We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming for some fanfic. This is supposed to be a movie review blog, but it’s my platform and I’ll ___ if I want to.
Fandom: Babylon 5.
Genre: Slashfic, crackfic.
Pairing: Londo/Vir (couldn’t find any with this pairing, hence Rule 35).
Warnings: Lovecraftian Centauri loving, master/slave-ish (but consensual), anti-Narn racism.
Spoilers: Set before S1, but relies on knowledge of the show.
Ambassador Londo Mollari took a sip of his Centauri Sunrise.
“Not bad. Not Centauri, but not bad.”
“It’s an Earth cocktail,” Vir helpfully piped up. The withering glance Londo shot back said ‘no shit.’ As he settled in at Babylon 5, Londo spent his evenings trying out all the cocktails available at the bar, alcohol being the only thing that really interested him about foreign cultures.
“So I hear you’re the new Centauri Ambassador,” a loutish voice blurted from the next table. The ambassador glanced over to see a clearly inebriated Narn. Choosing not to reply, he took another sip of his drink.
“I hear,” the inebriate continued, “You were last in line for the position.”
That jibe hurt, but Londo only commented to Vir: “The diversity of this place has its downsides, no?”
For a few moments the Narn fell silent, as the rest of the bar babbled away.
“Still, it’s appropriate,” the Narn piped up. “An impotent man representing an impotent people.”
Londo finally stood and advanced, leading both Vir and the Narn to rise. Ever the mediator, Vir stood between Londo and his provoker, placing a firm hand on Londo’s torso. “Don’t do this!” And quieter, “You know it’s a bad look!”
Londo stopped. For a moment Vir thought he had calmed the situation, but then seeing his master’s expression, he realised he was touching… an appendage. The tentacle stirred. Vir quickly moved his hand away and apologised. The Narn stood firm, ready for a fight, clearly not understanding the changed situation.
Londo blurted “Enough”, finished his drink in one swig, and made for the door. Vir sighed in relief before chasing after him.
“Coward,” the Narn bellowed. Londo stopped, and the bar fell silent. The ambassador turned and replied that it was better to be a coward than a… slur against the Narn. Glad to get a rise out of his interlocutor, the Centauri ambassador finally departed with as much dignity as he could muster.
Back in his quarters, Londo demanded that his assistant pour a Brivari. He did not intend to let that inferior creature ruin his night.
“What are we celebrating?” Vir asked, very properly referring to Brivari’s status as a celebratory drink.
“Who cares. My appointment. Pour.” Londo, as usual, was anything but proper – the celebration of his appointment had already passed.
Vir complied, however. “I was hoping to pick up a mistress tonight,” Londo commented as Vir poured the drink. “Still, the night is young.”
“Will you go out again?” Vir asked, capping the bottle.
“Would you like me to arrange…”
A little perplexed, Vir crossed the room to hand his master the drink.
“Thank you, Vir,” Londo drawled, took a drink, then: “Now. What you did to me in the bar,” and Vir tensed, “I did not mind.” A moment of silence. “I did not mind at all.”
Vir was unsure how to respond. In case there was any ambiguity, Londo took Vir’s hand in his, and placed it on his own torso. Vir again felt Londo’s firm member. He recognised the look on his master’s face, from the many times he had chosen a mistress for the night. Both men smiled, sharing a certain sense of audacity.
Vir was a virgin where women were concerned, but it was normal for younger Centauri men to interlope with older men, especially where a formal hierarchy divided them; even then, however, Vir’s experience was relatively limited. Relative to Londo, at least.
Londo handed the Brivari back to Vir. Seeing his assistant’s uncertainty, he nodded, indicating it was okay to drink.
Hand trembling slightly, Vir raised the drink to his lips. Filling his mouth, the Brivari burned.
“Do not swallow,” Londo demanded. Yet again Vir was confused, but he complied. Then Londo planted his lips on Vir’s, and as Vir opened his mouth to accept his master’s tongue, the Brivari burn comingled between their mouths.
Both swallowed and pulled back, then Londo retrieved the glass and placed it on a nearby table. He began unbuttoning his vest, allowing his purple tendrils to slink out.
Vir eagerly, if awkwardly, complied, amusing Londo by folding each item. Finally, he stood naked, sheepish, before his master.
“Glorious,” commented Londo, and Vir perked up, his tentacles unfolding.
Another baffled moment. Vir looked around, sighting the only chair on the opposite side of the room, and began to move in that direction. “No,” Londo grabbed his arm. “Sit. Here,” then added as a half-hearted afterthought: “If you like.”
Vir turned back, then Londo’s meaning dawned on him, flashing back to a Centauri equivalent of the Kama Sutra – Londo was requesting that Vir sit on him. “Ah!” He sat, wrapping his legs around Londo’s waist.
Three of his tendrils intertwined with three of Londo’s, locking together and hardening. Londo’s remaining tendrils wrapped themselves around Vir’s back.
After some gentle exploration, one tendril finally shot into Vir’s anus. His body stiffened and he cried out, before sighing in pleasure. The tentacle naturally began to produce lubricant. They kissed again, as Londo slowly moved the tendril in and out. His remaining tendrils guided the push-and-pull.
Vir grunted with each push. Two more tendrils shoved in – too much! – he violently bit Londo’s lip, exchanging pain for pain.
Each withdrew, locking gazes. “Too much?” “Too much.” Vir apologetically wiped a spot of blood from his master’s lip, and Londo grimaced, suppressing violent urges. A single tendril returned to Vir’s ass, as the others wrapped themselves around the rest of his body.
Londo’s fucking grew harder, as their eyes remained locked together. Vir began panting, then shut his mouth, pants becoming grunts, grunts becoming deeper. Body tensing, he pressed his hands against Londo’s shoulders and looked to the heavens.
After a few frozen moments, Londo let out an otherworldly shriek and his tentacle whipped out of Vir’s ass, spraying his back green and purple. Once the show was over, Vir slumped unceremoniously onto Londo’s chest, and their tentacles fell limply skew-whiff. The master placed a comforting hand on his assistant’s back, tracing patterns in the multi-colour coating, and finished his Brivari at a leisurely pace.