Larn's primitive garb leaves so little to the imagination that it's laughable. Nekron toys with the idea of letting Larn go around stripped fully naked, of keeping Larn chained to his throne perhaps, a constant reminder of Nekron's (inevitable) victory, of taking away Larn's clothes and replacing them with something a bit more civilized, with rich and bejweled robes that would be fit for a prince.
Tempting ideas, one and all, and Nekron sees no need to rush the decision.
After all, with no one left to oppose him, he has all the time in the world.
Larn proves him wrong soon after, of course.
Nekron's allowed him free run of Ice Peak, reasoning that there's nowhere for Larn to run to anyway. Part of him, perhaps, has even looked forwards to Larn escaping and needing to be chased down, to be dragged back to Nekron in chains.
Perhaps Nekron might even go after Larn himself. Ruling the world hardly requires a lot of his time.
Instead, Larn goes and gets himself dosed with whatever it is Nekron's mother uses to ensure her subhumans mate and procreate in sufficient quantities to keep the army at full strength. Nekron considers the whole process more than a little disgusting, so he's never bothered to study it.
He recognizes the effects, though. Particularly when Larn looks at him and smiles, instead of scowling or glowering or growling like the beast he is.
"Lord Nekron," Larn says. His voice sounds husky.
Nekron considers summoning a pair of guards to throw Larn into a cell, let him sleep it off. The stink of the fumes that fill the mating cave might make such an action unwise, however. Something unfortunate might happen along the way, and Nekron has no intention of letting some subhuman get a taste of what he has denied himself again and again, because some things are sweetest when given freely.
"I suppose it was only a matter of time before your base nature would rise to the surface." Nekron makes a mental note to ensure Larn has not mated with any of the subhuman females. He doubts Mother would appreciate the corruption of her breeding program.
Besides, the idea of any one of them having soiled Larn with their touch turns his stomach.
Larn pouts. "You don't like me."
Nekron supposes the fact that Larn's talking at least proves that Larn is a step up on the evolutionary ladder from the subhumans. "You disgust me," Nekron says. "The idea of touching you is ... disgusting."
"How about the idea of me touching you?" Larn asks, taking a few steps closer. "Does that disgust you, too?"
"Immensely," Nekron says.
Larn smiles at him again, slow and lazy and with a touch of something that looks like arrogance. Like the spark that stays in Larn's eyes no matter how many times Nekron beats him at swordplay or crushes one last, pitiful pocket of resistance to his rule with his glaciers. "Liar."
"Oh? Going to prove me wrong, are you?" Nekron is beginning to enjoy himself. Rutting with Larn while he's little more than a mindless beast fails to appeal, but mating with a Larn who is mouthy and confident and eager? Nekron supposes some small amusement might be found in such an activity. "Go on, then. Give it your best shot."
Larn shivers. He's never seemed to feel the cold before, so Nekron wonders if this is some side-effect of the fumes, or if it's simple excitement, anticipation.
"Well? I'm waiting." Nekron smiles.
Larn moves forward, reaching. It's a messy, clumsy kiss, closer to the behavior of a subhuman in heat than a rational human being, yet somehow Nekron finds he doesn't mind. It's simple inexperience, he tells himself. Larn can - will learn. Nekron can teach him. It will give him something to do, his own little project as a distraction from mastering the world.
Nekron initiates their next kiss himself, pleased to notice Larn responding, parting his lips when prompted in order to allow Nekron better access, to dominate the kiss as surely as he dominates the world outside.
It's only a moment's work to undo Larn's braid, to let the cloth that preserves Larn's modesty fall to the floor. Under other circumstances, Nekron might have decided to take Larn to his bed, to enjoy the pleasure of the flesh amidst soft pillows. As it is, his throne is conveniently nearby, perfect for sitting down, pulling Larn along, to squirm in Nekron's lap, increasingly mindless but still passionate and fiery in a way that Nekron finds strangely pleasing and alluring.
There is no oil at hand, to ease his entry, so Nekron makes do, observing the expressions of Larn's face, the sounds that come out of Larn's mouth, until he is near losing control himself. He takes Larn before that happens, sliding in sure and swift, leaving Larn spread wide open and speared, and still moaning with more pleasure than pain.
For a while, Nekron soothes him as one might a spooked horse, not yet broken to the bridle, allowing Larn's body to become used to the invasion, before coaxing Larn to move, to do to himself what Nekron has done before, to free himself only to drive Nekron's cock deeper still as he welcomes it back inside.
Nekron tries to make it last, but Larn's tightness and enthusiasm make it difficult, so in the end, Nekron is only able to ensure Larn spills his seed first, before Nekron comes undone himself.
He tells himself that it is enough, that there will be many more times after this one to perfect the process.