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For the first time ever since they met, Larson dropped the cold layer of indifference he always wore, he sounded utterly distressed.
“Arthur Lester, what the fuck have you done?!”
Earlier that evening.
Even upon finally entering the meeting room of the order, Arthur couldn't shake off the feeling of restlessness coursing through him. He needed to find Larson. He needed to kill Larson.
“Noel,” he said frantically, “Stay here while John and I look around, he must be near.”
Noel opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur was already gone.
“Arthur! I think I see him!”
Arthur followed the man through a long hallway with evenly spaced doors on each side. John figured it was some sort of inventory, his hand trembling at the mere thought of what could be behind those doors- would it be here?
“Are you sure it’s him?” Arthur said in a low voice.
“Who?” John's voice sounded confused, “What, him? Arthur…?”
No, no, no, not again. Arthur couldn't deal with this right now. There's only one way to find out. Arthur made some quick math in his head and — in an impressive manner for a blind man — managed to grab the man in front of him, open a door and shove the man in.
Although, he wasn't expecting the door to close itself from outside.
“Wha– you!”
It was Larson's voice, that was enough.
In a rush of adrenaline, his instincts took over. Arthur completely forgot he had a gun as he reached for the first thing his hands could find, some sort of cylindrical object, and went straight to the head — or well, the general direction of the head.
“Arthur, don't–” Larson shouted before instinctively blocking the object with his arm.
Grave mistake. Whatever was in Arthur's hand simply collapsed in an explosion of a weird, fragrant, sickly sweet powder.
The two men coughed.
“I can't believe it!” Larson said with a near manic laughter, “Arthur, what the fuck have you done?!
There were many reasons why Larson wanted the role of grand vizier.
Power? Of course.
Riches? Maybe.
Respect? Yes.
Yes those were all part of it, of course. But another relevant reason was this: the order was in complete decadence.
A sex pollen artifact… For real? The Order of the Fallen Star used to be a serious organization. A group of mighty and wise men joined in a pursuit of knowledge and power from beings beyond mere human comprehension, not this… playground for bored, rich kids only interested in fattening their wallets.
Larson's blood started to rise, his face got warm and his hands started shaking. He wished it was from anger.
While Larson processed his distaste towards the current state of the Order, Arthur and John had a different conversation.
“Arthur, what the hell!” John shouted, "Why did you try to hit him with a flower bouquet?! You had a gun!"
Arthur didn't answer, his throat felt dry, his skin hot, he could feel his face burning, his clothes felt so tight around him; it was uncomfortable and so hot.
"John..." His voice was rough, he felt lightheaded, "What's happening?"
"You cursed us, idiot." It was Larson's voice. "That's a magical artifact" he huffed, "Ever heard of a sex pollen?"
"The fu-"
"What?" Arthur felt a bit more awakened by Larson's words, "...Like an aphrodisiac?"
"Yes. But the people affected can't simply wait for the effects to wear off, it's like a poison, they die if they don't-"
"Of course you would have something like that!" Arthur cut him off, a sharp pain cutting through his stomach and going straight to his dick.
"It's not mine." Larson's answer was dry. “I'm as disgusted as you.” He paused, muttering, “That's what this whole meeting is about…”
Larson sounded… sincere. Arthur felt a slight tinge of sympathy towards him, was it the curse? Didn't matter, it went away quickly.
“Well, guess we're gonna have to do it.” The cynical tone was back, Larson clapped his knees, “So would you rather-”
“I'd rather die.” Said Arthur.
“I was going to ask if you would rather top or bottom, but if that's your choice, I can't force you.”
“No!” It was time for John to interfere. Was it the headache caused by the curse or by the sudden shout? “Arthur, you can't die!”
Arthur felt the heat intensify. Since when was John's voice so hot?!
And it's not like Arthur wanted to die, he just didn't want to fuck Larson. If death is the consequence, you can bring the hearse in.
Arthur was briefly distracted from his suffering by a sudden change in the room's aura.
“I don't want to watch that!” A voice so similar to John's roared.
“Arthur.” John's voice was tense, “The king in Yellow is emerging from Larson.”
Arthur's heart started to beat impossibly faster- from the curse or panic, no one could know. “The King's tentacles are hitting Larson as he tries to defend himself.”
The sounds of the fight rang in the background, unintelligible for Arthur under the excruciating pain he was in, as he groaned and fell to his knees.
“Arthur!” John said, “Arthur, I think this is why… this is why I kept forgetting!”
“John…?” Arthur felt too hot, he couldn't breathe. It hurt so much, he needed release, just find someone, touch someone, anyone, anyone could- no.
“Arthur, are you listening to me?” John's voice brought him back from his frenzy. “If you do it, I think I can overpower it, control it.” Arthur tried to hum in acknowledgement, but a pained moan was all that came out. “And I can't do it if you're dead.”
For John, Arthur thought, for John.
“Where's Larson?” Arthur tried to stand, all he could do was crawl.
“He's on the other side of the room, — to your left, yes — the king has retreated for now, apparently Larson won the fight. He's sitting down, laying against the wall looking at us, trying to hide the pain in his expression. He's failing.”
Arthur tried to sit as straight as possible while looking in Larson's general direction.
“I'll do it,” Arthur said firmly, “But I'll top.”
“Yes, Arthur!”
“Wasn't really planning to, anyway,” Larson said nonchalantly, “It'd be a surprise if you chose otherwise.”
“Is he an invert?” Arthur's mind cleared up just enough for the question to rise in his mind.
“So…” Arthur hesitated, this was awkward, “How does it work?”
“What? You never had sex before, Arthur Lester?”
“Not with another man”
“Is there a difference?” John asked suddenly.
“There's not much of a difference,” Larson answered, unaware of John's question, “Except the place you fuck is different, and of course not self lubricating. There's other possibilities but that's just the basics.”
“You seem to be… quite knowledgeable about this.”
“I'm a hundred plus years old, of course I'm bisexual.”
“Bi…what?”
“It means I fuck men and women, Arthur.” Arthur opened his mouth, agape. “And yes, I take it up my ass, and no, that does not make me less of a man, even my wife would peg me sometimes. Are we finished or do you need more details about my sex life?”
The rational part of Arthur's brain was thinking ‘Too much information’. The horny part could not take the image of Larson being pegged out of his mind — bent over the bed, naked, cheeks flushed, moaning like a cheap whore while being pounded within an inch of his life — thinking ‘Damn that's hot.’ Despite the bad blood.
When Arthur blinked again he could just about feel Larson's heat inches away from his face. He felt a hand cupping his cheeks. John fell silent.
“Open your mouth.”
He didn't know what to expect, but the need was painful enough that he obeyed without thinking.
Two fingers were placed in his mouth, slender and soft, the fingers of a man who clearly never did a single day of manual labor in his entire life. Arthur understood the message and started to suck on Larson's fingers, lubricating it with his own saliva. He zoned out for a minute, it felt… good. He was brought back by the sound of Larson's chuckle.
“Good boy,” He said, patronizing.
Arthur clenched his jaw as hard as possible around Larson's fingers, hard, until he could taste blood in his mouth. Larson let out a shaky breath followed by a low moan. Arthur's jaw dropped in mortification.
“Was that necessary?” He asked.
“No,” answered Larson, “I just wanted to see what you'd do.”
“He's looking at your lips, Arthur.” John finally said, “He looks… hungry”
“I wonder how it tastes.”
Arthur couldn't ask anything before Larson's mouth was on his, sucking the blood off of his tongue in some freakish type of kiss, their bodies close together as Larson undid his belt. Arthur felt the urge to help him, to take his pants and robe and everything else off. He stopped this train of thought, it was the curse. It was the curse.
Instead, he focused on taking his own pants off, freeing his dick from its fabric-made prison.
He felt Larson's cock pressing against his, then something else, a hand- John's hand, dryly stroking their length.
“John-” Arthur tried to cry.
“I'm trying to help.”
Neither of them noticed, but Larson raised a brow and pretended not to hear. Instead he broke the kiss.
“Not now, I know you're eager, Artie, but I’ve got some work to do first.”
John carefully released his hand as he watched Larson get on his knees and bring his slicked, bloody hand towards his ass, Arthur could only hear hissing and wet sounds, John — so helpful — closed his hand around Arthur's dick.
“He’s fingering himself Arthur.” John narrated “His middle finger is already inside him, pumping in and out his pink hole. He's looking at you with half closed eyelids, at your dick actually, as if he's measuring in how much he’ll have to take.” John started to stroke Arthur's dick as he spoke, the image in his head combined with the feeling and the fucking voice sending him on edge. “His face is contorting as he inserts a second finger. It's… it's stretching, Arthur, you'll be able to fit without trouble like this.”
The wet sounds continued as John briefly stopped talking, Larson's moans suddenly growing louder.
“Oh, Arthur,” John said “He's jerking off with his other hand, Arthur! He looks… He's a mess! His face is all red, and I can see tears on his cheeks. I think he's about to-”
“Fuck!” Larson screamed as he came, his dick still hard.
Arthur was next, seeing white as the hot fluid slicked John's hand, the burning feeling in his stomach lessening, but not going away. He listened to Larson's panting as he himself tried to go back to Earth.
In a second, Larson was on top of him.
“Lay down.” He ordered, and what choice did Arthur have but to obey?
Arthur gasped as he felt his oversensitive cock being slowly surrounded by Larson's meat walls. Larson didn't wait before he started moving.
“This-” Arthur panted, “Isn't this- Isn't this going too fast?”
Larson pressed his hand on Arthur's stomach, tilting his head back as he asked, "What? Should I have taken you to dinner first?” and chuckled.
The burning sensation Arthur felt was not from the curse. How could Larson manage to be this fucking annoying in a situation like this?! Embarrassment and hatred flushed his cheeks. Larson kept talking.
“You're bigger than I expected. It's a shame, truly, I could take you as my plaything if you weren't so damn stubborn.”
Arthur could barely comprehend what Larson was saying through the pleasure. Larson was tight and warm, and somehow never lost his rhythm, but it was Larson speaking. Arthur managed to mutter a shaky, “Fuck you.” followed by a deep groan.
“You know,” Larson continued, “Just one or two orgasms won't be enough to end the effects of the curse; but don't worry, handsome,” he blinked, although Arthur couldn't see it, “I'll milk you dry.”
That was enough for Arthur to cum again.
Arthur's mind felt more clear by now, his dick was still hard, and he still felt wrong, but he could think now. He was trying, really trying, to focus on the pleasure, trying to forget he was fucking a man, trying to forget the man he was fucking, but Larson wouldn't. Stop. Talking.
“Do this”, “Do that”, “Move your hips”, “Stay still”, “Open your mouth”, “Close your mouth”, “Harder!”, “Again!” and such other commands. It was really annoying, he didn't need a second — and evil — John ordering him around.
Arthur changed positions abruptly, it was his turn to be on top.
“Deciding to take action?” Larson said tired, but still smug, wrapping his legs around Arthur's waist.
“Do you ever shut up?”
“Well w-” he couldn't finish, Arthur's right hand covered his mouth aggressively as he started thrusting. Nothing like Larson's quick and clean rhythm. No, he was angry, Larson deserved a bit of roughness. Arthur forced himself in hard and deep, his thrusts chaotic like an animal in heat.
Larson — suddenly unable to speak — found himself in the perfect place for revenge. He bit the soft flesh in Arthur's hand. It was his turn to bleed. Larson delighted himself on the warm taste of copper and on the muffled scream Arthur let out. The thrusts got harder as a punishment, but was it really that punishing?
They felt the curse's effects slipping away as they hit their climax one last time, falling on top of each other, but instantly shoving themselves away.
Still weak they put their clothes on, silently agreeing:
‘No one will ever know about this.’
The door opened itself like magic, probably one of the effects of the curse.
They left without words.
Much later that night, somewhere else… uh… maybe Spain?"
I don't think he likes men at all." Said the dark skinned priest.
"Are you sure? He does have an air about him..." The detective answered hesitantly, carefully applying the nail polish on the priest's hand.
"I don't know,” he sighed, “Honestly, have you tried flirting with him? It goes straight through."
The detective looked up.
"Doll, I asked him on a coffee date and asked if he was single, kid didn't even notice."
"See? He's as straight as a ruler, I don't think he'd fuck a man."
"Yeah, I guess so.”