== 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.