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Upon entering the Imperial STRONGhold owned by none other than the royal clan itself, you could not help but feel the perspiration begin to collect on your upper lip and arms. The outside was a grub’s dream: dark as the space separating Alternia from the nearest moon, gleaming in shades of candy red, fuschia, violet, and indigo, banners of said colors running down and folding over jagged points and fluttering delicately on the other side of thick windowpanes, glittering like rubies in the moonlight.
The inside, of course, could only be grander: once inside, the world became a bright metropolis totally unto itself, servants darting between puddles of light and shallow shadows, highbloods dawned in only the most appropriate of expensive wares, couples dancing gracefully in the patches of moonlight allowed inside, tables and chairs pushed aside for the moment to make room. Kismesises bickered and snapped their jaws in the darker corner of the room, snarling over some sort of game you couldn’t quite make out from where you stood, though they smartly refrained from displaying anything more than black flirtations, thankfully.
At the opposite end of the room, raised on a dark dais, stood an even darker throne, shining black stone taken from the planet Xiar, though sadly empty. The Imperial Emperor must have been mingling with one of the crowds.
You had to wonder at the occasion, or if this was simply everyday life for the ruling clan; their courts always brimming with dances, social parties, and trolls content enough to cull. It was at once a charming, prideful thought, and a worrying one. Perhaps this was why they felt the need to call in more personal guards.
“Found them.” Horuss whispered, tilting his head in a gesture highly familiar to you as a Come hither signal. “They’re this way, I do believe.”
You tapped Nepeta on the wrist and followed behind Horuss, ears straining to catch the sound of Nepeta’s surprised meow and her petite feet padding after you. It worried you for her to be so small and picked for a task so large; while you could not doubt her strength, as she was quite possibly as STRONG as you, you knew she didn’t appear as much, and so was at a significant disadvantage when standing next to persons such as Horuss and yourself. Perhaps you should have stopped by the Serkets and ask they grant Nepeta with their unfailing luck before you came.
But no. That could have very well been a rude message, should you not have been careful. This was probably the better option.
Horuss led you through the bodies of fellow highbloods, though these trolls were all a much higher rank than the Zahhak clan. All you could see anywhere was indigo, violet, fuchsia . . . and candy red. Well, it looked like Horuss had successfully managed to find the Imperials, thank goodness.
Here were the two youngest, at the very least. Heirs to their ancestor’s throne, though which one would live that long was anybody’s guess. Karkat Vantas was a short, mean creature with fiery eyes and a mouth puckered in permanent distaste; Kankri Vantas was a taller, more eloquent version with a penchant for talking too much about matters he knew too little. You were honestly shocked that their ancestor wasn’t staying close to monitor them, but you supposed that was now more your duty than it would be his.
“Ah,” Kankri stated, rich red orbs sweeping over the three of you. There was power in that color, expensive genetics and purity from generations of the clan keeping to itself. You had to suppress a shudder when you felt the gaze of those eyes grace your body, anxiety glands working up into a frenzy against your will. “So you must be the new guards Signless ordered. I don’t have your information with me, but I’m sure my ancestor does. I will show you to him. Gentlemen, ladies, if you will pardon me.”
Kankri, in an act of grace only suiting to his blood caste, stepped back from the group of trolls he had been conversing with earlier and gave a gallant bow that made your heart skip a beat. It was all so very . . . elegant. How majestic he was, even when bowing to others so much lower than him! How refined! So grand, in its natur—
Nepeta jabbed sharpened claws into your ribs, startling you into taking a step forward. Horuss and Kankri had already started forward, and with a sheepish glance back at your moirail, you quickly chased after them, ducking your head at the tittering highbloods.
You had expected the Signless, as the almighty Imperial Emperor, to be out socializing somewhere else in the room, just as his descendants were doing, so you were honestly astonished when Kankri instead directed you towards a narrow side door along one wall, ushering the group of you through it swiftly, as if you were not meant to be seen. The room beyond it was—well, it was a nutrition block, filled with dark, luxurious tools for preparing meals, servants bustling about in a harried way you were rather familiar with, the Signless leaning back against the wall, talking to the Head Sustenance Preparer.
“Signless,” Kankri called by way of greeting, his eyes barely dipping to the floor before meeting his ancestor’s. The blatant disregard of respect made your anxiety glands pump out perspiration all the more, clothes sticking to your body in such a way that you couldn’t help but grimace at the grotesque sight you must have made. “The new guards have arrived.”
“Excellent. Show them in.” the Emperor beamed as the three of you filed further into the room, instinctively lining yourselves up, Horuss first, you in the middle, Nepeta last. “I’m glad to see you have made it safely. Welcome, and thank you all for taking up this job.” Thanking? The Imperial Emperor, carrier of the rarest, most divine blood in all of the thirty-six conquered galaxies? Oh dear, any hope of finishing the day partially dry was quickly snuffed out.
Dumbly, you bowed with Horuss and Nepeta, eyes lingering for seconds on the tiled flooring of the block before you straightened again, straining to feel Nepeta’s presence so that you might calm yourself and avoid any foolish actions. Her scent, a once-disturbing smell of dead creatures and freshly-slaughtered grubs, was there, though faintly. You did your best to focus on it, breathe it in and settle it in your oxygen sack, close as you could to the thundering pump biscuit in your breast.
The Signless was grinning at the lot of you when you glanced up again, Nepeta Nepeta Nepeta, oh gog, Nepeta Nepeta. “No need for any of that. Please, make yourself at hive.”
Make yourself at hive? Unacceptable!
“Unfortunately, I will have to ask the three of you to work tonight, if you do not mind. Worse, I’m going to have to request you work the night without your uniforms or gear, though that should only last for this night. Apologies for the untimely request.” The Emperor grimaced, as though truly regretting such things, and you couldn’t help but mentally point out that this troll practically owned you now, so really, such things were expected. “Miss Leijon, you will be attending to me, if that is alright.”
Nepeta perked up, shoulders squaring up pitifully, and if your bloodpusher skipped a beat, well, she didn’t necessarily have to know that. “Aye, aye, Captain!”
You took it back. There was no way in the void this embarrassing creature had managed to work your pity glands.
The Emperor smiled and turned to look at Horuss and you. “Horuss Zahhak, you will be assigned to Kankri. Equius, you will be given to Karkat. I ask only that you follow them around for the duration of the night. Don’t worry, everyone will be leaving before morning, and you can all follow your charges up to their respiteblocks after—your own block will always be right across the hall from theirs. Any questions?”
He had already told you that you would be working unarmed tonight, which was fine. None of you had any questions, so with that, the Signless clapped his hands together, and your career as a personal guard started.
“I cannot fucking believe that she did that,” Karkat cried, flopping down on to the pile with an angry little frown, body sprawled out so his royal robe opened and spread over him and all the objects under him like a particularly luscious blanket. “What did I tell her we were going to focus on? Peace. Prosperity. Advancement of exploration devices and knowledge. So what the fuck does she do? Challenge the gogdamn Makara clan. Fucking hell, if this keeps up I’m going to kick Meenah straight out of my court and right on her ass.”
“If she is being a problem to you, I think it would probably be for the best, Your Majesty,” you replied thoughtfully, watching him with your hands clasped behind your back.
He sighed. “I’m not really going to kick her out. You know me better than that.”
You didn’t reply, but he wasn’t wrong—you had figured he wouldn’t let Meenah out of his court ever since you witnessed the two become friends. How the fuchsiablood had managed such a thing, you had no Alternian clue, and though you were still weary of the woman, you could not deny that Karkat cared for her as dearly as he did any of his other hooligans.
Karkat lay silently for another moment before reaching a hand back to you, twisting awkwardly so he could manage it. You stared at the extended appendage with not a little confusion, blinking. “Sir?”
“Come into the pile.” He commanded.
“Your Tyranny, I hardly think that is appropriate—”
“Come into the pile, Zahhak, or so help me gog I will drag your sweaty rump in here myself.”
Hesitantly, you shuffled forward and very reluctantly lowered yourself down on the pile next to him, brushing his robe away so you wouldn’t squash it beneath your filthy body. Though you attempted to keep a decent allotment of space between the two of you, Karkat only sighed and rolled his eyes, scooting until he was flush against your front, his head tucking beneath your chin, horns digging into your throat. Goodness, if this had been inappropriate before, you hardly wanted to ponder how much more so it was now.
“Your Highness, I don’t think—”
“Shut the fuck up. I know you like cuddling just as much as I do.”
Well, that might be true, but that was hardly the point. An Imperial Emperor, especially one with such a rare, succulent blood color as the Vantas clan’s, should not in a million sweeps be consorting with a lowly blueblood guard such as yourself. The very idea of touching a Vantas with your dirty, sweaty, lowly hands made you tremble to think about, even with the heat of Karkat searing through your damp clothing, his blood pusher thumping in sync to yours. He felt good there, yes, but at the same time it was simply so wrong you were half-tempted to bolt like a frightened hoofbeast.
Karkat picked at something on your shirt, almost making your grimace. Who knew what sort of grime you had accumulated on your hike through the gardens? He really should be more careful what he touched with his wealthy hands so as not to soil them.
“I’m not sure the Empire would be prepared for a civil war,” he murmured suddenly, and you remembered that, right, you had been talking about the Peixes and Makaras earlier. “Hell, I’m not sure I’m ready for a civil war. Whose side am I supposed to choose? They’re—I’m—” He cut himself off with a growl, clutching the back of your shirt hard enough that you heard a distinct ripping noise you ignored for the time being.
Settling your hands on his elbow and the other on the hand still between your bodies, looked him in the ocular orbs when he glanced up at your face, tried not to let the fragile pieces of you show, even as they floated precariously close to the surface of you. “We can always begin taking measures to stop such a war before it starts.”
Karkat snorted. “And how do you expect we do that?”
A thoughtful pause. “Tell them we won’t aid either of them should they start such a war. If the Empire doesn’t support it, they will not be able to find the soldiers or the resources to carry on for very long.”
“I think you forgot about their fuckton of money, Zahhak.”
You shook your head and released his appendages, but he seemed content to stay like he was. “I’m not sure that would matter, Your Majesty. All the food supplies and soldiers throughout the Empire are government-owned and strictly regulated, Sir. If you did not allow them, they would not be able to collect enough resources to launch anything more than a single battle.” Though that would mostly depend on the size of said battle, but you had a feeling the Peixes and Makaras wouldn’t settle for anything less than the biggest show they could possibly throw.
The gleeful grin you received made your pump biscuit skip a beat, shining crimson eyes crinkling happily at the corners. Karkat bolted upright like he couldn’t bear to stay still any longer, the excitement obvious in his body. It made him look sweeps younger than he actually was, though to be perfectly honest, you liked seeing him like this. “Hell yes! This is why I am officially appointing you as advisor to the Emperor, Zahhak. Thank me later at your leisure.”
You had already paled and started to protest—a blueblood as an advisor? And further, a personal guard as one? Was he mad? Perhaps he really had been hanging out with lowbloods too often, as Horuss had mentioned earlier tonight—but Karkat was already clawing his way out of the pile and sliding barefoot across the stone floor of his respiteblock, crashing into a table cluttered with papers and ink.
“Your Highness—” you gasped, sitting up quickly.
“I’m fine, perfectly fucking peachy,” he interrupted with a dismissive wave, shuffling through a sheaf of papers. “Damn, there’s a lot of shit here. I need to start dedicating nights to reading through the mail.”
Still concerned, you crawled out of the pile and stood, walking over to him to examine him despite his attempts at shrugging you off. You frowned at the red (gog, such an excellent color) mark across his stomach from hitting the edge of the table, but dubbed him healthy enough and stepped back as he went back to whatever he was doing, a little guilty to have kept him from it.
“Y-Your Tyranny, this isn’t—”
“Fuck, it’s Karkat. Karkat. K-A-R-T-K-A-T. It isn’t that fucking hard, Equius.”
You swallowed, aware that you were heavily perspiring but unsure what to do about it with the Emperor above you, laying on top of you. His mouth was smooth and warm against your protein chute, lips moving with his words, breathing puffing against your pulse point. You were ashamed to find yourself unbearably aroused, even with the full knowledge of how lewd this was, how completely wrong and filthy and many other negative words you could not think of because Karkat had worked his way up your meal tunnel and was now nibbling on the sharp corner of your jaw.
Stop him, the still logical part of your thinkpan crowed, do you understand the consequences of being caught like this? You could ruin the Emperor’s reputation, taint his name! Your dirty, filthy lower-classed blood would only soil his pure, noble status.
“Your Majesty, please—”
“Gogdamn, Zahhak. I’m not going to answer you anymore unless you call me by my damn name!”
“K-Kar-kat—” Oh dear, this was much too intimate.
His mouth skimmed your skin, a cloud of fire over a gray sky, and you couldn’t hold back the shiver that wracked your body this time. It was slightly humiliating, especially when you felt him smile into your face bone, pressing a soft kiss there as he moved closer and closer to your lips. You gasped in a breath when he paused at the corner of your mouth, surprised by the feeling of another’s touch, even though you knew it was coming. Karkat pulled back, looking at you with a considering, serious look in his eyes—red, powerful eyes, the eyes of wealth, class, and dignity—and all you found you could do was stare back helplessly. He put his thumb to your chin, tilted your head over so slightly, and then leaned forward to kiss you sweetly on the mouth.
Inappropriate! Indecent! You are soiling the crown!
Shuddering, you kissed him back, grabbing the back of his royal robe in a grip sure to wrinkle it, but you couldn’t care less at that moment. You clutched him to you like a lifeline, but to your credit, you did let up at his noise of discomfort, embarrassed and horrified that you might have literally crushed him in your grip.
You went to pull back, bashful, but he followed you with a warning snarl, a hand coming to fist in the front of your sweat-soaked tunic. He kept you against him, and you curled your hands into fists at your side, sweat collecting in the creases of your fingers, sliding down your face, soaking through your clothes. It must have been fairly disgusting, but either Karkat didn’t notice or he ignored it, mouth moving against yours, taking what he wanted, what you freely gave. You opened your mouth to him when you felt his tongue prod challengingly at your lips, poked yours to it and felt both repulsed and ridiculously aroused at the slick slide of lips and tongues and teeth.
Karkat finally pulled back, and when he did you felt cold and dazed (not to mention quite a bit wetter than you had been seconds ago), your charge panting above you. His eyes flickered up and down your sprawled body, smirking handsome and smug. “I think you might want to take your pants off, Equius, unless you plan to ruin them.”
You glanced down, puzzled, and felt immediately much warmer in the face when you found the front of your trousers damp, a dark spot spreading through the crotch. “Oh. Oh my. Perhaps we should stop these festivities before I, um. What . . . what is that?”
He raised an eyebrow at you, an empty pail in one hand. “Drone season is coming up, and you’re supposed to be my matesprit. I’m just following the rules, Zahhak.”
That—you were—but—
“Don’t break your pan thinking about it. I need you to be able to operate if we’re going to fill the bucket.”
“Your—I mean, K-Karkat, this is hardly appropriate behavior of a guard and his charge, not to mention our caste differences—”
He shuddered, eyes fever-bright in the dimness of the block. “You think I care about that? We’ve been over this, Zahhak. I don’t care about your blood color. Shit, half the time I don’t care that I’m the Emperor. If anything, I find the differences in our blood—” Abruptly, he cut himself off and started shrugging off his robe, face and ears turning a beautiful, burning red.
Watching him begin to peel off his clothes distracted you from your curiosity, eyeing him hungrily as he began to bare his flesh to you. Karkat was thin, but lean from the constant challenges he received for the throne, scars you could not prevent lining his chest, arms, and assuredly his back. A part of you wanted to touch them, to run prongs over the raised tissue and compare them to yours, and he must have caught you looking because with a put-upon sigh, Karkat grabbed your hand and pressed it to his naked chest.
When you were still a youth, there were theories in your educational facility that the higher the blood caste, the colder the troll body. You remembered comparing Nepeta’s temperature to your matesprit/kismesis at the time, a rustblood girl named Aradia, and feeling the difference in heat so squarely that you were certain the theories were true. However, touching Karkat, you had to wonder. Karkat was much hotter than any other you had ever touched, his heat radiating as intensely as the Alternian sun, much hotter, you were sure, than you were.
The scars felt much the same as yours, but you were hungry for contact, greedy for the chance to spread hands and mouth and skin over his, so you let your appendages roam as they pleased, glancing up shyly to find Karkat much redder, orblids half-open and a look of raw, open lust glittering in their red depths.
You don’t remember taking off your clothes, don’t recall anyone moving to remove the rest of Karkat’s, but somehow the two of you wound up naked, and he was so beautiful, so rich even without the adorning gold jewelry or the fine satin robes or the ebony chain mail. Even completely bare, you could feel and taste and see the nobility of his birth, the rare genetics that shaped his bones and carved his frame.
“Fuck, Equius—” he gasped, and he sounded like a song, so delicious to hear that you wanted more of his voice, more of him talking and making those noises.
When he climaxed, shortly before you did, you had to stand and hold both of your bodies over the pail and almost missed. He slumped against you then, arms limp around your protein chute and head falling on to your shoulder, exhausted gasps fanning over your sweat-sticky skin. You carefully, awkwardly kicked the bucket away and lowered the two of you back on to the pile, cautious not to hurt or jostle Karkat too much. As soon as the two of you were lying down again, the young Emperor cuddled closer, muttering something unintelligible and low into your skin, nonsensical in his post-orgasmic daze.
You held him close for the rest of the day, all the way until evening.