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[b][u][center]Rescue Operation[/center][/u][/b]

[b][u][center]Chapter 4: Breaking In[/center][/u][/b]

[b][u][center]For bbbuuu[/center][/u][/b]

[b][u][center]By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]

The battlefield was prepared, just as he’d planned. Arthorius stood at the railing of his quarters, looking down at his base, and at the space beyond it as the cameras gave him a live feed of the attack underway. A dozen Krogan had burst out of one of the service shafts about seventy feet from the front gates, and were already on the way towards it. The light mechs in front of the gate were standing firm, firing away, but as expected, the shots were just depleting barriers that had likely been thrown up before the fight had begun.

[i]Typical Krogan. Take the damage and hope that you dish out enough in return,[/i] he thought, shaking his head as he panned the camera to the right. Another service tunnel was opening on the far side of the battlefield, where several Quarians were starting to step out. He directed some of the mechs towards them, the light ones laying down a few streaks of covering fire and driving the aliens back into their hole.

[i]You can’t hack what you can’t see,[/i] he’d learned a long time ago. If he kept them pinned down, unable to see the mechs, they would have a harder time turning them against him.

A flicker on the far side of the screen. That would be the former STGs starting to make their move. One blur was moving down the right side of his base, probably hoping for a supply door or to sabotage any getaways. There were none of the former, and the latter was elsewhere.

He smiled as the cloaked Salarian was ambushed by one of the heavy mechs, stomped into paste.

“This is going well, so far.”

True, the Krogans were at the gate slightly earlier than planned, and he could tell that the gate wasn’t going to hold for long. A few radio communications got his men to the door, however. No heavy gunners, just those with heavy rifles, but it was better than nothing.

[i]Now…what else do you have, Oscar? What else are you going to throw at me?[/i]

He panned the camera around as some of the mechs were brought down, clearing a spot for the Krogan to work at the gate while some of the others put up barriers. He noticed an Asari at the far end, but didn’t have any fresh mechs to deal with her. However, the force had been primarily assembled at the front gate, so it was as good a time as any to send in the heavy mechs.

As he had them start plodding around the walls of his base, he heard a clang from within it. The Turian turned his attention from the gate to the mess, seeing the panels in the floor coming up.

“Fire.”

His calm command was easily heard from above, and the heavy gunners were already prepared. A volley of blasts too fast to track ripped through the floor of the mess hall, and the cries of dying Vorcha filled the air. They kept up the barrage for a good half-minute before pausing, their weapons on a cooldown, and Arthorius shook his head.

[i]A good move on his part. Not good enough, but good.[/i]

Thump, thump, thump went the Krogans on the front gate, though. There were going to be problems if he didn’t deal with them soon. Even from here, from his raised position, he could make out the weakening locks on the front of the gate. Despite not having explosives, the Krogans were doing quite a bit of damage to his front door.

“Gas grenades.”

His men put down their rifles for a moment and pulled at the tools that the Medic had handed out earlier. Six balls of metal went over the front wall, and came down on the other side. The camera filled with the fumes that were released, but more importantly, gave him a view that he enjoyed.

The Krogan stopped thumping against the wall and started thumping on each other, their eyes going bright red as the gas took effect. It was less sexualized than many of the Medic’s drugs, but it was very good at turning someone from sane to insane. Arthorius watched in amusement as the Krogans started to wear one another down, beating each other as they huffed in the fumes, losing their minds to their own primordial anger.

Soon, the barriers were done, and the Krogan went down with them. He shook his head. Another idea that was good, but not good –

Shooooom!

The sound of an energy shot flashing across the battlefield came after it collided with the barrier in front of him. Arthorius shook his head as he waited for the barrier screen and the cameras to clear.

[i]You think you could shoot me that easily, Oscar? Your sniper is good, but that doesn’t mean anything if I’ve prepared.[/i]

#

“It looks like he was ready for that.”

“I figured he would be, but hey, at least he’s blind.”

Oscar shook his head, pulling at the levers in front of him as he started the truck’s engine. It was one of the few things that were still left at the Eclipse warehouse, and the last thing that that he had picked up for the fight. He’d waited until the others had already started their attack, just to make sure that Arthorius didn’t have any way to know what he had in mind.

Of course, it hadn’t come without risks. He’d told everyone to do as they would, with the goal of getting through the gates and getting to Azen. The whole mess was utter chaos, without a single element of a sensible battle plan between any of the factions…and that was the whole point. He knew that the Krogans would charge forward, he knew that the STG would try and fight on the sides, he knew that the Quarians would be able to start hacking things if they got a chance. The Asari on the edge was waiting for a chance to strike, and there were others holding back for an opening, but none of them were following a strategy that he’d laid down, or talked to each other to agree on one.

As a result, the ever-organized Arthorius had no one plan to stop, but a dozen different ones that he’d have to counter. It was no guarantee of victory, but anything that would split the Turian’s attention was better than nothing. Even if it did cost lives.

[i]Alright, you son of a bitch. Let’s see your gate stop this.[/i]

He gunned the engine, the truck shooting forward on hover-engines strained to the limits of their speed and capacity. Gavorn slammed back against his seat at the sudden acceleration, holding tight to his weapon as they went shooting through the remaining mechs, crossing the hundred feet between them and the front door.

Oscar leaned forward, his eyes narrowed at the metal sheets ahead. If the Vorcha hadn’t done what he’d ‘suggested’ they do, then they were dead. The heavy gunners on the other side would rip the truck and them to shreds. But if the gamble had succeeded…

“This is going to hurt.”

“Hopefully hurts him a lot more than us!”

Impact. They ripped through the metal doors like a rock through wet paper, and the truck immediately started spinning around, the back desperately trying to swing around in front of the shattering engine. The soldiers on the other side had no heavy weapons, unable to fire fast enough to blow the truck before it was on them. Metal figures crunched under the heavy front of their vehicle, and the truck came to a stop as it slammed into the metal barrier between them and the mess.

Oscar leaped out, as did Gavorn, the pair of them rushing to the nearest wall. The Turian poked his head around the side, aiming somewhere before snapping off another shot. A death scream filled the air.

[i]Taking out the heavy gunners. Good. Can’t have them taking potshots at us when we’re trying to get through the hallways.[/i]

Hopefully, the others would be making a beeline to the hole they’d opened up in the walls. He didn’t like wasting the Krogan like that, but there had been a chance that the big guys could have gotten the doors open. Holding them back would have made Arthorius suspicious, and probably made it even harder to get in.

He slid along the wall, glancing down the metal hallway. The brief look was enough to tell him that the Blue Suns were already planning ambushes for them, the blue-armored mercs peering through doorways back at him with their rifles raised. He pulled back before they could snap off a shot, taking a couple of deep breaths.

[i]Okay, we’re inside. That means nothing unless we can figure out where they took Azen, and we can take down Arthorius. He’s got…at least fifty people between us and him, maybe more. We got maybe twenty guns that are still waiting outside.[/i]

Crack, crack. Crack, crack.

The sudden gunfire brought his eyes back to the broken gate, where some of the mechs were walking through. Six of the light mechs were taking shots down the hallways, getting shot at in return, but he could just about guarantee that they were getting some kills before they went down.

[i]Quarians, one.[/i]

He started to smile, only for the mechs to start popping and exploding. One by one, they went down, seared by some sort of explosive pack on their backs. Oscar groaned.

[i]Arthorius, one.[/i]

“You know, Oscar, I’m starting to dislike this mercenary.”

“Welcome to the club. How many more heavies on your side?”

“Two.” Shoooom. “One.”

“Think you can get him on the next shot?”

“If he pokes his head out again. He’s got a decent bit of cover with his weapon.”

“I’ll take care of that.”

[i]Just don’t fail me now, leg.[/i] His ankle was better, but not fully healed. It was only holding because of a really good brace that he’d borrowed from Aria’s infirmary, and a whole lot of painkillers that left him almost numb. This was not the time for clumsiness, but without more reinforcements, he didn’t know what other options they had.

With a grunt of effort, he threw himself down the hallway, keeping his head down and avoiding the sudden burst of gunfire from some of the side rooms. He could see the barrels of smaller rifles sticking out through the doorways, but they weren’t his biggest worry. If the guy on the heavy weapon up above started shooting him, there was no way that he could get to cover in time. He was in the middle of a kill zone.

[i]Don’t miss, don’t miss, don’t miss![/i] he begged Gavorn in his head, throwing himself faster and faster forward.

There was a rolling sound as the metal barrels of the gun started warming up, and just as he was about to kiss his life goodbye, the shoooom sound of the Turian’s sniper rifle kicked off. He let out a heaving sigh of relief as he heard the body thump down in the nearby mess, and ducked into the nearest room.

It just so happened to be a med-bay, and there was a rather large Batarian looming over him, holding needles in one hand and a gun in the other.

“Stop where you are. Guns down.”

“I don’t think you really expect me to take that option.”

“Not really. But better to have more prisoners to work my magic on.”

“I’m gonna take a pass on that.”

He flicked his hand out, blue biotic energy warping out in a Singularity. The Batarian was sent spinning through the air, but not before his needles went flying. Oscar grunted as one of them hit him in the arm, the drug inside already rushing into his system before he could pull the damn thing free. He threw the needle on the ground, but there was already some sort of heat running through his veins, burning at his insides in a way that he really, really didn’t like.

As the Singularity came to an end, he stood up and walked over to the Batarian. He kicked the gun away, pulling his weapon out and holding it right at the asshole’s face. Grinding the barrel into the alien’s head, making sure that the pressure was grinding right between the eyes, he leaned in.

“What the fuck did you stick me with?”

“Hehehe, the stuff that the Boss needs to deal with you.”

BANG!

“Wrong answer.”

He groaned, shaking his head as he stood up from the Batarian with a hole in his head. That had been stupid. That had been really, really stupid to shoot the person that had just injected him, but he’d been angry, not thinking straight. What the drug might be would have to be figured out later, but for now…

Oscar leaned back, rubbing his head as that heat rushed through him more, feeling like it was some sort of…sensitizer, or something like that. Almost every inch of skin on his body suddenly felt too warm, like it was summer and he’d been standing in the sun back on Earth. He shook his head again, trying to force himself to focus on the situation at hand, but it was harder than he’d like, particularly as he felt his clothes grinding against him and almost feeling like they were groping him, caressing him down there.

[i]Fuck, it’s some sort of aphrodisiac or something. What the hell was that guy thinking?[/i]

He had fought while horny before. Hell, he’d run away from an army while horny before. That had been part of the whole experience with the Eclipse while Gavorn was teasing him. That was not something particularly new. What was new, however, was the fact that he was throbbing without any teasing going on, and his cock felt like it needed attention as he darted back into the hallway.

He ignored it as best he could, throwing Singularities and Warps where he could, distracting those mercenaries that were still around and thought that they could be of help. The more he cleared out from this side, the easier it would be for Gavorn and the others to move up the hallway and meet him in the middle.

Even so, it was hard-fought. The Blue Suns were very good at their job, and despite getting caught in a pincer move, they were still fighting for every bit of ground that they had. He saw the Asari get mowed down by two riflemen that were waiting for her, and one of the Quarians went down while they were trying to hack the equipment of the mercs.

They got their revenge. Oh, they got their revenge. He had to turn his head away when he watched the other Quarians show just how good they were with their hacking machines, shivering as he watched the heads of some of the mercenaries literally explode as the life support functions were hijacked, amped up, and then made to pressurize the different soldiers’ heads until they exploded.

“Remind me to never piss one of them off.”

“Agreed,” Gavorn muttered.

They fought their way to the end, but there was no sign of Arthorius, nor any sign of Azen. Instead, there was a note, pinned to a pile of cum-stained pillows.

[i]You want your witness, and I want to see what you can do. There is a side-passage in the back of my quarters to a little place for us to have this out. I assume I can trust you to come alone, or at most, with that Turian ‘friend’ of yours.[/i]

He glared at the note, and then back at Gavorn. The sniper had read it over his shoulder, and shrugged.

Personally, he would have preferred to take the whole goddamn army that he’d brought along with him, but he doubted that it would be possible. The Quarians had already slipped away from the main force, going through the tech that was left in the med bay and in the armory, while the surviving Salarians had faded away. They’d gotten into the base, and that was the job he’d asked them for. The only ones that still seemed at all interested in helping were the ones that he didn’t want to deal with, ones that would be more of a problem than a help in a narrow area.

[i]And if Azen is there, that means that he expects us to have a hunt…he wants to make it a contest between us, now.[/i]

He wondered if it was because of pride that needed to be sated, admiration for Oscar’s own ability, or something else entirely. Somehow, he imagined it was a combination of all three. Arthorius had never been one to be typical in his strategies.

“Come on. Let’s get this done.”

“You think we can get him?”

“I think we can try. And we can’t leave without Azen.”

“True. After you, then.”

“Yeah, just so you can watch my ass.”

“It is a very nice ass.”

For the first time, he blushed. He blamed the drug, but he could feel a slight twitch down there, something that he’d never really felt before when he was talking with Gavorn. He’d always been the top, always been the one that worked the other Turian over, never the one that was worked over in turn. He shook his head, trying to push the drug’s effect out of his mind as he walked towards the staircase at the end of the hallway.

He’d just pushed the office door open when an armored fist came right for his face. He tried to dodge it, but his ankle was too bad, and he went sprawling backwards. Cupping his bruised nose with one hand and desperately grabbing for the railing with the other, he caught sight of a Batarian stepping out, trying to attack him again –

Shooooom.

Gavorn took the shot, sending the Batarian flying backwards and landing on his back. Oscar nodded his approval, taking the Turian’s hand when it was offered and pulling himself up.

“Ugh…I think he broke my nose…”

“Need something for that?”

“No…no, I’m alright.”

He reached up, taking a deep breath as he pinched his fingers near his nose. This was going to really, really, really hurt.

“Don’t let me fall.”

As Gavorn grabbed him by the arm to offer support, he pinched and twisted his nose. He didn’t scream, but he very nearly fell over, and he thought he might have blacked out for a split second from just how horrible that felt. The sheer pain of having to set one’s own nose was not something that he wanted to go through again.

Lightheaded to the extreme, he stepped into the officer to find that the Batarian wasn’t dead. There was a large, cauterized hole through his shoulder, but he wasn’t dead, just groaning in pain. Oscar knelt down beside him, squatting on the balls of his feet and trying not to think about the heat rushing through him and how much it made him want to hate-fuck the guy in front of him.

“So. Tell me. What’s your name?”

“Fucker…”

“No matter how cruel a Batarian mother might be, I don’t think she called you that.”

“It’s….ugh. It’s Geeroy.”

“Alright, Geeroy. Your boss. What’s he got waiting for us?”

“Heh…no chance in hell he’d tell me.”

“Really? You think he wouldn’t have bragged or…no, that’s not his style, is it?”

“Nope…ain’t his style at all.”

So much for extra information, but there were other possibilities. He looked down the Blue Sun’s body armor, shaking his head a few times as he didn’t see any extra weapons. Probably had been busy with something, or maybe assigned to slow them down. That was a thought.

“So, why were you up here, huh? Hiding?”

“Nah…Boss wanted me here.”

“He wanted you here? Even with the note that he left us?”

“Heh…wouldn’t be the Boss if he didn’t have a couple of backup plans.”

“No, no he wouldn’t. But why put you here? There was no way you could stop us both.”

“Didn’t say. Just said for –”

“For you to keep us here as long as possible.”

“Hehehe…got it, human…”

The smug grin on Geeroy’s face was enough to make him want to punch the Batarian instead of hate-fucking him. Instead, he stood up and started looking around the room. Gavorn stepped in, the Turian stepping on the alien’s neck, two-toed feet digging in deep.

“I think I will shoot this one.”

“It’s up to you, there. I’m not too bothered about killing him.”

“I am. I recognize him. One of Azen’s clients, and I think the one that would have convinced him to come out here.”

Oscar slowly turned, looking down at the Batarian. Suddenly, there was fear in the merc’s eyes, a worry that hadn’t been there before. He recognized it. He’d seen it in a lot of new soldiers, when they realized that they weren’t as invincible as they thought they were. So professional up til that point, but when that last bit of innocence was ripped away…

He nodded at Gavorn, and the sniper rifle went off. The Batarian slumped down with a hole in his head.

After that, it didn’t take Oscar long to find the thing that he was looking for. The switch that opened the passageway was hidden under a Turian statue, one that was surprisingly frank with its own biology. As he felt the little stone penis pressing against his palm, he wondered if the statue was supposed to be of Arthorius himself. Considering the other man’s sheer confidence, it wouldn’t have surprised him.

They stepped into an access tunnel, following it and the bits of fluid on the ground. From the look of it, it was probably coming from Azen. If the poor guy had been rendered down to nothing more than a sex slave, then it was pretty obvious what would be dripping from him.

They followed it all the way down to the end, where the tunnel stopped with a single door ahead. He turned to Gavorn, who nodded, pulling up his rifle and pointing it towards the door. Oscar leaned forward, took a deep breath, and yanked the door open.

What they saw was a long, narrow passageway that was lined on both sides with long pipes, stretching from ceiling to roof. Little knobs were here and there, showing pressure markers, and Oscar could just make out the little glows of other readouts, saying which lines were hazardous and which were not. It was dim, but not quite dark, enough to keep the eyes from adjusting the way that they wanted to.

At the far end, pressed against a wall with restraints around his middle and his arms pinned to the side, was Azen. Yet, there was no sign of the Turian.

[i]This is bad. The worst sort of place for a sniper to be in,[/i] Oscar realized. The narrow confines would make it hard for Gavorn to aim or adjust himself quickly, and the many pipes would make it almost impossible for either of them to get a clear shot through the distance. [i]He wants us to fight in close quarters…oh, this is not going to end well.[/i]

“Tell me, are you coming in, or staying out? If you don’t want your friend back, I can always catch a shuttle to somewhere better.”

The cocky voice was just what he remembered from his time in the Alliance. That same confidence, that same smoothness that was always there. He bit his lips, trying to keep back the sudden spike of fear, and he stepped forward. Gavorn followed, slower, but still there as they walked down the hallway of pipes.

The door slammed shut behind them, and as he whipped around, he just barely caught the silhouette of a fleeing Turian. The shadow danced on the wall before disappearing, leaving them ‘alone’ again.

“I’m glad that you accepted my invitation. You are quite the skilled commander, Oscar. I was surprised that you found something I wasn’t expecting. I can count on one hand the number of people that have done that.”

“It’s a talent…”

“And a good one.”

The voice seemed to come from everywhere, and it didn’t help that a sudden hiss in the air made it harder to hear in general. He took a few steps forward, putting some distance between him and Gavorn, just so that they couldn’t be trapped together. A few more steps, putting Azen about thirty feet away, Gavorn ten feet behind him.

“What do you want, Arthorius?”

“I want to see just how well you can take it when I defeat you a third time.”

“You haven’t beaten me a first time yet.”

“I believe that you remember the ambush and slaughter in the smoke. That was your unit, was it not? Your unit, that you were responsible for? The one that you couldn’t save? The one that you let die?”

He shuddered, but took another few steps. He swore that there was something in the air, making it hard for him to think. It was like…like he wanted to shut up, like he couldn’t fight back.

“Ulk!”

That sound. He whipped around, seeing a darkened arm wrapped around Gavorn’s throat. Arthorius stood behind the other Turian, the Blue Suns commander chuckling and whispering just loud enough for Oscar to hear.

“You are a shame to your fellow Turians, do you know that, Gavorn? You just follow the humans around, giving them everything…I have heard that you have gone on your hands and knees for this one. How did it feel, hmmm, to put yourself down? How does it feel to be the lowest Turian on all of Omega, offering your ass to a human?”

“It’s…it wasn’t...an offer…he earned it!”

“Heh, and you were weak enough to lose it. A pity. I would have been interested in seeing just what someone like you could do…but it seems that you’re no better than the Salarian whore in the chair, if with a better eye for something valuable.”

Oscar had had just about enough of that. With a growl of his own, he threw out his hand, but the focused Warp just shot by Gavorn’s shoulder. The other Turian just…wasn’t there anymore.

No, Arthorius was behind him. The passing wind gave him just enough time to start turning, but not enough to bring his fist up for a blow. The Turian mercenary smiled at him, mandibles clicking.

“You, Oscar, are a different case. Always struggling to be the best. Always striving to make up for your mistakes, to have all those favors to call in so that you can never be overwhelmed again. What happens when you lose it all? What happens when it’s not enough, no matter how hard you try? How long before you give in…and fall?”

Shoooom!

The shot went over his shoulder, but missed the Turian’s head. Oscar groaned as the stronger male dragged him around, moving him between the pipes until he was pinned against one. That soft, growling voice continued to whisper as the mandibles clicked in the darkness.

“How long before you learn just how weak you are? You defeated a Turian…and you found me. But you see him?”

Arthorius nodded towards Azen, and Oscar couldn’t help but look as well. The Salarian was out of it. His eyes were glazed over, drugged…and worse. There was none of the quick glances around the room, none of the fast-thoughts that he was so used to seeing pass over his friend’s face. He had…he was gone.

[i]No…[/i]

“That’s right…you were too late. No matter how hard you fight, Oscar, I am always one step ahead of you.”

“No…”

“I beat you before. I held out long enough for the Alliance to fail on every mission they’ve had against me. And I’ve beaten you again now. So, enjoy the fact that you’ve killed a few dozen Blue Sun mercenaries. Enjoy the fact that you surprised me. For all that you’ve fought…you’ve still lost.”

Oscar struggled, but his body felt so weak. He couldn’t pull himself away from the pipe, and he couldn’t drag himself out of the other Turian’s grip. All he could do was slump back, shuddering, panting.

Shoooom!

Another shot, this one enough to shake Arthorius off of him, sending him running back into the shadows. He slumped forward, panting for breath, feeling a tingle with every successive one running through his body. There was something wrong in here, but he couldn’t put his finger on what.

“Oscar. Where is he? It’s hard to see in here.”

“Trying…trying to figure…that out.”

He dragged himself back to his feet, feeling the metal against his arm as he leaned against the pipe all too keenly. That drug was still running through his system, affecting his thought process, making it hard to come up with a plan. That hissing in the air didn’t help, almost like…like he was being affected by something else, constantly distracted.

Just barely, he could make out Gavorn from the other side of the room, slowly moving from one gap to another and poking his rifle through, scanning before moving on. As he watched, he saw something else, a shadow.

“Gavorn! Left!”

The sniper turned, but again, too late. The other Turian knocked the rifle out of Gavorn’s hands, and then grappled with him, shoving him back. The pair of them slipped further into the shadows, out of view, and the whispers started again, too far off for him to hear, too quiet for him to make out.

[i]Nnngh…get your…fucking…hands…off of him…[/i]

He wanted to shout it, but it was impossible. He felt too scared, too intimidated by the other Turian to do anything of the sort. The urge to give up, to grab Azen and run – or even just run – was almost overpowering. He wanted to…

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave Gavorn here. Oscar reached down, pulling out his pistol, and limped forward on a leg that was slowly coming awake with pain again.

This time, when he found them, he had a bigger shock. Gavorn’s armor had been stripped in the crotch and the back, and the Turian’s cock was up and on display as he was getting fingered from behind. Gavorn was growling, his eyes narrowed, but between them were pants of arousal, shudders of need that Oscar had only heard when the Turian had been under him before.

Neither had noticed him yet, and he intended to keep it that way, even if his cock was throbbing as he watched.

“You were born to serve under another, it seems. Not every Turian is suited to be an officer…not every one of them could make something of themselves, the way that I have. We both know that you just want to give in. You never wanted to fight the human, not seriously. He wasn’t strong enough to beat you; you just had no strength to defeat him. A pathetic little Turian that could never pose a threat to anything beyond the Vorcha scum you hunt.”

“Nnngh…not…true…”

“It is true enough, and we both know it. You could fight me, see if you could get free, but you aren’t even moving, are you? Just submitting to my touch, letting me shove my fingers inside of you. You didn’t fight very well with your weapon, either. Couldn’t hit me, couldn’t bring yourself to shoot someone stronger.”

Oscar shuddered, jealousy – blinding, overpowering jealousy – finally driving him to pull up his weapon and shoot. The shot went wide, but it was enough to send the Turian running again. Gavorn fell, shaking like he had done, but before Oscar could get around to him, Arthorius had found him again. This time, from behind, holding him pinned…and stripping him.

“And you…thinking that you were strong enough to defeat me…how strong do you feel right now, human? How strong do you feel when you are alone? When that something special that you thought you had with your lover is exposed as nothing more than his own submission to anyone, and everything?”

“He didn’t…you’ve done…”

“All I’ve done is shown that I am better than you. Better than him. And now…you’re going to feel how much better I am, all the way down to your bones.”

Oscar shuddered, feeling those thick fingers that he’d grappled with before working down his back. He hadn’t brought armor, relying on his mobility instead, and it was biting him now. He could feel those thick fingers pressing between his ass cheeks as his pants were pushed out of the way, one of them rubbing around his rim.

“You defeated one Turian, didn’t you? Why don’t you try and push me back?”

Oscar squirmed, trying, but everything was so much harder. That heat from the injection, whatever was happening here. He could hardly think. It was like he was being forced to submit, like everything that Arthorius said was ripping his ability to think and reason away.

“You can’t, can you? You never could. You survived by luck, before, and you ‘won’ against the Suns outside, but you didn’t beat me. You never could.”

That finger pushed in, leaving him gasping and shuddering, and he felt his cock throbbing as it started working its way in deeper.

“You were never more than a man living on luck…never more than a time bomb waiting to go off. Your time has come, Oscar. I’ll break you and your little pet into nothing more than a pair of slaves to sell. And then –”

“Shut up!”

BANG!

A bullet rather than a laser came flying through the pipes, and it went through a space just small enough to crack one of Arthorius’s mandibles. The Turian pulled back, his finger sliding out of the human’s ass, and Oscar hit the ground, shaking and trembling.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up! I’m so tired of hearing your stupid voice and your stupid plans and your stupid stupid stupid stupidness!”

Repeated bangs chased the Turian away, snapping some of the pipes in the process. Oscar could hardly move, barely crawling away, and he didn’t fight it as someone came running through, grabbing him and pulling him along. The shrieking voice – Azen, he belatedly realized – kept on shouting, firing again and again without hesitation.

Then they were out of the room, the door slammed behind them, and still running, Gavorn carrying the both of them away.

#

In one of the club rooms in Afterlife, he got the whole story. Arthorius had laid out that room as a back-up of a back-up. He’d used Azen as bait, and flooded the room with pheromones and artificial gasses that would stimulate a sense of submission in Turians and humans to a stronger personality. According to the Salarian, Arthorius had dosed himself with a counter to it before the battle, just in case he’d had to run.

Even though Azen snapping out of his not-think (as the stripper called it) had surprised the mercenary commander, Arthorius had picked that room for both its layout and the fact that it was right under a Blue Suns hangar bay, complete with a few fighters and shuttlecraft to get away on. They wouldn’t see him again, not soon, at least.

Oscar nodded, rubbing his head and trying to come to terms with everything he’d seen, and what had been done to him. The violation, seeing Gavorn shivering like only they’d done before, unable to beat Arthorius without outside help…it hurt. It hurt a lot. And he didn’t know what to do.

Gavorn didn’t either, the Turian as embarrassed and silent as he was as Azen told the story. The pair of them listened until the end, and Oscar asked the one thing that he hadn’t been told.

“What woke you up?”

“That was Gavorn,” Azen said. “He crawled over to me, and said something I couldn’t ignore.”

“What was that?”

Gavorn rubbed the back of his head, clearing his throat.

“It, um, it was ‘You owe Aria money.’”

“…That’d do it.”

They all laughed, though he felt that they all knew that the laughter was only a cover for what they were all feeling. Azen was damaged, having to deal with the fact that he’d been raped nearly to thought-death. Gavorn had been violated, almost broken among the pheromones. And he…

Oscar had almost lost everything, and Arthorius was still out there. That commander wouldn’t let his plans slide. He’d find some way to continue them, some way to bring them to bear again…

[i]Lover…[/i]

And he’d have to deal with that, as well…because he couldn’t deny that there was something in him for Gavorn, now. Much as he tried, that was inescapable.

[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]