Summary: Katak will prove himself worthy of Colonel’s affections.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Original Story: Think Of Atlantis is a pretty little tale of want by kassrachel, and it’s been one of my favorite fics for a goodly while now. If you like your porn porny, this probably isn't the story for you. Likewise, if you like your romance romantic, this probably won't cut it. In short, Kass, I apologize for what I did to your OC. Really.
Never had a man been so blessed as Katak, and if he hadn’t in been in the middle of negotiations with these bright and shining visitors, he would have prostrated himself before the hosts of Heaven and thanked Agathull Herself for finding him worthy of one such as Colonel Sheppard. Truly, the man was made flesh all that Katak found beautiful and lovely.
And if Katak found himself drawing out the negotiations for the chance to watch Sheppard — or, dare he use the man’s given name? — Colonel — then no one could possibly blame him. Was it not written that beauty should be worshipped wherever it was found? That such worship was like unto devotion to Agathull and all her Handmaidens? That such worship was the holiest of all rituals? Of course it was, and Katak, leader of the Thulls, was a most devout man.
Still, the talks had gone on long enough, and Colonel — just thinking the name gave Katak a pleasurable thrill — despite his generosity of spirit and civilized manner, seemed to be growing a bit restive. It was time to draw things to a close, so smiling broadly, Katak said, “I think we can reach some accommodation. In return for the medical assistance and the technology you have promised, the module will be yours.”
Such a small price to pay for the riches Colonel and his people promised, Katak thought, feeling somewhat guilty over the trade. Never mind that the imperious one could barely contain his glee over the trade — Colonel himself seemed somewhat indifferent. Katak decided he would have to make a good showing when the time came. Perhaps then Colonel would smile as brightly as the midday sun.
He continued, “Of course, we must seal our negotiations in the time-honored manner of my people.”
“Naturally,” said the Athosian. Tepa? Tarla? It was an ill omen that Katak couldn’t remember her proper name, though really, with Colonel in front of him, it was a wonder Katak could remember his own name.
He spoke a bit more loudly to cover his discomfort, saying, “We will gather in the Hall of Assembly. The leader of your party —” He swallowed hard and hoped no one would notice the hitch in his voice. Katak was certain he was correct, but there had been that one time when he’d completely misread the trading group, and he wasn’t sure he could bear it if the same thing happened with this group. He continued, “—That is you, Colonel Sheppard, is it not?”
At Colonel’s nod, Katak relaxed. “You must be brought to the point of death and beyond, at the hands of one of our party.” Katak smiled gently at the thought of allowing anyone but himself making Colonel die. “I will do the honors.”
There was a squawk of outrage from Makee, and when Katak understood what Makee was saying, he very nearly launched himself at the man. Trusted advisor of Colonel or not, he had no right to imply that Katak would harm even one hair on Colonel’s head. Fortunately for all, Tarla pulled Makee away and talked sense into him, though judging by the way Makee continued to glare at him, it seemed to Katak that perhaps Makee was jealous.
Katak turned the thought over in his head a few times and decided he had the right of it. And having determined the source of Makee’s antagonism, Katak forgave him, for was it not written that of all the gifts one can bestow upon a stranger, forgiveness was the most revered by Agathull?
Besides, had Katak been in Makee’s shoes, he would have seethed with jealousy as well.
Katak settled into his seat in the Hall of Assembly. Though he was only a caretaker for the next generation of leaders, he felt his pride in the space was amply justified. Had it not been for his efforts, the room would have looked much poorer than it did, and that simply wouldn’t have done for Colonel. As it was, the walls gleamed in the mellow light of tallow candles, and the mural of the dakah in mid-flight had never seemed so full of life and meaning.
He paused in his ruminations, thinking he was perhaps seeing more in the Hall than was actually there, but then Colonel entered, and the gentle beauty of the Hall paled in comparison to the vibrant presence of Colonel. For a long moment, Katak could do nothing but stare like a sun-struck whiglig. He shook his head with an embarrassed grin and stood to speak to his people and Colonel’s.
“Friends,” he began. “Rarely are we afforded the opportunity to trade with partners such as represented by Colonel Sheppard and his vassals. They come to us in peace, offering their healing gifts and technology in exchange for but one of the small baubles left to our people by the Ancestors. In truth, I feel we are offering a poor trade, but Sheppard assures me this is not the case.”
Everyone applauded, though with restraint, Katak was pleased to note. The bargain was announced, but not sealed, and it would be inappropriate to express enthusiasm at this stage. He could, however, see that they looked forward to shouting their approval of the trade, so Katak continued, “In honor of this auspicious occasion, the milksha from Praneth will sing our praises of Agathull’s most favored songbird. Children?”
As the boys started “Singing Death,” he nodded to the Patriarch of Agathull, who stepped off the dais and walked over to Colonel. The pair exchanged greetings, and Colonel smiled broadly at something the Patriarch said. Katak chewed on his thumbnail and tried desperately to ignore a surge of jealousy. It didn’t matter what Patriarch Galor said or how he made Colonel grin, in the end, Colonel would find his death at Katak’s hands and mouth, and really, that was all that counted.
When the milksha finished the hymn, the Patriarch led Colonel to the Chair of Ancestors with perhaps more touching than was strictly warranted. Katak would have objected, but Galor’s actions would ultimately be judged by Agathull, who would no doubt deal firmly with the situation once Galor returned to Her home.
Katak could almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
“O-kay,” Colonel said, gazing at the Chair. “You want me to —”
“Sit,” Katak said, barely containing his impatience to prove to Colonel that he, Katak, was worthy. He waved off Garol, who continued to hover in defiance of propriety.
“I don’t need to — slip into anything a little more comfortable?”
Katak would have preferred it, in truth, but nothing in the Ritual of Trade Accords allowed for it. “Your garments are — unfamiliar to me. But I trust you can assist,” he said, gesturing toward the promising bulge of Colonel’s Staff of Life.
Colonel offered no objections, simply reaching down to release his staff to the holy air of the Hall of Assembly, and oh —! Katak fell to his knees at the sight of it. The size was as magnificent as Katak suspected, but the deformity was something he hadn’t anticipated. Was Colonel’s staff truly so large when erect that its sheath had fallen off at some point in the past? Katak had never heard of such a thing happening, but perhaps it had something to do with the way Colonel’s staff curved downward instead of up.
He reached out to Colonel’s staff, which remained limp in his hand, then looked up to see if he was causing Colonel pain. What he saw — a wry acceptance of the cruel trick fate had pulled on him — was more than enough confirmation that Katak was right to want to ensure Colonel’s joy that day.
Katak smiled and gripped Colonel’s staff more firmly before twisting his hand upward, checking all the way to see if he was causing pain instead of pleasure. Without its sheath to protect it, Colonel’s staff was oddly vulnerable, and Katak wanted desperately to protect it during this very necessary ritual. Colonel’s sudden inhalation was a bit confusing — Katak thought at first it was one of pain — but then Colonel’s hips pushed up and into Katak’s grip, and it was clear that Colonel was experiencing his first tender moments of bliss.
Colonel’s staff hardened and lengthened, and Katak marveled at its liveliness, the way the downward curving head seemed to seek out Katak’s warmth. Each time he moved his hand down, Colonel’s staff seemed ready to leap free, and as for Colonel himself, well. Katak looked up to see him lean back and close his eyes in pleasure. He would have — should have — spent a full ten gims working Colonel’s staff with his hand, but the musk that signaled Colonel’s arousal was too much for Katak to ignore. He simply had to have a taste.
He bent slowly, both to savor the moment and Colonel’s taste, and it was as well he did, because he might have embarrassed himself otherwise. Of all his forebearers, only three out of the more than two hundred named in the Histories had shamed themselves by taking their completion in the Hall of Assembly. Until that moment, Katak had never understood how such a thing could happen, but with Colonel’s staff heavy and full of life upon his tongue, he nearly became the fourth to dishonor the people of Agathull.
Rather than disgrace himself, Katak concentrated on the Ritual Laving, tracing each of the veins on Colonel’s staff with his tongue, slowly and repeatedly. The lack of a sheath was still quite strange, and Katak caught himself licking around the head repeatedly in an effort to locate something not there. He glanced up and continued the endless circling, for it was clear that Colonel was quite touched by Katak’s attention to that detail.
As for Katak, he found himself having to press down hard on his own arousal more and more often. He had thought Colonel’s scent was intoxicating, but it was nothing compared to his taste. Salty and bitter, yes, but exotic nevertheless. He found himself attempting to chase down the flavor, and in doing so, he felt the first wash of Colonel’s death flood his mouth. He groaned then Colonel’s hips surged upward in response, and in another moment, Katak was swallowing Colonel’s gift to him.
He could barely hear the applause over the roar of his blood pumping through his veins and with the taste of Colonel’s seed on his tongue, Katak found it difficult to move back as he should. The ritual was over far too soon for his own sake, but Colonel looked down at him with gratitude and, dared he hope, more than a bit of longing.
Katak gazed at Colonel for a long moment and felt a perfect understanding with him. Later that night, after the feast, he would find Colonel again, and they would come together as men should — with the strength of their passion forging a bond stronger than steel.
Oh, yes, Katak thought. It will be glorious.