== 4 -- Neatly Nesting ==
Aion kept his glittering cover hidden during the warp slip to Hyperion Station. Past the warp dock's absorption-mat, the psycher Robin dipped into a devouring basin and stretched his metaphorical arc-dust wings, floating in wide jumps over the heads of envious hunks.
He gave himself a flex in the nearest mirrored wall. A gulp of precum squirted toward the crowd below.
Hyperion was an old station, some of its sub-habitats from the original settling of Olympio.
Maybe that's why he kept seeing omens of age - the shades of ancient docks - as dust tickled between his toes.
A hundred bright arches of fabric, dozens of kilometers long, inset with organic, rainbow hued patterns were interwoven to build the Talos habitat. Lit spires of concretanium stretched between them, toward the nacreous gleam of the Prokyo asteroid belt.
The remains of Prokyobaran itself hung above, reflecting the iridescence of the cosmic welkin in purple hues with its smooth, oil-sheen surface.
Aion touched down, commanded his dust invisible again, and stepped into the pearly liquid of a flux stream.
He stepped out with two other dudes, absentmindedly tracing the lower back of a cute Dove adonis as he walked onward.
Another jump brought him to a plateau, high enough to make the fabric overhead seem like a roof. The teardrop shapes of speeders zipping overhead, pointy end forward, left prismatic streaks in their wake.
He got observed immediately, a Brain on a high pole freezing him with a delusion of a thickly thighed white hunk fucking the bulging pecs of the Dove muscleteen Aion had just touched after the previous flux ride.
The high platform was decorated with faux ruins of white marble. Geometric xeno-moss covered low walls along the bright red paths that curved between benches under perfectly straight, fractal trees.
Knights patrolled the park with their well-over-2m (6'7'') frames. No black gloves but most had a black wand of half a dick's length attached to the hip and various phantomic equipment pieces flittered near their sensory organs. Everybody here was disciplined.
A few young adonises in expensive jewelry with semi-soft dicks chased each other around a Quogball field, their backs, pecs and asses red from paddle strikes. The drone orb bounced between quadrants, evading better than the hunk's glutes.
Aion made his way to the cluster of gothic spires at the center.
He was stopped at a moat of dark blue water where a rainbow bridge was guarded by four knights.
"Psycher message for Hadrian the Pigeon," Aion said and was roughly dragged into a surprisingly gentle kiss by the much taller muscleman. He was released with a slap on the ass.
The interior of the building sprawled with radiant patterns, growing along the muted walls.
At first the muscleteen thought the place was full of moths, so strong was their presence. Then he walked through a swarm to find them immaterial. Arc-dust shifted invisibly on his skin as the omen faded.
The elevator was all mirrors, with one side being a screen that showed the outside as he rose. He absentmindedly teased his dickhead.
An empty corridor with several doors to either side. Deep green light and a strange, surreal sensation. The mildly dissociative effect of moving past a lot of reality scrubbers.
Hadrian was the captain of a transporter, or maybe a whole fleet. He was from Olympio Station itself and only temporarily staying here. He'd have the money for a custom transmundane scenario, obviously.
Aion knocked on the door and was greeted by a light brown muscleman of about 180 centimeter (5'11'') with wide gold fabric bands on his wrists and a slim one around the base of his dick that slapped his abs with a nod. A disciplined Pigeon with a tightly braided, seafoam mohawk.
He had a singular fuck strip on his chest from mating sometime in the last 30 days. More than 200 days without improper cumming, according to the echo pip on his brow.
"Cunt-boy Aion, herald. Is this Hadrian's room?"
"Cumshot, cunt, it fucking is," the hunk said. "I'm his adjunct, dick-whore Titus. The captain is in a custom scenario. Should be taking a break in five. Come in."
Aion leaned in for a quick kiss, feeling the tiny tingle as his ID was confirmed, and followed the muscleman into the antechamber.
Titus had a long-stretched nimblesong constellation running up his spine, his fuck-mark barely noticeable among the blue-red-purple splotches and twinkling stars.
Aion froze.
There were eyes everywhere. Omens had never felt disturbing like this. Eyes lined the ceiling and hung as grapes. He vaguely recalled the many meanings of eye-related dust omen. Which one applied? Vigilance?
"So you're some kind of bodyguard and shit, sir?"
Titus dropped into a leather chair. "Figured that the fuck out, huh? Yeah, I'm following Hadrian around. He works for the governess of Panacea-77."
"Uh, never fucking heard of it. Sorry."
The creepy eyes faded or retreated into the walls. He'd guessed what they'd wanted to tell him.
Titus had been watching a wrestling match, which took up most of the wall across the leather seat. Urban was going up against a newcomer, rolling around with semi-hard dicks rubbing on each other's faces.
The Robin knelt down to swallow as much cock as possible, letting precum and throat-slick guide the bodyguard's shaft down his esophagus. An imperceptible trickle of arc-dust helped him hold his breath for more than the polite amount of shaft-pumps.
Titus laid one hand on the psycher's head. "Panacea-77's a small asteroid station, mostly docks. Ten thousand dudes, but only five hundred really live there. Maybe a dozen women." He leaned back and sighed gently, letting Aion bob up and down the whole length. "Sit on it?"
Aion felt his wet hole flex, let the dick pop from his throat and sat on Titus' rod, face to face.
"Ah sorry," Titus said as Aion slid down. "Just had lunch. Let me freshen the fuck up."
He pulled up a pack of neutral-strips, unwrapped one and placed it on his tongue. He offered Aion another, which the teen-psycher took. They both folded the 2.9-dimensional plastilium cover along the indication to make them disappear.
With neutralized mouths, they kissed to the cheer of the projected wrestling audience as the newcomer pulled the legendary Urban into a tight, unbreakable spladle. The master wrestler's clenched ass, flopping balls, rising dick and tortured face took up the whole wall.
Aion got pulled back into the kiss and bobbed on the Pigeon's rod.
"So you two are a big deal, huh, sir?"
Titus reclined with his hands behind his head. He shrugged. "Unimportant fucks don't get secret messages for the League of Heralds."
It was Aion's turn to shrug. "I've met some assholes who are just paranoid and pay for a fucking pie recipe."
