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"Well done!" Graves said, circling around Moash in his new Shardplate. Moash had gone directly to the lighteyed training grounds, as was now his right, but he had to admit to being glad he'd found a friendly face there. The lighteyes regarded him with bewildered looks at best, hostility at worst. Graves clasped him on the arm with his own gauntleted hand. "Wonderful work. Welcome to upper society."
"I didn't actually do anything, you know." Moash pointed out. "Kaladin did."
"A gift after he realized how important our work is for Alethkar. This couldn't have worked out better for us."
It felt strange, being in public with him. They trained together for a time, before Graves insisted they needed a break. Moash resisted, but Graves then murmured that there were private lounges.
A minute of Graves' sweet talking and Moash was in his lap, their Shardplate clinking as he rode him. They were still in most of their Plate, only the pieces required to fuck removed. Moash hadn't really wanted to take it off.
"Keep going," Graves grunted, hand clasped on the side of Moash's neck. He wrapped his other hand around Moash's length, a sign he must be getting close.
Graves liked it when they came close together. He appreciated Moash. He reminded him frequently how much good he was doing Alethkar. How strong he was.
Graves was a proper leader, like a lighteyes should be. Even now he looked straight from the stories with his neat jet black hair and shimmering Plate. Yet here he was, panting and weak from Moash's body.
Moash's own pleasure twisted in his stomach.
"Graves-" Moash came hard. He watched the white lines of his cum drip down the front of that glistening Plate in a haze, feeling pleasantly lightheaded at the sight.