The Last Shroud

The panzer plates that made up walls vibrated against each other. Panels of lights; screens with graphs and values moving – everything flickered in the sparse illumination supplied by small circular pipes placed strategically along the vertical surfaces. Square units with steep sides were scattered all around the cylindrical room. More vibrations to rattle; more uncertainty in the machines. Then the flat doors opened and a svelte silver figure staggered in, boots of a hardened alloy making sounds like bent silver bells. Black on the protective scales; mercury on the alloy sinews; green light from the center of the chest and eyes. He wasn’t his ancestor, they said.

The humanoid shaped obelisk reached a lithe arm with sharp claws out to its right. There was nothing there, of course, and Vamir Stark folded against a table he thought was there. His talons scraped against the floor and it sounded like ancient war. The clang-clang-clang of a failing idol. A well suppressed whistle and then a hiss preceded the lifting of the angry mask on his helmet to reveal black eyes underneath white hair. Young face; smooth features that culminated in the proud red of his lips. Those eyes were drained.

“Off. Fucking off.” he said and a series of unhinging clasps made it so. The suit opened from its front and he stood. To accommodate the figure of an evanescent judge and executioner he had kept his tall body slim, allowing for long muscles but no bulk, so that his suit could imitate the shape of a scythe; a last tool of justice.

Every shadow crept in to the crevices of his skin, making the naked figure that stood from the shell of an iron man appear as a well nourished skeleton. Another door opened and she came in. Her hair was red.

“Ms Potts.” he said as he hunched over a data-display. The steel felt nice against his bare forearms. He breathed heavy, and despite the climate control in The Last Shroud he was still touched by lacquering sweat. He could feel her run he finger over his back as she passed him to get to his field of vision. She sucked demonstratively on the traces of him she had scraped up as she looked at the papers in her other hand.

“Mmm. Tangy. Have you been eating pineapple lately?” she said in her usual sarcastic tone. Still, the gesture did what it intended to and filled a part of him that wasn’t tired. Her eyes trailed there through her thin framed glasses. “Sorry, Starky. I just needed you horny for your attention. And since some of your blood is already rushing,” she said as she tossed the files she was carrying on his metal box. “Stark Tech is ever raising its revenues, even if our last campaign literally told people to stop buying our products.” This forced a laughed out of Vamir as he finally let go of the display unit, sweeping the papers off its surface.

“Fuck you and your tude, Mira.” he snarled and ran his hair trough his hair. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes still masked by his hair. “They won’t stop buying because we’re at the forefront of every possible field. If you’re going to keep stating the obvious I might as well replace you with a parrot. At least birds say it in a funny voice.” She didn’t seem to hear him as she rolled her eyes and started picking up the papers.

More blood to his pride when her gray suit seemed to be too deep on top and too short on the bottom. At least she knew what she was. He shoved his foot against her cheek, effectively rolling her on her back and sending her glasses flying and scattering against the floor further away. She hissed in aggravation but was obviously too shaken to stand up just yet. Her hand went to the side his foot had hurt as she looked up with him, fingers shielding one green eye. Anger, annoyance, all the things that suggested that she wouldn’t submit to what he’d always take from her.

“Thank you, sir. You’re a peach.” she muttered as she tried to sit up. His foot wouldn’t allow it. His toes pushed against her lips, preventing her from getting away when she tried. Soon her head was to the floor again. He applied pressure until that foot slipped in. It didn’t help that she held on with both her hands. Soon those lips would tear for his force, his weight. Mira seemed to realize it in the midst of her battle to refuse him. She gave with a snarl, rubbing her tongue against largest toe, closing her petals firmly around the other offered bits. He was above looking down, shadows where his eyes should be, stroking his own pleasure to the sight of her submission.

“The world is drowning in technology that the Stark Empire built.” he shoved his foot deeper into her mouth. She coughed but didn’t fight him, ever eating away at the hard affection. He was sure he’d slip on her excessive saliva soon. That clear, slightly thick fluid was everywhere; on the chest her cleavage would barely conceal; dripping off her chin. “And the descendants of heroes try desperately to stop the technocrats that rise with this new era.” He ran his hand harder over his cock as he slipped out of her mouth, painting her face harshly with her own juice. Finally her makeup smeared. She groaned from the pain but didn’t try to slap his foot off. How could someone be so obedient and still so ballistic? “But a Potts is still serving a Stark.” His voice darkened, his heel on her cheek bone, pushing down until she gasped and her arms twitched with the reflex to defend herself. “Take it off or I’ll cave you face in.”

She did as she was told. One button on the jacket and then the snaps on her black bra. The pink nipples looked almost pained in their standing state; just like her breasts tried to reach up for him. The bun of her red hair had long since come undone, and he decided to rub his toes against that fine, formerly clean cascade on the floor to rid himself from some of her spit. He had hired her out of pity and tradition. But every time he saw her she reminded him of how the Stark name could have rang if they had just had the right vision. If he was stuck in this last era, trying to clean up the mess of earlier generations, then she should damn well share his burden.