"One day, a man of humble clothing would travel Viridia and his mere presence would teach to the conservative sects, the celibates, the vestal maidens, and the chaste priests- how sex, is beautiful."

-Beauty Fatalities

©

The children of the slums encircled the masked alchemist as he was picking firewood, little hands pushing each other to be with his pace, tailing like litter of cats on snow for he had always been a big brother to them. Though they haven't seen the alchemist's face, his name remains engraved within their little hearts forever. With his figure alone enough for them to pick him from a crowd.

"Are you really going to Graygreen Castle?" They've been barraging him with questions rooted from youthful empathy.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Will Ian come too? He looked sad walking to the coasts... "

"What about that dark bull-man inside? Is he going there too?"

"Yes, yes and yes quit the yapping now you runts. Don't worry, I'll come back the next dawn with all the food you can eat." He promised them.

"We're not worried about that Sion, it's your first time to leave Dirge." Sijno embraced his knees to keep him in place. Sion is a reasonably tall individual, he just looked short besides the Sailor.

"Sion, I'm worried about Ian too..." Chacha floated to his shoulder to embrace his hooded head.

"I'll be fine, and he'll be fine too, just tell the others to let him be for a while and if he doesn't return to the Inn to let you all sleep in the basement, open the Apothecary instead. I'll leave my room's window open so you can float through." Sion whispered. Placing a finger on his lips while making a hushing sound. "It will be our little secret."

"Okay." The girl mimicked his gesture, kissing the small space of skin exposed on Sion's masked face.

"Now run along and don't pester the Sailor." He said before walking on the cobblestones trail of the apothecary. Laguna was waiting for him on the veranda, skin as dark as the shadows from the shed that hides him.

"Children are rather fond of you, aren't they? I somehow understand why though... which is great, very great." He remarked, stealing the burden of firewood from Sion.

"Well, Miriam and I are all they have in this gods-forsaken city. If it weren't for us, all of those children would have been taken by frostbite."

Then he added in hesitant mumbling.

"or sold in the slave markets..."

"This world could use more people like you... The only problem is, there's not a single soul close to what you are like." The diplomat tucked the straying red strands back into Sion's hood.

"Huh? What's with this afternoon? people suddenly spouting nonsense here and there. " The boy laughed as he walked back The Apothecary.

"I'm a diplomat Sion, I've seen more of the world than an average man. And I swear, you're the rarest I've ever seen."

"Aye, stop the flattering statements. I'm just an alchemist."

"Whatever you say..."

As soon as they were inside the Apothecary, Miriam threw a green hooded robe to her son. The fabric felt like the inside of a flower, as smooth as Miriam's hands when Sion was a child. He had never seen this garment before and it looked as expensive as the house itself.

"I'm still against the notion of you leaving for Graygreen if not for this treacherous bitch." She pointed over the Ocmenian Queen.

"And this is for?" asked the confused boy.

"Wear that to the province unless you want to be ravished by nobles..." The small woman ordered.

"Ah, Miriam! Don't tell me you're going to hide your son's beauty? Shame on you really... " Hildred took the robes off of Sion's hands. "Don't worry dear, I will guard you myself." She removed the coverings that hides Sion's majestic face. "Each time I see your face I can't help but feel young!" She cheered up at his sight.

"Bamba Prika, always with the nonsense. Fine then, Now you have the Queen of Ocmenia herself as your own Guard, My son must be a God to have this privilege..." Miriam rolled her eyes.

"With that face? Why not?" Hildred pulled the boy in a tight embrace then turned to Miriam and said:

"Oy poktola, ja Illo-pana sarehab, asamajk uwi. Uwi na genevan ja korak in od Alzina Fida."

(You Bitch, you will come to Graygreen with us too. We will help you alleviate the pain of your heart.)

Hildred spoke in Ocmenian tongue.

Miriam's stature stiffened yet her knees are visibly shaking from the words she had heard. She doesn't know what more wrenches her heart than the nickname of her lover.

"I concede to your agenda you wench, but Sion has to stay covered at all times." Miriam embraced her own shoulders.

"You're really going to come with us mum?"

"Huh, are you plain stupid or what?" the Master Alchemist scratched her head.

"Miriam! Leave your poor son be."

"Says the one smothering him in her embrace!? Just leave me alone the lots of you! You already got what you want to hear from me." Miriam stormed off upstairs, dust falling from the ceiling with her every stomp, she slammed her door and all the glassware shook.

"There goes the Nightshade Heroine." Laguna let off a whistle.

"Don't mind her venomous tongue, she curses a person as much as she loves them. She'd always been a feisty oddball even back in the days." Hildred pats the alchemist's back. Of course Sion knows of that fact. Same reason as to why him and Ian are at the very bottom of her pit of curses.

Dusk glazed the Dirgean skies already and Miriam hasn't moved out of her room. Queen Hildred followed hours ago so now, the entire apothecary hangs in dead air.

Sion just watched over Laguna while the horned man naps on a wooden bench too small for his body, his arms and legs touching the floor as he lie on his back, exhaustion evident through his facial muscles.

Sion realized that this is the beast he's about to wake up. He still can't comprehend his size when they first met, the rising of his ribs alone could rekindle their fireplace.

Until his eyes travelled south on tight reptilian trousers... All the rumours about the Ocmenian genitalia being gut-wrenchingly massive were true, given the fact that it was the most believable thing about the race when he first heard of them. Who would believe in the existence of a race that lives on volcanoes anyways?

"I see you looking."

Tension got stuck on Sion's throat.

He saw the Ocmenian awoken from the dark, golden irises devouring the chimney fire, planning to spread on his forest eyes.

And he was caught with a chuckle, like a fish with a hook on its open mouth.

"Don't be scared, there's no harm in looking."

His massive hands rested on the waistline seams, ever so slowly, thumbs inserted on belt loops to accentuate a certain spot.

But It was just a tease, he was about to close his eyes and regain sleep until a soft voice followed.

"Am not scared..." Sion gazed unafraid, yet the loud bobbing of his throat failed him.

"You're not?" The exhausted diplomat sighed again, an excuse to even his breathing.

"I'm not." He lied.

A thin, metallic scream filled the silence of the Apothecary as Laguna loosen his trouser's fly. Ripping the winds slowly.

"No fear?" He dared.

Still, the boy remained...

That's when the Diplomat released it, an erect monument demanding knelt worship. Sion felt a storm of hammers in his chest upon its sight, ears ringing, spine shivering. His eyes had to travel from lash to lash to scale its length.

"How about now?"

Laguna began to stroke the beast, fingers tracing every protruding nerve like a road to a long journey. And it grew and grew, blood rushing in to form an iron-frim girth.

"You may be brave, but I'm scared for you Blackmercy."

Laguna smiled.

"You see, sex is communal for us Ocmenians. It is our way of life, a showcase of respect and bond." The diplomat lifted his shirt, hills and mountains of silken black unraveled. "Are you ready to bond?"

"Aren't you cold?" Sion reached for a near blanket to feign composure.

"Why don't you find out?"

The Ocmenian vacated from the bench, a few steps forward and he stood towering over the seated Alchemist. Even Sion could feel the weight of the Apothecary shift with each step.

"Professor, I though we're just studying magic..." Sion looked over his shoulder to avoid the desert gaze above. Though his neck was not spared to feel the temperature eminating from the Diplomat's body.

"Have you no interest of culture?" Laguna grabbed him by the chin, thumb and fingers on each side of Sion's jaw. "No interest of a little escape?"

"Little you say?" Sion chewed his lips like burning stars as he stared on what's affronted his face. Is he supposed to laugh from the irony or cry?

"Professor, this is a big escape."

It felt warm, upon the touch of his fingers. Placed between his palm and his reddened cheek before planting a soft kiss. And soon, the sounds of skin flew into birds hitting on water, reminiscent of his morning sails with the Sailor- a scene of familiar comfort.

Ian...

He winced from pain, not of the organ widening his throat but of Ian'drah's recollection. Until a hand grabbed hard on the back of his skull yet weakened by the wrist. The Diplomat's transluscent vest held between his gold-plated teeth to muffle the Ocmenian war-cries, sound of torn fabric instead carved the room.

The Alchemist looked up, and through the blur of tears he saw a man experiencing a little death that never arrives. The fire of the hearth exposing the fog exhaled between them; like a landscape of dusk, of mountains and of hills, inserting down his narrow throat... a communion with nature.

"I have to breathe-" Sion slid the organ out his mouth only to see that he had wetted barely the half of it.

"Would you still care to catch breath if the Sailor is chasing you?"

"No."

"Good boy."

Fueled with a deep breath, Sion planted his mouth on Laguna's fly. Earning him the swiftest tears and the loudest inhalation as air was sucked away.

And with gentle hands the large Diplomat was pushed down the carpet, landing like a hallow mannequin blown by the wind. The sole of Sion's feet feeling a hardened surface as he step on Laguna's chest, impeding heavy breaths.

The strings of trousers landed on the Diplomat as the cold darkness embraced Sion's nakedness. His glorious Anatomy of both sexes flame-illuminated, glossy as glass.

"Are you ready?" he entered his own fingers on the choan-clit gaping under his hilt, soaked with vaginal discharge triple the amount of a woman's.

"I told you I'm not brave enough..."

Laguna's lip trembling in anticipation to kiss the lips between Sion's thighs, fear is an understatement as he now unlocked the mystery of the boy's origins.

He is of Choan blood, the only race with both sexes and the ancestors of both the robotic-crazed engineers of Zhoutania and the Shape-shifting scientists of Navenxii. The bad news is: they were believed to be extinct and were hunted by auctioners. The good news is: their bodies are designed to breed, the best at it.

"Don't be afraid of your own culture, Professor."

Sion grabbed Laguna's shaft, placing it upon his entrance which had spread its lips to a near tearing. And he pushed down and down until his cock-clit was dripping in the Diplomat's dark navel.

"I'm afraid for my life, Zera'a..."

(Darling...)

"But that doesn't mean I won't fight for it." He grabbed Sion's tender waist to guide the tempo of his insertion, a melody of energy, the rhythm of sex. Flavourful dread experienced as his tip finally felt the womb of the Alchemist.

And they had confused their mortal timescale to that of the eternal gods'.

"Domath'lok monutla sambi?"

(Can I release inside you?)

Sion doesn't know the weigh of those Ocmenian words, how the privelege of carrying the offspring of a probable King from the largest country, a future Eternal Crown Holder, is a duty hundreds of powerful women put their one foot on the grave for- in a not so healthy competition.

"Don't hold back..."

And he said that with a certain recipe entering his mind, along with the jets of hot life being shot in his womb. The pulsation, Laguna's ejaculation, the walls of his flesh would remember the warmth in new muscle memory.

Soon enough their leaving energies heralded a dirge for innocence. But Laguna knows at the back of his head, He's just being used as a tool to shred the Sailor's heart in the future.

Yet If not, then this Ambassador would make a great Queen of Ocmenia in the future too... Which the War-torn throne of the current Queen would happily give up for, no doubt.

But what a thing to do, sweet little Sion, to pleasure a stranger?

Author's Note: This chapter means so much to me.