CthulhuTech: Engel Loev Human
The next wave wasn't expected until nightfall. All soldiers were expected to sleep through most of the day.
That his Engel projected feelings of contentment when he slept inside it gave him a convenient excuse to do so.
Mark Tanner had been chosen to pilot an Engel through a semi-experimental program to find humans that were both suitable for Engel piloting... and an almost inhuman amount of tenacity to hang to what most people called normalcy. When he first climbed into the Seraph's cockpit cavity, he was frankly unnerved, not by the sudden uptick of empathic feedback from his new partner, but from a feeling of warmth and a sudden release from loneliness from the cybernetic behemoth.
It wasn't until much later in active duty that he'd heard that his particular Engel had been used and reused in service as the pilots went slowly insane; after each new attunement, the beast had improved. Subsequent pilots remarked at how fast 'she' complied with their thoughts, to the point where young Mark began to think it was starting to predict his own thoughts before he finished them.
So here he was: a man hundreds of miles from his family and friends and removed from a girl he once knew (damned Mi-Go...), inside of an alien being (whom he'd named Gwendolyn because he didn't know of any feminine angel names) that was, according to his predecessors, 'thinking' increasingly human.
He thought a soothing greeting to the monster, and was given a response that had no words, but was indeed close to 'welcome.' After a few moments of companionable silence, both real and psychic, he idly began to stroke her walls; she answered with an emotion that seemed to incorporate 'that feels nice,' 'keep going,' and something else, instead of words, put him in the mind of an overlarge dog, simply wagging its tail. A sort of dialogue sprang between them. 'image of pilot, uninjured, healthy, content?' 'image of pilot, uninjured, healthy, okay. image of Gwendolyn, uninjured, healthy, content?' 'image of Gwendolyn, uninjured, healthy, content.'
Telepathic small talk does not translate well to speech.
A half-hour in which he, through a punch-drunk lack of sleep, tried to make small talk about the weather, food, and the other Engels passed. Over that half-hour, he was reminded that his Engel was indifferent to biting cold, that it was fed intravenously through a series of tubes, and that she had no real means of communicating other than through her pilot.
Finally, Mark fell asleep. His self-imposed 'polite conversation' time with his Engel was fulfilled, and they'd already had a long night with last night's wave of bugs.
Three things were going to happen in the next twenty-four hours that noone knew about. One, a withdrawal of Mi-Go forces in the area to fend off the more active cults of the Nameless One. Two, the first instance of an Engel communing with a pilot while he slept. Three, the first instance of an Engel developing genuine sapience.
Normally, Mark Tanner did not dream. When he did, it always included, at least once, finches with the heads of hippos or another patently absurd beast. Typically as a creature that was part of the zoo that his harem of improbably beautiful and curvaceous women took care of. So it was odd that he felt himself laying on a somewhat spongy floor, in the dark, and alone.
After a small amount of blindly bumbling around in the dark, an indistinct blob made itself known in front of himself, quickly taking on a (admittedly general) human shape. Finally noting that this was one of those rare lucid dreams, Mark prepared himself to run as the figure walked toward him. As it neared, he prepared to take another step back, but felt something root him to the spot.
His legs, nearly halfway to the knees, had sunk into the invisible floor, and the floor was rising.
Interestingly, the figure began to take on sharper contrast as it came closer, individual features shaping themselves out of blurry gray, some beginning to show color. The figure, too, seemed to remain eye-to-eye with him, and its legs remained totally visible, even as the floor stopped rising somewhere around his waist. It was then that he saw what the figure was slowly becoming.
And, as anyone with a grasp of romantic stereotypes will tell you, it was his dead girlfriend: black skin with Caucasian features, softly glowing red eyes, cute little fangs, and a name: Kory.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him with a finger against his lips. It was at this point that her image became slightly blurry at the edges...and...
While he wasn't able to see what was happening to himself, he could certainly feel a delicious friction pick up. And the newly re-sharpened image resumed walking towards him... and simply put his head against her bosom and gave a gentle hug.
It was an odd feeling, having your hair stroked by a dead woman, who began letting out delightful little mewls and moans, as though she were riding him instead of merely hugging him: his cock was somewhere below her snatch, but she acted as though she were getting a nice, slow lovemaking. And she guided his head down to a nipple, and, he obligingly sucked and bit at it. The whole dream seemed to fuzz and lose cohesion for a split second, before returning to focus, but even after it had done so, everything was just short of having razor-sharp clarity. The woman he was sucking at started to breath harder. A girl he only thought occasionally thought of, being immobilized up to the waist, and much slower sex than he regularly fantasized about? He'd long since put together that this was not wholly his own dream.
Doubly so since whoever was on the other end had a lactation fetish. And it tasted too good to be real.
This begged a questio- he was mashed into her leaking tits while her mouth caught his in a hungry kiss. That train of thought was going to have to wait. The foot-long tongue had precedence.
She only stopped when it became obvious he was out of breath. This further sealed the deal for him: who needed to breath in a dream? Was he somehow sleepwalking? The immobilized legs answered 'no.' So what was going on...?
The girl released him and walked backwards a small way before turning away from him and bending over at the waist, exposing her pussy, eager and dripping. She made eye contact by looking between her thighs at the man she'd just claimed. Mark looked at her helplessly, still waist-deep in...something. That was when he noticed something: there was a second woman in here. A human, she looked just like the cute little support arcanotechnician that came to the front lines to try to see if the Mi-Go were unusually weak or resistant to sorcery. The fact that she appeared directly behind him, stuck her tongue in his ear, and started pushing him toward the nazzadi woman who was offering herself to him only served to distract him..
He entered the nazzadi woman from behind, while the overlarge breasts of the human woman smushed into his back. The whole of the dream blurred yet again, but to a smaller degree this time, and both the nazzadi and human women shuddered, not only at the same time, but in the same fashion...
As he began thrusting into the nazzadi below him, the whole dream gained a permanent haze about any bodily details other than his own. And where the sound of his own breathing and the occasional grunts and moans of the woman beneath him had been the only sound before, there was a low rumbling... not rumbling... purring?
His thrusts were being met by the woman below him now, and the woman behind him had him in a liplock, her breasts leaking copious amounts of whatever it was they were producing down his back. Both his hands were busy, gently rolling the clitoris of the woman in front of him and doing the same to the one behind.
It was about this time that the front of the nazzadi woman disappeared and the upper half of a torso appeared out of thin air in front of him: this time something that was part of neither species.
She might have been breathtakingly beautiful, or she might have been too alien to think about having sex with. It had originally come into being looking something like an anatomical model: all sinew and muscle, unappealing, if not an outright boner-killer. It quickly formed into something else. It formed ruby-red skin, two slightly-too-big breasts, and had the start of a face: a button nose and mouth were visible, and two eyes began to take shape; its head was crowned with a mass of long, thin tentacles, each wriggling of their own accord. The rest of the body was toned, fit, and still more feminine than either wet dream it had deigned to let him warm up against.
As it was, Mark Tanner had put two and something two-shaped together and was reasonably sure of something that looked vaguely like four.
Whatever was in front of him was what was controlling his dream. Whatever was in front of him was female. Whatever was in front of him... was a sexual deviant on a grand scale.
It finally opened its eyes. Inhuman, pupil-less black crystal seemed to look at him.
And it was then that he woke up.
Which was even more disconcerting when the only difference was that the forms that he had been fucking until that point turned out to be the of same kind that just came into being in front of him: their legs were rooted to the floor.
The waist that was sticking out of the wall sank and met the waist sticking into the wall, which turned around to meet it in a sight that might have worried physicians if the being it belonged to were fully human.
The thing behind him and the thing in front of him both pushed and pulled and set him into laying back into a woman that was fully two feet taller than he was, with his head resting between two gargantuan breasts. The woman on top was closer to normal human height; wherever her body came into contact with the giantess below them, the skin fused before letting go.
And then he heard it. 'Mine.' A word. Not an emotion or a feeling or a concept. Language.
'Love.'
He was suddenly taken aback. The alien face above him did not change expression in the least, but tears dripped from its-no, he corrected himself, *her*- eyes. 'Mine. Mine. Love. Protect. Yours. Love. Protect.'
He shakily reached a hand up... and cupped her face. This time, the face changed: from an expressionless, red porcelain mask, to recognizable shock, then happiness. 'Accepted. Accepted. Mine. Yours.'
For a moment, she looked unsure, and then transmitted something unprecedented.
'You are mine. I am yours. You will be mine. I will be yours.'
She just surpassed dolphins and chimpanzees. They both have language. She'd just used tense. Planning. She might qualify as truly sapient.
Unknown to all but a handful worldwide, the Engel Uplift Program had just borne fruit. Both pilot Mark Tanner and Seraph Gwendolyn would have to be closely monitored and guarded, both from those who feared the Engel's natural temperament of bloodthirsty savagery, and from those who could use this massive leap in progress to destroy humanity by simply mimicking the Mi-Go's thievery and usurpation of the D-engine technology. But, as it stood, the two lovebirds deserved some time alone.
Of course, neither one was exactly standing at the moment. She was moaning wonderfully while bouncing on his lap while he occasionally ground his hips into her pelvis, her groans ensured that her entrance was very much like a human's. He tweaked her breasts with his hands while they kissed, her tongue nearly cocooning his own in his mouth. The giant Gwendolyn they lay on top of had a look of serene happiness, sometimes biting her lip with not-quite-teeth when Mark accidentally hit a bundle of nerves.
When she finally came, Gwendolyn's keening echoed inside the cockpit. While promising himself he'd hear it again, the whole room shook for a moment. To the outside observer, it would have appeared the Seraph shook itself. To Mark, the walls seemed to close in, momentarily, while a hundred faces (and a few odd legs, arms and parts of torso) looked on with adoration and ecstasy in their alien eyes.
5 hours and 5 orgasms each later (thanks to Gwendolyn's nutritious 'milk'), Mark Tanner reported for briefing. Of surprise to all, it appeared the Rapine Storm were making themselves such a nuisance to the bugs that the Mi-Go needed to call off attacking to reinforce other borders. When called for mess, Mr. Tanner ate sparingly and decided to turn in early, claiming to not have received much rest earlier in the day.
Mark thought about the rest of the army: so many wives, husbands, girlfriends and boyfriends away from everyone they loved. And he thought of how mangled his grammar would have to be to describe his new love life. All of her loved him, he had all the women he could ever want, and loved every one of her.
When he got back to his Seraph, he'd brought along a small cardboard sign. When he thought the meaning to Gwendolyn, she gave a small trill of amusement and excitement.
"Do Not Disturb"