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Sundrop	By : HAfterB001 Category: +S through Z > Starcraft Views: 2885 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't Starcraft or anything related to it, nor do I own the characters, and I'm not getting paid for this story!

Chapter List
- 1-Sundrop
- 1
This StarCraft fan fiction will probably confuse anyone who hasn’t read the novel Shadow Hunters by Christie Golden. It’s actually the second in a trilogy of novels set in the StarCraft universe, and some of the best I’ve come across yet! The third one is due out in a few months at the time of this writing. I highly recommend any interested fan go and check it out.
Like I said, I don’t own anything in this fanfic, and I don’t make money from it. May neither Blizzard nor Christie Golden ever stumble upon this.
　

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“They wanted to kill you.” A pause. “I wanted to kill you.”
The angry Templar stared back, his proud, phosphorescent eyes betraying more than a hint of sadness at those words.
“I am still unsure,” Alzadar’s voice was flat and calm, so calm, as he mused over the fate of his former friend and comrade as dispassionately as if he were regarding a insect squirming between his long, clawed fingers, “if keeping you alive will be worth it.”
Ladranix was in pain. He had been stripped of his battered armor, but only after he’d been ambushed defending a small group of refugees hurrying towards the city from a band of rogue Zerg, only after a short but exhausting battle with the Protoss standing before him, only after he had fallen, weakened from the day’s hardships, under the skillful assault delivered from the hand of a former Templar.
And now he woke, disoriented, painfully restrained against something cool and irregularly shaped, staring into varying shades of darkness and the composed form of Alzadar, who was currently considering killing him.
He didn’t know if the ambush had been part of a larger assault. He didn’t know if it had been planned or if it was the result of good fortune on the part of the Tal’Darim. That not-knowing was far worse than the sting of his wounds or the ache of his restraints. His people could have been captured and dragged here, or just killed before he woke. The Protoss he’d fought so hard to protect in the last of Aiur’s surviving jungles could have been slaughtered by these unpredictable, radical rebels.
Ladranix tested his bonds for what had to be the eighth time. They had been designed to hold a Protoss, designed to hold him, a Templar, a warrior. His captor and Ladranix had been close once. That knowledge now served Alzadar well.
“Alzadar.” Ladranix lifted his chin, disturbed by the lack of emotion his former friend’s mental “voice” held. He was forced instead to search the other’s expressions for his feelings, and Alzadar’s eyes were just as blank as his mind. “You--what have you done?”
“I have brought you here,” the other Protoss replied. He raised his arm to gesture to the grand darkness around him, the movement sending a ripple through his heavy robes. “I should have left you. The Zerg would have made good use of such an offering.”
Ladranix jerked in almost physical pain at the insult. It was hard to tell without the Khala intertwining their thoughts, but he sensed Alzadar relent slightly when he observed his prisoner's reaction. He had already added quite enough insult to injury.
“But I didn’t.” Alzadar's glowing eyes narrowed. “No, Felanis has much grander plans for you. For weeks now the Shel’na Khryas have been coming to us of their own accord. Our numbers have grown impressively. Still, the Xava’tor is not satisfied, or so Felanis tells us.” The Protoss's eyes narrowed further.
Ladranix did his best to take in every detail he could about his surroundings, but the only light in the room game from the gentle glow cast by the two Protoss’s eyes. The darkness around them was not absolute, which hinted at some manner of indirect, ambient light, possibly far away, but it was too scattered for Ladranix to pinpoint the source.
He was underground, he knew. He could tell roughly how high the ceiling was and how wide the portions of the room he could see were. It was not a large chamber. The walls, ceiling, and floor all melted smoothly into one another in gentle curves, as if the chamber had been scooped out of the earth and then gently polished to the texture of a wind-rippled pond.
Under better circumstances, such an environment would be calming and beautiful. Alzadar’s eyes suddenly slitted in mirth as he picked up on the stray thought from his captive. Ladranix was appalled at the gesture without the accompanying flow of emotion from his former friend. “What have they done to you?”
Alzadar’s expression became firm again.
“How have you come to this, Alzadar?” Ladranix should have been trying to gather tactical information. He should have been trying to find out more about his situation, more about what had happened to his people, more about what the Tal’Darim were planning, but the hurt caused by his former friend’s abandonment and callous mockery took momentary priority. “You were a Templar. You were a proud defender of our people. I stood by you in countless battles, and we owe each other our lives more times over than I can fathom.” Ladranix’s brow furrowed as he struggled with the thought. “How…”
Ladranix could not feel it, but Alzadar’s unruffled calm was perturbed by the trussed Protoss’s thoughts. Ladranix didn’t curse him. He didn’t try to outwit him into revealing incriminating data. He didn’t seem like a proud, uncompromising leader now, scornfully stripped of his armaments. He had not turned on Alzadar like a wild, vicious beast. For all that had been taken from him at this moment, he seemed to hold the loss of Alzadar’s friendship as the most painful.
The Protoss would be lying if he claimed such devotion didn’t move him.
“It does not matter,” he replied sharply, annoyed perhaps both with Ladranix and himself. “You are a blind fool, Ladranix, and now…” His expression softened somewhat, his thoughts lost some of their icy edge, perhaps inspired by the unusual vulnerability the fallen warrior before him had displayed. “Now I will help you to see.”
Alzadar reached for the pack he carried with him at all times, which had hitherto been concealed beneath his elegant, flowing robes.
Ladranix went as rigid now as his bonds would allow.
“Felanis thinks that if you were to become one of us, the other Shel’na Khryas would follow. I am uncertain of how effective such a plan could truly be.” Alzadar glanced up as he opened his knapsack and retrieved the small container within. “The Xava’tor apparently wants immediate results. This will either work, or it will not. Regardless, we will still have you here, where you can do no harm.”
The Protoss set the knapsack aside, gently manipulating the top off the small pot he held. It was a very simple little creation, and yet it, too, was as beautiful as anything ever crafted by Protoss hands. Alzadar thought it was oddly appropriate that the container holding this gift was as elegant as the sensations it provoked.
“In a moment I will envy you, Ladranix. The Sundrop does not effect me as strongly as it once did.” He knelt before the other Protoss to look him in the eye.
Ladranix tested his bonds again, knowing even as he strained against them that the movement was futile. He could move neither his arms nor his legs, and was only capable of arching his back away from the painful protuberances of the uneven surface he was trussed to. “Alzadar, please, listen to me. I appeal to your sense of reason. How could this Xava’tor truly be your benefactor if it demands that comrades attack one another in the forests?”
“That,” Alzadar replied dryly, “was my own doing. Felanis simply ordered you brought here. He did not specify how.”
Ladranix sank against the wall, numbed to the discomfort in his spine from the blow to his heart.
“I, in fact, specifically requested to be the one to bring you into our stronghold. I garner enough respect among the Tal’Darim to ensure that no others would interfere. Ladranix,” He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing in a Protoss smile, “do you realize that I could kill you now, and no ill would come of it?”
Ladranix said nothing. He lowered his eyes from the face of his old friend and stared blankly into middle space. He was numbed by the transformation his once-trusted comrade had undergone. If there was no hope for Alzadar, then there was no hope for him, no hope for any of the Shel’na Khryas. Maybe there wasn’t even hope for the Protoss who had left Aiur…
“No ill save for your death, of course,” Alzadar added, almost as an afterthought. Still Ladranix made no further reply. Alzadar regarded him for a moment, and was startled to feel a twinge of guilt at the hopelessness he could see settling in the Templar’s eyes. Annoyed at his own reaction (why should he feel guilty if he was not at fault here?), he shook his head and added, “I will not, of course. You are too valuable to be killed.”
Still Ladranix stared ahead. He had allowed himself to fall back against the wall, limp and unresponsive. It would seem that the endless days of hardship, culminating in a vicious assault by first the Zerg and then someone he’d once held in high, beloved regard, were draining the proud Ladranix of his will to fight.
Alzadar suddenly realized that was not what he wanted. He’d wanted Ladranix to repent, of course, for his blind foolishness, or maybe perish because of it, but to die slowly from the inside like this was… wrong. If Ladranix could not be changed, he would be killed, but at least he would be given an honorable death. For a moment the two remained in silence. Alzadar broke it by speaking softly, “Ladranix. You are wounded more than you know. In… in some respects, the way you cling to hope is admirable even as it is foolish.”
Ladranix blinked, but otherwise did not respond.
The Tal’Darim pressed on, “It is only natural, I suppose, to try and ignore the pain caused by this great abandonment. This… second great abandonment.” Even his emotionally barren thoughts twisted in agony at the recollection of the first. “But even you cannot deny that things must change now. Your mindset, your way of thinking, lost us Aiur. If we are to survive, we must change. The Xava’tor is here to help with that change. Can’t you see?”
His prisoner looked up now, but did not reply. His mind and his eyes were a blank slate of wearied resignation. Ladranix had seen and endured too much. Alzadar felt the twinge of guilt blossom into sympathy at the pathetic figure before him. Felanis had been right. This way was better. “You are hurt, Ladranix,” he said softly, dipping his fingers into the pot of Sundrop, “I will take away your pain.”
As Alzadar leaned forward, Ladranix seemed to suddenly burst back into life, his despair dissipating under the heat of what he perceived to be a very real threat. “Alzadar--no--” his eyes narrowed in impotent anger at this new betrayal.
Alzadar ignored him, setting aside the pot and then forcing the Protoss’s chin up with one hand. The other, its fingers liberally coated with Sundrop, was brought up to the Templar’s throat. Ladranix struggled briefly, too tightly bound to offer much in the way of resistance. Ladranix’s mind raged in hurt and anger and misery as Alzadar smeared on what the restrained Protoss thought was some topically-applied poison.
The sudden numb shock in Ladranix’s eyes and mind when the Sundrop began to take effect was so amusing that Alzadar spared a laugh. Protoss were large, and Ladranix was an impressive specimen. The initial dose had done little more to stun and bewilder him, but it kept him still while the Tal’Darim scooped up more of the thick ointment. “This is a gift, Ladranix.”
He once again lifted Ladranix’s chin, but he didn’t have to force the other Protoss to raise his face this time. This time Alzadar applied the Sundrop with his entire hand, completely covering the gentle contours of the other's smooth neck.
Ladranix felt his skin tingling where Alzadar had applied the strange ointment, followed immediately by a rush of honeyed warmth. He felt it settle into his limbs, weighing them down and drawing a golden veil of tranquility over his mind. The Templar blinked, his eyes unfocused and half-hooded, feeling suddenly very tired and complacent and not realizing how it had happened. “Alzadar, I don’t--” It hit then. Ladranix’s eyes shot wide open again, blazing with the intensity of the sensations ripping through his body. It felt good. It felt… incredible. Ladranix relaxed even further. His muscles went as weak as if his entire body had turned to liquid.
He was dimly aware of Alzadar’s hand at his neck again, and then another wave hit him and he closed his eyes, indulging in a mental sigh of contentment as peace and pleasure twined securely around his brain. It was hard to believe that he’d only moments before felt so lost, so angry and helpless and betrayed.
“I’m not hurting you now.” Alzadar murmured, “Now, when I could, when you are most vulnerable. No. Do you see what I give you instead? This is the will of the Xava‘tor.”
Ladranix tried to focus on the face of his former friend in the gloom, but he seemed to have an absurd amount of difficulty keeping his head steady. Alzadar found this apparently hilarious and laughed as he reached up, gently massaging the ointment-moistened skin, encouraging the Sundrop to seep into Ladranix’s body.
Ladranix closed his eyes again as the pleasure intensified, wordlessly reveling in what Alzadar was giving him. Alzadar watched him for a few moments, though Ladranix was quite unaware of the passage of time. Without noticing it or realizing how it had happened, Ladranix found that his legs were free, and then his arms. Dimly, something at the back of his mind told him that this was important. He should do something with this newfound freedom, but the Sundrop was making thinking look more and more like a difficult and unnecessary task.
Alzadar was partially supporting him, and Ladranix’s limpness seemed to encourage Alzadar’s mirth. Ladranix had enough presence of mind to get annoyed at this, but Alzadar was saying something now and his hand was moving forward again, once more glistening with a coat of the ointment in the dim light of the room. The Protoss tipped his chin up, silently requesting more.
Alzadar’s pale blue eyes narrowed in victory. “Not like that, Ladranix. No more.” He reached back to slide his slick fingers along the long, dark tapers of Ladranix’s nerve-cords.
The Templar’s reaction was immediate. Ladranix went rigid, his mind crying out, his eyes wide and burning, and then he was reeling, disconnected, utterly taken out of himself by the roar of pleasure that streaked straight into his brain. Alzadar had to scramble to support him, as all strength had temporarily left the other Protoss’s body, and, muttering to himself, but still amused by his former friend’s powerful reaction, Alzadar laid him down and bent over him.
“I have seen strong reaction to Sundrop before, Ladranix,” Alzadar quipped, “but this…” He reached out again, wrapping his fingers around a single cord and sliding them along it, spreading the drug as he went, “So quickly you’ve accepted this gift!”
Ladranix’s pleasure-addled mind was barely able to scrape together enough cohesion for thought. “Yes. Yes, more.” It was a primitive demand, a sloppy mental tangle of emotion and sensation, but it got the message across. Alzadar happily complied, and Ladranix’s great form shuddered beneath him.
Alzadar observed the powerful warrior’s reaction. Watching Ladranix succumb to the Sundrop, watching him revel in it, watching the need for the drug burn itself into his brain in a cloak of pleasure, was not an entirely unusual sight. He had been present when many had accepted the gift for the first time. None of them had ever made him feel like this, though.
He couldn’t describe it. The half-formed mental demands and waves of satisfaction sent a stubborn warm burning in the pit of his stomach. When he saw Ladranix reach up to massage the last of the Sundrop into the skin of his throat, his eyes slitted in bliss, it sharpened and flickered into a flame. Alzadar decided to simply resume his task and leave those feelings for later analyzing.
He scooped up another healthy portion of Sundrop and leaned over Ladranix, shifting his weight. He had to momentarily swing one leg over the other’s prone form, easily supporting himself with a digitigrade stance, as he lifted Ladranix’s head to access the base of the nerve-cords farthest from the bony ridge of his brow. He trailed his fingers there, being deliberately slow, deliberately gentle, but even so Ladranix cried out. His entire body was rocked by the spasm of pleasure. His spine arched under the force of it, which momentarily brought his bare skin brushing against Alzadar’s whispering robes, scraping along the bony ridge of the other’s ankle and just barely tickling the scaly skin of the Tal’Darim’s thigh beneath…
Alzadar jerked, startled by the shock that swept through his body at the contact. His fingers curled slightly, still buried in Ladranix’s nerve-cords, and the Templar continued to writhe weakly on the ground beneath him. Alzadar recognized the fire the movement sent through his veins.
“Ladranix,” he hissed, his voice as sharp and thin as the blade of a reed. He drew his hand away from behind the other Protoss’s head, trailing his claws gently over the other’s scaled shoulder, his chest, down his muscled stomach. “You…” As if to make matter worse, the Templar was straining up against his trailing fingers, hungry for the barest trace of Sundrop left on the other’s claws.
It was unspeakably arousing.
Alzadar was a little disconcerted by this. Had he absorbed a bit too much of the Sundrop while he’d smeared it on Ladranix’s throat? Was this what was making him feel this way? For a long moment he did nothing, said nothing, simply crouched motionless over his prisoner. Ladranix was utterly complacent, his mind betraying a low, constant hum of pure pleasure.
For a moment the Tal’Darim felt almost regretful. How glorious would it have been to share minds with Ladranix at this point? How sweet to feel that initial rush the Sundrop gave, to revel as it unwound any lingering resistance in Ladranix’s mind? Ladranix was losing himself, losing his foolish, stubborn resistance, and Alzadar wished he could experience the change as intimately as in the singing tapestry of the Khala.
His thoughts sent the simmering heat in his stomach southward, sharpening to twinges in the nest of his hips. He wanted to be one with Ladranix, wanted to share this moment of perfect pleasure with him. It was quite impossible, but it didn’t stay the hunger. At the heels of this want was a sudden rush of possessiveness. Ladranix’s surrender was not to the Sundrop. It was to him. To Alzadar.
Yes. Yes, he liked that thought. “Mine.” His flat voice was soft as he let his long, bony fingers trail downward, “You are mine now, Ladranix.” He shifted his position to reach between the other’s legs, using a slick knuckle to tease the genital slit there.
A burst of shock stabbed his mind from the Protoss beneath him. Ladranix squirmed, trying to support himself on his arms, but momentarily unable, his surprise penetrating the haze of pleasure that the Sundrop had drawn about him.
Not for the first time that evening, and probably not for the last, Ladranix‘s reactions roused Alzadar‘s mirth. He had seen this powerful, proud warrior dispatch foes many times larger than himself, fierce creatures designed to viciously and blindly murder all that stood opposing them. Ladranix was a powerful, rugged figure, a disciplined Templar warrior, and now he was jumping beneath the Tal’Darim’s touch as if he’d never felt such a thing before. The reaction was so incongruous that he couldn’t help but chuckle.
Alzadar said nothing. He just rubbed his knuckle over the slit, feeling his own tighten in response to the heavy arousal pounding in his veins. Ladranix managed to support his upper body on his arms, through dint of incredible effort, and looked, hazy and confused, between Alzadar’s fingers and his eyes. “You… what?” Gently, almost imperceptibly, his hips began to rock against the touch, “Alzadar, this…”
“I prefer this to killing you,” Alzadar replied simply. “Yes, I prefer this much more.” His eyes hooded themselves nearly fully and he shifted his stance to allow himself some relief. His heavy robes shifted and Alzadar went to brush the folds away from his groin, but the slight movement teased the head of his slowly-emerging erection. He gasped and repeated the gesture, deliberately moving the thick fabric over the sensitive tip beneath.
Ladranix’s hips stabbed upward unexpectedly. When Alzadar opened his eyes (which he hadn't realized he'd closed), he saw that his captive had been watching him, and the beginnings of desire were working their way in through the drug-induced pleasure in Ladranix's eyes.
Alzadar’s eyes narrowed into a wicked smile and he repeated the gesture, fondling himself through his robes while the Templar below him watched. Ladranix trained his eyes on the spectacle, transfixed. His only response was to grind his hips up more forcefully against Alzadar’s hand until the head of his erection emerged, glistening with the Protoss’s own inner fluids. Alzadar worried the spongy tip with his fingers, mindful of his claws, encouraged by a scrambled burst of pleasure and desire for more from Ladranix’s mind.
Alzadar stopped encouraging Ladranix’s penis from its sheath for a moment, instead focusing on his own erection. He slipped a hand underneath his robes, now able to wrap his fingers around the thick, pulsing shaft, and closed his eyes with a sigh at the relief it brought. He could sense Ladranix’s arousal below him, spurred by the spectacle, and Alzadar obligingly began to rock his hips into his own hand.
He must be addled. There was no way he would put on a show for anyone, no way any proud Protoss would stoop to this. Alzadar tried to figure out how this had all started, how he had suddenly found himself in this highly unusual and compromising position, but he found that, at this point, he’d come too far to care, and the fact that only hours earlier he’d ambushed this Templar as an enemy in the jungle be damned. Ladranix was no longer a foe. The Sundrop was changing him, working him over with its chemical power, and soon the Templar would be reborn as one of them. In time, he would belong to the Tal’Darim.

Now he belonged to Alzadar.
When he felt another surge of pleasure below him, he opened his eyes and saw that Ladranix was mimicking his movements. He had fallen back against the floor, using one hand to coax his arousal from its natural sheath. Alzadar took a moment to admire it, the way the light glistened from the damp blue skin, the obvious firmness of the shaft that Ladranix squeezed and fondled, hungry for more of his own touch.
When he heard a soft, mental murmur of his own name drift lazily from his prisoner’s mind, Alzadar almost lost it then and there. He drew his hand away from himself by sheer force of will and then reached down to still Ladranix’s own. The Templar opened his eyes, confused and a little annoyed. “No. Not yet,” Alzadar purred. A pleased surge of possessiveness passed through him when he saw Ladranix go limp, obeying him.
Alzadar stared at him for a moment, too far gone to realize how absurd it was that he’d ended up in this position, too far gone to worry about Felanis losing his patience and coming to check on their newest acquisition, too far gone to think about anything but the powerful-but-helpless, painfully aroused, drug-weakened creature beneath him.
He reached for the Sundrop.
Ladranix watched him, but made no move to aid him apply it. Clearly the Protoss was unsure whether his captor intended to apply it to his throat or his nerve-cords, and as such didn’t know how to move to better accommodate him. As it turned out, no such movement was necessary.
Alzadar spread a liberal amount on his palm, reached down, and slowly carefully, tenderly closed it around Ladranix’s erection. His captive jerked. He moved his palm up, pausing just at the tip, and then down to the base, forcing the thick, muscular column through a tunnel of warm wetness. Ladranix writhed, and as Alzadar brought his hand up again to tease the tip with the pad of one of his thumbs, the Templar suddenly seized and cried out, a wordless mental rush of startled joy.
Alzadar reeled from the rush of frenzied pleasure from his prisoner. Good, it was so good, it was too good--he was going to lose control with this pleasure, die from it, Alzadar had to stop--and then, to Ladranix’s dismay, Alzadar did just that. The prone Protoss managed a garbled mental protest, his gaze shooting down to where his captor was crouched.
The other was hurriedly rearranging his robes, too impatient to remove them entirely. Ladranix watched as he slid them over one thigh to bare his erection. Then, scooping up more of the Sundrop, he reached down. Ladranix’s eyes narrowed in intense desire as he realized what the other planned to do, “Do it,” the Templar urged below him, “Alzadar…”
Alzadar paused long enough to narrow his eyes in a brief, wicked smile, and then he let them slide closed in pleasure as he slid his hand over himself, smearing the pleasure-giving salve over his own penis. For a moment his stance faltered as a double-whammy of sexual and chemical pleasure slammed into his brain, sweeping him up and away from any nagging worries that might have kept him from reveling in this moment of perfect domination. Ladranix remained mesmerized by the spectacle. When Alzadar’s hips began to rock into his hand, the Templar reached down, weakly and clumsily grasping for his own erection, and this seemed to snap Alzadar out of the trance of his own pleasure.
“No.” he easily rebuffed Ladranix’s hand. “No, like this.” He moved forward, crouching over Alzadar so that their hips were level with one another. Using one hand, he supported the small of the other Protoss’ back and brought their hips together. At first their members only brushed clumsily against one another, and then, with a little aid from a shaky, but determined Ladranix, they slid slickly against one another. Both males shivered at the sensation.
Alzadar paused only to scoop up more Sundrop with his free hand, bringing it down and curling his long fingers over both shafts. He roughly palmed the head of Ladranix’s penis, which earned a startled jerk from the other Protoss’s hips, and then they both began to move together. Their clumsy efforts segued into a natural rhythm. Gently they rocked against one another, the only sounds in the dark room the dry rustling of Alzadar’s robes and the slick sounds of his hand as it moved hungrily over the two engorged erections between them, his long fingers easily spanning their combined girths.
Ladranix sluggishly shifted his position, spreading his legs to get better leverage. “Yes,” he murmured through the haze of the bliss he was losing himself to.
In sharp contrast to the languid pleasure of his partner, Alzadar’s thoughts were marked by uncharacteristic fierceness. Because of his altered brain chemistry, Ladranix wouldn’t be able to sense them though his mental voice, but his rough movements drove the point across well enough. “You are mine, Ladranix. Just like this, right now,” he paused and his eyes narrowed further, his hand moving more frantically, “One of us now.”
“Yes,” Ladranix closed his eyes and tipped his head back.
“Readily, so readily you accept this gift. Accept what I give you,” Alzadar’s pale blue eyes flashed and the movement of his hips became suddenly very jerky. He couldn’t hold out like this, “Take what I give you,” he hissed, convulsively crashing against the Templar.
Ladranix’s vocabulary seemed to have shrunk to a single thought--a demand for more, an acknowledgement of his surrender, and an exultation of the pleasure that Alzadar was granting him, “Yes!” he cried, and lost utter control of himself, spilling out onto Alzadar’s fingers in thick, white jets of semen.
Triumph and lust roared in Alzadar’s mind, driving him over the edge. This marked the defeat of the Shel’na Khryas, this marked the victory of the Tal’Darim, this marked Ladranix utterly losing his mind with pleasure, and as the Templar rode it out, his glowing eyes unfocused and hazy with ecstasy, Alzadar heard his name uttered, again and again, and with a final jerk, Alzadar joined him, squeezing the hardened, pulsing shaft of his own erection as he spilled out over Ladranix’s muscled stomach. Alzadar pushed in frenzied thrusts against Ladranix, letting the roaring tide of his orgasm sing through every nerve in his body, before he, too, collapsed. He carefully pulled his hand away. The Sundrop mixed with the result of both of their orgasms there, melding together into one slick mélange that dripped from Alzadar’s fingers.
It was an oddly appropriate representation of how the substance had drawn them together. Ladranix’s head lolled, his cheek resting against the floor. The Templar was utterly spent. Alzadar remained crouched above him. The buzzing high that his brief dosage of Sundrop had provided mingled with the sexual satisfaction creeping through his bones. Perhaps spurred by the warm throb of afterglow, he reached down with his cleaner hand and splayed his fingers on Ladranix’s chest.
He blinked slowly, languidly. Despite the fact that his own hearts were still racing, he felt curiously calm, every limb gloriously heavy. Part of him just wanted to curl up next to the prone Templar in an untidy, but comfortable heap of sex-warmed skin, but he knew he couldn’t. For one, he would dirty his robes, and for another… well, it just wasn’t done.
He was more concerned about cuddling with his prisoner than about having frenzied sex with him. He failed to register how ironic those thoughts were.
“You belong to the Tal’Darim now.” Under his hand, he could feel Ladranix’s hearts slowing to a more natural rhythm, and his pale eyes narrowed in a smile. Ladranix seemed to catch the movement, and sleepily he tried to raise his head, instead being forced to simply rest his eyes on the dark form of the robed Protoss above him.
“But your hearts,” Alzadar murmured, his eyes flashing in hungry possessiveness, “beat for me.”
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