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Chapter Text

There are few places he knows as well as the keep at Acquitart. Nevertheless, Laurent would have taken a wrong turn several times by now if not for Damen’s steadying arm around his shoulders, subtly steering him in the direction of their shared rooms.

He should’ve seen it coming, really, when he chose drinking as the way to impress Makedon back at Marlas, should’ve anticipated that it would come back to haunt him. The thought is distant, hazy in a way that used to make his skin crawl, but it’s impossible to feel anything but safe and content with Damen’s warm presence beside him.

At least the hunt was a success, he thinks, before getting distracted by the way the moonlight plays across the planes of Damen’s face, turning his skin to gleaming bronze and highlighting the dimple in his cheek as he gives Laurent a smile.

He must have lost track of time after that, because the next thing he knows, they’re in their bedchamber, and Damen is in the middle of unfastening his laces with deft, practiced movements. Laurent lets out a pleased hum and presses closer, instinctively seeking Damen’s warmth even though the temperatures are still mild for the season.

“You’re not making this any easier,” Damen scolds him gently, the fondness in his voice belying his words. “Hold still, or we’ll be here all night.”

Suddenly, it strikes Laurent as terribly unfair that he’s already down to his white undershirt while Damen is still fully clothed, at least by Akielon standards. His fingers are unusually clumsy as he attempts to open the pin holding the top part of Damen’s chiton closed, but he persists with dogged determination until, finally, Damen’s glorious torso is bared to his gaze.

He leans forward, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the newly visible skin, his tongue darting out to tease Damen’s nipples. Delight bubbles through his veins, much like the sparkling wine that was served with dinner, as he feels them hardening under his touch.

Just as he’s getting ready to divert his attention to the lower parts of Damen’s impressive body, strong hands close around his shoulders, holding him in place.

“You’re drunk, sweetheart. I appreciate the enthusiasm, but perhaps we should just go to bed.”

Laurent nods eagerly, reaching up to take one of Damen’s hands and draw him towards the large four-poster bed dominating the room, making sure to sway his hips seductively as he goes.

“I meant, to sleep,” Damen says, and Laurent may not be looking at him, but he can easily tell from his tone that his eyebrows are raised in that expression he always wears when Laurent tells him about another one of his perfectly thought-through and reasonable schemes. “I know you don’t like—”

Under normal circumstances, Laurent finds Damen’s concern for his happiness endearing, but right now, he's floating on a haze of griva and the sheer force of Damen’s—very much naked—presence, and he’ll be damned if he lets Damen’s conscience ruin this for him.

It takes more effort than he’d like to admit, but he draws himself up to his full height and puts on his haughtiest kingly expression. “Fuck me,” he demands, taking care to enunciate the words properly. “I want you, Damen.”

Even in his inebriated state, he can reconstruct the struggle playing out inside Damen’s mind from the emotions flickering across his face, concern warring with desire. Deliberately, he licks his lips as he holds Damen’s gaze, and watches desire win out.

“Laurent,” Damen says helplessly, and then Laurent is being pushed down onto the bed, somehow losing the rest of his clothes along the way, until he finds himself pressed into the mattress under Damen’s weight. The room is slowly spinning around him, and somewhere in the back of his mind, there are other memories of moments like this one, drunk and with a heavy body pinning him to the bed, but they have no power over him as long as Damen is right here with him, his larger-than-life presence banishing any thought that is not about him, about them, together.

“Please,” he hears himself say, his voice coming out hoarse and pleading. He shifts his hips against Damen’s, trying to convey what his jumbled brain is unable to put into words. “Damen—”

“Shh, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” For a moment, Damen’s weight vanishes, but before he can do more than let out a wordless sound of dismay, Damen’s hand is there, right where he needs it, spreading warm slickness between his thighs. He lets them fall open wider on instinct alone, giving Damen better access, his whole body going pliant as Damen slowly works him open. He’s utterly unable to do anything but lie there and take it, but, judging by the constant stream of praise and endearments, Damen doesn’t seem to mind.

It feels as if hours pass like this, perhaps even days, and Damen’s fingers aren’t enough to quell the ache inside him. He grabs for Damen’s cock with uncoordinated fingers, finding it hard and weeping at the tip. Damen lets out a groan as he strokes it clumsily, his face pressed into Laurent’s shoulder.

“Now, Damen, please,” he gets out, and he’s far beyond caring what he sounds like, begging for Damen to fuck him.

He cries out in dismay as Damen’s fingers leave him, and then again, louder, as Damen’s cock replaces them, slowly and inexorably splitting him open. It feels like he’s floating on air, the searing heat of Damen’s cock moving inside him his only tether to the world. It’s like he is nothing but pure sensation, all rational thought fled for once as Damen fucks him with long, slow strokes, the way Laurent likes. He’s aware of nothing but Damen’s weight above him, Damen’s scent surrounding him, Damen’s voice in his ear, slipping into Akielon as he gets close. Laurent gives himself up to it until the pleasure crests and sweeps him away, and he knows no more.

Chapter Text

“Hello, lover.”

At the sound of Laurent’s voice, Damen looks up from the paperwork he’s been wrestling with for the better part of the evening, and promptly chokes on his own spit.

“Wha—” he chokes out between desperate gasps for air, unable to look away from the picture Laurent makes, leaning seductively against the doorframe. Instead of his usual Veretian-style attire or the occasional chiton, he’s dressed in what can only very generously be called clothing. The see-through blue silks cling to Laurent’s well-toned body in a way that leaves little to the imagination. Swirls of blue and gold paint decorate the ample skin on display, highlighting its pale fineness and hiding the freckles from months spent in Ios. As if to compensate for the lack of actual clothing, he’s dripping with jewels, from sapphire eardrops to a golden choker encircling his throat. By some trick of makeup, his eyes appear even larger and bluer than usual, and his lips…

“Like what you see?” Laurent asks, the confidence in his tone suggesting that he’s perfectly aware of the effect he has on Damen. “Ancel helped me with the paint.”

Damen doesn’t want to think about Ancel, not when Laurent, for some reason known only to him, is standing in their shared rooms, dressed as the most exclusive and heart-stoppingly beautiful pet Damen has ever seen.

“Is this for another one of your schemes?” he asks, finally, once he’s brought his heartrate down to slightly more reasonable levels.

Laurent’s seductive smirk softens at the edges, morphing into a real smile as he drops his persona for a moment. “No. But I thought it could be good practice, if we ever have to play pet and master again. Unless you’d rather keep working on that tax report…” He trails off, and the way he tilts his head back, exposing the long, graceful line of his throat, is not accidental at all.

Damen swallows heavily, feeling his cock, already well on its way to half-hard, swell even further at the blatant invitation in Laurent’s voice. “I could be persuaded,” he says, his voice coming out low and rough, and pushes his chair back from his desk.

Laurent makes a show of it, sashaying over to where Damen is sitting, hips swaying with every step. Through the silks, Damen can see the outline of Laurent’s cock, already heavy with desire. If he hadn’t already been more than happy to spend the night playing pet and master, this sight alone would have been enough to decide him. It’s so rare still that Laurent lets himself have fun, give into his desires, that Damen would be willing to do almost anything to see him enjoy himself.

So, he stays in his chair, lazily palming himself through his chiton, and watches Laurent’s approach. Once he’s closed the distance, he wastes no time climbing onto the chair with Damen, long, bare legs straddling him on either side. Damen spares a moment to be grateful that the chair is a particularly sturdy one, chosen because it’s comfortable even for a man of Damen’s size, but then Laurent lowers himself until his ass is pressed against Damen’s erection, separated only by two thin layers of clothing, and he promptly loses his train of thought.

His hand comes up of its own volition, fingers burying themselves in Laurent’s hair and catching on the tiny chains of sapphires threaded through it, his thumb spanning Laurent’s neck to brush against the gold at his throat.

“A pet, hmm,” he muses, pulling Laurent’s head back to expose his throat. He leans forward to press a slow, lingering kiss right where he can feel Laurent’s pulse thundering under his delicate skin, and his next words are muffled. “If you want me to renew your contract, you’d better show me what you’re worth.”

The fingers of his other hand brush against Laurent’s lips, pressing lightly until Laurent opens up, two fingers slipping easily inside the wet warmth of his mouth. He feels a shudder run through Laurent, feels the way Laurent’s hips are beginning to grind down against him as if he can’t contain himself any longer.

Laurent blinks up at him, pupils blown to the point that there’s hardly any blue left, and sucks on Damen’s fingers. Damen lets him for a few moments before pulling his hand back. “Go on, then,” he says, trailing his wet fingers down Laurent’s exposed chest until he finds a nipple. He circles it, tugs lightly until a gasp escapes Laurent’s lips.

“Yes, master,” Laurent says, regaining a little of his previous cockiness as he sits up straighter. Before Damen realizes what he’s planning, he’s already slipped off Damen’s lap and dropped to his knees between Damen’s spread legs. He makes a show of licking his lips, holding Damen’s gaze as he slowly draws the hem of his chiton upward until Damen’s cock is freed.

He’s still in his pet persona, seductive and sure of himself, but Damen knows that this still isn’t an act that comes easily to Laurent. So, he fights the impulse to grab Laurent’s hair again and push him down, instead holding himself perfectly still as he lets Laurent set his own pace.

It’s worth it when, finally, Laurent’s tongue traces along his heated flesh, delicately licking up the drops of pre-come that have formed, before his lips part further and he takes the tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue as his gaze remains fixed on Damen.

Damen keeps his hands to himself, doesn’t push up into the heat of Laurent’s mouth even though every nerve in his body screams at him to chase his pleasure. Even so, it doesn’t take long for him to reach his peak, the image of Laurent, dressed in silks, on his knees in front of him enough to drive him over the edge almost embarrassingly quickly.

“Well,” he rasps as Laurent fastidiously wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “I think you’ve earned yourself a reward.”

Chapter Text

It takes Laurent weeks to work up the courage to ask. Weeks in which he turns the thought over and over in his mind, worrying at it like a sore tooth. In the end, he blurts it out as they’re out for a ride, enjoying a rare moment of quiet.

“I want to try a ring fight. With you.”

The words are blunt, his voice steady. He fights down the urge to spur his horse into a gallop and flee.

To Damen’s credit, he treats the request with the same consideration he gives to everything Laurent says. “You mean, as roleplay? In bed?” he asks, as if he wouldn’t put it past Laurent to stage an actual ring fight in full view of the court. Despite it, there’s no judgement in his voice.

Laurent swallows hard. Nods. “I want us to wrestle, and then I want you to hold me down and fuck me. Make me take it, even if I say no. Especially if I say no.”

He knows what Damen must be thinking. Is this some twisted kind of penance for what he did to Damen, back when they barely knew each other? Or is it a way of facing what was done to Laurent himself, before? Laurent isn’t sure even he knows the answer, or perhaps he simply doesn’t want to know it. All he knows is that he wants it, needs it on an almost visceral level.

A better man wouldn’t ask this of Damen, wouldn’t make him relive his own trauma for the sake of Laurent’s sexual gratification. But then again, Laurent has never claimed to be a good man.

And Damen, being Damen, doesn’t point any of this out. He merely regards Laurent for a long moment, searching, and then gives one determined nod.

“All right.”

***

Laurent is wearing blue silks, but he might as well be naked for how exposed he feels. His heart is in his throat, breath coming quick and shallow, and he is excruciatingly aware of the slick feeling in the cleft of his ass, where he’s been prepared with scented oil.

The other pet is a giant, at least a head taller than Laurent, thick muscles rippling under bronze skin. He’s foregone clothing entirely, and Laurent’s gaze is inexorably drawn towards his huge cock, larger than any he’s ever seen even though it’s barely half-hard yet.

Laurent isn’t a fool. He knows what’s coming, that there’s no way he’ll be able to win a fight against such a brute. His insides clench at the thought of being pressed down into the cold, unforgiving floor, utterly unable to stop what he knows will happen.

For a moment, he feels almost lightheaded with a strange mix of fear and anticipation. Then, the other pet shifts into a wrestling stance. Laurent’s stubborn nature will not let him give in entirely without a fight, so he mirrors the other pet’s posture and forces his face into a smirk. “Come on, then,” he goads, voice shaking almost imperceptibly.

Nevertheless, he’s still entirely unprepared for the sheer strength and agility the giant brute displays. He’s toying with Laurent, that much is obvious from the way Laurent almost manages to gain the upper hand once or twice, but when he at last resorts to biting the arm clamped around his neck, the other pet loses his patience. Within moments, he has Laurent pinned to the ground, his bulk pressing Laurent into the cool tiles as he grunts with the effort of keeping Laurent’s flailing limbs contained.

Panic rises then, fueled by the inability to get away from the weight threatening to crush him, from the hands roaming his body as if it was the brute’s right—and it is, he’s won, and now he’s going to—

“No,” Laurent gasps out, twisting this way and that in a desperate attempt to free himself. “No, fuck you, get off me—”

The brute lets out a dark laugh, effortlessly keeping Laurent pinned in place. “I don’t think so,” he murmurs, leaning down to lick a stripe along Laurent’s collarbone and letting out a pleased hum. “I won, and I’ll have my prize.”

Before Laurent can so much as blink, the brute has flipped him onto his front with quick, efficient movements, one large hand on the back of Laurent’s neck to keep him down. He struggles in vain as the brute knees Laurent’s legs apart, as a thick finger probes at his entrance.

“Look at you, all wet for me,” the brute whispers into his ear, all eagerness. “You want it, don’t you?”

“No.” The word comes out on a sob, tears leaking from his eyes as he struggles to close his legs, to hide his shame. “Please, don’t—”

The brute doesn’t listen. He drags Laurent’s hips up with a bruising grip until he’s kneeling on spread legs, face still pressed into the tiles by the relentless hand on his neck. He tries to struggle, but the brute’s strength is too great.

“Please,” he begs again, his voice cracking over the word. “Let me go, I’ll do whatever you want, just—”

“But I want this.”

He feels the brute’s huge cock at his entrance, inexorably pressing forward as Laurent scrabbles for purchase on the slippery tiles. Laurent is clenched tight with panic, and the stretch burns like nothing he’s ever felt before as the brute fills him in one brutal thrust.

Laurent’s scream drowns out the brute’s groan of pleasure, and the hand moves from his neck to his mouth, muffling the desperate noises being punched out of him with every thrust. The brute fucks him for what feels like hours, until Laurent is sure he must be split open, his innards gaping out for the entire world to see. He’s given up trying to struggle free, all the fight fucked out of him along with the broken sobs still muffled by the brute’s palm.

When he comes, untouched, it is with the taste of salt on his lips.

Chapter Text

“I wonder what your stamina is like,” Laurent remarks idly one evening, as they’re lying in bed. The finger slowly tracing south along Damen’s abs makes his meaning abundantly clear.

“You know perfectly well I’ve lasted seven hours—” Damen begins, only to be interrupted by a kiss that feels distinctly placating.

“Yes, so I’ve heard several times by now,” Laurent teases, his face inches from Damen’s. “But I’m not talking about that. I want to know how long you can hold out without getting to come, before you’re begging me for mercy.”

In the span of one single sentence, the mood in their bedchamber shifts from playful and relaxed to charged with intent, like lightning waiting to strike.

“Do your worst.” Damen throws the words down like a gauntlet, as the Veretians are so fond of doing when they want to duel—instead of simply using their words, like sensible people.

He watches a slow smirk grow on Laurent’s lips. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

***

Minutes later, Damen finds himself supine on the bed, his arms stretched above his head in surrender. Laurent offered to tie them to the sturdy bedframe, but Damen gave his solemn word to keep them where they are, and so he will.

On the nightstand, a candle marks the passing time.

Damen’s cock is already at half-mast, simply from the knowledge of what is to come, even though Laurent hasn’t even touched him yet. He does so now, running his hands down from Damen’s shoulders with a barely-there touch, ghosting across his nipples and further down. He diverts along Damen’s hips, brushing against the inside of his thighs for a moment and making the muscles there jump, before retracing his steps. By the second pass, Damen is well and truly hard, his cock flushed a deep red and already beginning to weep at the tip.

Laurent looks absorbed by his task, a slight smile gracing his lips. Finally, he leans forward, his tongue darting out to trace a circle around Damen’s nipple, eliciting a gasp from Damen at the sensation. Normally, Damen would be reaching down to give himself a squeeze, just to take the edge off.

He remembers just in time that, tonight, he can do no such thing.

A curse escapes him as Laurent takes the nipple into his mouth, rolling the sensitive peak in his mouth before biting down lightly, just the right side of painful. Damen’s cock gives a jerk, a fresh bead of pre-come forming. He continues the same treatment on Damen’s other nipple, nibbling and sucking until Damen thinks he must go mad with it.

By the time Laurent finally touches his cock, he feels ready to burst out of his skin. Laurent’s grip is firm as he slowly moves his hand up and down Damen’s length, spreading the pre-come evenly from tip to root. Damen tries to stay still, he really does, but he can’t stop his hips from hitching into the movement, fucking into Laurent’s grip.

Laurent continues to stroke him, first slowly, then, almost imperceptibly, faster and faster, until Damen is moaning into each stroke, chasing his pleasure as it rises higher and higher—

“Oops,” Laurent says, unconvincingly, as his fingers clench tightly around the base of Damen’s cock, stopping his impending orgasm in its tracks. “Got a bit carried away there, lover?”

Teeth gritted against the ache in his balls, Damen shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he rasps, trying to sound as regal as he does in the council chamber. “Continue.”

And Laurent does.

Damen loses track of time after a while, as Laurent torments him with hands, lips, and tongue. He’s close, so fucking close, but every time he thinks that surely, this time Laurent will allow him to finally come, Laurent drags him back from the precipice again, waiting just long enough for Damen to recover a few shreds of self-control before starting over.

“Please,” he hears himself say, hoarsely, as Laurent’s tongue swirls around the tip of his aching cock. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out before simply combusting from frustrated desire.

Here lies Damianos, King of Akielos, who died from blue balls.

The snort he lets out at the thought turns into a groan halfway through as Laurent’s clever fingers slip between his cheeks, finding his entrance. He doesn’t push in, doesn’t do anything more than trace light circles around it, but the mere suggestion is enough to have Damen instantly back on the brink.

“Laurent, sweetheart,” he begs, not even sure what he’s asking for. They haven’t done that, yet, even though they’ve talked about it; now, though, Damen would give anything to feel Laurent moving inside him, hitting that spot that never fails to make Laurent cry out so sweetly.

Again, the heat low in his belly threatens to spill over, and again, Laurent draws back, glancing up at Damen. “You were saying?” he asks, faux-innocent. “Was that you begging me to let you come?”

It takes everything he has, but Damen manages to shake his head. “No,” he grinds out, trying—and failing—to summon up the flinty glare that manages to cow soldiers and Kyroi alike. His hands are still clenched into the pillow above his head, fingers aching from the strain, and he is soaked with sweat, but he’ll be damned before he gives up.

Laurent shrugs, as if to say that this is entirely Damen’s choice, and goes back to work.

Damen doesn’t know how much more time passes. Laurent has two fingers worked inside him by now, mercilessly teasing his most sensitive spot, while his other hand is wrapped tightly around Damen’s oversensitive cock. He looks up at Damen with mischief in his eyes.

“I love you,” he says, sweetly, artlessly, and Damen is helpless against the overwhelming surge of pleasure that floods him at the words.

When he comes back to himself, Laurent is licking stray drops of Damen’s seed off his fingers, looking extremely pleased with himself.

Chapter Text

“What is that?”

Laurent looks up from his paperwork to see Damen bent over a gilt box sitting on their lounge table. For a moment, he’s as confused as Damen sounds; then, he remembers that Ancel has been dropping hints about “bestowing some of his expertise on them so their sex life doesn’t get boring”. A box full of whatever Ancel thinks are appropriate sex toys for the Kings of Akielos and Vere would certainly be enough to make Damen sound the way he does.

Biting back a laugh, he gets up and joins Damen on their couch. As he inspects the contents of the box, it takes him less than a second to ascertain that this must indeed be a gift sent by Ancel. Who else would send the kings a collection of bejeweled handcuffs, silken blindfolds, crystal butt plugs in various sizes, and—even Laurent does a double-take at that one—what seems to be a penis pump?

“Ancel’s trying to spice up our sex life,” he says by way of explanation. Quite without his conscious choice, Ancel has become somewhat of a fixture in their lives, and since Berenger seems as smitten with him as ever, Laurent doesn’t see that changing anytime soon.

“Ohhhh.” Damen lets out a hum of understanding. Gingerly, he reaches into the box, as if expecting the contents to attack him. “Are these—”

“Butt plugs,” Laurent says, picking one up and holding it up for Damen’s inspection. It’s clearly of superior craftsmanship, smooth and polished and gleaming in the afternoon sunlight.

Judging by Damen’s expression, he hasn’t encountered this particular kind of toy before. A shame, really, Laurent thinks; with the size of Damen’s cock, a plug to keep one nice and stretched might come in handy.

“And you put them—”

“Up your ass, yes,” Laurent drawls, smirking at the look on Damen’s face. “Look, there’s even different sizes so you can work up to a larger girth.”

Damen still looks dubious, but Laurent is struck by sudden inspiration. “Let’s try one,” he suggests, exchanging the one in his hand for a larger version—closer to Damen’s size, although still considerably smaller. “You can put it inside me, and I’ll wear it for you. And then, when we have a free moment, you can simply take it out and slide right in, no need to work me open for hours.”

“But I like working you open.”

The plaintive note in Damen’s voice makes something warm and fond swell inside Laurent’s chest.

“Come on,” he goads, leaning forward to press a kiss to Damen’s cheek. “Ancel will be put out if we don’t use at least one of his gifts. Or would you rather try—” He gestures at the penis pump.

Predictably, Damen shudders and shakes his head emphatically.

“Butt plug it is, then,” Laurent says, self-satisfied.

***

The meeting with the Kyroi is interminable. Technically, Laurent doesn’t need to be there; Vere and Akielos are still two separate kingdoms. Still, they’ve both made a habit of attending council meetings when they’re visiting each other’s court, and so Laurent is stuck listening to the Kyros of Ellium expounding on the need for a reform of the shipping taxes.

He shifts subtly in his seat, the plug inside his ass shifting along with him and making him inhale sharply as it presses against his prostate. Luckily, Nikandros is just saying something in response to the Kyros, and the sound goes unnoticed.

He had been so sanguine about the entire thing earlier that morning, when Damen had slicked him up with clever fingers before sliding the plug in place, its base keeping Laurent spread open just like Damen’s thumb might. It’s tapered at the tip, and the perfect length to keep brushing against his most sensitive spot every time he moves. He’s been considerably more than half-hard throughout the entire meeting, and he thanks whichever deity might listen that he elected to wear Veretian clothing today. At least the tight lacing keeps his erection well hidden, unlike the looser flow of a chiton.

He shifts again, and from the seat beside him, Damen casts him a questioning look. Laurent glares back, trying to convey without words that he needs this meeting to be over, now.

It takes a moment of prolonged eye contact, but, finally, Damen’s eyes widen in understanding.

“You’ve made some excellent points,” he says, interrupting the Kyros of Ellium mid-sentence. “We will take everything you’ve said into consideration, and we’ll reconvene the day after tomorrow to discuss the finer points. For now, council is dismissed.”

So absolute is the King of Akielos’ power that none of the Kyroi dare offer any protest, although Nikandros sends them a look that says he absolutely knows what they’re up to and he’s judging them for it.

For once, Laurent can’t find it in himself to care. The moment they’re alone in the council chamber, he is tugging at his laces, growling in frustration as they get tangled.

“Here, let me.” Damen replaces his fumbling fingers with his own steady ones, stripping Laurent efficiently like he’s done so many times before. A gentle pressure on his back prompts Laurent to lean forward, bracing himself on the council table, his ass on full display for Damen’s gaze.

“Look at you, sweetheart,” Damen says, voice low and appreciative, and then strong fingers are tugging at the plug, pulling it out almost completely before pushing it back inside, setting up a steady rhythm. It feels good, so good, but it’s not enough, and Laurent lets out a noise of frustration as he shoves his hips back.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” Damen murmurs, pulling, and Laurent clenches around nothing, his hole achingly empty.

He doesn’t have to wait long, though, before the head of Damen’s cock nudges against his slick, loose entrance, sliding into him with only the slightest effort.

As Damen relentlessly fucks him into the table, Laurent admits to himself that, just maybe, Ancel’s gift wasn’t so ridiculous after all.

Chapter Text

The air of the baths is heavy with steam, Damen’s bare skin glistening with sweat. Opposite him, Laurent is equally nude, his fair skin flushed in the heat. In that hazy way that is so typical of dreams, Damen realizes they’re in the baths at Arles, the room covered in all-too-familiar painted tiles, gleaming in blues, greens, and gold.

Laurent’s wrist feels delicate in his grip, where he’s just caught it to stop Laurent from hitting him. There is ice in Laurent’s eyes as he stares Damen down. He knows the scene, he realizes with a jolt. In a few moments, Laurent will call for the guards, will order Damen bound to the cross and flogged.

Except he doesn’t do anything of the sort. Instead, his gaze travels down Damen’s nude body, lingering on the ridges of his abs and further down, where his cock has taken a definite interest in the proceedings.

“Well?” Laurent drawls, raising a disdainful eyebrow. “You were told to serve, weren’t you? Go ahead, then. Attend me.” His voice is cold, collected, but Damen sees the way his cock is beginning to fill, his breath coming ever so slightly faster. “On your knees,” he adds, making his expectation clear. He wants Damen to kneel for him, to suck him, as if he hasn’t been doing his best to make Damen’s life a living hell—

All of a sudden, the rage Damen has been keeping so carefully contained ever since he was brought to Arles flares to life, scorching his insides. Laurent has had him beaten, humiliated, almost raped, and now he has the nerve to order Damen to his knees?

It’s a split-second decision, using his grip on Laurent’s wrist to tug him off balance, turning the momentum into a wrestling move that ends with Laurent on his back, splayed across the massage table set up in a corner of the room.

Laurent looks up at him, the wind knocked out of him but his expression entirely unsurprised, as if he was expecting Damen to act in precisely this way.

“Go on,” he hisses, still gasping for air. He makes no move to fight back, to stop what he must’ve realized is about to happen, even as his muscles bunch under Damen’s fingers. “You want it, don’t you? Fuck me, then. It’s all you’re good for, now, slave.”

In lieu of a clever retort, Damen wraps his fingers around Laurent’s throat, not squeezing but using just the slightest bit of pressure to remind him that he could, if he wanted to, and there would be nothing Laurent could do about it. As if in response, Laurent’s thighs fall open wider, and Damen watches avidly as the icy blue of his eyes is consumed by the black of desire. With his other hand Damen fumbles for one of the ubiquitous vials of oil, removes the stopper with his teeth, and unceremoniously upends the entire vial over both his erection and Laurent’s ass.

Any patience he might have possessed is long gone, and he isn’t gentle as he shoves two fingers inside Laurent’s hole, causing a litany of curses to fall from his lips. Among them, though, Laurent spits at him to “Do it, come on, fuck me,” and Damen doesn’t hesitate. He withdraws his fingers, gives himself a quick stroke to spread the oil, and then, fingers gripping Laurent’s hips hard enough that he’ll leave bruises behind, he pushes inside.

The tight clench of Laurent’s body around him is exquisite, the preparation perfunctory enough that Damen’s cock barely fits. If he’s hurting Laurent, he doesn’t show any sign of it, panting through gritted teeth as his eyes bore into Damen’s own. He doesn’t speak, only small punched-out gasps escaping him as Damen begins to set a quick, brutal rhythm.

He’s leaning forward for a better angle, his face inches from Laurent’s, as a searing pain along his back makes his thrusts falter. Laurent’s nails, scoring deep lines into the skin of his back where he’s brought his arms around Damen’s sides. There’s a vicious pleasure in his expression as Damen lets out a grunt of pain, and Damen sacrifices his grip on Laurent’s hips to tug his hands away and pin them above his head with his superior strength.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Laurent rasps out, color high in his cheeks, as Damen resumes his brutal thrusts, and then he leans up as if to kiss Damen.

Instead, he tilts his head at the last moment, biting down hard on the joint of Damen’s neck and shoulder.

As he draws back with a smirk, his teeth are red with Damen’s blood.

Biting back a curse, Damen pulls out abruptly and grabs Laurent, turning him over roughly and slamming him back down onto the table, face-down this time. Mere seconds later, he has shoved back inside, Laurent’s body opening easily to him now that he’s been thoroughly fucked.

In this position, Laurent won’t have another chance to scratch or bite him, and he seems to realize that as well. Instead, he makes up for it by goading him to fuck him harder, spewing insults that Damen only half listens to as the pleasure inside him builds and builds.

He’s never been so rough with anyone before, but Laurent seems to relish it, tilting his hips into Damen’s thrusts as he slams into him again and again. He doesn’t know how long they keep at it, but eventually, Laurent is reduced to helpless gasps and moans as Damen ruthlessly hits that spot inside him over and over, until, finally, he clenches down tight around Damen and lets out a muffled cry.

The sensation is too much for Damen, and he thrusts erratically a few more times before burying himself deep inside Laurent as he spills into his tight heat, his vision going black for a moment.

“I’ll kill you for this,” Laurent gasps out, and Damen can’t help but think that this might have been worth it.

Chapter Text

There are more old wives’ tales about the great northern forests, on the border to Kempt, than there are books in the library of the palace in Arles. Tales about faeries and ghouls, about unicorns and monsters—both human in shape and not—and many more besides.

As Laurent stares at the figure across the clearing, he thinks, with a touch of hysteria, that he might have done well to listen to them.

The figure is humanoid in shape, but taller than any man he’s ever seen, with thick muscles and golden-bronze skin that shines in the pale sunlight filtering through the trees. It has tousled dark-brown curls, and Laurent could almost mistake it for a human—if a supremely well-shaped one—but for the otherworldly golden color of its eyes. It is also entirely nude, its thick cock hanging heavily between its legs.

He stands stock-still, hardly breathing, feeling like any movement will cause the creature to pounce.

The creature tilts its head, regarding him curiously, before baring its teeth in a wide smile.

It would be a comforting sight, if not for the fact that there are far too many teeth, and they are far too pointed to belong to a human. Devastatingly, a dimple has formed in the creature’s cheek.

“You’ve sought me out,” it says, and Laurent marvels for a moment that he can understand it without any difficulty. He isn’t sure the creature is speaking Veretian, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Only then do the creature’s words register.

“I didn’t,” he protests, instinctively, but as the words leave his mouth, it’s as if a veil is drawn aside, and he realizes that yes, he did come here searching for the creature, even if he wasn’t aware of it.

The creature seems to read his thoughts as if he’d spoken them aloud, for its smile widens. “Come closer,” it says, beckoning, and Laurent moves as if drawn on a string. “What do you wish for?” the creature asks, once Laurent is close enough to touch. “I can be whatever you desire.”

Right before Laurent’s eyes, the creature shifts, its body rearranging itself into that of a wolf-like figure, but upright on its hind legs like a human. Its cock, already impressive in its previous form, is even larger like this, the hint of a knot at its base.

Laurent draws in a sharp breath, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight. He should be scared, he thinks, but all he feels is an overwhelming need to touch the creature, and have it touch him in return.

“No?” the creature says, its voice perfectly intelligible even though it no longer has a human mouth. “Perhaps something more like this?”

It shifts again, and Laurent is faced with a dragon, golden scales glistening in the light. It is huge, magnificent in its glory, and once again Laurent’s eyes are drawn to its cock, now covered in scales and considerably larger than his own forearm. The thought of sinking down on it, feeling it move inside him, brings sudden heat to Laurent’s cheeks, but the creature is already shifting again.

“This,” it says with confidence, back to an almost humanoid shape. “This is what you need, isn’t it?” One of its many tentacles reaches out to softly caress Laurent’s cheek.

Unable to speak, Laurent feels himself nod in response, almost as if he’s no longer in command of his body, instead subject to some ancient imperative. The creature doesn’t seem to mind his silence, though. It reaches out, both with its arms and with its other appendages, and Laurent finds himself borne gently to the grassy ground, the creature kneeling in front of him. Looking down along his body, he realizes that he, too, is nude, the creature’s tentacles brushing tantalizingly across his bare skin.

“Please,” he says, suddenly finding his voice. “I need—”

“Shhh,” the creature shushes him, one tentacle nudging against his lips. “I know.”

Exhaling heavily in relief, Laurent lets his mouth drop open and welcomes the tentacle pushing inside. It tastes sweet, oddly like apricots, and Laurent laves it with his tongue, sucking on it and letting out a muffled moan as the taste intensifies. He’s so absorbed in his task that he barely notices the creature leaning forward until it can take one of Laurent’s nipples into its mouth, its sharp teeth scraping across the sensitive skin. Laurent’s groan is stifled by the tentacle in his mouth, which is now leisurely moving back and forth, fucking his throat as Laurent does his best to relax and breathe around it.

“See?” the creature asks, pausing briefly in its torment of Laurent’s nipple. “I know just what you need.”

At that moment, another tentacle slithers between Laurent’s legs, which have fallen open of their own volition. He shivers as it works its way between his cheeks, nudging against his entrance. Just as he’s bracing for the creature to fuck him without any oil to ease the way, there is a rush of slippery warmth where the tip of the tentacle brushes against his hole, and it slides inside easily, drawing a choked-off noise from him.

“So good for me,” the creature murmurs as the two tentacles settle into a rhythm, fucking Laurent in tandem. It’s almost too much, his neglected cock painfully hard as he pushes his hips down into each thrust. He’s not getting enough air around the tentacle in his throat, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s close, so close—

Another tentacle wraps around his aching cock, milking it gently, pressing down into the slit until he’s about to—

Laurent blinks his eyes open, half-expecting to see the creature from his dream in bed beside him. There’s only Damen’s regular human self, though, and Laurent doesn’t hesitate for long before shaking him gently awake.

He presses his leaking erection against Damen’s hips, and Damen’s sleepy expression lights up in understanding.

“Shhh,” he says. “I know just what you need.”

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry,” Laurent says quietly, regarding the drops of come splattered across his abs, “that it’s such a difficult thing for me, sometimes.”

It’s true that Damen has just spent the better part of an hour coaxing an orgasm from him, an hour in which nothing he did seemed able to send Laurent over the edge. It's like this sometimes, still, Laurent’s mind getting tangled in his past, even after all the times they’ve brought each other pleasure. Even so, he never wants to hear Laurent apologize for this kind of thing again, not when nothing about it is actually his fault.

“Next time,” he says, letting a confident smile curl his lips, “I’ll make you come so often you’ll be begging me to stop.” He can already see it in his mind’s eye, Laurent sweat-soaked and twisting on the bed, tears leaking from his eyes as Damen wrings another orgasm from him. It sparks a heat low in his belly, and he mentally curses the slew of meetings that mean they can’t simply stay in bed and set to work right away.

The quiet resignation is gone from Laurent’s expression, though, replaced by a light flush, so Damen counts it as a victory.

***

It’s late by the time they make it back to their chambers, and Damen is fully prepared to just ready himself for sleep. Laurent must be tired; he’s spent hours arguing with some of the more important lords in his court about much-needed changes to the pet system. He’s surprised, therefore, when Laurent undresses with his usual efficiency and regards him expectantly.

“Well?” he says imperiously, raising an eyebrow. “I was promised multiple orgasms.”

With a laugh, Damen crosses the short distance separating them and draws Laurent to him, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to his lips. “So you were,” he agrees, hiding his smile in Laurent’s hair. It’s grown longer over the past months, almost enough to tie it back, and Damen loves to run his fingers through it, mussing it thoroughly.

Without further ado, he drops to his knees in front of Laurent, nuzzling against his still mostly soft cock. It hardens quickly under his attention, and Damen hums, satisfied with his work so far, as he takes it into his mouth. Normally, he’d draw it out, go as slow as he can make himself, but that’s not the goal tonight. Instead, he sets a steady rhythm, his lips sliding up and down Laurent’s length, tongue sweeping along the underside and curling around the tip on each pass. Laurent’s hands drift into his hair, tugging lightly in the way Damen likes, the contact grounding them both. Laurent must have been more worked up than he thought; he can already taste the first drops of pre-come on his tongue.

With his mouth otherwise occupied, he can’t talk, but he looks up at Laurent and deliberately relaxes his throat, taking Laurent as deep as he can. Above him, Laurent makes a choked-off noise and jerks forward, taking the hint to fuck Damen’s mouth. His rhythm is fast, uneven, and it doesn’t take much longer until he’s spilling down Damen’s throat, fingers clenched in Damen’s curls and eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Damen lets his softening length slip from his mouth, licking up a few stray drops of spend, and blinks the tears from his eyes. He climbs to his feet, and by the time Laurent has recovered enough to speak, he’s already lifting him up into his arms and carrying him over to their bed.

Depositing Laurent on his back, he only pauses briefly to grab a vial of oil from the nightstand before diving back into the fray. Laurent has gone soft, but Damen distracts him with deep, heated kisses while he uses his fingers to coax him back to hardness.

“Damen,” Laurent protests as he begins to stroke him in earnest. “I really don’t think I can, not so soon anyway…”

“Trust me?” Damen takes in the light sheen of sweat already covering Laurent’s brow, the feverish glaze to his eyes.

Laurent nods.

“Good.” He coats his fingers in oil and resumes his movement, his other hand drifting further back to seek Laurent’s entrance. One finger slips inside easily enough; the second, a few moments later, requires a little more work. Soon, though, he has his fingers thrusting in and out of Laurent’s heat while his other hand jerks his cock with a sure grip. He adjusts the angle slightly and Laurent cries out, something halfway between a plea and Damen’s name.

Smiling to himself, he keeps hitting that same spot, until Laurent is reduced to bitten-off moans and gasps, until he jerks in Damen’s hand and spills, warm and sticky, over his fingers.

“That’s two,” Damen says, unable to keep the satisfaction from his voice. His own cock is rock-hard and wet with pre-come, but he hardly notices, too focused on Laurent’s pleasure to care about his own. “Turn over for me, sweetheart.”

Laurent seems almost dazed by his second orgasm, but he obeys, moving slowly until he’s on his elbows and knees, ass high in the air. This time, it takes longer to get him hard again, but Damen is nothing if not persistent, licking and sucking and bringing him back to full hardness with his fingers and tongue. Laurent’s third orgasm hits quietly, noticeably only by the way his arms collapse out from under him, leaving him prone on the bed. He makes a pitiful sound when Damen pulls his hips back up, his hole slick and open to Damen’s gaze.

“I can’t,” he pleads, voice muffled by a pillow. “Please, Damen, it’s too much, I can’t—” His voice cracks over the last word, his shoulders hitching in a sob.

“Just one more,” Damen coaxes, running a soothing hand along Laurent’s back. “For me.”

Laurent cries out as Damen’s cock slides into him, as Damen fucks him relentlessly. He cries loudest as he comes, for the fourth time that night.

Chapter Text

The Games are held in the great arena of Ios, to celebrate the first year of Damen’s reign. Unlike the last time, at Marlas, when Laurent still had everything to prove, he’s not participating in the Okton; instead, he watches from a shaded dais as Damen shines.

As guest of honor, Damen participates in all events, and while he doesn’t win every single one, nobody is left in doubt that he is every inch the rightful king.

Laurent, for his part, watches and suffers. Not from the heat, or from being in public all day; not even from Makedon dropping by to share a glass of griva. No, the thing that has him fidgeting in his seat, wishing the hours would pass more quickly, is Damen’s unbearable competency at everything he does.

It’s impossible to miss him on the field: taller and stronger than anyone else, skin burnished by sunlight, brown eyes alight with exhilaration. His muscles bulge and ripple as he wields his sword, lifts weights, or throws a spear, and Laurent’s throat is parched despite the constant supply of cool, citrus-infused water provided by his attendants.

For once, both in honor of the occasion and in deference to the heat, Laurent has opted for a chiton instead of his usual Veretian attire. He regrets the decision now, as the insubstantial bit of fabric does little to hide his burgeoning erection. Already, he is forced to cross his legs, in place of his usual comfortable sprawl, and the true test of his self-control, the wrestling, is yet to come.

Down on the field, the spear throw has just come to an end; Laurent, who has seen Damen throw a sword with deadly accuracy, is not surprised that he’s equally skilled with a weapon actually designed to be thrown. He watches Damen graciously accept the victor’s laurels, his smile bright and boyish. He has to fight back the urge to touch himself, to relieve some of the unrelenting ache, as Damen waves to the crowd, his biceps on full display.

Next up is Laurent’s personal nightmare, the wrestling tournament. In many disciplines, he can hold his own against Damen; in a few, he may even have the edge on a good day. When it comes to wrestling, though, Damen would wipe the floor with him every time, if they ever actually managed to get through an entire match without it devolving into something more reminiscent of a pet performance. There’s a reason Laurent practices his wrestling skills with Nikandros instead.

He watches with clenched teeth as Damen strips off his chiton for his first match, revealing his sculpted body for all to see. Laurent knows it isn’t like that for Akielons; knows that nudity in this context is perfectly normal for them. Still, he can’t help the surge of possessiveness, the bone-deep certainty that he’s the only one who should be allowed to see Damen like this. For a moment, it even distracts him from the throbbing between his legs. Then, Damen scoops up handfuls of oil and applies it liberally to his already gleaming skin, and Laurent lets out an involuntary noise. He sends up a quick prayer of thanks that he’s currently alone on his dais, except for an attendant stationed well back, who knows to be discreet.

The last time he watched Damen wrestle in the Games, back in Marlas, he was still so tangled up in everything that had happened between them that it was easy enough to push down any too inappropriate reactions. Everything was still so new, so fragile, and the odds of them ever finding their way to each other were minimal. Now, though… Now, Laurent knows Damen almost better than he knows himself, knows what he tastes like, what makes him let out a helpless moan, and how it feels be fucked by him in a hundred different ways.

He knows exactly how it feels to be held down just like Damen does now to his opponent, with strength and precision, and how easy it is for Damen to shift position just a little to allow him to slide into Laurent’s welcoming body. How good it feels, how safe.

Almost without conscious thought, his hand has drifted to the aching place between his legs, fingers skimming along his hard cock through the fabric of his chiton. He casts a wary look around, but nobody is paying him any attention, all eyes turned to the spectacle before them. Would it really be so bad if he allowed himself a little relief?

Surreptitiously, he hitches the hem of his chiton up so he can wrap his fingers around his length. Damen is taking his sweet time, even giving his opponent chances to try moves of his own; from the ease of his movements, though, it is clear that Damen could end the match at any time if he wanted to.

Laurent lets out a low moan as he begins a slow, steady movement, occasionally dipping lower to brush against his entrance in a tease for what is to come later that evening, when they are finally alone.

It still seems unreal at times that he’s the one who gets to be with Damen, who gets to share all his most private moments, when Damen could have anyone he wanted.

His hand speeds up, a spark catching low in his belly as, down in the arena, Damen transitions rapidly through a series of holds that end with his opponent pinned helplessly beneath Damen’s bulk, unable to move so much as an inch. Damen’s muscles bulge for a moment as his opponent attempts a final, desperate struggle, and Laurent’s stifled cry is lost in the surge of cheers from the crowd as Damen is declared the victor.

Still trembling from the force of his release, Laurent rinses off his stained fingers, all tension melted from his body. By the time one of the Kyroi drops by to discuss Damen’s wrestling prowess, he’s once more perfectly composed.