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The wedding ceremony was finished and the now the best part had begun: the celebrations. All across the city of Arles people reveled in their new kings matrimony. Of course, some had their complaints as Vere and Akielos would now join, but most were happy. The point of Damen and Laurent's political stance that really irked people was their views on slavery.

Such a custom was not easily reversed. It was embedded in both countries cultures. Laurent and Damen agreed it would take time, years, maybe even decades to get rid of, but they would do it. Their twin cuffs that usually marked slaves told their story in a bold way. Pallas, as a special tribute, decided to join them in their stance. Damen was his true king after all, now along with Laurent, and he would happily stand behind them in anything they did.

That's how he found himself being adored by two slaves. They were dipping delicate brushes into their mixing bowls and painting intricate lines of gold onto him. Golden paint was typically an extravagance reserved for slaves in Vere, but today for the celebration Pallas decided to adorn himself in glittering gold. He had worn a different chiton, plain white with red accents, for the actual wedding ceremony, but now everyone was changing into more festive clothes for the celebration.

Games would be held but today Pallas wasn't going to compete in them. He was to keep Damen company at the head table along with Nikandros, Jord, Lazar, and of course Laurent. Even Jokaste had earned a spot at the honorary table.

The slaves quietly bowed to signify they were finished and Pallas gazed at himself in the mirror by his bed. Gold lines followed his under eye on the top of his cheekbones, highlighting his dark bronze skin. Two thin lines on his chin finished the facial look. A golden band was painted around his left bicep. His white chiton brightened the look further and he noticed that the it was a tad shorter than his normal chitons. Lazar would like that he knew. He worried briefly what the Veretian would think of the paint but then he dismissed the thought. Lazar would like it, right?


Pallas walked into the pavilion where the celebration was occurring. Bouquets of flowers decorated the space. Ribbons were hung tastefully and Pallas stopped in his tracks. He wasn't used to the extravagance of Vere. It was quite the change from the simplistic style of Akielos.

Laurent and Damen sat on twin thrones at the head table, a golden crown atop each of their heads. Both golden crowns were unique in style. Damen's a type of laurel and Laurent's a simple band. Jord and Nikandros were already seated but Jokaste wasn't present. Pallas spotted Lazar getting a drink. It seemed in his own way, he too was making a stand with Laurent and Damen on slavery by pouring his own wine.

Baby steps.

Pallas watched, amused, as Lazar took his seat again, then he moved to the table. As soon as Lazar's eyes landed on him he knew the tedious gold paint was worth it.

Lazar spit his wine out, but managed to keep it from spraying everywhere. He put a hand to his mouth but all conversation at the table had ceased. Jokaste chose that moment to walk up.

"'ve got some..." She gestured to her mouth, laughing.

"Pallas..." Damen began.

"In support of Exalted..." He began in explanation. "And your highness." He breathed out. He blushed as he said the words in his language. He felt badly but he didn't feel confident enough to say the statement in Veretian.

He took his seat next to Lazar and immediately a plate of sweet meats appeared before him.

"" He asked Lazar in Veretian, struggling with the foreign words.

"Yes, very much." Lazar smiled, then paused. He leaned across Nikandros and Laurent to get Damen's attention.

"Damen." Damen ceased his side conversation with Jord and turned toward Lazar a bit confused. "How do you say fuck in Akielon? I forgot."

Damen told him while Nikandros sputtered in embarrassment. Damen had had a bit longer to get used to the unabashed Veretians.

"We.." Lazar said in Veretian, gesturing to himself and Pallas with his hands. "Fuck." He finished in Akielon.

Pallas blushed deeply at this and looked nervously around him to see if anyone had heard. No doubt the whole table already knew but they were their friends.

Lazar couldn't wait to lift that too short chiton and feel Pallas up and down. It was no secret Pallas had a great ass. It's not like the chitons Akielons preferred hid anything.

Lazar grabbed onto Pallas' thigh beneath the table and began to knead it, drawing circles into the bronze skin with his finger. He felt a full body shake go through Pallas.

After three hours the festivities were in full swing and the food had been cleared away for the games. Pallas was now barely keeping it together. Lazar had continued his ministrations the whole time, acting completely oblivious. At the four hour mark Laurent finally spoke up.

"As your new king I order you to just go and fuck already." He said the statement in Akielon so Pallas could understand. Laurent knew that Lazar would know just by the flick of Laurent's hand.

Lazar was on his feet in an instant, dragging Pallas with him so fast, the Akielon didn't even have enough time to be embarrassed.

They wove through the corridors to Lazar's room since it was the closest. The gold paint was done well and hadn't moved throughout the time and Pallas gazed at it absentmindedly as Lazar made the necessary preparations.

He set the oils on the table by the bed and then lazily stalked toward Pallas. He captured his lips in a searing hot kiss, thrusting his tongue into Pallas' mouth. The brunette had no complaints and pushed back with equal fervor. He couldn't let Lazar forget he was the champion of the games.

Lazar's hand snaked up the back of Pallas' thigh and underneath his white chiton. Cupping his ass he squeezed, lowering them both onto the bed.

Pallas shoved him off and quickly unpinned his chiton, throwing it across the room. Pallas turned onto his stomach and canted his hips into the air, resting his weight on his forearms. Golden lines ran down his back with the hard muscle and Lazar groaned.

Lazar quickly undid the laces of his shirt and pants, taking them off slightly slower than Pallas. Veretian clothing really was complicated. Pallas waited patiently though, resting his cheek in his palm, turning back to look over his shoulder slightly.

Finally Lazar grabbed the oil. Pallas had his head resting against his forearms but Lazar lightly tapped his hip. He turned around confusedly and he could see Lazar struggling to find his words. After a few moments his eyes lit up and Pallas assumed he had remembered the word.

"Ready?" He asked in confidently in Akielon. Pallas held back a laugh. It sounded more like Lazar had said 'cup' but both words were similar and Pallas used context clues to derive his lovers true meaning. He nodded yes eagerly.

A slick finger prodded at his entrance and Pallas whined. He pushed back and Lazar gladly let him do the work. Lazar was leaned far over Pallas so his mouth was close to his ear. He was already whispering Veretian filth. Pallas couldn't understand most of it but he picked up a few choice words that gave him a good mental picture.

Another finger quickly joined the first without ceremony and Pallas keened. He was ready. Beyond ready. Lazar sat back up so he wasn't so closely pressed to Pallas. With one hand preoccupied, he used the other to trace the golden lines on Pallas' back. Pallas was moaning loudly now, trying to push his hips back and onto Lazar's fingers, fucking himself.

Lazar inserted a third finger and waited to see how Pallas would react. The champion needed no break however and kept thrusting back. "Lazar." His name fell off of Pallas' lips like a prayer. The thick accent was cute in Lazar's eyes. He waited until incoherent Akielon and moans were all that was coming out of Pallas' mouth before Lazar removed his fingers. He was glad to finally have both hands free. He wanted to grab Pallas' ass.

He lightly tapped his hip again and Pallas turned. His face was slightly flushed and his dark curls were stuck to his face with sweat. His eyes were dark with lust and his pupils were blown. Lazar almost came right there. He didn't get to ask consent however as Pallas spoke up before him.

"Fuck me." It was said in Veretian and this time Lazar couldn't keep his moan in. The sight of a wrecked Pallas and the sound of the accented Veretian nearly had him falling over the edge.

Lazar lined himself up, placing his hands on Pallas' hips to steady himself. He pushed in slowly, taking frequent breaks as Pallas' breathing grew heavier. By the time he was fully sheathed Pallas was panting. Lazar was prepared to give him a few moments to adjust but Pallas unexpectedly slammed back into him. Lazar shouted out at the unexpected friction. It felt so good and he matched his partners pace.

He leaned over Pallas again, sliding an arm around his chest to help support him. No doubt his forearms were burning at the moment from the sustained weight. They moved in sync moaning and spewing profane words from their mouths in their own languages. Although that was mostly Lazar's doing. They pace they set wasn't fast enough to be fucking but in Lazar's eyes they were definitely rutting like animals. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge. Pallas was so hot around him, so tight.

"Hhgnn. Pallas. Pallas." He grunted, thrusting hard and when Pallas collapsed onto the bed he knew he had hit his prostate. Pallas lost the strength to hold himself up so Lazar did it for him. He repeatedly struck the spot until tears pricked the corners of Pallas' brown eyes.

A few more thrusts and Lazar came with a cry, burying himself into the wet heat. What he didn't expect however was for Pallas to come at the same time. They fell sated to the bed, still connected, and Lazar let out a long whistle. He slowly pulled out and he watched as his come seeped from Pallas. It ran between his thighs and Lazar shivered. He did that.

As if sensing his gaze, Pallas shifted his ass teasingly. "Again?" He asked in Veretian.

'You're going to kill me.' Lazar thought to himself. Then, 'I couldn't think of a better way to die.'