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When Trazyn laid a hand on Orikan’s thin, body shoulder, he was rewarded with a full-body shudder. Orikan gave an agitated jerk in his seat, twisting around to see who dared lay a hand on him at the most sacred of necrontyr holidays, the Day of Ancestral Observance.
“What a surprise. The Great Diviner of the Sautekh, Most Favored of the Szarekhan Court, Venerable Seer of the Necrontyr Future,” Trazyn offered in his usual jocular tone, settling himself carefully in a vacant seat. He set his cane to the side, then turned attentively to Orikan. “I am lucky indeed tonight.”
“May your ancestral dead be violated in your tombs,” Orikan offered, a vile curse that would have earned him harsh censor had he said it to any other lord. He crossed his arms and leaned away from Trazyn. “Luck is a myth, as I have told you many times. You knew very well I would be here. You have likely been plotting all evening how to approach me.”
Trazyn stared at him, smiling. He was wearing full ceremonial raiment, which included an absolutely ridiculous amount of gold and white - draped and folded fabric, fine ivory beadwork strung on golden chains, an elaborate golden crown that looked far too heavy for his lanky frame, and a sheer veil that obscured his expression.
The veil was new, as was most of the jewelry. But Trazyn did not need to see his expression to imagine it perfectly. He would not be well-pleased. He never was.
“Plotting is an exaggeration. The traditional Ancestral Observance opera was lovely, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. A wonderful performance from Kwetyerh, don’t you think? She has such a beautiful voice. I’ve only had the pleasure three other times, she rarely makes it over to-“
“Perhaps you are under the mistaken impression that I care about opera. That is not so. But I am sure there are others that will share your enthusiasm, if you sought someone else’s company.”
Trazyn took Orikan’s wine glass, studying it in the light, then drained it. He leaned in, closer to Orikan’s ear, hidden behind his elaborate headdress, and spoke low.
“I missed you. It has been an entire year, and I have not called upon you even once. I was very good.”
Orikan leaned away. “Do not be so foolish here. The others will gossip.”
Trazyn looked ostentatiously around. All the seats nearby were unoccupied, save for three very young apprentices at the other end of the table. They looked as if they would rather disappear from the Great Diviner’s sight entirely.
“Dismissed,” he said, in a slightly louder and more authoritative voice, not entirely sure they were paying attention. But the young crypteks vanished into the crowd as if chased.
Trazyn turned back to Orikan. “Do you know how I spotted you? Yours was the only table with no one celebrating. Did you bully those children to sit with you?”
“They were meant to attend me,” he snapped, his voice sounding strained. His hands were bunched into fists on either side of his plate. Slowly, carefully, he stretched his fingers and laid his hands flat on the table. His hands were bare, his dark skin and curved claws still beautiful and elegant though his skin was spotted with age, the runes tattooed into his fingers that assisted with his craft faded.
Trazyn thought about being very bold, then decided to be annoying instead. He reached for Orikan’s plate, and Orikan slapped his hands away.
“You know that food this rich will make you ill.”
Trazyn managed to hide a smile with a small sound of disappointment, pouring himself more wine and sipping it carefully.
They were attending the annual Ancestral Celebration at the Szarekhan court, a gathering of all the nobles and high officials for what amounted to a who’s who. There were regional variants as well. Trazyn generally attended the Nihilakh version, but he did loathe Phaeron Krispekh, and he had badly wanted to see Orikan.
“Your new robes look well on you, Great Diviner.”
They did not, actually - they were much fuller and thicker than his Arch-Cryptek attire had been, and Orikan practically disappeared into them. Trazyn knew Orikan would hate wearing them, but loved the having of them.
Orikan’s hands dropped in his lap, likely because the flattery had landed. Trazyn pressed, leaning in close again.
“I was very happy when I received news of your promotion, Orikan. Ancestors know that you deserve it. I told you they would honor you with the title eventually. I always believed in you.”
“I did not need you to tell me. I knew well enough.”
“Did you see it in your stars? You never seemed terribly confident.” Trazyn left an edge of teasing in his voice. “I stayed away from your promotion ceremony, though I wanted to see it quite badly. Did you get the flowers I sent?”
“I sent them back,” Orikan snapped, turning to him.
“They were lovely,” Trazyn assured him. “And I thought you were still angry with me. Perhaps you missed me as well?”
“You stole my robes and symbols of office,” Orikan hissed. “And if that were not bad enough, mysteriously, a high-ranking member of my order disgraced themselves when they allegedly stole the ancestral jewelry from the Drivkest house. A chronomancer.”
“Hmm. And there are so few. A true mystery,” Trazyn said, using a distracted voice. “I heard about it. But that house has all but died out, and will no longer need them. Certainly they will not be missed.”
“The blow to my reputation was quite severe.”
“Not so,” Trazyn said, in mock offense. “The crime was committed while you were attending court. There was no way for you to have done it.”
Orikan’s fists were back on the table, shaking with rage. Trazyn gambled on boldness, and took one with his own hands, gloved to hide the ink stains on his fingers. He unwound Orikan’s fingers and brought the back of his hand to his mouth, staring into the blankness of his veil.
“And you were promoted just after. I think you are exaggerating the results just a little, my dear. You can’t still be angry with me for that.” He kissed Orikan’s knuckles, licking gently at the back of his middle finger. “I think you were very disappointed that I did not attend your promotion to celebrate with you.”
Orikan jerked his hand back into his lap, but remained silent, still studying Trazyn inscrutably through his veil. Trazyn hid another smile with a sip of wine, setting his cup aside and pulling up the loose sleeve of his turquoise-and-gold robe.
“I was ill. You know how I am about such things, I do not like for the others to know.” He showed the pink injection scars from his most recent treatments, then let his sleeve fall back. “The blight comes for us all eventually.”
Orikan looked away, did not say anything.
Trazyn took the wine glass back, considered it for a few carefully measured moments of silence.
“Have you been well, Orikan? I was quite lonely without you. Does being Great Diviner agree with you?”
“I have been busy,” Orikan said thinly, his hands still in his lap.
“I was waiting for you to contact me, you know. It is most heart-breaking when you reject me, and I thought you would be pleased to be left in peace.”
Orikan said nothing to this.
Trazyn had joined Orikan at the end of the dinner service, and the live music had started once more. A new song began, and Trazyn cocked his head, looking over to Orikan.
“You are rather taciturn this evening. Perhaps a dance, to liven the mood?”
“I hate dancing,” Orikan replied, with less heat than Trazyn expected.
“I love it.” He drained the wine cup a second time - wasting it, to be sure, the Silent King’s court went all out for these events, and it was good stuff. He set the empty glass aside, then laid a hand on Orikan’s arm.
“Will you not humor an old friend? I have taught you to dance quite well over the years. It would be a shame for you to forget.”
“I have forgotten. And besides, if you-“ Orikan paused, then tried again, his voice more firm. “If you have been ill, you are in no shape for it.”
“Exercise is good, no matter the age. Come, help me up.”
As Trazyn struggled to rise, Orikan came and supported him on his weak left side, an arm around his waist. Trazyn suppressed another grin, knowing he was forgiven, and gestured to his nearby lychguard to retrieve his fine cane as he walked with Orikan to the dance floor.
A slow number was playing, and Trazyn positioned his hands on Orikan as he began leading them through the steps. Orikan was a great deal taller and possessed no innate sense of rhythm, so their dances had always been awkward. But Trazyn enjoyed them nonetheless, and Orikan had dutifully learned the correct steps over the years.
“You are being unusually well-behaved. You normally complain about this.”
Orikan said nothing, and appeared to be impassively staring over Trazyn’s head. Trazyn tried to see under his veil, but could only glimpse Orikan’s long, elegant neck - now draped in a delicate netting of beads and chains, fine reproductions of the constellations.
“This is beautiful, you know. It suits you.” Trazyn fingered the work, and earned himself a glance down.
“I did not think you would wait an entire year to apologize.”
Trazyn grinned. “I wanted to prove that I respect your temper. You also have ways to contrive meetings, you know. You could have called on me. Did you think I would not accept that I was forgiven?”
“You do not respect my temper,” Orikan snapped, staring back up above the hood of Trazyn’s cloak.
Trazyn increasingly hated dressing for these events, and had no one he wished to impress. Thus, he wore the bare minimum of finery - a thick scholar’s cloak in Nihilakh turquoise, trimmed in gold, the gold collar of his Overlord rank beneath. The robe was tailored, and it looked well on him. It was cinched at the waist with several loops of gold chain, from which the expected Nihilakh ornamentation was kept.
The ornaments were, sadly, not the ancestral pieces of his family on Solemnace. They were beautiful, recently acquired items from the Drivkest dynasty, who were not in attendance.
Trazyn felt a nudge from Orikan’s tail. His Diviner’s robes had not been cut to accommodate it - an unusual feature among the necrontyr - and Orikan had wrapped it under the skirts of his robe, fidgeting against one of his legs as they danced.
Trazyn very suddenly wanted it around his waist. He leaned in, resting his head against Orikan’s chest.
“You like it when I disrespect your temper. You’ve spent the better part of your life angry with me.”
“I have.” Orikan paused. “Send word next time you are ill.”
Trazyn looked up at him. “And I suppose you are very honest with me when you are treated?”
“I am much younger than you,” Orikan snapped. “I have not had the treatment in years, and yes, you were with me last time.”
Trazyn made a sound of assent, and laid his head back against Orikan’s chest. Orikan was very hot, and Trazyn could feel his two hearts beating wildly inside his chest.
“Did you miss me?” he asked, not looking up.
Orikan, as expected, did not respond. He did, however, shift a hand beneath Trazyn’s hood to the back of his head, wrapping his fingers around Trazyn’s neck in a gentle caress.
Trazyn made a noise of satisfaction and closed his eyes, concentrating on leading them through the dance.
Necrontyr dance numbers were typically long, and this one had not finished when Orikan slowed, then stopped, tensing beneath Trazyn’s hold.
“Master Orikan! Or, I suppose, it is Great Diviner now. But what’s something like that between friends!”
Trazyn’s eyes shot open, and he straightened, turning to look at the speaker. Orikan dutifully supported him at the waist, but was obviously discomfited by the interruption.
“Nemesor Zahndrekh. Vargard Obyron. Heroes of the Sautekh.” Orikan paused, and Trazyn could sense that he wished to pull away, but knew Trazyn needed the support. “The Nihilakh Overlord Trazyn, of Solemnace.”
Trazyn shot him a quick, curious glance - Orikan was far too old to be coy, but had ever been shy about their relationship. It was difficult to tell whether his reticence was his usual disregard for polite manners, forced on him by the pair from his own dynasty, or dislike at being caught expressing an emotion.
Trazyn turned to the speaker, who seemed unaffected or uninterested in the proper necrontyr social niceties of meeting an Overlord.
“You wicked thing! All these years, and you’ve never once told me you danced.” He turned to his companion, who seemed chagrined, and was in the process of bowing to Trazyn.
“Obyron doesn’t dance either. Most soldiers don’t, though I try my best to encourage it. Not even the officers will humor me any more.” He turned back. “But I could have been dancing with you! We will have to make up for lost time.”
The pair were military, wearing the white formal uniforms of the Sautekh infantry. There were only a handful of active duty military that were invited to the Silent King’s Ancestral Observance celebration (nor crypteks either - Orikan was ever an exception), so these two were quite celebrated indeed.
Trazyn’s attention caught on the speaker’s chagrined companion, who was quite possibly the most attractive necrontyr Trazyn had ever seen. His face and proportions were the stuff of legend. Necrontyr had ever admired size and physical strength, and this individual was enormous - exceptionally tall, broad, and heavy, with short dark hair that curled from underneath a cap that attempted to hide his handsome face. Light brown eyes, a full mouth, perfect teeth, and a square jaw sat upon a short, thick neck that bore the collar of his vargard position. The long draped coat of his formal uniform trailed forever to the floor, but did nothing to hide his thick thighs and enormous gloved hands. What was visible of his dark skin was unblemished and perfect, rare on all but the very young.
Trazyn had met plenty of lords who kept eye candy for bodyguards, but this one also seemed to have legendary accomplishments as well. His arms and chest were covered with decoration, the silver catching the low light of the hall.
Trazyn had been looking too long, and tore his gaze away to his companion, who was grinning knowingly. His smile was infectious, and Trazyn returned his grin before turning back to the handsome one and winking.
“Fear not. I have never been a fan of ceremony between mutual friends, and the Great Diviner has few enough. A pleasure.” Trazyn managed a correct formal bow to both individuals, though only the nemesor was, socially, granted a greeting.
Orikan’s grip on his waist tightened further, and Obyron made a small sound at the insult to the Diviner. Zahndrekh laughed, and Trazyn warmed to him immediately.
“I do not dance,” Orikan clarified, his voice sounding unusually measured. Trazyn glanced at him curiously again. “I was merely humoring the lord. He must have everything.”
“That is true,” Trazyn intoned gravely. “I forced him to learn. And the Diviner has ever been a kind, generous soul about his time, and humoring others.”
Orikan began withdrawing his arm, and Trazyn wrapped his own around Orikan’s waist to avoid stumbling.
“How long have you known Orikan?” Trazyn continued. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen another approach him at one of these events.”
Zahndrekh seemed to be looking speculatively over Trazyn’s shoulder at Orikan, sipping at a wine glass in his hand. He was also exceptionally handsome, though his looks were overshadowed by Obyron, which Trazyn found interesting. Obyron was the youngest in their current group, but Zahndrekh had the kind of face that seemed ageless - necrontyr generally lost weight and muscle as they aged, older individuals generally had sharper features. Zahndrekh’s skin had the rougher, more pebbled texture of an elder, but his face otherwise maintained a smooth, handsome appearance. His beard and hair were both shaved close to his skin, a becoming silver that complemented his uniform.
“Those new robes do you no favors, I’m afraid.” Zahndrekh offered, unrelated to Trazyn’s question. “That headdress is atrocious.”
Trazyn turned, craning his neck to look up at Orikan again.
“I am afraid our mutual friend is right.”
Orikan turned to him, voice tight. “You just finished telling me how well I looked in it.”
“I am rather foolish about you. I think you look well in anything. But I specifically did not mention the headdress.” He turned to Zahndrekh. “It is a shame to cover his expression. The Diviner is a person of few words. How will we ever know his thoughts now?”
Zahndrekh looked extremely pleased. “It does seem to miss the point, doesn’t it? A seer with their eyes covered.”
“Hm. Robbing him of his mundane sight so he can see the heavens more clearly.” Trazyn smiled at Orikan, who was trembling with rage now. He squeezed Orikan’s waist, and Zahndrekh continued.
“But look at me! Always wandering away from the topic. You asked how we met. Years ago, wasn’t it? The campaign on Gatperek.” He turned to Obyron, seeming to seek confirmation. Obyron did not react, or even look at him. Zahndrekh, satisfied, turned back to Trazyn and continued. “We had been stuck in for an age, and the top wanted us to have an edge, so they sent more astromancers. Our friend the Diviner here was among them, and we got along like mud in the rainy season.”
“Is that so?” Trazyn turned to Orikan again. Orikan did not get along with anyone, in his experience.
“Oh yes. We haven’t worked together since, but I always look him up at one of these. Haven’t seen him at this one before, though.”
“He often does me the honor of visiting Gheden for the Ancestral Celebration. But he’s risen so far in status this year, I of course had to come and see him.”
“You do not need to speak of me as if I am not here,” Orikan snapped. This was, Trazyn noticed, directed solely at him, though Zahndrekh was largely the instigator this time.
“Of course, of course. Rude of me,” Zahndrekh offered in a conciliatory tone. “How did you meet the Overlord, then? It seems like you two are fast friends.”
Orikan paused. “I was required to attend his investiture ceremony, as a guest of a neighboring dynasty. I… met him there.”
Trazyn grinned at Zahndrekh. “This is why we’re talking about you as if you are not here. You leave out the best parts of the story.”
“That was for your benefit,” Orikan returned, sounding upset. “These two do not need to be introduced to your beastly manners.”
“I was young,” Trazyn intoned gravely.
“You have gotten worse.”
Trazyn turned back to Zahndrekh. “The Great Diviner speaks truth, of course. I was rather rude. His manners, however, have always been impeccable.”
Zahndrekh had been following their discussion with avid interest, and as Orikan reached a second arm to Trazyn, likely to do something rather impertinent, Trazyn put a free hand out.
“Ah! The music has just changed. I have only ever taught Orikan the more modern Szarekhan steps for this, but I prefer the complex forms from the previous dynasty. Are you familiar with them yourself, Nemesor?”
Zahndrekh looked delighted. He turned to Obyron, handing him his empty glass. “Do you mind, old friend? Perhaps you can keep the Diviner company while we have our fun. Unless you’ve relented after all these years?”
“No,” Obyron said simply, accepting Zahndrekh’s glass and watching with interest as Zahndrekh took Trazyn’s arm.
“I have had a few dances too many over the years, I’m afraid,” Trazyn explained. “You will need to help me on my left side. Orikan very nearly threw me to the floor.”
“My pleasure,” Zahndrekh said, rather gallantly, as they took up a proper position further into the dance floor.
The dance was an older one with complicated steps, and there were far fewer couples out for it. Zahndrekh and Trazyn stood out, which Trazyn did not mind terribly. Zahndrekh led, doing a wonderful job of supporting Trazyn without making it obvious.
After a few moments to get their rhythm, Zahndrekh resumed their conversation.
“You are wearing scholar’s robes, unless I am very much mistaken. Rare to see an Overlord in such.”
“I am rather an eccentric, I’m afraid. I pride myself as an archaeovist, and maintain a rather large museum of necrontyr culture. I’ve never been able to simply sit back and patronize it, so I’ve taken an active hand over the years.”
“A scholar!” Zahndrekh’s expression lit. “It’s something I’ve always wanted to pursue. If circumstances were different, you know.”
“You have done quite well for yourself, despite all that.” Trazyn unclasped their hands briefly, to trail a finger along Zahndrekh’s medals. “You seem to be quite the hero.”
“I am,” he said enthusiastically, taking Trazyn’s gloved hand back into his own. They paused conversation briefly for a series of steps, and both followed flawlessly. Zahndrekh continued. “Though nothing compared to Obyron, of course. Everyone pales in comparison to him.”
“I believe they carve the likes of him as tomb guardians,” Trazyn intoned gravely. “Ancestors know I would love for him to be watching over me for eternity.”
“He is quite good at it,” Zahndrekh winked. “He’s pulled me out of countless bad spots over the years. More than half of his medals are for correcting my mistakes.”
“I hardly believe that, Nemesor.” Trazyn paused, taking a gamble. “You seem close. I am always quite touched when such partnerships remain a lifelong commitment.”
“Oh yes. I am rather difficult to get along with, if you can believe it. Bit of a rogue. I went through several partners before I was assigned Obyron, and he was a dear. That was years ago now. He’s a good sport. I have a habit of discoursing about anything I set my mind to. Neither Obyron, nor my colleagues have ever appreciated my gregariousness.”
Zahndrekh had hardly taken a breath for the explanation, but Trazyn was fascinated. It was considered excessively rude to discuss the details of one’s life too thoroughly, and Trazyn always liked when others volunteered themselves. “Oh? I do love a good lecture. Are they always related to your professional pursuits?”
Zahndrekh laughed. “Only Obyron has to hear me talk through strategy. He’s also lived several lifetimes worth of my years at the academy on Yama through my fond reminiscences.” He paused, gazing out across the near-deserted dance floor. “I have a habit of making things sound a great deal better than they are, if you catch my meaning.” He glanced back, studying Trazyn’s face. “Better to deal with the bad as it comes, and remember the good later.”
“Hmm. As a historian, I can’t entirely agree, but I am a romantic at heart. What fine things have attracted your attention lately?”
Zahndrekh fixed him with an intense stare. “You know they like the military to be represented at these things. Everyone expects these to be a long night of tedium and hand-shaking, not to mention the opera. None of the others realize what a rare opportunity it is. Truly a once-in-a-lifetime performance.”
Trazyn brightened. “Then you are a fan of Kwetyerh?”
“Oh yes. I’ve only seen her once before, it was years ago now. Unforgettable, of course, but her voice has only grown more lovely over the years.”
“Where?” Trazyn asked.
“Encouragement! You should know I will go on, even without being asked.”
And so Zahndrekh did. He was also impressed when Trazyn recounted the performances that he had attended. The song ended and another began, and the two continued to chatter.
Zahndrekh, Trazyn noticed, did not miss a step, and was every bit the fine dance partner that he had bragged of being.
While dancing to the second song, Zahndrekh bent in close to Trazyn’s ear, his breath hot against his skin.
“I must say, your Orikan looks increasingly upset. Difficult to tell with the veil of course, but it seems as if he has not taken his eyes off us since we began.”
Trazyn laughed. “He is terribly jealous, though it is unwarranted.” He paused, not used to sharing something so personal, then decided it was harmless. “He cannot be my consort legally, of course, a cryptek from another dynasty. And our temperaments prevent us from cohabiting. But I have always had a weakness for him, all the same.”
“You are monogamous?” Zahndrekh asked, sounding surprised. It was extremely uncommon among the necrontyr, even among committed couples. Children were always a blessing for a people who were short-lived and prone to illness, the act of procreation seen as healthy wherever it occurred.
“Not by choice.” Trazyn was uncommonly short and slight for a necrontyr, qualities which made him generally undesirable. Youth had not helped him with this. He looked up at Zahndrekh, raising an eyebrow.
Zahndrekh was obviously trying to control a smile, looking over his shoulder, presumably at Orikan. “I refuse to believe there is a soul you could not charm into your bed, Overlord, even at your age.”
“I suspect you are a person who does not need much convincing, nor has ever had similar issues.”
Zahndrekh laughed, then looked down appreciatively. He was even taller than Orikan, and positively towered over Trazyn. Their dancing was attracting attention, likely because of the comical mismatch, though Zahndrekh either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Trazyn certainly didn’t.
“He would be a terrible hypocrite if he held you to monogamy, if you catch my meaning.”
Trazyn grinned, suspecting that Zahndrekh had been working up to this. “I do. I would not have believed anyone else would have him. He is not very personable.” He paused. “I will admit to some surprise, though. How did you manage it? It took me an age to convince him, and he is not susceptible to flattery.”
“I think he is susceptible to your flattery. But I did not flatter him. The first time was after our victory, when he was assigned to us. We were very drunk.” Zahndrekh made his expression and tone very serious. “I often am.”
Trazyn could smell it on him, but said nothing. He was obviously still sober enough to dance, which was impressive. Zahndrekh continued.
“As you say, neither Obyron nor I need much of a silver tongue when we are in the mood. Your Orikan was quite accommodating.”
“No!” Trazyn exclaimed. “Then he is not my Orikan.”
“I am afraid so,” Zahndrekh said gravely. “I am, of course, the commanding officer in all things, and I was well aware of his behavior. When he wants the pleasure of my company, he does as I say.”
Trazyn felt as if he had the wind knocked out of him. He squeezed Zahndrekh, who helped support him through several steps until Trazyn regained his composure.
“I must see it,” he insisted. Trazyn knew the touch of desire, some said far too well. But he found he had never wanted anything as much in his life as he wanted to see Orikan forced to behave to get what he wanted. “You came here expecting a tryst with him, did you not?”
“Yes, but I believe you did as well. He is currently earning himself a rather wide berth. I suspect he will be quite furious with me, and may have come here expecting a tryst with you instead.”
“I will ask,” Trazyn said. “But I suspect he will enjoy it more if you kiss me.”
Zahndrekh’s eyes dropped to Trazyn in amusement. “Will he?”
Trazyn was now the one who made his expression more grave. “Oh yes. Especially if he can’t say anything to you, and is forced not to say anything to me.”
“That seems enough of a reason.” Zahndrekh bent low, kissing Trazyn rather thoroughly. His beard scratched against Trazyn's lips, and he squeezed Trazyn’s hand and waist as his tongue found his way into his mouth. Trazyn responded in kind, giving himself a stiff neck as he craned up, wishing he could hold the back of Zahndrekh’s head.
The song came to an end, and Zahndrekh straightened, Trazyn grinning widely.
“That should do it,” Trazyn concluded. “Perhaps a drink, to make things worse?”
“That will always do it.” Zahndrekh offered his arm, and the two of them made their way to one of the bars.
“Will Obyron be amenable to this?” Trazyn asked, curious. While monogamy was uncommon, coupling was, and Trazyn had to assume the threesome was fine with Obyron, but he did not know that a fourth would be.
“Obyron is peerlessly virile. The only parts of these he enjoys are the lovers I drag to bed for the evening.”
“He truly can do everything,” Trazyn murmured, resisting the urge to turn and stare at the vargard.
“Indeed,” Zahndrekh agreed, sounding pleased and handing Trazyn a glass after helping him perch on a stool. Zahndrekh remained standing. “He is rather fierce, if you prefer that sort of thing.”
“I do,” Trazyn confirmed, tasting more of the Silent King’s good wine. “Orikan generally is as well, but needs some provocation.”
“He is not very fierce with Obyron.”
“Nemesor. Please. You have teased me enough. I have already agreed to sleep with you.” He resisted the urge to turn around, and swore he could feel Orikan’s gaze burning into his back. He wondered if Orikan was using one of his hexes.
Trazyn glanced around the hall, which was still in the full throes of a party. A more lively, modern number had brought more dancers to the floor, and there were several groups and knots of guests talking, dynastic colors mixing, rumors spreading.
“Do you have other acquaintances at events such as this?”
Zahndrekh’s expression grew coy. “I have friends wherever I go, Overlord. But perhaps you will tell me of some of the more rarefied guests at this one?”
“Are you fishing for gossip, Nemesor?”
“Terrible. Of course not.” Zahndrekh leaned in closer, expression expectant, and Trazyn indulged him.
They entertained each other with the misdeeds of mutual acquaintances for quite some time. His archaeovists heard everything, and he sent them out widely to spy. Plus, there were the actual gossip mongers he counted among his friends, who were always helplessly spilling their secrets.
Trazyn had no idea how much time had passed - enough that he’d grown tipsy with drink, and Zahndrekh considerably more so - when a hand plucked his glass away and set it on the counter in front of him.
“I did not want the two of you to meet.” Orikan was still veiled, but his voice was level and dangerous.
Trazyn grinned. “Zahndrekh is quite the gentleman, don’t you think?”
When he glanced over, Obyron had bent down, and Zahndrekh was whispering something into his ear. Obyron’s expression was impassive, and it was difficult to tell what was being said.
“He is considerably less a gentlemen with you.”
Trazyn and Zahndrekh had been leaning against each other, straightening each other’s clothes, and using any excuse to touch one another. Trazyn had told himself initially that it would annoy Orikan, but he had kept it up slightly too long for that.
“It is nice to be appreciated.”
Orikan bent down, his veil swinging out from his neck. “I thought you came here to appreciate me.”
“I did. I always appreciate you.” He leaned in, cupping Orikan’s chin beneath his veil, and speaking into his ear.
“You have never spoken of your trysts with Zahndrekh and Obyron.”
Orikan turned, leaning back to address him. “You are too alike. You would have asked to meet him. The two of you would be insufferable.”
“We are.” Trazyn grinned, but pulled Orikan in close again. “I would very much like to watch Zahndrekh appreciate you. But I do not know if you would enjoy watching Zahndrekh appreciate me.”
Orikan hissed. “I have been watching it for nearly two hours.”
“I am serious.” Trazyn leaned back, staring into the solid white of Orikan’s veil. Orikan would be guarding his expression in a crowd like this, or may be looking displeased, which was more neutral.
“You and I can leave. Or we can leave with Zahndrekh and Obyron, but it must be your choice.”
Orikan straightened. “Leave where?”
Trazyn leaned against the bar, taking in his fine new robes again. “You are the Great Seer of the Necrontyr, and a member of the Szarekhan Court. You certainly have quarters here.”
“And what makes you think I wish to let you darken my doorstep?” He crossed his arms. He was terribly wound up, and Trazyn fought to keep his expression serious.
He applied what he knew would be the final straw, one way or another.
“I miss you terribly, Orikan. You are well aware that I came here to see you again. I was hoping to darken more than your door.”
Orikan was gripping his forearms hard, which meant his hands were shaking with emotion. Trazyn let his gaze linger on that, then drug his eyes to Orikan’s veil, looking expectant.
“You are far more trouble than you are worth,” Orikan muttered. Then, straightening and clasping his hands behind his back, he bowed to Zahndrekh.
“The Overlord of Solemnace has made me aware than he has extended my hospitality to you. I do not wish to be a rude host. Perhaps you will join me, away from the party?”
“You don’t wish to be a rude host?” Trazyn repeated, astonished.
“Would love to, Master Orikan!” Zahndrekh replied exuberantly. Obyron took an arm to steady him, his expression still grave and uninterested.
Trazyn put an arm out proprietorially, and Orikan sank his claws into the bare flesh of his forearm beneath his sleeve as he helped Trazyn down from the stool.
Trazyn let Orikan lead him away from the thinning festivities in the hall and through the palace, eventually ending up in rather spare quarters.
“This is it? Trazyn asked, looking around. There was a small shelf of reading material, a low desk with a mess of scrolls and ink, a large window, and a rather simple bed.
He turned to Orikan. “Do they let you have a change of clothes? This is even worse than your room in the palace of Mandragora.”
“I am tended to. And I have just moved in. Some of us do not need an entire planet’s worth of clutter. Most people, in fact.”
“My quarters are quite clean,” Trazyn insisted. “I keep them that way just for you, even when I find the most interesting art. Did you know I recently-“
“You did not offer your quarters, I noticed.”
Trazyn deflated, taking Orikan’s hand and running gloved fingertips over his smooth claws. “I could not wait that long.”
“These are quarters fit for a phaeron!” Zahndrekh announced behind them as Obyron drug him into the room. He was quite inebriated.
“One moment, Nemesor. There is something I must-“
Orikan jerked, interrupting Trazyn and pulling him closer by their clasped hands. With his free hand, Orikan stripped off his elaborate Diviner’s headdress, revealing his shaved head, light skin, and an absolutely furious expression. He bared crooked teeth, pulled back Trazyn's hood, then crushed his mouth to Trazyn’s.
It had been one of the things that had happened when they first met. Trazyn had bullied Orikan into kissing him, and while it hadn’t actually changed his life, it had made it considerably more bearable. While Zahndrekh had been a fine kisser, Trazyn was of the belief that no one kissed like Orikan - passionately, as if the impulse infuriated him and he might overcome it if he only tried harder.
He was sweating profusely, a sign of necrontyr arousal, and might have been doing so all evening as his new robes hid it well. Trazyn made a noise into his mouth as he discarded his gloves and put a hand to the back of his slick neck. He slipped the other inside Orikan's robes, running a palm down his side.
Orikan was much less gentle, all but tearing open Trazyn’s robes and tossing aside his fine belt, gripping his upper arms. He made a sound of protest when he encountered the scars from Trazyn’s most recent treatment, pulling back and studying his body, glaring at him.
Trazyn raised his eyebrows, and Orikan made a sound of frustration as he tore away his Overlord collar and sank his sharp necrontyr teeth into the join of his neck and shoulder, sucking at the blood before licking it. His tail came up, squeezing Trazyn far too tightly around his middle. Trazyn put his nose to the back of Orikan’s ear, where he was secreting the necrontyr sexual pheromone. He always smelled so well, and Trazyn truly ached for him.
“My back always feels so much better after seeing you,” he murmured as Orikan all but squeezed the life from him with his tail.
“Master Orikan! You never seem quite as happy to see me. It has been so long since we've been able to catch up.”
Zahndrekh had a hand on Orikan’s shoulder, and Orikan narrowed his eyes to glare at Trazyn as Zahndrekh spun Orikan around and pulled him into a kiss.
Gently, Trazyn noticed. He grinned. Orikan did nothing gently, and would be driven mad by Zahndrekh before long.
Zahndrekh finished after just a few short moments. “I will need to put some thought into how to coordinate this thing. Complicated, with four of us.”
“You have-“ Orikan snapped, before remembering himself, and Trazyn watched, once again astonished, as he forced his expression to a careful neutral and held his tongue.
“Did you say something, Master Orikan?” Zahndrekh asked unsteadily as he began tugging Orikan over to the desk. Orikan’s tail and hand slid from Trazyn’s body, but Obyron steadied him with a rather large hand against his back. Trazyn put an arm out to him, but was far too fascinated by Orikan.
“He held his tongue. Your talents must be truly exceptional, Nemesor.”
“Oh, they are.” Zahndrekh winked at him before collapsing in Orikan’s only chair, pulling Orikan into his lap. Orikan’s robes were still open and disheveled, the delicate Diviner jewelry askew. Trazyn itched to straighten it, to set it aside so that it would not be damaged, and looked forlornly at the fine headdress lying discarded on the floor.
“But I am nothing compared to Obyron. He’s always the one to start these things off. If you will, my dear?”
Obyron led Trazyn silently to Orikan’s bed, and when Trazyn was seated, he began unfastening the long jacket of his white military uniform. He pulled it carefully from his shoulders, revealing a thin, tight sleeveless shirt underneath.
“Obyron!” Zahndrekh called, mock scandalized. “You know that regulation states we are to wear the full linen underclothes beneath the dress uniform. It is not to be stained. That will require discipline.”
Obyron nodded gravely, his curly dark hair swinging forward to frame his face. He removed his cap, setting it aside with his jacket. “Yes, sir.” Trazyn was not sure what to make of this, then stopped thinking altogether when Obyron pulled the under-shirt over his head.
Battle scars were another thing culturally worshipped among the necrontyr - badges earned in righteous combat, via blades or plasma or even hand-to-hand. Obyron’s body was marked extensively, and it was the only thing that could possibly make Obyron more attractive. It was almost ridiculous. Trazyn could feel his ancient, sluggish hearts speeding up at the sight of the ridiculous man.
Zahndrekh whistled, because of course he did. Obyron turned, displaying his broad, scarred back as he unfastened his pants.
“You are most certainly supposed to be wearing underwear, Obyron. Terribly against regs. You are fortunate there is no commanding officer here to see this slovenly display.”
“Apologies, sir.” There was a hint of humor in Obyron’s voice, and as he pulled off his boots and stood fully naked, he seemed completely comfortable with his nudity. Trazyn supposed he would be too, if he looked like Obyron. He might not wear clothing at all. Obyron even had just the right amount of body hair, accentuating his muscle and bulk.
“You are always such a good sport about going first, Obyron. Perhaps you would like to honor our little lord tonight?”
Obyron’s dark gaze fell on Trazyn, and Trazyn could not look away. His expression was impassive, almost absent, but there was something still so terribly attractive about him. Trazyn did not have an opportunity to meet very many of the fit soldiers that served in the necrontyr armies, and Obyron was likely the best of them. Trazyn could not stop staring.
Zahndrekh’s use of little lord should have been offensive - it had been an insult since he was young, always the smallest and most diminutive of his acquaintances. But it was true enough. Everyone was a little lord compared to Obyron.
Trazyn did not react when Obyron slid his robes off his shoulders, letting them pool at his waist. Did not react when he pulled off his pants and set them aside.
Reacted, a bit, when Obyron bent over and lifted him, two big hands under his slender thighs. He was very gentle, and Trazyn grabbed his shoulders for stability.
He glanced over his shoulder to see if more participation was wanted. Orikan was sitting between Zahndrekh’s legs, robes still open, fingers tapping his astromancy tiles in a nervous tic. His expression was sour.
“Are you performing a divination to see how the evening will go? It seems rather fine from where I’m sitting.”
Orikan’s fingers stilled immediately, and he shot up. “You will not be able to sit when I-“
Zahndrekh snagged Orikan around his waist and pulled him backwards into his lap.
“You are being rude, Master Orikan. Obyron and the Overlord did not have a chance to get acquainted at the party. Will you take that away from Obyron? You know how shy he is.”
Orikan twisted around, expression ugly. “Why is Trazyn not following the same rules as I?”
Zahndrekh gasped. “You know the Overlord can have you punished - by me, in fact - for disrespecting his title. Your new promotion does not preclude you.” Zahndrekh turned to Trazyn, looking absolutely wicked. “What would be an appropriate penalty, Lord?”
“Thank you, Nemesor. I take manners very seriously.” Trazyn hoped he looked particularly ridiculous saying this while naked, all but cradled in the arms of a giant soldier. “The Great Diviner has ever had difficulty holding his tongue. And his busy hands. If you could perhaps put a stop to both, he might be more amenable.”
“Oh, I think that is a wonderful idea. Sadly common for the Master, I’m afraid.” Zahndrekh frowned at Orikan, who looked livid. He grabbed one of the exceptionally long white sashes that decorated Orikan’s robes and pulled, then first tied it over his mouth - rather too tightly, Trazyn noticed with glee - and used the trailing ends to bind his wrists and hands under his chin.
“That will do, don’t you think?”
“Is it too tight, Orikan?”
Orikan’s eyes were narrow, but he was still sweating excessively, and he did not nod his head or otherwise struggle.
“He would never let me do this myself,” Trazyn said sadly. “I fear he truly won’t let me sit tomorrow once he is free.”
Orikan did struggle at that, but Zahndrekh held him in his lap, laughing. “He may require distraction. For that, Obyron, perhaps a show?”
Obyron shifted, and Trazyn returned his attention to the soldier, who seemed to be supporting his weight effortlessly. Trazyn, unable to resist, ran his fingers through his hair. It was very soft, also uncommon among the necrontyr.
“You are terribly kind, and rather inscrutable. You do not mind holding me like this?”
“No.” Obyron paused. “This position doesn’t hurt your legs?”
The corners of Trazyn’s mouth quirked. “Not beyond bearing, though I dare say I will be feeling it tomorrow. But I can’t imagine that is something you frequently ask your partners. Surely you would prefer someone younger and more virile?”
Obyron seemed surprised by this question. “Zahndrekh has never seduced an Overlord before. They do not even speak to me. If you are asking me if I want to fuck you, the answer is yes.” Obyron seemed chagrined by this honesty, but when Trazyn laughed, he continued. “If it is not too bold for me to say, you are correct, most of our acquaintances are soldiers. I have never met anyone as small as you, and I cannot usually pick up and hold my partners like this. That is exciting as well. I feel like I will break you.”
Trazyn gasped, and the situation went from awkward to charged. He leaned forward, whispering in Obyron’s ear so that the other two could not hear. “You are just as charming as Zahndrekh. I have never been flattered so effectively in my life.”
Obyron bent to Trazyn’s outstretched neck, and Trazyn was alarmed when he opened his mouth, dragging his teeth along Trazyn’s skin. His teeth would cause much more damage than Orikan. But Obyron's mouth was exceptionally gentle, and he trembled at the contrast.
“You will not break me. But the threat of it is rather arousing, Vargard.”
Obyron glanced at him, his expression back to taciturn neutral. He walked the two of them over to the wall near the desk and braced Trazyn’s back against it.
His hands were still wrapped around Trazyn’s thighs, and Obyron squeezed as Trazyn began to lick behind Obyron’s ear, stimulating the necrontyr pheromone gland into arousal. His position was a passive one, and there was not much he could do to return Obyron’s attentions, but he was well and truly aroused himself, and he was quite good at this, at least.
The necrontyr sex organ was a clenched slit in the abdomen, situated just below their ribcage. It was the same on everyone, and when aroused, the muscles would either open and clench deep in the body, or become erect outside the body. They would secrete either lubricant or seed, depending on position.
Trazyn could feel the slick beginnings of arousal as both their organs opened, Obyron pressing against Trazyn as he continued to nip and toy at the skin of Trazyn’s neck and shoulders. Trazyn recalled Zahndrekh’s mention of Obyron’s shyness, and, well-supported himself, he cupped Obyron’s handsome face in his hands, looking into his eyes before he brought their mouths together for a kiss.
Obyron was not sweating, which was for the best, as Trazyn realized if they were both terribly aroused he might slip from Obyron’s grip.
Obyron was a shy kisser, not nearly as bold or enthusiastic as Zahndrekh. So Trazyn went slow and soft, nipping at his lips, gentle as he tasted Obyron’s mouth with his long necrontyr tongue.
“You are very sweet,” he concluded, looking into Obyron’s surprised eyes. His expression caused Trazyn to grin, and he leaned in, tangling his fingers gently through Obyron’s hair.
Trazyn’s organ had clenched in anticipation - he still wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about this exercise, as he was not terribly sexually active outside his on-and-off passions with Orikan. But Obyron was very handsome, and very kind, and being pressed up against the wall and all but swallowed by his size was certainly an effective lure. He felt the desire coil in his middle as he deepened the kiss - gently, very gently.
He paused slightly as he felt Obyron grow erect between them.
“You are large everywhere,” he murmured, and Obyron grinned against his mouth.
“Will it be a problem, my lord?”
“Perhaps tomorrow.” He pulled back slightly, managing to make himself sound serious. “But know that if I die, it will be how I wanted to go.”
Obyron kissed him again, and Trazyn snaked a hand between them, running his fingers along the ridged musculature of Obyron’s organ. It was quite large, and Obyron would perhaps beat Orikan to the challenge of preventing Trazyn from sitting straight tomorrow.
Obyron shifted his grip, placing one of his large hands under Trazyn’s ass, using the other to support his back where their vigorous activities were about to begin.
“A moment, my dear.” Trazyn squeezed, and Obyron’s organ leaked seed. “It is fortunate for both of us that you are as virile as Zahndrekh boasts. I do not slick myself as well anymore.”
Obyron made a sound into Trazyn’s mouth as Trazyn began working his fingers along Obyron’s length, another thing he felt he was rather talented with. He teased the spaces between the muscles, applied pressure to the sensitive tip, and smeared some of the seed into his own abdominal cavity so Obyron’s entrance would go easier. Obyron began rutting against Trazyn’s hand, and Trazyn allowed this, unsure how much he would be able to take of Obyron doing this against the wall.
Obyron’s fluid leaked between them, running down Trazyn’s belly. His hand was damp with sweat where he still cupped Obyron’s cheek, their lips brushing as their attention fell elsewhere.
Sooner than Trazyn would have expected, Obyron whispered against his lips. “I will finish soon, my lord. I would very much like to do so inside you, against the wall.”
Trazyn gave him a final kiss, grinning fiercely against his mouth. “I would like that too.”
He put his hand to Obyron’s large shoulder, and Obyron pressed their abdomens together. It was still a tight fit, even after all that, and the pressure knocked the air from Trazyn’s lungs. Obyron went slowly, and Trazyn’s muscles loosened to allow the larger organ.
He did not realize how tense he had grown in Obyron’s grip, how nervous he was to be held like this. Being skewered caused his muscles to grow embarrassingly relaxed, and Obyron shifted his grip as he began to thrust.
It was Trazyn who made the shocked noises now. He’d never been fucked so hard in his life, and he curled his face into Obyron’s chest as the other pounded into him within an inch of his life. It wasn’t entirely painless, and an exquisite ache mixed itself with overwhelming arousal and confusion at the situation.
True to his word, Obyron did not take long to finish, and he pressed his full weight into Trazyn as he spent the last of his seed into him. It overflowed, running out between them.
Quickly, Obyron set him on the ground, bracing his forehead against the wall, eyes closed as he took a moment to recover himself. Trazyn, trapped in the sanctuary of his enormous body, stared up into his face, extremely grateful.
“What do you think, Obyron? Do the Overlords rate as well as a soldier?” Zahndrekh interjected.
“Yes lord,” Obyron replied, somewhat breathless as he shifted, leaning his side against the wall and affording both of them a view of Zahndrekh and Orikan.
Orikan was trembling. Zahndrekh had an arm across his chest, holding him in place as his other hand stroked his erect organ. Orikan was leaking, but the technique Zahndrekh was using would prevent him from finishing.
“You look quite the mess, Lord Trazyn. But it would appear that our Obyron was the one who had all the fun.”
“I would not say that. I enjoyed myself rather thoroughly,” Trazyn drawled, leaning against the wall for support as he looked down at himself. Obyron’s spend ran from his abdomen and down his legs. But his own secretion, always clear from the receiving partner, was not visible.
“But you did not finish,” Zahndrekh insisted, sounding concerned.
Trazyn did not know him well enough to tell whether this was a real inquiry. “We all take enjoyment in our own way,” he said lightly. “And Obyron is quite the feast. My body, unfortunately, can no longer keep up with the willingness of spirit I still possess.”
“Ah, I see,” Zahndrekh said, and Trazyn could hear the hint of teasing in it now. “If both body and spirit are willing, perhaps Obyron could try harder, lord?”
The thought of this made Trazyn weak, and Obyron put a hand out to steady him. Trazyn gripped it gratefully.
“Try harder,” Trazyn repeated, looking up at Obyron, who was grinning as much as Zahndrekh. “How so?”
“You are quite the feast yourself,” Obyron offered. “Perhaps a different approach, my lord.”
“I… yes, of course,” Trazyn said, confused, as Obyron picked him up again - likely for the novelty of it, though Trazyn could not say that he minded - and laid him out on Orikan’s bed.
He positioned them so that they would be visible to Orikan and Zahndrekh, then climbed over Trazyn, looking down at him between his arms, eyes intent.
Trazyn stared, and Obyron began using his mouth and tongue in a way that he had been unable to with their previous position, starting with the necrontyr gland behind Trazyn’s ear, sucking it thoroughly before grazing his teeth down Trazyn’s neck and across his shoulders, biting playfully at his upper arm.
He licked the slightly tart sweat of necrontyr arousal from Trazyn’s collarbones, then paused over his well-used organ, still open and pulsing, and glanced up at Trazyn.
“With your permission, my lord?”
“Ah… of course,” Trazyn said weakly, his words stolen from him, and the big vargard lowered his mouth to Trazyn’s chest, lapping up his own spend from Trazyn’s abdomen before dipping his tongue more earnestly inside, intent on his task.
Obyron’s brown curls still looked flawless as he used his mouth far more skillfully that Trazyn had thought possible. He’d believed himself an expert, but Obyron had him panting, then making louder noises that he’d not produced in his life. He covered his mouth to muffle them, embarrassed, but Obyron took his hand and squeezed, and Trazyn arched up into his mouth, eager.
Age had robbed him of his ability to climax much of the time. Increasingly, he had difficulties masturbating, and needed Orikan’s tender techniques to finish, but even those were taking longer and longer. Orikan insisted it was a challenge to be met, and apparently Obyron was of a similar mind.
Though, between the rather thorough attentions of earlier and Obyron’s mouth, it did not take as long as he thought before his own lubrication was running into Orikan’s sheets, his muscles tightening, then separating as he reached his own release, a pulse of fluid quickly sucked away by Obyron.
He rolled his head to the side, dazed, and caught sight Orikan and Zahndrekh. Zahndrekh was still stroking Orikan, but not allowing him to come. Orikan met Trazyn’s eye. He was making sounds against his gag with every exhale, and it was soaked with saliva. His robes had been soiled with his own secretions. He was trembling all over, pulling against the bindings on his hands and wrists.
Zahndrekh seemed relatively pleased with the evening, his eyes narrowed as he watched Obyron sit up and wipe at his face.
“If you are amenable, I’d like to give it a try as well.”
Trazyn wasn’t entirely sure if Zahndrekh was speaking to him, then belatedly realized he was. “What? Give what a try?”
“You, of course. I’m always up for a challenge. If it is difficult for you to come, we ought to try again to make it more of a habit.”
Trazyn laughed weakly. “If you can manage that, I will send you another medal for it.”
Zahndrekh’s expression turned mischievous. “Did you hear that, Obyron? Service to the Empire comes in all forms. Perhaps you’d like to help poor Master Orikan. He seems to be struggling with us tonight.”
Orikan let out a sound around his gag, and Obyron stood obligingly. He helped Orikan to stand, shaking as he was, and studied him carefully for several moments.
Then, seeming to conclude something, he unwound the bindings at his hands and wrists. Orikan looked somewhat relieved until Obyron took his wrists in one hand and pinned his arms above his head, against the same wall where he’d just fucked Trazyn.
“Well. Hopefully this will make the room a little cheerier. Give it a splash of personality,” Zahndrekh offered, before he turned back to Trazyn.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, idly undoing the fasteners on his long white dress uniform cloak. He watched Trazyn as he did so.
“Are you enjoying the evening so far?”
Trazyn laughed. “Do you mean, have I enjoyed Obyron? He is quite obliging. Positively a jewel in the Sautekh crown.”
“Isn’t he?” Zahndrekh preened. “He’s very serious, but he does love meeting new people. I think he took quite a liking to you.”
Trazyn coughed weakly. “I am not certain how you can tell.”
“Well, he’s never picked anyone up before. That was something.” Zahndrekh seemed thoughtful, and his fingers were clumsy as he drew off his cloak, still likely very drunk. “But you spoke to him. It was kind. Most lords would not have bothered.”
“True,” Trazyn replied as he watched Zahndrekh remove his pants. He noticed that he wore neither undershirt nor underwear, and was completely bare under the uniform. “Your uniform regulations are either fictitious or you are flouting them as well.”
Zahndrekh climbed on top of him. “The regulations are real. I never wear anything beneath, though. Too much of a bother.”
“How wicked. Who am I to report you to?”
“That’s an excellent question.” Zahndrekh rolled over, propping his head up on an elbow and seeming to give the matter serious thought. “The Phaeron, I suppose. Though he may already know just how often I remove my uniform. I am rather well-known for it.”
“And skilled, I assume, Nemesor.”
“Oh yes.” Zahndrekh rolled back and braced himself atop Trazyn. Though he was broad and tall, he seemed almost average after Trazyn’s encounter with Obyron. He was hot, though his skin was not nearly as damp with perspiration as Trazyn’s own.
“I am afraid you will need all your skills if you think to have me come a second time tonight.”
Zahndrekh smirked. “I am one of the best nemesors for a reason, Lord Trazyn. And I believe you are worth the effort.”
Zahndrekh started with a kiss, and Trazyn re-assessed his previous conclusions. Zahndrekh really was quite a good kisser, though he still preferred Orikan’s desperation. Zahndrekh started slow, but his was also nothing at all like Obyron’s much shyer kisses, and Trazyn was happy to lay back and accede the field, so to speak.
Zahndrekh was very handsome and very eager, and Trazyn was quite pleased by the attention from him. He ran his hands through the short crop of Zahndrekh’s hair and kissed him along his jaw, working his nose behind Zahndrekh’s ear for his scent. Zahndrekh did the same, using his tongue to stimulate Trazyn.
“You are quite lovely, you know,” Zahndrekh murmured. “I do not encounter many Nihilakh. Your scent and taste are exquisite.” He punctuated this by dragging his tongue along Trazyn’s neck and sucking at the place where Orikan had bitten him earlier. He looked up into Trazyn’s face after, meeting his eyes. “But I was quite taken by your dancing. It’s been an age since I’ve talked someone into being my partner. Afraid you’ve stolen a bit of my heart.”
Trazyn smiled, utterly charmed. “I am often accused of being a thief. It’s a terrible character flaw of mine, a sad byproduct of the pursuit of knowledge. But I have never stolen a handsome soldier’s heart before.”
Zahndrekh shifted lower, still doing most of the work for Trazyn, who was reeling from Obyron’s attentions. He licked into Trazyn’s abdominal crease, which was open but not nearly ready to be taken again. After a few minutes, Trazyn was squirming, though Zahndrekh was holding him rather firmly in place.
“I fear I have fallen a bit in love with your tongue, Nemesor. It is rare I can find such an interesting guest at a party, but I must say… this is rather a bonus.”
Zahndrekh blew air across Trazyn’s midriff, which was excruciating. “We’ll have to do this again.”
“Indeed. You will need to visit my archive. It’s very thorough. We’ll find something of interest for you, I’m sure.”
Zahndrekh shifted back up Trazyn’s body, seeming interested in this. “I love poetry.”
“Well. I can have some rare examples brought out, and show you hard light recordings of recitals, if you wish.”
“I do.”
Zahndrekh continued to make very gentle love, exploring with his mouth and periodically murmuring endearments. He still smelled like a distillery, and Trazyn was still sore from earlier, but Zahndrekh was as enthusiastic and effective as he had promised, and he groaned as he felt himself become aroused again, his tightly-clenched abdomen opening back up.
With access, Zahndrekh was able to use his even more talented fingers, most of his attention on Trazyn’s mouth as he gently coaxed arousal from his spent necrontyr sex organ. Trazyn was once again the receiving partner - were he younger, he might be able to manage a switch, but it could ache when done in succession. Pleasant, and he had certainly done it before, but he was far too old now.
Zahndrekh seemed pleased when he opened far enough, and began teasing him with his own erect organ. His teasing was expert, and Trazyn could not fathom how Zahndrekh could manage such exquisite self-torture - the erect musculature was just as sensitive as Trazyn’s own.
He had lost track of time, and felt the depression in the mattress when Obyron laid Orikan out nearby. Both Zahndrekh and Trazyn paused to look. Orikan was still gagged, and Obyron held his hands immobile, but appeared to be teasing him with his mouth. Orikan was still a trembling mess, and was fighting Obyron more earnestly now. Obyron was still very carefully administering to Orikan’s erection with his hands and mouth, looking amused at the torment.
“He is patient about little aside from his seer arts,” Trazyn observed, looking back to Zahndrekh. “I am surprised you have such an arrangement with him.”
“I’ve always suspected he had a lover who spoiled him,” Zahndrekh said, nipping with his sharp necrontyr teeth at Trazyn’s neck, but not breaking the skin as Orikan would have. “It is my experience that a different flavor of passion is quite effective in such cases.”
Trazyn exhaled as Zahndrekh teased him again, half-entering and pulling away, Trazyn’s organ now fully aroused and attempting to clench down on Zahndrekh.
“And here I thought you were quite drunk. Have you and Obyron been so gentle to me for a reason, dear Nemesor?”
Zahndrekh kissed him deeply again, long enough that Trazyn nearly forgot the question. One of Zahndrekh’s hands supported Trazyn’s back from below, and he finally pushed inside, Trazyn clamping down his aching muscles on Zahndrekh in another groaning exhale. He was sweating - much more than Zahndrekh was - and breathing heavily, making small noises on exhale as Zahndrekh paused to let him adjust.
“I am quite drunk,” Zahndrekh finally replied. “But I would be a poor strategist if it was not terribly obvious to me that the Great Diviner is not naturally a gentle lover. I must say, as much as I have enjoyed my partners over the years, I have always liked it best when I could be indulgent.”
And with that, Zahndrekh began a slow, gentle rhythm that nearly drove Trazyn out of his mind. Zahndrekh wrapped his arms around Trazyn, and Trazyn responded by hooking an arm over Zahndrekh's neck.
When he shifted the other arm, thrown carelessly above his head, he was suddenly gripped and held in place by Orikan’s tail, squeezing his hand and wrist tight enough to crush.
Trazyn had difficulty focusing, but he grinned against Zahndrekh’s mouth as he once again felt overwhelmingly cared for. For all that he was an Overlord and could easily obtain companions as often as he liked, he never did. He preferred quiet and study, and Orikan had always been satisfying as both a lover and friend. He’d never experienced anything like this before.
He felt Orikan squeeze hard, then go limp, and he wondered if Obyron had finally allowed him a release. Trazyn was still struggling with his own second climax, and could not believe that Zahndrekh was lasting long enough to give it to him. Eventually, he went rigid, biting Zahndrekh’s shoulder to muffle his shouts, and Zahndrekh did the same a moment later, sinking his teeth into Trazyn.
He closed his eyes, his thoughts spinning even harder after the second orgasm, not entirely sure he wouldn’t pass out. He could not relax, his abdominal muscles remaining clenched around Zahndrekh and his body as doubled-over as both his general health and Zahndrekh’s position allowed.
After a minute or two of this, he moaned aloud, and Zahndrekh carefully withdrew, pulling out in a way that must have hurt him. Slowly, he began running his lips and tongue over Trazyn, his fingers gentle but firm as he pressed into Trazyn’s muscles, coaxing him into relaxing.
Eventually, Trazyn did, unclenching and coming back to himself as Zahndrekh rather thoroughly licked away the perspiration, his tongue tracing Trazyn’s thin skin - his collarbones, his hollow shoulders, his ribs, and eventually, very gently, the abused muscles of his abdomen, licking their spend from Trazyn’s belly with care that seemed almost cruel after his thorough attentions earlier.
Trazyn opened his eyes and exhaled on a soft laugh. “Now you are just teasing again.”
“Me? Never in my life.” Zahndrekh winked at him, but sat up, seeming completely comfortable with his nudity. He was not as bulky or muscular as Obyron, but he was still terribly fit, with broad shoulders and large muscular thighs.
Trazyn winced as he tensed himself to sit up, every muscle in his body protesting. He wished to lay a hand on Zahndrekh’s thigh, which he hadn’t been able to touch since they started.
But he was stopped by Orikan’s tail, still holding his wrist. Then, by Orikan’s hands from behind on his shoulders.
Trazyn turned, finding that Orikan was still gagged but otherwise free, looking absolutely incensed.
“Am I not allowed to thank my new friends for their tender attentions? I did not believe myself capable of coming a second time, and I would have lost that bet. The Nemesor is truly skilled.”
He turned to grin at Zahndrekh, who looked quite pleased with himself, but Orikan’s hand twisted Trazyn’s head back, and he tore the gag from his mouth with the other.
It took only a moment for Orikan to kiss him again, with that special angry way he had, all teeth and tongue and fury, and Trazyn thought he would stop breathing from the intensity of it. He eventually had to push at Orikan’s shoulders to stop.
“We should do this more often,” he commented blithely. “Normally you make me apologize when you are wroth with me, for real or imagined slights. But it has been an entire year, and you see-“
Trazyn was not permitted to finish. Orikan made a sound of frustration, then pulled him to the headboard, propping his back up. Trazyn winced and put a hand to his middle.
“You will need to be gentle, Orikan.” He controlled his expression, making his voice much more serious. “As gentle as Zahndrekh just was. I have never been-“
Orikan stopped him with his mouth again. He held Trazyn’s wrists, straddling his lap in a crouch. The position could not have been comfortable, and Orikan was not young himself, but he always proved himself to be spry and flexible when it came to this sort of thing.
Orikan, incredibly, was erect again, still sweating and leaking from his organ. Trazyn managed to twist away from his mouth, and Orikan made a displeased sound again, sinking his teeth into the place where Zahndrekh had bitten him and sucking hard.
“I thought Obyron allowed you to finish. Have you been unable to come this entire time?”
Orikan pulled away, narrowing his eyes as he looked into Trazyn’s face. “I did. Do you have a problem with that?”
Trazyn laughed, which made the muscles in his abdomen ache. “Of course not. But I suspect that you do, my dear.”
Orikan bit him in the meat of his upper arm. He shifted one of his hands, holding Trazyn by the scars on his other side. After a moment, he put his nose behind Trazyn’s ear, inhaling deeply before murmuring low enough that only Trazyn would hear.
“You will contact me the next time you require treatment for the blight.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
His tail came around Trazyn’s hips, squeezing far more gently than usual, mostly just supporting him. He was rubbing their chests together, and eventually, frustrated, settled them into a more comfortable position, with Trazyn’s legs on either side of his narrow ass, his own thrown over them, supporting Trazyn on either side.
Trazyn laid his hands against Orikan’s thighs, sadly more narrow than Zahndrekh’s, but he squeezed them anyway.
“I’ve always liked your thighs best of all,” he said aloud, running his palms along Orikan’s slick skin and probing the soft places with his fingertips.
“I saw,” he said crossly, running a thumb over Trazyn’s tightly-clenched slit. “That is a lie.”
“You saw that I like Zahndrekh and Obyron? The large, fit, athletic soldiers who are eager and generous lovers? And who was the first that discovered them, I wonder? Certainly a coincidence on your part.”
“It is because you are absolutely infuriating,” Orikan hissed. “If you did not drive me away, I would not need to seek company elsewhere.”
“I think you would be a fool not to seek their company when offered. And you cannot possibly tell me that you prefer me to them.”
“I cannot,” Orikan insisted, before kissing him again, and Trazyn’s arguments died in his throat.
When he pushed away for breath, Orikan released one of his hands, finger going to Trazyn’s tightly-clenched and well-used abdomen again.
“Can you manage again?”
Trazyn made a face, then laughed when he realized Orikan was in earnest.
“Three times? We have not managed that in over twenty years. I cannot even remember the last time we managed twice. If you can do it, it would be quite the medical miracle.”
Orikan bared his teeth. “I’m sure I can.”
Trazyn smirked. “I’m sure you cannot.”
This was a challenge, and Orikan shifted them once again, laying down and stretching Trazyn atop himself. Orikan’s erect musculature bore up into his sore abdomen, but it gave Trazyn access to Orikan’s body, which he explored rather thoroughly as Orikan bit and sucked at any piece of flesh that came within reach of his mouth.
They made love as they spoke - passionately, disagreeably, while trying to provoke and set the other off. Trazyn had always enjoyed the challenge. His methods were much softer and targeted than Orikan’s, with less teeth and more sucking of red, livid marks into his skin.
Orikan was covered in runes and constellation tattoos that were, allegedly, in aid of his seer arts. He insisted that they were effective and necessary, but Trazyn believed that the Mandragora Order forced them on the practitioners, and made every effort over the years to require them to be redone. Orikan hated this.
Orikan, for his part, bit every part of Trazyn like a savage. He never went above the large Overlord collar that Trazyn was required to wear, but Trazyn was positively covered in scars from where his attentions grew too passionate.
Their position changed several more times as they maneuvered around each other’s bodies, going to work on their thighs, their calves, their feet.
Bloody and exhausted, Trazyn eventually leaned back against the headboard, annoyed and thoroughly aroused for a third time, the telltale trickle of fluid leaking from his abdomen. Orikan moved in front of him again, into their usual position for such things.
Trazyn gestured, annoyed. “You’ve had your way. You will need to try harder if you wish to enter me again.”
Orikan looked extremely pleased with himself, Trazyn’s blood smeared around his mouth. “I mean to.”
He leaned forward, and Trazyn carefully licked the blood from his face before they kissed, much more slowly this time. When Orikan pulled away, he looked concerned.
“Can you actually do it a third time? Are you well enough?”
“I think it will kill me.”
Orikan’s expression grew more cross. “I was being serious. Do not joke about that.”
“It was not a joke.” He pulled Orikan closer to him. “But it is exactly how I wish to die - in your bed, after being fucked senseless by two large soldiers. Please tell everyone after it happens.”
Orikan made a noise low in his throat, and locked their mouths together as he began shallow, teasing thrusts between their abdomens - not quite entering Trazyn, making sure he was comfortable. Trazyn’s hands were at his waist, guiding his speed and position.
Eventually, even after such thorough attentions, Trazyn could not wait - had never managed to say no to Orikan, in all their years together. He was the one that brought their abdomens together, pushing himself against Orikan’s member and clenching hard enough to make Orikan wince against his mouth.
“Imagine how I feel. You’ve only climaxed once, and it was in Obyron’s mouth.”
“I have been driven to the edge of bearing all night. This is your fault.”
Trazyn grinned as he brought their foreheads together. “It often is. Go slowly.”
Orikan did. He was not as skilled as Zahndrekh at slow love-making, but he had the advantage of knowing Trazyn for decades, and knowing exactly what he liked. Every thrust was calculated with the precision of movement that aided his art. He cradled Trazyn with his tail from behind, pressing his long necrontyr fingers into Trazyn’s ribs.
While Zahndrekh and Obyron had both made Trazyn feel overwhelmed and cared for, it was Orikan who always made him feel loved. Though the Diviner was miserly with words, Trazyn never doubted it.
And so the quality of arousal was different, and he disappointed himself when he came a third time, quickly and reluctantly, after Orikan whispered a single, calculated endearment in his ear. Orikan came a moment later, likely not able to hold out any longer.
“Cheater,” Trazyn insisted, though even summoning the breath to speak hurt his chest now. “You know I am weak to such things. You simply cannot last as long as Zahndrekh, and must use underhanded methods.”
Orikan, still recovering, had come a great deal more than Trazyn had, his fluid collecting in their laps in an almost embarrassing amount that should have been impossible at his age.
Trazyn held his face in a hand, though Orikan refused to look at him, his eyes still clenched tightly shut in recovery.
“I missed you terribly,” he whispered into Orikan’s ear again. “I cannot say it often enough. Thank you for doing this for me, it was quite enjoyable.”
That made Orikan pull back, looking resentful. “I did nothing.”
“Not true. You have made wonderful friends over the years.” Trazyn smiled at him, and Orikan’s look grew more sour.
“One of us needs friends. Dead gods know you don’t have any.”
“Alas, Orikan. I have you. You tend to drive my other friends away.”
This was half-true, as Orikan’s jealousy had driven him to absurd extremes over the years. Trazyn was surprised Orikan had agreed to this evening, and concluded he must truly adore Obyron and Zahndrekh.
Orikan slid them into the bed, rolling away from the mess of their love-making and pulling the sheets around them, curling around Trazyn.
“Already?”
“I am too old for this,” Orikan insisted. He was holding Trazyn from behind, so Trazyn could not see his expression.
“What of your guests? Will you not offer us even a drink of water? Certainly Zahndrekh will need some wine.”
“Zahndrekh is asleep.”
Trazyn, frowning, glanced around the room. Zahndrekh was, indeed, stretched out at the foot of the bed, completely dead to the world. Trazyn propped himself up slightly, earning a sound of annoyance from Orikan as he looked for Obyron. He was extinguishing the light.
“Those two always finish with each other, and never last long. Zahndrekh falls asleep immediately.”
In the dark, the bed dipped slightly as Obyron got back in. Trazyn, oddly awake after the stimulation, twisted around, whispering into Orikan’s ear.
“Such a large bed. It did not occur to me that such things were wasteful for you.”
Orikan grunted in annoyance. “It is for you.”
Trazyn laid a hand against Orikan’s face again. “I cannot tell what part of that lie I like best. The implication that I, short as I am, require a large bed. The idea that you will invite me to court all the time, now that you are the Great Diviner. Or the fact that you would do me any sort of kindness without being forced. I am the one that would generally buy you a large bed for this, Orikan.”
“You promised the third time would kill you,” Orikan replied pettishly.
“It may yet. We will have to see in the morning.”