Cross Blades

Cross Blades



Chapter the Fifth: Desperation’s Folly



Time setting: Halo 3, between levels “Floodgate” and “The Ark.” Parallel to Twin Blades: Conflicts and Dueling Hearts (Chapters the Seventh and Eighth).





The Flood.



Usze ‘Taham had never seen the Flood before. Oh, he’d read plenty of reports and even watched footage, but nothing quite compared to facing the Parasite one-on-one. Or, more accurately, one-on-five or ten or a hundred of the damned things.



He was a Sangheili warrior. He should be able to fight, and defeat, anything.



It wasn’t the numbers. It wasn’t their weapons, or their strength, or even their horrible rotting-flesh smell. It wasn’t the bizarre alien nature of their Pure Forms, or the multitudes of their infection forms.



It was the way they reanimated the dead.



Beside him on Earth, Khuf ‘Toruf, a warrior from Usze’s old squadron, had fallen to a combat form’s bullet. Usze had watched him die, as he’d watched countless other battle brothers leave this life.



Then an Infection Form had scuttled over ‘Toruf’s corpse, and Usze had been forced to turn his attention away from his fallen comrade to save his own life. He’d sliced through a trio of former Humans with his energy blade, and when he’d turned….



Khuf had been on his feet again, but it wasn’t really Khuf—it was a tentacled monstrosity with Khuf’s body, and Khuf’s head was hanging broken and useless off to the side, and Khuf’s sword was rising to meet his…



Usze had eviscerated the thing that once was Khuf and wondered how the hell Rtas ‘Vadum had managed to hold himself together long enough to kill his bondmate this way.



No, the incident had shown Usze the wisdom of keeping an emotional distance from his battle brothers. He was better off alone. He was.



But now, aboard the Shadow of Intent, heading for the Ark, Usze couldn’t stop shaking. He’d fled to an unassigned cabin, praying nobody saw him. He was no role model for anyone right now. He was curled up on a bunk in only his bodysuit with the zipper partway undone, his armour on the floor, but the memories would not let him sleep.



Combat stress fatigue was something that happened to other people. Cowards. Not to Ascetics. Not to Usze ‘Taham.



But Khuf ‘Toruf had risen from the dead to kill him, and he’d put a blade through his battle brother’s chest.



Usze felt ill. He ripped off his helmet, fearing he might be sick inside it. He retched, but nothing came out of him.



How long since he’d eaten?



He didn’t know. It felt as though he’d been fighting forever.



Then he heard voices in the corridor.



“No. Sir.”



“You, disinterested? I do not believe you.”



“Sir, with all due respect, you have a consort, and your consort is also my superior officer, and if he catches me with you, he’s going to beat the shit out of me.”



The voices were familiar. Usze slunk across the room towards the door, feeling guilty for straining to hear, unable to stop himself.



“Don’t play games with me, you little fool. You’ve already mated with my consort. You could have given Rycl this wronged innocent routine, but you didn’t, did you?” There was a thudding noise, a cry of pain.



“I didn’t know Subcommander ‘Otsed was your consort. I swear I didn’t.”



“And you didn’t bother to ask. Did you even ask his name?”



Usze eased the door open just a crack.



Shipmaster Epse ‘Gamul had N’tho ‘Sraom up against the wall. ‘Sraom’s wrists were held tight in ‘Gamul’s grip and pinned over his head; ‘Gamul’s other hand was caressing N’tho’s mandibles as ‘Sraom tried to turn his face away.



“I’m not…the fleet’s slut…sir…” N’tho choked.



“That’s not what I’ve heard.” Epse’s voice was becoming hard, cruel. “I’ve seen your little file on the BattleNet. I know what you are.” His smile twisted. “So you can do for me what you did for Rycl, or you can suffer the consequences of coming between a Shipmaster and his consort.”



Usze felt his stomach lurch.



N’tho was a bit of a handful, no doubt about that, but the Shipmaster was pushing his authority to its limit and beyond. And from the sounds issuing from N’tho’s mouth, the younger warrior didn’t want any part of this. By the Ancestors, the proper punishment for his foolish indiscretions shouldn’t be a night at the mercy of the Shipmaster’s predations.



“Sir…please…I’ve got an injury…”



“Feh. Flesh wound. Now come along quietly, or I can assure you you’ll spend the rest of your very short military career wishing you’d failed basic training.” He chuckled, a low, evil sound.



Usze had heard enough. Whatever N’tho might have done, he did not deserve what ‘Gamul had in mind.



Usze triggered the portal to open, then stepped back to the middle of the room and barked, “N’tho ‘Sraom, where in the name of the Ancestors are you? Do you want me to tend that wound or not?” And he held his breath.



He kept his back to the door as he heard someone step inside. Harsh breathing filled the room.



Thank the Forerunners. Shipmaster or no, Epse ‘Gamul hadn’t wanted anyone to know what he was doing to N’tho. He’d released the young Minor once he thought someone was expecting N’tho’s presence.



“Usze.” N’tho’s voice was a strangled whisper. “By the Forerunners. I…”



“Who’s there?” came ‘Gamul’s voice.



‘Taham dropped his helmet over his head and stepped out of his room, placing himself between N’tho and ‘Gamul

.

The Shipmaster halted and nodded. “Blademaster.”



“I am going to perform some first aid on ‘Sraom,” ‘Taham said, nodding to the blue warrior, “and we are going to discuss his sword skills and combat performance. Unless you needed him?”



Usze held his breath again. The Shipmaster’s word was law on his vessel, but Usze’s position made him the authority on individual combat performance. They both had the power to bring one another to the attention of higher officers. And ‘Gamul had more to lose than Usze did—the Arbiter had never permitted forced mating in his fleet—but if ‘Gamul pressed the issue, Usze would have no choice but to draw blade on him. That would mean a battle to the death.



‘Gamul backed down. “No. I can settle my business with ‘Sraom later.” He shot a glance at N’tho, threatening that there would be a later…then glanced at Usze. “Did you…hear anything, ‘Taham?”



“Hear what?” ‘Taham replied innocently.



‘Gamul nodded and turned to walk away. Usze returned to his room and closed the portal, locking it.



N’tho stood frozen just inside the door, his back against it, staring open-eyed as if not entirely sure whether Usze was his salvation or a new torment.



“You said you were injured.”



N’tho nodded.



“Where?”



“On my back. Sir.”



“Get out of your armour.” He reached for the first-aid kit bracketed on the wall.



N’tho was still staring at him.



“What is wrong with you?”



N’tho suddenly flashed him a crooked smile. “Hey,” he said softly. “You haven’t got any armour on, but you’re still wearing that helmet.”



Condemnation! ‘Taham scowled. “Do you want that injury tended or not?”



N’tho nodded, starting to remove his armour. He was shaking too, Usze realized. His hands were trembling and the task was going slowly.



Usze slipped his right hand under N’tho’s helm and lifted it off. Setting it aside, he guided the rookie’s head under his chin and held him close. Usze didn’t even consciously realize what he was doing until he felt N’tho burrow into his neck and start to purr. It was a thin and reedy sound, not contentment so much as a desperate wish for contentment, as though N’tho was trying to fool himself into thinking everything was all right.



“Here,” Usze said softly, getting rid of the last of Nitro’s armour. “Now show me that wound.”



N’tho nodded and unzipped his bodysuit.



The first thing Usze noticed was that the young warrior had a very nicely shaped chest.



The second thing he noticed, as N’tho pulled the suit over his shoulders, was a fist-sized Mark of Punishment branded on N’tho’s right bicep.



By the Rings, what had N’tho done? Nobody got a Mark of Punishment just for sleeping around. Could he possibly deserve…



No. N’tho didn’t deserve what ‘Gamul was trying to do to him.



N’tho pushed the bodysuit down to his hips and laid on his belly on the bunk. Usze could see the wound now, crusted with purple blood, still oozing. It was located near N’tho’s waist, where the back armour did not cover. N’tho’s bodysuit was so low and loose that Usze could see the upper curve of his rear and…



He wouldn’t think about that. He had to focus on the task at hand.



‘Taham opened the kit and selected some healing jelly. “You should have taken care of that sooner,” he chided.



“‘Scuse me for not being able to reach my own back,” N’tho growled.



And nobody had helped him. It unsettled Usze. Sangheili were supposed to assist their battle brothers. Had N’tho not asked or had nobody answered him?



“Maybe if you had a better attitude, people would be more considerate towards you,” Usze said as he moistened a cloth at the sink. He sat on the edge of the bed and dabbed at N’tho’s wound.



“Ow! Fuck!”



“And you’re developing bad habits from the Humans.”



“Great, pain and a lecture,” N’tho muttered.



Usze’s temper sparked at last. “Would you rather be back out in the hall?”



“No. Sir.” N’tho lay quietly as Usze finished cleaning the wound. It was ugly, a puncture more than a cut, as though something had gouged a runnel into the SpecOps soldier’s flesh.



“Brace yourself. This might sting.”



Usze carefully poured disinfectant into the tear. N’tho’s mandibles clicked together, but he didn’t cry out or even so much as grunt.



Usze opened the jelly tube and carefully squeezed the substance into N’tho’s wound. The thick jelly would coat the flesh, stopping the bleeding and stimulating healing. N’tho finally made a sound as the jelly entered his cut—a combination of a sigh and a moan. It made Usze’s skin prickle for some reason he did not understand.



“There. That should take care of it.” ‘Taham hesitated, then continued, “If you would take some advice, I would suggest you get some sleep. When we arrive at the Ark, we will be back in action.”



“Okay.” N’tho rolled onto his side. “Can I sleep here? Please?”



Usze’s hearts sank. He didn’t want to be stuck with ‘Sraom all night and he was not giving up his bed a second time. But he couldn’t exactly put him out either, not when Epse ‘Gamul might still be prowling around. Usze wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with that situation. He knew he had to report it to the Arbiter, and he would, but right now, the life-or-death nature of their mission to the Ark made all other concerns secondary. He would have to deal with ‘Gamul later.



Meaning he was stuck with ‘Sraom tonight. Again.



“Behave yourself or you are sleeping in the hall. Are we clear?” Usze dimmed the lights to a faint glow.



“Yeah. I mean, yes, sir.”



Usze sighed. “I hear you are not supposed to use honourifics in bed.”



“Some guys really get off on it.” Nitro looked hopeful.



“I didn’t need to hear that.” He pushed the images which those words had inspired out of his head.



“Yes si…okay.”



“Move over.”



“Okay.” N’tho shifted carefully to the other side of the bunk, then he lifted his head. “Do I have to put my armour back on?”



No. Yes. Usze didn’t know what to say. “This bed will be even smaller if you do,” he said carefully. “Do you usually sleep in armour?”



“Hell no, do you?”



“Not always, but often.”



N’tho’s left upper mandible flickered.



“It is an Ascetic practice.”



“Yeah. You guys are crazy. No offense.”



‘Taham sighed, dimmed the lights, and climbed into the bed. Even with their armour off, the bunk was awfully small when there were two bodies in it. Usze found that if he didn’t want part of him hanging over the edge of the mattress, he had to press right up against N’tho.



Warm. Strong muscles, yet strangely soft against his skin. Velvet hide. The scent of warrior, musky and hypnotic, stronger for the heat … Usze’s mouth was dry, and his head was spinning.



Why had he left his bodysuit partially unzipped?



Why hadn’t he zipped it up?



Why hadn’t he unzipped it farther?



And N’tho, the little pest, he seemed quite content to sleep with his own suit half-off!



N’tho wriggled and rolled over to face him; then N’tho smiled shyly at him and said, “You actually look pretty good under the armour.” The rookie dared to raise his hand and trail his fingers lightly over Usze’s chest. “Why don’t you get rid of the helmet?”



‘Taham closed his eyes. N’tho continued to stroke him, moving his hand under the bodysuit to explore more of the Blademaster’s chest.



By the Rings, this wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for the Flood, and the stress, and his damnable fear…



By the Ancestors, it felt good!



The opening in Usze’s suit grew larger, larger, as N’tho continued to seek out new territory to touch. The young warrior’s hand trailed lower as he leaned over and whispered, “Would you like to…” And his hand trailed over Usze’s scars…those two horrible scars across his lower abdomen…



Usze panicked and shoved N’tho away from him. The other Sangheili cringed as if struck, scrambled not to fall off the bed, then flared his mandibles in anger. “You don’t have to be such a dickweed!”



Usze wasn’t sure what a dickweed was, but he could guess it wasn’t flattering. He had no words to explain why he’d lost control—why he was so frightened and yet so very excited all at once.



N’tho rolled over onto his other side, hunched over and bristling with anger. “I just wanted to thank you,” he growled, his back to Uzi now. “You’re a damn sight better than Epse ‘Gamul.”



‘Taham summoned his courage, dared to touch N’tho’s shoulder. “I cannot…” His voice trailed off. “I don’t mate with males.”



“Oh.” N’tho rolled onto his back and tilted his head quizzically. “Really?”



“Really.”



A pause. “Not even once or twice?”



“No.”



N’tho raised his eyebrow ridges. Usze had known he would. What Sangheili hadn’t at least experimented with his battle brothers? Even those who described themselves as “straight” had usually sampled the alternative.



“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to…”



“It is not anything you did wrong,” Usze said gently. “It is simply who I am.”



All the while he felt as though he were lying through his mandibles, even though the words were technically true—he never had been with a male. He had never seen the point. Mating with females was agreeable enough, but he still only did it for reproductive purposes. He had never done it for fun. He had never craved it. Not the way he was still thinking about N’tho’s skin on his…



“That’s kind of too bad,” N’tho said, blinking up at him. “I…well…let me know what you want me to do for you. I owe you. You really did save my ass there.”



“The Shipmaster is out of line.”



“It’s my fault.”



“We’ll talk about this when our mission is over. You need to rest, and to heal. In the meantime, I will keep you safe from Epse.”



N’tho was watching him warily. “What do you want from me?”



Usze gritted his teeth. “I want you to shut your mouth and go to sleep.”



“Yes si…Usze. Goodnight.” The younger Sangheili obediently rolled onto his side, facing the wall again.



Usze sighed, steeled his nerves and settled into position next to N’tho.



By the Rings, his bedmate was warm. His scent began, once again, to tickle its way through Usze’s brain. ‘Taham became acutely conscious of the way N’tho’s body was molded against his, as though they were made to fit together…



…how closely could they fit together?



Usze sucked in a breath and flipped onto his back. His shoulder was hanging over the edge of the mattress. He didn’t care. He was suddenly, painfully hard, and the last thing he wanted was for N’tho to feel his shaft nudging into his hindquarters, because he’d just turned Nitro down and he didn’t even like males that way.



N’tho wasn’t resting easily either. He was fidgeting, rolling over, twitching, rolling over some more. Between the fidgeting and the hard-on, it was impossible for Usze to sleep.



‘Sraom whimpered and thrashed, poking ‘Taham in the belly.



“What is wrong with you?” Usze demanded.



Silence.



So he made it an order. “I said, soldier, what is wrong with you?”



“I, uh…I can’t sleep because I’m, er, tense, and….”



“You’re horny.” The minute the words were out of his mouth, Usze couldn’t believe he said them. Now he was getting infected by Human slang and vulgarity.



“Yeah.”



Usze rolled his eyes. “How can you be aroused after what just happened to you out in the hall?”



“Ancient history. All my body cares is what’s happening to me now.”



Usze froze. “And what is happening now?”



“Right now…” His words came out in a rush. “Right now you feel really good. Sorry. You do.”



By the Rings! ‘Taham bit down on his mandibles, hard. Did he really feel pleasing? And to someone like Nitro, who’d sampled other males and ought to know what he liked? He waited until he had control of his voice before he asked, “Are you going to take care of it or not?”



Pause. “I promised to behave.”



“You are keeping me awake.”



“Sorry…” N’tho’s mandibles clicked. “It’s not like I wanted to…I can’t help it, you just feel so good…you know, like an animal reaction to how warm you are and how close you are…I don’t know what to do.”



‘Taham sighed. “Here.” He rolled over, fitting his chest against the other warrior’s back, hoping to the Forerunners that if N’tho could tell what his body had done, that he would not say anything about it.



“Wha?” N’tho sounded dazed.



It felt unreal, like a dream, when Usze reached his hand over to touch the silky hide on ‘Sraom’s belly.



“Put your hand over mine,” Usze whispered.



N’tho complied. His touch was light, hesitant. His palm was moist and warm.



‘Taham closed his eyes, not knowing if he was about to bless his battle brother or damn himself. “Show me what to do.”



“Si…Uzi?” He said it Uzi, not Usze, and it made ‘Taham smile despite himself.



“I need to take care of you so we can sleep,” he murmured into the younger warrior’s earbud. “So show me how.”



N’tho’s trembling hand made an experimental circle on his belly. Usze let N’tho guide him, rubbing the young warrior in gentle circles, savouring the velvet skin under his touch. N’tho moaned and guided his hand lower, ever lower. Usze did not rush him; instead he savoured the moment, enjoyed exploring the other Sangheili, though part of him wondered what would happen when the inevitable goal was reached. What would he do? How would it feel?



And then they arrived.



He felt his hand brush against the base of N’tho’s shaft, but already Usze could tell that N’tho was hard and ready. N’tho’s hand trembled over Usze’s; then ‘Sraom gently gripped the back of ‘Taham’s hand and shaped it over his shaft.



When Usze’s fingers touched him there, N’tho’s head lolled back and a low sigh escaped his mouth.



N’tho scrabbled to kick off his battle suit, moaning all the while. Usze held his grip motionless until N’tho was still once more. Then he slowly, carefully began to explore with touch and scent and sound in the sightless dark.



Usze marvelled at what he felt. N’tho’s skin there was delicate, even more so than his own, and while Usze was wider, N’tho was slightly longer. Usze rushed N’tho now, because he knew how to curve his hand around and grip…but then he forced himself to wait for N’tho’s guidance. He did not know what the other male liked.



N’tho, as it turned out, liked it a lot rougher than Usze did. Usze tried to be gentle but N’tho kept urging him harder, faster, so quickly. Usze balked, wanting to take the time to stroke and pet, and it made N’tho stiffen and groan through clenched teeth. Finally Usze gave in, abandoning himself to the other warrior’s desires.



N’tho was merciless, relentless, to a point where Usze wondered if it hurt—but then ‘Sraom let out a strangled cry and came, spurting not once but several times before he was done.



Then it was over, and Usze’s own body was trembling and his hand was sticky. N’tho released him; ‘Taham withdrew his hand, not sure what to do with it. He settled for wiping it on the underside of the pillowcase. By the Rings, he was going to have to clean up this bed tomorrow before anyone else saw.



What had he done?



Usze shivered. Where was his control? He waited until he thought he could keep his voice steady before he spoke.



“We do not speak of this night to anyone.”



N’tho’s voice drifted out of the night. “Okay, sir.” A pause as the rookie’s breathing slowed. “Thank you, sir.”



Usze lay on his back, staring up into the darkness, trying to understand what he had done, and why.



N’tho’s voice, sleep-slurred, sounded out of the black one last time.



“I promise…to hate you again…in the morning…”



And the other Elite rolled over, pressed his muzzle to Usze’s neck, and wrapped his arm over Usze’s chest. ‘Taham froze. ‘Sraom’s battlesuit was still on the floor in a ball and N’tho apparently had no interest in retrieving it. Instead N’tho nuzzled him, purring quietly, and soon N’tho was snoring softly, oblivious to the world, his body perfectly relaxed and contented.



But Usze was still awake.



He could still smell the thick musk of warrior, alien and tempting, and a series of progressively more disturbing images would not stay out of his head. N’tho, helpless in his grip, mewling in pleasure. N'tho begging for satisfaction; Usze teasing him for hours before giving him any. Keeping N’tho in his bed, sinking his fangs into N’tho’s neck, mounting ‘Sraom like a female… Asking N’tho to mount him—no, he did not even dare think about that.



Then his thoughts shifted. Those pictures from the BattleNet. He imagined N’tho in Rycl ‘Otsed’s bed, on all fours, holding the headboard while ‘Otsed hammered into him. He thought about N’tho on his knees in chains before Shipmaster Epse ‘Gamul, begging yes sir, can I have more, sir, almost choking on the lies, while all along tears streamed from his eyes…



These images filled Usze with a throat-choking, gut-clenching combination of illness and rage. He didn’t know why.



What he did know was that he was clutching N’tho possessively to his chest and he was now hard as iron, aching in a way he had never been for any female, and unlike N’tho he would not indulge in self-comfort.



Or, Forerunners forbid, wake up ‘Sraom to return the favour. By the Rings, he’d rather die.



But a Perfect Warrior did not lie.



He wanted to.



It seemed like forever before oblivion and exhaustion finally overcame desire enough to claim him.