Chapter 25
The marshal's residence on the capital planet was uniformly allocated by the military, while his private residence was extremely heavily guarded. Dark insect shadows darted through the darkness, and crimson scans swept over his body.
Soon, the door opened, and it was very quiet without any sound. The little male insect that would usually rush out and jump into his arms upon hearing his voice was nowhere to be found.
Perhaps it was out of habit, but Celtic felt a subtle unease.
Habits are something that worms fear, perhaps even more so than pheromone compatibility.
The marshal strode up the stairs and pushed open the door to the third-floor room.
The room was pitch black, but several clusters of vibrant roses were blooming on the balcony. Their delicate fragrance wafted in, mingling with the citrus scent emanating from the small male insect in the room, creating an indescribably warm and gentle atmosphere.
The blood-soaked insects that came from the killing field seemed out of place here, and the marshal's agitated and ferocious heart seemed to calm down for a moment.
The sound of military boots hitting the ground seemed to disturb the handsome male insect, who grunted as if he was about to wake up.
The marshal stood by the bed, stared for a moment, then raised his hand to remove the gloves that were covered in star beast blood and brain matter, and casually threw them on the ground.
A blood-stained palm was placed on the male insect's face, and a thick, hard index finger was pressed against the little creature's soft lips, seemingly ready to penetrate at any moment.
The young male seemed attracted by his pheromones, unconsciously sucking on his index finger joint. The pheromones, which were unbearable for other males, seemed to be a thirst-quenching rain for him.
In the middle of the pitch-black bed was a beautiful male insect, with short, light-gold hair, long, thick eyelashes drooping, and shallow breathing, as if he were lost in a beautiful dream.
Only his pale skin revealed that he was indeed ill.
The marshal inserted his index finger into the insect's mouth. The mouth was very hot, and the temperature was higher than the normal body temperature of the male insect.
He is indeed sick.
The female insect, who had originally intended to address her physiological anxiety, unusually did not pursue the issue further.
As the finger was withdrawn, the little male insect unconsciously chased after it for a moment, tilting its head slightly as if reluctant to let go. Celt suppressed the emptiness that welled up deep within his body and turned to leave.
Perhaps because of his illness, Hill slept very soundly; he hadn't been sleeping well during the Marshal's absence.
Wait, Marshal—
His mind, which had been somewhat hazy, instantly cleared. He smelled the scent of gunpowder pheromones carrying the stench of blood. Had the Marshal returned?
He hadn't seen the marshal for a long time.
Hill followed the scent of pheromones, opened the door, and headed toward the Marshal's study, an area the Marshal had forbidden him from entering, but he missed the Marshal terribly.
The marshal was indeed inside. The curtains were drawn, and the complete darkness made the male insect feel a slight unease, but his longing for the marshal overcame it.
The tall and strong female soldier sat behind the desk, her military uniform casually unbuttoned to reveal her full, bulging chest, which was bound by a black belt around her waist. Her arms were draped over the sides of the chair, and her head was tilted back slightly.
The marshal was resting, but even in his rest, he seemed poised for action, his sharp brows furrowed, ready to fight to the death with some insect.
At that moment, he suddenly felt a little fortunate that he hadn't put on shoes when he ran out, and that walking barefoot would prevent him from disturbing the marshal.
He approached the marshal step by step, as if approaching that distant dream, and couldn't help but reach out and gently place his hand above the marshal's sharp eyebrows and eyes.
What is the Marshal worried about? Was he hurt by the male insects of the capital planet? Or is it because his brother is being ridiculed by public opinion? He saw a lot of news mocking the Marshal, saying that his brother disliked him.
Those insects had no idea how good the Marshal was; only he knew that the Marshal was the gentlest, toughest, and strongest female insect in the world.
What can he do to help the marshal?
The young male insect stood beside the heart-shaped insect, his hands resting on the side of the chair. He slowly bent down, his short golden hair obscuring his eyes. He gently closed his eyes, his devotion akin to a sacrifice.
The darkest shadow witnessed the most sincere kiss.
The young male insect ultimately did not kiss him. He hovered above the marshal's lips, holding his breath. It was too offensive. Although they had kissed many times before, he hoped that their first serious kiss would be when the marshal was sober.
He shifted slightly and kissed the marshal's chin.
A moment later, the little male insect slowly knelt down beside the marshal, picked up the marshal's arm with its hideous cuts, and gently kissed it.
The deadly poison left by the new star beasts will prevent wounds from healing for a long time. The male insect's pheromones can relieve pain, and its saliva contains strong pheromones. He can't help the marshal much, but at least he can alleviate the marshal's pain.
Unbeknownst to them, the female soldier on the seat had already opened her eyes. Her cold, gray eyes were like dust that had fallen from the universe. The StarNet once commented that Marshal Celt had eyes that were indifferent to insect feelings, and any male insect that was looked directly into those eyes would have nightmares for half a year.
"Don't you mind getting dirty?" Celt leaned back in his chair, relaxed, his voice slightly hoarse, perhaps because he had just woken up.
The bronze-colored arm was covered in gruesome wounds with flesh torn open and blood splattered from the star beast; it was anything but clean.
They love cleanliness, and the female insects, having just returned from the battlefield, are considered offensive to the male insects, yet the male insects show no sign of disgust.
She simply licked and kissed his wound obediently. The abundant male pheromones made the wound slightly numb, and her soft tongue licked the exposed flesh and blood of the wound, bringing a strange tingling sensation.
The female insect possessed a body of bronze and iron, and was hailed as a weapon capable of rivaling mechs in terms of lethality. Yet, at this moment, he licked her gently and carefully, as if afraid of hurting her, and could only whisper through the gaps in her skin, "Just lick it clean."
Celtic's gaze deepened, his Adam's apple bobbed slightly, and his voice was low and menacing: "Are you a dog?"
This is too offensive. If it were any normal male insect, Marshal Selt would be sent to court and severely punished, no matter how outstanding his military achievements were.
The little male insect's ears only turned slightly red, and with the marshal's wound still in its mouth, it mumbled a small reply: "It's the marshal's puppy."
With just one sentence, Celtic's suppressed impulse burst forth once more, burning like a wildfire. He suddenly lifted the little male insect from the ground and made it sit on his lap.
Hill wrapped his arms around the Marshal's neck and obediently opened his mouth. Recently, the Marshal had been enjoying kissing him. Kissing represented the advancement of their relationship, no longer limited to physical intimacy, but with the possibility of something deeper.
The marshal's kiss was exactly like his fighting style, full of possessive madness and plunder. Otherwise, he really felt he would have been unable to bear it and would have pulled away when the marshal's hand was on the back of his head.
The marshal only released him after kissing him until he was breathless, feeling like he was about to suffocate, and his tongue went numb.
Hill's head was spinning, and he didn't know what to say. His forehead was pressed against the marshal's forehead, and his nose was pressed against the marshal's nose. He was breathing heavily and finally asked stupidly, "Marshal, am I feeling alright?"
My temperature is higher when I'm sick, so am I feeling hotter? My mouth feels more comfortable than before, right?
He didn't know what he was saying. After he finished speaking, he wanted to tie his tongue in knots and never speak again, wishing he could just be mute.
Then he saw the marshal's lips twitch slightly.
The marshal's lips seemed to never move, whether he was promoted or won a battle, he remained cold and calm, unmoved even if the sky were falling before him.
But just now he definitely saw the slightest movement of the Marshal's lips, even if it was only for a moment, a millimeter, and he was certain he saw it.
He suddenly felt his hands and feet go numb, and then he realized that if the marshal liked what he was hearing, he could continue, and he was willing to say whatever was asked.
He leaned in like a puppy and kissed the marshal's chin and the corner of his mouth, as if trying to prove that he hadn't seen wrong. His breath was rapid and sticky, and his pheromones fell to the ground like ripe fruit suddenly shattering.
At that moment, he felt with absolute clarity that his second advancement was imminent, and that he would succeed.
The marshal's feverish hand pressed against the back of his head, forcing him to leave. The little male insect let out a painful groan, sniffing around like a puppy, as if it couldn't bear to be apart from him for even a moment.
"You really want it?" Celt pinched the little male insect by the scruff of its neck.
"Mmm!" Hill was almost delirious, nodding like a puppy. He needed the Marshal's pheromones so badly, so badly, for the illness, and for himself.
Celtic's eyes were deep.
Time was running out. He only had one hour left. He needed to visit Lord Sirius and his fiancé with the newly hunted star beast, and he absolutely could not show any other male insect scent on himself.
Deep physical contact can keep pheromones active for a long time, and they cannot be erased even if you peel off a layer of skin.
Hill felt as if he had been placed on a table. Compared to the Marshal's warm embrace, the table's cold temperature made him feel out of place, and slivers of white light peeked in through the gaps in the curtains.
It's almost morning, isn't it? The Marshal has to go to work. I can't, I can't be so willful as to ask the Marshal to stay.
His mind was hazy and almost unable to function. As the second advancement approached, his desire for the Marshal's pheromones soared to an unprecedented level. He had not received the Marshal's pheromones for seven days, and he was feeling extremely uncomfortable.
Should we be more patient? How long will it be before the Marshal returns this time? Will his illness worsen?
Then he felt a chill beneath him as his pajamas were easily torn open by insect claws. The marshal's hot, broad hands gripped his waist. Even in this matter, the marshal had a complete desire for control, as if he were nailing him to the table.
An unprecedented warmth swept over me.
It was the marshal who was there—
For a moment, Hill really couldn't hold on and wanted to curl up and collapse onto the table, but in fact he didn't dare to move. His abdomen was convulsing and his whole worm was trembling slightly.
He stared blankly at the ceiling, not daring to look down yet not daring not to look up. His palms, which were resting on the table, were damp, and physiological tears fell one by one.
He had never been so happy in his entire life.
It's so hot, and so humid...
So warm.
He didn't want to speak, but the marshal liked him to. What should he say? He didn't know, so he could only repeat himself randomly over and over again.
"Hmm... Marshal... I like the Marshal..."
"I like him so much, I like him so much..."
"I love the Marshal so much, so much, so much... The Marshal is the one I love most in this life..."
Sweat beaded on his palms, making it difficult to support his weight on the smooth tabletop. The little male insect trembled in a daze, repeatedly professing his love, as if he wanted to rip out his heart and expose it to the marshal, to let him see the burning passion flowing within.
At that moment, he was absolutely certain that he was loved, enveloped in the marshal's love, that his abandonment of all attempts had yielded results, and that he had obtained what he most desired.
The marshal liked him; the marshal loved him.
"ah......."
Fifteen minutes later, her fair abdomen suddenly tightened.
Outside the window, the sky had fully brightened, and bursts of sunlight illuminated the dark sky.
The little male was too brave; it collapsed on the desk in almost no time.
Celt stood up. He habitually calculated the time precisely. Normally, the male insect was in a state of weakness or illness, and its health was low, even for a D-grade male insect.
But he had learned back when he was studying at the Imperial University that this situation could also occur when the male was overly satisfied with the female.
He rubbed the warmth of his hands onto the abdomen of the male insect, which was still twitching from the excessive speed, causing the male insect to shudder again.
Selt's hand, still bearing the marks, moved upwards and rubbed against the little male insect's dazed face.
The little male insect was still not awake at this point. His eyes were still unfocused as he stared blankly at him. His golden hair was wet and stuck to his forehead, and his face was covered in tears. He was breathing rapidly with his lips slightly parted, as if he couldn't breathe even though he hadn't kissed him.
Celtic's actions were a bit too forceful. Tomorrow and the day after are just normal military business to handle, and there's no need for any more formal interactions with His Highness Sirius. There's plenty of time tonight.
The less-than-pleasant-tasting fingertip invaded the male insect's mouth. The male insect was still dazed, allowing this disrespectful invasion to continue, and even slightly widened its mouth.
"Beep beep—"
There are still 45 minutes until 8 o'clock. If there's anything you need to notify me of in advance, please let me know.
Celtic calmly turned on his personal terminal.
Behind his ear, he heard Dick's slightly rapid breathing: "Marshal, Gust personally went to Edge Star. All of Lord Hill's relatives have mysteriously moved away, and his identity may be fake."
"And, his level is definitely not D-rank!"
Selt's sharp gray eyes lowered, growing colder inch by inch.
On the desk, the little male insect stretched out a weak hand and rested it on his arm, its bright green eyes gazing at him intently as it obediently licked the liquid from his palm.
He mumbled incoherently, calling out, "Marshal..."
I like the marshal.
like?
Author's Note:
The baby, thinking happiness had arrived, [please] received a brief moment of love [poor thing]. Marshal, at least for that moment you were genuinely moved, weren't you? [poor thing]
There's a little surprise in the comments section that you can eat [poor face emoji]
My darlings, I'm going to have to put on a timer because I can't let it affect the 1000-word limit, so the next chapter will be updated Monday night [please], please don't wait for me [please]
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