Work Text:
i.
“Feed,” says Teleya, as she draws a knife over her pale, ridged wrist and lowers the wound to Kelly’s lips. “Fill yourself with me.”
Kelly gives a shallow gasp. A dry cough forms at the back of her throat. “I won’t,” she whispers, her pleas weak, trembling, beating like the flutter of a hummingbird wing. She won’t. She won’t. She will never give in - she isn’t capable of it. She tells herself that she isn’t capable of it as she hears the soft, slow pound of Teleya’s heartrattle —- the heartbeat of a Krill is much slower than a human’s —— and as she listens to the pulse she feels a skeletal sensation begin to gnaw at her innards, like she’s swallowed a sharpened bone. A starvation spreads throughout Kelly’s essence, burrows into the epithelial and the osteocyte and the neuron, infecting her organ systems with need.
She won’t.
She’ll never give in.
She has been tortured so many times. She hasn’t given in once. She is strong. Kelly Grayson wears her resilience around her head like Samson’s strength, and she is hypervigilant to the blade. She will never succumb to Teleya.
She will die before she feeds.
Teleya looks down at her, her eyes wide in amusement, her lips curled at each corner. Kelly watches the blood drip from her wrist, slow like a volcano erupting in stasis, the excrement thick and dark.
Every scent begins to overwhelm her—-the metallic smell of the vessel’s fuel——the stench of her own body after being held captive for Avis-knows-how-long—-the blood inside of her own body slowed down to an ice age—-the blood flowing from Teleya’s arm like a chunk of meat placed gingerly in the lion’s enclosure, careful temptation, the zookeepers displaying her carnage for all of Krill to see.
She won’t give in.
“I will let you go,” Teleya says, “if you feed.”
“You’re lying.”
“Possibly,” Teleya nods. “I am also your only chance.”
“No.”
“You would rather die?”
“Yes.”
She sighs in frustration, then: “I can have a destroyer fleet ready to pursue and eradicate the Orville within the next five minutes.”
“Go ahead.”
Teleya nods. She turns to a guard. “Retrieve Dennus. Tell him it is time.”
Kelly frowns. She watches Teleya’s expression remain static, firm, and serious through each word; she isn’t joking.
“Wait,” Kelly says, reaching up with caution to grab Teleya’s wrist. “Cancel that order.”
Teleya looks down again—-smiles a genuine smile, something that burns almost warm against her icy demeanor. She waves the guard off without her gaze ever breaking away from their nest over Kelly’s lips. Teleya nods—go on. Do it already.
Kelly looks down.
She’s so hungry.
She is so, so hungry.
iii.
She splays Kelly out near the bed--surprisingly plush, for a Krill, lined with soft fur from an unknown, unfortunate creature. Her wrists are bound with two handcuffs, each attached to a chain, like binding a lobster's claws before you place it in the boil; Teleya holds the other end of it from her relaxed position in the captain's chair, twirling the links around her fingers, tugging on it every few minutes just to keep Kelly aware and alert and prepared.
"Bring them in," whispers Teleya.
The door shifts open. A group of Krill women walk in, their flesh shining red underneath the vibrant ship light, their bodies covered with dark armor and tough cloth. Kelly looks closer—each one has unnaturally sharp incisors poking out from beneath their scaled upper lips, all of varying sizes, some longer than others, some thicker. One of them finally notices Kelly, and she licks her fangs, blows Kelly a tight, pale kiss, then turns back to Teleya for instruction. Obedient. All obedient.
"Teleya," Kelly whispers, trying to make her bravery shine even from her position below Teleya's chair-throne, "I thought you were going to let me go."
"I am," Teleya replies, refusing to look down at her. Instead she keeps her gaze on the other women, watches as they all discard their armor for their underclothing, watches as the guards pass towels and pillows around the room. "Soon. This is for your own good. You still have trace amounts of human blood within you. Safe for most, but too impure for a creature of Avis. You have a creature in your planet's classic literature… frankenstein?"
"Oh, fuck off."
Mm, Teleya whispers, reaching down to stroke Kelly's hair. You will thank me for this. No creation of mine will host such impurities.
Stand.
Kelly almost croaks out an or what, but she knows the consequences and knows them well, so instead she simply stands, pulling herself up with trembling knees. Her uniform has been ripped to shreds—she's in her gray tank top, her tattered boy brief panties. She stares down Teleya with wet, parted lips.
Teleya motions for Kelly to sit in her lap, and Kelly obeys without question. Obedient. All obedient.
She drapes Kelly's dirty hair to the side, bares her neck wide and open for all to see, and sinks her teeth in with an impassioned grunt. Kelly feels Teleya's tongue lap at her flesh, trying to siphon every drop of humanity out and leave her soul a burnt, shriveled up sad thing, a corpse at Teleya's feet. A corpse on Teleya's lap. A corpse placed in the center of Teleya's altar. Teleya makes a purring noise underneath Kelly, and her hands curl around Kelly's waist—holding her closer, holding her in place.
Kelly stifles a gasp as Teleya's fangs sink in deeper. Kelly is devoured, chewed up and regurgitated, licked clean. Kelly is positioned and posed and captured. Kelly is inhaled, utterly, by Teleya's hunger.
And Teleya pulls back. Kelly watches her own blood trickle down Teleya's lips, watches Teleya's crazed stare travel down her body, penetrating the shell of the creature she is now. Teleya wipes her mouth with her thumb, dragging it slow to gather up each stray drop, and forces it into Kelly's mouth, forces her to taste herself, the roughness of Teleya's palm scratching against her chin.
"You may take her," she says, "and do what you wish."
v.
Kelly wakes up to a bright light searing into her flesh, to the grating sound of machinery whirring all around her, to the scent of freshly-synthesized bananas, to her crew. Everything about the scenery is vivid, overwhelming. Teleya told her that this always happens—to the lesser creatures, that is—she should have expected this. She hears Claire's heart pounding inside of her chest, smells the medicinal scent that froths throughout the lab. Every color, too, seems just a little bit brighter, just slightly over the edge of intolerable.
"You're awake," Claire whispers. "How do you feel?"
She feels a cloud of need envelop her body, straining the rain out of her and drying her into a puddle of nothingness. She feels a pounding, a pulsing ache within, where the beat of her heart used to live. She feels her stomach claw at itself.
"Hungry," she replies.
