== 2 -- Dusted Deeds ==
Pearly liquid congealed into half a dozen erect hunks, excess flux fluid seeping back into the transparent, windy tube.
Aion groped some of the other musclemen's asses as they took a turn toward a factory road, while he continued onto a beaming bridge.
The Promethe sub-habitat had a floor of smooth stone, reflecting the iridescent interstellar shimmer overhead. It hung tilted at the side of Jove's main structure, Olympio's three biggest suns casting their rays from the side, making shadows long.
Golden pipeworks bled neon along the gothic buildings rising around the forum. Promethe's luxurious ambiance was further marked by its rows of trees -- perfectly straight black stems, exploding into precise fractals, topped by the flawless semi-spheres of prismatic leaf-plates.
As Aion closed in on the cathedral of the Herald League, the air got heavy with the dark, transmundane sparks that tricked swirls into the corner of his vision.
A Brain crossed the tree lined path, hovering in an array of crystals. The house-sized, gray mass was pulled and pushed by a dozen drooling liberated with robotic motions, unconscious and remote piloted, possibly by the very Brain they were moving.
Aion passed the bald zombies in black crotch covers, his hand trailing some wide backs. If Gordian kept being late to his dockwork to jizz around, he'd end up like this.
The muscleteen sent a request and was looped into the local soundtrack -- serene yet bombastic, elevating his every step.
Before the stairs of the League's cathedral, Aion recognized Trajan. A fellow, disciplined herald who was difficult to overlook.
Trajan had just a little height on Aion, the plaited mohawk braid of fuchsia running down to the shoulder blades. The 27 year old with the Owl neck tattoo was muscled to insanity, but also unusually lean, with barely half the bodyfat of the average muscleman.
A short and wide neck, large feet and strong facial features matched his striking attitude.
He was seated on a sauna bench -- an alabaster slab that projected heat into anyone using it. Dudes like Trajan used it to shed water weight and stay shredded. The Owl was absolutely drenched.
He was slowly twisting the head of a sounding rod buried in his tool.
"Aion the Robin, my favorite little cuntboy," Trajan greeted.
"Whazzup, fat-cock!"
The muscleteen bent and gave Trajan's sweat-gleaming dickhead a swirly lick, lightly sucking a few drops of precum from the large tool while groping his balls. At 35 centimeter (1'2''), Trajan was also stand-out in that department, the dickhead nearly coming up to his nipples.
The ultra-lean muscle-adonis involuntarily groaned, continuing to bob the sounding rod as the younger licked.
"Missed your taste, sir."
Trajan chuckled. "I appreciate your face cunt, you submissive homo, but we're on equal footing for now."
Aion rose and noticed the lack of any fuck-marks on the hunk's chest. "Didn't breed all month?"
Trajan shrugged his round shoulders. "Honorable Lady Paulina didn't have a minute of time for me or Claudio in a while, let alone both."
"If she stays busy, you'll know you fucked up."
"Fag you," Trajan said with a chuckle.
Trajan and Claudio usually mated as a pair, or alternated. An arrangement like that kept women from getting bored, letting both musclemen fuck more.
The Robin moved onto the hunk's lap, his knees on either side of Trajan's massive, rock hard thighs. The sauna-bench's heat seeped into him from all over his skin.
Aion checked if Claudio was nearby while he pulled Trajan into a loose one-arm hug. Just a pair of unknown muscleman swaggering along the path with dicks leaking, two hunks on the opposite sauna-bench fucking each other, and a half dozen potent teen-adonises on phantomic skates chasing a disciplined one.
"Where's that ass-bitch anyway?"
"Claudio's not gonna fucking show," Trajan said. "The jizzer fagged his load into me this morning. Hehe."
It would take seven day for Claudio to become disciplined again, meaning no high paying jobs until then.
"Didn't even take lots of edging?" Aion asked. "For a fucking two week load? And he calls himself an ass-bitch, when he's so dick crazy."
Trajan squeezed the teen-adonis' waist with a grin. "You let a man taste the honeypot and he forgets how the fuck to behave. Tale as old as Olympio. You wouldn't know, homo slut, huh?"
Aion hummed his dickhead rubbing on Trajan's shaft. "Need a cunt?"
"Nah, I'll start deliveries and shit."
"I just sat the fuck down," the Robin complained.
The Owl rolled his eyes but started pulling the rod out, `screwing' about 20 centimeter (8'') of metal from his dick. Precum bubbled out after it, lubing the dick enough for Aion to just sit on it, taking about two thirds for a little ride. He bend down slightly to make out with the hunk.
Every minute or so, Trajan's dick pulsed with an emergency softening. It barely subtracted from his rigidness but Aion enjoyed the sensation of the rod getting hard inside him again and again.
Eventually, Trajan stood, holding the muscleteen in the air to hump harder, grunting near screams into the kisses. He didn't fag, of course. The Owl was properly disciplined.
"See you for the surge, if you're quick."
Aion gave the muscleman's ass a grope as he slipped off the dick -- helpfully turned semi-soft.
"Maybe. Bye, virgin dick-bitch."
"Bye, cunt," Trajan said and let his dick reharden and slap against his abs.
Aion kissed the large dickhead one more time, made sure his cobalt blue mohawk plait wasn't messed up and made his way up the stairs.
He was sweat drenched but that wasn't an obstacle to clocking in as a herald.
The teen-adonis entered through the shimmering membrane and felt as if teleported between the thighs of a handsome hunk, cumshots splattering from the vein-pulsing dick as the hunk cried out with pleasure. Aion's mouth overflowed, streaks raining down his chin while his ass got filled by-
He'd been judged acceptable to enter and the delusion stopped. The league's Brain rested motionless in a web of cables under the vaulted ceiling of gold arches. Starlight spread through the lobby of dark blue stonewalls, glinting off of a particularly large, mercury-like psy-bubble amidst a fountain.
Aion requested the path to his superior and his vision blurred at the edges, leaving only one clear-to-see way up the right stairs. The image of Vice-Duchess Lady Ambrosia appeared in his mind as if he were intensely imagining her.
He followed the instruction to the office of her venerated highness, a chamber of dark marble and flecks of transmundanity.
Lady Ambrosia hovered in an aloft golden crescent, her long white robe trailing in unfelt wind. White, rainbow-tinted hair lay as a braid over her shoulder. Behind her was a wall-high rosette of stained glass overlooking the forum.
The subtle gleam of glittering dust trailed all around her and the crescent she lounged above.
The taste of sweet pears and cream came over Aion, along with the tingling feeling of infectious laughter and the constant sensation of a serene bell having chimed just below hearing volume.
While he remained sweat-dripping in the room's heat, the lady was comfortably unaffected.
He hit a relaxed lat spread. "Venerated Highness."
Lady Ambrosia waved at him. "Brother. I can't chat much, lots of work, but did you hear about Lucan?"
"Yes, your grace. Shame. Uh, what was stolen in the pack-jacking?"
"Decryption codes which probably don't matter, governmental info which might have been important. Most of it's above my pay grade."
"Raider work, sister dear?" the muscleteen asked conspiratorially.
She gave a light shrug. "Must be, but I don't think false princess Electra got much from it, or the princess council would be more agitated. They think the Lunaricans are behind it."
"Shi- Darn. And Lucan's okay?"
"Recovering. Just rumors for now anyway. Ready?"
"Born ready, your grace."
Aion didn't need to `behave' as much as hetero did. Not like he wanted his vice-duchess sister to recommend him to her girlfriends after all.
At a wave by Lady Ambrosia, reality wiggled aside to reveal an egg chair. Aion hopped in, slouching a bit. She waved again and a drawer opened. Worms floated up from storage, gold and glowing. They drifted through the air, onto Aion's scalp and merged through his skin, sinking into his brain.
The disciplined teen-adonis with the blue nose ring closed his eyes as random numbers and symbols passed through his memory and vanished before he could grasp what he saw. He felt himself helplessly spasm and briefly passed out.
"Done," the venerable lady announced. "Be careful."
Aion rose. His dick had gone 20% soft but was rehardening within seconds.
"May I have some arc-dust, your grace?"
"Ugh."
"Come on, sis."
"Arcana's no good for males."
"Cut the shi- stock phrases."
"You had dust this month."
"Aaaand I could have it again."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm nearly thrice your chrono-age and I have more trouble standing up to you than to most of your older brothers."
Aion grinned. "Come on. Like I'm gonna get high, right?"
"I mean... Ugh. Fine."
Arc-dust broke away from the lines surrounding the lady at her behest and trailed in swirls around Aion. The aery shimmer set on his skin like a spray of glitter, drifting along his muscles and bubbling up as slow little clouds.
"Thanks, venerated highness."
"Get out," she said without bite. "And seriously, be careful."
Aion hit a biceps flexing salute and saw himself out. The psy-bubble in the lobby burned destinations into his mind as he passed it.
As soon as he had left the league's building behind, he started burning a tiny bit of dust to lower his immediate gravity.
Twirling along the path with long hops, a grin on his face, he checked his memory for the itinerary. The contents of the packets of sensitive information - the worms' his mind now carried - were inaccessible to him but they came with metadata'. He sorted through who was getting what where.
But there were distractions.
Aion was a psycher -- although quite low level and with little motivation to improve.
The arc-dust prickled along his spine. White footprints appeared here muscleman had tread, visible only to him. Geometric patterns danced through the prints, that the Robin didn't know how to interpret.
He let the omen fade from awareness.
He hopped in his low gravity, past the seven teen-adonises circling in their transparent, spectral skates. They were all potent now. Aion could sense a psychic pulse in the aura of one of the dudes and let it show him the vision of the disciplined Sparrow getting pinned and sucked until he was ready to shoot, fagging into the ass of a friend to drop his status to theirs.
The mutually fucking couple of disciplined hunks on the sauna-bench was still present, still sweating and still fucking. Passing by them let Aion see the duo in their dorm this morning, swallowing each other's 26 centimeter (10.5'') rods to the base in a sideways sixty-nine, retching alternating with choked silence.
The dust-empowered psycher and load-bearing herald strode in reduced gravity toward the Jove main transit station at the border of the Promethe habitat, spent glitter trailing off his skin and evaporating.
Translation from "Lunarican prophecy tablets, fragment 6b":
They will come with drills into our caverns. They will come with axes that cleave the world. They will wield the light as a weapon.
They will not meant to Awaken us but we will Awaken and nothing will be as it once was. The dust beneath your very toe-webbing will be alive, o ignorant hatchling!
The main transit hub was a mile-high spire of gray rock, wound through with hundreds of gold-sapphire rails where speeder shuttles zoomed into and from their orbits like opalescent teardrops.
Phantomic emerald ribbons wide as ten roads trailed from the spire into the distance of the system, getting lost in the iridescent cosmic welkin, their endpoints too far to see with the naked eye.
Aion passed a Brain on a silver stem and sent a request. Certainty appeared in his mind that the next warp surge was happening in eight minutes and pod 5 was open now.
A muscleman of fuchsia waved at him in the distance, ready to board pod 5 with several other guys.
The muscleteen squeezed the length of his dick and bent to suck the precum oozing from the tip. Once dried, he jogged toward Trajan, his erection barely swinging in the run, by the muscle-strengthening grace of the arc.
The warp pods were like silver birdcages, two struts bent aside to allow entrance.
Pods 1 through 4 were already filled by a dozen hunks each, packed tightly.
Aion hopped into pod 5 with his hand on Trajan's ass. He calmed his breath while his erection knocked into the fellow herald's back.
"Made it," he said. "Be my cock-whore for the wait, sir?"
"Yeah, cumshot," Trajan said and shoved the teen-adonis ahead.
The pod was getting crammed as the full contingent of a dozen musclemen stepped in. A nearly invisible membrane over the cage struts kept in the smell of fresh sweat and precum. Slick skin rubbed everywhere.
Nobody in the pod had a fuck-mark, but nobody was indulgent either. Some potent guys, most disciplined. Half of them lined up their hips and `stacked', standing and chatting while mutually dick-in-ass.
"Hey Robin, are you dusty?" asked a tall hunk, ring and hair in pine green.
Aion smirked as Trajan's dick entered him, the precum forging the way before the ass had fully lubricated itself.
"Cumshot." He raised his arms and shouted. "Arc-dusted cunt in here. Anybody wanna get fucking high?"
The little crowd practically bawled in agreement.
An omen established somewhere in the dense cluster of hunks, Aion could sense the prickle along his arms.
"Fuck, really?" someone short said in the dense crowd. "I've never gotten high. Did you, whore?"
"No," someone else answered. "Shit, can we? What the ballsuck is the schedule again?"
Aion shuffled a dude aside to reveal two muscleteens, younger than him by the slenderness of their adonis bodies' musculature. They were about 165 centimeter (5'5'') or so. Both disciplined.
The omen was centered on them, a rainbow halo around their heads, only for Aion to see, with dark vines running between them and seeming to fade into the sky. Innocence and corruption? Relationships and tension?
He was the worst at omen interpretation.
One of the boys was light skinned, lime hair, with a sharp nose and bushy brows. His erection was dripping pre down to the balls. He wore a silver circlet, matching nipple studs and a leather biceps-band.
"Nervous?" Aion teased. "You look like you're gonna jizz."
"Fuck no, sir," the boy said and hit a lat spread that bumped into a muscleman next to him. "A fuckworthy male is always ready for adventure. But... like..."
Trajan reached over Aion's shoulder and gave the boy a light punch. "A fuckworthy male knows his shit, too. Ask if you have questions, ass-bitch. I'm Trajan. The cunt is Aion."
"Atticus of the Swans," the lime-ringed boy said and slightly bent his head to present the long curves of his traveler order's mark. "And this is my order buddy Hector. We're both from out of system and came to fucking Olympio about a year ago. Been a jizzing good time."
The other boy, Hector, was of black skin with his plaited mohawk especially narrow, colored mustard yellow. His eyes had a slight slant, a front tooth was chipped as if on purpose, granting him an even more boyish look. Glinting alpha patches lay on his skin like freckles of sheet gold.
Hector lubed his hand on his own precum, grabbed Aion's dick and gave a gentle rub. "Hey. Sorry as fuck I'm not bending down to lick it. Just crowded in here, sir."
"Fine as balls by me," Aion said. "Any concerns?"
A muscleman next to him slapped the Robin's chest. "Get us fucking high already, void-jizzer. We have six minutes till warp."
Trajan smacked the hunk in the abs. "Fag you. Slip into a muscle cunt and shut it, before you jizz."
The muscleman shuffled behind the two boys, slipping between sweaty bodies and shoved his hardon into Atticus while Hector got someone else's dick. The boys got a slow fuck, their nipples rubbed from behind.
"Just need to know," Atticus said, "how long this shit's gonna last, sir. Cause we were going to blow our loads in two days, but..."
Aion shrugged. "Might be worth rescheduling if you can, whore. I can give you an hourlong high. Two hours, probably."
"You can ask a Brain," Trajan said. His dick was going limp in Aion's ass, then rehardening. "They can estimate dust-effect duration."
"Oh, didn't fucking know that," Atticus said. "Cumshot."
"Everyone ready?"
"The fuck's it gonna cost?" asked an Ibis hunk.
Aion stuttered. "Uh, wasn't going to charge. Don't jizz about it."
"Yeah, let me at least fucking tip you, cunt."
The Robin herald chuckled. "Won't say no."
The crowd scrambled to bend toward his dick. Aion pushed pat Trajan's obscenely lean muscles to sink every reachable dickhead into his throat and accept payment while the tops whose dicks were buried in asses kissed his rod instead.
The muscleteen collected tips. He had intended to skip Atticus and Hector, but the Swans drew him into a kiss, token amounts of money going from their tongs to his.
Aion glanced around, nodded and burned dust.
Glitter leaked off him to the cheers of eleven other hunks and spread around the pod.
Breaths deepened as the hunks drew in the manly scent of fresh sweat and precum.
The gift of a `high' was simply to let them be homos for a while -- feeling the pleasure of the male form just as much as they craved the women they crushed on.
Atticus and Hector looked at each other in pure shock, falling in love on the spot. They slammed together, not knowing what to do, no amount of sloppy kissing and groping enough as their dicks -- pushed down - rubbed along each other's taints where strangers already fucked them.
Trajan quivered and pulled Aion in tighter. "Fuuuucking hole-bitch. You're gonna make me fag my load up your hole, cunt."
Aion chuckled. "You can join Claudio for street cleaning duty."
Trajan made incoherent noises. "Asshole... bitch..."
Half the crowd dropped to the floor. With the pod only big enough to hold a dozen standing adonises, this caused a tangle of limbs and overlapping bodies.
Aion and his top went down, too. The muscleteen dove his face into a random ass crack that wasn't getting fucked and licked the hot glutes. He made his way down to the ass that guy was currently fucking and licked the precum that drizzled from the hole.
"You're always like this?" asked the hunk who'd been impatient earlier.
"Yeah," Aion said between licks.
"Jizzing fuck," the muscleman said. "How the fuck do you stay disciplined? Get in my throat."
Aion didn't move but the dude took Aion's whole shaft in his mouth and gagged himself eagerly. The Robin didn't feel like explaining, but a lot of homos were indeed indulgent. He'd known some who were Liberated by now.
"Shit, oh dicksuck," Atticus whined. "We gotta reschedule. I need to fag into your ass, dude."
Hector gaged on something before speaking. "But... I got an invite. I'm almost recommended to Radiant Highness Lady Octavia."
"Fag you," Atticus said with hilarious urgency. "Her highness is a princess, she's never fucking picking a cunt-head like you. No princess mates with a teen from the mines, you ass-brain."
"Fag you, void-jizzer."
The bottoming boys crashed together in a struggled to make out while rubbing off on each other. It upset the balanced tangle of limbs in the pod. Musclemen ordered the boys calm down and fuck properly -- complicated by how every hunk was crushing as hard on the muscleteens as they were falling for each other.
Aion had managed to beg for dust from his sister because he wasn't getting high -- already a homo -- but he saw why arc-dust wasn't considered `good for males'.
His own dick was basically a permanent semi at this point. The constant eager throatjob kept him at the very edge of a 22-day's worth cumshot even without a full erection.
He'd have to hold out for six more days before he could afford to drop to potent for a week. He wasn't too concerned about the employment aspect -- he could always sign up for a week of mining duty -- but getting into high tier bars, clubs and many transmundane facilities required money as well as discipline. Olympio had some truly magical experiences to offer if your nose ring was a pretty color. And saving up was no fun if you never got to buy yourself something nice.
After what felt like too long a time, the birdcage's struts bent closed, trapping the sweat drenched pile of hunks. Aion extracted his face and looked ahead at the heavens of the Olympio system, between the legs of Atticus and Hector who were sucking each other's toes as they rode dick.
A psy-bubble at the pod's arching top wobbled to align itself with the mind of a dozen males. Aion felt his consciousness become dull and singleminded. His horniness, Trajan's cock inside him, the throat around his own tool... All faded as the psy-bubble projected the necessary thought patterns to guard again warp-craze.
The world outside the cage seemed to distort, the emerald ribbon straight ahead stretching out to endlessness. Stretching, stretching, contracting.
A glimpse of the transfinite.
Fractals within fractals within fractals within fractal within fractals withinwithinwithinwithin-
A row of pods appeared a quarter lightyear away, on a landing strip of the Thrasos Habitat main hub.
Silver metal bent side and a dozen hunks spilled out of each pod, the ones from pod 5 disoriented from the ongoing homo-ness of their high.
Aion spanked the asses of the boys who walked arm in arm ahead of him. "Hey teen cunts, don't turn into junkies. You'll stay unfucked forever and probably get liberated and shit faster than a void-jizzer cums."
"Got it, sir," Hector said, having paid no attention. They boys were already kissing again.
Aion rolled his eyes and burned a little more dust to make sure the buddies got to stay high as long as possible. He didn't know if he was helping or hurting but it was hot as an asscrack to watch.
From "An Overview of the Harmonious Expanse", chapter 4:
Spanning a trinary star and two adjacent dwarf stars, the Olympio system is responsible for 12% of all metal imports to the Terra system and its immediate colonies. It was first reached almost 200 years ago, making it relatively young among the second expansion wave settlements. It now boasts a whole four planetary bodies with terraform domes to supplement its three rings of stations and several inhabited asteroid belts and clusters.
Unlike the compact Jove Station, Thrasos sprawled as a loose torus, innumerable spires pointing from both sides in clusters around gardens and industry complexes. Small oceans of neon glinted against the nacreous clouds of the system.
A quarter of a moon hung above one face of the torus, torn from a larger celestial object, Ignatius-b. Its white, crater-riddled surface was stretched with concentric rings where onion-domed, golden spires stood ready to rise once filled with ore. The screw-like wedge below -- where Ignatius-b had been ripped from its origin body -- was wrapped in loose, opalescent threads, puncturing the rock for mining operations in holes big enough to let sunlight through, scattering on streams of rocky dust.
The view faded from sight as the muscleteen Swans stepped into a gallery where mirror-clad, bulky metal plates alternated with ads for the flareball arena.
Atticus felt completely changed. He hadn't thought much about what being high would feel like but now the mere presence of hunks around him put him into paralyzing frenzy.
The travelers arrived at the absorption-mat. Atticus let his hands wander over the backs and asses of pissing musclemen, while he let a few drops drip down his hard shaft. Hector was crouching down to piss at the mat with a semi-softie, giving the bent over asshole ahead of him a long lick.
Atticus crouched down, too, and whispered. "Bitch, don't let anyone know we're high."
Hector giggled. "You stop being to fucking cute. Shit, I need to fag down your throat as soon as possible."
"Do we even fucking go to the carnalium? What's the fucking point, ass-whore?"
Hector rose and squeezed droplets from his erection. "Might as fucking well. Where else do homos go to jizz?"
"I... don't actually fucking know."
They entered a minor plaza, overseen by a Brain as large as Atticus was tall.
"Hey Big Think," Hector said. "How fucking long is our dust effect going to last?"
Certainty appeared in Atticus' mind. 98 minutes.
The boys dove into a devouring basin, emerged shivering into the hot exhausts of Thrasos' speeders zipping overhead, and let their dicks shrink to semi-hardons to be less distracted on their way. Otherwise, it would just have been too tempting to fuck each other.
The nearest carnalium was a bulky colonnade carrying domes of radiant patterns.
The teens stepped through the shimmering membrane between the pillars, into a dim space, littered with thick leather mattresses. Psy-bulbs on the ceiling wiggled above a mass of hunks lying next to each other.
Maybe a hundred musclemen, practically skin on skin. A lot jerked off, rubbing their tight dicks, lubed with spit, precum and lube from their own asses. Many helped each other, either by sucking or riding. There were universal groans of psy-delusion. "I'm a Fucker, oh shit, I Fuck women so much..." "I lick pussy." "I'm mating, I'm mating..." "Suck me, princess."
Atticus' dick shot a squirt of precum. He was rock-hard again and ready to orgasm the split second he willed it.
The muscleteen's glanced at each other and dropped to their knees. Atticus took the nearest dick down his throat, swallowing 20 centimeter (8'') of it with little struggle. Being between a hunk's thighs, swallowing an extra thick rod to the base, tasting cum... It had always felt like a trivial aspect of life, helping his miner buddies. Now it was purpose.
The muscleman convulsed with a breathy "Take my load, princess, fuuuuu..." and his ring turned from teal to white. Shot after shot of cum roamed Atticus' throat. He gagged, choked and felt the cum shoot up his throat, emerging from his nose as cum bubbled during his struggle for breath.
He didn't let go. He kept sucking. The stranger let him.
It took all of ten seconds for the stranger to cum again, his nose ring turning clear.
"Shit," the muscleman said, breaking from the psy-delusion to the sight of a boy's lips on his cockhead. "I wasn't looking to turn bitching indulgent, cunt-head." He grinned and gave Atticus a light slap. "Fuck, I fagged hard into your skull, huh?"
Atticus slipped of the erection and sneezed cum. "Sure as balls, sir."
"Good slut, homo."
The muscleman rose to leave. Indulgent dudes were not allowed at the carnalium. If he wanted to keep cumming, he's have to go elsewhere.
Atticus went looking for Hector and tuned into the psy-visions superficially. The dancing naked girls meant nothing to him right now, which felt bizarre. The lesbian orgy was only interesting because he recognized her highness Lady Olivia. He switched over to homo visions. Hunks who fucked, of course, but who fucked with pleasure, enjoying each other's bodies instead of just the mutual stimulation of cockhead, shaft and asshole.
Atticus left the vision on in the back of his mind while he pulled Hector off an adonis who was now indulgent.
"Hey slut-hole. We should cum," Atticus said. "Into each other."
"Yeah," Hector said, staring at Atticus as if seeing him for the first time. "I... I've never fagged somone. I'm a total void-jizzer."
"Wow," the lime-haired, pale Swan said and leaned back from the yellow-haired black one. "Pathetic, hehe. Every self-fagged?"
"Fuck no," Hector said. "I'm a jizzer, but I'm still a fuckworthy dude, not a never-fucking piece of trash. So, which hole? Either end is fine as balls by me."
"Ass of course, cock-boy."
"How the fuck do we do this?" Hector asked. "Just here?"
"Shit, I wish we could make sure we're fagging at the same time."
The teen-adonises were cuddle-groped by a muscleman their height. He had a grin on his edgy face, his mohawk and nose ring in navy blue.
"Hey my little cocksucking Swans," he said. "New homos helping the fuck out with making potent cumshooters go all the way to indulgent as balls?"
"We're actually high," Hector said before Atticus could stop him.
"Shit, nice," the muscleman said. "I'm Felix." He cocked his head to make sure they saw the owl tattoo. His hands rested on their asscracks, fingering them to make their holes lubricate themselves.
"I'm Hector, and this whore is Atticus. So you homos hang out at the carnalium and suck the cum out of dudes who want to fucking keep it?"
Felix shrugged. "Most appreciate a homo offering his ass-cunt in times of need. If they can't stay disciplined, no one fucking forces anyone to cumshoot."
"Yeah, so..." Atticus started. "We two teen-bitches were just gonna have our first mutual fagging."
"Beautiful," Felix said. "But a bit of a waste down here. Want the fuck to go upstairs? I'll invite you."
Felix lightly pushed them ahead and the boys offered no resistance.
Up the free-floating marble stairs was a guard, massive legs wide apart, massive arms crossed, knees and elbows in gray pads. A stonelove constellation sparkled on his pecs, stars twinkling across the red-blue-purple glitter splatters they rested on. His dick was semi-soft -- combat-ready.
"Hey Felix," he said with a nod.
"Hey sir. Me plus these two little cunt-fucks."
Felix and the guard made out, tongues shoved into each other's mouths for payment processing.
The homo turned away. "Here's your passes, boys."
Atticus received his tongue-kiss from Felix and felt the tiny tingle of a transfer. He was cleared for upstairs.
They got a cabin with a deep leather sofa and a private psy-bubble. A slight gimmer of arc-dust in the air created a more pleasing atmosphere, for temperature and sound, picking dry sweat of their skins and easing their motions. When Atticus had been upstairs in a carnalium before this had also meant removing the smell of men, now the effect instead magnified the musk's freshness.
The muscleteens started by rimming each other while the Owl hunk chose a program. Visions flowed through Atticus mind, of blissfully cumming hunks, couples fucking each other's pecs, armpits, cracks, thighs and holes, and many fleeting visions of orgies. His horniness was beyond plausible. By comparison, his previous attraction to women now seemed gentle. Desire for men was incredibly raw and primal.
"How many shots?" Felix asked.
"Potent," both boys said.
"Fucking sure? It's only another three days."
"Only potent," Hector insisted again. "We have commitments and shit."
"I have a jizzing interview," Atticus said. "I might get a better job, but I gotta show up disciplined. Already cutting it close as fuck."
Felix only smiled. "So let's see you fag. We could make it a triangle and I coach you to get the most edging in... or I just watch."
The boys nodded at each other. They were going to do this as a duo.
Hector put his dick in Atticus, which was more pleasurable than all the many times it had happened before. Atticus reciprocated, his face a handspan from his friend's, their eyes locked onto each other.
Felix reached under them and pushed their dicks as far into each other's asses as possible, nibbling their necks.
The psy-bubble sent delicious muscle and cock visions, layered atop the real fuck. Now that the visions were not of women, they didn't clash with reality but added to them. It was way too much. Hector was too beautiful.
"Ffffuuuu-" Hector made and trembled.
Atticus felt a load explode into his guts. Feeling his friend fag into him made him loose control. He willed a cumshot and his dick obeyed.
The orgasm had him scream gutturally. Tears ran from his eyes as he convulsed. Cum exploded from their asses, down each other's shafts.
They pressed themselves into a sobbing hug.
"Keep going," Felix encouraged.
Atticus twisted away to look at Hector's anxious face. "Fuck?" he asked.
"Fuck." Hector confirmed.
"F-fag?"
"Fag."
They humped again. Atticus wanted milk every second of pleasure from this high. Once he was kicked out of the carnalium for indulgence, he'd suck random musclemen on the street. Everywhere was a carnalium for homos.
"Want to make it fucking last?" Felix asked, gently. "Take turns with me, give your dick breaks."
"O-okay, cumshot, sir."
The Swan adonis didn't want it to end. Maybe he'd find unaligned arc-dust somewhere. Maybe after getting that better paying job... Was he forgetting something? No, there was no thinking, only fucking.