“Is there something you want, my king?” Machan hovered by the doorway of the royal bedchamber.
Namor sat up. “I am fine.”
Namor shook his head. To have a nightmare, he would have needed to fall asleep.
Machan moved closer. “If there is anything troubling you…my greatest desire is only to give you everything you want and need.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed, next to Namor.
That would have been revealing, had Namor not already known. Few royal advisors would dare step into the king’s bedchamber without invitation, but a trusted handful might have gone that far.
None would have sat down uninvited on Namor’s bed.
“You need rest, my lord. You are weary. You need something to soothe your mind, and distract you from the troubles of the day.” Machan slid his hand until his fingertips were just brushing against Namor’s.
Namor glanced down. He could feel Machan’s touch. He had not expected that.
“I can be everything you want me to,” said Machan. “I can give you anything your mind can perceive. You have been lonely, my king.” Machan’s fingers began tracing lightly along Namor’s arm. “I know exactly what you want.” He straddled Namor.. “This is what you want, correct? Touch? Pleasures of the body to distract you from pains of the mind? Someone to stay with you through the night?”
Namor wanted that. He wanted have Tommy returned to him, to let him grow as old as Randall Peterson. He wanted a world saved from surface-dweller destructiveness. He wanted his people strong, safe and unmarred by the pollution and greed of the air-breathers. And he wanted someone warm and steady next to him in bed, to anchor him if he had bad dreams.
“You can have everything you want, my king.” Machan leaned down and kissed Namor. “Just lie back and let me give it to you.”
Namor let himself sink back onto the bed. He felt Machan’s hands expertly undo his trousers, and then trace along his slit until his cock stiffened and emerged.
Machan removed Namor’s clothing, and bent Namor’s legs up until they were over Machan’s shoulders. “You have a fondness for this,” he said, tracing his finger around Namor’s hole. “The King of Atlantis likes to get fucked.”
Namor did like it. He liked it best with either two lovers, or one who could both fuck him and stroke his cock.
Machan rubbed his cock against Namor’s hole, teasingly. “Do you want this my king?”
Machan penetrated Namor, slowly, but with persistence. He thrust in deeper, one hand stroking Namor.
“See? I know exactly what you want.”
Namor clenched the bedding and moaned. He briefly wondered what someone else would see. Would it be Namor alone, naked and writhing on the bed? Or Namor lying flat on his back, eyes closed, the motion only in his mind?
Machan gave a final, intense thrust. At the same time, he stroked Namor's cock, and Namor came with a cry.
Machan pulled out, then lay down on the bed next to Namor.
Namor let out a satisfied sigh. He felt more relaxed than he’d felt in some time. He slid into a more comfortable position, and let his eyelids drift shut.
Machan curled up beside him.
“Machan?” Namor blinked slowly and sleepily.
“I’m here. I’ll stay all night. I know you don’t want to be alone.”
Namor, in his mind, was on a beach with Tommy.
It was a memory from the war, but a pleasant memory, one of the good days. A quiet afternoon on a discreet cove. Swimming, and enjoying each other’s company.
Tommy’s head was resting on Namor’s chest “It’s nice like this. I wish we could stay here forever.”
“Me too,” said Namor.
“I know, but it’s time to go.” Tommy sat up and began putting his uniform back on.
“Don’t.” Namor put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “We both know how this ends. Don’t go.”
Namor blinked, and he was in his royal bedchamber.
An Atlantean soldier lay on his bed. He was handsome, and young, in his early twenties.
He was younger than the lovers Namor normally took. And only a little older than Tommy, when he’d died.
“Did I please you?” the young man asked.
Namor nodded. “You did. I am afraid I have much business to attend to.”
The young man nodded. He looked nervous for a moment, and then leaned in and gave Namor a soft kiss on the lips.
“If you wish to see me again, my lord, it would be my honor.” He smiled. "And my pleasure."
Namor nodded. He seized the young man’s hand and pressed a kiss on his palm. “I can assure you, the pleasure has been entirely mine.”
Namor watched carefully until the young man was out of sight. Then he turned to Machan. “Who was that?”
“Does it matter?” Machan asked. “He was who you needed him to be.”
Namor rubbed his head. “I don’t remember meeting him.”
“You were tired.” Machan put a hand on Namor’s arm. “You have had far too much on your mind. I knew what you needed, so I arranged everything for you.”
Namor stiffened. “You have been arranging things for me far too often lately.”
“It is my job to protect you, my king. And to ensure you’re strong enough to do what needs to be done.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” Namor asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Do you want to argue?” Machan spread his hands out, the picture of innocence. “Do you want to yell, my king? Insult me, curse my name, vent all of your fury on me? Do you want proof that someone cares for you so much that, no matter what rage and bitterness you unleash, I will still be here? Because I am here for you. Always.”
Namor bit back several sharp replies. “What was the young man’s name?”
“Leomar, my king.”
“Did we…did I treat him well?” Namor asked.
“Extremely.” Machan put his hand on Namor’s back, and began rubbing slow, gentle circles. “You brought him nothing but pleasure. If you wish, I’m sure he would be eager to be called back into your bed. Or I could find another.”
“Don’t,” said Namor. “Not…when I can’t remember.” When had he lost control of Machan? He used to be in control.
“You are still in control, my king. I am only trying to help. I won’t call in another lover when you are too tired to remember how you met." Machan looked at Namor, his face the picture of innocence. "Not if that’s not what you want.”
“You should kill him.”
“No.” Namor watched Roman Peterson swim away.
“He knows too much."
“We are not harming Roman Peterson, Machan. That is not up for debate.”
“If you wish.” Machan looked thoughtful. “There are other ways to bind him to silence. He is a handsome and healthy young man.”
“If you touch Roman Peterson,” Namor growled, “I will kill you! Even if I have to take a dagger to my own brain to dig you out.”
Machan floated back a small distance. “My king, are you well?”
“You’re asking me that?” Namor snapped. “You?”
“Your wellness is my only concern. Roman Peterson is a threat, and so is his mother.”
“To you,” Namor said. “Their knowledge of what Xavier did is a threat to you.”
“And to your plan.”
“I am you, my king.”
“Then what are you afraid of? If you are me and your plan is mine, will I not carry it out even if you're taken away?”
“I would hope so,” Tommy said. “But you are weak. You have grown guilt-ridden and sentimental, and that has made you too weak to fulfill the plan!”
“I hurt Jim Hammond for your plan! Is that not proof enough?” Namor didn’t think he had killed Jim. He was nearly certain he had not.
Still, at best, he had betrayed and cruelly wounded the best friend he had ever had. He would have sooner cut his own heart out than betray Jim.
But he had done it. For Atlantis. What more did Machan want from him?
“It’s not about what I want,” said Machan. “It is, and always has been, about what you want.”
Machan stayed quiet until they were in the royal bedchamber, alone. (As alone as Namor was able to be these days.)
Namor gave Machan a puzzled look.
Machan smirked and repeated the order. “Strip.”
Namor found his hands moving, as if of their own volition, to remove his clothing. Soon he was naked.
“On your knees.”
Namor’s knees gave way, until he was kneeling on the floor.
Machan stepped over, and undid his robe. “Suck me.”
Namor’s hands went to Machan’s hips, then to his cock. It was out already, like on a human, with testicles dangling openly. It was hard and ready.
Namor’s mouth took Machan’s cock. It wasn’t real, Namor knew, but it felt real, thick and bulky in his mouth.
He traced it with his tongue, then began bobbing his head back, and Machan thrust into his mouth.
Finally, Machan came in Namor’s mouth, sharp and salty.
Namor licked his lips as Machan pulled out. There was nothing truly there, Namor knew. So why could he still taste it on his lips?
“The mind is a wondrous thing.” Machan knelt down until his face was level with Namor’s. “It can give you everything you want.” His fingers traced tenderly along Namor’s cheek. “It can protect you. It can punish you, if that is what you crave. When you’re faced with choices so unbearably heavy that you could not stand yourself either way, it can bless you with a loss of control. And when you weaken, it can give you strength in unexpected form.”
“Who are you?” Namor asked.
Machan brushed back a lock of Namor’s hair. “I am King Namor the First, the Avenging Son of Atlantis. I am your salvation, your strength, your soul. I am everything you need. And you, my king, are forever mine.”