== 5 -- Extreme Encounter ==
After visiting the two biggest stations sharing Jove's orbit, Aion had looped back around to Jove Station with his final travel along a warp filament.
Three more messages to deliver. Not exactly time critical stuff, but he was eager to get to his dance lessons, and of course the gym.
The teen-psycher slipped into a gondola across the chasm between Jove's main habitat and one of its few minor add-ons. The vessel was all glass, with a banister around the inside to hold on.
The gondola was crammed with cum-leaking hunks, skin slick with sweat. A projector Brain pushed danceable sounds into Aion's awareness. The muscleteen quickly had his hands on two dickheads, another one burying into his hole and -- when meeting no resistance -- sliding the full length inside.
A quartet of zap engines ahead lit up and threw a rainbow tunnel into the distance. Inertia went weird as the gondola took off at sonic speed without the hunks experiencing much of it. Polychrome streaks zoomed by.
The floor was an absorption-mat, so Aion thought nothing of sending his piss at the glass ceiling. A few other hunks pissed with enough splatter to drench him. Some dude went soft and pissed down his own leg.
A faint swirl of colorful leaves spun at the ceiling - an omen of anticipation. Aion could tell that many of these musclemen had appointments with women. About half had a mate-mark or more.
On arrival at the small Eros habitat, most gondola riders ducked through a devouring basin. Aion watched them walk ahead while he requested the path to Telemach the Starling.
One more flux ride and dull concretanium gave way to a much richer area. Gold spires and white streamers lined the low buildings of the Eros habitat's core. Only a thousand males properly lived here but nearly as many women did. It was Jove's most desirable destination.
Pipes rising on building walls bled neon. The stark colored liquids ran down canals along low white stairs and collected but refused to mix, turning to swirling rivers of demi-plasma. The air felt brighter here, movement easier, any scent more pleasant. Angled mirror walls reflected the nacreous clouds of the cosmic welkin but felt almost faint by contrast to the neon creeks.
Aion gave his image a flex and kept walking.
Befitting the place, the local music was easy and mellow with a resonant warmth.
A lot of dudes here were burning arc-dust, floating and zooming about, glitter-trailed. Likely gifts for pussy well fucked.
But none were dusty like Aion. The danger of males using dust for dumb, addictive or disruptive purposes was too great. Mostly their precharged arc-dust was stored in thin arm or leg braces, bangles and tokens on leather straps from where it burned in minuscule amounts.
Aion felt fine taking flight, striding in long hops across the polished pavement.
The amount of fuck-marks was always amazing, too. Some musclemen had a dozen. That meant sex -- with a women -- every two or three days. Potentially with orgasm if permitted, and not losing discipline status.
The herald had half a mind to make random hunks high and try to make them fag into him. Mess up their streak. But he'd get in more trouble than it was worth.
As he wandered between hunks, he felt the faint visions of straight sex oozing off them. Women traveled overhead as shooting stars, often in small clusters.
He stepped into a street of light-scattering crystal poles holding up flat roofs. A Brain hung between gold wall-spires, immense and gray and wrinkled.
Aion got observed for just a brief moment, seeing two Parakeet hunks making gentle morning love in their dorm, before he was allowed to step through the membrane into Eros' only carnalium.
Hunks laid next to each other in groups of three to five, slack-jawed, sharing delusions, sometimes slowly assfucking. Two liberated and a homo hunk knelt before musclemen in individual egg chairs and gave slow throat jobs.
Aion advanced to the back, which was guarded by a white-skinned Penguin with yellow hair and a leather circlet. The guard stopped sucking his own cock and straightened.
"Herald here for a delivery, sir," Aion said.
The muscleman crossed his leathercuff wearing arms. "Fucking seriously? You can't wait till the jizzer is done? Don't think I can let you the fuck in without paying the toll, cunt, sorry."
"I'll be quick as jizz," Aion said. "Just keep an eye on me?"
The muscleman grabbed Aion by the neck and pulled him into a rough tongue kiss. "Checks out, herald cunt. Get the fuck in and out. Don't pull shit like this again."
"Gotcha, sir," the psycher said a little embarrassed. He hadn't checked the business hours of his recipient. He was slightly behind from the favor to Magna. Plus he'd have expected Telemach to still be at the trade analysis office.
Instead, the analyst was broad legged in a private alcove, enjoying his chosen delusion, gently stroking his dick as he licked toward the ceiling. If the muscleteen focused his dust-enhanced psych powers he could vaguely see a women riding on his face and another sitting on his dick.
Aion requested a pause on the psy-bubble, knelt down and licked Telemach's shaft dry.
The Starling hunk had bronze skin, emanating masculine odor from his cut muscles. His color was cherry, with nipple studs matching the nose ring and mohawk. He also gave an *impression* of cherry, the fruity smell unobtrusively mixing with his light sweat. It got projected from a silver arc-dust-bangle on his right ankle.
As a Solarfrost trader, he probably had the money for it. His three fuck-marks -- cherry strips on his chest -- were another proof of his status.
His dick slightly softened to prevent climax and leaked a splash of precum.
The psy-bubble paused, its mercury-like wiggling coming to a halt.
Telemach blinked heavy. "Shit. You gotta be a homo. Almost got me fagging."
"Yes, sir. Message for you," Aion said. "I'll be quick."
He laid on top of the hunk and pressed their foreheads together. Sensitive data about out-of-system market volumes rushed through the herald's head and into Telemach's. Both quivered and spasmed on each other's smooth skin.
Aion rose from the now unconscious trader and lapped up the precum trail on the hunk's bronze abs. Then he left with a slap on the guard's ass.
###
Chants of the Arcana, verse 119:
The lonesome Arc who vibrates with instinct. The madness-shattering Arc who soothes the wrathful. A thousand times a thousand eyes upon humanity, twinkling with motherly kindness.
###
Fulgor, the industrial area of Jove, was a downward spire below the main habitat - a long, extensive stretch of pipework like a forest of thick, gray trees, interspersed with platforms and minor docks, narrowing toward a tip where warp ribbons lead to other places across Olympio.
Gaps in the slimming pipe forest allowed a glimpse of the rainbow hued cloudscape drifting eternally in the system, the light of the suns breaking the webbing of load-strands and the long chi-threads.
Neon rust clung as a polychrome gunk to the pipes where rough transmundane refuse collected in corners.
Aion had a secondary target before his delivery.
