"You said that the Lord Marshall can take anyone as his consort?"
"Yes, my Lord"
"Man or woman?"
Riddick's stare is cold and flat and blue and open, his expression innocent enough, earnestly curious. Vaako finds it unsettling in the extreme.
"And if they are... married?"
Riddick smiles. A small, slow smile, gleeful with some secretive triumph. Vaako decides that it is a thousand times worse than the stare.
Vaako agrees out of sheer obedience, but does not like it. His wife is far more enthusiastic.
"Come on, dear husband, think what an excellent opportunity to get into the Lord Marshall's good graces."
"One's think you were eager for the man to screw you", he snipes, though without malice. They may enjoy fighting each other, but are still much more allies than enemies.
His wife just draws him in for a kiss.
"You know power turns me on, almost as much as you do."
Sex never has mattered much to Riddick. He rarely found himself wanting someone, and, if so, was usually attracted to personalities and scents rather than looks or genders. He likes strong characters, people who can stand up to him, but still respect him. He values intelligence, skills, a certain level of cold pragmatism. The Vaakos are two very different examples of this; him, the professional soldier, blunt and obedient and ruthlessly, brutally proficient in all things war, fair and powerfully built and smelling like metal and leather and ozone from high-tech weapons; her the charming and manipulative femme fatale, both stronger and tougher than she seems, lovely and deadly, dark and slim, her perfume vaguely reminiscent of musk and incense. They are like night and day, a poisoned glass of luxurious wine and a brutal armored fist to the face, brought together in a tentative, dynamic harmony. The are a guilty pleasure, and he cannot have just one.
The Lord Marshal's bed is a giant, elaborate monstrosity, hideous for all its lavish opulence and big enough for at least five people. As a place to sleep it is about as comfortable as a patch of dry ground. As a place to fuck, it's still better than most places Riddick's done it.
They teach Riddick about the Necromonger way of making love. It is violent and dangerous and intensely painful, and it makes him see stars and ask for more once he regains his breath. In turn, he shows them various tricks he picked up around the galaxy.
It's a thrill to see the concentrated power of Vaako's body put to fucking, the man's iron control ever so close to slipping; a thrill, to see the delicate, elegant Dame Vaako debauched and disheveled, giving just as good as she gets.
He smiles afterwards, up at the hideously elaborate ceiling, a lazy, private smirk meant just for his thoughts. He still does not trust the Vaakos, probably never will, but they are his now. His, in a way just as primal as the Necromongers', an animal way, honoured in various lawless communities around the world, marked with sweat and spit and sex and scent.