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Murata blinked. That was not what he was expecting. But Wolfram was all over him again, and “thought” had become very difficult all of a sudden. Murata's head was turned to the side and Yuuri kissed him, Wolfram with one arm around Murata's hips and Yuuri with his hand clutching the fabric below his collar, such deliberate sweet seduction. Yuuri shivered slightly against him, and Murata wasn't sure if it was from desire or from nerves. Perhaps, it was a bit of both.

"Okay," he breathed into Yuuri's neck. "Okay, yes." And Murata let himself be dragged into the king's bedchamber.

- Balance


In Murata’s peripheral vision, Wolfram was removing his shirt button by button. He would have been happy to help him, but he was currently preoccupied by Yuuri who had pinned him to the bed. As soon as they had entered the room, Yuuri had set about divesting him of his clothes, gently removing his glasses, pulling his shoes off, and then his pants.

Gone was the shy, hesitant Shibuya from before. Or so Murata thought until Yuuri pulled back and gave him one of those quirky, shy smiles that looked so familiar. Wolfram sunk down beside them and leaned over and pulled Shibuya in for a long, affectionate kiss. With practiced ease, Yuuri pulled Wolfram’s hair free, running his hands through the strands that were down past Wolfram’s shoulders.

It looked as if he wasn’t the only one who was fascinated by the wavy, long hair, Murata thought dazedly as the kiss continued. The kiss started slow. Then, it grew urgent as Yuuri threaded his fingers through the soft strands. Wolfram hummed happily against Yuuri’s lips then pushed his hands up beneath Yuuri’s shirt to caress those broad back muscles.

Their kiss was full of love and familiarity; so much so, it made Murata’s cynical heart ache. Shibuya slowly pulled back and exchanged a look with Wolfram that Murata couldn’t read; in reply, Wolfram gave a small nod and a smile.

Yuuri touched Wolfram’s face once, reverently, and leaned forward and whispered into his husband’s ear.

Next, they looked at him with identical heated looks and Wolfram pulled Murata up into his arms.

Murata went eagerly and ended up sitting at the edge of the bed. One leg was over the edge and the other tucked under him with Wolfram on his knees opposite him. He lightly caressed Wolfram’s collarbone and looked over at Shibuya, who had moved to lean against the headboard, the better to watch them. Yuuri’s pants were off but his long cotton shirt was still on.

Murata and Wolfram were now completely naked.

Murata touched Wolfram’s hair, smooth and silky and lightly kissed the white column of throat. Wolfram threw his head back to allow him access.

Wolfram never let his hair down in public. This was the first time Murata had seen the prince like this, thick blond waves framing his long neck and tumbling down his right shoulder. Murata stroked Wolfram’s cheek gently. Wolfram sighed at his first touch, like this...the prince looked just like an angel. Just like how Yuuri had described him in his younger days when he was painfully love struck.

Murata looked over again at Yuuri and he caught a look of unadulterated adoration aimed at Wolfram. Yes, love struck, Murata thought with some amusement. Nothing had changed at all.

Murata admired Wolfram’s naked form and he pulled back to take in his fill, one hand lightly stroking the prince’s waist considerately. All lean, wiry muscle. Thighs and calves strong from years of horse riding, light skin golden in the candlelight.

In contrast, Yuuri was broader and, though it wasn’t obvious on the bed, much taller. Shibuya’s features weren’t as fine as his husband’s, though his dark hair and eyes were considered good-looking amongst the mazoku. Murata, objectively, thought that the only attention Yuuri would get on the streets of Tokyo would be admiring looks from girls and some boys for his wholesome appearance, athletic build, and generous manner. In Japan, Shibuya was good looking but nothing about him stood out. In fact, Murata got more attention because of his long hair. Yet, to Murata’s gaze, he found Yuuri’s looks attractive knowing the kind personality beneath and his pure aura.

“What do you want me to do with Wolfram, Yuuri?” He looked over and, perhaps, it was the lighting and his short sightedness, but he was sure he could see the Maou in Yuuri’s features.

“First, let your hair down,” Yuuri ordered. Yes, there was no doubt that his friend loved long hair. Murata stored that detail away for later. There were many fun things he would try in the future.

Murata kept one arm around Wolfram’s waist and pulled loose his hair tie and shook it free, feeling a little like one of those models from the shampoo commercials back on Earth. His hair wasn’t as long as Wolfram’s, only going down past his shoulders and it was straight. The heavy length of his hair pulling out the rough hair kink he had when it was shorter.

“Lovely,” Wolfram murmured and buried his face in his hair, his breath warm on Murata’s collarbone.

Apart from the colour Murata’s hair wasn’t that different from the average mazoku. His hair was thick and a bother when he didn’t take care of it, but Murata got a lot of attention from mazoku because of its pure black colour. He knew it was only a matter of perception. For, in this lifetime, Murata found Wolfram’s hair particularly striking and attractive. But, to be brutally honest, he always did have a fondness for blonds. That early conditioning was a hard habit to break.

“You’ll have to let me brush it,” Wolfram murmured carding his fingers through the strands, his green eyes full of desire and fascination.

Sharp desire went down his spine as his hair was petted, centring in his groin. There was no hiding his interest even if he had wanted to.

Murata pulled his right leg which had been dangling over the edge of the bed and tucked it underneath and faced Wolfram full-on.

“What next?” Murata asked Shibuya. He looked over after a moment when there was no immediate reply. Yuuri’s attention seemed to have lost focus as he watched Wolfram playing with his dark hair.

“Yeah, um,” Shibuya started, voice breathless. “The right side of his jaw and his earlobe are sensitive. Suck and kiss Wolf there.”

Wolfram made a little noise in the back of his throat as he pulled the curtain of blond to the side and licked up Wolfram’s jaw line and gently nipped his ear lobe before kissing his way back down again. Wolfram sagged against his chest, head back and to the right, one hand still caught in Murata’s hair. Such a sensuous image. The wine in his system made the experience dreamlike.


“I want you to fuck me” Wolfram ordered, interrupting Yuuri. Wolfram gave his husband a playful grin before settling himself on Murata’s lap completely, his legs straddling his thighs. Wolfram’s right leg wrapped around his waist, the foot against Murata’s rump, the front of the prince’s half aroused shaft brushing against his own and one hand on his shoulder for balance.

“Wolfram likes to be fucked,” Yuuri said with a trace of chagrin. “And he’s pushy about it, too.”

“Yes, sometimes, I have to take charge with a wimp like you,” Wolfram said with a haughty yet pretty tilt of his head. As he spoke, Wolfram was carding the strands of black hair through his fingers in fascination. Wolfram’s breath smelt of the wine he had drunk before and his skin had the faint smell of vanilla and clean sweat.

Shibuya didn’t take offense to Wolfram’s words and persisted. “Wolf really likes to be fucked.”

Murata exchanged an amused look with Wolfram.

Well well, Murata found himself grinning. Shibuya was using grown-up words. His childhood friend had changed a lot from the days they worked holidays on the beach. Then, Murata would flirt lightly with Yuuri for fun and teased him about how much attention he was drawing from the girls and boys. But there was still an impression of innocence about Yuuri, an otherworldly naivety that Murata thought was impossible to break. And, just as well, Yuuri would need that optimism as a king.

“What a coincidence,” Murata said to Yuuri dryly as he wrapped his fingers around Wolfram’s arse, soft with slight give. “Because I would really like to fuck Wolfram.”

It was bizarre. Their style of banter was not that different from normal except they were naked and talking about sex. Now, Murata was privy to some information that the castle maids had been speculating on forever. Personally, he hadn’t really placed much thought on how things went down in the royal bedchamber, not until ...well lately when it was hard to think of anything but.

Murata knew how varied sexual preferences were and what one favoured had nothing to do with the heart or a person’s character. As long as it was consensual and the participants were of age, Murata didn’t over-think it. He certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone. What happened here would stay between the three of them.

“I am sitting right here!” Wolfram said huffily, twisting his fingers into Murata’s hair sharply but not enough to hurt and jerked his hips forward. Wolfram need not worry. He had Murata’s full attention now as he gave him a forceful kiss to emphasise his statement. Wolfram’s tongue pushed past his lips, eager like the rest of him.

If Wolfram wanted his full attention, who was Murata to refuse?

He pushed Wolfram down so the prince had his back on the large bed, his head amongst the pillows next to Shibuya. With a sigh Wolfram wrapped his legs around his waist and Murata adjusted his throbbing cock.

“Do you have...anything?” He looked at Shibuya, who was watching with fascination.

Shibuya’s arousal was visible underneath the cotton shirt, large. It made Murata’s mouth water.


Murata cupped Wolfram’s balls while he listened to Shibuya scramble around amongst the side table and, finally, handed him a finely wrought glass bottle. Wolfram’s lips were parted slightly, his cheeks dark and his hair spread out on the pillow prettily, curlicues of gold.

Placing the bottle between his legs Shibuya hurriedly pulled his shirt off. Murata admired the view. All that sword practice had certainly paid off. Yuuri’s muscles were much more defined, matching his build. It made Murata feel a little self-conscious. Weller had insisted he have regular sword lessons over the years, but his attendance had been patchy. He had very little discipline when it came to physical exertion, needing to be prodded into working hard and Murata knew he wasn’t nearly as fit. But he let that thought go as Wolfram pulled at his hair downward for a kiss, impatient.

Life was too short to worry about such trivial matters and he allowed himself to enjoy the kiss wholly. When the kiss finally ended, Yuuri handed him the bottle and leaned in to give Murata a short kiss.

When he pulled back, Yuuri gave him a look, one of trust and some amount of nervousness that made Murata pause.

His concern must have been noticed. Yuuri started to say something, his mouth open but stopped when Wolfram made an impatient noise, needy. Yuuri shook his head and gave Murata one more brief peck on his cheek. Strangely chaste all things considered.

“Everything fine?” Murata asked casually.

“Yeah.” Yuuri nodded. There was still a little nervousness but Murata had to take Yuuri at his word.

Murata turned his attention back to Wolfram and pulled out the stopper as Yuuri leaned down to give Wolfram a long, soothing kiss that did everything but for the prince. Murata coated his fingers with the scented oil. The smell reminded him of oranges.

Murata paused for a moment to watch slender white fingers hold Yuuri’s face down to draw out the kiss and Yuuri’s right hand lightly brushed Wolfram’s hips and glided further down skirting the erection and then into the vee of Wolfram’s legs, a gentle caress further down as encouragement. Not that Wolfram needed much encouragement.

Murata covered Shibuya’s hand for a moment, and then started to massage Wolfram inner thighs while Shibuya trailed kisses down along Wolfram’s jaw, his throat, and down to his stomach.

Wolfram thighs were quivering. In fact, his whole body was. It looked like Wolfram was enjoying being the centre of attention. He should, he thought with fond amusement, it was Wolfram who had wanted this in the first place.

Murata rubbed his thumb over Wolfram’s opening and was rewarded by a hiss as Wolfram’s hips rose up involuntarily. Yuuri plastered wet raspberries across Wolfram’s soft belly in counterpoint, the muscles in Wolfram’s thighs tensing.

“Please...just…” Wolfram gasped out, one hand gripping a pillow and the other still wrapped in Yuuri’s hair.

“Please what?” Murata asked teasingly, pushing his oiled index finger into his entrance slightly and his other finger lightly fingered Wolfram’s balls.

“Just...put it in me...Murata, Shinou...ooooh...”

Yuuri sat up and watched Murata as he pushed his thumb in as far as the second knuckle, searching.

“I’m not a virgin…you know, you don’t need to...ah,” Wolfram groaned.

There you are, Murata thought gleefully as he crooked his finger upward. That magical sweet spot and Wolfram was awfully vocal about it. No wonder he liked to be fucked. By the looks of it, the prince was stimulated out of his mind by his caress. Murata was going to drive him wild.

“Well, I should hope you aren’t a virgin,” he exchanged an amused look with Shibuya who was now completely aroused. And just because he could, he kissed him while removing his finger from Wolfram, and then he brushed this thumb around his opening teasingly. He pushed his tongue into Yuuri’s mouth the way he wanted to thrust into Wolfram. It was a little awkward on his knees, splayed out with Wolfam’s knees locked around his waist and the angle was uncomfortable but Murata couldn’t resist.

He made a show of it for Wolfram’s benefit, but forgot everything as Yuuri wrapped his oiled fingers around his cock and jerked him slowly, once and twice and he moaned into Yuuri’s mouth.

Dimly, he wondered how Yuuri had managed to get the citrus oil on his hand enough to coat his cock generously.

“Don’t forget Wolfram,” Yuuri mock whispered as he pulled away. Swift and agile, Wolfram used his leverage from around his waist and pulled himself onto Murata’s lap. With one hand on his shoulder and the other holding onto the base of Murata’s arousal, Wolfram lowered himself onto him with strong thigh muscles. Wolfram’s eyes closed in concentration.

Yuuri had moved close behind Murata, supporting him somewhat and kissed the side of his neck as Wolfram dropped down fully onto Murata thighs. Murata was now inside Wolfram to the hilt and he resisted the urge to thrust up. It took all of his willpower to resist thrusting upwards into that glorious heat, to give Wolfram time to adjust.

The pressure around his cock was too perfect.

Yuuri was sucking at the point where his shoulder met his neck and his cock was hard against the small of Murata’s back, a searing hot brand. He focused on Wolfram’s closed eyes. Wolfram’s brow was knotted in concentration panting slightly, long strands of hair now sticking to his sweat coated neck and shoulders.

Wolfram,” Murata pleaded breathlessly.

The prince’s eyes snapped open, looking very dark in the candlelight and Murata hazily wondered what it would be like to see those green eyes when they were joined so intimately. They would have to do this in the sunlight at some point. Yet, even with the poor lighting and his short-sightedness, Wolfram was close enough so that he could see the awe in his eyes. Murata placed one hand on the prince’s brow and with trembling fingers pulled back some long hair that was falling into the prince’s face.

Wolfram kissed the inside of his wrist as he pulled his hand back and, then, with admirable strength, pulled himself upward and started riding on Murata’s cock. He’d always prided himself on his stamina as a lover, but, the way things were going, Murata wouldn’t last long.

Murata would have to move things faster. He reached his hand down between them. Grabbing the hardness that was rubbing steadily against his stomach, he stroked Wolfram roughly. His hips were no longer taking instructions from him anymore and he thrust upwards, his need now driving him.

It didn’t take long for the three of them to develop a rhythm. Yuuri rubbing his hardness against his back, one arm around his waist in support and another hand gliding down his stomach, a sweet contrast to the pressure around his cock as he thrust into the heat of Wolfram.

Wolfram's eyes were locked on him, so intimate and raw, breath stuttering. He was so close, and the loud breathing behind told him Yuuri wasn’t that far behind. Murata’s whole body was tingling and he wanted the rhythm of push-pull becoming all.

“You know,” Yuuri said into his ear, his voice deep, Maou-like, and loud enough for Wolfram to hear “Later on, I think I’m going to fuck you, Murata.”

Instantly, Wolfram stiffened and came, pushing himself flush down onto him squeezing him so tightly, while his essence spilled over Murata’s hand. He felt warmth against his back as Yuuri came against him. With two more thrusts, his orgasm also smashed into him, his back arching into Yuuri who held him tight as Wolfram slumped against him dreamily, sweaty and sated.

Murata collapsed, his mind riding a sated endorphin-high. Carelessly, he wiped himself off with the edge of the linen and sunk onto the bed on his stomach next to Wolfram, boneless and relaxed. It was, he had to admit, very good sex. The kind of sex that worked well with affection and great chemistry. He was glad that Yuuri had the energy to move and get a wet cloth to clean them all off.

Wolfram gave him a sleepy but honest smile and caressed his hair. This was a side of Wolfram he’d never seen and his chest tightened to see that directed at him. Wolfram’s gaze shifted happily behind him to Yuuri as he settled himself snug up against Murata’s back, and traced lazy patterns on his shoulder.

A moment of companionship and contentment where words weren’t needed.

Murata felt...he felt... Yuuri kissed his shoulder and reached out to caress Wolfram’s shoulder. Murata felt like he was falling in love. Of course, it was too early and utterly a bad idea. He knew it was just chemicals playing tricks, feel good hormones after such a great orgasm. Allowing feelings when coming into an established and committed relationship was a bad idea. But he allowed himself a little...infatuation… and, for that moment, Murata was too tired to second-guess himself. He let himself be, just in that moment. Yuuri curled up behind him and Wolfram’s eyes closed. He drifted off to Wolfram sleepily petting his hair and the solid feel of Yuuri’s hand resting on his waist.


Murata dozed. He wasn’t sure of how long he was out when he felt a warm wetness glide up his body. And moving up his arms – his eyes snapped open as his arms were pushed forcefully above his head and he found himself rolled onto his back. He didn’t have much time to be startled and wasn’t entirely surprised to find The Maou looking down at him, a wicked smile on the spirit’s face.

After all, to sleep with Yuuri was to sleep with the Maou. The spirit’s appearance was to be expected.

The Maou leaned over him and whispered into his ear. “Hello, eldest one. You have come to my bed and have taken pleasure from my mate. How shall I deal with this intrusion?”

Though the words were ominous the Maou’s tone was playful, light-hearted.

When Murata looked, he could see that what bound him were water dragons. The watery serpents were encircling both his thighs and then around his waist and upwards further around his arms, keeping his wrists bound above his head. They were effectively pinning him down while exposing his throat, his stomach and his sex to The Maou.

Murata knew how dangerous The Maou could be. In effect, he had gained the attention of a god, albeit very few mazoku realised the full “nature” of the nature deity – perhaps only Wolfram suspected. Being such an intense focus of such a being wasn’t always fortunate. Though Murata was unsure, his body had other ideas. A thrill went through him. His skin was becoming hyper-sensitive to the erratic fluid movement of the serpents. And, even if he could, he would not even try to hide the reaction he was having. Murata’s cock was upright, stiff, the Maou’s attention was exhilarating. The water dragons around his wrists tightened a little.

“Wolfram is mine,” The Maou told him.

Murata could hear a gasp from beside him and he turned his head. The only thing he could move to see Wolfram. The prince’s long hair was in disarray from having been woken. Wolfram said nothing, his face revealing no fear, only worry and a little bit of annoyance.

The Maou watched his look over at Wolfram with faint puzzlement and cocked his head as if in thought before returning his attention back to Murata.

“Wolfram is my mate. I would kill you for this, for you are an interloper.”

Murata swallowed, trying to contain the anxiety rolling up his spine. The Maou was fickle. But his body didn’t seem to share his worry and the The Maou noticed it with a wolfish smirk.

“But you please me. You interest me. So, I allowed it. Now, I would claim you, Sage. You will become mine. I would leave my mark.” The Maou brushed his hand down his stomach, the lengthened nails tracing downwards but stopping before touching his arousal which was straining upwards. “I would make you beg.”

“I’m a person, not your possession. I did not claim Wolfram. We made love and it was with the full approval of Yuuri.” He was quite proud of how steady he’d maintained his voice considering the erratic distraction of the dragons and the intent predatory look of the Maou above.

Murata gave The Maou a challenging glare.

Well, he wasn’t always as wise as people thought him to be. Murata had been in this situation before and he knew that how this played out would determine more than just how The Maou treated him. There was an unusual atmosphere in the room, a feeling of expectation, anticipation.

Murata wanted The Maou who was bound irrevocably to the Demon King. Murata wanted Shibuya more than anything, but he didn’t want The Maou to think he was some docile servant. He needed The Maou to see his defiance, his autonomy. Murata wondered where Shibuya was, was he here watching? As far as Murata knew, the accord that Yuuri had reached with the spirit meant he was also present and also had a say.

What did he think of this?

The Maou smiled, looking very pleased at Murata’s words and not angry as Murata was half-expecting. The Maou moved his head close to his and whispered, voice dark with promise, “We are both here and merged in our purpose and desire.”

Murata eyes widened, The Maou was powerful but he could not read minds. Surely not, he must have guessed his thoughts.

Still close to him, he could feel The, Yuuri-Maou’s breath on his neck, warm.

“Yet, you are mistaken, Sage. You did claim Wolfram, as my mate claimed you. Now, I declare you as mine as is my right. You are to be mine, not as a possession but as something far more dear.”

Yuuri-Maou’s other hand traced one sharpened talon along down his cheek and throat and across his collarbone in reverence and Murata’s heart skipped a beat.

“I have great care for you, Sage, as friend and more. I wish you no harm.” Yuuri-Maou gave him a grin. “No harm unless you crave it. Say ‘nay’ and I will stop.”

“If I said nay, not just to this, but overall, what would you do? You would let me go and it would be as if nothing had happened?”

Yuuri-Maou blinked at him. “If you were anyone else, Murata-Sage, to be so intimate with my consort, you would die-“


Wolfram’s voice held indignant warning.

Yuuri-Maou gave Wolfram a look that Murata could not read, perhaps exasperation and part something else. It was a like a bearbee smacking a sand bear on the nose. The bearbee being Wolfram, but, in this case, the sand bear appeared to brush the smaller creature aside gently instead of ripping it apart. This interplay was...bizarre. It also told Murata just how the power dynamics worked in this relationship and he found himself relaxing. There was still an element of risk, though. Murata couldn’t entirely allow himself to trust such a creature of power, not so soon, but he didn’t think he was in any immediate danger.

Yuuri-Maou returned his gaze on him with a slight look of Yuuri-like awkwardness and Murata had to suppress a bark of laughter, especially when Yuuri-Maou darkened and the atmosphere quickly changed again.

“I would let you go if you truly wished it, Murata-Sage. But such a choice will not be without consequence. I cannot allow you here again. You can never touch my mate again.”

A look of conflicted feeling flared momentarily in Yuuri-Maou’s eyes.

Yuuri-Maou pulled back and his slitted eyes regarded him, waiting for a response. The pressure of the water dragons lessened somewhat.

Allowing Yuuri-Maou to claim him, to fuck him, would also not be without consequence. But Murata refused to think about that. When the time came, he was sure Yuuri would let him go – Shibuya was strong enough to do that, strong enough to hold back the Maou’s jealous nature. Murata could not afford to think otherwise.

He imagined himself getting up, quickly getting dressed, and leaving this room behind. He wouldn’t dare to look at Wolfram to see the disappointment, or Yuuri inside The Maou sad at his leaving. Then, he’d go back to the Temple. Not tonight, but as usual and spend his nights in that large, antique monstrosity of a bed, just as big as the king’s. With only him in it. That’s what he could do.

Yuuri-Maou blinked slowly and he must have scented his intent.

“You would stay, dearest Murata-Sage.”

Murata nodded slowly. “Yes,” his voice low but clear enough for those it was intended for.

It wasn’t just Wolfram Murata wanted.

He could hear Wolfram’s shaky exhale, but he dare not break eye contact with Yuuri-Maou to see.

The wise thing would be to walk away. Murata’s curiosity had been sated. Yet, even before he entered the room, he knew that this was more than scratching an itch. It was more than just about being intimate with the Prince Consort. And, now that he’d made love to Wolfram and Yuuri, he could not leave. So help him, Murata wanted more. Not just the sex, but the intimacy, sharing in that warmth and love between the king and his consort. Perhaps, it was wrong, but he could not turn back now. And being with The Maou was part of that. Indeed, it was a major attraction for him.

Yuuri-Maou moved his hand over his heart, his talons digging in painfully yet not enough to draw blood.

“Then I will claim you, Murata-Sage. I say ‘I’ for, in this, we are merged as one, not Maou, not Yuuri, not two but one. I can smell what you want, Sage. I would have you under me and I know this would please you. I control as this is my nature. The Maou controls and Yuuri’s soul tempers this little for he also wants to take care of others and you, Sage. Would you like to give up control to me? Would you like me to take care of you?”

Murata assumed the questions were rhetorical; consent once given could not be reneged. Not tonight. Not this first time with the spirit. Demigods had little understanding or patience for mortal indecisiveness. Murata held no delusions; this creature was a spirit of absolutes and Murata didn’t know how much Shibuya diluted the dominant trait within this transitory fusion.

Yuuri-Maou trailed one hand down his chest slowly, sharp nails running over one nipple, a keen sense of ownership in those eyes as he laid one hand on his stomach.

The lengthened nail slightly digging into his bare flesh again yet not enough to hurt.

Murata shivered not willing to give way and kept eye contact.

“Perhaps later, we can play some games. You can resist; you can fight me. It would make the conquest all the sweeter, for you and me.” Yuuri-Maou lengthened his smile and his pointed incisors were revealed, “That would be fun. Not this night, though. For, we play a different game now.”

Yuuri-Maou firmly placed one hand around Murata’s neck and squeezed lightly. The pressure made him feel vulnerable. Partial nervousness and fear going straight to his cock and he hardened more. Yuuri-Maou’s nostrils flared, picking up his desire. Laced with nerves, the combination thrilled his body. Well, well, it seemed he was a little kinky this lifetime around. Being dominated turned him on.

Yuuri-Maou was quick to pick up on that fact with his heightened senses. “Oh, yes. Truly, we must play those games later.”

“This isn’t a game, though,” he said, giving Yuuri-Maou another challenging stare.

Yuuri-Maou tilted his head, his eyes feral and bright, clearly enjoying the repartee. “A game is something that is played between those who care for each other, is it not? This game is far more intimate. There must be trust and I trust you, Murata-Sage. We give each other pleasure, which is the purpose of this game.”

Yuuri-Maou smiled and grabbed his length which was straining upwards. The touch was light and not nearly enough and Murata bit back a moan, his hips moving without thought. There was an echoing noise from Wolfram and Murata, still pinned to the bed, turned his head to see Wolfram hand around his cock, jerking himself roughly. Wolfram’s back was up against pillows and his legs splayed obscenely, his hips rising up as his picked up the pace. Blond dishevelled hair cascading down his shoulders.

What did they look like, from the prince’s point of view, both of them together. Murata on his back, his arms tied up above his head by the water dragons writhing like feather light hands, and the smaller water serpents cleaning him, pushing up under his balls and so very lightly around his cock and across his nipples. A cleaning as methodical as he would get from washing in the royal baths, but much more pleasurable.

Against his cheek Yuuri-Maou breathed. “He is so very pretty, my consort-mate, soul bright and his willpower strong within his fragile form. I have not known such qualities for thousands of mortal years.”

Murata turned his head and looked into Yuuri-Maou’s eyes. Those eyes glowed, that smile so knowing and warm.

He wondered how much The Maou remembered and how much Yuuri knew.

Yuuri-Maou was possessive and sure. Shibuya was alpha, supreme, but tempered by a gentle nature. Yuuri’s soul was designed to house the spirit, so dominant, predestined to be a symbiotic partnership of power. But there was still a long way before Shibuya Yuuri would be equal with the spirit.

Murata thought, the abrupt intuitiveness coming to him, almost a vision. Yuuri would be so beautiful when he came into his prime, in a hundred years or so, with his bright devoted mate next to him.

For now, the spirit guided and led but not without Yuuri’s say...

Yuuri-Maou let go of Murata’s cock, though the dragons remained, and Yuuri-Maou turned and moved fluidly next to Wolfram. He whispered something in Wolfram’s ear and Wolfram moaned again.

Murata felt a frisson of energy pass between them, a surge of pressure, and Wolfram’s back arced upwards and he cried out and came, long and hard, in a way that Murata would not have thought possible so quickly after the orgasm Murata had given the prince before. And this was all without Yuuri-Maou touching his husband. Wolfram collapsed in a satisfied heap as Yuuri-Maou kissed his face and neck soothing Wolfram’s aftershocks, whispering loving endearments.

“I hate it when you do that, wimp,” Wolfram mumbled to Yuuri-Maou, his tone completely belied his words and virtually asleep. Yuuri-Maou pulled some hair from Wolfram’s forehead with care and smiled indulgently. That was definitely Yuuri, or was it? The slit eyes were still there and there was such love in his eyes.

Yuuri-Maou fixed his eyes back onto Murata, his hands still caressing Wolfram’s cheek. Those wicked, sharp nails edging over soft, fragile skin gently.

“Truly, there must be trust. For, do I not trust you with my beloved, so very precious to me? Do not take my regard lightly, Sage.” The last was said with dark gravity.

The mood shifted and a predatory look came into the creature before him. And slowly, he moved forward, leaving the prince in contented slumber, a vision of debauched perfection.

“With joy, I claim you, Murata-Sage, with lightness; I have waited long for you to come to me. I will make you cry in ecstasy.”

The pressure on his wrists from the dragons increased, just on the side of uncomfortable. But Murata didn’t care as Yuuri-Maou leaned over and lathed one of his nipples with a wet, rough tongue and then nipped it lightly. And the feeling went straight to his cock.

“If this is a game, then how do we determine who wins?” His voice was breathless, his skin hypersensitive.

“Well... That is the question, is it not?” And Murata gave up thought when Yuuri-Maou pushed his hips down firmly into the mattress. One watery offshoot of the dragon was pushing its way up inside him and he gasped. With a feline smugness, Yuuri-Maou took his wet cock in his mouth and sucked.


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