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Before
Alina arrived at the Little Palace at ten years old with little more than the clothes on her back and the small potted plant that she clutched in her hands. A parting gift, something to remember Keramzin by… a little piece of her quiet life before .
“You like plants,” the Darkling had observed, weeks later, when he found her in the gardens. A small sunburst moved between her outstretched hands, the blooms on the rose bush before her angling themselves ever so slowly, reaching for her light.
“They like me ,” she answered.
That was the day that he first showed her the greenhouse.
Now
Alina was warned that some of the plants in the Little Palace greenhouse were Fabrikated, their properties morphed and twisted to serve the Grisha order. Many were helpful and healing, but some were dangerous and unnatural.
She was careful at first, reading the small labels stuck into the dirt at the base of their stalks before sniffing, before running her fingers lightly along the leaves and petals. Years have passed since the day she first walked through the glass doors, and she has, perhaps, grown too comfortable, a false sense of security settling down upon her as she wraps herself in the verdant security blanket of the seldom-visited greenhouses.
This is her place, her safe haven and respite from being Sankta Alina in public and the future tsaritsa in secret. She knows the plants well, knows which are poison and which are antidote, which one causes boils and which one soothes burns… They grant her escape and she repays them with her light. The Fabrikators do not bother her, grateful that she helps their plants thrive even in the dark of winter.
One day she spots a new bloom, delicate pink petals around a soft cream pistil. There is no tag, no label, no warning, so she leans in and breathes deep, inhales the fresh scent of springtime, of rebirth, of fertility, into her lungs.
The effects are instant. Her brain goes fuzzy, her pupils dilate, her body hums . She needs, she needs, she needs .
She tries to stand up tall, tries to get her legs to carry her forward, but she’s wracked with tremors and her muscles feel tight and she is a livewire . Small, shaky steps get her halfway to the door. Every step she takes sends a jolt from between her legs, right up her spine, and she’s never noticed before that her undergarments rub as she walks, but she’s suddenly very, very aware.
There’s a sudden rush of fluid, and for a moment she fears that she counted wrong this month or that her blood has come a week early, somehow, but when she reaches beneath her waistband to check, her fingers come back clear.
The need builds, burning through her veins like a wildfire. Her nipples are stiff and sensitive, painful and overstimulated just from rubbing against their fabric prison. Sweat beads on her forehead, at the nape of her neck, on the small of her back. The spot between her legs that she has only dared explore on a handful of occasions is throbbing . Grisha aren’t supposed to get sick, so what on earth is wrong with her?
Another tentative step forward and she falls to her knees. It’s all too much; it’s not nearly enough.
It is Aleksander himself who comes looking for her, who finds her there, writhing on the tiled floor.
She’s not sure how much time has passed—long enough that she has ripped the clothing from her body, has found that one finger did nothing to soothe her need, that two fingers only barely sated her. Long enough that her fingertips have pruned, thick ripples of flesh caused by the flood of arousal leaking steadily out of her, puddling under her bottom.
“Please, Sasha,” she gasps out as she thrusts three of her thin fingers into her cunt desperately, “please help me.” He squats down, wipes the hair and sweat from her forehead. His fingers are cool and her head strains toward his touch, her fingers strain to plunge deeper, everything she craves just out of her reach. “Sa-sha, please .”
His eyes roam over her naked body, and she has grown accustomed in recent years to a hunger in his gaze, the look of a hunter, but now it’s famine himself, a black horse that looks back at her.
She should be embarrassed—would be, normally—but she simply has no space in her thoughts for anything but the ache between her legs, the fire within her veins, the liquid need that drips out of her.
“Oh, Alina,” the Darkling sighs, unbuttoning his kefta with cruel calm, “always getting yourself into trouble, aren’t you?”
She only whimpers in response, tries to lift to her knees without removing the hand inside her, wants to be closer, needs him to touch her… she’s not sure why he’s removing his kefta, thought he would take her to the healers, would have an antidote prepared for her with a shouted order and a swirl of shadow… but he doesn’t do either of those things, just keeps looking at the mess she’s making.
He undresses quickly, but to Alina it feels like it’s been hours since he found her, every second that he isn’t touching her an eternity of agony. Once he is down to only his trousers, laces gaping as he frees his cock, he lowers himself down onto all fours and lays his kefta out beside her. He lifts her with an arm under her back, and she uses what little strength she has left to scoot over onto the makeshift blanket. She misses the cool of the tile, and the fabric scrapes against her oversensitive skin more than the smooth floor had. It all ceases to matter when he pulls her hand away from her sloppy cunt and guides his ruddy-headed cock to her entrance. She whimpers as he notches it inside, just barely pressing forward, only the blunt tip stretching her open. It burns a bit, but it’s also a relief in equal measure. She groans, hands scrambling against his bare chest, tracing along the muscles of his arms, up and over his shoulders. Touching whatever flesh she can, trying her best to pull him closer because she needs —
“Hush now, I know what you need,” Aleksander tells her, and did she say it out loud? Has lost control of her body so perhaps— “but you’re so tight, zolotse, don’t want to hurt you.”
She writhes beneath him as he presses an inch further in, and it hurts but it doesn’t even compare to the inferno within so she begs, she begs, she begs.
“Alright, malyshka ,” he thrusts home, holds still when he bottoms out, lets his body rest against hers. It’s almost enough, having him fill every inch of her, having him cover every inch of her flesh with his own… almost. He licks at the tears that run down her face, licks into her mouth, too. It’s her first kiss, she realizes, the thought quickly sinking away into the haze of her mind. She kisses him back sloppily, any technique of his lost to her inexperience and desperation. Alina tastes his tongue, his teeth, his lips eagerly, but she does not find the relief she seeks within his mouth.
“It’s not… I still—Sasha, it hurts !”
“Going to fuck you now, then malyshka ,” he soothes as she begins to cry again, “going to fill your little cunt up with my cum and make you feel better. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
She nods, isn’t quite sure what he’s talking about but closes her eyes as he pulls slowly back, relaxes into his touch and lets him reposition her like she used to do with her little wooden dolls. She ends up with her head resting on her folded arms and her ass up in the air. The fabric of his kefta beneath her scrapes against her nipples and she whimpers, but she trusts him, trusts that he knows how to make it better. He’s going to fill her up and make everything okay again.
Her gaze manages to focus and she catches their reflections in the glass, watches as he bends over her, lining himself up to sink back inside of her body.
It reminds her, for a moment, of when Sasha took her to see the Lantsov’s kennels. There was a new litter that had just opened their eyes, and she had squealed with delight when the wriggling Borzoi pup was placed in her lap. Alina placed kiss after kiss on her domed head and long, sloping nose, ran her fingers over her soft fur, giggled when she licked and nipped at Alina’s fingers with her toothless mouth. When Aleksander finally convinced her to return the puppy to its mother, he took her to see the adult dogs. They were beautiful, with their tall, impossibly narrow and lithe bodies coated in flowing, sleek hair. A few were running, chasing one another at lightning speeds, and a small pack lay sleeping, bodies together in a soft, white heap. Alina let out a little shriek when she saw two in the corner, engaged in some sort of fight. “Sasha, why is the big one hurting the little one!?” she had cried, and he told her calmly that they weren’t fighting, that it was a good thing they were doing: making more little puppies for her to play with. Oh , she’d thought, unable to tear her eyes away from the snarling, animalistic display. “The bitch has gone into heat,” he’d explained, “so she needs to be bred, needs her mate to put pups into her belly.” She’d let his words turn over and over in her head as she watched the larger dog, the male, she supposed, rut against the smaller female. She had watched them until eventually Sasha guided her away with a large hand on her shoulder.
She watches the way Sasha ruts against her now, feels the way her body burns and aches for him, and wonders if this isn’t much the same thing.
“Sasha,” she whimpers as he spreads her open, “am I—am I in heat?”
He holds still for a moment, hears him spit a second before she feels it hit her, dripping, sliding over the tight pucker of her asshole, down to where he slides slowly in and out of her. She’s sloppy wet already, so she’s not sure why he needs to add to the mess. “What makes you think you’re in heat, baby?” he asks, teasing with both his words and his hands as he kneads her ass cheeks, pulling them apart to watch himself fucking her slowly, driving her mad.
It’s embarrassing to admit out loud, but she’s never kept secrets from Sasha before, so she tells him.
“I’m so hot , and I feel—I feel itchy ,” she whines, the words leaking out of her with the drool that pools beside her mouth, “and, and—I need more… need you to...”
“Imagine if Ravka could see you now, solnishka ... their precious little sankta drooling on the floor, sloppy little cunt just begging to be bred.”
She opens her mouth to protest, can’t believe he’s speaking to her so crudely, but he holds her hips and picks up his pace, fucks her hard and fast. Orders her to touch herself but she can’t move her arms and she doesn’t know how to do it properly, anyways. He grunts, does it himself, shifting her so that he can take one hand off of her ass to wrap under her hips, to rub just below where he’s fucking into her and oh , he’s so much better at that than she is.
Her entire being ceases to exist, the only part remaining of her is what lays between her legs. Everything focusing down to her center before exploding back out, a moment of bliss, of relief, when she shakes and shivers and light flashes behind her eyes, a jolt running from where his fingers rub at her, up to her belly. The relief is temporary, over before she has a chance to catch her breath, and she really does begin to cry, then. It’s beginning to feel like nothing will ever take this pain away, nothing will ever extinguish the throbbing inside.
His black kefta is soaked and filthy as the saltwater of her tears mingles with the salty sweat already beading on her forehead, the slick drool that she wipes from the back of her hand, the musky gush of her release that flows easily as he continues to pound into her.
His thrusts lose their rhythm and he commands her to look at him, voice breaking as he does. His fingers dig into her hips, her ass, bruisingly tight and rough as he pulls her back against him, losing himself while she gazes back at him through her tears. Just when she’s ready to beg him to take her to a healer, to someone who might know how to fix this because whatever they’re doing isn’t working fast enough —he gives a few shallow thrusts and then stops, his hips pressed tight to her backside, and his eyes screw shut, mouth curling into a snarl. She wonders if he has caught whatever she has, if he feels her same pain, too.
But after a moment he relaxes, collapsing forward, his hands falling to the floor and caging her in. She squirms against him when she feels a new sensation inside of her even though he has stopped moving. She wriggles until he stops her, tells her softly to be still for him. He softens inside of her and she whimpers. He kisses her shoulder lightly, letting his lips rub back and forth against her sweatslick skin. She tries to drop her hips, her knees aching from being pushed down into the hard floor, but he keeps her where she is, ass high.
“Just have to wait and let my cum drip deeper, then you’ll feel better. Let gravity do it’s work, malyshka.”
She does as he says, and sure enough she does start to feel better. The haze filling her mind dissipates slowly, her skin prickles with gooseflesh as the fever recedes. She’s still shaky, a little achy, but what was once a raging forest fire is now a controlled burn. She’s exhausted, suddenly, unable to resist the urge to slip under for a little while...
***
When he’s satisfied that his cum has done its job he pulls out of her, lets her curl up on his kefta while he rights his clothing, laces his trousers up. Her eyes drift shut as he dresses her, gets her covered and cleaned up enough that he can carry her back to his chambers without attracting too much attention. He leaves his kefta on the ground, will send someone to fetch it later. For now he has more pressing concerns.
He gets her to his bed without interruption, the halls thankfully empty with everyone at dinner.
He pulls the clothes back off of her body, fetches a wash basin and puts his kettle over the fire burning bright in his hearth. Washes her body with hot water and a soft cloth, wipes away the sweat and slick and tears, cleans every part of her save for the mess that glistens between the swollen lips of her cunt. She’ll need to wash her hair, too, but that can wait for the morning. He tucks her under the heavy blankets, undresses himself and slides in beside her.
She doesn’t sleep for long, and when she wakes she is ravenous once more, clawing at his chest and panting against his mouth. The effects should wear off by morning, if he recalls correctly, but until then he will just have to keep her little hole full of his cum.
He sucks a stiff nipple into his mouth as he hovers over her, his cock slipping easily back inside of her puffy cunt. She shudders and mewls underneath him as he feasts upon her breasts, doesn’t stop licking at her soft flesh, even after he has filled her with his seed once more. Her pussy flutters around him, half-hard, when she comes with a soft little cry, just from the weight of him inside her and his mouth on her chest.
He doesn’t stop nipping at the soft peaks until he’s hardened inside of her once more, until she’s writhing and bucking up against his thrusts, begging him to fill her up again.
The sun sets, the sun rises, and he suspects that she has drained every ounce of cum from his balls, but he refuses to rest until she does. He slips two fingers back inside, causing their mixed release to ooze out of her. He tuts gently, pushes it back in.
“Look at this messy little cunt, malyshka,” he coos, sliding beneath the blankets to get a better view. His thumb rubs gentle circles around her clit, dipping down once in awhile to push any escaping cum back where it belongs.
“Sasha, I think—I think it’s passed,” Alina mumbles, pushing the blankets down until he can look up into her eyes. “I don’t think I can—”
“Best to make sure.” He presses his lips around the bud of her clit and sucks . “Can’t take any chances with my future tsaritsa . Not when she could already be bred full of my baby.”
She gasps, mouth wide and dry in the stuffy air. “A—a baby?”
“That’s right, Alina,” he soothes, “want to give my baby a baby of her own.”
He cuts off any further questions with a flick of his tongue and his hand reaching up to roll and pinch her pert nipples. He can feel more than hear when she keens above him, his sight and hearing obstructed by the blankets. Aleksander doubles down, chasing her next orgasm like a drowning man chasing his next breath of air, flattens his tongue and nods his head up and down, bearing down against her firmly. She cries out, and that he hears, even over the wet sounds of his tongue on her soaked folds, his perfect girl being so loud for him.
“Come on, baby,” he urges, “come for papa.”
Her legs kick at him when she does, pulling him closer and pushing him away all at once. A fresh wave of her cum floods his mouth as he tries to plug her little hole with his tongue. He can feel as it seeps through his beard, trickling down his chin. When she stops shaking around him and her cunt stops fluttering against his tongue, he lifts to press a kiss to her gasping mouth. She licks at her lips when he pulls back and he nearly laughs at the look on her face.
“Do you like how we taste together, solnishka? ”
She hums, reaches forward to kiss him again. He lets her explore, lets her lead the kiss for awhile until he pulls away and tucks her head under his chin, tells her to get some rest.
She mumbles against his chest, thinks he hears her say ‘papochka’ , but she finally falls into a peaceful sleep, so he lets himself do the same.
After
“How did this happen?!” Aleksander shouts.
His Fabrikators fidget nervously. One is brave enough to mutter, “Moi soverenyi… you asked us to procure this plant for you…”
Shadows edge forward, creeping towards them all.
He considers the Alkemi who spoke up, eyes sharp as he watches her throat working to swallow down her fear.
“I did,” he says harshly, “that does not explain why my sun summoner found it before I intended.”
None dare to speak, this time.
“You are all very lucky that I was the one who found her.”