oh my god, did I really never post the Halmarut/Azem plantfucking fic?? probably because I was just fuckin around figuring out various elements of Amaurotian life but now it's a foundational element of The Lore, so... enjoy.
The funny thing about Akadaemia Anyder is that, on paper, everything that happens there is sanctioned and aboveboard. Azem drifts through the briny expanse that is the Words of Mitron, a few of its ichthyologists testing a rather wriggly concept that, as Azem watches, snatches up one of the researchers in a fat tentacle and squeezes before another one viciously jabs it in its semi-solid mass with a prod. Shocked into sopor, the concept relaxes, and the researcher falls to the floor in a heap. Some nervous giggling can be heard.
Sanctioned and aboveboard. All in the name of research. And if anything truly threatened, then Pandaemonium awaits.
Azem continues on, not bothering to find out if the researcher gets back up. Ey pass from one simulated biome into the next -- the Words of Halmarut, eir destination. From saltspray into jungle, into flora that loom twice as tall as the tallest Amaurotine, into rot-sweet scents and a humidity that weighs down Azem's robes and makes em feel drugged. Mitron may be a bit of a freewheeler but it is the Arbiter whose creations give the average Amaurotine the most pause.
Azem drops eir hood and presses on, wishing desperately to be out of the robes altogether. Not yet. Ey pass a luridly-coloured fungal concept that almost makes em stop, but ey keep focus. Deep in the heart of the Words would be Halmarut emself, sequestered in eir dark plant-choked personal sanctuary, covered in Anisopterae or whatever eir pet passion happened to be this time.
Azem slips into the central office, the stinging plants on either side of the ivied door rearing and then retreating when they recognise eir pheromonal signature. It is labyrinthine here, hardly any recognisable furniture and certainly no logical floorplan, a big room that manages to feel oppressively small by virtue of the great shadowing leaves and thick twining vines.
A small gasping sound somewhere nearby, and Azem follows it, practiced in this search for eir friend. It is a fond little game ey play, hunting for the other in strange landscapes, finding em engrossed in some botanical wonder, eir sweet face suffused with delight as ey turn to greet--
Hm, Azem thinks, coming upon eir friend now, engrossed in some botanical wonder, eir sweet face suffused with concentration as ey guide it inside em.
This is... new.
"Okay... okay," Halmarut mutters, adjusting eir precarious half-knelt position. Careful as ey are, the plant ey are testing pops out of em, and ey scoff in frustration. And then ey notice Azem's feet, and eir gaze shoots up to Azem's face.
"Isis," Azem smiles, shrugging off eir robe, the light shift ey wore underneath a much better match for the humidity of the room.
"Osiris," Halmarut shoots back, more annoyed at being interrupted than embarrassed at what was being interrupted.
Thusly named, the two friends regard each other cautiously, Osiris pointedly dropping her gaze to behold the conveniently-shaped concept bobbing between Isis's legs, Isis rolling her eyes and dropping back to her haunches.
"This, if you must know, is Awapuhi. It is not my concept, not originally -- I found it on our sojourn to that one island, when you were on that mission for Emmerololth? Thought I would test its applications--"
"And how is that going?"
"I would just love to find out, but some boor barged in and disrupted the process, so I suppose I will have to start over!" Isis pushes herself to her feet and hunts for a rag to wipe her hands, giving Osiris plenty of opportunity to admire her friend's unclothed body, so much like her own. They were unique in Amaurot -- heavier, thicker, rounded in places where many others were slim. Amaurotine androgyny -- lean, angular, more andro than gyny -- had become a gold standard of appearance and breeding, and Isis and Osiris's bodies were seen as exotic, foreign. Alien. Little wonder neither of them spent much time in Amaurot.
"I have a Heliamphora," Isis speaks up suddenly, as Osiris curiously approaches the Awapuhi. "I haven't been in the mood to test that one, but... since you're here..."
"What, exactly, is your thesis here?" Osiris asks, amusement again colouring her tone.
"Don't you start laughing at me. You know full well what my thesis is."
"Presenting your findings to the Convocation later, are we?" The wickedness in the look Osiris shoots in Isis's direction is palpable. Isis flushes, making a rude gesture in response.
"Aw, too bad. I think Hermes would be--"
"Do you want to stick your lovely cock into Heliamphora for me or not?" Isis interrupts baldly, picking up the potted concept and shoving it at Osiris with a stern look that Osiris finds very fetching.
It proceeds as if they had done this many times before -- and, in a sense, they had. Osiris had always been happy to assist Isis with her work, no matter how messy or potentially-dangerous it was. To be in the presence of Isis's passion and intensity, to be shoulder-to-shoulder with her oldest friend as they made discoveries that only they understood the depth of, to plunge her hands into dark soil and feel the tendrils of roots and hyphae reaching back, connecting them both to each other and to the star... their intimacy had always been absolute and shameless. It is nothing to set up these two plants in front of each other, to disrobe and fluff themselves, to kneel and position themselves...
"Wait. This doesn't hurt the concepts, does it?"
Isis rolls her eyes. "Always thinking of the concepts, you." Her voice is thinner, as if she is having trouble breathing. Osiris is suddenly very aware of them both. Isis's forehead dappled with sweat, the scent of her nethers mingling with the strangely-sweet scent of the Awapahi, which is beginning to ooze something as she rubs it against her entrance. Osiris's skin prickling with heat as she coaxes her cock from its sheath, its tip resting against the lurid red lip of the Heliamphora. They lock eyes.
"Ooh," Isis gasps, eyes widening. "It's... so silky. The secretion. Viscous, but not sticky. And the ridges... ooh..."
Osiris swallows audibly, her cock jumping in her hand. Oh, she had not been prepared for this.
"Tell me," Isis bites out, bearing down on the Awapuhi until it's all but disappeared inside her. "Tell me about Heliamphora..."
Right. Osiris forces her gaze back to herself, back to the deep vessel before her. She angles the plant and pushes in, but all she can think about is Isis and the impossibly wet sounds Awapuhi makes as she guides it in and out of her.
"It's a bit... big, for me," Osiris murmurs, and Isis replies, "then squeeze it," and Osiris takes the tube-shaped concept and squeezes it tight around her.
"Leaves not as rough as I expected. Hairy, but not prickly. No secretions, yet..."
"Ooh. Oh, stars." Isis is barely listening, eyes almost closed. She slips Awapuhi out of her, rubs it against the cockhead peeking from its sheath, nearly swoons. "So wet... so fragrant..."
Osiris looks back down at Heliamphora, feeling envious.
"Osiris. Look at me." Isis draws Osiris's gaze back, to her parted lips and her tousled hair, to her one hand working Awapuhi in and out of her while her other hand covered in fragrant secretions caresses her mostly-sheathed cock. Dizzy with desire, Osiris thrusts desperately into Heliamphora, her cunt aching for Isis's slicked fingers.
"Come here," Isis pleads, leaning forward, and Osiris leans towards her, her hand pumping with growing insistence. Their lips meet hungrily, Osiris pulling Isis's bottom lip with impudent teeth before crushing her mouth with her own, moaning. The plants are in the way. All Osiris wants is to knock them aside and palm Isis's nethers and feel that mingled wetness and plant secretion, thrust into it with hand or cock, whichever, plunge deep into her dearest friend and be enveloped in sweet humid warmth. Delirious with this vision, Osiris groans, shudders, squeezing Heliamphora in a deathgrip around her spasming cock.
Isis tumbles off the edge shortly after her, her squeal muffled by Osiris's mouth.
"Oh, stars. Oh. Oh, stars..." Isis sounds woozy, and Osiris feels similarly. She releases Heliamphora and slides to the floor on her side, aching, spent, but still wanting.
"I think... I think another test may be in order," Isis finally says. "The Isis-Osiris concept."
"Rigorous... rigorous testing required," Osiris adds weakly, reaching for her.
