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Steven lies supine on the bed of goose feathers, watching the prince sleep on his chest. The boy looks so peaceful and sweet despite the dried trails from his tears marring the supple, porcelain skin on his cheeks. He recalls how beautiful the boy in his arms looked at that spectacle of a mortal wedding reception he attended earlier that afternoon. He’s even more exquisite with that fucked out look about him that lingers even whilst fast asleep. He traces a finger against the divot in the boy’s chin. A small smile pulls at Steven’s lips when the pretty creature in his arms lets out a restless huff, the warm air blowing across his face. The boy begins to squirm then, moving his body so that Steven can feel the telltale wetness gathering at the apex of pliant thighs as it drips onto his own groin. He wonders what has his new mate so worked up. The quiet mewls falling from spit-slicked lips make Steven gently press his own lips against them. He groans. The boy tastes so sweet. He has to have him. Steven trails his hand down the prince’s spine and on until he kneads his fingers in and around that puffy rim. The mewls get somewhat louder then. That makes Steven’s blood heat, makes his cocks harden.
He’s absolutely going to ruin this boy for anyone else. Just knowing that makes his grip on the prince’s thighs tighten. He parts them, eager to dip back into the folds that gripped him like a vice when he first took the boy for his own. He pushes those lithe thighs apart, spreading them as he uses his immense strength to hold the boy. The sight of his own spend, tinged pink, greets him as it seeps out of the boy’s cunt. His little asshole is even gaping now, winking at Steven as it tries in vain to close. A little blood drips onto the bed from there. Perhaps he might’ve taken the boy a little too roughly the first time. It matters little, now that he can feel the boy’s heartbeat next to his own. He fully intends to take him again and again.
Using one hand, he runs the blunt heads of his cocks against the boy’s lower lips. He slides them back and forth between those slippery folds. Suddenly the urge to press both of them inside that wet cunt takes hold of him. The thought makes him wrap a possessive hand around the back of the prince’s neck, breathing in deeply to take control of his senses. Maybe he’ll revisit that deep seated desire at a later time when he’s properly trained the boy to take him at all times. Aligning himself perfectly with both of those pretty holes, he slides in again. The boy lets loose a whimper but Steven presses on, thrusting gently as his new mate sleeps. He’s enchanted by the beauty that has been bestowed upon the prince. He’s taken by the way the boy’s lips go slack, the way a slight crease appears between thick brows. His gaze drifts down to where their bodies are joined. He watches, transfixed by the slick that coats him. The boy is still so tight. Innocence has always been his weakness but this boy takes the proverbial cake. The prince’s continued whimpers play on a loop in Steven’s ears, a wanton aria of depravity as he thrusts deeply, repeatedly, into the tight, wet, warmth that lures him in, unable to let go.
“You like that, little one?” Steven murmurs the sentiment in the boy’s ears, hoping his influence will make it inside of his dreams. “A gift, such beauty as yours, has got to be shared. Don’t you think?”
The answering mewl slipping into his ears encourages him to completely roll over and onto his knees, spreading the boy’s thighs wide open. Steven laps at the ring of teeth marks defiling the yielding, heated skin of the prince’s flesh as he continues to deflower this precious creature.
“Are you gonna let me have you, sweet boy?” Steven chuckles in the prince’s ear, the poor beauty is still lost to the world. “No? I think I’ll have you anyway.”
Bucky is lured gradually into wakefulness by the throbbing of his manhood, by the pulsing, heat that moves within him. The positively mournful whines coming from his own throat are what urge his eyes to open blearily. The deeper groans he hears from above him are what rouse him fully from his slumber. That and the sensation of his pussy and asshole being brutalized yet again by this brute of a man that is moving rhythmically on top of him. He recognizes the blonde tresses that curl around pointed ears, he squeezes his eyes shut again in hopes everything that has happened is all a nightmare. The heaviness of the sorrow in his chest wars with the mounting lust that steadily builds deep within his womb. It’s starting to feel good, it scares him. It terrifies him how much he is beginning to crave the thick cocks that slide in an out of him. There’s just something about the way his spots are being hit continuously that makes his eyes roll to the back of his head, that make full blown moans start to fall from his lips.
“Please, sir.” His voice comes out breathless as tears slip from his eyes. The pleasure and the pain increase inside of him. “Please hurry. Wasn’t the first time enough? Did you have to take me while I was asleep too?”
“Couldn’t help it, sweetheart.” The man huffs as if he’s holding himself back. The scarlet of those scleras piercing him, pinning him to where he lies on the bed.
The brute’s weight traps him in place, it’s impossible for him to move. More tears race down his cheeks and his heart picks up. He can feel the sheer strength in the thrusts that feel like they’re forcing him open even wider.
A scream crawls up his throat when the man stops abruptly only to force both cocks into his cunt. Bucky knows he’ll tear, it’s obvious at this point. Power crackles at his fingertips, he can feel it burning beneath his flesh like a swirling, living thing but for some reason he can’t do anything with it. He has been truly and sufficiently robbed of his agency. He understands his place now, it’s beneath men that would see him reduced to only a plaything to take pleasure from. The realization leeches all the energy he has, losing the strength the fight. The action makes his body go pliant allowing those red hot cocks to force their way completely inside his cunt.
“You’re mine now, little prince. Nothing can take you away from me.”
All of a sudden, a piercing tone rings out. It’s high pitched, almost like a wail, but much more haunting. It makes bumps pepper his skin. The sound pulls on his gut, the sparks in his palm race to the surface of his skin then. He feels this compulsion to rage against the body on top of him. The sound disrupts his equilibrium even though he’s already lying on his back within the embrace of the goose feathers that haven’t done much to comfort him during this ordeal. It makes the brute inside of him pause and pull out roughly. Bucky yelps, the stinging sensation brings his awareness back enough to watch his first visitor, at the king’s decree, walk toward the door of his quarters. He barely has a chance to cover his body because in the next second, someone else walks into the room.
“It’s time, brother.”
The man who speaks then is almost the same height as the brute who took his precious places first, he has the same pointed ears too. His skin reminds Bucky of the earth while his scleras also appear to be dipped in blood. Both of the men seem to be of the same rank but the shade of the newcomer’s tunic is different. Now that he thinks about it, they wear colors that Bucky isn’t familiar with. He snaps his legs closed, hissing at the soreness, and moves on the mattress until his back hits the frame at the head of the bed.
“I can hear it, do you think she’d give me a hard time if I don’t come back?”
“Steven, she’d behead us both and I’d rather keep mine. Thank you. Is that him?
Bucky doesn’t understand their conversation but he keeps his legs firmly closed as Steven comes closer, holding his night gown and a large cloak that he forgot he owns.
“Yes, it’s him, Sammy.”
“You know I hate when you call me that.”
Steven chuckles before pushing the night gown toward Bucky. “Put this on now and be silent.” He wants to slap the man before him, that urge to defy a given order rises within him. He opens his mouth to speak when a mighty crash shakes his room.
“Shit, time to go.”
In a flurry of activity, Steven dresses Bucky quickly before shuffling him toward the door. He fights Steven but his energy wanes. He can hear the clash of metal against metal right outside his bedroom. The sound of flesh meeting flesh, the telltale evidence of someone getting beaten. He doesn’t understand what’s happening but the soreness in his body causes him to limp. He’s caught off guard when Steven sweeps him into those strong arms and carries him like the bride he is out and into the fray. How in the world has a battle broken out so quickly?
Warriors with masks adorning their faces and tunics like Sammy’s are sprinting through his home, leaving destruction in their wake. Steven flips up the hood on his cloak and presses Bucky’s face into his neck. He doesn’t understand the gesture of protection. If anything, Bucky needs protection from him but the stench of death is curling in his nose now. He realizes that he’s being kidnapped and against all the sense he has, Bucky burrows into Steven’s arms. The last thing he sees as the three of them exit his home, is one of Lord Broq’s men being ripped out of a broken window at the landing that stands above his own.
Steven thought he would have more time alone with the boy before the call of the wild lured him back. He raced toward the band of warriors posted in the center of the town. Normally, he would join in on the chaos and madness that reigns during a hunt but today he understands and heeds the call of duty. It is his own mother that beckons him now.
