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Richard wears them because Darken likes them. Because Darken's his brother, and although they're only half-brothers, Darken rescued Richard from Zeddicus Z'ul Zorander and the Cyphers, brought him to his D'Hara and took care of him. Taught him to use his magic, to fight. He is emperor of D'Hara, and Richard leads his armies and shares his bed. They rule together, but Darken is the emperor, and some days he requires a little extra effort to distract.

Like now.

Richard grins at him as Darken's fingers still, having pulled Richard's pants halfway off his hips. He looks up with pleased surprise. Richard shifts on his elbows, lifts his hips, and Darken chuckles, pulling his pants off, and then Darken's own shirt. Richard's been shirtless since he brought in the Mother Confessor, the witch Shota, and Zorander three days ago.

Zorander had been hard to kill: the witch relatively easy. In the end, Zorander's Han had been weaker than Richard's, and he seemed to hold back in strange places. His corpse is still smoldering in one of the dungeons downstairs.

Darken slides his hands up Richard's bare thighs, rubbing the hair the wrong way and making him arch. He watches as Darken settles between his legs, and the curve of his lips is completely predatory.

Richard's breath hitches, just a little, and then Darken's hand is palming his hardening dick, the lace rubbing against it and making Richard roll his hips. He worries it, until the black fabric is wet.

"Darken," Richard whines, and Darken laughs, drags them over his hips, and Richard's cock leaves a smear against his stomach when it springs free.

"Richard!" the Mother Confessor groans. Richard glances over negligently to where she's chained to the wall. He thought she'd add some decoration: Darken had been right, because she does look more like a whore than a matron. Dress slit to her thighs and breasts barely contained by her top, she looked like one of his camp whores.

"Shut up," Darken invites her, leaving the bed and walking towards her. He shoves the panties Richard was just wearing into her mouth. He uses the cord from the window to tie them as a gag, and Richard laughs, groans, slides a hand down his stomach to rub just above his cock: Darken would kill him if he touched.

"Kill" is too strong a word, but the man has been known to leave Richard panting, chained to the very spot the Mother Confessor is, hard for days.

Because he's an asshole. Really.

"How loose are you?" Darken asks, idly rubbing his palm against his still-clothed cock.

Richard shifts, draws his legs up and sucks his fingers.

Darken watches him like Richard's a country he wants to invade, and Richard hollows his cheeks as he sucks, then slides his fingers down, slips one in easily, his ass swallowing it. He adds the second, and his body accommodates immediately.

"Keep going. I want to see you fuck yourself on your fingers."

And it's never entered Richard's mind not to do exactly what he's told, and so he does, curling his fingers before hesitating, looking at Darken who nods permission and Richard finds his prostate, strokes it and groans, hips bucking. His breath speeds up, stutters and trips over abortive groans, but he doesn't add another finger because he wants to feel it when Darken finally slides into him, fucks him.

"Elbows and knees," Darken says, finally, softly, and Richard almost misses it over the sounds of his own gasping. He slides his hand out of his ass, turns over, dipping his back to offer his ass.

"You're so beautiful like this," Darken murmurs, as the bed dips behind Richard and he whimpers, his cock hanging heavy between his legs, brutally ignored. "Spread and hungry for me. You're such a slut, Richard." His hand drifts from Richard's back to his hole, fingers swirling over it before dipping in, coating him in oil.

Richard thinks he would destroy nations for this, to have Darken's hands and attention and his voice, warm like a summer afternoon, just for him. He could slaughter entire cities just to hear it.

"So perfect," Darken whispers, and the blunt head of his cock is lined up and shoving in, in, in, all in one smooth, long thrust that has Richard bending, shoving back to meet it and shuddering, his cock twitching. He can feel Darken's pants against his ass and thighs where they're flush against each other, and he wonders what the Mother Confessor must see. He turns his head to look at her and smiles. She looks horrified.

They are a perversion, he supposes. The emperor still half-clothed, fucking his general. Never mind that Richard is gagging for it; never mind that they're brothers.

"I want you," Darken murmurs, leaning over Richard, one hand on his hip and the other stroking the underside of Richard's cock with a single finger, "to show her how much you love this. I want you to watch her as I fuck you open, make you come. Fill you full of my come; show her how much you love being used."

Richard whimpers, broken in the back of his throat, and the hand on his cock leaves. The angle of thrusts changes, and Darken is scraping over Richard's prostate, the hand on his cock disappearing only to wrap around Richard's throat, squeezing just enough to make him flush, pant desperately. It's not a show: he loves this. Loves the burn of his ass and the way his whole body shudders under the onslaught (and it is an onslaught: Darken doesn't know how to be tender; not here. Not with Richard). He loves that he'll wear bruises tomorrow in a circle around his neck and on his hip.

And then it builds up, and he closes his eyes and hangs his head, feels it shudder down his spine and through his fingers and comes and comes and comes.

"You lit fire," Darken grunts, torn between lust and amusement, "to the chair. Coming like a whore without me even touching you."

Richard glances over, feeling heavy and sated, and says, "I didn't, oh fuck, fuck, like that chair anyway."

Darken pulls out, and Richard keens at the loss, turning to look at him. "On your back," Darken says, and Richard does, shoves a pillow under his hips and spreads his legs. Darken settles in the cradle of his hips, his blue eyes arrested on Richard's face, and Richard can't help but groan, smile a little, clench around the cock that slams back inside of him. It doesn't take long: face-to-face it never does, and Richard likes it: likes the fact that he gets to see this: own it. That Darken would rather come inside Richard where Richard can see him; it invalidates the people they bring into the room or their bed for entertainment. This is always about them.

Darken comes hard, bites a stinging kiss to Richard's lips, and then, once he's emptied his load inside Richard, hot and deep in him, he pulls out.

He pulls back, lips twisted in a satisfied grin. "Show me." He bites his way down Richard's body, worrying one nipple and then the other, and if he keeps this up Richard is going to somehow manage to get hard again.

But then he settles between Richard's legs and Richard lifts his hips and pushes with achingly used muscles, and Darken's hot mouth is there, lapping his come out of Richard's ass, then surging up over him, kissing him hotly.

Richard opens his mouth under the onslaught, slinging a leg around Darken's hip and sliding both hands into Darken's hair, cradling his skull as he licks the come out of Darken's mouth, swallows it and chases the remnants from the corners of Darken's mouth, hungry for it: for him. Always.

"So gorgeous," Darken murmurs, smoothing his thumb over your lower lip. "Do you think she liked the show?"

Richard glances over Darken's shoulder: the Mother Confessor's eyes are red and she's streaked her face with her tears. She looks broken: Richard wonders why, exactly, it was this that broke her.

"Will you give her to Cara?" he asks.

"No. I thought we might breed her."

Richard's cock stirs at the thought, and the Mother Confessor makes a wordless sound of protest, like an animal being killed. "I think she'd like that," Richard murmurs. "Have to keep her hands tied."

"Who says we'd unchain her?" Darken asks reasonably, and Richard laughs, pulls him in for a kiss.

There will be a daughter, an Empress Confessor, and the Rahls will endure for centuries in all the Midlands. Richard smiles at the thought, watching Darken finally take off his pants, slide naked into bed alongside Richard.

In the morning, he will go to deal with matters of state and Richard will take the gag out of the Mother Confessor's mouth, dressed in a lush red robe.

"Richard," she'll whisper. "It isn't real. Darken Rahl has filled your head with false memories and—"

She'll twitch away when he slides his hand through the slit of her dress, feeling the panties, stroking her clit through them idly as she gasps and tries to wrench away from him.

"Richard, this isn't you."

"Because I'm your Seeker of the Truth," he'll agree. She'll start to look relieved, and he'll laugh, pull out his knife and cut the panties away. "Funny, that's what the witch said, before we burned her, and the wizard, before I killed him."

She's very pretty, he'll think, when she cries.

"Richard, please—"

He'll laugh as he fucks into her, laugh as she screams and cries and begs him to stop, as he fills her up and tells her to clench tight: the sooner she gets pregnant, the sooner this is all over for her.

"Send someone to feed her," he'll tell the guards outside as he heads off to a strategy meeting with his lieutenants.

He'll wonder, as he idly presses his fingers into the bruise on his neck, why they would think that would work: trying to make him think he's the Seeker.

But then Darken will come into the room and press a slick kiss to his lips, and Richard will stop thinking about it at all.