N.B. Hello, my beloved readers. If I didn't get to your request, I'm sorry for being a terrible person. But I really, really, really need to go work on A True Champion. Thank you for your understanding.

There's still one more chapter. Don't chew me out yet. Thank you.

Table of Contents

Sunlight (Leona x Panth) — Pagebreaks 1 - 2

Red (Ezreal x Kat) — 3 - 4

Of Chandeliers (Ryland x Cressida) — 4 - end


Weary of the noise and confusion, Pantheon led her to a secluded spot, one of his favorites to haunt when he craved quietude, silence. A small thick copse of bushes. Their leaves were glossy, black-green, and smelled of ancient breezes when you crushed them between your fingers.

In the center of the plush grass stood a large marble fountain of the sun. Glistening rivulets ran, trickling, from each of the stone rays, into a deep, clear pool below that was lit from within. The underwater lamps made the water look like crystal, and the copper coins beneath the surface twinkled like captured stars, like Leona's rich, warm eyes.

And there was Leona herself. How interesting, Pantheon thought, that having a lover that reminded one of the sun was so beautiful beneath the silvery gaze of the moon. Her sundress was a gauzy mint color, falling in airy ripples to the caps of her knees. Her sandals — they were brown, studded with miniature silver stars that glittered against the healthy bronzed skin of her feet.

But her hair — that was the part Panth loved of her the most. Even in the dim light, it was magnificent, silky, lovely — a mane, a crown of colors from spring and summer and autumntide. It was the deep auburn color of the mountains of Ionia when the leaves began to turn, intertwined with strands of summer's heavenly golden sun and spring's red, red roses. It fell to the middle of her sweet breasts and lingered there, inviting Pantheon's touch.

And when Leona sat on the edge of the fountain and Panth beside her, he did so, lightly. His coarse fingertips brushed her hair's fringes, stroked them again and again. Leona's cheeks grew red.

Their love needed no words.

When she lifted the gown up and away from her body, Pantheon watched, mesmerized. The muscles of her thighs were firm, strong from her days on the Rift. They merged with her buttocks — two large, tan cheeks that flexed and moved smoothly. Her forest-green thong didn't conceal them. A few beads of water splashed onto them and clung to her curves, twinkling against her skin.

The gown came away from her breasts — two of the many things Pantheon loved about her. He had never — not in his long, warrior's history — encountered breasts like Leona's. With her smooth stomach, her muscular hips, they should've been small. But they were too large for Pantheon to encompass fully, even with his broad hands.

He tried anyway.

The green satin of her bra and her warmly-colored flesh felt the same beneath his palm — smooth, silky. The wind shifted, drizzled them with a curtain of fine mist. Leona arched her back as Panth traced her nipples with his thumbs, pressing those luscious globes towards him, inviting his kisses. He stripped her bra away with gentle fingers, and it joined the green dress in a heap on the ground. Dew was beginning to collect on each stalk of grass.

After shrugging out of his shirt and revealing his own chiseled physique, Panth kissed her gently. Her large bottom lip was traced by his tongue as he savored its smoothness and sweetness. The roaring of the fountain couldn't compete with the blood surging through his veins. Leona kissed him back, honey-toned eyes open and sparkling, nipples peaking beneath his tender yet insistent touch. He shifted one large hand to the small of her back and had her lean against it.

It had taken months for him to fully earn her trust about holding her. Though not fat in the slightest, she was often concerned by how large she was — how tawny and broad boned, with wide shoulders and hips and muscles like a lioness. But, though she believed herself unattractive, Pantheon knew the truth. He felt it reaffirmed as they embraced beneath the stormy sky. A light drizzle had begun to fall, joining and echoing the chill of the mist against the hot summer night.

As he held her by the hips and kissed her silky neck, Pantheon knew Leona was the most beautiful woman in the world.

The sweet, hot rainwater mingled with the taste of her flesh — a healthy, apple-like flavor, refreshing and sweet. His lips grew more urgent as thunder rolled nearby. Soon they were shrouded in rain.

By the light of the fountain, Pantheon saw Leona's hair turn from radiant to mysterious, a dark color like the bark of enchanted trees. He took the ends of it between his lips and sucked the rain from it, then moved his mouth to her nipples. She let out a small gasp of pleasure. It was followed by a vast, muted roar from the clouds above them. He nuzzled and nibbled her teats, mouth and tongue moving more and more urgently as the storm's power increased.

She was panting now — skin glistening, as was his — full lips open with pleasure, drinking in the rain and the heat of Pantheon's tongue. Her hands found his neck and interlaced her fingers behind it, her thumbs tracing the inner curves behind his ears. His thick muscles were steady beneath hers, but his skin was slippery. With a laugh, she splashed into the fountain, followed by him.

But she had a moment of regret. The storm-churned water lapped against her nose, her mouth — clean and coppery, but overwhelming. She gasped for air as the wild roar of rain spattered downward. Water, mixing in waves and silvery currents, battering her face, her chest.

Before she could worry, Pantheon's strong arms lifted her body upward and rested her back against the marble fountain's slippery slide. She flinched as his thumb rolled along the inner part of her crevice, soaked with arousal and rain. Then he slipped the sodden cloth from between her legs and replaced the chill with the warmth of his hand.

She threw her head back, felt the rain pounding against her face and neck, felt Pantheon penetrate her. His sex was afire with passion, almost too burning for Leona's water-chilled body to handle. But her years of sun-worshiping had prepared her for this.

She bit her lip as he spread her thighs apart and entered her, inching slowly forward. He cupped her ample buttocks with his broad hands, lifting her against him. Her hands pressed against his chest, her large, firm, wet breasts beneath his chin. He could only barely hear her gasp of pleasure as he thrust deeper — the wind snatched it away.

But he heard the deeper moan as he entered her fully. Pantheon's member wedged tightly in between Leona's trembling legs, the warmth blooming inside both of them. He held her close as he began to thrust — the slickness of her inner thighs was sweet, hot friction against his aching erection. His cock slipped in and out of her, out into the cold wavy water, in into her warm, tight body. His breath grew more ragged as her back arched, as her fingernails dragged across his skin, leaving sweet stripes behind them.

Then he came. And for a few moments, the world was rumbling thunder, the cresting of Leona's chest, surging water and roaring rain. And heat — so much heat as Pantheon's dick throbbed and pulsed and pounded inside of her.

Then it vanished. By the wavering light, he caught a glimpse of Leona's rich, honey-golden eyes smiling up at him, raindrops twinkling on the edges of her eyelashes.

Then the Wheel turned.

They gathered their clothes up and ran through the rain, Leona's laugh echoing above the storm, triumphant in a way. The sun always triumphed.


Ryland felt the tension drain from his muscles as the rain spilt from the clouds above, torrented to earth in roaring gray curtains. He loved the smell of it — the flowers' petal-throats opening up, the grass slaking its thirst. He sighed as Ezreal snuggled into his side.

"Remember. It's only weird if you make it weird."

"Got it," Ez mumbled, then yawned, buried his face deeper into Ryland's side, and fell asleep. Ryland joined him. Sleep rolled in over him like a fog. His body was expecting rest, but his mind wasn't.

He opened his eyes beneath a starry dome of a sky, surrounded on all sides by little designer shops, cathedrals and marble statues. Banners the color of a sunset were planted in the ground every few feet, and flapped lazily in the mild night breeze.

What?

Then he noticed Ezreal and smiled. "Hello again."

Ez stumbled back a step, unsure. He was sporting a cute black waistcoat and a red tie, his shoes shone to a high black gloss. "Why are we in Noxus?"

"Noxus?" Ryland blinked. Come to think of it — the silver scrolling along the shop banners was rich and intricate, the cathedrals massive and daunting, the stained glass windows depicting rolling green hills and waterfalls instead of the heavens. And the air smelled like exotic spice. "Noxus. I've never been."

"Good joke, master." The voice came from their right. Ryland and Ezreal turned as a boy Ezreal's height strode in from beneath the streetlamps. He was dressed exactly the same, but he looked very, very different. His eyes were pale, frost-colored, his lean face freckled, his hair red-gold, his hands deformed by scars. And he was bonier. He shook his head and smiled. "If I didn't know you any better, I'd think —"

He stumbled to a halt, eyes widening. His scar-torn hands were immediately wreathed in white-hot fire. It roared, crackled, spat sparks onto the cobblestone ground. Ezreal squeaked and hid behind Ryland's arm.

"Who are you?" The boy demanded, fox-thin face tight with a feral snarl.

"I — uh — um — shit. Fuck." Ryland shook his head. The social anxiety was flooding his body from his feet up. Well, that and his fear of the fire. His knees began to shake.

"Wait. I know who you are." Emboldened, Ezreal stepped forward, also scowling. "You're that weird guy who watched that one bitch fuck me."

Ez, I don't think you should call someone with their hands on fire weird, Ryland thought to him distantly.

"He is weird, Ryland." Ezreal looked up at him. "Look at him, for fuck's sake."

"The only weird thing I see here is you and your companion," the boy spat. He addressed Ryland. "Why do you look like Demetrius?"

"I — who? I really don't —"

"You know, Caelyn, I really wish you'd wait a few minutes before summoning Shades of me to keep yourself company." Another voice. Mild, well-bred. Ryland saw the speaker strolling towards them and felt his stomach drop out of his body, onto the ground. A Noxian General, somehow even taller than Ryland himself.

But what was truly striking was his suit.

A Carandelli. Top of the top of the line. His shoes, too — custom leather from Trivibach. And his cuff-links and matching tie pin made Ryland start to shake. They were black pearl roses. He didn't have to recognize the cut of the man's black tie to know it was extravagant and tasteful. The man made the Crownguard's look middle class, the Whitefield's poor, the dar Regale's subhuman.

As if sensing Ryland's discomfort, the man shook his head. His face was angular and handsome and, being from Noxus, his hair was black, his eyes green. "Did you really have to pack one of the Carandelli, child?"

"I hardly see a more fitting occasion for it," Caelyn said from the corner of his mouth. His pale eyes hadn't left Ryland's face, though the flames around his hands went out. "You're meeting all the delegates from Runeterra."

"I know, but people get so strange around it. It makes them nervous. Sometimes I want to tell them I've got four more hanging up at home just to see their react — oh. Good evening." Demetrius flushed. "I thought you were Shades. Please forgive me."

Ezreal had squeezed back under Ryland's arm. Ryland could only stare.

"Hold a moment." Demetrius squinted, then glanced at something behind Ryland. "Your majesty?"

"Um. Nope. Not — nope." Ryland shook his head and began to back away. "Not today."

"Your — your name is Ryland though, correct?" Demetrius inquired politely, tugging at the sleeve of his suit. He looked almost as nervous as Ryland himself. Caelyn had burrowed beneath Demetrius' arm, echoing Ez. He was still eying Ezreal uneasily.

"Yes, but —"

"And you do bear a rather — interesting — similarity to the statue behind you," Demetrius coughed. Ryland whirled.

He was right. The statue of King Ryland looked exactly like Ryland himself. The Healer looked down at his own plain black armor, then back up to the black-marble ten-foot-tall replica of himself, gazing sternly out over Noxus.

Fuck, Ryland thought. "Well." He shook his head and laughed, unable to think of anything else to say. "Well."

"It's alright. I, too, suffer from intense social anxiety." Demetrius nodded, looking relieved.

"Really?" Ryland blinked. "That's very upfront of you." And makes me feel so much better.

"Yes. I try to be considerate of it. And your Dove's quite cute." Demetrius scratched under Ezreal's chin, then ruffled his golden hair. Ezreal leaned into him, eyes half-closed. Then suddenly withdrew.

"Oh, no. Oh, hell no." Ezreal bared his teeth. Demetrius snatched his hand away with a blush. "Ryland. I'm dressed like one of those guys."

"And what's wrong with being dressed like one of those guys?" Caelyn asked sharply.

"What's wrong?" Ezreal barked laughter and jabbed a finger at Caelyn's chest. "You guys think I'm gonna walk around like Ryland's bitch, that he's gonna keep me as a pet —"

Demetrius's eyes widened. "I'm terribly sorry. It's, ah, custom in our count —"

Ryland could only stare. Golden sparks were flickering in the Explorer's hair. Caelyn's eyes were gleaming a dull red, fangs resting on his lower lip. "Uhh. Ezreal."

Ezreal's fists clenched. "Just because I'm some little blonde guy means I have to attach myself to some bigger guy and call him master. Well, fuck no. I'm a real m —"

"Ezreal." Ryland clapped hand over his mouth. "I'm really sorry, I —"

Demetrius swallowed hard. "No, no. My apologies. I'm absolutely horrible at this delegate business. It's my f —"

"Let go of me!" Ezreal's teeth sank into Ryland's finger. He pulled it away with a hiss.

"Ouch! What the fuck, Ez?"

"Real man? I see a coward who can't admit certain traits to himself." Caelyn scoffed. "Pathetic."

"Caelyn." Demetrius tugged on his ear. "No need to make him feel worse about his — upsetting attire. I've never seen anyone so angered by their own vest and tie. Perhaps it's the custom of his country. Catharsis, maybe."

Ryland tried not to laugh. The General's sense of humor was even drier than Ryland's own, and the entire situation was just — bizarre. It was a dream, but still.

Ezreal's eyes blazed. "You're calling me pathetic? Hold on, let me get my master's opini —"

"You could conceal your jealousy a little better, storm-cloud." Caelyn dusted his hands against his jacket, elaborately casual. "The other boys are much more calm about it."

Ezreal barked laughter. "You think I'm jealous of a little faggot like you?"

Demetrius winced. Tiny strips of fire encircled Caelyn's rough fingers.

"Hey!" Ryland shouted. His voice boomed over the park. He grabbed Ezreal by the shoulders and shook him. "Relax!" Why are you losing your shit?

Before Ez could respond, Ryland heard the General say to Caelyn via their own mental link, It's just like Saint Garrett, love. Not worth it.

Ezreal's blue eyes glittered defiantly. I'm still straight.

I — I know that. Ryland almost patted his head. Habit. Ezreal's frown deepened. His frenetic thoughts were confusing Ryland. Ez didn't want to be confused for Ryland's pet because he was supposed to be a famous techmaturgist, everyone would think he and Ryland were dating or — something — and —

"Unfortunately, I believe it's best we part, your majesty." Demetrius was cupping Caelyn's chin and forcing him to focus on Demetrius' face. That boy's scowl was scarier than Ezreal's, as it had more teeth and redder eyes. "I'd prefer not to pit them against one another. Not right now, at least. Perhaps if we were in Demacia and not Noxus." Demetrius glanced at him. "I'd hate to destroy the state's property, even if only in a dream. Dream taxes and all that."

Ryland smiled. I could get used to this guy. "I'm really sorry. Hopefully things will, um, go better tomorrow."

"At the banquet I presume? Oh. Of course at the banquet. What am I talking about?" Demetrius sighed and rubbed his temples. "Maybe I'll be less nervous. Ta — aikah, King Ryland."

King, Ryland thought. "Have a nice night. Come on, Ez." Ezreal followed him with one last snarl over his shoulder. Caelyn returned it.

As the two of them waded deeper into the night-cloaked streets of Noxus, the city grew more crowded. Generals lifted their hands in salutes as Ryland passed by. Women in saffron, crimson, indigo fanned themselves and traced Ryland and Ezreal's bodies from head to toe, smiles secretive.

And laughing blonde boys — dressed just like Ez — drifted past, chattering in some trilling foreign tongue. Ezreal's frown deepened with each one.

"Dude," Ryland finally said. "What was that? I've never seen you that mad."

"Did you see the way he just fucking petted me?" Ezreal's eyes were wild.

"Yeah." And how you enjoyed it for a little while. I saw that too.

"Wouldn't you be mad if some dude just — petted you?" Ezreal asked, incredulous. They passed through a wavering patch of light cast by a bar and came to a stop on its fringes. Ez's face was still dark with anger.

"I — no? No, I wouldn't." Ryland shrugged. Especially not if it were that g — He cut the thought off abruptly, flushing darkly.

"Really. If some guy you didn't know just walked up and petted you."

"Like this?" One of the Generals passing by ruffled Ez's hair with a grin. Ezreal gnashed his teeth.

"Degardo!" Someone else hissed. "Don't pet the Destroyer. Are you out of your damn mind?"

"Why? I'm sure King Ryland doesn't mind us enjoying his Willow-Dove." Degardo saluted and vanished into the night.

Oh, great, Ryland thought with an inner sigh. He wasn't surprised when Ezreal snarled, "Fuck this." He whirled on his heel and began to stride away.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Alone? In Noxus at night? Dressed like a Dove?

"I don't need a chaperone, master," Ezreal spat over his shoulder.

Ryland watched him go, eyebrows raised. Well, damn.

He shook his head and almost walked directly into a cluster of Generals standing outside the bar, leaning against the front. They examined him with curious green eyes, then lifted their red shot glasses and clinked them together.

"To the king's health," one of them rumbled. "He'll need it with a Dove like that." There was a ripple of appreciative laughter, followed by salutes.

Ryland heaved a sigh. Well, he thought again. Damn.


Think I'm Ryland's little servant? When I've been published over a hundred times in academic journals? And I'm dating Lux? Please. Don't make me laugh. Ezreal kicked a rock alongside a mostly-deserted, tree-shaded road, still scowling.

How could weird-hand guy call that other guy 'master' with a straight face? What kind of fucking bullshit country is this? His toe connected with the rock again.

He didn't see Katarina fade out of the shadows, spot him, and grin. Her body was still spattered with bruises — against the pale canvas of her skin, they looked like surrealist splotches of paint. She was in a short black dress, tall red heels and a huge feather boa the color of passion. Red.

Her heels clicked along the sidewalk as she trailed the grumpy Explorer. Can't touch Ryland. Darius said nothing about his pet, though. Ez still didn't turn around — not even when Kat was inches away. Besides. I should probably get him off the streets before he gets hurt. Well, too hurt.

"Hey, kid. You lost?"

He whirled on her, hands upraised and glittering. Then slowly let them down. A stray spark of gold fluttered to the ground. "Are you following me?"

"Nah." She smirked. "I'm just behind you."

"Not in the mood," Ez huffed. He turned to go, and Kat's hand snatched out, grabbing the tip of his tie.

"What's your hurry? Got somewhere you've gotta be?"

"Yeah. A place called 'Not Here.'"

"Oooh. Witty," Kat purred. In her red heels, she towered over him. And the little waistcoat was a nice touch. She savored the glint of fear in his crystal blue eyes as he tried to pull away and couldn't.

"Why's everyone so clingy?" Ez growled. A few of the other Doves on the other side of the street had stopped, were watching with glittery blue eyes, only slightly lighter in shade than Ezreal's.

"Is that Jennings' Boy?" Kat heard one of them whisper.

"No, I think it's Wren."

Kat laughed aloud, yanked the tie, brought him closer. Ez stumbled forward. "They really do think you're one of them."

"Sh - shut up. I'm not! They're stupid!"

"How do you know you wouldn't like it?" She traced his cheekbone with her wine-colored fingernails, watched as Ezreal's neck broke into goosebumps.

He swallowed hard. "Like what?"

"Being someone's little pet. You know." She heard him think Noxians and their dirty talk. It's my greatest weakness. Fuck. "Being there to fulfill all their desires." She trailed her nails across his jaw and held his tie tighter. The night air was thickening. "At their command, to pleasure them, to let them use you, your dick, your mouth —"

He was hard again. No wonder Lux is so worried, Kat thought. It really doesn't take much to turn him on. She rested her thumb on his lips, her other fingers on his throat. The low light made her nails a mysterious near-black. She leaned into him, green eyes aglitter. He shivered.

"I think you'd like it."

He blinked up at her, quivering.

Holy shit. He really does look like a Willow-Dove. Got the eyelash flutter down and everything. Her nipples hardened. She'd always wanted to fuck one of the Generals' boys, but they were off-limits. Only made them more enticing, of course.

This one was hers. He didn't resist when she led him into a nearby alley — everyone knew not to walk Noxus' alleys after dark, as they were basically brothels. The other Doves whispered briefly to one another, then followed them, bright blue eyes shiny in the gray eventide.

"Let's take care of these." She pulled the vest off, followed by the shirt. One of the Doves caught them. He whispered to his friends in their birdsong dialect. They whispered back, agreeing.

Ezreal was left in his pants and red tie, lean and skinny, watching her, hesitant. She admired his taut stomach ad his messy golden hair before growing impatient.

Kat pulled the tie again. "Pants off."

"Wh — we're outside!" He looked around and snarled. "And those weird guys are watching!" The Doves exchanged glances and shrugs.

"It's Noxus, sweetheart." She yanked the tie and he choked, dug at the silk with his fingers. He gasped. It wasn't loosening. "Pants —"

"No!"

Her eyes narrowed. "I'll choke you out. How'd you like me to leave you unconscious here, huh? You wouldn't be able to walk for a week."

He fumbled for the buttons of his dress pants, for the belt buckle. They fell to his ankles. Kat loosened her grip. He blushed, a warm red in the dark night. The front of his black boxers was bulging with an obvious erection.

Kat's grin widened. He looks fucking adorable. She pulled him close — so close that his bony chest was even with her ribs, his face buried in the fluffy red feathers of her boa. She reached down and playfully squeezed his balls. He gasped, got a mouthful of feathers, sneezed, then cried out when Kat's nimble fingers brushed the tip of his dick.

She leaned in, whispered, "How'd you like me to give you head right now?"

"R - right now?" Ez flinched as his dick twitched, got hard enough to peep through the hole in his boxers. He glanced around. The other Doves shrugged and nodded, encouraging him. "Why are there always people watching?"

"I told you earlier." She squeezed his balls again. He leaned away, almost stumbled .She snapped the red tie tight to keep him on his feet. Everything was silvery and red except her icy green eyes. "It's Noxus."

She shoved him against a wall. Her mouth — ravenous — consumed his, her lips hot satin against his silk. Her tongue touched the tip of his, then went deeper. The sudden intimacy startled Ezreal into a gasp.

"Mhm. See?" She bit his earlobe and chuckled. "You like it."

"Quit it." His voice was little more than a whisper. Why can't I ever be on top? Ever?

"Because you're weak." Kat bent her knees, pulled his dick through his boxers, and swallowed it. Ezreal's cry was stifled by her tugging on the tie. He spread his legs and rested both hands on the top of her head. He could only barely see the bouncy curve of her butt, pushed out by her taut thighs. Her red hair had fallen into her eyes.

He whimpered as his dick slid down her throat, then gasped and choked when she squeezed the tops of his legs, near his hips. Then she swirled her tongue across the bottom of his cock — smoothly, but with great pressure — pursed her lips together, and let the head of his dick leave her mouth with a wet pop. He was already moaning and gasping.

"Wouldn't last ten minutes with a General," Kat heard one of the Doves murmur with faint distaste. Kat grinned.

"Try two," whispered another.

She used the tie to hold him steady, but he was still shaking with anticipation. She deep-throated him, felt him thudding in her mouth and throat. Then she made out with his dick — Frenched it, as some on a different Wheel would say — winding her tongue around it, pulling back and dotting it with little kisses, lapping it. Ezreal's moans grew louder, vibrated his chest.

She added pressure to his sack, squeezing it lightly with her fingers. The little guys with the thick dicks always seemed to like that. He shifted back a little, but she was still yanking on the tie. The red band of silk kept him firmly in her grasp.

His hands gripped the sides of her face, his smooth abs pressed to her forehead. Then she pulled away. Her gleaming green eyes met his dark blue ones.

"And how'd you like if I fucked you?"

"I —" Ezreal shook his head. "I don't —"

"Shhh." She rolled the skirt of her micro-dress up, shifted aside her black underwear, and slid the head of his cock up and down her red-hot crevice. There was a wet sound — her pussy and mouth were both equally damp. Ezreal gasped painfully into the humid night air.

Then Kat turned around, ground her ass against him. She spread her legs and bent her knees and slid down the length of his dick, pressed her taut butt to his thin hips. She felt him take the edges of her hair in his fingers and laughed, then moaned as he started to thrust. The rhythm sped up immediately, the slick friction making both of their bodies tense against one another.

This was Noxus. She missed it, always.

For a little guy, Ez was pretty damn wide. He managed to spread her lower lips apart, to make her body tingle every time he drove in deep. Her head was starting to ache from the hair pulling, but she didn't mind. The tension from that and her high heels made it easy to come, to wet his cock with thick fluid.

She moaned, red lips wide open, then slipped off him and pushed him against the wall again. She hauled on his tie until he stood on his tiptoes, then shoved her tits in his face and held them there. She heard him choke, but it only filled her with delight, not pity. His hot breath burned against her skin, made her sweat.

When her lower lips slipped all the way to the base of his shaft, come spurted out of him, into her.

She pulled away with another laugh. His eyes were still squeezed shut, body wracked with post-climax shivers, his cock protruding from his black boxers. "Hey."

He didn't answer.

"Hey."

He was still busy quaking. Sweat dampened his golden bangs.

"Ezreal."

"What?" He whispered. His blue eyes were glassy with weariness. He and Luxanna usually only had sex, like, two times a week, tops. And now this. He was exhausted.

She grinned as one of the Doves pressed Ez's clothes into her hands. The boys fluttered off, whispering to one another. "You're a bitch."

He was too tired to argue.


Noxus at night was — interesting.

The laughter seemed too loud, the vegetation too lush. The trees shading the roads had black leaves thicker than parchment, white-blue blossoms floating among their branches, as plush as captured crane feathers.

And the people — too attractive. Ryland wasn't difficult to impress, but it took much to catch his attention. Still, he found his eyes chasing a new half-glimpsed form through the dark every few moments. A pale, statuesque red-haired man in nothing but blue jeans. A tall black woman, white swirls painted beside her deep, dark eyes, dressed in turquoise veils. Twins — a boy and a girl, same short, dark hyacinthine hair curling by their temples, same green tanktops. They added a wink to the usual smile and nod.

There was that, too. All the attractive people already knew him. He'd tripped over his feet with the redhead grinned at him.

And the clothing dazzled was dazzling, even in the dimness. Purple-gold cloaks, skirts that covered almost nothing. A black bra, shining with dewdrop diamonds, playfully winking through a white mesh shirt.

And red flowers spilling from baskets overhead, and moths as large as his hands fluttering around them. Spices and fried meat. Street musicians, sweet-tongued pipes not even Ryland could identify. Keyboards, trumpets.

Ryland felt his chest ache. His excitement was morphing to anxiety, overstimulation. After Demacia, with its uniform art and faceless legions, Noxus was breathtaking. Dizzying.

When he began to shake, he tugged the sleeve of the General nearest him. The man was ordering cold drinks from a neon-lined street car whose glaring blue letters read the Herbalist. A group of glittery-eyed children nearby were entranced by a shirtless tan man, body striped like a tiger, juggling spheres of fire.

Ryland wasn't entirely surprised to find that the General was Demetrius from earlier, who was a study of handsomeness in his own right. General Falin had taken off his Carandelli jacket, leaving only his open-throated white dress-shirt. It clung to his long, lean-limbed body. Ryland felt his cheeks warm when his green eyes turned towards him.

"Ahh." Demetrius smiled cordially, and Ryland's heart dropped a beat. "Yes, your majesty?"

"H - hi." Ryland swallowed hard, noticed Caelyn peering up at him, and flushed harder.

"I'm pleased that the king is attractive," Caelyn said quietly. His frosty eyes shone with appreciation, and Ryland almost fell over.

Demetrius swatted his boy. "You're already trying to kill him, aren't you?"

"Can I not offer him a compliment? Are you that possessive now?" Caelyn's grin widened.

Demetrius rolled his eyes. "I'm possessive, he says. You know, your majesty, he almost torched you earlier because he mistook you for me and your companion for a young Battle Saint."

Caelyn turned crimson. He gripped Demetrius' shirt sleeve. "You didn't need to tell him that!"

Ryland couldn't answer, no matter how much he wanted to. There were just too many questions.

"Here. Drink this." Demetrius pressed the frigid glass into his hand — even the drink was colorful, a hearty, rustic blue. Ryland took a sip and felt part of his anxiety evaporate.

"What is this?"

"Blueberry chamomile. Probably honey in there somewhere." Demetrius smiled knowingly. Gods, Ryland thought. That's comforting, too. "Believe me. Dream Noxus isn't the easiest thing on people such as you and I."

"Dream Noxus." Ryland glanced around him. A few of the passer-by glanced back, smiled. Grins of all types, small, secretive, sunny, open. "I forgot I was asleep, actually."

"I believe it's your interpretation too, sir." Caelyn's smile became less predatory. "It usually takes more than one sorcerer, but you're rumored to be very, very powerful."

"Occasionally Empaths gather the people of Noxus together in a single dream at night," Demetrius explained, seeing Ryland's confusion. He nodded to two passing Willow-Doves. They were waving sparklers, smiles flashing as bright as their golden hair.

Ryland cocked his head, determined to look everywhere but Demetrius' friendly face. Not that Caelyn's acute interest was any less unnerving. "Why?"

"Why not is usually the Noxian question." Demetrius looked thoughtfully at the starry sky. "It's always a pleasant surprise, to close your eyes and wake up at a city-wide party. Or would be, if you're not an introvert as I am. And presumably you are."

Ryland smiled. "I was wondering if there was any place to go clear my head."

"The L'Rae Divin." Caelyn sipped his own fiery-red concoction and pointed to the right with one scarred finger, above the heads of the milling crowd. "That way, your majesty. You can't miss it. It'll relax you if you let it."

"Really?"

"Guaranteed, sir." Caelyn's eyelash flutter made Ryland twitch.

"I — is it a brothel?" He blurted.

Demetrius choked on his own smoothie. "Oh, gods. That sounds like something one of the critics would say."

"It's —" Caelyn had to pause for air, he was laughing so hard. "It's the National Noxian Theater."

"Oh." Ryland chuckled, then buried his burning face in his hand. "I'm a godsdamned idiot."

Demetrius fanned his face as the tiger-man blew a jet of fire atoms above his audience's head. There were gasps and delighted shrieks.

"Amateur," Caelyn murmured. A few red sparks danced along his torn fingertips. Ryland struggled not to flinch.

Demetrius ignored the spectacle. His eyes, Ryland noticed, were the same deep green of his own, but — clearer. Unmuddied by silver. "Ignorance isn't stupidity by any means, sir. I'm qualified to say that, too."

Ryland cleared his throat. "Oh?"

"I'm Noxus' intelligence gatherer." He winked. Ryland had to look away.

"Only reason we haven't been executed. Right, master?" Caelyn nuzzled Demetrius' arm, then leaned against his chest.

"Aye." He scratched beneath Caelyn's chin. The look of pleasurable contentment on the boy's face made Ryland even more uncomfortable. "I'm sure Jericho can't wait to see us and remind us of that."

"I'll, ah, be off, then." Ryland tugged at the collar of his shirt beneath his armor.

"Good luck, your majesty." Demetrius nodded. "Deep breaths."

Right, Ryland thought, wading back into the crowd. Breathe. Culture shock had left his ears ringing, pulse pounding. It would be a long time, he thought, before he'd be able to look at affection between people like Demetrius and Caelyn and not feel the bottom of his stomach turn cold.

Or affection in general, part of him whispered. He shivered.

By the time he traversed the main street — it was growing ever-thicker with bodies — his pulse was fluttering so quickly he feared fainting. He didn't have time to admire the sign. L'Rae Divin in golden gilt letters, with marble swans arching their necks beside it, wings outspread, a foaming fountain roaring behind it. He hurried up the black stairs and inside the glass double-doors, not noticing the faint gold dusted over them.

Caelyn was right. The cool air struck his face and blew past him, seemed to pull his anxiety along with it.

He stood in a dim, empty lobby. Twin staircases edged by intricate black railing rose to one central set of doors. These ones were glossy, dark, rich, almost mahogany, with handles as silver as the moon.

As Ryland let his heart slow from a trill to its usual flutter, he felt himself take one step, then another. The click of his boots echoed off the walls, the high ceiling, the magnificent chandelier. The latter was an opus of shimmery crystal even when tuned to half luminosity.

There's nothing like this in all of Demacia, Ryland thought. Not the feast hall. Not even the palace. He no longer noticed that his feet were moving without his input.

They carried him slowly up a set of the stairs, pausing every now and then to let him admire the posters framed on the wall. The Leg of the Rook, one read, sporting a picture of a man in a golden top hat. The rest of his clothes were in tatters. He was kneeling and praying in a beam of red-gold light on an empty stage.

Arten Riveria was another. Ryland frowned at it for a few moments. Young girls in nothing but underwear and chains leaned against a throne made of skulls, their eyes wide, haunting.

The last poster — the largest — was minimalistic. Demetrius & Caelyn, it read in white letters at the top. The rest of the pitch-black poster was occupied by an enormous silver Wheel, like that commanding a ship. Half of it was aflame. And — Ryland squinted at the bottom — two tiny black figures, silhouettes, stood at the bottom of the Wheel, the shorter one lifting a torch to it.

Noxus is beautiful, he thought, his heart slowing. His feet drifted into the auditorium.

Deserted, only partially lit. Chandeliers again, silvery branches reaching out over the ceiling like the tree-limbs in a fairy-tale forest, glittering, twinkling off his armor. On the stage was a large grand piano.

Ryland's breath caught. It had been a long time.

There was no concert piano at the Institute. He'd mentioned it to Zandred, who had frowned. I'll look into it, but — is the baby grand in Sona's suite not enough?

Nothing compared to a full-scale piano. Nothing at all.

He hesitated. I shouldn't. Should I? He glanced around. What if security goes off? Or will it? It's a dream. My dream, right? He shook his head and strode down the stairs. The keys were calling for him.

Part of it was the craving for something familiar after the streets. But part of it was a craving for the stage — he'd never been on one this big.

The wood beneath his feet was strangely shiny. With one last glance out at the empty auditorium — the seats barely visible, shrouded in mystery — he pulled the bench back, settled onto it and began to play.

The instrument, like all else, was beautiful. The strings were perfectly tuned, the keys as smooth as velvet beneath his hands. He played a few arpeggios, listened to them chime around the vast chamber. Then he took a deep breath.

The third movement from the Aven & Skylan suite — Starfall.

The slow tempo picked up after the second line, cascaded into a rippling series of glissandos. He jumped when he heard a voice begin to sing along. It was right behind him.

But he couldn't stop playing. The music was taking him, the piano and the woman soaring together, above the frosted peaks of Freljord, above the cold, lace-thin layer of gray clouds in spring.

Her accent was perfect, her voice sweeter than a mountain spring.

"I'tonyo Ah-vennn, li'tion divae —"

He closed his eyes, listening. The music poured into him, lush and chilly, like the meadows near the Ironspike Mountains beneath his bare feet, refreshing like the wind. They neared the end, slowing in perfect unison.

"Ah-vennn, Ahven — L'tonyo I'frae, Ahvennn."

And when her voice finished ringing above the empty seats and in Ryland's ears, she laughed. He didn't turn around.

"Who are you?" he asked softly.

"It's been a long time, your majesty."

"You —" Ryland glanced out into the seats again, suddenly convinced they were full of people. They weren't. "You know me?"

"Of course." She laughed again, quieter. "You know me, though you've probably forgotten. Ah, my Ryland."

He swallowed hard. Her voice — even her speaking voice — was magnificent. So many layers, hidden chords. He braced himself and looked over his shoulder.

Red — his first impression. Long, dense red flowing around hourglass curves, pooling onto the floor. Then the curves themselves. Her hips were wide and luscious, her breasts large and perfectly proportioned. A black diamond hung right above her cleavage, a black star twinkling against snowy skin. Her pale gold hair was luxuriant, pinned in place by more mysterious black jewels. And her eyes, deep blue-green.

Ryland couldn't breathe. There was the briefest flash of recognition. Then it was gone, dissipated like the last note of a symphony.

"Y - you're beautiful," he managed, then blushed so hard the sides of his vision grayed. She smiled and settled beside him, her ruby dress brushing his arm. He got a whiff of exotic summer blooms rising from her dove-soft skin.

She was even more gorgeous up close.

He gasped when she trailed her fingers across the back of his neck, then shuddered when her fingers cupped his jaw.

The light in her eyes grew nostalgic. "You've not changed, dear boy."

"I don't —" know you, he wanted to say. But as with Aven, it wasn't quite true.

"You do know me. You did. You will again." She pressed her lips to the sensitive spot on his neck right beneath his ear, then grabbed his wrists when he tried to flinch away. That was his favorite spot to be kissed — it always made him instantly hard.

How did she know?

But though the grip on his wrists was strong, it was gentle. The woman kneaded them as Ryland felt his groin warm, then stiffen. His face was still darkly flushed.

"W - who are you?"

"Cressida." She pressed her lips to his temple, then his cheek, then his collarbone. Her hold on his wrists grew a little tighter. The silkiness of her hair on his neck had him shivery with arousal.

Her full lower lip grazed his ear. "Would you play for me?"

"Aye." What? He thought remotely. The words slipped out of him without his approval. "Of course. From the Autumntide Suite?"

Her eyes flashed with delight. "You do remember! I knew it."

"The fourth movement," he heard himself say. "Right? Lily's Aubade?"

She kissed him in answer, her tongue brushing both of his lips as his fingers met the keys once more. He kissed her back. Her lips were warm in the large, empty concert hall, her breath sweet like cinnamon. She ran her fingers through his hair as he played the first few notes, settled into the rhythm.

He found himself smiling against her mouth as she lightly grazed the tips of his ears. She had to know him. She knew exactly how to touch him.

As the lilies fade, darkness rolls along the land…

The words were there, in both of their minds. She pressed her curves to Ryland's bony side, and he saw himself and the woman onstage long ago, playing to a packed house. She was draped in pearls.

In the present, she squeezed his jaw. Her kiss was insistent, hot — it forced him to respond, called his body to hers, begged for their mouths to melt together. And they did, their lips and tongues perfect matches, her kiss sultry and balmy and sweet. He didn't know how he was still playing.

Crickets call, flowers die. Cranes draw ribbons in the sand…

Her hand was on his upper thigh. It lingered there, burning. His cock was aching to be stroked, to be caressed by her delicate fingers. As her breasts pressed to his chin, he moaned softly, their lips connected. Her tongue flicked against his, then grew greedy, swirling along his own. She suckled his lower lip. Her fingernails dug into his leg, and his back arched.

One of his broad pianist's hands found the small of her back, above the supple swell of her buttocks. Somehow the aubade continued.

The blue-dark waves lap the gray-black shore. The reeds, they wave, in frozen wind…

She was almost on top of him. I need you, she thought to him. Ryland. He could feel her pulse echoing in her lips, thudding against his. He responded by taking an ample cheek in each hand, squeezing them hard through her dress. They gave way beneath his fingers, the perfect mixture of litheness and feathery softness. His face was almost between her breasts — his cheek brushed that dark pendant.

Suddenly impatient, he jerked the front of her dress down, then the black bra beneath it, almost tearing it in his urgency. He revealed her berry-hued nipples, cupped the lower swell of her right breast, and took the soft peak into his mouth. He nipped her and heard a throaty moan escape her lips, as trembly with desire as he was.

He nipped her harder, then again, turning the nipple to a tender rosy pink. Her cheeks bloomed with color. He kissed her neck and teased the fringes of her hair with his fingers. Then he did the same to her other breast — made her nipples sore. He kissed them gently, the tip of his tongue barely brushing them. Her moan was louder this time, muffled against his ebony hair.

The forest black, the creatures still, the sky aglow, a-burn with day's end.

His dexterous hands fumbled beneath her dress, then slid along the inside of her thick thighs. Her skin was almost too soft to feel. Her moans grew louder, louder as his fingers brushed aside her underwear, past her down-fuzzed outer lips, then into the secretive, burning rill of flesh in her crevice.

Ryland didn't have to see it. He knew it was cherry-blossom pink and soaked, glistening like flower petals after rain. He spread it apart with two fingers, then gently slid the third inside her. Her white bosom pressed against his face, her nipples still taut and swollen, glossy with his saliva. Her back arched.

He heard her whisper his name and couldn't contain himself. He undid the stand of the piano cover and gently closed it, then looked at her. Her breasts were swaying along with her black diamond pendant, her ass two thick hills beneath the red of her dress. The desire smoldering in her aquamarine eyes echoed the smile curving her lips.

Knowing. She knew him.

And yet, my love, the flowers hope. The wind, though cold, forever yearns…

He climbed atop the piano and pulled her up with him. Another part of him was reliving — something. Her voice, the theater. Long ago. A pleasant springtide afternoon, a teary-eyed audience.

In the present, he freed his swollen dick from his pants, then hooked his fingers into the straps of her panties and pulled them downward. She straddled him and enveloped his shaft with her hand, pulling on it while she watched him moan. In the dim light, he watched her nipples stiffen again, stiffen along with his cock — harder than ever, burning and thick.

And he watched as her coral lips found the tip of it. Her breasts framed his shaft, two thick, plushy weights on either side. He pulled her upward by her wrists, brought those breasts to his face. He squeezed his eyes shut as she slid down onto him. Hot, yearning.

She was slick, but tight. So tight. He braced his fingers against the shiny lid of the piano as he plunged inside of her. Her muscles quivered as he thrust once, twice. Then he folded his hands around her wide hips and held her atop his pulsing cock, held her in place as he moved deeper inside of her. The scent of her sex mingled with and echoed the flavor of her perfume.

And though the day is gone, the lilies worry not. For, my love…

He opened his eyes to watch her perfect oval face. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted with pure pleasure. A ripple of her golden hair had come loose from her black diamond pin and tickled his lips. The swell of her breasts was painted silver by the chandeliers dangling in the black above them.

He felt her clench, saw her bite her lower lip. A moment later the orgasm overtook him. He panted and clutched her to him, the black diamond against his collarbone, her breasts to his face, his fingers deep in her shining hair, her damp thighs tight against his. His cock throbbed and pounded inside her wet warmth.

His body was consumed by thick, dark pleasure.

the Wheel ever turns. We'll meet again.

She collapsed against him and nuzzled his neck. And for a while, he simply held her and watched the chandeliers twinkle above him. Like the night sky. A galaxy. Infinite and beautiful. The static in his ears sounded vaguely like applause.

At the very back of the auditorium, cloaked in shadow, Demetrius glanced at Caelyn, who was watching the duo on the piano with a catlike grin. "You and Cressida — there's just no escape, is there, love?"

"No." Caelyn laughed quietly. "None."