Dancing Lonesome With the Stars

The following is an erotic fan based work.  Any and all copyrights to Halo, the Halo logo, and all properties of the franchise belong to 343i and Microsoft Game Studios.  The writer of this work does not make any money in the publishing of this work.  Please support the official release.

[][][]

September 7, 2557

Somewhere in Sangheili Space

It was yet another packed hall that night as she danced.  As befitting a ship crewed primarily by Sangheili, the hall was mostly full of warriors of that race; but, scattered amongst them were the occasional Kig-Yar and T’vaoan.  She danced for them, teased them, promised them heights of bliss that surely only the Forerunners knew.  There were other dancers, true, other women that they all admired.  But she was different. 

She was human. 

From her alabaster skin to her flaming red hair, she was, to the crew of this vessel at least, as valuable as water in a desert.  Even now, with multitudes of hungry, carnal eyes upon her, she exuded a grace and calm the accentuated her movements, gliding and swaying across the floor.  Like a goddess made flesh, paths opened before her, hopeful patrons wishing for the closeness of this captured beauty. 

A crowd stands before her, led by a high ranking Ranger.  He steps forward, growling softly, his desires plain as day if one looked down.  She stops, just inches away from his lean, armored bulk as she looks up at him coyly.  They made an interesting sight, polished silver armor next to shifting blues and green sashes.  He states that he claims her first for the ‘night,’ and she knows that is his right, according to his station. 

Another patron roars, challenging the claim.  This one is a Field Marshal, one that she is, for her position in life, reluctantly and intimately acquainted with.  It looks as though the two will come to blows over her before the Ranger wisely backs off.  She smiles forlornly at the almost lucky male as she slips over to the Marshal.  He grins savagely as his prize stops beside him; all the others will have to settle with the regular Sangheili consorts for the night. 

The human is taken to the Marshal’s chambers, a mere token politeness: she has, after all, served most of the males on this vessel, the Marshal merely using his title more often than not.  They reach the room and step inside, the Marshal’s eagerness evident.  Turning her head away, she dances one last time, discarding her clothing as she writhes.  Soon, her body is exposed to him, her body shining with a thin layer of sweat already.  The Marshal, now exposed, rushes forward and takes her, and takes her often. 

When she awakens later, bits of armor are scattered about the Marshal’s chambers, the male asleep beside her.  Her loins ache, patches of purple show the bruising of the last few hours, and the air reeks of stale sex.  She sits up, and glares at the Marshal in contempt.  Soon, he would die.  Him, and every other alien bastard on this ship between her and escape.  But not now.  Not when she was injured, unarmed, and unarmored. 

The captured Spartan known as Noble Six had lasted this long.  She could wait to strike a little longer.