Duels of Honour: Giving the Lie

Chapter the Fifth: Initiation


N’tho ‘Sraomee’s hearts pounded wildly in his chest. He forced himself to breathe deeply, but every breath carried with it the heavy, masculine scent of Supreme Commander ‘Vadamee. The very fact that he was now alone, in the Commandant’s office, with the Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice on his graduation night was like a secret fantasy come to life. Even N’tho’s former consort, Lor’n ‘Malachee, couldn’t have dreamed up a story like this.

But as ‘Vadamee’s hands stroked N’tho’s mandibles, causing the young warrior’s knees to tremble from a potent cocktail of anxiety and desire, ‘Sraomee decided that he didn’t care whether or not anyone would ever believe him if he tried to talk about this experience after the fact. He would know that he did not spend his graduation night hiding away in shame.

He would know that a Supreme Commander had chosen him.

‘Vadamee looked him over and smiled with satisfaction. “Remove your armour,” the Fleetmaster said. His words were gentle, but no less an order. This warrior did not need to bark his instructions to imbue them with the weight of command.

N’tho, though he felt shy, dared not disobey. He began to fumble with the fasteners on his left thigh plate. The clasps were suddenly very stiff, and when he finally got the plate off, it landed on the floor with a ridiculously loud clatter that made him jump. He looked up, ashamed, to see the Fleetmaster watching him with amusement; the elder warrior made a hand gesture indicating “continue.” N’tho pulled himself together and managed to remove the rest of his armour, saving his helmet for last. Finally he was holding that in his hands in front of his now unarmoured chest, peering nervously at his superior officer.

And he realized, with a sudden bolt of insight, that there was also a neatly stacked pile of golden armour peeping out from under the Supreme Commander’s cape.

How had he done it? How had he moved so smoothly that he’d barely rippled his cloak, yet managed to remove all his armour save his helmet?

The Commander noticed N’tho’s surprise and seemed to find it entertaining. “And now, your bodysuit,” he murmured as he stepped closer, leaving his armour behind.

N’tho unfastened the ties and zip at his neck, but as he pulled the fastener down his chest, he felt his cheeks heating and turning purple. Even though young Sangheili lived in common rooms, and cadets lived in common barracks—even though he’d been naked around his own kind countless times, and despite his clumsy petting sessions with Lor’n—it was somehow very different to be told to strip for a superior officer, particularly one with amorous intentions. He flushed as he left the suit unzipped to his waist while he pulled his arms out of the sleeves. Where was he ever going to find the nerve to pull it over his hips?

He gasped as he felt the Commander’s hands on his shoulders.

“You should not be ashamed,” the Commander murmured into his earbud. “You have a fine body. You should be pleased to show it off.” His hands travelled down over N’tho’s chest, caressing, exploring. The sensual strokes of his fingertips made N’tho’s knees grow weak.

“I have enjoyed watching you,” the Commander continued, “but I fear I am needlessly cruel.”

“Sir?” N’tho asked. He was struggling to force the word from his mouth. The Commander’s touch made him want to groan instead, because all his nerve endings were tingling and his shaft was growing hard, and that was just from a caress to his upper body. When would the Commander’s hands move downward?

“I see that you are shy,” he murmured. “As is normal for a virgin warrior. And I am not being particularly helpful. Let me fix that…”

N’tho felt the Commander’s other arm encircling his shoulders, and the purple cape came with it, swirling around his body until the next thing he knew, he was enfolded completely in the soft purple fur. He could no longer see his own body.

But oh, what he could feel.

The Commander’s hands were roaming freely across his chest now. He could feel the Commander’s chest against his back, and he realized with an electric jolt that ‘Vadamee must have removed his bodysuit as well as his armour because there was nothing separating the Supreme Commander’s warm hide from the bare flesh of N’tho’s shoulder blades. Soft fur whispered over his arms. And…oh, by the Rings. He could feel the Commander’s shaft pressing against him, nudging him with his every movement.

“Lean back,” the Commander whispered in his earbud.

N’tho obeyed, immediately, unquestioningly, just as he had been trained to obey, and then the Commander’s hands stopped their wandering and seized his suit. With one sharp downward tug, the garment was puddled around his ankles. N’tho gasped at the sudden rush of cold air against his naked body.

And then the Commander’s hands folded around his waist, holding him close.

“Raise your left leg. Undo the zip. Remove your hoof.”

N’tho willed his body not to shake as he carried out the Supreme Commander’s orders. He failed to hide the tremor in his hand when he pulled his left leg from the suit. But the Fleetmaster’s arms were around him, steady and reassuring. Why should he be nervous? This situation was beyond his control. It was in the Supreme Commander’s hands now, and there was a true comfort in that fact. N’tho needed only to do as he was bidden. ‘Vadamee would take care of the rest.

By the time N’tho’s right hoof cleared the bottom of his suit, he had given himself over completely to Supreme Commander ‘Vadamee. As his suit fell into a pool of cloth on the floor of the Commandant’s office, N’tho leaned back and let his body melt against the Supreme Commander’s. N’tho closed his eyes and let ‘Vadamee’s arms support him as he abandoned himself to the sensations rushing through him.

The Supreme Commander wrapped his arms around N’tho’s midsection. The doarmir fur cloak sighed shut over both their shoulders, leaving N’tho’s front covered in soft fur and his back covered with…with…

…with superior officer. He blushed at the thought.

But he was covered and safe here in the Fleetmaster’s arms.

N’tho closed his eyes. All of a sudden, his worries melted and fell away. The hard, tight knot he’d been carrying in his gut for who knew how long miraculously vanished when ‘Vadamee stroked him.

Concern about if he would find a mate tonight. Concern about if he’d be any good at mating. Concern about how he’d go on without Lor’n. Concern about whether or not he’d graduate. Concern about what his first military posting might be like. His concerns were irrelevant now. ‘Vadamee could handle them all.

N’tho had nothing to concern himself with save his pleasure and the Commander’s, and even then, there was nothing to be worried about. He knew the Supreme Commander would guide him, and tell him everything he needed to do. All he had to do was accept, and let it happen.

“Sir,” N’tho whispered, feeling a sudden rising urge of arousal and curiosity.

“Hm?”

“Sir.” N’tho’s mouth was very dry. “Permission to make a request.”

The Supreme Commander raised an eye ridge in astonishment as he moved back a step. “You have remarkable nerve for a newly minted Minor Domo.”

‘Sraomee’s body cried out in protest as the warm, strong touch of his superior vanished from his back. N’tho turned to ‘Vadamee and bowed his head in apology, acquiescence, and shame. He hoped the Fleetmaster would forgive him for the blunder he’d made due to his inexperience.

“Speak,” ‘Vadamee urged, catching him under the mandibles again. “I would hear this request you thought was so important that you would interrupt me.”

N’tho’s cheeks grew hot. He had no choice now but to voice his impertinent question.

“I was going to ask if I might, er, touch you.”

Now both of ‘Vadamee’s eye ridges shot straight upwards. Then his mandibles split into a smile and he chuckled.
“Did your consort fail to tempt you in any way whatsoever?” he asked, with a grin. “Yes, my young warrior. You may.”

“He didn’t fail,” N’tho said quietly as he laid his head against ‘Vadamee’s chest. He could hear the Fleetmaster’s hearts thundering in unison, one loud beneath his earbud, the other more distant. ‘Sraomee raised his hands and stroked ‘Vadamee’s back. “He just didn’t…feel like you.”

None of Lor’n’s big talk could change the fact that he was still just a fourteen-year old youth, barely an adult, not yet blooded in combat, oror the fact that the scar across his shoulder blades was the result of a loss of concentration during a sparring match and not a genuine battle wound.

‘Vadamee’s body was covered in the thick, velvety hide of a mature Sangheili, not the soft fuzzy skin of a child. Lor’n ‘Malachee could only hope to grow into a frame as muscular and powerful as the Supreme Commander’s. N’tho’s fingers caught on a series of puckered runnels over the Fleetmaster’s ribs and he quivered as he realized what they were—true battle scars. The Supreme Commander’s body fascinated him. He let his hands explore his superior officer’s arms, his shoulders, his chest, his hips…
‘Vadamee’s laugh, low and mocking, sounded in ‘Sraomee’s other earbud.

“I thought you were looking to touch here,” he murmured, taking one of N’tho’s hands in his and placing it…

…placing it…

N’tho froze.

He knew what he must be touching, which was somehow both softer on the surface than he had thought, and harder underneath than he could have imagined. He felt his face heating.

The Supreme Commander continued to laugh at him, though he seemed more amused than malicious.

“Have you never done this before?” ‘Vadamee asked as his hand tightened on N’tho’s wrist and urged N’tho’s arm to move.

“I told ‘Malach nothing below the waist until graduation,” ‘Sraomee stammered, forgetting to add the suffix to Lor’n’s clan name, barely able to articulate the words as his attention divided between the feel of the Supreme Commander in his grip and a panic that he was going to do this wrong and displease his superior.

“It is your graduation now,” ‘Vadamee murmured, licking N’tho’s cheek. “And your Lor’n has been a fool. He left you, and now, I have found you.”

N’tho’s eyes widened as ‘Vadamee took him in a similar grip.

The Supreme Commander smiled at him. “And I have no intention of letting you go.”

N’tho willed himself to keep stroking his…his… Partner implied an equality; there was no equality here. Superior did not adequately convey the intimacy of this contact. Mate, well, they were not yet mates.

But they would be soon enough.

N’tho’s knees trembled. The way the Fleetmaster was touching him was a world apart from Lor’n trying to cop feels through his jumpsuit. He felt both completely free, to be rid of the encumbrances of clothing, and completely vulnerable, to be so exposed. His senses were screaming danger at him, to be doing this in the Commandant’s office, and yet, he had never felt such pleasure in his life. Was battle fever like this—where the satisfaction of the kill was a delight so strong that threats to life and limb faded into insignificance next to it?

‘Sraomee staggered as a spike of pleasure cut into him like a blade. He released his grip on the Supreme Commander and dug both hands into the Commander’s shoulders to steady himself, but as he did so, he saw the flash on ‘Vadamee’s expression which told him that the Fleetmaster missed N’tho’s caresses.

He had made an error.

But ‘Vadamee pressed his mandibles together and steadied himself before he suddenly released N’tho.

N’tho gasped. The loss of the Fleetmaster’s rhythmic stroking produced a need that expressed itself as pain. He pressed against the other male urgently, seeking a return of the pleasure. He heard a loud keen of need and realized, as though from a distance, that the cry was his own. Unable to silence himself, he shoved the cloak in his mouth to muffle the sound.

The Supreme Commander was watching him with gleaming eyes. “Such a noise you make,” he chided.

“I apologize, sir,” N’tho whispered around a mouthful of fur, feeling impossibly awkward, wondering if he would be punished for his shameful display of emotion and lack of self-control.

‘Vadamee pulled the cloak out of N’tho’s mouth. “Louder.”

N’tho blinked at him, uncomprehendingly.

‘Vadamee’s teeth flashed in a predatory smile as his hand slipped between N’tho’s thighs and his finger sought…sought…

N’tho mewled.

“Yes,” the Fleetmaster murmured in ‘Sraomee’s earbud. “You are ready for this.”

It was true, N’tho realized. His body was so aroused that it was hurting him. Denial died on his mandibles; what was the point of protesting when both of them would recognize the lie for what it was? He felt shockingly open, and slick where ‘Vadamee was gently exploring.

“I…I…” N’tho stammered.

“Sssh,” ‘Vadumee whispered. “There are times when a warrior must learn to hold his tongue.”

So N’tho stopped questioning, and simply trusted. He let the Supreme Commander guide him into a position leaning over the Commandant’s desk. He did not ask how it would feel, or whether he should do anything in particular, or if it would hurt. He held his tongue, and closed his eyes, and waited.

“Know this,” the Fleetmaster murmured in N’tho’s earbud. “My mother named me Thel.”

N’tho kept his silence, and the Supreme Commander chuckled as he carefully took position over the young warrior. “Do you know why I have told you this?”

N’tho shook his head in the negative.

“It is,” he said, his voice silky, “so you will know what name to scream.”

And then he sank his teeth into N’tho’s nape.