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Lheor looked Ezekyle Abaddon up and down and whistled. The Warmaster wore only his loincloth, bare sword in hand, scars and tattoos on full display. "What's this for?"
"I never spent much time in the fighting cages, but I heard plenty of stories." Abaddon grinned. "I thought we might fight in the manner of the XII."
"And here I am completely overdressed." Lheor looked down at his own worn black armor. "Give me a few hours."
"I'll be here," Abaddon said. He turned to his Justaerin guard, half of which had joined him in near-nudity. "Falkus?"
"Ezekyle," Falkus acknowledged, and joined his High Chieftain in the ring.
By the time Lheor got his armor off and returned, Abaddon was fighting Kureval, the rest of the Justaerin in a ring around them. Lheor himself was keyed up and ready to fight, tiny daemons of aggression manifesting around him from the long wait to be unarmored. He twitched as he waited his turn, cheering on both Abaddon and Kureval with the others.
Abaddon's sword struck through Kureval's guard at last, drawing a long stripe of blood across the gang tattoos on his chest. "First blood," Kureval said, and yielded, retreating back into the playful shoves and slaps of his brothers.
"Lheorvine," Abaddon beckoned him into the ring. "You finally join us."
"Finally," Lheor said, and grinned a toothy grin as he stepped into the ring with Ezekyle, his axe held dormant in his hand. "Ready for me?"
"Always," said Abaddon, and they were at it, blow for blow, axe against sword, spinning around each other in the midst of the cheering Justaerin.
"Why the interest in World Eater customs, Ezekyle?" Lheor asked, as he aimed a blow at Abaddon's chest.
Abaddon grinned as he parried. "The fighting pits were a potent source of brotherhood, were they not?"
Lheor shrugged. "Brotherhood. Violence. Some of each." He twisted away from Abaddon's sword and aimed low. "Do you want to be chained together next?"
Abaddon caught Lheor's axe on his sword and held. "Maybe. Would you be my chain-brother?"
Lheor disengaged, twisted and aimed for Abaddon's left shoulder. He laughed. "You're too tall."
"A pity." Abaddon dodged out of the way and swung at Lheor's right side. "Perhaps I just wanted to get you naked."
Lheor barked a sudden, startled laugh, and nearly let Abaddon through his guard. "And why would you want that? I'm no beauty."
"Even in the XII, you did more than just fighting with your brothers." Abaddon gave Lheor's loincloth a meaningful glance as he pressed the advantage, pushing Lheor backward towards the ring of cheering Justaerin.
"...Not like the XVI." Lheor pressed back, aiming a flurry of blows at Abaddon, gaining a foot or so of space.
"We're in a new Legion now," Abaddon said, nearly purred, as he caught Lheor's axe on his sword. "We do whatever we want."
Lheor snorted as he strained against Abaddon. "You're trying to distract me, Ezekyle."
Abaddon twisted his sword, forcing Lheor's axe aside and out of his grip. Abaddon's sword slashed over Lheor's hip, drawing a few drops of blood and slicing through Lheor's loincloth. "It's working."
Lheor groaned. "You got me." He threw his loincloth the rest of the way off, baring his erect cock. "You gonna do something about this, or not?"
Abaddon licked his lips. "Definitely." He handed his sword to the nearest Justaerin and threw himself on Lheor, wrestling him to the ground, cock against cock.
Lheor cursed in Nagrakali and wrapped his arms around Abaddon, grabbing his loincloth and tearing it off. "Fuck, Ezekyle."
"Yes." Ezekyle said, and caught his mouth in a rough kiss, carved teeth battling with teeth of reinforced bronze, tearing open fast-clotting wounds in lips and tongues.
Lheor clawed at Abaddon's back with both hands. "You're still too tall, curse you." With their mouths together, his cock rubbed at Abaddon's belly, his knee pressing against Abaddon's cock. Small daemons flickered into being and licked at their flesh, tasting their pleasure and aggression.
Abaddon laughed. "I'll try to be," he ground close and bit at Lheor's lips some more, "Shorter next time."
"Gonna cut you off at the knee," Lheor grumbled. He gave Abaddon one last biting kiss and then climbed down him, nipping at his shoulder and chest, grunting in satisfaction as he finally pressed their cocks together again. "Yes, like that."
"Yes," Abaddon agreed. He grabbed Lheor's ass with both hands and matched him grind for grind. "Yes, that's good."
Lheor bit Abaddon's nipple. "Shorter," he said, and with a sound that was part laugh, part moan, part grunt of pain, he came against Abaddon's cock.
The Justaerin cheered.
Abaddon laughed as Lheor groaned. He gave Abaddon's nipple a rough lick. "Your turn," Lheor said, and started grinding again, their cocks now slick with his come.
Abaddon grinned. "You're a good brother," he said, and ground against Lheor for a minute more until he, too, came with a happy sigh.
The Justaerin cheered.
"You, too, Ezekyle." Lheor pushed his head out from under Abaddon's chest. "Who else wants a turn?"