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Your Emperor has been busy, lately.
Even more so than usual. You know just as well; the Coven Day Parade is just around the corner, and it seems that with every task that gets ticked off, another three sprout in its place - like a particularly vexatious and much less entertaining hydra. Belos has been stressed, meaning that Kikimora has been stressed, meaning that everyone has been stressed, and you and Belos have barely had a moment alone all week.
Still, he’s promised you tonight, and it seems he plans to draw out every second. You’re hyper-aware of every breath moving through the column of your trachea; in, out, in, out, and tingling at your throat is a bright red rope of pure energy, humming in a low vibration against your skin.
Fist gripping at the other end of the magic rope, Belos watches you with those cold, pale eyes, chin inclined haughtily. Such awe does he command of you, it’s as if even now he’s sat on his high-backed throne, dressed up in his full Emperor’s regalia.
Actually, he’s only sat on his bed, in a blue-coated outfit you don’t remember seeing before. Handsome as he looks, you can’t say you’re pleased about how much of his body it conceals; even most of his neck is obscured by a puffy white cravat. It renders the stark contrast of your own nudity nothing short of obscene.
Suddenly, there’s a sharp tug on the leash - not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you catch yourself on your hands, palms splayed flat against the wooden floor.
Upon his ostensible throne, Belos chuckles lowly.
“Well?” He prompts you, giving the magic rope another gentle tug. “You do want to serve your Emperor, right?”
You bob your head in acquiescence, already beginning to crawl towards him. Burning with humiliation, you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. However, you’re absolutely certain he’s smiling. Unwelcome images flash in your mind; what you must look like from his perspective, a needy little thing fawning at your master’s feet like a pet, already aroused between your thighs without so much as a touch.
Rising to a kneel between his legs, you keep your eyes downcast, chewing at your lower lip. You figure the safest place to look is probably at his boots, polished brown leather and- oh, no, there’s your reflection. Or at least a vague outline of it. Either way, it’s enough to have the tips of your ears turning red, your gaze casting up to- ah, fuck, and now you’re eye-level with his crotch. You vaguely wonder how much more blood can rush to your face before it becomes a medical emergency.
Belos laughs again, a pleasant, musical sound. “You seem flustered, my dear.”
You still have enough presence of mind to find his condescension maddening, infuriated by his arrow-straight spine and relaxed grip on his staff. You want him bent over you and groaning, your wrists caught in his vice-grip and his pretenses discarded on the floor.
Intent on getting your Emperor to the same starved, desperate place you’re in right now, you sit up taller, reaching towards the buttons on his pants, only to have your arms forced back down to your sides by his magic.
The frustrated noise you make is up there with the most embarrassing things you’ve ever heard from your own mouth, and Belos leans down towards you, one corner of his mouth twisted upwards in a cruel smirk. His gloved fingers catch your jaw, his thumb stroking along your cheekbone.
“Patience, my sweet.”
“But you asked me to serve you,” you protest, cringing at how pathetic you sound.
“And I’m sorry to have misled you, my dear, but I’ve reconsidered.”
He doesn’t sound sorry at all.
You’re about to ask what he’s planning, when his staff starts glowing and there’s a sudden sensation between your parted thighs, like the air itself has taken shape and is thrumming against your clit, as subtle yet intense as the vibrating strings of a lute.
You gasp, head bowed forward, hips twitching instinctively-
The thrumming stops.
You don’t whine, because that would be pitiful. No, you don’t, and you don’t know why he’s looking at you like that, like a hawk tracking a mouse across the plains.
Merciless in his tenderness, he cups your chin, stroking his thumb along every millimetre of your much-abused lower lip. Wound up and aroused, you’ve half a mind to bite it. Apparently, your self-control is a joke, because that’s exactly what you do, catching the fabric of his glove between your teeth.
“Ah-ah,” Belos chides, withdrawing his hand as you bare your teeth in frustration.
He looks like he might say something else, when a thought seems to strike him. As you watch, he rests his staff against the bedframe and carefully, with delicate pinches to the fingers of his right glove, starts to peel it off.
You’ve seen and felt his bare hands a dozen times before, yet the tantalising reveal of each centimetre of skin somehow feels pornographic. If you were able to tear your gaze away from his hands, you might’ve noticed the grin stretching across his face, wide and licentious.
Dropping the glove to the floor, he cups your jaw with his gloved hand. Two of his now-bare fingers walk up your chin, and halt on the cushion of your lower lip.
You don’t need your Emperor to tell you what to do.
Wrapping your tongue as far as you can around his fingers, you draw them into your mouth. They’re cold and calloused and so close yet so far to what you really want, yet you suck them in as deep as you can, slathering them with your saliva. As your eyes flutter closed, you see him reaching out to grasp his staff.
Once again, the very air itself seems to take shape and swell between your legs, and you groan around his fingers as it vibrates around your clit, sending tingles of pleasure shooting through your synapses. Whatever spell it is that allows him to do this, you doubt he’s using it for the Titan’s intended purposes.
That said, you can’t bring yourself to care.
“That’s it,” he praises as you swallow around his fingers, voice softer than the air. It’s half-torturous, like kissing skin that begs to be bitten. “ Good pet.”
Trickling between your thighs, your own juices quickly cool when exposed to the air, and the pressure on your clit is nowhere near enough, the air losing any semblance of supposed structure whenever your hips thrust into it. It’s exasperating, it’s borderline sadistic, and his soft praises are starting to sound more like taunts, especially knowing his cock is mere inches from your face-
His fingers withdraw from your mouth with a noisy, wet sound and you cough, blinking your eyes back open. Belos is staring down at you with dilated, hungry eyes, so intently you have to suppress a shudder. You can’t help but feel a rush of victory when you spot the flush in his cheeks, visible even in the darkness of his bedroom. The ceaseless, teasing flutters between your legs finally stop as he sets his staff aside, leaning back with the cool arrogance befitting your Emperor.
“Come here,” he orders, voice strained, as he holds out a hand to help you up. You grip it like a lifeline, your legs feeling unsteady and too long, like a young centaur. In the evening shadows of the Emperor’s bedroom, the contrast between his pale face and the deep green scar is a chiaroscuro, his eyes gleaming like ice glyphs and piercing into yours.
You hope he’ll guide you to his cock: he doesn’t, because he’s apparently intent on torturing you. Belos steers you until you’re straddling one of his thighs, pulling your magic leash close until you’re forced to bend your knees and rest your weight on him.
“Show me how you want it, my sweet,” he whispers, the hunger beneath his soft tone like a knife through cotton.
Gritting your teeth at his audacity, at his maddening games, you have to practically force out the words. “You know what I want.”
You know you won’t persuade him, not until he deigns to give it to you. The Emperor seems to enjoy overstimulating you, toying with you relentlessly whilst withholding the one thing you want most: himself. And as good as it might feel, it’s less like generosity and more like mild sadism.
“I know,” he brushes your hair from your eyes, and his tone is so mellow, his eyes so soft, that it makes you want to cry. “But surely a good pet ought to do as their Emperor asks?”
He’s right, obviously.
Slowly, with jerky movements of your hips, you begin to ride his thigh. He grips your leash in his gloved fist at all times, red against white as your legs start to quiver around his. After being teased, the constant, firm pressure of his thigh and the friction of the fabric is way, way too much, and you bury your face in his neck, inhaling his sandalwood-scent for comfort as you hump his leg like a bitch in heat.
It’s degrading, it’s humiliating, it’s euphoric, and you drape your body over his, wishing he had just a few less layers on so you could feel his skin against yours. Beginning to tear up, you’re whimpering and clutching at him desperately, and he soothes you as he pets you, long, broad strokes from the crown of your head to the base of your spine.
You don’t need to see him to hear the wide, wild grin on his face.
“So obedient,” he’s murmuring in your ear, hands greedily touching you all over, from your back to your waist and up to your chest, thumbing over your nipples. The gasp it rips from your throat is loud and almost pained. “Such a good, loyal pet. I think you deserve a reward.”
His hands wrap around your waist and when he rolls his thigh against your cunt, it almost burns and you cry out, hands tangling in his coat. The fabric of his trousers is not particularly soft, and the friction it creates is near-painful, yet he does it again, and again and again and again and again and-
Your legs clamp around his as your orgasm snaps through you like a bolt of wild magic, lighting up every nerve ending in your body. So loud is your heartbeat in your own ears that you’re barely aware of the sounds you’re making as your hips stutter against his thigh, greedily riding out your own pleasure. Trembling like a leaf, you push your face deeper into the crook of his neck as you soak his trousers with your cum, your breathing shallow and erratic.
“Oh my, you did need that, didn’t you?” Belos has the nerve to comment, as if it wasn’t all his doing to begin with.
Too busy inhaling the comforting scent of sandalwood as you try to come down from your high, it hardly occurs to you to answer. You feel exhausted, wrung out, yet so overwhelmingly, painfully empty you can only hope he has the stamina to fuck you properly.
Fortuitously, it appears you’re on the same wavelength.
“God-damned- stupid things,” Belos hisses as his shaking fingers skid and fumble over the buttons of his trousers, evidently flustered.
You can’t help but feel a little proud about that.
“Let me help-”
“No,” he interrupts, sparing a glance at you. Around the scar, his face is red as a berry. “No, you get up; I need to re-adjust.”
Standing up isn’t the most pleasant experience - your legs feel wobbly, your clit sensitive enough that you have to stand with your legs slightly parted to relieve some of the pressure, shuffling in discomfort. Red as his face might be, you’re sure that you’re redder, especially when your eyes land on the wet spot you made on his pants.
Though, it seems he has one too - you think the tent in his underwear looks damp at the tip. Before you can think about this any further, however, you find yourself distracted by the sight of his cock as he pulls it free.
Swollen and hard and trickling precum, it’s evident you’ve gotten to him with your little show. And fuck, but Belos is staring at you like he needs you, like he’s going to pounce, like he could forget his fancy, careful manners and tackle and ravish and ravage you.
He reaches out to take your hands, and clambering back onto his lap, you feel desperate, ravenous, your cunt still dripping between your thighs. Exposing yourself like this might’ve felt embarrassing, once upon a time, but you can hardly bring yourself to care as you angle your hips above his cock, settling your hands on his shoulders.
“That’s it,” he encourages, voice breathy as he places his hands on your hips to help guide you. “You look ethereal, my dear.”
Oh, you have missed him. Leaning forward, you chance a quick kiss, delighting in the surprised look on his face as your lips brush his and heat catches between you.
Finally, finally he guides you down. Belos’ cock enters you and you moan around the sensation of being filled so completely, his veins rubbing in all the right places. Needy and fed up of being denied, you start circling your hips eagerly, adjusting your grip so your arms are looped around his neck, mirroring your own magic collar.
“Easy, my pet,” his voice is terse with arousal, his hand tugging gently at the leash.
“Had enough of easy, ” you mumble, your face flooded with heat.
“Oh? Is that right?”
You don’t catch the dangerous undertone until it’s too late, until the hand the leash is idly wrapped around is manoeuvring over your arm and down your back, until he tugs sharply and you gasp as your head is forced backwards, exposing your collared throat.
Shamelessly using his height to his advantage, Belos licks and nibbles at every exposed centimetre of your neck, sucking a lovebite just above your clavicle. He likes to mark you, likes to claim you, likes the idea of the other guards seeing your neck and knowing you’re owned - if not the details of who by. It sends shivers coursing down your spine, the idea of bearing reminders of your night together for days to come.
Thrusting up into you, there’s an urgency in Belos’ pace, in the gasps he breathes against your throat and the possessive way his fingers grip at your waist.
“Don’t you-” he cuts off with a low groan, pulling at your leash again. “Don’t you ever forget that you belong to me. ”
“N-never, I’m - ah - yours, ” you choke out, barely audible around your helpless gasps.
“All mine,” Belos assents, and through the panting and the moaning and the bed creaking beneath your entwined bodies, you think he might sound happy.
Snapping your hips into him desperately, you ride him like it’s your last day alive, and you’re still so overstimulated and oversexed that you feel yourself tensing up far too quickly, your cunt squeezing around his cock-
You cum again with a loud groan of his name, head tipped back, and through the pulsing in your cunt you don’t think you imagine that his pace picks up, his hand tightens on your hip, his breathing quickens to shallow gasps.
Clawing at the back of his coat, wishing you were scratching his skin, you keep up your rhythm even as his grip on the magic leash loosens, the red rope dissolving into the air as he starts to lose himself in you, cock thrusting up into your tight heat. With the leash and collar gone, you can look at him again, take in every inch of his pretty face as he scrunches his eyes closed, jaw slack with pleasure. His hand makes its way between you, finds your stomach, finds your pelvis, before two fingers trail low and find your clit.
Throwing your head back you think you just about shriek, his fingers circling and rubbing insistently at your clit as you slam down on his cock over and over, clenching around him as you’re pushed closer and closer to the edge. Belos is panting, hard, the air between your bodies hot and humid with sweat and sex and rapid breathing. Rocking up into you needily, he’s started to claw at your hip, your waist, like he’s trying to tear into you, like he’s trying to meld with you, his lips forming your name over and over like a prayer.
“I- I’m going to- ngh- ”
“D-don’t you - ahh - dare stop,” you snarl, surprised by the intensity of your own voice. Consequences be damned; if he pulls out now, you think you might actually die.
Belos’ eyes are wide as they meet yours, and for the first time all night, he draws you into a deep, hungry kiss. Breathing in each others’ exhales and tangling your tongues together is a second nature, peppered by whimpers and whines and your name and his name, Belos, sir-
He moans into your mouth as he stills, then jerks, cock throbbing as cums inside you. Lips falling open, he groans and gasps and you greedily swallow up his sounds, keeping the pace for both of you as he spills inside you, hot and sticking. His long, calloused fingers are still rubbing your clit, faltering briefly before picking up determinedly, his hand squished between your bodies as he fingers and fucks you to your climax.
Whatever sounds you make into his mouth, you’re too far gone to hear them. Stars explode behind your squeezed-shut eyes as you cum for the third time, more intense than both others combined as you moan and shout and clench around his cock, gushing between your thighs. Kissing him like you’re trying to bury yourself inside of him, your teeth catch on his lip, your tongue thrusts into his mouth, and it’s messy and inelegant and ecstatic. The two of you are wrapped up tight somewhere in the sky together, and you never want to come back down.
It takes you a while to return to your senses, head full of stars and endorphins as your panting finally steadies, hips stilling against his as the lingering aftershocks of your orgasm dissipate. Exhausted, you drop your forehead to his shoulder, becoming increasingly aware of his long strokes up and down your back. Belos’ own chest is still heaving, though slower now, breathing deepening as he presses fluttering kisses below your ear.
“Are you alright?” He asks, voice as sincere as you’ve heard it all evening, all false innocence long gone.
“Mhm,” you nod against his body. “J-just… give me a moment. Don’t think I can stand up yet.”
“Of course, anything,” he replies, sounding so earnest you almost believe he’s a good person. “...Perhaps you ought to stay with me tonight. Surely you should, if you feel too wobbly to walk back to the guards’ barracks.”
You chuckle against his fancy blue coat, breathing in his soothing scent.
It doesn’t sound like such a terrible idea.