As the darkness of space engulfs our craft, I feel no fear whatsoever. It is Rex and me against the universe, and this time there’s nobody to watch us, or pass judgement on us. It’s just he and I. Forever.
“Now,” he says in that sexy growl only he can pull off. “Where were we?”
“You were between my thighs,” I remind him with a smirk.
“That’s right,” he purrs, dragging his lips down the curve of my neck. “I was, wasn’t I…”
The End.
Or is it…
Rex turns on the television, or what is the spaceship equivalent thereof. I’m kind of surprised he wants to watch entertainment instead of entertaining each other, but I guess we have the rest of our lives to bang and I am a little sore from the last ravaging.
“KILL THE FUGITIVES! The Hot New Reality Series from Eschaton Industries!”
A broad jawed human male steps in front of the camera, and smiles broadly in the way only broad jawed human men can. Handsomely, and with all the confidence a daily regimen of extra injected testosterone can provide.
“You might think being squished flat after being thrown off the top of my own dome, then being eaten by my own dinosaurs would have slowed me down, but you’d be wrong. I took the liberty of downloading my consciousness into an advanced computer before going for a walk on the gangway above the Dinodome. After I was murdered by the cowardly beast Rex, I then re-downloaded my consciousness into this new body, which comes equipped with a very large penis, in case you were wondering. My newest show involves every mercenary for hire in the known universe going to kill King Rex and his so-called mate. I’ll be your presenter, along with our old favorite, Exposition Chest!”
The camera pans over and displays the talking chest, which somehow contrives to look smug even though it has absolutely no expression whatsoever.
I pan over and stare at Rex in horror. I thought this was over. But it’s not over. It might not ever be over, not until we’re actually dead. Eschaton can just keep re-uploading his consciousness into new body shells.
“He’s coming for us!?”
“He’s not,” Rex says. He sounds way too relaxed. He did just cover me in enough seed to populate a small galaxy, but still. This seems like very, very bad news.
“What?! He just said he was.”
“This is my last surprise,” Rex informs me. “It’s all part of the plan.”
“It better be a really fucking good plan,” I growl. “I’m about tired of…”
I don’t get to say what I’m about tired of, because his brow has risen just a fraction, and now I am having flashbacks of having a root in my ass.
Rex uses my silence to explain.
“He’s going to use two actors in our place. We made an arrangement above the Dinodome, before I threw him off. He wanted the series to end in a truly spectacular fashion. And what more dramatic fashion than having the first hero murder the creator?”
“So we’re not fugitives?”
“We are in a sense, but not in that sense. We cannot afford to be recognized. But we can live free on any number of lightly inhabited or, ideally, completely uninhabited planets. It is my intention to sweep you off to an unspoiled world, where we will live as we once did. We will answer to nobody besides the forces of nature. We will be completely, utterly free.”
“You mean, Dinodome for real.”
“Dinodome for real,” he agrees.
“No audience, just the two of us, and whatever other lifeforms we might manage to spawn.”
“Exactly.”
Now that’s what I call romance.
And that’s also what I call, the end.
For real this time.