Time distorted inside that shadowy bubble; a minute became half an hour or more. The bond between Dean and Donovan was a complex thing, transmitting some information, barring other – in the distorted confusion, there was a sense of wickedness and wonder, of amazement and discovery – followed quickly by a streak of such stubborn determination that eventually, reluctantly, gave way to….something else.<br/><br/>An hour later (outside the bubble) later, Dean emerged. He was…short. Barely five feet tall, muscular but on the skinny side; a little dorky looking, to be honest. Through the bond, he felt drained, utterly spent – the darkness in him gone in an incomprehensible way, as if he’d been sucked free of the power inside of him, or spent it all. This was the first time in their relationship that Dean had ever appeared this way, not without some dire conflict to force both Donovan and Dean to spend themselves, as they had earlier.<br/><br/>“Don’t say a word. Not a damn word,” Dean said when he appeared on deck, voice tinny and a little high pitched, looking away from both Donovan and the general. Naked, the man was pretty…plain, no more rock hard abs, no more huge cock. Just a teenaged boy. And he looked utterly embarrassed.<br/><br/>Interestingly, the throbbing, pulsating presence of the ship around them had taken on a whole new sense, a thrumming timbre of musical energy that felt oddly playful. And curious. Through the remaining link between Donovan and Dean, there was a new presence, a feeling that someone…or two someones…were somehow intruding on their bond. On the positive side, that intrusion made the link between Donovan and Dean feel a little less strict, far more flexible than it had been before. Dean, powerless and weak, seemed to be entirely unaware of the changes. But at least capturing Aza had finally done something to benefit the two of them, without breaking the bond entirely.<br/>