The room was silent. When Riddick stepped through the heavy doors, he stopped dead. There, illuminated by a single spotlight in the corner, stood the chair.
The same skeletal frame. The same polished, stage-widened device bolted to the seat.
Vaako was standing by the viewport, his silhouette sharp against the star-strewn blackness. He didn’t turn immediately, but his voice was steady, carrying the weight of a commander who had finally claimed his territory. “Remove your gear, Riddick.”
Riddick felt a jolt of adrenaline that had nothing to do with combat. His heart began to hammer against his ribs, a frantic rhythm he couldn’t suppress. Without a word, he followed the instruction. His goggles, his vest, his boots—each piece hit the floor with a heavy thud until he stood naked in the center of the room, his silver eyes fixed on the man who was now his equal.
Vaako turned then, his gaze raking over Riddick with a slow, possessive intensity. There was no mockery in his expression, only a dark, focused hunger. “Last time, it was an illusion,” Vaako said softly, stepping into the light. “A test of my spirit. But tonight… tonight the device is real. And it is your turn to show me how much you are willing to hold for me.”
Riddick’s knees felt strangely weak as he began to move toward the corner. He reached out, his calloused hand trembling slightly as he ran a single finger along the smooth, cool surface of the silicone. He felt the distinct ridges—five stages, each one swelling wider than the last, culminating in a base that looked impossibly vast.
The texture was firm and unapologetic. As he touched it, a wave of heat flooded Riddick’s gut. His stomach twisted in a knot of pure, unadulterated anticipation. The predator was being beckoned into a different kind of trap, and for the first time in his life, he wanted to be caught. The thought of taking that massive weight inside him, of being filled and stretched to his absolute limit by Vaako’s command, sent a surge of arousal through him so sharp it made his breath catch.
He looked back at Vaako, the silver in his eyes shimmering with a raw, silent challenge.
“Sit,” Vaako commanded, his voice a low, melodic vibration.
Riddick didn’t hesitate. He centered himself over the chair, his thighs tensing as he prepared to descend, ready to prove that he could endure any fire his Warrior Mate chose to light.
Riddick’s eyes never left Vaako’s as he began the slow, agonizingly controlled descent. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the rasp of his own breathing. He felt the tip of the device—cool and blunt—make contact with his entrance. The initial intrusion was familiar, a firm pressure that his body met with an instinctive, momentary clench before he forced himself to relax.
He lowered himself an inch, feeling the first stage slide home. It was a solid, unyielding presence that filled him completely, grounding him in the reality of his own vulnerability. Riddick’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t a man accustomed to surrendering control, yet here, under Vaako’s steady gaze, the sensation of being occupied was a strange, intoxicating fire.
As he reached the second stage, the stretch intensified. The polished surface was relentless, pushing against his internal walls with a heavy, expansive weight. He could feel the skin of his entrance pulling taut, a sharp, stinging heat radiating through his hips. Every muscle in his thighs began to hum with the effort of holding his weight in a hover, his quadriceps screaming as he fought for the precision Vaako demanded.
“Slowly,” Vaako murmured, his voice a dark velvet in the shadows.
Riddick obeyed. He sank further, encountering the third ridge. This was where the “illusion” of the previous test had ended, but now, the resistance was real. The width was becoming a challenge, a brutal expansion that demanded every fiber of his focus. His body protested the intrusion, his nerves firing in a chaotic map of pressure and heat. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, a single drop tracking down his temple as his legs started to vibrate with the first tremors of exhaustion.
The fourth stage loomed. It was a massive swell of silicone that looked wide enough to tear him asunder. Riddick paused, his breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches. He felt the heavy curve of it pressing against his opening, demanding entry. The fullness was total, a bone-deep ache that seemed to reach into the very center of his being.
He looked at Vaako, his silver eyes shimmering with a mixture of pain and a fierce, undeniable pride. He was the Lord Marshal, a Furyan, a predator—and he was opening himself completely for the man who was now his soul’s equal. With a low, guttural growl of effort, Riddick centered his weight and pushed down, allowing the widest part of the fourth stage to begin its slow, relentless stretch into his core.
Riddick focused every fiber of his being, but his body slammed against a wall of its own biology. The muscle simply wouldn’t yield. To force the issue, he began to move—sliding up and down the length of the device in a slow, rhythmic attempt to stretch himself.
As he worked, he realized he was essentially taking himself with the dildo, a self-inflicted conquest that sent his arousal skyrocketing. The knowledge that he was opening himself specifically for Vaako—that Vaako was watching him ride the device with such predatory intent—made the air in the room feel like a furnace. He felt the white-hot burn as his entrance was forced against the fourth stage, the skin crying out as it failed to open enough, and yet the sensation of the solid, unyielding silicone taking him deeper only fueled his hunger.
He kept his silver eyes locked on Vaako’s, even as his legs began to vibrate with a violent, uncontrollable tremor. His breathing grew frantic, a ragged symphony of gasps and hitches. He knew, with the clarity of a veteran survivor, that he was no more capable of seating himself than Vaako had been.
If Vaako remained a silent spectator, the end was inevitable. Riddick’s muscles were flaying themselves from the inside out. Eventually, his strength would shatter, and gravity would take over. He would be slammed down with the full, unchecked force of his heavy frame, and the wider tiers would punch through him, tearing his entrance asunder in a spray of blood and ruined pride.
And yet, Riddick didn’t stop. He continued the agonizing stretch, his movements becoming more desperate but no less deliberate. In his shimmering gaze, there was no trace of fear—only an absolute, terrifying trust in the man standing before him.
Riddick continued to ride the device, his movements becoming more frantic as he fought the limits of his own flesh, until the strength in his legs finally shattered without warning. Gravity claimed him, pulling his heavy frame down with a sickening lurch, but before the dildo could tear through him, he was caught.
Vaako’s powerful arms locked around him, snatching him from the brink of disaster.
Riddick hung there, limp and trembling, held entirely by Vaako’s strength over the unforgiving chair. He was at his partner’s absolute mercy now. If Vaako chose to let go, there would be no recovery, no escape—the momentum would force the device through him with a violence that would leave him broken.
Vaako looked deep into those shimmering silver eyes, watching the way Riddick’s chest heaved with every panicked, shallow breath. He took in the sight of the predator’s quivering body, drenched in streams of sweat that glistened under the dim lights of the sanctum. For a long, silent moment, he simply held him, feeling the raw pulse of Riddick’s heart against his own. Then, slowly—excruciatingly slowly—Vaako began to lower him. He used his own strength to control the descent, guiding Riddick down until his entrance was forced open by the brutal width of the fourth stage.
Vaako holds Riddick’s gaze as he slowly lowers him further, and Riddick feels his entrance being forced wide, the pain streaming through him like a tide of fire.
Vaako’s voice is a low murmur, barely audible over the sound of their breathing. “Okay, Riddick?”
And Riddick answers, his voice a jagged rasp of absolute certainty. “Yes.”
Vaako lowers him until the fourth ring forces him open. Riddick is stretched as he has never been in his life, forced to accommodate the brutal width, completely and utterly at Vaako’s mercy.
Vaako gives him time, letting him adjust to the punishing expansion. He waits, allowing Riddick’s breath to find a steadier rhythm. Riddick tries to collect himself, focusing every ounce of his will on relaxing into the pressure, but the pain in his overstretched entrance is brutal. He knows it will only get worse. Yet, he wants to give this to Vaako—to offer this pain as his penance, his reparation for what he forced Vaako to endure.
He looks deep into those dark eyes and says softly, “I’m ready. Keep going.”
Vaako smiles, a slow, predatory expression that is softened by a strange tenderness. He leans forward and kisses him, his lips sealing the promise of the final descent.
Vaako breaks the kiss, his eyes searching Riddick’s silver gaze one last time. His voice is a low rumble of intent. “Ready?”
Riddick’s only answer is a sharp nod. “Ready.” He digs his fingers into the muscle of Vaako’s arms, his grip bruising as he braces every nerve in his body for the impending surge of pain.
Vaako smiles, but it is a expression of dark, shared understanding. Then, with a slow and steady strength, he begins to lift Riddick upward. Riddick draws a deep, shaky breath, his lungs burning as he prepares for the moment Vaako will reverse the motion and send him sliding back down to conquer the final stage.
But Vaako doesn’t stop. He continues to pull him higher and higher, the pressure of the fourth ring slowly receding as Riddick is lifted toward the ceiling.
Riddick’s heart races, the rhythm frantic against his ribs. The memories of the previous night flood his mind—the way he had forced Vaako to take the device again and again, testing the limits of his endurance and his soul. He is prepared to give Vaako his pain, to offer up his body as a sacrifice of trust, but a flicker of raw apprehension stirs in his gut. He doesn’t know if he has the strength to endure that specific, repetitive agony over and over again.
Vaako smiles as he sees the flicker of desperation in Riddick’s silver gaze. He pauses the upward motion, holding Riddick suspended and trembling in his arms. He asks softly, “Do you want to stop?”
Riddick draws a deep, shaky breath, his lungs burning. He shakes his head, his resolve hardening despite the exhaustion claiming his limbs. “Keep going,” he rasps.
Vaako continues to lift him, slowly and steadily, until the dildo finally exits Riddick’s body completely. The sudden absence of the cold silicone leaves Riddick feeling strangely empty and raw. Instead of reversing the motion, Vaako pulls Riddick fully into his arms, cradling the Furyan’s heavy, sweat-drenched frame against his chest. He carries him away from the chair, across the room to a wide, cushioned armchair, and carefully settles him into it. He drapes a thick, soft blanket around Riddick’s shivering shoulders, tucking it in with a gentle precision that feels alien in this house of death.
When Vaako finally presses a glass of warm liquid into his hand, Riddick can only stare up at him in stunned silence.
“Why?” he asks, his voice sounding wrecked and hollow. “Why didn’t you lower me all the way? I was ready. I was prepared to take it for you.”
Vaako smiles, and this time there is no edge of ice in his expression, only a profound, quiet warmth. “Your will was ready, Riddick—but your body was not.”
Riddick blinks, the confusion clear on his face, and Vaako explains further, his voice a low caress. “I could have forced you down. You would have taken the final stage, and you would have endured the agony without a sound. But I have no desire to see you injured. I only wanted you to give me your body, just as I gave mine to you.”
The two of them finish their drinks in a companionable silence, the warmth of the liquid spreading through Riddick’s weary frame. When the glasses are empty, Vaako stands and reaches out, helping Riddick up from the chair. He leads him gently to the massive bed, the furs soft and inviting beneath them.
Vaako lies down behind him, pulling Riddick’s back against his chest. The heat radiating from Vaako’s armored body—now stripped down to his thin undershirt—is a grounding force.
Then, Vaako leans in, his breath a hot caress against Riddick’s ear as he whispers, “I want to take you. Here, now… while you are still raw and opened for me.”
Riddick’s heart begins to race, a frantic thudding against his ribs. The thought of feeling Vaako’s hardness entering his aching, overstretched entrance fills him with a burning, desperate lust. The vulnerability of his body only heightens the intensity of the moment.
“It will hurt,” Vaako warns softly, his hand sliding down to grip Riddick’s hip, grounding him.
Riddick doesn’t hesitate. He presses his backside firmly against Vaako, offering his entrance in a silent, provocative surrender. He turns his head slightly, his silver eyes shimmering in the dark as he whispers back, “Do it.”
Vaako moves with a heavy, deliberate slowness that heightens the tension in the room. He reaches for a small jar of oil on the bedside table, warming the liquid between his palms before his hands find Riddick again. The touch is surprisingly gentle, but the strength behind it reminds Riddick exactly who is in control.
As Vaako begins to prep him, Riddick’s breath hitches. His entrance is still stinging, the muscles overstretched and pulsing from the ordeal on the chair. Every touch from Vaako’s fingers feels like a lightning strike against his raw nerves. He is wide, his body already primed and yielding, yet the sensitivity is so intense it borders on agony. He buries his face in the furs, his fingers curling into the thick pelts as he feels Vaako’s thumb circling the heated, swollen tissue.
Then, he feels the weight of Vaako shifting behind him. The broad, solid pressure of Vaako’s length presses against his opening, and Riddick’s entire body goes rigid for a heartbeat.
“Steady,” Vaako murmurs, his chest vibrating against Riddick’s back.
Vaako begins to push, and the entry is a slow, relentless invasion. Riddick lets out a low, guttural groan that is half-pain and half-ecstasy. He feels himself being forced open even further, his already taxed muscles screaming at the new, living expansion. It feels different than the cold silicone; it is hot, pulsing, and demanding. The friction against his raw walls sends waves of fire through his hips, making his head light and his vision swim.
Riddick feels every inch of the intrusion. He feels the way his body tries to fight the stretch and how Vaako’s steady weight overcomes it. He is being filled to the point of bursting, occupied so completely that there is no room left for doubt or shadows. As Vaako sinks fully into him, reaching the very hilt, Riddick lets out a long, ragged exhale, his forehead resting against the mattress.
He feels conquered, yet strangely whole. The ache in his body is a testament to his trust, a physical manifestation of the oath they swore.
Vaako stays still for a long moment, letting Riddick’s body adjust to the staggering fullness. He kisses the back of Riddick’s neck, his hands gripping Riddick’s hips to anchor them both. Then, he begins to move.
The first thrust is slow, a heavy slide that drags against every sensitive nerve. Riddick gasps, his back arching as a mixture of sharp pain and overwhelming pleasure crashes over him. It is a brutal, honest kind of intimacy. Every stroke is a reminder of their shared history—the betrayal, the testing, and the final, absolute surrender. Riddick finds himself reaching back, his hand finding Vaako’s hair, pulling him closer as he meets each thrust with a desperate, trembling urgency. He isn’t just taking Vaako into his body; he is taking him into his soul, allowing the sensation to wash away the last remnants of the man he used to be.
Vaako takes him, and the pace is relentless, an endless cycle of power and surrender. Every deep, driving thrust propels Riddick higher into a state where thought ceases to exist. Each movement feels like it might be too much for his frayed nerves to handle, yet he has no choice but to endure it, to absorb the weight and the heat of the man behind him. The sharp, lingering sting of his overstretched entrance and the mounting, liquid ecstasy of the rhythm bleed together into a single, all-consuming sensation that leaves him breathless.
Riddick’s fingers claw into the furs, his back arching with every impact. He is a prisoner of his own trust, caught in a storm of sensation that vibrates through his very bones. The friction is intense, a searing heat that builds until his vision white-outs. With a choked, guttural cry, Riddick finally breaks, his body convulsing as he reaches a shattering climax that leaves him trembling and spent.
But Vaako does not stop. He has no mercy for Riddick’s overstimulated, aching body. He continues the heavy, rhythmic assault, his hands gripping Riddick’s hips with bruising force to keep him in place. He drives into the raw, sensitive depths of the Furyan, his own breath coming in ragged, feral growls. The friction against Riddick’s spent nerves is almost unbearable, a delicious torture that keeps him teetering on the edge of consciousness.
Finally, with one last, devastatingly deep thrust, Vaako finds his own release. He surges into Riddick, his body tensing into a rigid cord of muscle as he pours everything into the man he has claimed. He collapses against Riddick’s back, their sweat-slicked skin sticking together, their hearts hammering a frantic, synchronized beat against the silence of the room. They lie there in the aftermath, two predators finally still, bound by blood, oath, and the raw memory of the fire they just walked through together.
Vaako does not pull away. He remains buried deep within Riddick’s body, his weight a heavy, grounding anchor that keeps them both pinned to the bed. He holds Riddick tightly, his arms coiling around the Furyan’s torso as if to ensure that not even a sliver of air can come between them.
Inside, Vaako’s presence is a lingering, throbbing ache. For Riddick’s overtaxed nerves, the sensation of remaining filled is almost a torment; every pulse of Vaako’s cooling blood, every slight shift of their connected bodies, sends a sharp, stinging jolt through his raw and swollen entrance. It is a grueling, constant reminder of the physical boundaries that have been shattered.
Yet, Riddick does not pull away. Instead, he leans back into the pain, his body relaxing into the very thing that hurts him. He loves the absolute continuity of it—the fact that there is no beginning and no end to where one man stops and the other begins. To have Vaako deep inside him, staying there even after the fire has cooled, is the ultimate testament to the Warrior’s Oath. It is the physical manifestation of “sharing everything.”
Riddick reaches back, his fingers tangling weakly in Vaako’s hair, drawing the Commander’s head down to the crook of his neck. He feels Vaako’s breath, now slow and rhythmic, puffing against his sweat-slicked skin. The vulnerability of the moment is staggering. The two most dangerous predators in the galaxy are locked together in a position that leaves them completely exposed, yet they have never felt more secure.
The ache in Riddick’s hips begins to dull into a heavy, warm glow. The exhaustion of the day’s humiliations, the ritual of the blood, and the final surrender of the body finally take their toll. Wrapped in the soft furs and held fast by the man who is now his mirror and his soul, Riddick feels the darkness of sleep rising to meet him.
They drift off together, heart against heart, breath against breath, still physically joined in the quiet sanctum. In the morning, they will face an empire as equals, but tonight, they sleep as one soul, bound by a knot that no blade in the universe could ever hope to sever.