He'd watched his eros scream, sobbing in a pit of his own destruction, his tails unable to spew with the potent, energy-filled power. His fists jerking at his cock. His tails angry and desperate for something that was not him. He'd hissed as Altair approached, snarling with wild eyes.
Valentino had been destroyed that summer, had learnt from Hal that Rue had fucked every single alien in his hellhole except Halcyon and Valentino. Rue did not want their dicks, and he'd made that clear. And the two had wallowed in their own pathetic pits of depression—too whipped to see that it was all so fucking stupid.
For crying out loud, they were future emperors of the goddamn galaxy.
And so Altair had simply patted their backs and soothed them with angry, snappy remarks about the skinny alien's ugly mug and micro penis. Halcyonie had merely cried harder. The artemis losing himself to wars and the gyms. And Valentino had seemed utterly destroyed, and unable to do anything with the most emotionless of eyes.
Altair had been confident, too damn fucking confident. They'd get over their first love, it was just a stupid fucking crush. And they did get a little better after they discovered that they were all part of a pack of seven emperor soulmates and would unite the galaxy forever.
And Altair didn't mind loving more, just as long as he was always the first in Valentino's heart.
But then Valentino's Rut had arrived and Altair had to lower himself, had to morph his features into that idiot's fuck ugly face. He had to pretend he was a skinny little twig with a small dick. And it hurt like hell when Valentino only wanted to touch him when he was his Rue. But Valentino knew the difference, his Alpha always did with an angry little snarl with each wet, sloppy snap of his golden, tanned hips.
Valentino couldn't knot inside him, and his tentacles did not want to pump him full. His emotions had tasted angry, dangerous, jealous and sad. And their bitter, sour tang continued flooding his throat that entire night. That was how bad it was, and in the aftermath, his tails had refused to ejaculate their power resulting in their mangled, ghost-like forms. Valentino's first Rut should be his. It was tradition. It was symbolic. And yet it was not.
It had all been Rue's. Rue who did not want gorgeous, perfect Valentino. Rue who'd rejected his adorable, baby Hal. It was a low blow to be fucked raw by the one person he loved the most in the world in the body of another.
It fucking hurt.
Was it really his fault for wanting to mess around and fuck with that son of a bitch?
Altair returned to their spot with a growl, scenarios of what should be successful, well-planned seduction circulating in the recesses of his mind. Their hideout was located on an upper deck with a one-way glass that revealed the party, and there Valentino lurked in the swaddle of a plush armchair, searching for the alien Altair hated the most in the entire goddamn world—Rue.
Truthfully, this was an extension of their shared room, as was the party which consumed and took over most of their spaces that night. The walls had closed in tight and the barriers between each were destroyed to provide greater space for Halcyon's little get together—his attempt to fuck with Rue.
Only Dante's room remained untouched by the new interior design.
His pack Alpha was fucking his soulmates that night, Kieran and Seraphim, because Altair could taste the traces of Kieran's lust-filled emotions swimming through the light. And the misty droplets of Poseidon pre-cum wafting in the breeze like a delicious poisonous gas. It was perfect, because that meant there wouldn't be righteous lovable idiots trying to stop Altair from destroying the rude little Guide that had ruined their pack's dynamics.
But Altair hadn't counted on being ruined himself. He'd lost again that night, had slicked up like an Omega, came even before he got his dick out of his pants. His tentacles releasing their juices the moment Rue had touched his fucking wrist like an aroused little bitch in heat. Altair shivered, nose wrinkling at the memory of a buttery soft belly against his hard cock. The pale glint of eyes that seemed to catch all the colours in the world and swallow them whole.
As much as he hated to say it, Rue made his wings melt. And he tasted like heaven. His emotions were godly ambrosia—creamy butter on toast, milky hot chocolate in a cup, refreshing juice and the most sinful of burning rum. It sucked that he smelled mostly like death, but tonight Rue had been sweeter, creamier than normal under all that rot.
It'd been a good fight, a decent loss.
His Valentino was slouching comfortably in his seat, alcohol between long, nimble fingers. But Altair's entrance into the enclosed space and the resulting bloom of Rue's shitty scent had his mate on his feet. The Eros slammed him to the walls, already sniffing up his neck. But Valentino wasn't looking for him, God no, he was looking for the traces of Rue like the drugged addicts they were.
"Saw through the guise?" Valentino growled gruffly, sniffed at the silk of his throat. "I told you he would."
"I'm a trained spy. I've seduced kings, fucked up diplomats. I'm the emperor of the motherfucking galaxy," Altair snarled, cheeks growing pink. "He should not be seeing through any fucking disguise for fuck's sake!" He splayed his hands over the bar, grabbing the neck of hard whisky to chug it with a growl. A droplet down his juicy lip, he swallowed. The burn wasn't enough to end the hard and heavy throb of the mark above his belly.
In the glass, he eyed the visage of himself, lips swollen and raw from his own teeth. The chub of his cheeks flushing the deepest of scarlet. Altair was a nasty sort of gorgeous, and he knew that. And he'd been prettier as an Omega, with the skinniest of waists that spread to long limbs, to the sultry perky tits that bounced heavy with fat.
He'd given himself the most gorgeous of vanilla scent and he'd kept it all special for just Rue. Altair had used every ounce of his powers to provide Rue with the first hand experience of an aphrodite on a mission, hiding himself from everyone else.
And God, he might have allowed him to take it all the way, with a juicy wet cunt and a fat clit. Altair didn't particularly enjoy fucking someone else as an Omega with a generous drop in pleasure from his changed sex. But the orgasm would be tasty. Brows now furrowed as he pondered the continuation of his grand scheme. Had his only plan been an orgasm?
Of course, the goon had been the only other person who'd had the privilege of sniffing out his tailored scent in its smallest degree. But it didn't matter because Rue had waved him off like a useless little puppy, and then fucked him up by teasing his frail little heart.
His cheeks burned, pinker at the memory of the little Alpha, with his eyes close. Breath hot over the cracks between his palm, the slow grind of his hips, and the low chuckle that had crawled up his spine, phantom hands down the shaft of his cock. A palm over the mushroom head.
He'd released the hot, creamy load of himself in his pants in thick heavy ropes that made his pants now so crusty and sticky that they crunched with each step. And his wings had been spurting their own juices, had spilled energy all over Rue in crazed invisible streaks. He swore it was all over his face. And the godly guide had taken it all up like it was nothing.
Magical.
That ugly skinny Alpha.
Why the fuck did Altair's body crave that little dude? He always seemed almost dead. His cheeks hollowed and a face that was so pale it should disgust him. He had Gods for mates, six gorgeous Alphas. And yet this one made him cum so hard he felt as if he were dying and then coming back to life. This had his fist slamming against the counter.
Altair was hissing before he knew it. "He's so fucking ugly! I should have just fucked up his mug. We've messed with his hands, could have messed with his face—"
"Where's your mark?" Valentino mumbled wine glass nudged towards him, eye rolling and hard. He didn't seem to care about Altair's predicament. In fact, he seemed to have accepted his place as a slave to that little idiot. But Altair turned to look, brow raised. Body growing closer to his eros.
"What mark?" he growled.
"Soul mark," Valentino answered, did not blink. "Aphrodite or not you're still eros. You don't have soul marks for our mates. None of us have anything for each other even though our souls are tied together. But I know you have one for Rue."
Altair flushed, eased away from Valentino's eyes, looking down. "What makes you think I have one from that little shit—"
"Mine's 'fuuuuck', and it's on my cock." Valentino muttered, tugging the elastic of his pants. And Altair stared, eyes widening at the bush of pubic hair that he parted to reveal traces of gold, curved along the base. The 'u's extended along the shaft, printed over the length as if to highlight his size. Altair was scandalized. "It used to have just three 'u's, but now that my cock's grown after my Rut. It's everything Rue must have said."
"You told me it was on your fucking collarbone! You've been hiding this from us for how long?" This had rage bubbling in Altair's chest. "I'm your fucking aphrodite, Valentino!"
"I know…It's just, it's mine. I just wanted to keep it mine for a while. And I know you wouldn't have liked it." He answered cheeks growing pink. Valentino was right, Altair hated it. The mark was possessive and stretched over the core of an eros. "Now tell me where the fuck is yours, and what did Rue say?"
Altair went quiet, and grew hotter. Then swallowed. "Aphrodites don't have first words like eros. First words are too fucking ugly for our bodies. We don't want 'my balls itch, piss off,' and 'hello good morning my name is…' or 'excuse me, please let me fucking pass.' on our bodies from the beginning of our lives—"
"They're still going to be words."
"The first sexual words," Altair corrected, feeling sober. The truth was something he had not faced. That night at the party Altair had meant to kidnap Rue, had wanted to cut off his limbs and feed him to sharks. But his soul had stopped him, his words had stopped him. "The first sexual offer our soulmate says to us. And once they say it only then will they appear. And I'll burn in a pit of reduced sensitivity unless I meet my soul marked mate and we go all the fucking way. But it shouldn't matter. You should give me just as much satisfaction, I'm just a little more sensitive with my soulmate—"
"So what did he give you today?"