense and excitement, the emcee then reads her closing spiel, formally announcing the end of the event. The big day comes to an end, loud cheers of the batch naturally follow, resounding all throughout the grove.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans, as it unties the already woven threads of triumph, letting it all loose as the scrutiny of the meticulous professor lands upon you. Seeds of doubt and confusion were sowed in the depths of your heart as you receive a bizarre call, “Professor Anaxa has queries about your research.”

Standing before you now is the infamous blasphemer of a teacher, whose mind is unbridled of moral restraints for the sake of knowledge. Expectedly, as a scholar, that trait of his was highly condemned and yet you find a part of you justifying his actions whenever you come across such wild rumors.

His fingertips slowly glide past the corners of the hardbound pages, skimming through the context of the rigorous part of your thesis: the methodology. Your heart thrums against your ribcage, this time, twice more as Anaxa slides in his pen to mark the part he was focusing on. Subsequently, he hums and looks at you with anticipation.

Slightest hint of disapproval emanates from his stare, to which the professor tries to coat as confusion to test your resolve. “If I’m not mistaken, you were the assigned leader of your thesis, no?” His voice stern as ever, you immediately respond. “Yes, sir.”

Dating back, you never happened to have a class taught by Anaxa. It was just a one time occurrence when you were able to witness how the cogs of his bright mind function when he stood as an adjudicator for a debate event held by the academy, to which he successfully cracks down the fallacies made by the opposing team with just mere questions, with the purpose of catching them by their own words, akin to a fish biting the bait and digging its own grave.

If anything, you knew him more through rumors and gossip, as the last you heard about was him expressing an opinion that scholars who are hellbent on gaining newfound knowledge shall be willing to bend the arrows of their moral compass to achieve such an end. Naturally, his school of thought anchoring on this expression was heavily criticized for the main reasons of ethics and confidentiality in the field of academics.

“Entitled ‘Efficacy of Specialized Alchemy through the Lens of Genetic Modification’ . . . Interesting. But the theoretical framework and methodology do not align.” He states, slate hue fixating on you. “If you were to study the efficacy of a particular object, you’d normally employ a design that encompasses both the quantitative and qualitative nature of the data to be derived, yet you stuck with one that adheres more to the latter. Care to explain how you came up with this process?”

Your brows furrow, bewilderment sits on your facial expression. The rationale of the methodology is already stated in the same paragraph for that question - why was he asking things that are obvious?

“Professor Anaxa—“

“Please refer to me as Anaxagoras.”

“Sir, as expressed in the introductory text, to determine efficacy, qualitative data shall provide an in-depth understanding of the subject, to name the factors that cannot be determined by merely recognizing patterns and trends. It tends to have a nuanced nature as it doesn’t just describe the leverages of the topic, its drawbacks shall also be determined in order to establish possible interventions for its improvement and to ensure your hypothesis is approved.”

“—Additionally, our thesis hinges on the concept of genetic modification with the main focus of improving our five senses, to be able to heighten them at our own volition as we see fit to be utilized according to the circumstance we are in.”

Anaxa pays close attention to your gestures as your hands tend to move on their own, a habit you happened to develop as you hone your dissertation all throughout these years. “However, our paper just touches upon the efficacy, not the practical application of specialized alchemy.”

“And? What are the results?”

Your jaw widens out of disbelief, as if the answers he was looking for cannot be found in the book. The longer this supposed questioning drags on, the more toll it took on you. Regardless, respect shall be shown, so you backtrack the results of your study. “The majority of the respondents strayed from describing the concept as something that can be done right, but rather, for them, it’s an insult to the human life. The quantitative data geared more to it being an impractical method to improve one’s capabilities, which was further supported by the verbatim cited in the presentation part of the chapter.” You recite, breaking off eye contact with Anaxa, head hung low facing the ground. Your fists balled, a bittersweet mood washes over you, recalling the summary of the data you gathered from the respondents.

“And let me guess, you were disappointed with the results.” With one sentence, you look back up at him, this time, more puzzled than before. A question arises, how did he know?

He slightly tilts his head and waves his hand in the air, “It is truly a shame to realize that these people, supposedly seeking wisdom, are the same ones who will never get to quench this thirst as they are held back by their morals. If we do not change up our methods, do you think it will yield different results each time?” His words had weight on them, not seemingly just blank questions one would typically ask in a thesis defense. The whole exchange becomes all the more confusing.

“I suppose you already have an idea where I’m getting at.” The teal haired drops his finality, and like a last puzzle piece falling into its right place by pure coincidence, you were able to see the bigger picture Anaxa prepared for you.

Alignment stems from shared vision, branching into different methodologies cultivated through revisions to obtain an answer from your assumptions. As Anaxa skimmed through your thesis, it was undoubted that he was able to relate your justification with his school of thought. The two of you were willing to tiptoe on the boundary lines of ethics in research - because if not, how will we be able to procure knowledge if sacrifices were not to be made?

“I understand, sir.” It was when you approved of his invitation that the green curls of smoke in the laboratory started to become more visible, carrying minuscule pigments of shimmer as rays of light spill in the littlest crooks of the room. “Wh—“

You were cut off as Anaxa takes steps towards you while you stepped further away from him. A loud thud echoes in the vicinity as you find yourself trapped between Anaxa’s looming aura and his master desk. The sage’s tattooed hand then brushes softly on your supple skin. Starting from your collarbone, making his way up to your neck, “I employed modifications on my genes to test my assumption - but I couldn’t activate those out of my own volition. To determine the efficacy of something, its participant should be willing. Am I right?”

As if you were at a standstill in time, your breathing hitches the longer his skin is in contact with yours. His fingers were rough, some had dry patches, as expected of a practical researcher. Yet the warmth he exudes from his touch feels foreign, a driving force that makes your stomach churn with a whirlpool of mixed emotions.

“Let’s start off with sense of sight. Close your eyes.” Your chest rises and falls, heartbeat pacing faster in each minute. “Sir—“ Unexpectedly, you follow suit to his command, shutting your eyes. Your brows knit even further, wanting to protest against this method but the words you intend to verbalize die down on your tongue in an instant.

How did he manage to make you follow suit to his command? What else did he incorporate to the component?

Darkness graces your eyes, another chilling sensation rides on your skin. It felt hot, but the second it trails away into another direction, it leaves an icy feeling, lingering.

Thousands of thoughts surface in your mind and none of them were of composure. You were astonished, confused, wanting to beg for more time to adjust but here you are being immediately toyed in Anaxa’s palms. As if acting out of desperation to break free from this predicament, a new pseudo dimension forms, to which faint lines of everything around you could be discerned, each having its distinct color.

The surroundings were pitch black, yet every object in the space had its own different hue, the lines materializing as you try to get used to this awakening. Trying to make out of whatever was happening in front of you, with enough focus, you could envision the sage leaving ephemeral licks on your skin, particularly on the back of your hand. Your jaw falls agape to which Anaxa quickly notices, the corners of his lips then tug into a boastful smirk.

It’s as if he had already put two and two together that he realized your sense of sight indeed improved, incomparable to that of a mere human’s.

“Second. Sense of hearing.” As soon as he announces his next step, he prods into your mouth with the same tattooed hand, inserting his index and middle fingers to explore your cavern of warmth. Your stomach turns as Anaxa toys with your tongue, not leaving enough space for you to breathe nor have sufficient time to process everything.

As this act unfolds, you suddenly begin to hear your saliva being mushed with his fingertips, your mouth making slick noises inside, to which you could do nothing but leave mumbles of puzzlement. “A . . . Naxa.” Every splash of the liquids inside reverberate inside your head, which further affirms Anaxa’s assumptions.

After what felt like eternity, you could finally peel your eyes open and see the view unravel before you, Anaxa being a mere hair’s breadth from your face, goosebumps rake your spine. Up close, his brows are knitted in expectation, eyes somewhat heavy-lidded in which excitement gleams from his slate monochromatic iris. With one swift movement, he stops fiddling with your tongue, taking his digits out, leaving a small trail of saliva connecting your lips to his fingertips.

“My patience is wearing thin.” He expresses, wiping away the smeared saliva from the margins of your lips with his gloved hand. Dumbfounded, you could do nothing but just lie in wait to what he’s supposed to do next. “Let’s amp up our methodology. We’ll be testing the remaining three senses simultaneously. I hope you can bear with it.”

Suddenly, your clothes dissipate into thin air, the fibers curling into little burnt cinders until they’re void of anything. “Anaxa—“ he proceeds to fervently crash his lips into yours, a surprising tang of sweetness cracks on your tastebuds. Your stature wobbles and threatens to fall, but the male had already anticipated that as he supports your weight with an arm slithered on your waist. He aids in maintaining your balance, but it was only a mere second that you were able to think straight when his free hand toys with your inner region.

With little effort, your arousal coats his fingers, muddling his skin’s red markings with a cloud white color, your scent inevitably wafts inside the laboratory. Anaxa inhales deeply, taking in everything all at once that is unfolding. Nonetheless, he proceeds, inserting his fingers into your pussy.

Caught off guard, he thrusts in and out, your walls taking the shape of his long, slender fingers. At the same time, your tongue twirls in rhythm with his, the sweet taste gradually enveloping the cranny of your mouth.

It all felt messy, as if Anaxa’s actions override one another, making everything far more overwhelming than it is prima facie. Your mind was lost, yet your body basks in the foreign sensation, pleasure emerging as you feel you were nearing your satisfaction. The male’s gloved fingers wrap around your neck after and breaks the deep kiss, “Are you ready?” He queries, taking a quick glance at your seeping cunt and trail back up to your eyes with a surprising longing gaze in them.

A second passes by, he undoes the buckles of his belt, letting everything loose as he strokes his own erection, wrapping his coated fingers around himself. You eagerly watch at every movement he does, a tantalizing view to etch in the deepest part of your memory. As he deems himself fit, he rubs his tip on your entrance, the position possibly adding up to the struggle.

His breath drops, feeling a short wave of satisfaction once he gets a taste of your slicked pussy. “Time to prove my hypothesis was right.” Anaxa rams inside you, your walls enveloping around his girth as he struggles to keep himself still. “Anaxa . . !” His tangled thoughts were abruptly cut off as he hears your plea, spiraling into an abyss of pleasure as an intense gaze locks his eye with yours.

“Spit.” He orders, a vague one in which you cannot crack immediately. A breathy moan bubbles from his throat subsequently, a rare occurrence of Anaxa showing vulnerability. Regardless, he expounds. “Gather an appropriate amount of your saliva.” As if obedience was coded into your personality, you purse your lips together. “Let it trickle down your chest.”

You follow suit to his command, slightly parting your mouth open, leaving just enough space for it to stream down your dewed skin, leaving such a sticky feeling. The professor wastes no time as his hands glide up to your tits, fingers fidgeting with your perked nipples, lubricating them with your own spit. He traps the buds within his calloused fingertips as you grant him the most lewd noises you’ve ever made in the entirety of your life.

Anaxa wasn’t the type of person to hunger for indulgences like this. But upon witnessing a remarkable sight right in front of him, impulse rush in as he digs into your mounds as well, the tip of his tongue caressing your nipples.

“It’s too warm . . sweet . . and hot.” Mindless musings come undone the margins of your lips, making the sage’s libido hike even more. Additionally, these testaments of yours reinforce the data he supplied in his test drive journal for this study, another victorious feat for him it appears. “Very good.”

He simpers, starting the momentum of his thrusts to your body, nice and slow in the beginning yet with such intensity and impact in each push. Naughty noises echo inside, along the gibberish you’ve been rambling for a while which were descriptions of the changes occurring in your body. Anaxa encourages it, playing along as if he was able to comprehend your barely coherent sentences.

“Sir, I . . . feel like I’m being suffocated.” You yelp, first time among your endless prattles he was able to understand something, your hips grinding along Anaxa’s dick as he fills you to the brim. You look down and see how easy it was for him to prod into your folds, the very entrance curling around the base of his cock with such longing and excitement. “You’re doing great.” He manages to say in between thrusts and hefty breaths, “What else?”

Anaxa’s praises reverberate in your head, like a badge of excellence as he sees you worthy to be his research partner and that in itself is a privilege. Gradually, the male’s pent up sexual frustration reaches its end as strings of cum sprawl out, Anaxa withdraws just in time. A searing heat of temptation pools inside your body, thoughts clouded with nothing but pure carnal desire instilled by the sage.