Chapter Text
"What do you think?" Valerian Mengsk, first of his name, stood before a full-length mirror, admiring the coat he wore. Having endured countless battles, his old one had been retired thanks to the suggestion of his most trusted advisor.
"It would look better on the floor, along with the rest of it."
At the sound of the other voice, Valerian turned from the mirror, and ran his fingers through his loose, golden blond hair. "I have to make a speech in an hour. You know how UNN likes to fawn. Which, admittedly, I'm a bit fond of."
"Here I thought you were quaking in your designer shoes at the prospect of getting grilled by Lockwell again." Stepping up behind him, Admiral Matthew Horner, leader of the Dominion Armed and Naval Forces, wrapped his arms around Valerian's waist and rested his chin against Valerian's shoulder. The young Emperor let his hands rest over Matt's and leaned back into his embrace. "Did they ever manage to get Vermillion out of that hospital?"
"I spoke to him personally, but he's retired. I won't entirely miss him or his reports about dogs, but I regret his losses, as I regret the loss of all those who lost their lives in the war." Valerian's fingers twined with Matt's, and the sensation of metal clicking over metal, body-warm, pulled his lips into a smile that even their subject matter couldn't dispel. Two years, and I'm still not tired of that sound.
"You should throw that into the speech," Matt commented, and under Valerian's, his hands moved, undoing the jacket and tugging it aside. Valerian's gaze moved to the mirror, and watched Matt unfasten the lower half of the buttons of his shirt, pulling them free of his crisp black trousers when they got in the way. When his fingers, so dexterous at the panels of the Hyperion, reached the fastening, Valerian's hands pressed against his, regretful.
"Today's speech isn't about loss, it's about victory," Valerian said, trying to catch his breath. There were many things he wasn't tired of after nearly four years, and this would lead to one of them. "We can't, the speech."
"It's fine, it's been pushed back an hour," Matt whispered into his ear. "We have time."
Valerian's eyes, the grey of storm clouds over a free city, rolled back as his hands rose slightly. "Good. Please."
"Time to break in the new coat," Matt whispered, and kissed his ear softly. "Wait here." He drew away from Valerian, eliciting a whine from the young Emperor, and laughed softly in return.
Valerian gazed at himself in the mirror again. He could see colour rising in his cheeks -- and other things rising in other places -- and Matt fussing in the background, first at a side table, then dragging one of the heavy, ornate chairs in their bed chamber over to the mirror. These chairs were strong enough to hold a marine wearing a hardshell -- this claim was tested, and the truth was it was creaky, but it held -- so there would be plenty of strength for two.
"Just relax," Matt whispered. "We're celebrating, remember? Three years."
"Three years," Valerian repeated, and smiled. Through the mirror, Matt smiled back and returned to his spot just behind Valerian, and now his hands worked with surer purpose, opening Valerian's trousers and tugging them down, underwear joining them a moment afterwards, pooled around his knees. Matt's hands quested downwards, stroking Valerian gently.
Three years after the invasion of Augustgrad and the death of Arcturus Mengsk. Two years after their marriage, private when the Dominion had once been lavish, surrounded only by their friends. Five years after the first time they'd met, Matt's expression angry and disbelieving, Valerian's own uncertain and nervous, hidden by an urbane charm that had carried him through so much, a handful more after the death of his mother... but today wasn't about what they'd lost. It was about what they'd won.
This feels almost decadent, Valerian thought absently as he watched Matt work, and his own reactions, arching against his touch, pressing up against the moving hands, then back against him, hoping to catch the sensation of the bulge in Matt's naval uniform blues. Matt groaned softly against his ear. "Time may be on our side, but we shouldn't waste it."
"I don't intend to waste anything," Matt murmured, and fussed behind Valerian's back, teasing against the curve of the Emperor's ass before practically and quickly divesting himself of underwear and trousers, and now Valerian could feel the length of Matt, rubbing between his cheeks eagerly. "Just one more minute."
"I'd be willing to forgo if we weren't about to go out in public," Valerian replied, near-breathless. "But I do need to walk."
"Trust me, it's less fun than it sounds." Valerian could hear, but not see, the gentle pop-hiss of the bottle of lubricant behind his back, and feel, rather than see, the way Matt's fingers slid down the crack of his ass to his entrance, though he could see Matt's hand, gripping his hip, holding him still, as well as his own expression, flushed and wild, his cock aching and hard. "Almost."
"A-any time," Valerian managed, and his hips jerked sharply as Matt's fingers slipped inside, a sensation as familiar and comforting as it was thrilling and teasing. "Admiral."
"Your Excellency." Matt's slick fingers worked in deeply, stretching Valarian carefully and slowly, until it was impossible for him to hold back the soft, desperate noises that tore their way free from his throat. The fingers withdrew a moment after, and Matt's next instruction was nearly swallowed by the keening sounds Valerian made at their loss. "Sit down. Slowly."
"Slowly like getting the Hyperion to turn," Valerian muttered, but let Matt guide him back, and groaned as the head of Matt's cock, firm and damp against his entrance, pushed in, guided by Matt's hands, and his own rapidly unraveling self-restraint. "Matt..."
"Easy thrusters," Matt murmured, and then laughed softly at the face Valerian made. "Oh, come on, you had to have seen that coming."
"I'll tell you what you'll see if you don't--" Valerian began, and the rest was lost in his groan. Fully hilted inside the new Emperor of the Dominion, Admiral Matthew Horner of the Dominion Armed and Naval Forces began to move, wrapping the slick fingers of his other hand around Valerian's length, letting him thrust into it with short, desperate movements as Matt moved within him, letting the hand on Valerian's hip guide them both.
The coat, open and flaring, rattled with each movements, the medals clinking against one another as he rode Matt hard, groaning with each deep thrust. His hair, already unbound, clung damply to the sweat on his brow and cheeks. He watched himself in the mirror, vision blurring in and out as Matt worked behind him, and Matt's hand left his hip, coming around to hold his waist.
"Matt... god..." he gasped out, arching against his embrace. Matt's fingers brushed against the tip of his cock, feeling the beading precome and spreading it along the head.
"You... you scoundrel..." He felt himself tense, and knew in an instant, he was going to need to change something. Perhaps shoes, perhaps the shirt. At least the jacket should be safe, but it wouldn't be a time with Matt if I weren't worried someone would notice I'm hiding stains... "You outlaw."
"Hey," Matt said breathlessly, and his arms shifted. Valerian caught a brief glimpse of his legs bracing against the floor. "Once a Raider..."
"Always a Rai--" Matt thrust up sharply, and sensation and pleasure exploded inside Valerian, sending warm, pulsing pleasure over Matt's hand, and spattering onto his knees, Matt's knees, his shoes, and a few small drops onto the mirror.
"Valerian..." Matt breathed, his hips moving slower as they rode the wave down. Sticky, wet fingers and warm arms enfolded Valerian in an embrace as Matt pulled him back into a hug. "I love you."
"I love you too," Valerian murmured. It would be a mistake, later, not to move, but if they had over an hour to be ready, he could afford to be a little indulgent. He gave his reflection a lazy, triumphant smile, and let his eyes drift shut. He had time for a little post-coital nap.
Today will be a day of celebrating what we have gained, not what we have lost.
"Your Excellency!" The sharp knock on the door, urgent and insistent, startled Valerian from his resting place. "Your Excellency, your speech is scheduled to begin in fifteen minutes! The UNN needs time to check their camera angles!"
"We'll be along presently," Valerian called back. "I can find my way to the press room."
"We await you, Emperor Mengsk." The voice sounded distressed and annoyed, but Valerian could hear steps fading from behind the door. He sighed with relief, and untangled himself from Matt's grasp, wincing slightly.
Definitely, I should have moved, but I didn't think I'd fall asleep for an hour, Valerian thought absently, stretching up. He touched the slickness on his stomach with wonder. Wait.. it shouldn't still be damp. "Matt, love... how long was I asleep?"
"According to my knees, about ten minutes," Matt said, and Valerian turned sharply to see him grinning. "Better hurry, otherwise you'll be late."
"You lied to me," Valerian said, his voice mild. "You didn't push the speech back."
"Technically, I didn't," Matt replied, standing and shuffling around the room, trousers still around his ankles. "The speech's time was pushed back to this time, not pushed back further. Something about reaching more demographics."
"We have fifteen minutes to be presentable and in front of cameras!" Valerian's voice rose a fraction with sharpness. "We're going to be late."
"I've seen you haul ass to get dressed for battle alerts," Matt pointed out. "Unless you've gotten soft." His gaze drifted down, between his legs. Valerian flushed.
"We're going to ruin these clothes."
"You're the Emperor of the Terran Dominion, you can afford it," Matt said, and smiled at him. "Happy anniversary."
"...happy anniversary, Matt."
Twelve minutes and forty-five seconds later, Emperor Valerian Mengsk, first of his name, appeared before the people of the Terran Dominion, and those who witnessed his speech in person noticed how proud and pleased of his people he was, flush with joy.
It was only a shame that, today of all days, the sky was overcast and gloomy, hinting at rain. It would, as one might say, put a damper on the festivities.
"Today, three years ago, we mark the death of Arcturus Mengsk , first Emperor of the Dominion, and the death of the old, oppressive Dominion, built on the back of a corrupt Confederacy. We have spent three years rebuilding our lives, our sector, our home. We have suffered setbacks, betrayal, heartbreak. We have suffered, and I have suffered with you. I lost not just my mother to the cancer that stole her strength away, but my father, a man that taught me who I wanted to be as a person, as a leader, and who I didn't want to be.
"Every day, we sweep away the foundations of the old order, founded on hate, on deception, on propaganda from a silver tongue and a heart of arsenic. Every day, we build friendships, relationships, camaraderie. We mend old wounds and set aside old hatreds. We need not look to the skies with fear of the alien, or the uncertainty of the unknown. Our allies, the Daelam Protoss and the Charian Zerg, are watching over us, as we will watch over them.
"No longer are we faced with an eternity of darkness and despair. Dawn has come, and with its rising do we call out... praise the sun."
I don't know where you are now, Sarah Kerrigan, but if you can hear this, hear me... thank you. Thank you for all you've done and all you've sacrificed. I--
As Valerian spoke, a gap opened in the looming clouds. Rays of light, unhidden by darkness, shone down, striking a half-dozen places in the great square, the last of these directly over Valerian, illuminating him, catching the dark gold of his hair and the storm-cloud grey of his eyes in full glory.
Almost as one, the crowd gasped, and began to applaud. Valerian held up his hands, acknowledging their joy, and wondered if it possibly could have been a coincidence.
"Jim, you don't have to do this."
James Raynor, former Marine, former Marshal, former terrorist, freedom fighter, and leader of the Raiders that bore his name, gently packed another one of the photos into an old-fashioned book, its cover plain but hard, perfect for transporting the fading pictures. Or maybe, owin' to the technology at our disposal, it's me who's fading. I'm not as young as I used to be.
"Jim." Matthew Horner's voice was urgent now. "Valerian's prepared to offer you generalship. Warfield is dead, but when he was alive he was impressed by you, your ability to lead. You have military training. Don't leave."
"What, and steal your thunder?" Jim looked up at him and smiled. The journey into the very Void had given him more grey hair, a full stripe around his head. He knew he looked like hell, and there wasn't a way that years of drinking, smoking, and fighting hadn't played havoc on his internal organs. Never thought I'd be alive to care about it. Look at that. "You're an Admiral now. The face of the military. Tasked with looking good and agreeing with the new Emperor."
"I'd give all of that up in a second if it would stop you from going back to that damned bar."
Jim looked up at him sharply, an angry retort on his lips. Never prone to hiding his feelings, Matt looked distressed and angry, twisting the ring on one hand. He let the first thing he wanted to say go, and the second. "It ain't gonna be like that, Matt. Not this time. I've defined myself by a lot of things, over the years. Who I worked for, what I did. What I fought for. Fightin's over. Now, we gotta live for what we fought for. I need to figure out what that is now."
"She wouldn't want you to be unhappy." No need to ask who the 'she' was. Sarah Kerrigan had been a verboten subject for almost as long as they'd known each other. "Don't drink. Don't find definition at the bottom of a bottle."
Briefly, Jim considered lying to Matt, assuring him that his drinking days were over, but the oblivion of shot after shot, of bottle after bottle, still tempted him, even now. "I can't promise I'll never drink again, but I won't lose myself in it. She wanted me to live, and that means a lot to me. Even if I didn't get the happy endin' I was expecting." He nodded to the ring on Matt's hand.
"Are you... you came to the wedding, I know it must have been hard on you." Matt shifted, uncomfortable. "I never intended to rub salt in a wound."
"Nah, Matt. Nah." Turning from his task, Jim crossed the brief distance and wrapped his arm around Matt in a tight hug. He smiled as he felt Matt's sharp intake from Jim's embrace. Navy training had its trials, but nothing quite beat a seasoned veteran for arm strength. "Truth of the matter is, this war did a lot of harm, but it did some good. You'd never have met Valerian, nor had the courage to file for that divorce."
"I don't know if transmitting documents moments after destroying multiple space stations counts as courage, but it did give me a swift kick in the ass about my priorities."
"Hey, I'm all about swift kicks." Jim let Matt go, and returned to packing. "Look, I can't say I'll be in Augustgrad again any time soon, but I'll watch all the kid's speeches, and yours. Deal?"
"Deal." Matt smiled, tentative. "I'm going to miss you."
"Yeah, Matt. I'm gonna miss you too." Jim smiled back, banishing some of the age that had crept in, after the Void. After Amon. After Kerrigan. "Is there anything else? I've got a schedule to keep."
"Yes, actually," Matt said, and retrieved something from his pocket, holding it out to Jim. The medal proclaiming James Raynor to be the Marshal of Mar Sara gleamed brightly, untarnished by time and hard use. "The crew found this when we did a sweep through of the bar. We thought you'd want it with you."
Jim stared at the badge for a moment. That badge represented the past, of a Jim Raynor that had never met an alien, never met Kerrigan or Mengsk or a dark god. He reached out and took it, tucking it into his worn, battered combat vest. "Thanks."
Ten minutes later, Jim stood on the shuttle platform, bag slung over one shoulder, SCV crews packing his hardshell into the cargo hold. He turned back, smiling at Matt. Matt raised his hand and saluted him one, final time. Jim saluted back, then turned, striding onto the shuttle.
"Mar Sara?" he heard one of the pilots say. "What the hell's on Mar Sara?"
Nothing, Jim thought, and closed his eyes. Absolutely nothing, 'cept a bar. Hopefully, Joeyray's not still sore about that time I shot one of his vid screens.
"Hmph, you clean up very nicely, Matthew." Rubbing around her dead eye, Mira Haan watched the speech from Augustgrad from half a dozen vid screens, having lifted the signal from a UNN satellite, just to prove she could. There had been no need, as the new Emperor was more than interested in projecting his image -- and that of his husband's -- far and wide across the Dominion.
"Ms. Haan, what's our destination?"
Mira looked over at Jerrick Nash, raising one pink eyebrow. Nash had been her second in command for any number of years, since the battle that had given her the Marauders and taken her eye, and over the last few months, he'd become increasingly more... uptight. Hm, it came right after the divorce papers were signed, such as it were. I wonder...
"We're still a projected two years out from your requested modifications to HQ," Nash continued. "With an end to the wars... mercenaries and pirates are going to be who they come after next. We need to plan our next move."
"Jerrick, do you think I've lost my touch?" Mira asked, her voice not quite forming a purr, but a silky-smooth wind that wafted over others while she spoke. Most men were charmed by her, and no few women, and she indulged in both when she could. Even James Raynor had been charmed by her, mostly. Only Matthew Horner, the man she'd tricked into marrying her thanks to a very high grade of alcohol and an easily thrown hand of poker, had resisted her entirely. Perhaps, that was a sign in and of itself. Or perhaps I need to interact with more gay men.
"No, ma'am," Jerrick said, though there was a quaver to his voice. "Just your focus. We've been doing this for years now, before we thought it was possible for this war to end at all, much less end the way it did. "We want... we want to know what to do."
"The war is over here," Mira replied, and turned from the screens as they moved to discussions about the parade. "It is over in Augustgrad, and perhaps even on Char and Aiur, but it will not be over in other places. How many worlds have no idea how close they came to annihilation? How many Earthlings? How many aliens? Prosperity will be good for us once we let it settle. Let them get comfortable... domestic. We mustn't distract them in case the UED returns. In case we encounter other aliens to test us. We're mercenaries, my dear Jerrick. We go where the money is."
"Ma'am," Jerrick said, and snapped off a salute. Mira looked him over, lips curving into a smile, tugging at the scars along her cheek.
He reminds me of Matthew so much. So upright, so stiff. I would like to strip that control away, mold him to my needs... hm. I never succeeded with Matthew because he had no interest in me, but Jerrick, on the other hand.
"Ma'am?" Jerrick asked. "Is everything alright?"
"Oh, yes," Mira said, and rose, pushing the papers on her desk away, crumpling them into a corner. "Today is a day of celebration. Tell me, Jerrick... how do you feel about poker? I feel a desire to gamble with the future."