Title: Second Extinction
Contact: saavaant @ yahoo . com
Summary: The whales brought to the 23rd century share their love without suspecting the tragedy that awaits them.
Warnings: This story contains explicit sex between male and female humpback whales. It is not a funny story. It is a very sad story, because for me the story of George and Gracie *is* a sad story (you will see why, if you read it.) This is also my first NC-17 so be gentle with me.
Disclaimer: Paramount, who put G/G in this tragic situation through its own carelessness, owns them. I don't. No money made off this.
Note: Since I posted this, a lot of people have pointed out to me that genetic technology offers solutions to the problem in the story. That's very true. The story doesn't *have* to be this sad. Feel free to write a happier version if you want to.
The sun rises over Terran seas. She is the first of the lovers to wake from the lazy drifting of nighttime; her daughter's mouth worries at a nipple already near-empty and shrinking, and she arches free of it, then dives to push the hungry child away, a gentle shove meaning, "You know you are too old, I have shown you how to find your own food, leave us alone." The little one sulks a moment, moves as if to make another attempt at nursing, then is distracted by a rosy cloud of krill in the distance and darts off in pursuit.
When she bears children of her own, there will be deadly flaws hiding in them, growing stronger with every generation. But she does not know the future, and lives now for the new flavor of her self-caught meal and the satiation of hunger, gulp by gulp, gush by gush of suddenly lifeless water out through her baleen.
The mother turns to her mate, rubbing her jaw against the barnacle-encrusted skin of his, two slowly drifting mountains meeting in gentle tectonic friction.
The motion of plate against plate is never quick to ignite volcanoes and tremors of the earth, but builds them up over untold ages until they cannot help but shudder and erupt, making their presence known for the first time after eons of unnoticed, subtly growing pressure. The lovers take their time in building the arousal, circling each other in lazy caresses of rough mountain skin.
The mountain dwellers touch each other in the slow, erotic dance of their living homes. Here, a small shelled creature clasped tightly to his belly scrapes up against another on hers; there, a supple growth of some form of sea grass, a verdant beard on the tip of his lower jaw, tangles with one at the center of her broad forehead, but soon slides free again. The touch leaves each forest fertile, pollinated by the other. A tiny fish that spent the night skimming over her vast surfaces meets another that did the same to him, and they slip off into the still-twilit waters, mimicking together the motions of the giant dancers.
When the lovers die, they will leave behind them a train of descendants degenerating slowly into sickliness and deformity, until the birthing of offspring, and finally even the touches that create them, will become impossible, or painful and dangerous beyond enduring, and death will claim them all, in this future as in the other one. But now all that is in their thoughts is life; their own life as they move together in rising passion.
The first traces of magma begin to climb the volcano's passages; the earth makes its first preparations for the quake as their touches become slowly more frantic, more intimate. A subtle change at first, a slight acceleration of motion, each press of flesh on flesh becoming a moment longer, a millimeter closer. Such a gradual change, like the movements of plates in the earth, that one watching would have noticed little difference between the first playful caresses of their dance and the desperate rubbing together of bodies many long minutes later, when he is making small musical sounds of need and pleasure and they are moving quickly, so quickly, but seeming slow the way the motion of giant planets seems slow, the way the rising and crashing of the greatest waves of the sea seems slow to a being too small to see the quickness.
They are pushing mountain stone against mountain stone and the mountains are so thick with layers of insensate roughness over the surface and cushioning softness underneath that the touch is torture; however great the pressure, the mountain stone feels nothing, nothing but the lightest tickling, the gentlest stroking, when it needs touch at the deepest level. So her tail flukes are rising to embrace him and the only truly sensitive skin on his body has begun to emerge from within, hungry for her sensitive skin to surround it.
And suddenly, in an endless stretch of minutes that is a flashing second to them, he is swollen, aching, his most sensitive flesh grown to the height and width of a man and a heat that only she has ever caused him to feel, trails of moisture floating away from it, making wispy clouds in the transparent and colorless water as he moves to enter her, excited beyond reason with the anticipation of the deepest touch they can give to one another.
The cells churning to escape from him are no close kin to hers, but the new ones their mingling will produce will all be too much alike to survive. For if a species is not diverse, it cannot survive, cannot evolve, and there will be no diversity in a race of beings of which he is the Adam and she the Eve, with no divine mercy intervening to let their Cain and Abel father children without those children suffering for the sins of their fathers. He does not know this, he knows only the pleasure of arching his body and plunging into hers, skin on skin, sensitivity on sensitivity, his whimpering cries resounding in the water like mountain birdcalls.
Hot and tight, buried inside her, her tail curled up around his, her muscles caressing him in tantalizing contraction, she undoes him, so quickly. Soon they are lurching in a savage rhythm, breaching together at the water's surface as they surge upward for breath they have lost in the passionate acceleration of their systems. The caresses of her channel become desperate clenching around his now supersensitive member, pleasure so great it is pain, pain so great it is pleasure.
Both thrashing tails and forelimbs, twisting kilotons of mountain weight from side to side, unable to feel this intense sensation without expressing the feeling in violent motions of their bodies. Waves crashing like a storm at sea each time the firestorm below collides with the surface.
And the volcano erupts, in one last convulsive arching of the titanic vertebrae, the lava heat of the cold mountain's fiery center explodes free, and the sound he makes is indescribable. The earth quakes, an incredible shudder as he fills her, one final tight clamping of the sheath that holds her mate as contractions run through her every muscle, and the tremors run through them both for a long stretch of moments after they are satisfied. Above them, on the water's surface, ripples expand in a never-ending circle, each a wave in its own right, spreading the news of their undersea love to the sea birds circling overhead.
A time from now, she will bear a son, and when desire begins to rise up in his body there will be only one mate for him, and she will be the wrong one, for none can be the right choice when all the members of his species on earth are the descendants of his mother and father. But he will not know that, he will know only the wanting. She does not know it, she is away in the mist of plankton, sating the only desire her young body has yet felt. And their mother and father do not know it, they are drifting off again into the languorous floating of ocean sleep.
Soon, the sun is setting over Terran seas.
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