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"Hey, Roska,"

Roska blinked at the sound of his name, and tried to focus through the haze at the charr responsible. The room was dark and crowded to begin with, which meant that he didn't think that whisky was entirely to blame for the blur he was squinting through at Maverick. Brown fur, mane styled with almost neurotic precision... he was pretty sure it was Maverick anyway, and risked a sniff to make sure. The sniff was a mistake. The air inside the Serrated Blade could have been cut with a knife, and between the usual industrial reek of the Black Citadel and the thick smells of booze, sweat and musk, Roska's nose had thrown in the towel and was no longer on speaking terms with his brain, except to complain at the perpetual stink. There was more Maverick stink than there was Kalrio or Tor stink though, so Roska supposed that solved that little mystery.

Roska had accompanied Maverick, Kalrio and Tor when they'd gone out to celebrate earning a few days of leisure, determined to hold his own at the bar and convinced that a youth spent in Lion's Arch had taught him all he needed to know about holding his liquor. It was, after all, his first night off duty since he'd been adopted into a real warband, and some of the first free time he'd had since he'd come to the Black Citadel. Roska figured he might as well make the most of it, especially with their legionnaire paying. If his first mouthful of what the bartender generously called "whisky" hadn't changed his mind, the speed at which his warband had put it back had buried any hopes of showing off. Trying to count the shot glasses in front of him made his brain start complaining too, so he gave up. The pile in front of each of his 'bandmates was bigger though, he was still sober enough to be almost positive about that.

"Huh?" Roska replied, quite a bit later than he probably should have. If Maverick or the rest of the warband noticed, they didn't say anything, but after all, Roska hadn't been the only one drinking. The stack of what Roska thought of as glasses, even if they were made out of metal, was even bigger in front of Maverick than it was in front of Kalrio or Tor, and Tor was slumped against Maverick and the wall, his eyes closed and a trickle of drool running down his muzzle. It was hard to tell given the general raucous din filling the tavern, but Roska thought he could hear snoring.

"Hey Roska" Maverick repeated, his voice only a little bit slurred and making up for it in volume. A couple of nearby drinkers flicked their ears toward the table, but for once Maverick seemed oblivious to the fact that people were paying attention to him. "When was... when was the last time you had your... your gun calibrated?"

Making out the last word took a lot of effort, especially over Kalrio's combination of coughing and laughter, but even when he'd done so the question didn't seem to make sense. What gun was Maverick talking about? Even more than having been raised in Lion's Arch, Roska's choice of weaponry left him standing out from most of the charr in the Black Citadel. He'd always favoured the longbow... and whatever part of his brain was still working protested that calibrate was not a word that could be applied to archery.

"What gun?" Roska asked, and congratulated himself privately on not taking over a minute to do so. He had to repeat his question though, because the only answer he got the first time was Kalrio laughing again. The engineer was one of the smallest charr Roska had ever met, but he'd drunk at least as much as Tor, and the only visible effect of the whisky was that he seemed to find everything funny and he kept on playing with his tail. Maverick didn't laugh, he just grinned. Under normal circumstances, their amusement would have probably made Roska suspicious, or at least wary, but while his head was doing its best under the circumstances, all their grins made him feel was frustrated.

"What gun?" Roska asked again. "I don't have a gun." This time Kalrio, who was in the process of downing yet another drink, laughed hard enough that Maverick had to slap him on the shoulder to stop him from choking. It didn't seem to improve things. Feeling his hackles rising, irritation crowded out Roska's frustration and confusion.

"No, Marakai doesn't have a gun," Kalrio said, when he could finally speak. Roska just stared at him, waiting for things to make sense. Roska knew that Marakai didn't have a gun, because like Roska, Marakai used a bow, though as their warband's expert at stealth and surprise, his bow was much smaller than Roska's, and favoured for its comparative silence.

"I think," Maverick said, his voice thick as he stood up unsteadily, "We need'ta show him how to calibrate it."

"Even cubs know how," Kalrio said, shaking his head. "Eventually,"

No longer propped up, Tor started to slide over, but Maverick caught him and laid him carefully on the bench with surprising gentleness before he could hit the floor. Kalrio was getting up too, and even through his confusion Roska's mind was able to spot that this might be a chance to escape from the Serrated Blade before he ended up in Tor's fur. Standing up and briefly forgetting how to work his paws, he almost did end up on the floor, but Maverick and Kalrio caught him and braced him upright between them. Letting the pair of grinning charr guide him toward the exit, his sense of duty briefly pushed through the fog of alcohol, and he gestured back at the fourth member of the warband.

"Is it alright to leave him?"

"Yeah," Maverick answered, "Worst that'll happen is someone'll shave something inna his fur."

"He's just bitter about what got wrote on him." Kalrio said, noticing Roska's look of alarm. "He says Tor bribed someone to do it."

"Nobody'd mess with this fur without being paid," Maverick said, and Roska steeled himself for another lengthy lecture from Maverick about his supposed physical perfection. He didn't mind so much though, both because his head was still too fuzzy to pay much attention, and because the comparatively fresh smog of the Factorium Canton felt wonderful to his muddled senses. So late at night, or maybe so early in the morning, the vast expanse of workshops and trader's stalls was almost deserted, and the only charr they passed were some Adamant Guard who glared at them suspiciously from behind steel visors. Since the trio were still walking, and were doing it in more or less a straight line toward the Hero's Canton, the Black Citadel's enforcers said nothing.

The 10th Iron Maniple housed about a dozen warbands in separate barracks, and like the rest of the Citadel was built out of a combination of metal sheets and stone quarried from the ruins of Rin. The single, high-ceilinged room his warband shared was dark and close even during the day, with only a few loopholes to let in the outside light and air. At the centre of the room was a thick, single pillar that both supported the ceiling and provided water for drink and cleaning, with sinks set into the pillar and faucets above head level to serve as simple but effective showers. Apart from the depression around the pillar, space had been spared wherever possible in the rest of the room. Even the beds, simple hammocks made of webbed leather straps and cushioned with an assortment of furs and hides, had been built to slide into the walls when not in use. The benches and equipment lockers sat beneath them, and counted for the majority of the remaining furniture. It had been built to house up to a dozen charr, but to Roska, it felt crowded with a warband of seven.

Thinking of a crowded barracks in the Hero's Canton as home was a difficult adjustment for Roska, one that was proving trickier than most of the other difficulties of life in the High Legions. His warband was growing on him, and he'd resigned himself to the stench of industry, but part of him still subconsciously expected the privacy of his own room, and the luxuries of a building built in the human style. His warband's barracks had neither luxury nor privacy. Everyone could see, hear, and smell what everyone else was doing, and comfort was at best an afterthought after practicality. In the High Legions, a charr was expected to find comfort in his duty and in his warband. Roska was learning to do the same, but it hadn't been a painless transition.

Roska wasn't sure exactly what time it was when the three of them trudged into the barracks, but the commander of the warband, their Legionnaire Bhors, was awake and cleaning one of his rifles at the only workbench that hadn't been designed to be folded up or stowed away. The huge charr had stripped down to his smallclothes in the muggy heat, and the golden fur over muscular body seemed to blaze in the flickering light of the oil lamp he'd left lit, while the dark brown fur on his hands and face faded into the shadows. If Roska had been made to list the perks of living in a warband, looking at his legionnaire's body would have been near the top of his list. Aside from Bhors, the barracks seemed to be empty, and the quiet might have been peaceful if not for the vaguely ominous groaning of pipes, the clanking of strange machinery and occasional shuddering reverberation from somewhere in the workshops attached to the building.

Roska felt almost relieved that nobody but Bhors was there. The walk back hadn't been especially far, but it had been long enough for growing soberness to kindle Roska's confusion into full-blown suspicion. He more than suspected that they were planning some kind of joke at his expense, but he was maddeningly unable to guess what that joke might be. Probably best to just go along with it, he thought. Maverick's sense of humour was usually crude, but if he tried to plead his way out his warband would never let him live it down. Besides, the alcohol in his system insisted to him that whatever Maverick wanted might be something fun.

Bhors's ears and tail twitched as Maverick walked over and stood in front of him at a wavering approximation of attention, and Roska watched the legionnaire's body language as he went through the same attempt to rally his patience that Roska was used to seeing when Maverick was about to talk to somebody. Maverick's salute was commendably smooth given how much whisky he'd consumed, but Bhors's nose still wrinkled at the smell of his breath.

"Boss! The new guy doesn't keep his gun calibrated!"

While Kalrio descended into a fit of impressively girlish giggling beside him, Roska tried to get a hint at what was coming from Bhors's expression. Unfortunately, the legionnaire's face didn't give away anything, though some of his tension seemed to fade. Pulling himself upright, he looked at Roska with what could have been either a glare or an effort to see him in the gloomy room.

"Is that so?" Bhors asked. Roska only shrugged, trying to act nonchalant even as his tail swished about behind him. Beside him, Kalrio nodded vigorously and added his own salute. The formality made Roska wonder if maybe he should be standing at attention too, but it seemed more like a parody of formality than the real thing, and it was probably too late now in any case.

"Permission to calibrate his weapon?" Maverick asked eagerly. Now Bhors's muzzle showed an expression, a gradually growing smirk that made Roska's fur stand on end. The legionnaire spent awhile looking at Roska while Maverick and Kalrio stood at attention, and then the smirk grew slightly.

"Sure," Bhors rumbled. "Use my bed."

Suspicion, having gradually worked itself up since leaving the bar, was beginning to take on a vague and somewhat alarming shape, especially at the mention of his legionnaire's bunk. Unfortunately, his reflexes were a lot slower in recovering, and by the time they caught up with his apprehension Maverick and Bhors had already grabbed him by the shoulders. Dragging him across the metal floor took only a couple of seconds, and barely gave him a chance to squirm before he was half falling, half flipping through the air, and landing on his back on the bunk hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

The sudden motion and even more sudden stop did not agree with the night's whisky, and as his head spun and he sucked in breath he was only distantly aware of hands grabbing his arms and pulling them down against the hammock's straps. Panting and wincing while his vision cleared, Roska growled as he felt something thick pulled around his wrists and then tightened almost painfully. Roska tried to pull away from Maverick and Bhors, and was confused when his arms refused to move. With unexpected adrenaline helping clear his head, he realized that Maverick and Kalrio had tied his wrists to the hammock, and were in the process of doing the same to his ankles. Because sobriety hadn't arrived yet, it didn't occur to him to struggle. Bhors, in what Roska was sure had to be neglect of his duty as legionnaire, was ignoring their abuse in favour of tinkering with something on the wall above the bed.

"We stopped drinking so you could tie me up?" Roska asked, watching Kalrio help Maverick down at his paws, since the bigger charr seemed to be having difficulty forming a knot. If the two had been strangers, he was pretty sure he'd have been able to kick his way free, but Roska found that he was curious about what the warband had in mind. Flexing and pulling against the straps was oddly exciting, and the feel of the soft leather tightening around his wrists and ankles as the bindings held him down made him shiver in a way that had nothing to do with suspicion. Finally, Bhors stepped back from the wall, and Roska found himself looking at a scrap of metal painted with a rough target. Trying not to get his horns caught in the hammock's straps, he looked at the trio in vain for some sort of explanation. How he was supposed to calibrate anything with his hands strapped down was beyond guessing. And then Kalrio was pulling down his pants, and Maverick leaned over and started fiddling with Roska's loincloth, and all of the night's innuendo and suspicion came crashing down onto him at once.

"Whoa! Wait!" Roska yelped, wrenching his arms against the straps holding him down and trying to squirm away from Maverick's clumsy fingers. All he managed to do was rip one of the cords holding his loincloth closed. "Stop it!" he growled, and Maverick and Kalrio only grinned and pulled the scant protection of the leather flap away from him, tossing it onto the floor. His muscles strained against the bonds, and he gritted his teeth as all four straps held, and as the other charr laughed down at him. Bound on his back, surrounded by half his warband with his dick and balls dangling where everyone could see them, he felt heat flushing his face and closed his eyes before he could meet any of the others. Roska had been naked in front of the three other charr before, when showering or changing, but this was different, and their laughter, though it sounded friendly, made him wish he'd spent the night in a drunken stupor with Tor. There was, he realized, a lot of laughter, and with his apprehension growing, he opened his eyes warily and sat up as much as he could to see what they were laughing at.

"Shit..." he muttered under his breath, looking down across the bunk to where his cock poked a good three or four inches from its sheath, not fully erect, but more than enough to betray his excitement. Burdened by a modesty his warband didn't share, it had been weeks since Roska had gotten the opportunity to touch himself, and a whole lot longer since anyone had done it for him. Hard work and adjusting to his new surroundings had made it easier to cope, but a guy could only stay pent up for so long before horniness became a constant companion. The fact that being tied down had left him erect, though, wasn't something he expected Maverick or Bhors would let him live down anytime soon. It wasn't something he expected he'd forget anytime soon either.

Still wearing the same small smile, Bhors slapped him on the shoulder. "Nice attitude soldier, good to see some enthusiasm," the legionnaire said with mock formality, ignoring the way Roska's fur bristled as his hackles lifted. Groaning and clenching his fists, Roska flopped back onto the bed and looked around in vain for some way to escape. He hadn't found one before Bhors turned to where Maverick was practically dancing back and forth in his eagerness. "Soldier! Calibrate this cub's weapon!"

"Yes Sir!" Maverick replied, drowning out Roska's muttered protest and turning it into a growl as Maverick's hand closed around his cock. Trying to rip his bonds out by sheer indignant strength, all he managed to do was shift enough to rub his dick against Maverick's hand. The pads on the arrogant charr's fingers and palm were rough and warm, and as they brushed over his exposed skin Roska shivered and muttered something incoherent in protest. He didn't know whether he wanted Maverick to let go or to keep going, but he knew from the leather digging into his wrists and legs that what happened next was entirely out of his control. And the fact that it was out of his control was getting him hard a lot faster than Maverick's playful rubbing.

His warband was leering down at him, and it was better to watch what Maverick was doing than to listen to them laughing at his predicament. And with his loudmouthed companion's hand tightening and stroking harder, worrying about what Bhors and Kalrio thought seemed less and less important. He'd had better handjobs before, on his own and back when he'd been in Lion's Arch. For one thing, Maverick was still at least partially drunk, and wasn't being careful about how hard he squeezed or about keeping his claws away from Roska's sensitive shaft. For another, the virtues of his technique could be summed up in a single word: enthusiastic. By now the entirety of Roska's erection was visible, and Maverick had taken hold of it a lot more energetically than Roska had ever seen him hold a sword or a hammer.

Gritting his teeth and squirming against the hammock's straps, Roska was powerless to do anything but shudder and twist as Maverick's paw rubbed across his head and stroked down over his cock's small, spiny bumps, sending a tingle of excitement through his body each time. Pre trickled down his shaft, spread over his skin by Maverick's eager rubbing and making him even more sensitive to the rough affection. Even the occasional brush of a claw or tightening of the other charr's grip wasn't enough to dampen his pleasure. It wasn't enough to dampen his arousal either. As his growls started to subside, he realized how quickly he could feel his tension getting the better of him. Having gone so long without release, his body wasn't wasting any time now.

Grunting and still fighting the temptation to thrust into Maverick's paw, Roska's climax came over him fast enough to catch Maverick by surprise, and he heard his warband let out a howl of approval as he groaned and shuddered, his hips twitching and waves of pleasure running through his body. It had been far too long, he thought to himself, and a sense of dull satisfaction tingled through the bound charr as he sank back limply onto the hammock and blinked up at his warband. Of the three charr standing over him, only Kalrio was actually looking at him, still wearing the same silly smile he'd worn back when Maverick had first mentioned calibrating. Bhors and Maverick, on the other hand, seemed lost in examining the fresh wet stain at the end of the hammock, partially splattered at the base of the dark metal wall.

"That didn't take very long," Kalrio commented smugly, and by now Roska was too dazed and resigned to bother getting angry. Shrugging in his restraints instead, he shivered as the last twitching jolts of pleasure ran through his still erect and dripping cock. His warband was clearly insane, but he could think of worse kinds of madness to have to put up with.

"Not even close to the target," Bhors growled. That seemed unfair to Maverick, given how high his legionnaire had put the scrap of metal, and Roska was a little surprised at how disappointed Bhors sounded. Maverick opened his mouth to reply, but for once the legionnaire was able to talk over him without getting interrupted, his voice rising almost to a shout.

"Is that how they taught you to aim in your fahrar? Was your Primus as drunk and inept as you are or were you just too busy preening and bragging to listen?!" There was a bit of humour in Bhors tone, enough to take some of the edge off the reprimand, but Maverick responded to it the way he normally did to criticism, which was to miss the point entirely.

"Hey, when you've got a dick like mine, you don't need to..." Maverick started, trailing off as Bhors turned away from him and pointed at Kalrio, who saluted unsteadily. Roska couldn't help but grin at Maverick's flustered expression, but Bhors's words put a dent in his rising amusement almost as soon as it arrived.

"Now that the blowhard's shown us how not to handle a weapon, let's teach him how Iron Legion does it. I want this charr's cannon primed and ready."

"Huh," Roska grunted, trying to squirm back on the hammock as Kalrio clambered onto the straps and seemingly struggled to balance. "But I just..." Kalrio was getting onto all fours now, the small charr's weight still enough to shift the hammock under him. A combination of anticipation and horror sank through Roska's fur as Kalrio grinned at him and lowered his head to sniff at his glistening cock, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from whining as Kalrio's tongue pressed against his sensitive manhood. It felt wonderful and horrible at the same time, and he strained against his restraints as his 'bandmate's tongue deftly lapped away cum and pre, making him squirm and groan and lash his tail helplessly.

"I..." he hissed as Kalrio's tongue lapped against him again, "Hate you all..." The last word came out as a moan, and he flushed at the way Maverick and Bhors laughed and offered Kalrio encouraging advice, some of it horrifying. Kalrio's tongue was thick and rough, and the trails of saliva it left on his shaft felt cool as his breath played over them. There was no way for him to stop what Kalrio was doing, and no way to keep his occasional yelps and shivers from making Bhors and Maverick laugh even harder. Maverick's earlier efforts might have been clumsy, but Kalrio knew what he was doing and seemed to be sober enough to do it well. If he wasn't so humiliated and his fresh cum wasn't still dripping down the wall at his feet, he thought he'd have enjoyed the attention a lot more.

As things were, he had to bite back the urge to beg Kalrio to stop. He knew it wouldn't have done any good, and besides, the persistent licks were starting to have an effect. Rather than sliding back into his sheath, Roska's cock was starting to get hard again, and when Kalrio's muzzle closed around Roska's length and started to bob up and down, carefully keeping his teeth away and curling his long tongue around the sensitive tip, Roska sighed and started to pant lightly. Pleasure was rapidly overtaking discomfort, and the arousal he'd thought had been subdued was working its way back to the surface.

Watching the other charr's muzzle slide up and down over him, Roska quivered with something between excitement and disbelief. A few weeks ago, these charr had been strangers. Less than half an hour ago, they'd been comrades-in-arms drinking in a tavern that Roska considered exceptional only for the number of blood stains. He'd seen the way the warband behaved around each other, the casual intimacy and camaraderie they shared, but he hadn't thought they'd consider him part of that so soon. Of course, Roska hadn't expected charr intimacy to be quite like this either, but feeling Kalrio's tongue caressing him and watching the little charr's ears flick and his nose flare as he breathed in Roska's scent, left him feeling closer to his warband than he ever had on the lackluster duty they'd been assigned so far. He wasn't sure how much later it was that Kalrio sat back on his haunches, but Roska knew that he was every bit as aroused as he'd been before Maverick's affection, and significantly more breathless.

"Well done Runt," Bhors rumbled, his tone making even the insulting nickname affectionate sounding. The huge charr loomed over Roska, and Roska grinned up sheepishly, giving up on concealing his enjoyment. He knew what Bhors was planning to do, and he knew he'd be sore in the morning if he did, but that barely mattered to him at this point.

"Mav, bring me that bottle on the workbench," Bhors said, and Roska grunted as his legionnaire wrapped his paws around his balls. They were sensitive, and he had to bite back a moan as Bhors squeezed gently, hinting at the power he held over Roska without actually hurting him. Shivering as Bhors's claws scratched gently through his fur, he tried to look around to see what Bhors had sent Maverick for, but a powerful hand wrapped around his horn and turned him back toward his legionnaire.

"Lay back, close your eyes, and get that stupid grin off your muzzle," Bhors growled at him, and arousal kindled in Roska's body as he nodded and dropped his head back onto the hammock. Not smiling was difficult, but he managed to stay at least slightly still while Bhors toyed with his balls and Maverick's footsteps clanged on the metal floor. "Hold his shoulders, and his legs," Bhors said, and Roska felt his 'bandmates' hands pressing him down against the hammock, their weight holding him gently in place as something cool and slippery brushed over his erection, making his whole body twitch against the hands that were restraining him. Cold wetness trickled across his shaft, leaving him shivering and growling, and making his eyelids flicker as he fought the temptation to peek. But, after all, orders were orders, and as Bhors's hand closed over his slippery cock, massaging the lubricating coldness around him, he decided that obeying this one wasn't going to be that difficult.

Bhors's hand felt a lot better than Maverick's had, and even felt better than Kalrio's muzzle. The grip was strong and firm, but Bhors was being careful with his claws, and was focusing his attention on the sensitive tip and spines at the end of Roska's cock. With his warband's weight holding him down, he couldn't squirm or thrust or pull back, and the slow, steady rubbing made him want to do all three at once. Another hand reached under his balls, tickling and caressing the sensitive fur behind them. The exploring fingers were slippery with whatever Bhors had poured on his erection, and as they poked gently under his tail Roska groaned and clenched his fists, even his toes curling as he struggled with the increasingly pent up energy building in his body. He could feel the gentle pressure tracing his rear, leaving his butt slick and cool, but the rhythm of the hand stroking his cock didn't change a bit.

By now, Roska was panting heavily, and had forgotten that he wasn't supposed to smile. He was completely at the mercy of his legionnaire, and to his surprise the sensation that filled him with was one of elation. Bhors had started to stroke faster, sliding his hand down further to pump at Roska's shaft as his other hand began to caress his balls again. Roska whimpered as that hand squeezed, harder than before, and as if encouraged by the submissive sound the legionnaire's stroking sped up again, the strong charr's slick paw becoming just as relentless as Maverick's had been. Roska knew what it was going to take for that paw to stop, and he didn't think his commander would be waiting long.

Where they'd been laughing earlier, his warband was quiet now, even Maverick silent enough that the only sounds Roska could hear were his own gasping and growling, and the slick sound of Bhors's hand, steadily working his cock. His arousal was building slower this time, but the heat that was gradually filling his body just kept on growing. As the pads of the legionnaire's fingers brushed over his tip Roska found it harder and harder to breathe. As the powerful hand slid down his erection, thought became fuzzy, and more and more of Roska's attention was drawn to the incredible sensations Bhors was coaxing from his tired body. For what felt like an eternity his body lingered on the edge, trapped in blissful suspense, every stroke of Bhors's hand making him hold his breath with pleasure.

Then his arousal crested, and the charr's whole body surged as tension flooded out of him. Even Kalrio and Maverick couldn't keep him from jerking upright, and his roar was enough to drown out his warband's laughter and cheers. Bhors's steady pumping didn't pause or slow, and the shivers of ecstasy that made Roska's fur stand on end gradually subsided as he panted on the hammock and eventually twisted away from the legionnaire's grip. His wrists and ankles were sore, and he realized as he opened his eyes that the leather strap that had been wrapped around one of his ankles had snapped. All three of the charr standing over him were congratulating him, and as his eyes readjusted to the light and he started to catch his breath, Roska looked past them to where the target on the wall was now smeared with a slick, very fresh layer of cum.

"Wow..." he managed after a couple of seconds, and then growled and twisted his head as Bhors reached down and patted him between the horns. He wondered if he could somehow kick his way free of the other straps holding him down, but before he had the chance to try Kalrio started to undo one of the ones around his wrist. Relief that they were done with him flooded through Roska, paired with a tiny bit of regret that it was over that he did his best to ignore.

"Good shooting Boss!" Maverick said loyally, and Roska noticed that the legionnaire's normally serious expression had been replaced by a proud smile.

"Well, I had a good weapon," Bhors answered. "Good work Roska," he added, and the smile became a grin. As the legionnaire looked down at him and rested a hand on Roska's shoulder, Roska felt his face heating at the realization that not all of Bhors's pride was reserved for himself. The big charr's paw was still greasy from whatever he'd used for lube, but as the strap Kalrio was toying with fell free, Roska rested his own hand on top of the legionnaire's, smiling sheepishly while as Maverick slapped him on the thigh and Kalrio beamed down at him. It wasn't the sort of initiation that Roska had expected from his first night off duty, but spent and sore and dazed with afterglow, he felt more at home in the barracks than he'd ever felt before.