#he feels like a failure for letting medic steal spys head

[eagle-head-charge]

are you feeling okay today?

I feel numb and I want to throw up. Why?

[redux-sikfox]

Thinking about a random Spy from TF2, to no one’s surprise

Not sure if I dreamt this or if it was the first thought in my head this morning, but the scenario is that of a new recruit for BLU that’s on probation. A new Spy who is so touch-starved and affection-deprived that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

That no one on base gives him the time of day because he’s new, and has some nasty rumors as to why they were saddled with him. And of course, being a Spy, he’s bad at expressing himself and his emotions. He’s so cut off from everyone and says so little.

Being on probation and not having his own team trust him means he gets the worst load-out possible during his first match up against RED. It’s a struggle but he manages to make the leaderboards, and just as the timer runs out it’s because of his aid to his fellow Engineer that they manage to pull ahead and beat RED.

But the Spy sees this as a failure. That he’s only in the top five of the best, even though he played with a handicap. The BLU group come out, singing in joy of their victory and congratulating one another. Engi sees the Spy alone, unaware what the other man is thinking and comes up and claps his shoulder, shaking him and praising him for helping them win. 

Spy is so shell-shocked and confused, but the rest of the team come around to say the same. That they’re going out for drinks and he’s more than welcome. Spy refuses, but his stoic nature crumbles as the team pat him on the back, shake his hand, and even getting a crushing hug from their Heavy.

They don’t realize it, but Spy is absolutely befuddled, torn between not being the best, but also being praised by just helping and getting congratulated.

And I should stop it right there. Let him sink into that feeling of bliss of being recognized and praised. But I always like to take it a step further. That he gets his handicapped taken off, that he strives to do better and better and chase that high of being noticed. 

He doesn’t realize that he’s taking it too far. He does become number one on the leaderboard, but at the cost of kill-stealing and upsetting his team to where they barely talk to him. And he’s lost because he doesn’t understand why they’re not celebrating and talking to him anymore. 

And one day he mutters something he shouldn’t have to a passing Soldier who immediately spins around and decks him in the face, putting him on his ass on the ground, growling something about watching what he says. But the Spy only clutches his cheek and feels the warmth there of a forming bruise beneath his mask and wondering if this was how he’d get noticed again. By negative attention if positive wasn’t provided. 

Months pass before a Medic, a Sniper, and of all people, the Scout catches on to what the Spy is doing. The Medic recognizes the spiral in bad behavior which clashes with how he acted when he first got here. The Sniper watching the Spy from afar and seeing the Spy stand/sit alone while watching everyone get along just fine. And Scout noticing the small smirks and smiles the Spy gets when he’s left shoved against a wall or punched til his lip is bloody. Because Scout used to be the same way. 

And behind the Spy’s back they speak with the rest of the team of what they think is going on. 

More things happen but there’s an intervention for Spy. A breaking of mental trauma and emotional barriers that leaves him hollow and cold, but he’s soon embraced by the rest of the team. Holding him as he falls apart so they could also be there to help him pick up the pieces and become a friend. To tell him what he’s doing isn’t right or healthy. And that they’d help him with whatever problems or needs he might have.

He can’t put it into words but they’ve figured him out by now. They know that Spies aren’t the best at being soft or vulnerable. But that they’d be there for him whether he failed or succeeded.

And soon there’s a schedule/a repetition. Of just small touches. Nudges. Pats. Fist bumps. Hugs if he allows it just to see what it feels like to be accepted by people for just being himself. They offer that should he need anything that he should just come to one of them, any of them. It takes time but they pick up on silent cues to when Spy wants to engage in physical contact. He sits a little too close. Or offers to get something for someone from a different room. Maybe even invading the space of one of the others just to start a conversation that’s usually one-sided but they don’t mind.

[fireember345]

Daria’s Crew prompt

A Daria reboot prompt

Do not own Daria

Just an idea for a Daria remake

Take place in current times

Daria is part of a group called the Outsiders, sworn enemies to the Fashion Group and is one of three of the Head Committee Chairmen

The others are Jane Lane and Beatrice “Blight” Thrive

The Outsiders are considered a Hipster Group, though unpopular, they were a charity group

The Members of the Outsiders are Beatrice “Blight” Thrive, Jane Lane, Daria Morgendorffer, Ted DeWitt-Clinton, Andrea, Bobby “Dante” Lockjaw, Roger Pip, and Xavier Maxwell

The Outsiders always outsmart the Fashion Club as they tried to get to them

Because the group is the smartest in the school, people often come to them for advice or to bribe them

They are known for having a surly attitude and a sarcastic tone, except for Ted

Blight’s Mother (Pandora Thrive) is the Superintendent of the School District while her Mom (Maricela Thrive) is the Director General Of Police and Angela Li is often under supervision as they had been rumors about the shady dealings she does with the school

Daria and the gang often hang out either at Jane’s, Daria’s or Blight’s house

Daria is in charge of order of businesses and the idea girl

Jana in charge of design

Blight is in charge of charities as she crafts knitting, sewing, crafts and other things for the poor

Ted provides equipment and research

Andrea is in charge of Budgets

Dante is the Muscle but refused to be on the football team, believing he’ll become dumber

Roger is a medical team and supplies resources

Xavier is a spy and military planner

The school was soon under investigation as the principal was arrested for illegal gambling with students and Blight watched with a smug look while her parents dragged Li away

Li was placed on temporary leave without pay then was monitored for life

Val Magazine soon take notice of Hipsters as they needed to find something different

Val was interested in the Outsiders as she wanted to do an article on the idea of doing and dressing without caring what others think, but because they like it

That type of attitude drew her as their skills and ideas were interesting, liking to be themselves and not to conform that Val decided to bring a new type of Teen Culture

The article was titled ‘To Be the Same is Lame, the New is to Be You’, an article about the Hipster Culture and how being yourself is the greatest sense of fashion of all

Val even wanted the Outsiders to be models but was turned down at first until they were all bribed

This was also followed by a seminar on how parents need to focus on individuality and how bullying over pressure can create disastrous future

Soon stores were filled with Hipster Clothing as they were being sold out

The Fashion Club soon needed to figure out how to be Hipsters as Football Players, Cheerleaders, and everyone else was trying to have the Outsiders teach how to be Hipsters

The school feared losing the Football team as Li saw an opportunity to change the schools images and has everyone do a report on charity organizations except for the Outsiders since they are already a charity group

Daria and the Gang hated that they wanted to be just like them as it creeped them out

Some kids even resorted to spying on them

Blight managed to shake them off in saying a Hipster is being you and doing what you like, giving enough time for the Outsiders to escape

Kevin and Brittany are more interested as they liked being themselves as Brittany becomes popular with clothing and belongings she made herself and Kevin's organic cooking and Gardening giving him extra strength despite not knowing what Organic means

Daria was shock that Kevin had the skill to even grow plants, let alone keep them alive

Through debate, the Outsiders make them honorary Outsiders despite them being popular

Dante is an animator with a favorite for Asian Pop Culture

The Outsiders soon host the test of courage as the students must write their names of seven chalkboards where the Fears are and come back at the entrance until the sun came up, but to beware of the Seven Fears

Legend says anyone who faces all Seven Fears Disappears forever

Fear One: Metal Mouth, the student eater

Fear Two: Miss. Failure, the trapped student who died trapped in the closet makes students fail in the abandoned classroom

Fear Three: Rattling Girl the girl who attacks popular girls and steals their eyelids

Fear Four: Model in the Mirror, A girl who modeled for artists until a mirror collapsed on her, the mirror was fine but the girl disappeared as the ghost of the girl makes people paint her or she would force them to strangle themselves

Fear Five: Principal Walter, a Mad headmaster accused of manslaughter of a student when it was a boarding school and hang himself when the students teased him, hangs any kid who enters the office

Fear Six: Killer Kent and Kelly. the Prom King whose Prom Queen was humiliates by her friends and he took revenge by stabbing them and used their organs to decorate prom and committed suicide together, would gut any student into the gym

Fear Seven Living Meat: The Cafeteria Food was once made of the meat of the fat teachers and the chef was found out and throws himself into the giant grinder, becomes living mush of meat to drag anyone into the grinder at night

The Outsiders have fun scaring them but were surprised to hear that a friendly boy who helped them find their way, but no one played the boy

That was when the janitor revealed Fear Eight, Lost Football Player, a former student who took the test and was never seen again

Daria's Aunt Amy marries a successful Modern Artist who never smiles, Sanheim Finch

Sans likes Daria but sneers at the rest of the family as the family feel like outsiders with gothic people and hipsters

[keldae]

Drastic Measures (chapter seven)

“I have names for you, Your Majesty.” Larill’s blue holofigure shimmered in the air before the Eternal Throne. “The assassin is a former Jedi Knight named Xaja Taerich; and the terrorist, a rogue intelligence operative, Theron Shan. Chancellor Saresh is not fond of them, and, as a result, was more than willing to give up their identities. Apparently Taerich is a traitor despite being hailed a Republic war hero, and Shan, she believes, is an incompetent idiot.”

“And she did not surrender not the assets themselves?” Arcann frowned behind his mask.

“The Chancellor and her people were convinced that Taerich was long dead, and the Supreme Commander stated that Shan had been killed recently.” He paused. “We may be dealing with rogue, unsanctioned elements.”

“Perhaps Shan was sent to the Spire on a suicide mission,” Arcann mused. “If the Republic’s SIS authorized it, Commander Malcom would have been aware of it, even if he neglected to inform the Chancellor.”

“And thus be surprised to learn of the plan failure and Shan improvising something completely unsanctioned.” Larill stroked his bearded chin in thought. “I do not believe his shock came from a failed plan -- he was nowhere near angry enough. He seemed to be upset over Shan’s reported death, perhaps for personal reasons.”

“The terrorist, connected to the Supreme Commander? That would be important information to determine, Larill.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Larill seemed to glance at a datapad on his end of the call. “Once I received their names, I did some prying into Taerich and Shan’s files. They were not strangers -- they had worked together before on several missions, some classified. Reports indicate that they may have been lovers.”

“Lovers? That might explain why he abandoned his task to set off the charges when he found her frozen.” Arcann tapped his metal fingers against his mask-covered chin. “Get me everything the Republic archives have on them, and their intelligence services’ search for them. And get me everything on Commander Malcom as well.”

“It will be done.” Larill bowed. “Do you have any other commands for me?”

“Given that I do not know how competent the SIS’ remaining agents are, I am sending you a report of a possible sighting on an Outer Rim world, Rishi. Taerich and Shan may have been seen with an accomplice. Find what you can about this man.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Larill vanished, and Arcann stood up to pace in front of the Throne.

Xaja Taerich… yes, that was her name. He still could clearly remember the fire in her eyes as she stood bravely over the corpse of her Sith colleague; the way she’d spat furious words and very creative insults at his father, even though her hands shook with fear in binder cuffs. Anyone who could stand up to Valkorion in such a manner was more than able to kill him, and she’d been more than willing to do the deed. Arcann remembered well being knocked back by his father’s lightning strike, looking up in time to see the Jedi pouncing from on high like an avenging angel, driving her lightsabers through Valkorion’s back. He had been grudgingly impressed by her courage. Still, that courage all but deserted her in the freezing chamber: her terrified screams still echoed in his mind in quiet moments.

Freezing you to cover up my role in my father’s death was a mistake, Arcann mused. I should have just executed you. You were still weak if you felt fear like that at the end. But he hadn’t brought himself to order the death of the pretty Jedi woman. Something about her was… fascinating. That much fire in her spirit, that much power within her grasp… Arcann wished he’d had the idea to convert her into the Knights of Zakuul before he’d frozen her. She would have been an asset to rival even Vaylin.

And if that spy had worked with her before… any man with an inclination towards women would have fallen for Taerich’s alluring presence. Had they truly been lovers, it was little wonder that Shan risked everything to find and rescue her. He must have been powerful in his own way to sway her to him. Yet the spy hadn’t used a lightsaber during their escape from the Spire; Arcann had seen the footage, watched him using ordinary blaster pistols. He’d also seen the way that Taerich had stayed very close to him, and how the spy had angled himself so as to protect her…

The Emperor snarled. He would not be jealous of a likely-Force-blind spy, of all people.

And if she’s a Republic war hero as claimed, the Supreme Commander would want her back for morale and strategic purposes. I would have, if I had been in his position. Was this a joint effort with remnants of the Jedi Order? Arcann frowned.  Most of the Order itself had fallen on the battlefield. Those that survived were grief stricken and hollow. They scattered to the far reaches of the galaxy and silenced their sabers. A plan to retrieve a hero of the Republic could achieve a moral victory, reigniting their will, and stoking the embers of war yet again. Was someone -- Commander Malcom -- attempting to push the Republic to the brink of war yet again?

Arcann frowned. It was possible that the Commander knew nothing, that Shan was acting alone. There’s only one way to find out, he thought. Until Shan and Taerich are found, Malcom will be our only link. I will know the originator of this insult, and they will answer for it. 

The shuttle whined as it exited hyperspace just over the small world known as Manda, verging on the border between the Mid-Rim and the Outer Rim. Theron swooped down toward the planet’s atmosphere, his gaze shifting between the viewscreen and the detection icons around the shuttle. “I’m gonna try and set a new destination before the hunters figure out where we’ve gone,” he called over his shoulder. “How are you doing, Xaja?”

“Shoulder hurts, but I’ve had worse.” Her voice sounded tight with pain, but she didn’t sound weak or frail anymore. That was already improvement. Theron risked a glance back to see her sitting upright on a chair, the jacket pulled back off her shoulder so Kimble could treat the wound. It was a pretty gruesome blaster shot, but Theron could already see that it wasn’t life-threatening, just painful. That was good. That was very good.

The proximity alarm sounded as pursuing ships dropped out of hyperspace just behind them, and Theron swore eloquently as he banked the shuttle hard to the left. It just got worse. “Dammit, hold on! We got company!”

“Can we lose them on the planet’s surface?” Kimble shouted as he stumbled, dropping some piece of medical equipment with the movement.

“Manda doesn’t have much to hide us,” Theron answered as he maneuvered upward and around. For a moment, one of the enemy ships was in front of him; he opened fire and missed, but the shot did force the hunters to adjust their course out of the line of fire. “Our best chance is to jump and try to lose them.”

“Because that worked so well last time,” Kimble sarcastically commented.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Theron snapped over his shoulder, groaning when he saw another late-coming ship enter the fray. Laser fire peppered the sky in front of him, making him jerk hard to the side to not get hit.

“… No,” Kimble grudgingly admitted, “but there’s got to be a better option than --”

Four ships against one shuttle? The odds were never in their favour. Theron grunted as a shot hit the side wing of his shuttle and made the vessel jerk. “Kriffing hell. New plan!”

“Great! What’s the new plan?”

“Step one is to not die.” Theron brought the shuttle around and fired, and counted himself lucky that he managed to get a glancing blow on one of the ships pursuing. “Step two…” He scowled at the system warnings blazing across the console. “We’re not hyperspace jumping, not unless we want to die terribly in the tunnel.”

Xaja let loose with a couple of decidedly non-Jedi-like expletives that made Theron feel at once startled and immensely proud of her. “So now what? Land on Manda and hope there’s another shuttle we can steal if we can’t repair this one?”

“Assuming we survive long enough to reach the surface, yes --” Theron blinked in surprise as the late-comer ship suddenly swooped over his viewscreen and opened fire. He recognized it as the Phantom-class ship he’d nearly run into while fleeing Rishi, and for a moment couldn’t decide what surprised him more: the firepower of the supposedly civilian-class shuttle, or the fact that it scored a direct hit on one of the hunter vessels, igniting it to dust. “Huh. Competition for the prize?”

“What?” Kimble appeared at Theron’s side and looked over his shoulder. “Looks like someone doesn’t want to share a hundred million credits.”

The fine hair on the back of Theron’s neck stood on end. “Either that or we might have a friend,” he mused, then yelled as another hit nearly tore the controls out of his hands. “Kriff it. We’re going down!” He aimed the shuttle toward the planet’s surface and descended hard, eyes darting between the radar behind him and the viewscreen in front. The three other ships were in close pursuit, although one suddenly disappeared in another ball of flame. He didn’t have time to wonder if the Phantom had been protecting them, taking out the competition, or had just been shot down themselves -- Manda’s atmosphere was rapidly clouding his vision. Maybe landing in the middle of a storm will give us enough cover to escape.

He’d never been on Manda before, and knew only enough to know that the planet was scarcely populated and supposedly spacious enough for shuttles to land with little problem. Must have picked the one mountainous area to land on, he silently grumbled as he veered sharply around a mountainside, then yelled as a third shot to the back of the ship sent him spiraling further downward, sweeping into a valley.

“This is gonna hurt! Brace for impact!” he shouted back. Jungle trees swarmed his vision and his poor shuttle ricocheted over and between them. His chest pounded against his yoke, his head smacked the bulkhead. The shuttle finally made contact with the ground -- hard -- and skidded for kilometers, a cleared trail behind them over the rocky terrain.

He was still for several long seconds after the crashed shuttle stopped moving, mentally checking to ensure each of his systems responded. He found he had to focus on breathing before he could move. “Xaja? Kimble?” he breathlessly called out.

“Still here, Theron.” That was Xaja’s voice. Soft and thready, it sounded like she was in pain. When he crawled out of the pilot’s seat and stumbled up to her side, however, she was scrambling to her feet and didn’t appear to have been too badly thrown around. Kimble was there, too, but was slowly sitting up. Blood trickled out of cut somewhere on the back of his head, visible in the nape of his neck. “How bad are we doing?”

“Not sure the shuttle’s fixable,” Theron confessed as he braced himself on the table and crouched to check on Kimble, “but I’ve seen worse. You two hurt at all?”

Kimble cracked an eye open to squint up at Theron. As he did so, the former operative could see his pupils were slightly dilated. “You’re bleeding, Shan.” When Theron frowned and patted at his face, he could indeed feel a trickle of blood streaming down from his temple. “Gimme a sec to get up and I can take care of that.”

“You worry about yourself,” Theron grunted as he helped the medic sit up. “I’m not the one who was knocked flat.” The sudden whine of another rapidly-descending ship made all three of them look sharply up. Each winced despite themselves at the sound of a nearby crash. “That’s not a good sound.”

“I hope that was one of the hunter ships and not that other sleek lookin’ ship,” Kimble muttered as he slowly maneuvered himself to a chair.

“Unless that Phantom is looking to keep the payday for themselves,” Theron grunted as he started slowly making his way to the shuttle entrance. He paused beside Xaja as she knelt beside Kimble and dropped a hand to her good shoulder. “I’ll take a look --”

“Theron!” Xaja grabbed his hand and gave him a worried look. “You’re not going out there by yourself!”

“You’re still sick,” Theron said as he kissed her forehead. “And I’m hurt less than you or Kimble are.” He wasn’t going to admit to how woozy and nauseous he felt -- maybe he’d hit his head a little harder than he’d thought. “I’m not going far, Xaja. We need to know how kriffed we are, though.”

Xaja gave him that too-knowing frown he’d received a lot of on Yavin and Ziost, the one where he swore she knew just how terrible he felt. Although considering the strange bond they seemed to share now, he supposed that wasn’t impossible. “I’m coming with you --”

“No, you’re not. Kimble needs someone guarding his back, and I’m not letting you risk getting captured.” All three gave a start at the sound of blaster fire and screams outside. “That’s a ship firing,” Theron murmured, frowning in thought. “One of those two ships still has operational weapons systems and they’re low enough to use it on the ground.”

“Theron, I’m not the only high-value target they’re chasing! You’re worth just as much to them!”

“Look,” he started, “Kimble can’t exactly go investigate with that concussion, and your shoulder’s still out of commission.” He frowned as the sound of blasters and shouting got much closer. A tell-tale thump against the hull spoke to their proximity. “I’ll be okay, Xaja -- I’ll come back to you, I promise.” He kneeled to kiss her, then stood and crept toward the shuttle exit.

When he got the door partially opened, the first thing he saw was rain -- and lots of it. He’d landed in the middle of a downpour, and the pursuers hadn’t hesitated to follow him down. If he squinted, he was sure he could see the silhouette of a downed ship nearby in the rain. There were bodies on the ground too, somewhere close to a dozen humanoid figures with different armour styles that he could just see in the dim light. He frowned when he saw a couple more figures skulking around. There was no sign of the last remaining ship that he could see, and he wondered if they’d just done a few low flybys before taking off.

He scowled and slipped out of the shuttle, cringing as the rain immediately plastered his hair down and started trickling down his neck. Blaster drawn, he crept around the side of his vessel and hunkered down in the shadows. There, two figures that he could see approaching, then a third far to the right -- then the third figure crumpled noiselessly, and Theron thought he saw the glint of light off a durasteel blade. But what --

A heavy fist slammed into his gut and made him reel before he was all but thrown against the side of the shuttle. The bounty hunter’s stealth generator shorted out as he loomed over Theron and grabbed him back up by the front of his jacket. “You’re the biggest pain in the ass of a bounty I’ve ever hunted,” he growled. “Zakuul better be up front with those credits they’re offerin’ for you!”

“Toxicity eight!” Theron shouted as he aimed his gauntlet and squeezed his fist. The dart flew out and just missed the bounty hunter, who growled and punched Theron again, earning a wheeze. The spy grunted and snatched up his dropped blaster, aiming it vaguely upward and firing, and earning a holler for his trouble as the shot hit the hunter’s leg.

“You kriffing Hutt-spawn!” snarled the hunter as he swiped at Theron again. Head still swimming, the spy only just managed to duck out of the way. “It’s a good thing they don’t care about you bein’ alive, just identifiable. I’m gonna kriffin’ rip out your innards an’ then kark up that pretty lady friend you got --”

Fury made Theron’s vision go red, but he didn’t have time to react as a bright blue lightsaber blade ignited in the darkness. A scream made him aware of another approaching hunter falling into a heap as Xaja ambushed him from the shuttle entrance. Despite only having one working arm, it seemed she could still wield a blade well enough to kill from the shadows, even if she couldn’t stay out of a fight. It was less endearing a trait right now than it had been on Ziost or Manaan.

“So she is a kriffin’ Jedi,” growled the hunter. He punched Theron hard enough to make the spy see stars and flop bonelessly on the wet ground, then hurried up to the shuttle entrance with a growl. Xaja had to have seen or heard him coming -- Theron could feel a sudden burst of worry and of anger from the tug in his mind that felt like her. The lightsaber hummed as it spun through the rain, steam rising from the blade as Xaja countered the hunter’s attack. Theron groaned as he rolled to his stomach and struggled up to his knees, seeing two more hunters approaching through the darkness. She can’t hold off all of them, he knew, and raised his blaster to shoot.

He never got the chance. A third figure suddenly emerged from a stealth field behind the hunters, and the guy on the left dropped with a spray of what looked like blood, his assassin spinning a dagger with terrifying efficiency. The other whirled and fired in what seemed to be a panic. The assassin neatly avoided the shot and dove in, nice and close. Theron just saw the blade take the hunter through the ribs and watched the hulking humanoid fall.

A cry behind him drew his attention and the former operative turned just in time to see the hunter knock Xaja against the hull of the shuttle. She dropped with a strangled cry, her lightsaber deactivating as she fell. Blaster fire immediately followed, aimed at the hunter. Looking back, Theron noted the assassin had drawn a blaster, and focused his attention on the hulking mass.

Snarling at the interfering shot, the hunter ignored his Jedi target long enough to fire back at the assassin. The shot seemed to deflect from some sort of protection field the mysterious figure had deployed, and then the assassin was charging, dagger flying from his offhand. Theron heard the ding as the blade missed the target and hit the shuttle door, followed by  the growl as the hunter jumped at the assassin. “They’re mine! That hun’red million credits is mine!”

The assassin didn’t answer, saving his breath to dodge out of the way and shoot from the hip as he moved. I’ve seen that fighting style before, Theron realized with a frown, rising painfully and raising his arm. Where have I seen that? And the ship… some report… He shook his head in an attempt to clear the addled thoughts. Need a clear shot. Guy with the knives might be a friend. At least he’s probably not gonna kill us right off. With how quickly the assassin was moving around the hulking, well-armoured hunter, it was hard to get a clear line of sight. The hunter roared and swung wildly. When he finally landed a blow, the assassin grunted and stumbled backward a step.

It was just enough for Theron. “Toxicity ten,” he snarled, and this time the dart found its target. The hunter fell in a heap, and Theron sagged against the side of the shuttle, warily watching the assassin as he regained his footing and turned in his direction. I really hope you’re not another hunter out to take out the competition, buddy, he wearily thought as the humanoid figure approached. Because I don’t think I can see straight enough to take you down.

A hand gently yet firmly gripped his chin, and a light shone from the assassin’s other hand. “Oh, good, you’re not dead after all.” That voice sounded all at once entirely too familiar, and Theron suddenly knew exactly where he’d seen the man’s fighting style before.

“Cipher,” he grunted, and tried to ignore the pain flooding through his chest where he’d been punched by the hunter. “Don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to see you before.” Xaja, at least, wasn’t going to be turned in for the bounty today.

“You are such a pain in the ass, Rookie,” the older spy complained, and a second later Theron yelped as he was smacked upside the back of the head. “And before I forget, Korin says hello.”

Right. Korin probably would have told his father about his best friend’s suicide note. Theron felt himself inwardly cringe. “Yeah, I deserved that,” he grunted.

“Honestly, he said to punch you, but there’s nowhere I can really punch you that wouldn’t do more damage.” Reanden Taerich pulled Theron around to the back exit of the shuttle with a strength that a man his age really shouldn’t have otherwise had, then looked around in worry. “Xaja?” he called out. Was that fear Theron could hear in the older man’s voice?

“… Dad?” Movement in the shadows from where Xaja had been knocked down and had dropped her lightsaber. Her voice was faint and strained; Theron could sense both pain and a disbelieving, shocked hope. “Are you?…”

Reanden pulled himself away from Theron to run in the direction of Xaja’s voice and drop to his knees. “Easy, baby girl,” he murmured as he carefully lifted Xaja’s slim frame off the wet ground. His voice changed from a cocky, arrogant older spy to a terrified father. “Oh, honey, look at me. I’m here, kiddo. Dad’s got you, you’re safe --”

Even in the dim light, Theron could see Xaja throw her uninjured arm around her father’s shoulders and cling to him, and he swore he could see the one-time Cipher Nine’s back shaking as he held his missing daughter close. The sheer relief and sense of protection and safety that he sensed from her through their bond made his own limbs weak -- or was that his throbbing head and aching ribs?

“Kriffing hells, Shan!” was the last thing he heard before his world went black.

When Theron came to, he was immediately assaulted with the scents of antiseptic and kolto, irritatingly bright lights just overhead. “Ah, welcome back, young one,” said a too-cheerful voice. Cracking an eye open, he was immediately greeted with a smirk and a white beard. “That’s one nasty concussion you gave yourself, Agent Shan. You can count yourself fortunate you didn’t puncture one of your lungs with those broken ribs either.”

Lokin, he thought, recognizing the man from the Revanite incident years prior. He sat up slowly -- with assistance from the doctor -- and groaned with the effort. It offered his first full view of his surroundings. The medbay was unfamiliar, a single bed with a kolto tank in the corner to the right, a desk to his left. It was sleek and clean, with bright lights flooding the area. Has to be the Shadow, he thought. The cipher agent’s personal shuttle had been mentioned numerous times in the reports. It was the first time he, as a former SIS operative, had been afforded the chance to come aboard. He just wished the reason hadn’t been quite so painful.  “Where’re Xaja and Kimble?” he slowly asked when he felt like the ship wasn’t spinning around him and his lunch wasn’t on its way back up.

“Over here,” Kimble’s voice sounded. Theron looked over, seeing the other man slouching in a seat with a clean bandage around his forehead. “Why didn’t Xaja ever have a medbay like this on the Serenity? This place is stylish as hell!”

“Probably something to do with the Order’s budget restraints,” Lokin suggested with a shrug. “Imperial Intelligence had a bit more leeway with their credits.”

Kimble groaned. “Life is so not fair.”

“Oh, you kids don’t know the half of it,” the elder doctor said with a grin. He looked back to Theron when the other spy tried sliding off the medical bed. “Easy, Shan. That concussion hasn’t healed itself in the last hour. You’re going to be quite a miserable young spy for a bit here.”

“Wonderful.” Theron rested his arms on his knees and bent over for several long minutes to focus on breathing and not throwing up. “Where’s Xaja?”

“She’s safe, I promise. She and her father are still talking out in the main seating area. They’ve got two years to catch up on, after all.” Lokin started putting away most of his medical gear. “And Agent Taerich’s quite relieved to have her back, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“You have no idea.” Reanden appeared in the doorway to medbay. Now that they were in a dry, well-lit area and not fighting, Theron could see the thinner, more drawn features of the older man’s face; the greater amounts of grey peppering his dark hair; the deeper lines around his mouth and eyes. The last two years had not treated Cipher Nine well. “I rather think I owe you one, Shan, much as it pains me to say it.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“No. The fact that you found my daughter alive is the only other reason why I’m not following through on Korin’s request to punch you.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” Theron craned his neck to peer around Reanden. “Xaja?”

“I’m okay.” Theron’s heart relaxed when the red-headed Jedi appeared beside her father. New bruises were visible along her jaw and cheek, left arm in a sling, but she offered him a tired smile. “We’re all okay, all things considered.”

“Yes, for being the subject of the single largest bounty posting I’ve ever seen. Fifty million -- each -- just for information leading to a capture.” Reanden shook his head and protectively wrapped an arm around Xaja’s shoulders. “You two are going to be the two most hunted people in the galaxy, and I don’t imagine information on you will be far behind, Kimble.” That earned a groan from the medic.

Theron grimaced. “Okay. Then we need to figure out a plan to vanish before other hunters start catching up. We’ll have to see if there’s anywhere safe we can hide out.”

“And new transportation.” Reanden frowned in thought. “Your shuttle might be salvageable with enough work, Shan, but it’s already been tagged. SCORPIO picked up some of the chatter above Rishi before we took off after you. The three ships that jumped after you aren’t a concern anymore, but if they were transmitting their coordinates back to their friends, there’s going to be a lot more activity in this system soon.”

“Great.” Theron sighed. “This just made things a lot more difficult.”

“If you think you can stand up and function well enough to salvage anything you desperately need off that shuttle, we can shoot it and make it look like it disintegrated on impact.” The Imperial gestured in the general direction of the site. “It might slow the pursuit enough for us to get you somewhere safe.”

“Do you have somewhere in mind, Dad?” Xaja tilted her head up at her father, pale face drawn with concern.

“There’s a couple of options. I know the locations of a few different anti-Zakuulan resistance cells that might be able to hide you. If all else fails, we can change your appearances and hide you somewhere on Tatooine or Taris or Hoth -- somewhere nobody will think to look for you.” Reanden absently ran his fingers along Xaja’s hair and the Jedi visibly relaxed into his shoulder. “Your brothers might be able to work something, too. Korin knows most of the underworld, and Sorand has connections to the Mandalorians or plenty of influence within the Empire.”

“Are he and Shara still a thing?”

“Yes. They’re adorable.” A grin tugged at Reanden’s mouth for a moment before he sobered again. “We might be able to get you to Lavisar. The old house is supposedly abandoned, so nobody should think to look for you there. It’s not ideal, but…”

“It’ll be something, and better than Hoth… well, warmer than Hoth,” Theron agreed as he finally stood up, holding onto the table -- and Lokin’s arm -- to stay upright. “’Kay, I’ll grab what I can from the shuttle and wipe what I can’t take with.”

“And with any luck, the burnt-out wreck should make people think you’re dead at a first glance. It won’t hold to a bioscan, but it might buy you enough time to disappear.” Reanden turned and kissed Xaja’s forehead. “Stay put. We’ll be right back.”

“Yes, Dad.” Xaja gave her father a smile, then slipped out from under his arm and gave Theron a hug as he approached. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” she murmured with a worried frown.

“I should be asking that about you.” Theron rested his forehead against hers for a moment. “I’ve had way worse than a concussion and a few broken ribs. I’ll be fine.”

The Jedi still appeared doubtful for a moment, but finally nodded and stretched up to kiss Theron’s cheek. “Okay. You’ll let my dad know if you’re feeling worse?”

Like hell I will. “Of course.” Theron smiled and gave Xaja a chaste kiss, aware of her father lurking nearby. “Back in a sec.” He finally stepped away from her, toward the exit of the medbay. He felt less shaky and weak with every step he took. Whatever Lokin had given him while he was out, it seemed to be helping with the concussion.

“Here, put this on,” Reanden suddenly said, his voice surprisingly gruff. He shoved a dark, oversized jacket into Theron’s arms. “Your other one’s still drenched and I don’t need you coming down with pneumonia on top of everything else.”

Theron supposed the jacket was something of a begrudging thank-you for finding his daughter. The older spy waited while he shrugged on the borrowed jacket, then led him to the exit hatch of his ship. Theron had only a few paces in which to admire the sleek interior of the shuttle, but it was long enough to kindle a bit of envy over the obvious budget discrepancies between SIS and Imperial Intelligence.  Was that real wood inlaid in the floor? Reanden’s voice brought him back to the matter at hand. “Your wreck’s about a hundred metres or so away.”

“That close?” Theron said as he followed Reanden out into the rain and shivered at the wind on his face. At least this jacket was proving waterproof, and warm. “We didn’t see you come down.”

“Oh, good, the ship that Intelligence spent millions of credits on does have working stealth systems.” The sarcasm was evident even with his back turned to Theron. “You weren’t focusing terribly hard on trying to track us, for obvious reasons.”

Theron rolled his eyes as he trudged through the trees to the wreck of his shuttle. “How did you know where we were? I heard what you said about picking up chatter over Rishi, but…”

“I’ve got contacts everywhere, kid. One of them saw you in Raider’s Cove and sent me a message. I got there just in time to see you hauling jets away from the planet and jumped after you.”

That made sense, Theron reasoned. He nodded as his shuttle came into view and scrambled in the narrow entrance. Either Kimble had opened the door just enough to let himself out, or someone had forced the shuttle open enough to get him out. “Far as physical items go, there’s not a heck of a lot,” he commented. “Kimble’s going to want his medic bag though… Xaja doesn’t have a lot on board that she wasn’t already wearing.”

“Understandable.” Reanden accepted Kimble’s rucksack as Theron handed it over and set to accessing his computer systems. “Shan… Theron. I need to know something.”

“Hmm?” Theron looked up at the use of his first name and quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“She was missing for over two years. Every scrap of information that I pulled off of Zakuul indicated that she was dead. Even the rumours of an Outlander assassin all came up with false leads and dead ends.” Reanden leaned over and gripped Theron’s shoulder. The younger man paused in his work and turned to meet an intensely piercing brown-eyed stare. “How the hell did you know she was alive and where she was?”

Theron hesitated for a long second. How much did Korin tell him?… “I didn’t,” he finally admitted. “Finding her was a lucky accident. I had no intel on her either.”

Reanden’s eyes narrowed. “What were you doing on Zakuul that had you finding her? All Korin told me was that you’d sent him a suicide note from there.”

“Kriff.” Theron hunched his shoulders and sighed, trying to figure out a way to get out of this. “Korin and I had been tossing around the idea of finding a way to strike at Zakuul where Arcann thought he was safe, so I’d gone in on reconnaissance. Then I found Xaja alive and, well… the rest is history.”

“Almost, kid. How did that suicide note play into this?”

“I’d had a note programmed to a dead man’s switch in my head, just in case.” Theron tapped at one of his implants and tried not to think about how desperately he hoped the older spy believed his lie. “It malfunctioned, and I didn’t catch it until we were on Rishi.”

“Hmmm.” Reanden appeared to let the subject drop for the moment. “So Arcann had her as a prisoner this entire time… how the hell did he get her off the flagship alive?”

“She doesn’t know.” Theron shrugged as he started downloading essential data into his implants. “She got knocked out on the ship, and woke up en route to Zakuul. They took Marr alive too, and he was actually executed. They were going to execute Xaja too, but Arcann freed her long enough for her to kill the old Emperor.”

“So the assassin rumours were true.” Reanden frowned. “And Arcann imprisoned her to cover up his role in his father’s assassination…”

“It gets better. She swears up and down that Valkorion was Vitiate’s latest form.”

“What?” Fury shot through Reanden’s eyes, mingled with disbelief and horror. “The son of a bitch was on Zakuul the entire time? Then what the fuck did we see on Yavin and Ziost?” He drew a steadying breath. “He’s actually dead this time, though?”

“He’d better be,” Theron growled. “I don’t think Xaja could deal with him a third time.”

“I wouldn’t be able to if I was in her boots. Oh, the poor kid…” Reanden raked a hand through his mussed-up hair. “So Arcann used her to kill Vitiate, and then imprisoned her and made the rest of us think she was dead. That bastard’s going to pay for this.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually agree with you on something,” Theron muttered. “I think I’ve pulled everything valuable off of here that I need. Wiping the rest of the data now.”

“Good.” Reanden hiked the rucksack over his shoulder and started poking into the storage bins on board the small shuttle. “Anything else essential you need out of here? Diaries, perhaps? Porn holos?”

“Very funny,” Theron retorted. “Just a sec.” He crouched beside the bunk and opened a secret compartment in the floor, and retrieved three items. The set of old dog tags bearing his father’s combat identification details went around his neck and the worn-looking journal covered in his mother’s handwriting was neatly tucked into his jacket. The one holo of Xaja that he’d been able to preserve from their entire first stint on Rishi disappeared into his pants pocket, and then he stood up. “Good to go.”

Reanden nodded and stepped back toward the shuttle exit. “Works for me,” he replied. “Let’s move. We’ll shoot out the shuttle and take off; figure out our next step from there.” He waited for Theron to shut the shuttle door from the outside, then fell into step beside him as they walked back to the Shadow. They didn’t speak for the short, cold journey, both lost in their own thoughts. Theron, for his part, was too busy pondering their next moves. Didn’t Korin say he was working with one of the resistance cells in the Outer Rim? Reanden’s gotta know where he is. Hiding out on Tatooine won’t help us find a long-term cure for Xaja, but maybe it’ll give us a chance to- His eyes widened. I didn’t tell him about the carbonite poisoning. Kriff. Maybe it won’t-

The Shadow was a scene of chaos when the two spies reboarded. Reanden’s eyes narrowed as he hurried up the ramp, hand reaching for his blaster pistol. “What the hell’s going on? What -- Xaja?” Theron followed the older agent on board and felt his face drain of colour when he saw Xaja laying on one of the couches in the seating lounge, far too pale.

The Jedi turned her head at the sound of her father’s voice and gave both him and Theron a sheepish look. “Had another spasm,” she whispered. “Took out my entire leg.” Theron could sense how upset she was with this development and her embarrassment at everyone fussing over her. Fear lurked beneath it all.

“And there’s nothing in this medbay that -- oh, good, you got my bag.” Kimble stood up from where he’d been crouching by Xaja’s side and hurried over to take the rucksack from Reanden. “Those meds shouldn’t have worn off so fast,” he muttered as he hurried back over to his patient.

“What are you talking about?” Reanden sounded as anxious as an Imperial-trained spy could. “Shan, what did you not tell me?”

“Fierfek.” Theron shot the older spy a wary look. “I might’ve forgotten to mention that when I found Xaja, she was in carbonite. The Zaks karked up the carbonization process, and Kimble says it poisoned her.”

“All through her nervous system,” Kimble added as he started rifling through his medical gear. “You got anything in that medbay that’ll help with neurological damage, Lokin?”

“Neurological poisoning from carbonite?” Lokin poked his head out of the medbay and winced. “Oh, Master Jedi, you’re in for a world of hurt, my dear. Kimble, show me what you’ve got, we’ll figure something out.”

Reanden turned to glare at Theron. If looks could kill, the younger spy would have been a crispy pile of used-to-be-human on the floor of the Shadow. “You ‘might have forgotten’ to mention that she was carbonite poisoned? I might punch you after all, Shan.”

“Dad! No punching Theron!” Xaja started to sit up, until the second that Theron saw -- and strangely felt -- the dizzy spell hit her. She fell back against the couch as Kimble swore and Reanden ran to her side. “Please, don’t… no fighting…”

“Okay, baby girl. No fighting, I promise.” Reanden stroked Xaja’s hair even as his forehead creased with a worried frown. “SCORPIO,” he called out to the bridge. “Target the other shuttle until it’s a burned-out wreck, then get us off-world.”

“Understood, Agent,” spoke the feminine droid’s voice from the bridge. The Shadow lurched slightly as it rose up and came around. Theron heard the guns open fire and winced only a little bit as his shuttle was destroyed. SCORPIO emerged from the bridge and surveyed the gathering with what he could only describe as a condescending look.. “And where are we going from here?”

Reanden didn’t answer for a long moment, looking down at Xaja, then at Theron and Kimble. Theron could almost hear the gears turning madly in the older spy’s head until he finally spoke. “Imperial Space. Set course for Dromund Kaas. It’s the last place anyone will look for a Jedi or a Republic spy on the run.”

[jadegreenworks]

Good Boy

Rolling in late to the #babybullfest like a dumbass! Heed the WARNINGS:

A/B/O, Alpha Elias, Omega Adam, light D/s, Mommy kink, fishnets, corsets, knotting dildos, a little knot spanking, sloppy sex, anal sex, anal tonguing, nipple fetish, sex work, porn without plot, probably gratuitous use of the word pussy (god, I’ve lost track, just... just read at your own risk!

Elias has a problem, the House has just the Omega to help him solve it.

Adam tapped his toes restlessly on the floor, finished reading the file, and flipped it closed with a definitive, “No.”

“You can’t veto this, Adam, it’s too much money,” Bea said, her arguments already in order because she knew him too well to think he’d take this case without argument.

“You’re right, it is too much money,” Adam said, reminding her, “There’s no way he can afford my rate for the night! And I can’t clear my schedule—”

“The Mistress cleared it for you and, actually, he can afford your rate,” Bea said, frazzled and weary. “He’s part owner of some kind of cloning patent. He can afford you all night every night until you’re too old to do this shit anymore.”

“Part owner of a cloning patent?” Adam hissed, incensed. “And that’s made him nouveau riche, has it? You know, that’s part of what’s wrong with today’s medical field, Bea, it’s all—”

“Write an article,” Bea said, interrupting his tirade. “I don’t give a shit how he gets his pay, Adam, as long as the House gets its cut.”

Adam flipped the file back open, snorting at the name the House had given his potential patron.

“Elias the Bull, honestly,” he said, skimming the contents again. “This is insane, Bea! All of this?”

“All of it.”

“He’s checked nearly every box!” Adam said, turning it to show her as if she hadn’t conducted the entry interview. “Look at this!”

“That’s why it has to be you, Adam,” Bea said, taking the folder from him and tucking it under her arm. “You’re the only Omega we have who will suit him.”

Adam glowered but didn’t deny it. He’d been headstrong from the moment of his birth, bossy, sassy, take-charge, oftentimes mistaken for a Beta male or, even better, an Alpha at times. His particular personality had developed particular tastes in sex partners, which had led him to the House. Here, a bossy, domineering Omega had plenty of Alphas lining up at his door, and they paid for the pleasure of his company, to boot.

It certainly beat scraping coins from the couch to buy a pack of cigarettes.

“Are we done?” Bea asked, knowing damned well they were. “He’s waiting for you.”

“I’m not happy about this,” Adam informed her, surging to his feet and dragging his scarf off.

“He’ll tip, and you’ll be plenty happy about that,” Bea reminded him. “Go get ‘em.”

“The Bull,” Adam said, snorting softly. “How creative! Did he name himself?”

“Nope, the preppers named him,” Bea said, shooing him out of her office. “Hurry up! Time is money, Adam.”

He left her office in a huff and went to his room, one of many in the vast and busy House. His Patron area attached to his private suite, along with the prepping room and Patron washroom, making each entertaining area a little wonderland all its own without interruption from outside parties.

“The Bull,” Adam breathed, showering quickly and getting ready, the details of his Patron’s particulars lodged in his mind. It guided the way he dressed, as he always aimed to please, and he enjoyed the change that overtook him with the clothing he donned, as if an entire new person lay within him just waiting for those tacky fishnet stockings, for the cinched grip of a corset, for the little scrap of panties that almost didn’t hold him, for the wickedly-high heels he took particular pride in wearing so gracefully and so well.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, turning to catch a glimpse of his backside in the mirror, round and firm, cheeks bared, the garter straps stark against his skin. He tapped his toe, admiring the flex of his muscular calves, and winked at himself. “Whatever happens, Adam, you know you’ll have fun. You always do.”

He pulled a silky robe on and belted it at his waist, finger-combed his loose hair, and knocked sharply on the door to announce himself.

He heard a  muffled, grunting groan and let himself in to his playroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

The preppers had done a thorough job, Adam was pleased to see. His Patron was bare as birth, hunkered down on his knees and bowed over, wriggling and whining, wrists secured behind his back.

He heard the mechanical whine of the milking machine as he moved closer and his brows rose a little seeing what they’d already gotten out of him, his Bull.

Adam stopped in front of him and nudged him under his chin with the toe of his stiletto, taking in his flushed, sweaty face, the bushy mustache that didn’t quite hide his harelip, the brows pulled together in concentration, eyes squeezed closed.

“Sit up,” Adam told him, examining him closely. “I won’t tell you twice.”

He did so cautiously, teeth clenching on his gag.

The milking machine was on its highest setting, popping soundly against Elias’ swollen knot as its suction pulled it up and down the most monstrously lovely cock Adam had ever seen in his life.

“I understand you’ve been named the Bull, Elias,” he said, noting his oversized, heavy sac between his taut thighs. “I can see why.”

He walked around him, inspecting him to be sure the little red ball was in his left hand, where it would remain as long as the gag was in, a blatant signal to stop when words weren’t available.

“Oh, my, what a touch,” Adam chuckled, spying the cow-tail plug they’d placed in Elias’ ass. He tested it, wriggling to feel how well he was holding it, and smiled when Elias squirmed. “There’s a good darling. I understand you have a problem you need help with.”

He moved back around him, trailing his fingers up Elias’ bowed spine and over his damp, curly hair, then down beneath his chin.

“Open your eyes,” he said, and Elias did so, the haze of pleasure from that milking machine dwindling to bewilderment. “You look surprised. I’m going to take this off of you. Don’t move.”

He reached down and stopped the machine, carefully breaking the seal it had formed. Elias twitched and groaned, shuddering, and Adam slapped his knot, warning, “I won’t tell you twice.”

It came off with a wet, slurping suck and his heavy cock slapped down between his thighs, a string of cum drawing tight and breaking.

Adam put the milking machine aside, retrieved the red ball, and unbuckled the gag.

“You aren’t what I asked for!” Elias said, wriggling now in consternation. “No! No, this is all wrong! I said I wanted an Omega—”

“I am an Omega,” Adam said, straightening to look down at him.

“No! I wanted one with breasts! You’re a man! You don’t have breasts! You don’t understand, I—”

Adam untied his robe with one hand and shrugged it off, pleased when Elias abruptly shut up, mouth agape.

“I don’t have breasts,” Adam said, brushing his hands over his bare chest to cup his nipples, large and turgid against the slight plumpness of his chest, that residual fat he could never shed no matter the pec-work he did. “But that wasn’t really what you needed, was it, Elias?”

Elias licked his lips, eyelids fluttering, tracking the motion of Adam’s thumb when he pinched one nipple softly and tugged.

Adam smiled when Elias’ cock gave a twitch, betraying his interest.

“I understand what you’ve come here for,” Adam said, crouching in front of him, deliberately brushing against his face as he did so, shifting just so to keep those eager lips away from his enticing nipples. “I understand what you need, and I will give it to you.”

Elias blinked rapidly and swallowed hard, torn between desire and confoundment.

Desire won.

Desire always won.

“I’m going to free your hands,” Adam murmured, sliding his arms around Elias to reach the cuffs, pressing close to let him feel the contrast of soft skin and bone-hard stays, the pressure of his own fat sex against his sticky lower belly.

Elias’ breath pulsed against his mouth, quick and hot, but he behaved himself and didn’t try to steal a kiss.

The cuffs gave with a soft click, parting, and Adam pulled away to gain his feet, telling him, “I expect you will behave. If you don’t behave, you’ll be punished. I don’t give instructions twice, Elias. Failure to follow instructions will cost you. Do you understand?”

He stared down at him and Elias nodded emphatically.

“I cannot hear your head rattle, darling,” Adam pressed. “Answer me.”

“Y-yes, I understand,” Elias said, nostrils flaring and cock stirring.

“Yes, I understand what?” Adam asked, standing with his hands on his curved hips, expectant and impatient.

“Yes... Mother,” Elias said, a hesitant, unsure offering.

Adam reached out and caressed his face, purring, “Yes, darling, that’s right. Mother will take very, very good care of you.”

On the heels of that soft caress, he bent over just slightly and tumbled Elias backwards on the floor, half on his side to keep his “tail” clear of harm.

Elias landed with a grunt but rolled onto his back, eyes wide and shimmering with a wild kind of excitement that Adam had rarely seen before in a man his age.

“You have a problem with restraint, Elias, isn’t that right?” Adam asked, using his foot to lift Elias’ thick cock and slap it up on his furry belly. His knot was still fat, but not tight, and hung in a half-slack bulge over his heavy balls. “Constantly touching yourself, unable to resist?”

“Yes,” Elias said, and panted harshly when Adam pressed his shod foot against his knot. “Mother!”

“That’s right,” Adam cooed, crouching to give his knot a squeeze, milking it in both palms until it started to swell again. “You aren’t permitted to come until I say so, Elias.”

Elias squirmed, a soft, keening whine escaping him, his cock swelling rigid against his belly.

“No matter what I do,” Adam purred, kneading and kneading, dropping one hand to cup his balls and roll them in his hot palm, wet and heavy and musky. “No matter what you want, unless I give you permission, you are not to come—”

He did, a harsh shout escaping him as his cock spurted, quivering against his heaving belly.

Adam smirked. He pinched just beneath the swollen head of Elias’ cock and pulled the fat length of him taut, baring more of his knot.

“That,” he said, and cracked his free palm sharply against his exposed knot. “Was. Very. Bad!”

He spanked his knot until it was cherry red and ruddy, until Elias howled and heaved and bucked and fought the pinch on his cock that kept him from tipping too far into enjoying it. He spanked him until his palm stung, and then he stood to plant his foot firmly on Elias’ cock, toe pressing just beneath his head, sharp heel light against his base.

“That was a very bad boy, Elias,” he said, slightly breathless with effort, rocking his foot to make him groan. He felt Elias cant his hips, trying to press up against him, and gave him a little more pressure, marking the way he shuddered and sobbed. “That was a very bad boy, indeed. What is Mother to do about that, hm? How should I punish such a bad little boy?”

He slid his hand into his panties and tugged, the flimsy strings breaking away, the slippery material slithering down one leg to be impatiently kicked off as he moved his foot. He moved to straddle Elias’ chest, one foot on either side of him, and stared down the length of his own slender body to catch his eye.

“Omegas are wondrous, aren’t we?” he purred, fondling himself, fingers sliding around his swelling cock and under his balls to lift as he squatted, legs spreading as he lowered himself almost to Elias’ face, so close he could feel his breath against his thighs. “Beautiful boy parts up front,” he sighed, sweeping himself up tight to expose the slit of his pussy behind. “A tight little asshole you can only dream about, and an even tighter pussy right in between.”

Elias panted, chest heaving but hands flat against the floor.

“I’ll let you taste it, hm?” Adam asked, trailing one fingernail down Elias’ nose to catch on his trembling lower lip. “Let you stick your tongue where you want your cock to be.”

He shifted, straddling Elias’ face backwards on his knees. He lowered himself until he felt wet lips against his sac and he pressed, sighing with satisfaction when Elias began to suck softly at his balls.

“Good boy,” he breathed, shifting up and shivering when his hot tongue plunged into his slick slit. “Very good boy, Elias.”

Elias slurped and lapped at him, groaning against his flesh, eagerly accepting when Adam admonished, “The back as well, darling, Mother loves a good ass fucking.”

It was delightful the way he was so enthusiastic, working at Adam’s tight asshole and tight pussy in succession, and the longer he ate at the feast he was offered, the more his huge cock strained and quivered.

“Such a good boy,” Adam praised, and leaned forward, stretching along Elias’ body to tease his head, grinning at the way Elias offered a stifled squeal and writhed away from his touch. Adam stroked his head and flicked it, over and over, warning, “Be a good boy for Mother, darling. Don’t you come until Mother tells you. There’s my good boy, Elias. Mother is so proud of you.”

Elias’ tongue plunged deep, laving and probing, and slid in a slick trail from Adam’s wet pussy to his loosening asshole, fighting the clench of muscle to push in deep.

“Oh, that’s what Mother likes,” Adam breathed, lightly polishing his head, knowing the teasing pressure must be virtually unbearable. “Look at this huge cock of yours, Elias. I’m so proud of what a big boy you are. Look at how hard your are, how big your knot is. Mother can’t wait to get that knot, Elias, to squeeze it and squeeze it until you give me your little boy milk—”

Elias bucked and spurted, smearing a mess of come all over his belly and Adam’s hand.

“Oh, darling, you’ve been such a bad boy,” Adam breathed, levering himself up off of Elias’ face. “So bad, Elias, coming without permission. I won’t tell you again.”

Slick saliva slid down his thighs when Adam stood, testament to Elias’ eager ministrations.

Elias’ flushed face was wet and he wiped at it nervously, but the excitement in his amber eyes never died. If anything, it seemed more frantic than before, eager and wanting.

“Bad, bad little boy,” Adam sighed, moving between Elias’s thighs. He caught him under his knees and bent them up, pressing them towards his chest. “You hold onto these lovely legs of yours, now, Elias, and don’t you dare move.”

Elias did as he was told, trembling with excitement. It opened him up enough that the cow-tail butt plug slid out easily in a gush of slick lube.

“Wasting all that milk,” Adam said, testing him with a gentle finger and satisfied by the job the preppers had managed. “Giving it to Mother when she hasn’t asked. Such a proud little boy you are, hm?”

He caressed Elias’ softened cock and slackening knot, fondled the admirable heft of his sack. He was lighter than he looked, and it took little effort to get him canted just right for Adam to press his hard cock to Elias’ winking ass.

“Oh, tightening up are we?” Adam asked, amused. He pressed in, just until his head could feel the clench of muscle. “What a bad boy you are, Elias! Mother wants to feel you all the way inside...”

He eased deeper, shivering as he was drawn into heated, tight muscle, enjoying the spasm that passed through Elias and the throaty groan that followed the first deep thrust.

He slid his hands around Elias’ thighs and set a slow, deep pace that had him writhing and cursing, red-faced and tight with tension as he fought orgasm.

Adam was almost relieved it didn’t take long to get him up again, because he was more than ready to feel a little relief. He snapped his hips up hard, plunging deep with each thrust. He heard Elias’ start the sharp, harsh little grunts that heralded his orgasm and dropped his thighs to fist Elias’ straining cock, gasping with pleasure and driving deep to come when Elias’ surged in his hands and spurted over his fingers.

Elias huffed and panted and writhed, almost too sensitive from so much friction, even slick as he was. Adam gave him another tug just to feel the way he tightened, and slid out of him with a sigh, admiring the way his pearly cum welled out of Elias’ reddened ass.

“You haven’t behaved,” Adam said, catching his breath as he went to his cabinet. He pulled out a knotting dildo and slicked it, little though he needed it after Elias’ clever tongue. “But what kind of Mother would I be if I gave up on you now?”

He turned back to Elias and set the dildo down before nuzzling Elias, stroking his face and his throat, calming him some. He kissed down his neck, kissed the dome of his come-slick belly, teased his tight little nipples and reared up over him, his chest enticingly near.

Elias hesitated when Adam brushed one rosy nipple against his lips, gasping softly at the bristling touch of his moustache.

“No teeth,” Adam warned, rubbing the tight nub against Elias’ pouty lower lip. “Use your tongue.”

Elias tentatively flicked his tongue across the offered nipple and Adam purred, pressing against him.

“Suck,” he said, and when Elias did so, he warned, “Gently.”

The pressure softened. He made a satisfied, purring sound around Adam’s nipple, his fingers clenched against the floor as if he fought not to touch. Adam reached out and urged Elias’ fingers against his other nipple, eyes fluttering when he teased it.

A glance over his shoulder showed him Elias was hard again, and Adam was impressed despite himself.

“You can’t keep this up much longer,” he said, easing away to settle over Elias’ hips, right atop his hard cock. Elias bucked, rutting against his plump ass. “I think it’s time you get inside of me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Elias moaned, and exhaled on a moan, “Mother!”

“That’s my little boy,” Adam said, pulling the knotting dildo over. He held himself up on his knees, steadied, Elias’ come-slick cock, and fed it cautiously into his ass, sighing.

Elias strained against him, and when he realized he was in Adam’s ass, he snarled in frustration.

Adam laughed softly, settling fully onto Elias’ cock, enjoying how full he felt and knowing when he got the dildo into him, it would be even better. He slapped down hard, using his body to spank Elias’ knot, and tipped backwards to feed the knotting dildo into his pussy.

“Ah, that’s so good,” he moaned, feeling Elias swell and twitch inside of him as the dildo settled into place. He saw that Elias’ eyes were glued to the knot, wide and watching as it vanished inside of Adam’s pussy, glimpsed as he milked it inside of him. “Do you see that, Elias? That’s where good boys go, hm?”

He leaned back, legs spread wide, arms braced, and fucked himself silly on Elias’ cock, milking the knotting dildo in his pussy so Elias could see it, could feel it.

“It should be you in here, Elias,” he moaned, licking his fingers and sliding them down his slit to push the dildo back in as it slid out. He clenched, drawing it back inside of himself, and Elias sobbed in desperation, hips pumping against Adam’s ass, knot slapping up against him and cock bucking in his tight heat. He starting jerking himself off, fist sliding over his ready cock as Elias fucked up into him. “Imagine how it feels, being squeezed inside of me, tighter and tighter until you beg me to let you come. Imagine how it feels to come inside me while I’m squeezing your knot...”

They came together, Adam half-laughing with delight it felt so good. He rocked against Elias’ body, working dildo and cock inside of him, rolling Elias’ knot as hard as he could.

“Next time,” he said, panting hard as the pleasure eased. “I want your knot in me, Elias, and your fingers in my ass.”

Elias tried twice to answer, still gasping for breath, and finally managed, “Yes, Mother.”

“That’s right,” Adam said, satisfied by his response. He pulled up and let Elias slide out of him, and let the dildo slide out in a rush of slick wetness. He flung it aside, stepped over Elias, and moved to the small couch off to one side.

“Come here, Elias,” he said, and urged the man to lay down with his head in Adam’s lap. He stroked Elias’ hair, both of them catching their breath, and said, “Now, here’s what I want. You can only masturbate nine times a day.”

“N-nine?”

“Nine,” Adam said, firm with him. “And I’ll know if you lie to me. Nine times. And after a week, you’ll only be allowed eight, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“You need to save this up, Elias,” Adam said, addressing the main reason why his patron was here in the first place. “If you want to have me all night, you need to save it all up for me. Can you do that for me, Elias? Can you do that for Mother?”

“Yes, Mother,” Elias said, nodding vigorously.

“Good,” Adam said, and gathered him close, cradling his head to guide Elias’ mouth to his nipple, tugging him up close in his lap as his lips latched on. “There’s a good boy, Elias. There’s Mother’s good boy.”

Elias grunted and suckled like a greedy little piglet, curling against Adam’s hand when he reached down and gently stroked him, telling him, “Now, give Mother that little boy milk of yours, darling. Show Mother how much you love her.”

Elias suckled and moaned and shuddered, rocking in a long, slow orgasm that spilled languid ropes of cum over Adam’s relentless hand.

“That’s a good boy,” Adam purred, eyes closing in bliss as Elias suckled him, a slight, content smile on his lips as he looked forward to the rest of his evening. “There’s a good boy for Mother.”

Also on Ao3

THERE’S MOAR