Devarian Uprising

by Sierra Dafoe

  He was so hot inside! It was like entering a furnace. Rolen’s asshole squeezed his swollen head so tightly it was almost painful. The pressure in his balls redoubled, urging him to piston forward, bury himself in that spread, waiting ass.

  Kantou slid his hands to Rolen’s hips and held himself there, arms quivering, his weight resting fully on the man beneath him, fire blazing along his every nerve. He felt his cock pulsating, spurting the first of its juices inside Rolen’s ass. The added lubrication made it easy to push just a little bit farther…

  The thick, meaty lip of his cock popped past the resistance and Kantou threw his head back, the cords of his neck standing out as Rolen’s opening clamped down around the full width of his shaft. Kantou roared, his abs quivering with the strain of holding himself back, while below him Rolen gasped and stiffened. Tongues of flame shot through Kantou’s balls, and he could feel his leaking come slicking the hot sides of Rolen’s passage. His breath hissed between his teeth as he dug his fingers into Rolen’s hips and struggled for the control that had been drilled into him.

  Why? Why was he holding himself back? The question was like a slap. Kantou’s jaw gritted, and tears started to his eyes, heavy and stinging. He wasn’t a pleasure-slave any longer. He wasn’t Soleyla’s. He was nobody’s. What reason, then, to be so considerate of this man below him, this man he had every reason to hate?

  Loathing Rolen, despising himself, Kantou slammed his hips forward, burying his cock deep in Rolen’s ass in one hard, punishing thrust. Lights burst behind his eyes. His head swam. For a moment he thought he might black out.

  Then he heard Rolen, whimpering in pain below him. Immediately, all his rage at the black-haired Antorean flickered like a candle and died, leaving only an ashen self-disgust. Pulling out as gently as he could, Kantou rolled onto his side, curling around the throbbing fire in his loins, his overloaded nerves sending streaks of fire through his shuddering body.

  In the silence, he heard the blankets rustle as Rolen moved. Kantou waited, panting as he fought to contain the raging emotions that tore at him -- shame, lust, and a longing for Soleyla so deep he knew it would haunt him forever. If Rolen swept up his sword and put an end to his miserable life right now, Kantou would do nothing but thank him as the blade pierced his unprotected back.

  Instead, he felt a feather-light touch tracing the knotted lines of his scars. He gasped and tried to jerk away, but a warm, strong hand closed on his shoulder, holding him still as Rolen caressed his disfigured back.

  “Who did this to you?” Rolen’s voice was no more than a whisper.

  Kantou shook his head, too dazed to reply. Firmly, Rolen pulled on his shoulder, rolling him back to face the Antorean. Kantou closed his eyes, unable to meet Rolen’s gaze.

  A breath stirred his hair, and he felt Rolen’s cheek against his own, then a light kiss at the base of his earlobe.

  “I wanted it, you know,” Rolen said. Kantou opened his eyes to see Rolen looking down at him, his dark eyes wide and wondering. “I did. It was just too fast.” Holding his gaze, Rolen lay back, one hand softly stroking Kantou’s face.

  How could he do that? Kantou stared in amazement. After what he’d just done…

  As if reading his thoughts, Rolen grinned. “I did want it, Kantou.” His grin faded, and his eyes shone with dark hunger. “I still do. I want you to fuck me, Kantou.”

  At his words, the floodgates inside Kantou burst open. Tears streamed from his eyes as he rolled to Rolen and kissed him. Rolen’s lips parted and his tongue slipped inside Kantou’s mouth. Holding Rolen’s face between his hands, Kantou responded in kind, their tongues entwining in an intimate dance even as Kantou sobbed.

  He was barely aware of Rolen’s hands on his body pulling him on top, of Rolen’s thighs wrapping around his waist. One firm, strong hand closed around his throbbing cock and guided it back to Rolen’s slick, tight hole. With blind, grieving need, Kantou pressed gently against it, and gasped as he slid inside.

  Rolen pulled back, watching Kantou’s face as he clasped Kantou’s ass and, slowly but firmly, drew Kantou into him. His eyes darkened with mingled pain and pleasure as Kantou penetrated deeper, feeling Rolen’s muscles grip him so firmly it was all he could do to let Rolen set the pace. Rolen’s mouth dropped open, slack with desire. “Oh,” he breathed, “more. I want more. Give me all of it.”

  A stab of pain wrenched Kantou’s heart. He’d dreamed those words, so many times -- but in his dreams it had been Soleyla who uttered them, Soleyla who lay beneath him, hungry for his fullness.

  Rolen reached up and wiped a tear from Kantou’s cheek. “I know,” he said gruffly, pulling Kantou down on top of him. “I know.”

  Kantou lay, his weight resting on Rolen’s chest, his cock buried almost to the hilt in the scorching embrace of Rolen’s ass. No, it wasn’t Soleyla below him -- but the hunger inside him no longer cared. The ache in his balls was almost agony as he shifted, feeling Rolen move below him. Closing his eyes, he heard Rolen whisper, “Please. Please, Kantou, fuck me.”

  It wasn’t Soleyla’s voice, but Kantou obeyed.

  Rolen moaned as Kantou flexed his hips, pushing the last few inches of that huge, thick cock inside him. Nothing had ever felt vaguely like this. Slowly, steadily, it invaded him, filling him until it felt as if he would burst with the sensation. His own erection pulsed, teased by Kantou’s firm abs as the younger man rocked carefully, decreasing and then increasing the pressure inside Rolen’s passage, letting him adjust to the size of his cock.

  God, it was huge! Tossing his head, Rolen moaned in an ecstasy he’d never imagined. His balls were squeezed painfully between their bodies, and he tightened his legs, pulling Kantou even harder against him, pushing up to increase the friction against his throbbing cock. As he felt Kantou sliding in and out, a strange, yearning hunger, foreign yet undeniable, seized him. Snaking his hand down, he wrapped his fingers around his shaft, and as Kantou pushed himself up onto his arms, Rolen grinned and spread his legs wide.

  “Yes,” he hissed. “Oh yes. Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

  Rearing up like a stallion, Kantou grabbed Rolen’s thighs and shoved them wider.

  Kantou watched as Rolen, pinned below him, worked his fist up and down his thick shaft, his eyes falling closed in sensual delight. The curved head seemed to strain between his fingers, and Kantou could see his come hole gaping in anticipation.

  “Please,” Rolen repeated, as with one hand Kantou snagged the oil, drizzling it over Rolen’s cock, then over his own, feeling the tension mount as his shaft slid freely in and out of the man below him. “Please, Kantou.”

  His cock swelled even further, buried in Rolen’s ass, stretching it wider, and Rolen bucked below him, impaling himself, driving Kantou deeper. Rolen’s black hair tangled as he tossed his head, moaning deliriously, and his hand savaged his cock, pumping the shaft with delicious abandon.

  Something crumbled inside Kantou -- a dream, perhaps -- and he felt, as if for the first time, the fire in his loins, heard the blood roaring in his ears. He wanted to fuck, blindly, heedlessly, wanted to drown the desolation inside him in sensation, wanted the oblivion of the orgasm building rapidly in his balls.

  Rolen writhed, impatient, and Kantou closed his eyes, feeling nothing but the blazing heat of greedy, grasping flesh surrounding him. Nothing existed but the need to pound into the oil-slicked tightness of Rolen’s ass, over and over, yanking all the way back out to send his cock slamming like a spear into Rolen’s hot, waiting hole.

  His breath sped up, matching time with his thrusts, and the agony in his balls grew, spreading like wildfire down his thighs, into his belly, until he was ablaze with nothing but lust, nothing but the need to pound, and pound, and pound…

  He threw his head back, groaning -- and saw Soleyla standing, just inside the tent-flap, her face gray with shock. Then her eyes went suddenly black, deep, burning with a fury that froze Kantou’s blood.

  Chapter Four

  Caught in an
ecstasy he could never have imagined, Rolen moaned in anticipation as he felt Kantou stiffen above him. He shoved his hips upward, sinking that glorious cock deep inside him, feeling his arousal tightening to an almost unimaginable peak. One more stroke was all it would take, one more rough, punishing thrust of Kantou’s thick cock…

  Then Kantou wrenched out of him, leaving a throbbing, aching emptiness where his rock-hard warmth had been. Rolen gasped in shock, and his eyes flew open just in time to see Soleyla, her face twisted in a murderous snarl, seize Kantou by the hair and hurl him across the tent. She leaped at Rolen, drawing her sword, and Rolen threw himself to one side as the blade came whistling down.

  “Bastard!” she shrieked as Rolen dove for his sword, which he’d left leaning against a chair. Soleyla kicked the chair flying, and the sword clattered out of reach. Rolen rolled under her vicious swipe, hearing it whoosh past him. His hand closed on the pommel of his sword and he twisted, getting his feet under him. Metal clashed against metal as he leaped up, catching her downstroke on the flat of his sword.

  Rolen was only distantly aware of Kantou’s screams as he and Soleyla swayed in a clinch, their blades scraping against each other as they pressed for the advantage. Gods, she was strong! Her muscles bulged with berserker fury as she leaned into him, her teeth bared in a feral, inhuman grin.

  At her expression, Rolen felt the first icy trickle of fear.

  Kantou was shrieking, grabbing at Soleyla’s leg in an attempt to separate them. Tears poured down his cheeks. Contemptuously, she kicked him off, and Rolen grabbed the opportunity to gain some distance. He sprang to the far side of the bed and spun, watching Soleyla narrowly.

  She turned to stalk him, her eyes glittering in the growing light like flaring emeralds, and the realization hit Rolen like a slap. Despite the fact that she was glaring right at him, she wasn’t seeing him. Not really -- not him, Rolen. All she saw was rage.

  His apprehension was confirmed by the way she’d tossed Kantou aside like a rag doll. Night after night, Rolen had felt her roll away from him, and had roused himself long enough to see her draw Kantou close, her hands -- even in sleep -- moving over him with a tenderness that amazed Rolen.

  Until today, Soleyla had never known sexual jealousy. How could she? Men were slaves, no more, used when wanted, ignored when not. Now, caught in the vise-like grip of an emotion she had no experience with, probably didn’t even have a name for, Soleyla could easily kill Kantou without even recognizing him.

  Rolen swallowed with a throat suddenly dry with fear. And who, a voice asked inside his head, brought this situation about?

  He’d only been trying to comfort Kantou! Waking in the night to hear his sobs…

  It wasn’t you he was crying for.

  No. It wasn’t. Unused to the sting of self-recrimination, Rolen almost missed the deadly swipe Soleyla loosed at him. He sprang back, protesting against that voice in his head, I only wanted to help him!

  Did you? Did you really?

  Rolen flushed even as he brought his sword up to block Soleyla’s thrust. No, that wasn’t all he’d wanted. Trapped by the flurry of blows she rained on him, Rolen turned at bay -- and found himself face to face with emotions he was embarrassed to claim.

  Yes, all right, he had wanted to comfort Kantou. But hadn’t there been, buried deep inside him, the knowledge that he’d be taking something from Soleyla? Paying her back for --

  For what, Rolen? What did she actually do to you?

  She’d used him, he snarled inwardly. Used him like those others had used his men, until they cried and crawled like animals at the feet of their captors, begging for release. And Soleyla had dared to suggest he submit himself to the same treatment!

  His sword clanged off Soleyla’s with renewed fury. But the small inward voice penetrated his rage, cool and distinct. Are your people not worth it, Rolen? Their freedom, their very lives? Do you know what you’re up against?

  Rolen slumped inwardly, bludgeoned into honesty. No. He didn’t. But he was furious at what had been done to his men -- and, he admitted, terrified to his very bones of the plan she’d suggested.

  So he’d taken it out on her, all of it, in the only way he could -- by having sex with Kantou.

  Mortified, he sprang beyond Soleyla, putting himself between her and Kantou, who cowered now against the wall of the tent, watching them. “All right!” he shouted as Soleyla came at him, her sword dancing in the air before her. Dropping his guard, he drew himself erect. Better he die than Kantou.

  Yes, he thought, better to die here, now, than…

  But even as the words formed in his mind, even as Soleyla was lunging at him, her sword raised for the kill, he heard himself repeat, his voice hard and clear as the toll of an iron gong, “All right, Soleyla. I’ll do it.”

  The man lowered his sword, Soleyla saw, leaving her a perfect opening. Something in her laughed in feral delight, and her sword flitted like a bird through the air -- a bird with razor-like wings.

  Then a figure leaped between them, screaming, his arms spread wide to protect the other man. Snarling, Soleyla jabbed her sword forward --

  -- and froze as its tip left a thin, bloody cut across Kantou’s chest.

  Kantou.

  Her Kantou.

  For a moment, the world went gray. Soleyla’s stomach heaved. Her sword clattered to the floor as she stared, panting. Kantou shrank back against Rolen, and Soleyla saw the Antorean’s hand come up to rest reassuringly on his shoulder.

  A sickly flood of wrath twisted through her, black and poisonous. So that was how it was then. Soleyla nodded, regarding them both with a contempt so thick it could find no words. She’d seen them, face to face, bodies entwined, so wrapped up in each other they hadn’t even heard her enter.

  Nothing would ever make her forget that sight.

  She felt her face set like stone as she studied Rolen. His face was ashen -- fear? she wondered. Afraid I’d kill his little plaything? Rolen could have him. She didn’t care. She spun on her heel and headed for the tent-flap.

  “Soleyla!” Rolen called after her. Something like desperation tightened his voice. “Soleyla, I said I’d do it!”

  She turned back, sneering. The sight of them, practically clinging to each other in fright, sickened her. “Fine,” she spat. “Get your men together. We leave tonight.”

  Then she was gone.

  * * *

  Six days later, Soleyla crouched behind a boulder at the lip of a ridge. Far in the distance, behind another stony rise, the spire of the comm tower gleamed dully in the gray, murky light. Below it, as yet unseen, lay the compound hurriedly erected some three months before by the advance team, slapped together from prefab parts imported whole through the main portal.

  It was that portal which worried Soleyla. The smaller personnel portal could be readily defended -- but the large utility portals, broad enough to drive a field engine through, could disgorge a platoon of support troops in a wave that would whirl her small band like a twig in a flood. If she couldn’t disable it… Scowling, Soleyla sank back to her knees, feeling muddy water soak through the knees of her pants.

  Cold and unpleasant as it had made the long, torturous trek through the mountains, the weather suited Soleyla’s mood. Gray, heavy with constant moisture, the air had swirled around them, hiding them from any chance observation. The circuitous path she and Kantou had taken through the peaks, laying down relays for the comm system, had looped slowly north, far out of the more direct path by which Rolen, grim and silent, had led them through the mists. Even within the steely shadows of her rage, Soleyla had noted -- and been impressed by -- his knowledge of the mountains and ability to find the safest, most hidden path through them.

  He knelt beside her now, his scowling gaze fixed on that high, pointed tower. Twice during the first day of the hike, he’d tried to talk to her, his jaw clenched as he muttered something that might have been an attempt at apology -- Soleyla didn’t listen long enough to find out. Both times,
she’d cut him off by the simple expedient of turning her back and walking away. After that, he’d lapsed into a sullen silence, punctuated only by the briefest of commands to his men.

  For all their inexperience with warfare, Soleyla couldn’t fault the Antoreans’ discipline. They had marched sixteen agonizing hours a day without complaint, rising wordlessly in the drizzling dawns to gather their packs and march again. Even in her first, murderous fury at Rolen, it had never occurred to Soleyla to go back on her vow, and as she’d watched them, their faces set as they pushed themselves day by day through the torturous terrain, she was glad of that.

  These men were as tough, as determined, as any Guardian. They deserved better than the enslavement the League had planned for them -- enslavement, or extermination. Marching among them, Soleyla had felt a shred of the same fierce pride she’d seen in Rolen’s eyes, and knew, whatever lay ahead, whatever happened between herself, Rolen and Kantou, never again would she be able to look at a man and see only a slave.

  When she’d spied Kantou though, standing among their assembled ranks the night they’d prepared to depart, Soleyla had raged at him. Trembling beneath her castigation, he had nevertheless held himself straight, only his white, stricken face and the tears trembling at the corners of his eyes betraying how her words cut him. A fierce, ugly sort of gladness had flowed through her, reveling in his agony, but when Rolen had intervened, she’d stopped, whirling away to stalk off into the gathering dusk.

  He wasn’t hers any more. He was free -- free to do whatever he liked, even die, spitted on a Guardian sword. Soleyla refused to examine too closely the wrench of pain that clenched her gut at the possibility.