Lucius hasn't been waiting long. He's knelt here for close to an hour, bare and shivering with anticipation upon his very own red carpet. The fluffy little square holds an intricate pattern he's seen only in dreams, when Solus zos Galvus visits him and spins tales of a world beyond the edge of memory. It is here, spread over the Ascian's personal sigil, that Lucius meditates upon his aetherial flow as he has been instructed. The soldier in him knows how to wait, but the Resonant won't stop thinking. The mortal man quivers from time to time wondering why its body is naked. All part of the process, Solus had said. To be broken and made anew.
Lucius doesn't want to be broken. Fear races down his spine and back up again to claw at his mind for what Solus might do to him if he fails. He's supposed to try his hand at Creation today, after some sort of aetherial imbuing courtesy of the ever-resourceful Ascian. He's centered himself in preparation for it, and now the Emperor need only appear before him as he has done so many times before and grant Lucius his blessing. Or whatever the Ascian equivalent is.
When Solus arrives, it is not through the chain-locked door but instead materialising from thin air with his arms spread, cold, dark energies dripping from his toned form. He wears not his usual robes but a glistening black suit, its weave cloying and smooth and completely imperceptible as anything but a second skin. Lucius's eyes fix upon the bounce of Solus's cock before his face, trapped as it is in a nice, tight bulge. So he won't be fucking anything today - that's evident enough in the way he holds himself, perfectly poised, without a single seam anywhere on the outfit to suggest he might undress. It's almost... sacred, the reverence with which Solus quietly draws runes into the air with one long, metallic claw and intones soft words in a language that speaks to the soul. It is a lone key then an organ chord, four hands harmonising into a glorious whole that lifts Lucius into a trance. His mind soars with infinite possibilities and he's only vaguely aware of Solus's presence within, scanning the vast seas of his aether to measure their strength.
"Good." Solus lowers his arms, fingers clicking against each other as they come together into a pinch. "At ease."
Lucius's broad shoulders slump, his head bowed respectfully. Something cold and sharp taps against the underside of his chin and tilts his head up, forcing his eyes meet the holes of Solus's crimson mask. Lucius's lips shape a breath of adoration and nothing more.
"I told you, it's Emet-Selch. Ascian." Solus doesn't want to be reminded of his falsely constructed persona while he's here, hearkening to the Amaurotine spirit of creation that thrums within his breast at the merest sense of Lucius's aethers. The man is primed for his purpose, and Emet-Selch cannot deny him when Lucius pleads so prettily with his lips and eyes and hands and- why, it's the very core of his being, crying out to be rejoined! "Sit still. You're making a mess." He presses one foot right between his student's thick, spread thighs, drawing his boot away with a sheen of slick upon it. "Tch. You're dripping already? I thought I taught you better than this."
Lucius whines, wriggling to try and close his legs and forgetting at once the bar keeping him open. He's been still for so long. The straps dig into his flesh and prod just firmly enough to remind him not to try that again. He squirms, gazing up at Solus. Emet-Selch, now. His teacher, his guardian, his God. "S...Sir."
Emet-Selch nods. "I see you've obeyed my instructions. Aethers running smoothly, no strenuous attempts outside my supervision... very good. How are you feeling?"
Lucius swallows, the metal ruler tip tracing it down his throat and all the way to his breast, tapping over his heart. "Ready," he intones in a voice not quite Amaurotine but it's enough to fill Emet-Selch with fierce, hot longing. "For you."
"Have you eaten?"
Lucius shakes his head, struggling to keep his breathing even when the ruler glides along buttery soft flesh and pokes him in the stomach. Emet-Selch smirks, dark lips curled up at the corners.
"Good. I have a treat for you." He takes a step back and eyes Lucius's hands, balled into fists where he's commanded them atop spread knees. "I've been collecting this all day, so you'd best appreciate it. Open."
Lucius obeys. He sticks his tongue out expectantly and shuts his eyes, just how his teacher likes it. He does not need to see, after all. Feeling is the Ascian way. And he feels very well the wave of relief rolling from Emet-Selch's fine form all hot and sticky as he peels away the crotch of his suit. He strokes himself to hardness with little effort, skilfully manipulating the long, slender shaft of his well-worn flesh prison. Lucius dare not peep, lest his eagerly awaited prize be whisked away. Emet-Selch always makes sure to treat him, and Lucius has come to expect it. It's how the Ascian first wooed him into compliance, after all. That, and a bit of secondhand tempering.
"Receive of me this essence, and be cleansed." Emet-Selch aims it everywhere but Lucius's mouth, showering him in hot, aether-rich piss from head to toe. Soft blonde hair grows heavy and sodden, sticking to Lucius's face and neck which twitch under the stream's force. Emet-Selch sighs with relief as he paints his student's chest, stomach and thighs in white gold, tiny motes of dark energy rising into the air. It seeps into the carpet and the sigil glows softly, soaking up the latent power of its creator's body returned to it once more. Lucius arches his back and presents himself with chest out and jaw agape, but Emet-Selch pays little heed to the wishes of his disciple and feeds him not one drop. When he finishes, he wipes himself on Lucius's cheeks and withdraws before those succulent lips can capture him for good.
"Ah-ah, don't be greedy." Emet-Selch doesn't yet tuck himself away, merely continuing to stroke. Lucius lowers his head just enough to stare, his own core pulsing with wanton need. "I told you to control yourself. You're going to ruin the carpet." The Ascian sighs, lifting a languid hand into the air with a conjured annoyance plain on his face. His finger-snap plugs both of Lucius's holes at once with something thick and sinuous, wriggling to keep place within the hot, tight depths. A moment later and they're reinforced with practical leather straps, tracing plush hips and slick thighs in an endless pattern of crosses. Lucius squeaks, chewing his lower lip and rocking his hips back and forth.
"Be still, boy, we've hardly gotten started!" Emet-Selch slaps the side of Lucius's stomach with the ruler and receives a high-pitched yelp in reply. "To be honest, I don't quite know if you're going to be able to take this."
"I can, oh, I can...!" Lucius begs, sticking his tongue out as far as it will go. "Nghheeeh!" He doesn't look half as defiled as Emet-Selch would like, still with his pretty lashes fluttering and bright pink nipples swaying with each deep breath. Lucius has quite a bit of aether stored there, and Emet-Selch vows to fill him until every ilm of him is dripping and fit to burst. With another snap of the fingers, two golden clasps fix themselves to those pert nips and the sound Lucius makes is utterly blasphemous. The plugs within him thicken to adjust to his increasingly loosening body, and he tries to fuck himself on them to no avail. They move with him, strapped as they are, and his constrained thighs ache with the effort. Emet-Selch watches impassively, unceasing in the ritualistic stroke of his cock in hand.
"I want you to listen very carefully." he begins, and Lucius's lust-blown eyes fix upon him with blinding intensity. "I'm going to fill you with more aether than you can take, and I expect you to keep it down. That fat belly of yours best hold it all, or I shall be terribly disappointed." He tosses the ruler aside and it disintegrates into nothingness, leaving Lucius waiting for the impact that never comes. "By the time I'm done, your very essence will be moulded in my seed. You won't be able to breathe." Lucius's eager nodding slows as his neck begins to prickle uncertainly. "It is this that will elevate you to your new-old consciousness, that which once was, and is meant to be. Do not be afraid," Emet-Selch speaks a name that Lucius identifies with but does not know. "I will keep you safe."
Lucius shuts his eyes as the Ascian’s cock brushes his lips, nudging them open and enticing him to suck. This, he knows well – after all the practice he’s been doing with Varis, who first requisitioned him from the Resonatorium for a hardy, empathetic consort. And here he kneels on a soaked carpet square while a man in latex fucks his mouth raw.
Well. Never let it be said he was left wanting.
He holds his breath and begins to suck, jolting abruptly when the straps around his thighs squeeze tighter and double their restraints. His wrists clamp straight to the bar and he jerks them to no avail, eyes opening to the sight of Emet-Selch glaring down at him.
“It’ll be a tad difficult to mould you in my image if you keep squirming. Last warning, boy. Stay still.” And he shoves himself in balls deep, unleashing a great and terrible flow of white-hot aether down Lucius’s throat. Lucius gags, swallowing for dear life as he’d not expected it so soon, he hasn’t even had time to play with his food, and Emet-Selch just keeps coming like it’s the Flood of Light all over again. Well – Darkness, in this case, but it’s white, and it’s thick, sticky – so thick that Lucius instinctively chews and Solus bends to grab him by the jaw.
“Mnnghaah!” Lucius gasps for air and coughs, the unceasing torrent filling his cheeks and nearly lungs before he holds what scant breath he’s stolen once more.
“Don’t fucking bite me.” Emet-Selch growls, “Take it.” His thighs quiver ever so slightly, a bestial ruggedness to his normally suave voice as his climax nears the half-minute mark. “You can take it. Focusssss…”
Lucius has taken a Galvus before – many times, in fact, but this is far more than he ever thought possible. As he gulps down the thick, hot cum, it pools in his rapidly growing stomach thankfully blessed by a bit of genetically altered skin elasticity. As he swells fuller and fatter, rich aethers strengthening his body inside and out, jagged white marks begin to form across his skin. They glow brightly, pulsing in time with his racing heartbeat which damn near stops as Emet-Selch pulls out and continues to spray thick ropes of seed all over his face. Lucius breathes through his nose until he cannot, painted and dripping like a melting ice sculpture. He ducks his head and draws in a ragged breath, coughing it out with a bit of cum that didn’t quite go down.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Emet-Selch yanks him by the hair and hastily fucks Lucius’s open mouth, milking his nuts for all they can give despite having reached the constraints of the vessel’s body. Lucius’s stomach resembles a heavy sack of milk, bloated with cum that’s already metabolizing so he can take more. Already, it’s changing his aetherial makeup, sinking into skin that’s been primed to take to whatever the Ascian has to give. His capacity is by no means infinite, however, and when he begins to struggle desperately, Emet-Selch pulls out and finishes the rest of his spillage all over his student’s sweat-slick body. Lucius, glued where he kneels, can’t even open his eyes for all the cum coating his face. He feels the weight of his belly dragging him down, fierce heat churning within and spread thighs barely able to hold their position much longer.
“Keep it down,” Emet-Selch warns, “Let it absorb.” Tucking himself away (and quite frankly a little sore), he walks in a circle around Lucius with one hand outstretched. “Yes… they’re holding nicely. Breathe.”
“Ghk!” Lucius swipes his tongue out to clear his mouth and sucks in a huge breath, releasing it in a pitiful cry. “Aahnn…!” It hurts.
“I know, dear. I know. Keep holding. You’re doing well.” Emet-Selch eyes the swollen orb of Lucius’s stomach, how it resembles one bred so thoroughly it almost hardens him anew. “Breathe.”
Lucius, mouth agape and half-drowned in cum, resists the urge to cough up all he’s taken. “Nghhaahh…” The plugs inside him dissolve at Emet-Selch’s bidding, leaving a bit more room for his organs to arrange themselves. He’s still dripping wet and aching to be touched, but Emet-Selch doesn’t want him nutting out his freshly augmented aethers so soon. His back aches from holding this upright position for so long, and he can’t even feel his lower legs. Come to think of it, he can’t feel much other than raw desire and the heat in his gut, and a cloying stickiness coating his cheeks, his throat. His entire world has narrowed to Emet-Selch’s essence, as it covers his third eye and he can’t perceive anything but that. Thick, sticky cum and a thousand thousand years of latent energy granted unto him. Soon, he will begin to turn. And until then, Emet-Selch watches him. His guardian. His lover. His God.