Cross Blades

Cross Blades



Chapter the Sixth: Commando’s Invitation





Time Setting: Halo 3, level “The Ark”





TO: SpecOps Commander Rtas ‘Vadum

FROM: Blademaster Usze ‘Taham

RE: Minor Domo N’tho ‘Sraom / BattleNet / Potential Security Breach



Most revered Commander:



Have you seen this file on the BattleNet?

Be warned, it is graphically explicit.



(link attached)



I would recommend this file be removed as soon as possible.



While I thought you should be aware of ‘Sraom’s conduct, with all respect, I am more concerned by the fact that these images were taken using Sangheili security cameras. Whoever compiled this file was someone with access to Sangheili Fleet security footage. Furthermore, the details on the file are protected above my clearance, so I cannot determine who was responsible. If I do not have the rank to view that footage or read those file details, ‘Sraom certainly does not. The idea of a superior officer engaging in such conduct disturbs me.



With faithful devotion,

Usze ‘Taham

Blademaster



PS Fil Storamee is being completely unreasonable.



*



TO: Minor Domo N’tho ‘Sraom

FROM: Chief Quartermaster Fil Storamy

RE: Blademaster Usze ‘Taham



Nitro (great name):



I’ll be happy to shove a gravity hammer up the Blademaster’s ass for you.



Fil



*




N’tho ‘Sraom hiked across the dusty platform of the Forerunner structure, clenching his carbine rifle, waiting for an inbound Phantom. The strange architecture and alien landscape were hauntingly barren, but Nitro didn’t mind. He felt strangely at peace with himself.



It wasn’t that long ago that he’d been on Earth, feeling frustrated and lonely, with no other Sangheili around other than the off-limits Arbiter and that miserable Blademaster. What had changed?



His thoughts flew back to the flight here aboard Shadow of Intent. That night in ‘Taham’s cabin. ‘Taham’s touch…so light, so hesitant. How it had felt to teach the Blademaster just what turned N’tho ‘Sraom on….and how it had felt when he realized that Usze was hard under his jumpsuit, hard and pressing into Nitro in a way that, had Usze only gotten rid of his clothing, would have certainly led to mating. Even through the jumpsuit it had felt good.



For some reason, memories of bending over bunks on his former unit’s vessel had lost all their appeal. N’tho would trade a hundred cheap fucks for another night with…



N’tho shook his head. He’d lost all sense of proportion.



When he’d woken up the morning after, Uzi had been gone, though the bedding still contained lingering whispers of the Blademaster’s scent. Usze’s pillow had been inexplicably missing; his armour and gear were gone as well. N’tho had untangled his jumpsuit, gathered his scattered armour, dressed, and reported to the Arbiter for duties. Since then, he’d had only occasional glances of Usze, who had been following the Master Chief like a shadow ever since.



Was Usze angry with him? Disgusted? Confused about what they’d done together?



…dare he think it, happy about what they’d done together?



Nitro didn’t know, but for once he felt like thinking positively.



He felt a presence close in behind him, very near indeed. His hearts jumped, and he turned around, expecting to see Uzi, but instead, Zealot Aj ‘Qorop was standing there, smirking at him.



‘Qorop was a handsome figure in his golden armour, but Nitro knew that ‘Qorop had some strange tastes in private. ‘Qorop liked to tie up his mates, chain them down, and he was rough. Nitro had once thought it was worth dragging himself back to his bunk, bruised and sore, in return for a night in ‘Qorop’s lavish quarters, stuffing himself with rich food and fancy drinks. Right now, though, Nitro didn’t feel that he needed to loaf around in a well-appointed room to feel good about himself, and he certainly didn’t need Aj’s attentions.



N’tho sidestepped and boarded the waiting Phantom. But Aj ‘Qorop was right behind him.



“’Sraom,” ‘Qorop breathed against his neck, “perhaps we should go inspect the weapons bay…”



Inspect the weapons bay, his ass. Fuck in the weapons bay was more like it.



And Nitro, for the first time he could remember, just didn’t feel like it, and wasn’t in the mood to pretend. He’d rather be alone with his memories and fantasies right about now.



He could feel the Mark of Punishment burning on his shoulder, but he remembered what he had told Piro ‘Kipaz before leaving the 812th. He was a SpecOps warrior, and more than that—he was one of the Arbiter’s personal honour guards. He and Uzi. He was not the fleet’s entertainment.



“I don’t think that will be possible, sir.”



Aj frowned. “Are you being insubordinate, Minor Domo?”



N’tho felt his mouth go dry. Aj might not be his commanding officer, but he still outranked him.



“No,” N’tho replied, “I’m afraid I’ve got a prior engagement with…with the Blademaster,” he continued, as his eye fell on the claret-armoured figure sitting alone in a nook in the corner of the Phantom’s launch bay, wedged in between a weapons dispenser and a crate of grenades. “So you’ll have to excuse me. Goodbye!” He turned his back on ‘Qorop and bounded up to ‘Taham as quickly as he could in the confined space of the Phantom. “Hey Uzi.”



“What?” ‘Taham sounded cranky, but that was nothing new.



“Erm…” N’tho looked at his feet, then forced himself to look Usze in the eye, or at least where his eyes would be under that assault helmet. Suddenly he was hit by a flash of inspiration, thanks to Aj’s suggestive communication from days before. “SpecOps is having a post-mission party and inviting everyone who survives this encounter.”



“Yes, I might have guessed.”



“I, ah, I wanted you to know that you were invited.”



Silence. Nitro wished that Uzi would get rid of that damned assault helmet, or at least only wear it into battle. It was impossible to guess what the other Sangheili was thinking without even facial clues to give a hint.



“Because,” N’tho added, “because I never see you at those things, and I just wanted you to know that you were welcome to come.”



Usze folded his arms. “Is this another one of your propositions?” he asked acidly.



N’tho dropped his gaze again. “No, sir, it’s just an invitation. Who you proposition at the party is entirely up to you.”



“And what makes you think I would have any interest in attending what is certain to degenerate into a drunken orgy to end all SpecOps parties?”



N’tho felt his temper spark at the rejection. “I just thought you’d want to feel appreciated. Pardon me. Sir.”



I’m never going to learn, am I? Usze ‘Taham is far too good for the rest of us.



N’tho saluted, turned, and stalked away. Maybe he’d try to meet that SpecOps warrior, Ki ‘Chaz, who’d sent him the invitation to the party. Or maybe he would take Aj up on his offer after all, because even Aj was better than Epse ‘Gamul.



Usze doesn’t even like males. You are not going to be bending over his bunk at the end of this mission. You are not going to be bending over for him ever, because he doesn’t want you. He doesn’t even like you. He won’t even come to a stupid party with you.



N’tho sighed.



He might as well go find Ki.



*


Usze squinted his eyes behind his helmet as he watched N’tho walk away.



Where was he off to? There weren’t that many places to go in a Phantom.



Uzi’s gaze fell, unbidden, to the sleek shape of Nitro’s hindquarters in his battle jumpsuit. His thoughts leapt back to the night on Shadow of Intent when he’d been pressed so closely up against the Spec Ops Minor Domo… Nitro looked very distracting indeed when he bent over to talk to another Spec Ops warrior and a red-armoured Major Domo, who were sitting against the side of the Phantom. What would it be like to…



The Blademaster shook his head. He couldn’t afford those kind of distractions now. He shouldn’t find that kind of thing distracting in the first place. What did he care about N’tho ‘Sraom’s ass? The only thing he cared about was making Nitro do his job.



But when Nitro’s associates got to their feet and proceeded to lead Nitro down into the weapons bay, Usze felt a strange, tight, acidy sensation rise up and strangle him. What the hell were they doing?



He rose and pursued them, telling himself that he needed to ensure they were following proper in-flight procedure.



When he quietly opened the door of the weapons bay and saw the other two warriors clustered around Nitro—the blue one nipping his shoulder and the red one licking his neck—Usze ‘Taham felt his gut clench and his fangs gnash at the sight of the scene in front of him.



He recognized the blue one now: Ki ‘Chaz. He didn’t know the Major Domo, but that bastard was positively indecent the way he was rubbing up against N’tho from behind. The fact that ‘Sraom wasn’t struggling to get away made Usze angrier still.



The Blademaster couldn’t tolerate another second of it.



“’Sraom!” he bellowed.



All three Sangheili froze, caught in the act, and turned their heads as one.



‘Chaz and the Major Domo’s mandibles drooped open in dismay as Usze ‘Taham strode towards them like a commander at the head of a battle host, his stride radiating authority and barely suppressed rage and righteous indignation. Nitro, on the other hand, seemed delighted to see him.



“Hi Uzi!” he said cheerily.



“What,” ‘Taham demanded, “in all the Ancestors’ holy names is going on here?”



“Nothing that unusual,” the Major Domo replied, slightly belligerently.



“Oh, it’s standard procedure for warriors in your unit to neglect their duties in favour of rutting like beasts in heat—like Brutes, who do not have the self-mastery to control their desires, but instead, are slaves to them?”



The Major Domo backed down, suitably cowed by the vitriol in ‘Taham’s voice. “We weren’t actually rutting,” he said quietly.



“We were just playing,” Ki ‘Chaz whined. “We’re on a ship. We won’t be fighting until we land, and we’ve got nothing to do.”



“Nothing to do?” Usze repeated sardonically. “You should be checking your weapons and armour, and clearing your minds for the battle ahead—not stirring yourself up to mate! Unless you want the Brutes to think you’ve come to mate with them,” he added, staring pointedly at the two warriors’ crotches.



Nitro, he noticed suddenly, did not appear aroused by all the attention.



“Sorry, sir,” the blue armoured Elite said, head bowed.



“It will never happen again,” the red soldier added.



“It had better not.” He grabbed Nitro by the shoulder. “You two get out of here,” Usze snapped, gesturing to the back of the Phantom. “’Sraom and I are going to have a discussion in the cockpit.”



Usze hauled Nitro through the cockpit door. He kicked it closed behind him and muscled N’tho up against the wall at the rear of the cockpit. The pilot and copilot looked back over their shoulders; Usze nodded, and the two flyers returned their attention to their instruments.



N’tho still looked much too happy for someone who was being pinned against a bulkhead by a displeased superior officer.



“Look,” Usze growled, “I’m not going to this…this SpecOps party if I haven’t got anyone to talk to. I am not going to stand alone in the corner all night, am I clear?”



Nitro smiled. “You’re going after all?”



“I’m making up my mind,” Usze hissed, his voice low, almost threatening. “And another thing I will not tolerate is an evening of sexual advances from complete strangers. So, if I do attend, it will have to be with someone. And as it turns out, there is someone right here who owes me a few favours. Of the non-sexual variety,” he hastened to add. “Isn’t that right, Nitro?”



Usze realized, too late, that he had called the other Sangheili Nitro, not N’tho.



‘Sraom got a big giddy grin on his face. “So you want to take me to the party, hm? And keep me all to yourself?”



“That means no fucking Ki ‘Chaz, or anyone else for that matter.” He jabbed his finger into Usze’s chest. “And no drunken shenanigans.” Jab. “And I will not tolerate inappopriate come-ons, either.” Jab again.



N’tho’s grin was not fading. “I promise to leave all the sexual advances up to you, sir.” He put his hands on Uzi’s chest.



Usze felt a sudden dismay; this wasn’t working out at all the way he had intended. He thought that N’tho would break at the prospect of having to behave himself while all the other SpecOps warriors reveled in whatever debauchery took their fancy. He thought that N’tho would apologize for his sluttish behaviour, only to beg for the freedom to indulge it at the party. Instead, Nitro seemed almost pleased at the prospect of keeping Uzi company all night.



“And if there aren’t any?” Usze retorted, because the last thing he needed was for ‘Sraom to expect that Usze intended to mate with him at any point in the evening. That denial would make ‘Sraom whine, for sure.





“Well,” N’tho replied quietly, “you looked after me at Crow’s Nest, and again on Shadow of Intent. I figure I owe you—twice—and one party without me getting any…” He shrugged. “I’m still getting off easy, compared to what would have happened without you around.”



N’tho, quiet. N’tho, serious. Usze could hardly believe it. There was a whole other side to the SpecOps warrior that almost no one ever saw.

Another voice cut through Usze’s thoughts.



Usze without an excuse not to attend this foolish party now.



Condemnation! He had said those things in an attempt to rile N’tho up and to shame him for his outrageous behaviour. Instead, he’d walked himself into his own trap. Now he had to go to this ridiculous debacle, and he hadn’t the slightest idea what to do in a relaxed social setting. He was going to make a complete ass of himself, in front of every warrior here at the Ark. He would never get their respect again…



Usze took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. He’d have Nitro with him, wouldn’t he? He’d be able to spend the evening with the SpecOps warrior. Nitro was a gregarious type. Nitro would do the talking and all Usze had to do was stand at his side. And if Nitro didn’t behave—that would be the perfect excuse for Usze to make his exit, hauling N’tho behind him.



But if you and Nitro duck out too early, everyone there is going to think you’re mating with him.



Would that be such a bad thing? It wasn’t as though enough other people hadn’t sampled N’tho ‘Sraom….



And there was that angry, sour roiling in his gut again. What was that?



It was pushed down by a dawning self-awareness. By the Rings, Usze, you set this trap for yourself all along. Because you wanted to be caught, didn't you?



“Do you really want to know why I do it?” N’tho whispered.



“Why you do what?” Usze had to lean in very close to hear.



“Back on Earth you asked me why I was a slut. I didn’t want to tell you. But since you saw on Shadow of Intent anyway…” Nitro took Uzi’s hand in his own and guided it to his opposite shoulder. “You remember what’s here, right?”



“The…brand,” Usze said, not wishing to speak the words aloud.



“It’s hard to worry about shame when you’re shamed to begin with,” Nitro confessed. “I take what comfort I can when I can get it, and I have a lot of trouble saying no.”



Usze cleared his throat. “Trouble because….”



“Maybe I like it!” Nitro snapped angrily. “What if I do?”



“Do you really?” Usze asked softly.



Nitro visibly deflated. “I like it when they’re good to me,” he whispered. “For a little while, I feel good. For a little while, I feel like I belong.”



A pause. A long, long pause.



“What does it feel like?”



Nitro startled. “What, sex?”



“To belong.”



‘Sraom licked his mandibles. “I wish you didn’t wear that helmet.”



“What does that have to do with anything?” Uzi said irritably.



“Then I could tell if you were making fun of me with that question.”



Usze’s hands were suddenly gripping Nitro’s. “I’m not making fun of you.” No, he didn’t dare take his helmet off, but hopefully his gentle squeeze on Nitro’s hands would convince the other Sangheili of his sincerity.



N’tho paused, clearly thinking about it. “How does it feel? It feels…good. Comforting. Like going home again.”



Usze nodded. “Perhaps you should do that instead. On your next leave. Go home.”



N’tho’s eyes darkened. “I hope you’re not mocking me. Sir.”



“Nitro?”



“That’s why I have that mark, Blademaster. The curse on the house of ‘Sraom. My maternal grandfather was a Shipmaster. He fled from a battle, got two other ships killed. His entire line was put to death, except for me. I’d just graduated from War College, near the top of my class. I was supposed to be thankful that I escaped as an honourless wretch with a Mark of Punishment branded into my hide for a sin I’d never committed. Grateful for the opportunity to be cannon fodder. Well, here I am, sir, a SpecOps soldier, the Arbiter’s honour guard, and if the only comfort I have is fucking half the fleet, is that so wrong, sir?”



“Yes!”



Usze didn’t know how to express his sudden feeling of vehemence, or the urge to pull Nitro hard against him and not let him go. He managed to snap, “Someday someone’s going to come along who’d be good to you all the time. If you’re smart, you won’t drive him away by being a slut.”



Nitro looked at him. Intently. It gave his hide a strange tingling sensation. He didn’t know why. It would be a good thing for Nitro to settle down with a devoted bondmate, someone who would care for him, keep him secure, give him a home…



…but imagining Nitro with this ideal partner gave Usze that strange acidy clenched stomach feeling again. Why did the idea of Nitro happily settled down with a loving mate produce such a similar response as the idea of Nitro at the mercy of sexual predators like ‘Gamul?



The only thing that could make the feeling go away was to think instead about what might happen if he did pull N’tho out of the SpecOps party early. What would happen, if the two of them were alone together again?



Nitro…Shadow of Intent…you owe me.



My turn now.



He could offer to share his bunk again in case ‘Gamul came along. In the dark he could put his hand on Nitro’s, and show the SpecOps warrior how to touch lightly, how to tease, how to stroke another male long and slow…just how Uzse liked it…



My turn…



“Two minutes to landing!” the copilot called over the intercom, and Usze cursed under his breath, because he was about to go into battle. He had not adjusted his armour, he had not checked his weapons, his thoughts were in disarray, and his shaft was becoming uncomfortably hard. He turned away before Nitro could notice, grumbling something about loading his carbine.



If he died in this battle to come…perhaps…just perhaps…he might be missed by someone.



And what else might he miss out on?



It was the best incentive he had yet to make sure he didn’t die.