[ The fae lordling gives a harsh, scoffing laugh and the next moment Sylvain is pushed face down onto the stones, giving only a soft grunt of pain before a booted foot comes down onto the stones the back of his neck, pinning him in place. Ignoring the soft whine of discomfort he makes.
The lord’s smile is mocking as he bends forward, sneering down at Basch where he’s held in place by the guards, whose strength persists despite his struggles. ]
You’re in no position to bargain or make demands of me, mortal scum. You are not making the conditions here. Beg me, and perhaps I shall be merciful tonight. Or continue to anger me and I shall vent my temper on this pretty pet here before me. Is that what you wish to see?
[ The strangled sound Basch makes as he lunges toward Sylvain is worse than the other man's; he pulls against the arms holding him back, an ache deep in his chest. He knows, he knows he ought to be more guarded, but it's impossible. ]
Please [ he gasps, and his eyes glint with wetness. His knees bend, but he cannot sink, not with the guards holding him. ] Whatever you want, let me bear it. I do not want to watch harm come to him. Anything else.
[ If he were thinking straight, if he were wise enough to think first, he would know how dangerous it was to give away his weakness, and to give the fae something so easy to twist.
The lord's anger turns to a curling grin. ]
Then we shall have you watch his pleasure, if you're so certain anything else would be better.
[ Another of the fae lordlings on the dais finally gives a quiet, scoffing sound of derision, even as he lounges on his throne looking bored. It’s hard to tell the rankings among them, all of them dressed in rich finery and cloaked in magic and glamours, but this one has a thin circle of gold and woven ivy about his brow as he lazily sips from a jeweled goblet. ]
Make up your mind, Ferrin. Even I can’t keep up with which game you’re trying to play today. Or perhaps you’re just very bad at this one. [ There’s the faintest hint of mockery in his sneer before he sets his goblet aside in a swift motion and snaps his fingers. It’s hard to quiets the ripple of laughter that had come from the watching court and all their attention sharpens now as the speaking noble gestures to the pinned redhead. ]
The idea has some merit, at least. Let’s up the stakes though, shall we? Come here, pet. Let’s see how obedient you and your angry lover can be, hmm?
[ For a moment, it seems as though the first noble won’t release him, won’t bow to this other noble’s requests. But as the expectant tension grows and the other fae’s gaze narrows with maddening amusement at the predicament he’s put himself in, he finally lifts his boot and sinks back down onto his own throne with a sulky sort of temper tantrum.
Sylvain remains frozen for a long moment, dazed and aching, before his gaze flits momentarily to Basch and then to the fae princeling who seems to be waiting for him. His body aches from the position he’d been pinned in - and everything else they’ve been through the past few days - but he manages to half-crawl, half-drag himself to kneel uncertainly at the princeling’s feet.
The fae softly tsk’s, however, before tugging him up to straddle his lap, facing where his lover is still pinned between the guards, watching them. ]
Well? What will it be, mortal? Are you truly willing to be obedient in exchange for his treatment?
[ If Basch were in his right mind, he'd find that interesting. Strategic even. The fae are not one unit; they like to put one another in unflattering light.
As it is, Basch barely remembers he was contained here with a unit. His entire world has narrowed to Sylvain. It's like his own chest starts working again as that boot lifts off Sylvain, as the immediate danger passes. Basch stops fighting, even if his gaze is just as fixated on his lover, his mate.
And then he watches in horror as the other slowly, painfully presents himself to the fae's lap.
He tenses, biting hard, because he knows this is what he asked for. Knows it's better than torture.
He just...is burning with possessive anger. ]
Yes [ he hisses. ] Treat him well, and I will be entirely obedient.
[ More laughter, as some of them have caught on to the game. The fae gives a nasty grin, one of his hands going to caress down Sylvain's throat, to his chest. Basch wants to bite than hand. Or stab it. But he keeps himself still. ]
Very well. Then you will not not protest. You will not fight. You will not make a sound of objection. And you will watch all of it..
[ Sylvain freezes as those fingers start wandering over his bare skin, surprisingly avoiding the scrapes and bruises with an adept ease that should gve him pause, if he could even focus that much. Which he can’t. Besides, every inch of him is already aching, that those additional injuries are just more among too many.
Instead, a shudder sweeps down his spine as those fingers unerringly seek out sensitive skin and nerves, as if this man already knows his body’s most intimate places. Plays them, like an instrument. Even he’s not sure if that shudder is from dread or fear or pleasure at the surprisingly gentle touch.
He can only sit pinned, his legs straddling the fae’s lap as his wide eyes lock on Basch where he’s held before him, swallowing thickly as he holds himself still, entirely uncertain as to what he should be doing right now. ]
[ Basch is tense at first for that worry: that they'll exploit Sylvain's weak body, his tender and ripped skin. It's almost worse that the fae is so gentle, so knowing. Had he had Sylvain without Basch's awareness? Was he stealing this information somehow.
He has to will himself not to yank out of the guards' grip. He has to bite the inside of his cheek not to protest, not to tense as that hand explored Sylvain further, swirling around his navel before dipping down to stroke his thighs. ]
I think he's too obedient, Ferrin. Give him a challenge.
[ The crowd whoops and laughs, clearly in agreement. Basch doesn't even have time to process before the seated fae is grinning, the tiny buzz of magic the only warning Basch gets before he feels the ghostly trail of fingers on his thigh.
His eyes widen, and he almost forgets to stop himself from sound. ]
Same rules, dog. If you succeed, the two of you may have until tomorrow night. If you don't, you will watch us use him for a week.
[ The fae princeling gives a scoff again, letting his fingers continue to trail along the inside of Sylvain's thigh, feeling the way he quivers from the sensation. His body reacts, whether he actually derives pleasure from it or not and the prince chuckles as he watches the redhead's cock give a twitch as his fingers drift temptingly close to sensitive flesh. ]
Ferrin, you don't have the stamina to use anyone for a week. [ he mocks the other lordling with a smirk, even as he employs his own brush of magic. Letting Basch feel the ghostly echo of each of his touches on his lover's skin. As if the Prince's fingers were brushing against Basch's own thigh at the same time.
If Basch is lucky, the laughter rippling through the court at Ferrin's expense will hide most of any reaction he might have to the change. ]
[ Basch, to his credit, keeps silent, even if his fingers twitch to curl and he struggles not to shudder at the ghosting sensation. His own cock twitches in time with Sylvain's, and the worst part is, there's an additional tang of arousal there, some sick heat at the control and humiliation. That, he's sure, is entirely his.
What the laughter hides is the tiniest sound he makes, more of pleasure than of horror. He clamps it down though, breathing deeply through his nose. He has to do this. He has to win Sylvain's freedom, if only for a day. ]
[ But his reaction to that isn’t entirely missed, and the Prince’s intent gaze narrows in momentary consideration. And a flicker of interest at what he finds. One corner of his lips quirk upwards a moment before he makes a shift to the tough of magic flowing between the two captives. Amplifying it for the man on his knees, so he will feel everything the redhead feels just as intensely. Perhaps even moreso. And, watching him, he lets his fingers sweep inwards to skate lightly down the underside of the redhead’s cock, his touch unusually heated as he traces a single fingertip down satin softness.
Only, to the pair of captives, it feels more like the heated, wet slide of a tongue exploring their length. Swiping from tip downwards and leaving a trail of tingling heat in its wake.
Sylvain bites back a gasp, form tensing a moment as his thighs tremble with the exertion of holding still. And his cock jerks to full attention now, the sensation unexpected - and not unpleasant. ]
[ His thoughts scatter, eyes widening. He wishes he could feel Sylvain's sensations when it was his tongue on the other, and he wishes it was the Prince's hand on him, and he wishes for both at the same time, and he wishes for the audience's attention, their laughter and also their hunger, and he has no idea what to do with this onslaught of desire and frustration. His cheeks burn, the flush covering down to his chest, down to the root of his pain-hard cock.
Is he such a glutton for desire? Does he have no shame?
He knows, in his heart, he does not.
He does not cry out, but his hips twitch, his cock jerking. He does not want to see this Prince finish his lover, and yet he aches to be finished together, in unison, aware of the pleasure his redhead feels, getting to watch the ecstasy on his face.
Please sits on his tongue. Please stop. Please don't stop. But he swallows it down, licking his lips instead. ]
[ The Prince’s lips never move, but the words softly whisper against the curve of both men’s ears, accompanied by the warm caress of breath, even as the fae’s lips curve in satisfaction, his eyes gleaming at the reaction he wrings out of both of them. It’s another tease of his magic, even as his fingers wrap fully around the redhead’s cock now, stroking him slowly. But once more, his magic shifts it, for both of them. Letting them feel instead the descent of a hot mouth wrapped tight around them, sucking hungrily, a skilled tongue trailing where his fingertips slide. That heat doesn’t let up, even as his hand moves, as if both of them are buried deep in the delicious heat of an eager mouth.
Sylvain’s senses spin as he bites back a moan, struggling to hold himself still where he somewhat-precariously straddles the prince’s lap. Legs spread open and leaving him exposed and bared before the eyes of the court. His cock is leaking now, erect and reddened as the fae strokes him with single-minded intent and he gasps for air, eyes going half-lidded as his shallowly rock, as if needing to chase that friction, the feeling of elusive pleasure teasing his senses.
Even if he, too, desperately wants it to be real, be the mouth of the man he stares at, held on his knees before him and just as aroused by this show as Sylvain is. He aches for him, to feel those calloused fingers on his skin again.
As if sensing that need, the Prince gives a low chuckle as his other hand lifts, threading fingers in red hair before tightening his grip. That gets a shallow sound out of Sylvain’s lips as the prince bends him back slightly, pulls him taut and keeps his head held at an angle, so that he has to stretch to remain seated. It shows off the lithe lines of his body, scarred though it is from war, and bruised and scraped by the fae’s games earlier in the night. But it does little to hide the allure of his form. Even the Prince grins fiercely at the whispers that pick up as the court watches them. With hunger, with greed, with envy. ]
Such a pretty little pet. So eager. No wonder you can’t keep your eyes off him. I’d wager he begs so prettily
[ Humiliating arousal rings down his spine at the praise, even as fire-hot disdain races after it, furious this Prince is taking ownership of his lover, his mate. Not that he'd care in the event Sylvain had consented, a twisted indulgence that only fans his shame hotter.
It looked for the world like Sylvain was enjoying this, and part of hims desperately wanted that, that this not be something he struggle with later, but Sylvain enjoying it also fanned waves of jealousy and possession.
He gritted his teeth, clenching his hands, trying not to let any sound escape. It wasn't as hard as it ought to be. How much of his life had been repressing?
Then that heat redoubles, wet and tight and skilled. He arches back, lips pressed hard together, biting the inside of his cheek sharply enough to taste metal. He makes a tiny sound, but surely it's not enough to be heard, not with the catcalls and laughter, and even the moans. He struggles to open his eyes, aware no one is watching him so closely; he is not the prize, he is not bared entirely for them. And Sylvain is beautiful.
Again, though, jealousy flares, and he nearly snarls, choking down the sound. He can't he can't. But he doesn't want to hear Sylvain beg, not for anyone else.
He's entirely forgotten their mating was fae magic too. ]
[ This time, the words are whispered magically for Basch’s ears alone. The phantom caress of lips against his skin at the curve of his ear. ]
Your mouth around his cock, or perhaps his around yours. Your hands marking his skin, pinning him down, making him arch and moan for you.
[ As if to emphasize that point, the Prince’s hands - or perhaps his magic - did something that caused just that, Sylvain’s involuntary moan breathless and wanton as he struggled to arch, cock twitching desperately in the fae’s grip. He shuddered, pushed deeper into pleasure, and while Basch can’t feel exactly what the prince did to him, he’ll feel the waves of pleasure hit him through their connection all the same. Blinding, overwhelming, as if magic had caressed over every sensitive nerve all at once. ]
[ Gods, he does. Or better still, to close the space from here to the Prince's throne, take Sylvain's cock in his mouth while he's still on his knees, marking the other's legs, feel when the other releases, when the fae lets them, still be hard and wanting and untouched himself--
He's near shaking with the ache of it. He drops to his hands, trying to still his hips, feeling for all the world like a horny old dog. He wants to whine like one, wants to be let to hump something to relieve this burning need, even wants the humiliation of the court watching him, his men somewhere among them, watching him deteriorate to the base, shameless thing he's always been beneath it all.
He didn't deserve to have Sylvain moan for him, now matter how good of care he took of his precious mate. He didn't deserve a mate. He deserved to be played with and broken and--
Sylvain's pleasure hits him, and it's too much. He cries out, ass in the air, hands scrabbling against the floor. His cock erupts, his cheek biting into stone, and a sob escapes him -- release, failure, terror all at once.
Wager already lost, he whispers a single agonized, desperate please. Please use him. Please free Sylvain. Please take away this shame. Please revel in it. ]
[ The laughter and jeering and taunts flow between the watching fae as they exchange won and lost wagers. It muffles the sound of that quiet plea, but his magic carries it back to the Prince's ears.
His eyes are dark with predatory hunger as he watches the man on his knees get swept up in the pleasure, even without the Prince having to touch him even once. Though he can't hear the direct thoughts of the man, the emotions come through that connection he'd been spying on loud and clear. The shame and humiliation, what he wanted.
Poor little human. Such hungers are dangerous to have in a court like this. Deadly, even. That was like offering a fae their favorite candy for free.
But the prince was already developing his own ideas, and what he wanted to see. How he wanted to play this. And he was already annoyed with the way Ferrin was leering at the pair of pets with a sense of possession he had no right to.
Not when the Prince was intending to claim them for himself. it had been too long, since one of the court's pets had proved entertaining enough to catch his eye. And now, to have a matched pair? Oh, he could have fun with this.
Despite the fact that the redhead on his lap was still trembling and painfully erect, he withdrew his hand - for now, and practically tossed him to one of his waiting guards as he rose from his throne on the dais. ]
Bring them, [ he bids, ignoring the dismay of the rest of the court, that their night's prime entertainment was finished so soon. Ferrin was shoved back into his seat by the noble at his side, when he would have risen in protest. Wise of them. He wasn't in the mood to play their games tonight.
No, he had a different game in mind entirely. And he doesn't even try to hide his bemused smile as the guards drag the kneeling human upright, forcing him to follow as the Prince departs for his own suite of rooms for the night.
[ Basch is dizzy and weak, the connection only letting him feel the ache of protest when the stimulation leaves Sylvain, the cruelty of leaving him unfinished. Basch is weak and selfish; he hardly lasted a handful of minutes, and now Sylvain is paying for it.
It's not until they force him up that he realizes Sylvain is in the rough grip of the guard, naked and hard and flushed, stumbling. He wants to roar, to rip out of this hold, to rescue his mate -- all things he can't possibly do, and so instead he whimpers, aware how pathetic and disappointing he is. Aware he can do nothing meaningful. He stumbles along, trying to keep Sylvain in view, hoping when his head clears he'll think of something else.
At least he's given amusement. If they're going to break one of them, he can buy Sylvain a little more time.
It hasn't even occurred to him to be concerned about where they're going. He assumes it's the dungeons again. ]
[ It’s not the dungeons. In fact, it’s about as far as one can get from those in this Court.
Instead, the pair are led down an ornate hall, gilded in gold and draped in thick, vibrant greenery, the two colors so intertwined that it’s almost impossible to decipher where one ends and the other begins.
Not that Sylvain is paying any attention to the decor. It takes everything he has right now to even keep his aching body upright, limbs shaking from the exertion and the adrenaline that had no outlet, especially after being in Ferrin’s… ungentle grip for most of the night.
When he staggers again, almost collapsing into the wall of the corridor, his guard escort gives a grunt of annoyance and bends to fling him over one shoulder instead. That’s not exactly comfortable - especially when bruised ribs give a sharp protest in response. But it does solve his problem with walking.
The guards escort them after the prince, only halting when they reach a pair of ornate doors that swing open with the fae’s approach. ]
Bring them inside, then leave us.
[ The guards don’t so much as hesitate at the strange orders, despite the fact that the prisoners are still unbound and this is their prince. But they don’t seem worried that the prince can’t protect himself, and the two humans are not-so gently shoved into the room before retreating, the doors silently swinging shut behind them, to leave the three alone in the large ornate suite.
The prince says nothing, merely moves across the room to drape himself lazily along the length of a plush chaise, eyes still curious and watchful as he takes in his two new pets.
Not that Sylvain is being very entertaining at the moment, he’ fallen to his hands and knees once being pushed into the room and was still there, curled into himself, muscles still sore and aching, every inch of him feeling far too sensitized. ]
[ Basch should be smarter about this. Restrained. Observant. Strategic. Cautious.
But all his addled brain is processing is that his arms are free and the room is empty Dave him, his lover, and the Prince. Who really should be more threatening.
But Sylvain crumples to the ground in clear distress, and Basch is so aware of the rough night they spent, of the difficult captivity before that, and of how little he’s been able to do. He’s not thinking when he sinks beside the other, a hand anchoring on his lower back and the other sitting over one of Sylvain’s as he leans in, breathing the other’s scent deeply, not even realizing how grounding this is for him too. ]
[ This time, the soft whimper comes from the redhead as he curls into that now-familiar warmth. It hadn’t been, before this place, but that had changed in their captivity, and there was something soothing about the strength in Basch’s hands, his hold as he wraps around him. For a moment, at least, Sylvain can pretend that this is all he needs to focus on, that they’re not still in danger.
That they could once more be torn away from one another without warning. ]
The Prince summons himself a small carafe of wine as he settles in comfortably and watches them with a keen eye. Curious and calculating. But he doesn’t interfere. Not yet.
Waits, instead, to see what his pets will do. Hides a smile behind a sip when the redhead curls into Basch’s hold, face buried against his throat as if hiding his face will shut the rest of the world out. ]
[ He’s still painfully aware he doesn’t deserve this, but he is what Sylvain has, and he won’t shirk tending to the other, especially not when Sylvain melts so easily into his touch. This is misplaced trust, but it demands respect in turn.
That, and Basch can smell the want on him, the arousal that’s been so cruelly stoked and left him over sensitive.
Basch shifts, tugging Sylvain with him until the other man is in his lap, audience near forgotten. When his hand alights at the base of Sylvain’s cock, he shudders, the echo of the fae magic making his own cock tingle with a quieter sensation. The knowledge it’s his doing this time makes his breath catch, and he wraps his other arm tighter around his lover, giving him plenty of anchoring should he wish to arch or thrash.
And his lips are on Sylvain’s throat column, his half-hard cock against hid backside as he strokes him, using their echoed connection to try and walk the line of pleasant but not too much.
It’s when he opens his eyes that he accidentally meets the Prince’s gaze, a moan of humiliation and want escaping him. ]
[ There’s nothing but amusement in the Prince’s tone as he takes another measured sip and chuckles. Watches them with a dark, calculating gaze. He’d left the redhead unsatisfied for a purpose - that would play into the rest of the evening’s entertainment nicely, he thinks.
Sylvain barely stifles a moan as Basch’s fingers curl around his cock, stroke him slowly. He presses back against him, face buried against his throat so Basch’s scent is inhaled with every ragged breath. He clings to him, cock jolting against the warm grip now wrapped around him, unaware of the magic that’s been strung up between them. It has him rocking in agains Basch’s thigh, chasing the friction of the feeling, even as fingers cling to his mate.
The Prince just smiles, enjoying the show. ]
I left him untouched for you, pet. I can be generous, when you behave for me. He ached for you the entire time I teased him. I thought it only fair to give him what he wanted to. Especially after you so enjoyed our little exchange out there.
[ He knows he should be more worried about the Prince and the game, but Sylvain is so warm and pliant and desperate in his hold, and the echo of their tether distracts him. Basch uses what little brain he has to angle them better. There's no harm in letting Sylvain look ravished, not when he's safely in Basch's arms.
Basch was the one who failed. But he's not being punished, so he won't question it. ]
Thank you, my liege [ he says, eyes locked forward as his hand works the other, the tether helping him adjust for exactly what feels best. He's not in a hurry, but he's not teasing either, coaxing a deep pleasant build, wanting the other to feel deep, pleasant release.
And trying not to think about those other strange fantasies, the ones where the Prince is between them, or one of them between the other and the Prince. ]
[ Oh, but the Prince hasn’t forgotten those fantasies at all. And what’s more, he felt what the redhead had desires up there on that stage as well - even if he would never admit it. The cruelty hadn’t been alluring to him, no, but the gentleness, the being used. That had made him melt into the prince’s touch, craving that, even as he longed for the mate the fae magic had given him.
Their dual desires weren’t in conflict. In fact, the Prince is pretty sure he could have a great deal of fun with this. ]
Come here, pet. Bring him. It would be cruel of me to leave you both wanting, wouldn’t it? And you tried so hard to be good. I’m not ignorant to your struggles.
[ Basch hesitates, eyes flicking from his barely won mate to the Prince. He feels the stir of want in Sylvain — or is it his own?
He’s hardly made the decision, but he’s murmuring in the other’s ear, gently getting them both to their feet, planting kisses down Sylvain’s throat and shoulder, hand staying cupped around him but promising to take care of him. When Sylvain doesn’t protest, he leads them, slowly, toward the chaise. He can’t help the whine that escapes him, the relief and the hunger at praise, even as some part of him knows he’s walking into danger, craves it even.
When they come close, he manages to meet the Prince’s gaze and ask quietly ] Do what you like with me, but don’t hurt him, please. I will be compliant. [ There’s no hiding from any of them that his cock jerks when he says it. ]
[ The chuckle that escapes the fae prince at those words is low and husky and full of dark pleasure. He reaches out, hand cupping against Basch’s cheek when the man stares at him and makes his request. ]
Such pretty pleas. I believe you beg much prettier than your mate does. I have no interest in hurting him, because that’s not what he wants. But you… you want something different, don’t you.
[ It’s not a question. His fingers curl, cupping at the nape of Basch’s neck as he draws him closer with a firm grip. Holding him in place as he controls his movements. ]
I could feel it, you know. Everything you felt as you knelt there for me, so pretty and obedient. I could feel how much you wanted it to be your hands on your lover’s body, pleasing him, pleasuring him, but it was more than that, wasn’t it.
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slytherynn2024-01-19 08:53 pm
no subject
The lord’s smile is mocking as he bends forward, sneering down at Basch where he’s held in place by the guards, whose strength persists despite his struggles. ]
You’re in no position to bargain or make demands of me, mortal scum. You are not making the conditions here. Beg me, and perhaps I shall be merciful tonight. Or continue to anger me and I shall vent my temper on this pretty pet here before me. Is that what you wish to see?
no subject
Please [ he gasps, and his eyes glint with wetness. His knees bend, but he cannot sink, not with the guards holding him. ] Whatever you want, let me bear it. I do not want to watch harm come to him. Anything else.
[ If he were thinking straight, if he were wise enough to think first, he would know how dangerous it was to give away his weakness, and to give the fae something so easy to twist.
The lord's anger turns to a curling grin. ]
Then we shall have you watch his pleasure, if you're so certain anything else would be better.
no subject
Make up your mind, Ferrin. Even I can’t keep up with which game you’re trying to play today. Or perhaps you’re just very bad at this one. [ There’s the faintest hint of mockery in his sneer before he sets his goblet aside in a swift motion and snaps his fingers. It’s hard to quiets the ripple of laughter that had come from the watching court and all their attention sharpens now as the speaking noble gestures to the pinned redhead. ]
The idea has some merit, at least. Let’s up the stakes though, shall we? Come here, pet. Let’s see how obedient you and your angry lover can be, hmm?
[ For a moment, it seems as though the first noble won’t release him, won’t bow to this other noble’s requests. But as the expectant tension grows and the other fae’s gaze narrows with maddening amusement at the predicament he’s put himself in, he finally lifts his boot and sinks back down onto his own throne with a sulky sort of temper tantrum.
Sylvain remains frozen for a long moment, dazed and aching, before his gaze flits momentarily to Basch and then to the fae princeling who seems to be waiting for him. His body aches from the position he’d been pinned in - and everything else they’ve been through the past few days - but he manages to half-crawl, half-drag himself to kneel uncertainly at the princeling’s feet.
The fae softly tsk’s, however, before tugging him up to straddle his lap, facing where his lover is still pinned between the guards, watching them. ]
Well? What will it be, mortal? Are you truly willing to be obedient in exchange for his treatment?
no subject
As it is, Basch barely remembers he was contained here with a unit. His entire world has narrowed to Sylvain. It's like his own chest starts working again as that boot lifts off Sylvain, as the immediate danger passes. Basch stops fighting, even if his gaze is just as fixated on his lover, his mate.
And then he watches in horror as the other slowly, painfully presents himself to the fae's lap.
He tenses, biting hard, because he knows this is what he asked for. Knows it's better than torture.
He just...is burning with possessive anger. ]
Yes [ he hisses. ] Treat him well, and I will be entirely obedient.
[ More laughter, as some of them have caught on to the game. The fae gives a nasty grin, one of his hands going to caress down Sylvain's throat, to his chest. Basch wants to bite than hand. Or stab it. But he keeps himself still. ]
Very well. Then you will not not protest. You will not fight. You will not make a sound of objection. And you will watch all of it..
no subject
Instead, a shudder sweeps down his spine as those fingers unerringly seek out sensitive skin and nerves, as if this man already knows his body’s most intimate places. Plays them, like an instrument. Even he’s not sure if that shudder is from dread or fear or pleasure at the surprisingly gentle touch.
He can only sit pinned, his legs straddling the fae’s lap as his wide eyes lock on Basch where he’s held before him, swallowing thickly as he holds himself still, entirely uncertain as to what he should be doing right now. ]
no subject
He has to will himself not to yank out of the guards' grip. He has to bite the inside of his cheek not to protest, not to tense as that hand explored Sylvain further, swirling around his navel before dipping down to stroke his thighs. ]
I think he's too obedient, Ferrin. Give him a challenge.
[ The crowd whoops and laughs, clearly in agreement. Basch doesn't even have time to process before the seated fae is grinning, the tiny buzz of magic the only warning Basch gets before he feels the ghostly trail of fingers on his thigh.
His eyes widen, and he almost forgets to stop himself from sound. ]
Same rules, dog. If you succeed, the two of you may have until tomorrow night. If you don't, you will watch us use him for a week.
[ Basch is at least smart enough not to protest ]
no subject
Ferrin, you don't have the stamina to use anyone for a week. [ he mocks the other lordling with a smirk, even as he employs his own brush of magic. Letting Basch feel the ghostly echo of each of his touches on his lover's skin. As if the Prince's fingers were brushing against Basch's own thigh at the same time.
If Basch is lucky, the laughter rippling through the court at Ferrin's expense will hide most of any reaction he might have to the change. ]
no subject
What the laughter hides is the tiniest sound he makes, more of pleasure than of horror. He clamps it down though, breathing deeply through his nose. He has to do this. He has to win Sylvain's freedom, if only for a day. ]
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Only, to the pair of captives, it feels more like the heated, wet slide of a tongue exploring their length. Swiping from tip downwards and leaving a trail of tingling heat in its wake.
Sylvain bites back a gasp, form tensing a moment as his thighs tremble with the exertion of holding still. And his cock jerks to full attention now, the sensation unexpected - and not unpleasant. ]
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Is he such a glutton for desire? Does he have no shame?
He knows, in his heart, he does not.
He does not cry out, but his hips twitch, his cock jerking. He does not want to see this Prince finish his lover, and yet he aches to be finished together, in unison, aware of the pleasure his redhead feels, getting to watch the ecstasy on his face.
Please sits on his tongue. Please stop. Please don't stop. But he swallows it down, licking his lips instead. ]
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[ The Prince’s lips never move, but the words softly whisper against the curve of both men’s ears, accompanied by the warm caress of breath, even as the fae’s lips curve in satisfaction, his eyes gleaming at the reaction he wrings out of both of them. It’s another tease of his magic, even as his fingers wrap fully around the redhead’s cock now, stroking him slowly. But once more, his magic shifts it, for both of them. Letting them feel instead the descent of a hot mouth wrapped tight around them, sucking hungrily, a skilled tongue trailing where his fingertips slide. That heat doesn’t let up, even as his hand moves, as if both of them are buried deep in the delicious heat of an eager mouth.
Sylvain’s senses spin as he bites back a moan, struggling to hold himself still where he somewhat-precariously straddles the prince’s lap. Legs spread open and leaving him exposed and bared before the eyes of the court. His cock is leaking now, erect and reddened as the fae strokes him with single-minded intent and he gasps for air, eyes going half-lidded as his shallowly rock, as if needing to chase that friction, the feeling of elusive pleasure teasing his senses.
Even if he, too, desperately wants it to be real, be the mouth of the man he stares at, held on his knees before him and just as aroused by this show as Sylvain is. He aches for him, to feel those calloused fingers on his skin again.
As if sensing that need, the Prince gives a low chuckle as his other hand lifts, threading fingers in red hair before tightening his grip. That gets a shallow sound out of Sylvain’s lips as the prince bends him back slightly, pulls him taut and keeps his head held at an angle, so that he has to stretch to remain seated. It shows off the lithe lines of his body, scarred though it is from war, and bruised and scraped by the fae’s games earlier in the night. But it does little to hide the allure of his form. Even the Prince grins fiercely at the whispers that pick up as the court watches them. With hunger, with greed, with envy. ]
Such a pretty little pet. So eager. No wonder you can’t keep your eyes off him. I’d wager he begs so prettily
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It looked for the world like Sylvain was enjoying this, and part of hims desperately wanted that, that this not be something he struggle with later, but Sylvain enjoying it also fanned waves of jealousy and possession.
He gritted his teeth, clenching his hands, trying not to let any sound escape. It wasn't as hard as it ought to be. How much of his life had been repressing?
Then that heat redoubles, wet and tight and skilled. He arches back, lips pressed hard together, biting the inside of his cheek sharply enough to taste metal. He makes a tiny sound, but surely it's not enough to be heard, not with the catcalls and laughter, and even the moans. He struggles to open his eyes, aware no one is watching him so closely; he is not the prize, he is not bared entirely for them. And Sylvain is beautiful.
Again, though, jealousy flares, and he nearly snarls, choking down the sound. He can't he can't. But he doesn't want to hear Sylvain beg, not for anyone else.
He's entirely forgotten their mating was fae magic too. ]
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[ This time, the words are whispered magically for Basch’s ears alone. The phantom caress of lips against his skin at the curve of his ear. ]
Your mouth around his cock, or perhaps his around yours. Your hands marking his skin, pinning him down, making him arch and moan for you.
[ As if to emphasize that point, the Prince’s hands - or perhaps his magic - did something that caused just that, Sylvain’s involuntary moan breathless and wanton as he struggled to arch, cock twitching desperately in the fae’s grip. He shuddered, pushed deeper into pleasure, and while Basch can’t feel exactly what the prince did to him, he’ll feel the waves of pleasure hit him through their connection all the same. Blinding, overwhelming, as if magic had caressed over every sensitive nerve all at once. ]
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He's near shaking with the ache of it. He drops to his hands, trying to still his hips, feeling for all the world like a horny old dog. He wants to whine like one, wants to be let to hump something to relieve this burning need, even wants the humiliation of the court watching him, his men somewhere among them, watching him deteriorate to the base, shameless thing he's always been beneath it all.
He didn't deserve to have Sylvain moan for him, now matter how good of care he took of his precious mate. He didn't deserve a mate. He deserved to be played with and broken and--
Sylvain's pleasure hits him, and it's too much. He cries out, ass in the air, hands scrabbling against the floor. His cock erupts, his cheek biting into stone, and a sob escapes him -- release, failure, terror all at once.
Wager already lost, he whispers a single agonized, desperate please. Please use him. Please free Sylvain. Please take away this shame. Please revel in it. ]
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His eyes are dark with predatory hunger as he watches the man on his knees get swept up in the pleasure, even without the Prince having to touch him even once. Though he can't hear the direct thoughts of the man, the emotions come through that connection he'd been spying on loud and clear. The shame and humiliation, what he wanted.
Poor little human. Such hungers are dangerous to have in a court like this. Deadly, even. That was like offering a fae their favorite candy for free.
But the prince was already developing his own ideas, and what he wanted to see. How he wanted to play this. And he was already annoyed with the way Ferrin was leering at the pair of pets with a sense of possession he had no right to.
Not when the Prince was intending to claim them for himself. it had been too long, since one of the court's pets had proved entertaining enough to catch his eye. And now, to have a matched pair? Oh, he could have fun with this.
Despite the fact that the redhead on his lap was still trembling and painfully erect, he withdrew his hand - for now, and practically tossed him to one of his waiting guards as he rose from his throne on the dais. ]
Bring them, [ he bids, ignoring the dismay of the rest of the court, that their night's prime entertainment was finished so soon. Ferrin was shoved back into his seat by the noble at his side, when he would have risen in protest. Wise of them. He wasn't in the mood to play their games tonight.
No, he had a different game in mind entirely. And he doesn't even try to hide his bemused smile as the guards drag the kneeling human upright, forcing him to follow as the Prince departs for his own suite of rooms for the night.
Such games are better played in privacy. ]
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It's not until they force him up that he realizes Sylvain is in the rough grip of the guard, naked and hard and flushed, stumbling. He wants to roar, to rip out of this hold, to rescue his mate -- all things he can't possibly do, and so instead he whimpers, aware how pathetic and disappointing he is. Aware he can do nothing meaningful. He stumbles along, trying to keep Sylvain in view, hoping when his head clears he'll think of something else.
At least he's given amusement. If they're going to break one of them, he can buy Sylvain a little more time.
It hasn't even occurred to him to be concerned about where they're going. He assumes it's the dungeons again. ]
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Instead, the pair are led down an ornate hall, gilded in gold and draped in thick, vibrant greenery, the two colors so intertwined that it’s almost impossible to decipher where one ends and the other begins.
Not that Sylvain is paying any attention to the decor. It takes everything he has right now to even keep his aching body upright, limbs shaking from the exertion and the adrenaline that had no outlet, especially after being in Ferrin’s… ungentle grip for most of the night.
When he staggers again, almost collapsing into the wall of the corridor, his guard escort gives a grunt of annoyance and bends to fling him over one shoulder instead. That’s not exactly comfortable - especially when bruised ribs give a sharp protest in response. But it does solve his problem with walking.
The guards escort them after the prince, only halting when they reach a pair of ornate doors that swing open with the fae’s approach. ]
Bring them inside, then leave us.
[ The guards don’t so much as hesitate at the strange orders, despite the fact that the prisoners are still unbound and this is their prince. But they don’t seem worried that the prince can’t protect himself, and the two humans are not-so gently shoved into the room before retreating, the doors silently swinging shut behind them, to leave the three alone in the large ornate suite.
The prince says nothing, merely moves across the room to drape himself lazily along the length of a plush chaise, eyes still curious and watchful as he takes in his two new pets.
Not that Sylvain is being very entertaining at the moment, he’ fallen to his hands and knees once being pushed into the room and was still there, curled into himself, muscles still sore and aching, every inch of him feeling far too sensitized. ]
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But all his addled brain is processing is that his arms are free and the room is empty Dave him, his lover, and the Prince. Who really should be more threatening.
But Sylvain crumples to the ground in clear distress, and Basch is so aware of the rough night they spent, of the difficult captivity before that, and of how little he’s been able to do. He’s not thinking when he sinks beside the other, a hand anchoring on his lower back and the other sitting over one of Sylvain’s as he leans in, breathing the other’s scent deeply, not even realizing how grounding this is for him too. ]
You’re alright. I’ve got you.
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That they could once more be torn away from one another without warning. ]
The Prince summons himself a small carafe of wine as he settles in comfortably and watches them with a keen eye. Curious and calculating. But he doesn’t interfere. Not yet.
Waits, instead, to see what his pets will do. Hides a smile behind a sip when the redhead curls into Basch’s hold, face buried against his throat as if hiding his face will shut the rest of the world out. ]
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That, and Basch can smell the want on him, the arousal that’s been so cruelly stoked and left him over sensitive.
Basch shifts, tugging Sylvain with him until the other man is in his lap, audience near forgotten. When his hand alights at the base of Sylvain’s cock, he shudders, the echo of the fae magic making his own cock tingle with a quieter sensation. The knowledge it’s his doing this time makes his breath catch, and he wraps his other arm tighter around his lover, giving him plenty of anchoring should he wish to arch or thrash.
And his lips are on Sylvain’s throat column, his half-hard cock against hid backside as he strokes him, using their echoed connection to try and walk the line of pleasant but not too much.
It’s when he opens his eyes that he accidentally meets the Prince’s gaze, a moan of humiliation and want escaping him. ]
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[ There’s nothing but amusement in the Prince’s tone as he takes another measured sip and chuckles. Watches them with a dark, calculating gaze. He’d left the redhead unsatisfied for a purpose - that would play into the rest of the evening’s entertainment nicely, he thinks.
Sylvain barely stifles a moan as Basch’s fingers curl around his cock, stroke him slowly. He presses back against him, face buried against his throat so Basch’s scent is inhaled with every ragged breath. He clings to him, cock jolting against the warm grip now wrapped around him, unaware of the magic that’s been strung up between them. It has him rocking in agains Basch’s thigh, chasing the friction of the feeling, even as fingers cling to his mate.
The Prince just smiles, enjoying the show. ]
I left him untouched for you, pet. I can be generous, when you behave for me. He ached for you the entire time I teased him. I thought it only fair to give him what he wanted to. Especially after you so enjoyed our little exchange out there.
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Basch was the one who failed. But he's not being punished, so he won't question it. ]
Thank you, my liege [ he says, eyes locked forward as his hand works the other, the tether helping him adjust for exactly what feels best. He's not in a hurry, but he's not teasing either, coaxing a deep pleasant build, wanting the other to feel deep, pleasant release.
And trying not to think about those other strange fantasies, the ones where the Prince is between them, or one of them between the other and the Prince. ]
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Their dual desires weren’t in conflict. In fact, the Prince is pretty sure he could have a great deal of fun with this. ]
Come here, pet. Bring him. It would be cruel of me to leave you both wanting, wouldn’t it? And you tried so hard to be good. I’m not ignorant to your struggles.
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He’s hardly made the decision, but he’s murmuring in the other’s ear, gently getting them both to their feet, planting kisses down Sylvain’s throat and shoulder, hand staying cupped around him but promising to take care of him. When Sylvain doesn’t protest, he leads them, slowly, toward the chaise. He can’t help the whine that escapes him, the relief and the hunger at praise, even as some part of him knows he’s walking into danger, craves it even.
When they come close, he manages to meet the Prince’s gaze and ask quietly ] Do what you like with me, but don’t hurt him, please. I will be compliant. [ There’s no hiding from any of them that his cock jerks when he says it. ]
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Such pretty pleas. I believe you beg much prettier than your mate does. I have no interest in hurting him, because that’s not what he wants. But you… you want something different, don’t you.
[ It’s not a question. His fingers curl, cupping at the nape of Basch’s neck as he draws him closer with a firm grip. Holding him in place as he controls his movements. ]
I could feel it, you know. Everything you felt as you knelt there for me, so pretty and obedient. I could feel how much you wanted it to be your hands on your lover’s body, pleasing him, pleasuring him, but it was more than that, wasn’t it.
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