---Ragnarr’s perspective---
I’m in the middle of a set of pullups, in one of the gyms aboard the Fury.
I need to push myself hard right now!
I’m one of the UTCM’s champions-for-loan, so there’s a good chance, in the coming weeks, I’m going to need to fight on behalf of some powerhungry little Don princeling I’ve never met against one of the collaborationist fucks who worked with the Terran fascists… or, more likely, whoever he designates as his champion.
I very much wish every clan had an heir who would be an unequivocally good leader… that our choices won’t be between bad and worse in most cases but, unless we want to do a full regime change of the entire planet (which we do not!), we just won’t have the luxury of picking and choosing who we work with beyond the questions ‘Are you eligible to rule?’, ‘Did you know about Bastion?’, ‘If yes, were you complicit and could you reasonably have done anything about it?’ and investigating their answers to be reasonably sure we aren’t just helping one collaborator dethrone another!
A little way away from me but in my line of sight is the only other person in this particular gym right now, Admiral Hrístardóttir.
She got here about 40mins ago and is curling a fairly stacked barbell to her chest at the moment.
Her long, thick brown hair is contained in a braid that runs from her hairline, over her scalp and down her back.
There’s a sheen of sweat on her skin and a look of determination on her face.
Just as I’m admiring the highly impressive physicality the commander of the fleet is able to maintain around her bridge role, she racks the bar.
She checks the time, a look of slight discomfort on her normally stern and stoic features, before seeming to make a decision.
She begins disassembling it, unscrewing the spinlocks to take the weight plates off.
“You’re cutting yourself a little short, Admiral! Normally, you’re in here much longer!” I call out to her from the pullup bar.
Her head whips to me with (slightly unnerving) scrutiny.
Eyes narrowed, she continues putting away the weight plates as she dryly answers “Do you make a habit of tracking the typical workout durations of those you share the gym with or am I a special case, LtCol Sigurearsson(!?)”
Hopping down, I grin “You’re a special case, Ma’am, but I assure you it’s nothing untoward(!)”
“What is it then?” she asks, hanging up the last of the weights and making her way over to me with unshakeable confidence.
I extend my arms and, no longer needing to shout, truthfully answer “I like to make a habit of studying those I know outclass me in experience, Ma’am… I never know when I might learn something useful… That’s why I noticed this session was only half as long as your usual.”
The ghost of a smile pulls on the corners of her mouth as she chuckles “Riiight… you weren’t perving, you just wanted to learn from an old crone(?)”
“I was certainly not perving, Ma’am. I did want to learn from you. The word ‘crone’ had not entered my mind… nor any equivalents…” I respond in good humour.
“Alright, Marine…” says the Navywoman, gesturing to an arena of padded blue mats on my right, her left “…given that, as you’ve observed, I’m a little short on my normal workout time today, why don’t we have a spar?… I get a little more exercise, you get to learn…”
“I would be delighted, Ma’am.” I answer, honestly.
She gives a mirthless puff and begins walking to the mat.
I follow her and the two of us wordlessly shed three rings from our hands, mine a gold and emerald, her two a cobalt blue and sapphire and a rose gold with an orange gem I can’t name.
We place them down on a bench.
“Out of curiosity, Ma’am… why were you cutting short your normal session time?” I ask as we take our positions.
She puts up her dukes and answers “*sigh*… Because it’s been a day, because I wanted to get back to my husbands, because I wanted to save a bit of strength for them and for tomorrow…”
“Husbands?” I impertinently ask before I can stop myself.
The formidable woman smirks “Yes, ‘husbands’… Yes, as you’ve probably gathered from my matronymic, I’m the biological daughter of two women. Yes, they were lesbians, not bi. Yes, I am entirely straight and yes I am a polyandrist. My husbands’ names are Kei and Manute. Now, are we going to play 20 questions about my private life or are we going to spar, Sigurearsson(?)”
“Apologies, Ma’am!” I answer, genuinely ashamed for the first time in this exchange, raising my fists.
What utter beasts must she have as husbands that a woman like this feels the need to ‘save strength’ for them!?
My mind is filled with the (entirely unbidden) image of the admiral watching from her bed, eyes sparkling, as two towering monsters of bulging muscle roar into eachother’s faces on the verge of a ground shaking wrestling match to determine just which of them shall have the right to claim her tonight(!)
“Ready?” asks the woman with the ferocious look in her eyes.
“Yes.” I answer, fully believing it and immediately being proven wrong!
I might have 8cm and 20kg on her but she has decades of experience over me… and every minute of it shows!
She’s countering my moves before I’ve even thought of them, much less made them!
I can’t land a hit on her nor do anything to keep her from landing them on me.
I specifically volunteered and was selected for the champion scheme due to the quality of my CQC but this woman has me utterly outclassed!
I’m certainly stronger but she’s handling me the same way a bootcamp sergeant handles a fresh recruit who thinks that hitting the irons is the same thing as being able to fight(!)
If I had slightly more of an ego, this would be humiliating!
I only manage to last around 90 seconds before she gets behind my guard and simply manhandles my entire body into a throw over her left leg!
The arm I’m not being thrown by attempts to come between my face and the mat to break my fall but it’s completely inadequate to do so!
My neck snaps back, painfully, as my momentum drives my face into the padded floor.
“Uh!” I grunt, feeling blood fill my nose and bringing a hand to my whiplashed neck.
“I apologise, Lieutenant Colonel. That was careless of me.” states the woman standing over my vanquished form on the ground, almost sounding concerned.
Determining that I’m able, I begin standing up and groan “No, Admiral… I was the careless one!… I assumed there would be a gap between our skills… I just underestimated how great it would be!”
She reaches a hand down to me and I take it, allowing her to pull me to my feet.
Her eyes flick to where I have my hand against my neck, ignoring the nosebleed, and she says “Injury?”
I grin “Not too bad… but I’ll swing by medical and ask them to take a look anyway… Can’t let myself get compromised at this point… Though, I’m fairly sure, Admiral, if we just showed footage of how easily you dealt with me then threatened all the conspirators with fighting you if they don’t abdicate and submit themselves to their successor’s justice, we could deal with every single one of them without the need for a single champion setting foot on that planet(!)”
She breathes hard through her nose at that suggestion but doesn’t dignify it with an answer, instead, handing me a towel for the bleed.
Gratefully, I take it and begin dabbing.
Turning away from the woman who just trounced me, I make for where we left our wedding rings.
I place down the bloody towel long enough to slip mine back onto my finger.
As I start walking away, still dabbing at my bleeding nose, I give an appreciative wave back to the awesome woman.
“Thank you for the spar, Admiral… and thank you for keeping me humble(!)” I say as I go.
“You’re welcome, Sigurearsson… Get that neck taken care of! We’ll need you at fighting fitness in the days and weeks to come!”
“Yes, Ma’am!” I grin through my nosebleed.
As I leave the gym and turn right, in the direction of the nearest medical room, rather than left, in the direction of Ilse and my quarters, my mind drifts back to what she said about her husbands…
Tórr help me! I’d dread to meet the kinds of monsters such a woman as that feels the need to save her strength for!
Both of them must be twice the man I am!
---Yrsa’s perspective---
I’m on my way back to my quarters right now.
After the spar with Sigurearsson, I decided to just have a field shower.
I’m perfectly clean and dry of sweat… but had none of the warmth of a watershower to soothe the aches in my muscles.
By óeinn, this day!
I reach my door and consciously exhale, trying to forget about being at the head of the first occupation the UTC’s enacted since the end of the War, about the fact that there are a shittonne of collaborators down there and we’re almost certain to miss some who are taking this moment as an opportunity to cover their tracks, about the fact that all the Bastionites are gone and they’ve taken their slaves with them!
Letting go of all the stress I’ve accumulated between when I woke up at the beginning of this far too long day and right now, I open the door.
I reach to the panel and press the lock and privacy field icons as the door slides closed behind me.
Two cleanshaven, nonNorse faces immediately whip to me.
Two boys (both already in their pyjamas despite neither having been off shift for even an hour) jump to their feet as I step into the room, adorable smiles on their lips.
On the left, standing 178cm tall, 58kg (soaking wet), staring at me with twinkling, medium brown eyes and with his black hair styled into an incongruous Japanese delinquent pompadour that doesn’t match the pretty face it sits above at all, is Kei.
His pyjamas consist of a longsleeved, form fitting tee and bootyshorts in an asymmetric black and white pattern that put me more in mind of a jester than a street thug(!)
He has a cobalt and sapphire ring on his right hand.
His broad grin has all the energy of an eager puppy.
Stepping to lean down on Kei’s shoulder, standing 209cm tall and 74kg (soaking wet), just as slim, face just as pretty, brown eyes slightly darker and warmer than Kei’s, is Manute.
His left hand hangs down at his hip, a rose gold and imperial topaz ring at the ringfinger.
The sides of his head are shaven and a mess of short, curly, dark brown hair grows only from his scalp.
Like Kei, his pyjama shorts expose almost the entirety of his legs.
Unlike Kei, his arms and midriff are also bare for my viewing pleasure(!)
His stomach is toned, his abdominals visible beneath his ebony skin… however, the fact that both of these boys are so stick thin keeps the visibility of their stomach muscles from being anything to boast about(!)
I’ve been treated to the sight of these two men greeting me, just like this, almost every single day since we moved into a flat together for our second year of the Academy in Addis Ababa… and I will never get tired of it!
Kei excitedly sprints out from under Manute’s arm, crossing from my left to approach me on my right.
I wrap my arm under his, around his skinny waist and across the small of his back, holding him against my side.
He looks up into my face and brings his right arm to between my tits, pressing his palm into my cheek, letting me feel his ring against my jaw.
“Welcome home, Mama.” grins my boy as he guides me down for a greedy kiss.
Kei’s adorable eagerness is my favourite thing about him.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Just as I’m allowing my boy to help himself to my lips, I feel something coming between my right arm and my body.
I feel a hand being slid across my clavicle, under Kei’s, to gently cradle the right side of my jaw.
I break off from the right side kiss and allow my head to be turned up and to the left.
Looming down from above me is the cherubic face of my other husband.
He bends to kiss me too, this kiss more warm and tender in its character.
The taste of my boys in my mouth, their smell in my nostrils, their warmth pressed into my sides… this is nothing less than my own personal Valh?ll… Paradise itself could be no sweeter!
Then, my mouth is pulled away from Manute’s and back to Kei’s, surprising me.
I’m not kissing Kei for more than 2 more seconds before Manute reclaims me.
The two of them are each pressing into my sides, jockeying for my attention.
They know exactly what they’re doing and they’re doing it on purpose!
They’re intentionally giving me an excuse to indulge myself with them… and I’m going to take it!
---Manute’s perspective---
Without warning, my wife dips down to wrap a powerful arm around my upper thighs, beneath my bottom.
I reflexively reach down to grasp her shoulders and steady myself as me and Kecchan are both hoisted into the air, her carrying the smaller man with her arm around his waist.
We both shriek and giggle as (with not much apparent effort) the incomparable woman walks her combined 130-odd-kg of husband over to the bed, squashing his chest and my crotch into each side of her ample bosom.
With contempt, the woman hurls us both down to land on our backs beside eachother.
Snarling down as she looms over us, Yrsa has clearly taken the bait we gave her!
Pretending to be furious, our wife growls “Boys!… How long have we been married?”
Her blue eyes meet my brown ones.
“51 years next August.” I answer, feigning nerves.
“Correct… and…” she turns her gaze to Kecchan “…how long did we date before that?”
“11 years, Mama!” he answers, immediately.
“Correct!… And, both of you… what was the first rule I established for you when we started dating, hmmm?”
We both avert our eyes as if ashamed and, in unison, answer “No fighting over Mama, there’s more than enough Mama to go around!”
“It was!” she barks “And what was the second rule?”
“Mama is the one that decides what she does, with who and when…” we drone in the tone of chastised schoolchildren.
“Ah! So you do remember!… It seemed very much as if you’d both forgotten(!)” she taunts “So… tell me… why are you boys fighting over me today?”
Neither of us state what we all know; ‘to give you a reason to punish us’, instead, we look sullenly away, as if ashamed to answer.
“No, no! This is no good!” she says with sadistic glee, reaching her left hand to my right jaw and turning my head to face Kecchan on my left “The first thing you boys need to do… is kiss and make up… Go on!”
Feigning reluctance, my fellow husband and I each lean sideways, close our eyes and plant a soft kiss on the other’s lips, the tips of our noses lightly bumping against one another as we do.
Despite what anyone might assume to look at us, Kecchan and I are, in fact, both entirely straight… and we’ve had six decades of sharing a spouse to have that confirmed for ourselves.
We are, of course, extremely comfortable with eachother’s presence in sexual and romantic contexts… we just don’t get eachother’s motors running…
What does get both of our respective motors running, however, is pleasing our wife… Therefore, when she tells us to kiss, we kiss… and we enjoy it!
“Good boys! That’s better!” teases our wife who, I know, isn’t at all close to finished with dealing with her two miscreant husbands “I’m afraid, though… you boys still need some… discipline… Take your clothes off…”
---Kei’s perspective---
I have a rigid set of blacked out goggles adhered over my eyes, completely depriving me of my vision.
Drool runs from my lower lip, emanating from the gap between my lower teeth and the rubber ball wedged between them.
There’s a collar fastened around my neck, my wrists are lashed behind my back and I’m in a forced kneeling position by what’s attached to my front, my bare, freshly well-spanked arse resting atop my heels.
I’m moaning from the way my (as my wife always refers to it) ‘cute little cock’ is being stroked and edged without reprieve and the sheen of sweat that’s built up on my skin is making me shiver even at room temperature.
I’m not, however, suffering all this alone!
From only centimetres in front of my blinded face, I can hear the gagged moaning of another man.
I can smell his breath and his sweat.
I can feel his tugging on our joined collars at the back of my neck.
Our bodies and masks are nearly constantly bumping against eachother.
His knees straddle the outsides of mine.
The most solid point of contact between us is the device adhered to my lower stomach on one side and his on the other, both of our members slotted into the bottom and being mercilessly teased.
I tip my head backwards and begin emitting masochistic sobs of joy.
Nute quickly follows suit.
“No use turning on the waterworks, boys! You brought this on yourselves!” observes our wife’s voice, dispassionately, from where she sits at the head of the bed, watching us receive the punishment we knowingly invited.
As ludicrous as it would sound to someone outside a D/s dynamic, this torture is actually about the best relaxation and stress relief the three of us can get!
Immediately after Yrsa left to start her shift this morning, Nute and I both turned to eachother and (basically in unison) said she would probably need a bit of Dommespace meditation when she got back in from the gym tonight, drawing up the plan there and then to give her a reason to punish us like this… breaking our relationships’ oldest rule.
The one she made when Nute and I would not stop competing with eachother for her attention, back in our first year at the Academy in the capital.
The one she made after quipping ‘Boys! If you two can’t decide, why don’t I just have both of you(!?)’ causing Nute and I to share a look with eachother.
Of course, just because it’s the oldest rule… doesn’t actually make it inviolate…
What very quickly became apparent was that, whenever we would bicker over her, we would both get punished… and we’d all enjoy that, so, much in the way that putting a cat outside whenever it sits on the table just teaches it to sit on the table whenever it wants to go outside, our squabbling has become our way of signalling that we’re receptive to being Dommed… She just let’s us know if she’s ever not in the mood.
The other rules, likewise, are subject to exception and negotiation. Every few years, for instance, we’ll ‘break’ rule 2 with a switch session where Nute and I switch to Dom her… but we always return to our normal pattern right after.
Freshness is fun… but nothing beats the comfort of familiarity.
This is the position Nute and I truly are most comfortable in…
We belong at our wife’s disposal…
---Yrsa’s perspective---
Having decided that I’ve had my boys in this position long enough, I roll off the bed and stand up.
Stripping off my gym top and leggings, I toss them over to land on the pile of black, white, red and blue pyjamas just at the foot of the forge, waiting to be laundered.
Fully naked now, I turn back to where the fathers of my children are, kneeling on our (my) bed, facing eachother and quivering.
I approach and wrap an arm around each of their backs.
“Have you boys learned your lesson?” I ask in a sultry growl.
“Mmm-hmmm! Mmm-hmmm!!!” they both agree, frantically nodding their blinkered faces into mine.
“Goooood…” I purr, reaching between them to disengage the device bridging their lower bodies.
The two little goons grunt and moan adorably as I extract the doublesided stroker that I've had edging them for the last 20 minutes and lay it down on the ottoman that sits beyond the footboard.
Reaching a hand between their necks, I first unclip the tether from the front of Manute’s collar, then from Kei’s.
Wrapping them up once more in my arms, I gently push them over, lower them down to the bed and release them to roll onto their backs beside eachother.
I bring my front down onto them, my weight squashing my left tit into Kei’s skinny chest and my right into Manute’s, the warmth of their adorable twitching cocks a lovely feeling against the outer edges of my thighs.
I reach into the cute Dinka boy’s mouth and deactivate the strapless gag, plucking it from between his teeth as soon as it’s small enough.
I repeat for the Japanese boy.
Their mouths now unstopped but their eyes still blind, my husbands pant for breath beneath me, not saying a word.
I did consider pegging them and or having one of them eat my pussy and the other suck on my tits, earlier, but I quickly decided I was just too horny for that.
Mama’s got an itch about 10cm long that needs scratching(!)
Reaching up to deadhere the blindgoggles from their faces, I find four heartbreakingly beautiful brown eyes staring back at me.
“Now you boys have had your punishment, Mama needs herself a little sugar… so… which one of you is going to be the lucky one who I ride first and who’s going to have the pleasure of playing with my tits while I do, hmmm?”
Taking their cue, the lovely boys share a brief moment of eye contact with eachother.
“That’s up to you, Mama…” volunteers Manute to enthusiastic nodding from Kei.
I grin “Correct answer.” before sitting and raising a finger.
I look down at the pair, alternating who I point at with every word as I recite a nonsense Norse selection rhyme
“úllen, dullen, doff, kikki, lani, koff, koffi, lani, bikki, bani, úllen, dullen…” my finger lands on Manute “…doff!”
A feral grin breaks over my lips as I look into his seraphically erotic, umber brown face “…lucky you!”
---Manute’s perspective---
The warmth of my wife’s thigh is withdrawn from the right side of my poor, abused cock as she pulls her leg from between mine and one handedly rolls Kecchan onto his front.
She inserts her hands beneath my armpits and, seemingly without any effort at all, launches me across the covers to the head of the bed.
She spends a moment releasing Kecchan’s hands before turning her attention back to me.
She stands and advances up the mattress, studying me the way a hungry wolf might study a lamb haltered up to a post.
She bends down and spends a brief moment getting me readjusted, so my head rests on the pillows, then brings her right foot to my left hip.
Looking for all the world like an Orcish, barbarian warrior (only missing the green skin and the tusked underbite) my wife brings her hips down on my thighs.
She hesitates for a moment before rolling her head back and barking “I don’t feel any hands on my tits, boy!”
“Sorry Mama!” Kecchan apologises, hurrying to kneel down at her back and sliding his hands under her arms to begin massaging the soft flesh of her ample bosom.
Apparently satisfied, she turns her eyes back to me as I see my fellow husband’s pompadour behind her, his gaze on the side of her head as he lays kisses on her left shoulder.
Sandwiching his wrists between her muscular upper arms and the sides of her ribs, the powerhouse of a woman gestures to what juts up from my pelvis, not even coming close to the bottom of her rippling abdominals.
“Whose cute little cock is this, boy?” she asks, neutrally.
“Yours, Mama.” I smile in answer.
“Indeed… and whose cute little body is this?” she says, gesturing up and down my torso.
“Yours too, Mama.” I confirm.
“Is that so… What about that cute little face? That cute little mind?” she places a hand on the left side of my chest “This cute little heart?”
“All of it is yours, Mama…” I beam, broadly.
“Good… I’ll help myself to it then…” she growls, reaching to my member and bending it downwards.
The dark skinned cylinder of flesh is enveloped, disappearing inside the light skinned pillar of woman atop it as she allows it to spring back upwards.
“Oooooh… that’s niiiiice…” she shudders as her pelvic floor engages to take me in a vice grip!
She begins working her hips against mine, expecting me to do nothing but lie here, look pretty and last as long as I can.
I’ve been married to this woman for so long that I truly have no doubt that she means it when she says she prefers less well endowed men…
The (I’d felt) inadequately sized penis that I had spent the entirety of my teen years agonisingly humiliated by became a blessing the first time Kecchan and I undressed for her!
My wife of more than 50 years loves me all the better for not having an ‘ugly monster’ dangling between my legs(!)
She lays her hands on my chest as she rides me, crushing my bound arms into the bed beneath our combined weight, her beautifully handsome face twisted into a lascivious grimace as her powerful body challenges me to the impossible task of lasting longer than her.
I love this woman with all my heart… all my being!
I think back to the first time she approached us in the academy mess, a few days after Kecchan and I started hanging out together.
I genuinely thought this beautiful, command track jock was coming over to threaten to punch our teeth out if we didn’t ping her some credits! (We’ll just ignore the slight erection I had at the thought(!))
Instead, she asked if she could sit with us.
5 months later (of both of them constantly needing to be told that, even though I’d grown up only 1,000km from the capital, didn’t make me a local(!)), she answered Kecchan and my constant (and obvious) vying for her attention by engaging both of us in relationships, telling us that she fully expected one or other of us to be unable to stand the arrangement before long…
11 years later, she wore a red dress, I a green suit and Kecchan a yellow one as we all walked down the aisle of her hof in Bergen for her to marry us both…
60 years, six children (three mine, three his, timed to come from their tubes together, in pairs), seventeen grandchildren (seven of mine, ten his) and, just last year, a great grandchild (mine) later and neither of us are in any danger of becoming bored with our relationship, as Yrsa predicted we would(!)
Honestly, despite the platonic nature of Kecchan and my relationship, I don’t know that I could bear to be parted from him if she ever leaves us as divorcees or widowers!
I think, if we ever decided to put ourselves out there again, he and I would need to date as a unit and explain to any potential future Dommes that ‘No, we aren’t a couple but you either need to take both of us or neither of us.’ to which they would likely say ‘Alright! Neither of you then! Not touching this mess with a 4m droving rod!’(!)
Hopefully though, that never happens.
I’d be entirely happy to remain just as we are until the heat death of the universe!
Unfortunately… right now…
I clench my kegel muscles, trying with all my might to fend off the orgasm that’s circling me…
…to no avail.
---Kei’s perspective---
I’ve barely noticed my wife roaring at Nute to “Keep it up!”
I’ve been too focused trying to keep my hands on her chest, keep kissing every part of her back my lips can reach and (subtly) positioning myself just right so I’m getting hotdogged between her buns of steel on each downstroke.
What I’m forced to notice, however, is the iron hard grip that closes around my left wrist and yanks rightward, across her chest.
I’m bounced into a spin as I hit her left shoulder and get thrown onto my back on the bed in front of her.
“Looks like this boy’s all juiced out for now!” she snarls, gesturing down at an exhausted looking Nute as she lifts herself up and repositions herself on me “That means you’re up and-Roll over!” that latter directed at him. She unbinds his wrists to free his hands before curtly ordering “You’re on tit duty.” as she inserts me into her and immediately resumes riding is if she hadn’t just needed to change mounts(!)
Nute comes behind her to resume the task I was just relieved of.
I get to admire her gorgeous breasts as they’re squashed and rubbed in his long fingers. Her abs flexing as she works her core to absolutely rail me! The ferocity of the face above me that is demanding the satisfaction of an orgasm!
I melt into my own personal Tengoku beneath my wife.
---Yrsa’s perspective---
I lie on my bed, bathing in the afterglow, an arm around the shoulder of the two sexiest little things in the galaxy!
With my store’s of subby-boy-power replenished, I feel like I can take whatever tomorrow can throw at me!
Bring it ON, universe!
---Ragnarr’s perspective---
I’m just helping myself to a stack of pancakes from the buffet in the mess.
I need to replace the calories I burned last night, first in the gym, then getting my neck regenned, then in my quarters with Ilse!
I move on and begin slathering them in syrup from the dispenser when I hear “Good morning, Lieutenant Colonel. How is your neck?” in a professional voice from behind me.
I turn my head to see the woman who bloodied my nose and damn near shattered my C3 vertebra last night, much less pent up stress visible on her face than there was at the time.
Whichever of her husbands got to claim the night with her clearly did a good job(!)
“Good morning, Admiral!” I greet, cheerfully, noting the three plates on her tray and the (one large, two much daintier) portions of pancakes she’s dishing up “The neck’s fine… Did need a short regen to sort the tendons out but all good now!”
“Excellent.” she says with a satisfied bob of her head before inviting “You would be welcome to join my husbands and I at our table if you haven’t already made arrangements.”
“You and… your husbands…?” I hesitate, nervously casting around the mess for a pair of 3m tall demigods engaged in a steel girder bending competition… spotting none.
I look back to the admiral, her face indicating she’s still waiting for an answer.
Regretting not getting out of bed earlier to eat breakfast with Ilse when she started her shift, I swallow my apprehension for the possibility that one or both of these men take exception to another man following their wife back to their table and force a smile to say “I’d be delighted to eat with you, Ma’am!”
“Good.” she says, finishing loading her tray and turning to lead the way as she continues “I’d like to go over the general outlines of Don duelling customs with you, just to make sure you’re as prepared as you can be for when we send you down there…”
She keeps talking but I’m only half listening as I look around the room for a table with two, monstrous looking, nonNorse men at it.
We’ve passed by every table that had even remotely good candidates at them…
Where the Hel are they? Are we leaving the mess?
My eyes narrow in confusion as the woman turns to join the last table on the left.
“Kei, Manute…” she greets the two least threatening men I’ve ever set eyes on, their bodies slim, their hands soft, their shoulders narrow… their faces both pretty enough to make a straight man start to question things “…this is LtCol Ragnarr ‘Knuckles’ Sigurearsson, from the Marines, and he will be eating breakfast with us this morning.”
“It’s nice to meet you!” beams the little Asian boy.
“A pleasure…” radiates the lanky looking African one, warmly.
“Sigurearsson, this is WO Manute ‘Slim’ Wek, Astrogation and Astrophysical Science, and this is CPO Kei ‘Cute’ Takei, Communications. These are my husbands.”
“Good to meet you.” I greet them, trying extremely hard not to laugh at just how offbase I was in the way I pictured this pair!
Barbell | | | | | | |
Kei Bed | | | | | |
