Thrax

 And they wore gloves whose palms formed strong and flexible paddles.  When the balls were launched, one after another, into the interior of the bowl, the object was for each player to swat them into a special nook in the center hollow of the chamber.  Whichever player scored the most balls was the winner of the match.  In playing, the two contestants would run, leap, somersault, and bounce up and down along the inner surface of the chamber, lunging at striking at the wildly bouncing balls as the objects careened off the surface and off the enclosing force field.

 It was a game for the stoutest hearts and the fittest bodies.  Watching Agena in her game gear, which consisted of a helmet, a top and shorts, the special gauntlets and boots, and knee and shoulder pads, Thrax could see exactly how fit she was.  If she only had a dragon body, this human could have entered the Knighthood.  He envied his brethren who had lain with her and on her in bed.  By rights, he should be doing the same as they had.

What skill she demonstrated, dashing along the curved inner wall of the chamber, lunging and weaving around her opponent to put herself into the path of the flying ball and swat it to send it streaking into the scoring nook.  What agility she showed, ducking and rolling under her opponent and springing back to her feet while the other player scored a ball, then springing back into action to take the next careening ball from the launcher a split-second after it was fired and send it ricocheting against the opposite arc of the bowl.

 What force she brought to bear with every jump, every swing, and every score.  And how the crowds cheered and howled with every victory she claimed, and when the force field was let down and she and the other player climbed out of the chamber.  When Agena whipped off her helmet and exposed her full, beautiful face, letting her braid fall free, she beamed with joy and pride at a game well played and well won, and the roars and screams of the spectators showed how they loved her for it.  She had won two trophies as a competitor.  Thrax was surprised only that she had not won more.

“Stop,” he commanded the computer.  At his bidding, the recording stopped and faded from the air over his bed like a ghost or a mirage, leaving him in silence—except in his mind.  In Thrax’s mind, the cheers and roars went on.  But they were no longer the cheers of the enthused spectators of sphereball.  They were the raucous outpourings of the people in the stands at the Lottery, applauding the moment that he was selected for Agena and he presented himself to her, in his armor skin, for the first time.

 Now, he was reliving that moment, only hours ago but seeming so much longer after the words that had passed between them at dinner.  With a heavy breath, he rolled his memory forward to a later moment, when he and Agena had been aboard the hoverboat over Lake Shimmershine and he had removed his loincloth, showing himself fully naked to her for the first time.  He had sensed her desire for him, but he had summoned his discipline and made no outward reaction to it. 

Only his discipline had stopped his ere*tion at the sight of her looking him up and down and admiring his muscles and his member.  It had stopped his ere*tion, but not his pride.  In spite of everything, he had felt proud at that moment—proud to be so wanted and so desired by the woman who had come to his world to be pregnant with his child.

The last thing Thrax wanted now was to be disciplined.  He wanted to toss all that away as he had shed his trousers.  He wanted to leave this bedroom, cross the common room and the bath, and march to Agena’s side of the suite, where he would find her as alone in bed as he was right now.  He wanted to show himself naked to her once again, but this time, climb onto that bed with her, pin her to the mattress, slip his hard and throbbing weapon of passion into her, and pound inside her as no man, human, or Lacertan had ever done before.

But now, he feared he had put an obstacle between them more formidable than Agena had ever faced in sport.  And for the first time in his warrior life, he faced a pang of doubt that it was an obstacle he could overcome: for this one was of his own making.

How could he have done it?  How could he have actually sat across a table from Agena Morrow and said the things he had said to her?  How could he have talked about the things he did, spoken the feelings he did?  How could he have filled her with the confusion and disappointment that he saw her take away from that table with her?