I feel Varian’s approach. The aura of the third member of our triad remains cool and detached, as always. In many ways, Varian is the polar opposite of Cyrus. Where Cyrus is blond-haired and constantly smirking, Varian has close-shaved black hair and his eyes constantly scan every room he enters, searching for signs of danger even within our own home.
He smiles rarely – and usually only when a business deal goes well. Varian shares my greed, but not my taste for the artistic. He’s told me before that all the money in the world means nothing to him. It’s just a way to gain further power and influence. In some ways, I have to agree with that assessment.
As Varian enters the room, he walks straight to the table that serves as centerpiece - pouring himself a goblet of fine, red vintage wine. He takes a sip as he watches us.
Cyrus got a gleam in his eye the moment Varian entered the room.
“So,” he grins. “Let’s go tonight to that doctor’s estate and make an offer.” He turns to our battle-brother. “Varian, he’s a doctor – so don’t feel too shy to ask him about that burning sensation you have whenever you pee...”
There’s a flash of silver as Varian flings a fork from the table.
To any other species, it would be a deadly strike – Varian throws with the deadly accuracy of an assassin. To an Aurelian, though, it’s merely a mildly deadly statement.
Using the cat-like reflexes native to our species, Cyrus catches the sharp fork an inch from his face, dropping it to the floor with a clatter.
Varian snorts, returning his attention to his wine.
“We’ll take our Reaver.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s a fine night. Let’s walk.”
My battle-brothers peer at me curiously.
“We can pass through the market on the way and see if anything catches our eye.”
Varian takes another sip, his eyes narrowing.
“Always on the hunt for the next bargain, eh?” He grunts dismissively. “Very well. We’re nearly out of the good red wine anyway, and there’s a stall with good imports for sale.”
Varian punctuates that statement by downing his glass and pouring another.
I’m not concerned. Varian can hold his liquor even by the standards of our famously robust species. It takes three full bottles of strong, red wine before he’ll even feel a buzz – and many more before it takes the edge off his lethal reflexes.
I can tell because his aura starts to get a little fuzzy at the edges when he’s finally intoxicated. Hell, sometimes he almost looks like he might smile...
…almost.
But just as my passion is art, Varian doesn’t drink for the buzz. He loves decadent wines, especially from grapes imported from the Old-Earth region known as Italy. He’s so passionate he even had a vineyard planted in our estates – but while his wines are passable, they’re never of sufficient quality to satisfy his refined tastes.
Just then, Sarah strolls into the room.
The beautiful Sarah loves to be wherever all three of us are. Cyrus sometimes jokes that she’s like one of those human companion animals in that regard – a dog. All she’s missing is a tail; although she wags that curvaceous rear end of hers as deftly as if she did have one.
I know the truth, though – Sarah’s greatest passion to be taken by all three of us at once, and she knows the likelihood of that happening increases whenever she’s in the presence of all three of us. She doesn’t follow us around because she’s like a companionable house pet – it’s because she aches for us.
Which I like about her, personally. In fact, even though I just sated myself inside Kendra, the sight of Sarah in that thin dress she wears – the one that shows off all the svelte lines of her curvaceous body – causes my cock to harden instinctively.
Wiggling that rear end provocatively – like that puppy, wagging her tail – Sarah saunters over to Cyrus. I feel the surge of need through his aura. She slowly crouches down beside him, picking up the fork that had been hurled at him by Varian.
She looks up at Cyrus, batting those pretty eyes of hers.
“Anything I else I can do for you while I’m down here?” Her smile would tempt a saint. She gazes up at Cyrus with heat in her eyes.
“Another time, gorgeous,” Cyrus responds, his lips curling.
Sarah is disappointed, but she still smiles sweetly – rising to her feet and sashaying to the sink at the wet bar in the corner of the room. There, she idly washes the plates and dishes that have accumulated there; happy to distract herself with the work.
It’s a common sight – even for the members of our harem, who weren’t invited to join us on account of their domestic skills. The culture of this planet, Deemak, has developed to be highly critical of the automation and robotics that take care of menial tasks on most other worlds. It’s probably because there are so many people living in poverty here – and robots and automatic cleaning machines would steal away what few jobs those poor people cling to.
Not that the women of our harem seem to resent the work. In fact, over the generations, it’s almost as if the women of this planet have come to delight in doing things by hand. I often wonder if the moisture farmers and garbage collectors – generally human males from Sector 3 and Sector 4 – take pleasure in such similarly simple toil. Somehow, I doubt it.
Despite rejecting her advances, Cyrus watches Sarah as she cleans – and his aura has an edge of lust to it. I know he’d happily bend her over the counter and take her roughly, even with those yellow rubber gloves up to her elbows and the scent of dish detergent on her skin…
…but when our minds are on business, we push back the thoughts of sex and pleasure, and focus on profit instead.
Our thoughts
