DISCLAIMER: Babylon 5 and its characters are the property of J. Michael Straczynski, Warner Brothers, PTEN, and/or TNT. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Evyuna is a pretty pretty word in Hebrew meaning libido, it doesn't have a lot to do with the story, but that's what it told me to call it, and who am I to argue?
BETA THANKS: Thank you Deborah and Watersdaughter for making this fic readable. And Catwoman for giving it a once over when I couldn't stand to look at it anymore.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
When telepaths make love, their love is reflected off each other into infinity, until they create their own universe, where the only things that exist are their minds and their voices.
When telepaths have sex it's the pleasure that's reflected. Back and forth, brighter and brighter until it hurts, until the pain is so sharp it becomes pleasure again. The voices fade there too.
When telepaths fuck the physical act can be gentle, or rough, but the meeting of minds is a violent affair. There is no reflection, only possession, a mental game of Conquest. The penetration, of you, of the other, is what provides the satisfaction. Consensual mind rape, some call it.
This was none of those things, or all of them. There was no love here, at least not between them; the pleasure was coincidental, and the satisfaction brief. This was about need. It was an addiction. Like air, it only mattered when you couldn't get any. And she hadn't gotten any in so very long.
The fact that the woman beneath her, above her, beside her, inside her, had a name, a job, a purpose, the fact that tomorrow she might not even look in her direction twice, the fact that sometimes, not so deep inside, this woman hated her, was trivial at best. She whispered 'Susan' in the other's mind and felt her glow in contentment.
If you have eyes to see you will always crave art. If you have ears to hear you will naturally seek music, and if you have felt the soft tender touch of your lover's mind you will never be able to want less.
She had carried gods within her, gentle, cruel, magnificent. There were planets in this galaxy that would die if she set foot on them, and she along with them. She had been changed from head to toe until she barely recognized herself as human, but they hadn't been able to take this away. In this place, in this moment, she belonged. She knew who she was. She knew what she wanted.
Telepaths can fuck, have sex, make love. They can also do this. This thing in which there is no love, where pleasure is coincidental, and there is no place for satisfaction. This is about need, about not being alone in the crowded corridor of minds that this tin can inevitably becomes.
They could have done this without the physical, but the sweat and the fingers and the tongues gave them a place to start, and a place to end.
And it did end, as all things do, and when it ended the voices came back, and thoughts, real thoughts, made themselves known.
She caught the first of them as she gently extracted herself from the other's mind. It was the same as the last one she'd had before losing herself to the moment. A poised, elegant woman with blonde hair and the pang of pain at the memory of heartbreak. Lyta got up and dressed, trying not to feel hurt. There was no room for her in this ghost-filled bed.
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