#is Orikan here to kill everyone or is it a bootycall?

[ghostinthegallery]

Second prompt fill for @beril66! Let's have a little fun with this one XD

"Please hold me" for Trazyn/Orikan

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Solemnace was a planet constantly perched on the precipice of disaster. The wrong stasis breach or mechanical malfunction could spell instant doom for the great museum world. Ashkut faced that reality each day as Solemnace’s Royal Warden. But if Overlord Trazyn decided in his wisdom to house every possible superweapon, demi-god, and monstrosity in the galaxy in once collection, it was Ashkut’s job to ensure he and Solemnace survived the process.

Sometimes he simply wished the job was easier.

The planet’s alarm system alerted Ashkut that there was unusual activity deep within the galleries. Not the display areas, but the “stacks” as the crypteks called the network of storage rooms and study areas near the planet’s inert core. What alarm did not tell him was what kind of unusual activity he might face. 

Ashkut summoned a company of immortals to accompany him down the labyrinthine hallways. Perhaps he was being overly cautious. The alert might be nothing. Intruders did not make it this far without Lord Trazyn’s approval—whether or not they knew they had it. Most likely it was a stasis field failure causing the planet to think there was an intruder where there was only a loose exhibit, which more likely than not was harmless. He thanked all the stars they were nowhere near the tyranid wing.

As he turned a corner he stopped short. Two figures stood before a door, arguing in hushed tones. The first was Sannet, nervously rubbing his fingers together. The other was the Huntmaster, who turned towards the warden and his retinue.

“Ah, warden. Perfect timing,” Huntmaster said. “We need a vote to break the tie.”

“Tie?” Ashkut looked between the two fellow members of Solmnace’s court, alarm glyph still flashing in the corner of his vision. “What is going on here?”

Sannet pointed a shaking hand at the door.  “Lord Trazyn is inside.” 

“Alright,” Ashkut replied slowly.

“He isn’t alone,” Sannet stammered.

That wasn’t exactly unusual. Lord Trazyn occasionally showed people his collection. How willing they were to view it varied, but it was hardly a danger.

Huntmaster jerked his thumb towards the room. “The Diviner’s in there with him.”

“WHAT?” Ashkut roared. “And you two are just standing there?”

He moved to shove past the two fools, but Huntmaster grabbed his shoulder. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. We heard clanging.”

“Clanging,” Ashkut repeated, trying to figure out how that could possibly be relevant when his lord was currently stuck alone in a room with his mortal enemy.

“Clanging,” Huntmaster confirmed, as if that explained anything.

“It could have been a fight,” Sannet said. “Or…”

“Or not a fight,” Huntmaster said.

“Or that.” Sannet shuddered. “But still, we should check!”

“There’s been no call for aid.”

“That could mean Lord Trazyn is in danger and unable to summon any!” Sannet cried.

“Good point. After you then.” Huntmaster extended his arm. Sannet did not move.

Ashkut snapped, “What are you two talking about?” 

Huntmaster tilted his head. “Why warden, I did not think you were so naive. Has no one explained amorous affairs? They can get awfully noisy. I also feel obliged to tell you that typically those engaged prefer not to be disturbed.”

“Are you two trying to tell me that you know Lord Trazyn is inside that room, with a well established enemy, and you two are standing here doing nothing because you cannot decide if they are fighting or….” Ashkut stared at the cryptek and the deathmark in disbelief. “Have you not scried the room?”

“Disabled.” Huntmaster shrugged.

“We did hear something break,” Sannet offered.

“Well there you have it!” Ashkut said. “Lord Trazyn would never allow an artifact on Solemnace to be damaged.”

“That’s the storage room for spare Astartes helmets,” Huntmaster pointed out. “Even his lordship knows he could stand to lose a few of those.”

Ashkut shook his head. “Enough of this. You two may be content to stand out here bickering and neglecting your duties, but I am not.” 

He grabbed each one by the shoulder and pulled them apart, clearing the way to the plain, sliding door. He supposed he should not be too harsh with Sannet. Orikan the Diviner’s last intrusion on Solemnace had nearly ended with Sannet torn apart by a hive tyrant. It was only natural the old curator would not want to run into him again. Ashkut had nearly been killed at the astromancer’s hands himself, but that was no excuse not to face him if he threatened Solemnace or its overlord.

Although on the off chance Huntmaster was right, Ashkut left the immortals behind as he commanded the door to open.

The storage room was dark, lined with shelf upon shelf of astartes helmets in every imaginable color. Ashkut could not see the end of them. He stepped forward and drew his warscythe from its dimensional sheath, letting its glow light his path.

His foot hit something solid. A helmet, knocked from its place. There were more littering the floor before him. Ashkut increased the energy flow to his perception suite. Then he heard it. A definite…clanging sound. Ashkut ran towards it, keeping his tread light. He wanted to keep the element of surprise should he need it.

When he rounded a corner he again saw two figures. Though it took him a moment to realize it was in fact two and not one mass of metal. Limbs tangled together, nodes flashed, and loose tiles torn from mantles fell to the floor.

“Bastard,” hissed an unmistakable voice. One of Orikan’s claws raked across his Trazyn’s back, rending his cloak and leaving a shallow gash in the necrodermis below. The warden gripped his weapon tighter.

“Now Orikan.” Trazyn hoisted the cryptek up and shoved him against the wall. “Is that any way to speak to your host?”

Ashkut prepared to charge.

“I want to hear you ask nicely.”

Ashkut paused.

Orikan’s legs wrapped around Trazyn’s waist. Trazyn pressed him harder against the wall, holding him in place as his tail curled around one of the overlord’s legs. Beyond that, Ashkut could not see, but he did hear a noise that he could only liken to a poor quality recording of an animal in heat.

“Please,” Orikan groaned.

“Better, love. Please what?”

“Touch me.”

“Of course.”

“Please, hold me.”

Ashkut suddenly felt the need to check if the ambient temperature in the room had risen.

An interstitial alert appeared in the corner of his vision. He would have ignored it, had it not been appended with Lord Trazyn’s personal seal.

“I am quite sure,” the overlord’s voice said in Ashkut’s head. “That I am currently alone with my guest. But if I turn around and find that we are not alone, whoever I see will be permanently reassigned to cleaning the slaugth exhibit. Do I make myself clear?”

The royal warden believed he managed to break some land speed record in his haste to vacate the room. 

When the door slid shut behind him, he was met with two expectant monoculars.

“Lord Trazyn is entertaining a guest,” he said, refusing to meet either of their gazes. “He is not to be disturbed.”

The immortals thankfully continued to stare forward without any comprehension of what was going on. Ashkut envied them. As he marched away he heard Huntmaster nudging Sannet in the ribs.

“I told you so.”

In that moment, Ashkut was sure he became the first necron in history to develop a migraine.