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Pretty When You're Mine

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He asked for her, not Denna.

When he finished with the Seeker.

Looked at her over the body on the bed, clearly fucked out, and smiled a little.

"This is my brother," he'd said. "Richard Rahl. In twenty minutes everyone will remember him as having been here for the past decade. You will not."

Cara didn't ask why not: she'd had contact with Richard. Rahl needed someone who could read him; make sure whatever magic he'd worked didn't slip.

It didn't. Richard Cypher is Richard Rahl. He's ruthless and terrible, laughs at her in battle and cuts her hair because he thinks the way she wears it is fucking ridiculous.

"Be with me, or be with them, Cara," he says as he fucks her into the ground.

"With you," she says, and stops wearing the complete leathers, just the jumpsuit. Hair down. She's Mord-Sith, but she's his general.

There are worse things.

When they're in the castle, he walks around barefoot and shirtless. He isn't hers, but she's his. And his brother's. But then…everyone is Darken Rahl's.

When they're in the castle, most of the time he's tied to the headboard, blankets bunching around him as he twists, trying to escape (but never really, never in earnest), laughing and moaning and screaming.

Richard is kneeling on the bed, naked, when she comes. Rahl is sprawled in a chair, idly stroking himself through his pants.

Richard looks at her, and she goes to him, lets his hand fist in her hair and pull her in for a drugging kiss.

He slides her leathers off with the luxurious slowness of a man who enjoys the view: enjoys unwrapping her.

It's so strange to remember with a jolt that there was a time when he was still a virgin: would have blushed at this or made sure she felt respected.

"Lay down," he says, and she does, on the sheets that drag and cling hotly, and fuck, she's already getting wet, already clenching and shifting her hips, clit starting to feel present. He slides a pillow under her hips so she's on offer, hipbones jutting more pronounced. She hopes they weren't attached to that pillow (doesn't give a fuck if they were) because she's going to get it soaked as he kneels in front of her pussy, grinning slightly from under his lashes before positioning his cock and fucking staying still, the tease.

"Yes," Rahl agrees to some unspoken question, and Richard fucks into her, hot and sure, and for a moment—and only just that long—she forgets there's an audience because she's stretched around him, pussy clenching, breath knocked from her.

"Please," Richard says, but it's not for her, and she glances over at Rahl, who has one arm braced on the arm of his chair, finger idly rubbing over his lower lip. For a man, he has excellent lips—actually, they both do. It must be a genetic thing.

"By all means," Rahl says magnanimously, and Richard begins to fuck into her, short, brutal stabs that make her clench her fingers in the sheets, jut her jaw and inhale sharply through her nose, arching her back as she tries to bear down on him; she has no leverage in this position.

"Slower."

Richard responds immediately, and the strokes go deep, pulling out until just the head of his cock is inside her before shoving all the way back in. A sheen of sweat is on his lower lip; his temple. She wants to arch up; lick it off.

She hasn't been given permission to touch, though, so she just tries to rip through the sheets with her nails, toes curling a little because fuck, yes.

"You can touch her."

Richard's thumb sweeps along her lower lip, slicking with the paint she puts on it, and then his hand drifts lower.

She groans when he presses against her clit, eyes sliding shut as she rocks against him; against his hand and his cock. He traces little circles just over it, and then slides his thumb down over, and she's almost gone, just from that.

Her feet are braced against the mattress—she'd like to wrap them around Richard's hips and drag him closer, but she doesn't. She's not fucking suicidal, and there's something delicious about the fact that she's just…used, here. That this isn't about her, but that she gets to be here.

"Tell her how she feels," Rahl murmurs: he's closer now, and when she opens her eyes she sees him behind Richard. He has a hand on Richard's throat, another just under his navel. Clearly pressed up tight against him and yes, that is an excellent image, actually. Rahl's cock nestled between Richard's asscheeks like a promise that he'll keep if Richard does a good enough job on her.

"Goo—" Richard begins, and the hand tightens.

"Don't be banal."

Richard moans, a little, head falling back against Rahl's shoulder, hand leaving Cara's clit to hold her hips with wet fingers, holding on as his own hips stutter against her. She reaches up to play with her nipples, roll them into even tighter points, feel the liquid heat fill her entirely, she's so close, she's on the edge; hopes Richard's idea of dirty talk won't bring her back from it.

Rahl's eyes are fixed on hers: she couldn't look away if she wanted to, and then Richard starts talking.

"So wet," Richard manages, chest heaving for breath through restricted airways, Rahl's hand clenched around his throat. "Just—dripping and so so tight, like she…like she wants it. Loves it. Wants my cock, wants me to fuck her full of come and keep fucking, fill her and fill her until it's dripping down her thighs—"

"Fuck!" Cara shouts, slamming her head back against the bed and coming, tensing around him and snapping her hips, can't catch her breath and isn't sure which way is up for a second.

"Please, please," Richard whimpers. "Darken, I have—please, fuck, please."

But then he's sliding out of her, and she looks down her body. He's almost sobbing, cock red and hard and shining with her juices and his own precome, so hard it smears wetly against Rahl's hand where it still rests between Richard's hipbones.

"You're dismissed. Stand at the door," Rahl tells her.

He never said she had to close it, so she doesn't. Slides her leathers back on, thinks she'll fuck Triana or Adel, make them scream and clench down on her agiel and then eat her out; maybe relax in the pools.

She leans against the door, watches Richard turn in Rahl's arms, still flushed from lack of oxygen but wild for it, for contact as he rips at Rahl's pants.

"Hands and knees," Rahl instructs, almost tenderly, and Richard settles that way, offering himself up, arching his back so very very prettily.

He's just fucking pretty.

Rahl lines up: no prep, but Richard hardly goes a day without getting fucked four times, if not on a cock then an agiel or some other invention of his brother's.

There's lubricant— murmured words and then he's pushing in and Richard groans wholeheartedly, mouth going slack with pleasure and eyes shutting. Rahl is standing on the floor, Richard on the edge of the bed, and somehow that's…hotter. She bites her lower lip, squeezing her thighs together, feeling her clit pulse.

Rahl is fucking him, and Richard drops his face to the mattress, reaches back to jerk his cock while Rahl fucks him steadily open aroun d his cock. Rahl is silent; intense and proprietary. His hands are on Richard's lower back, between his shoulder blades; keeping him down, using the advantage of his more solid frame and height to hold him there where Rahl wants him.

"Please!" Richard almost cries when his knees give out, when he's lying flat on his stomach with no chance for friction other than the sheets against his cock, being rocked on Rahl's cock.

"Yes," Rahl agrees, low, and Richard fucking keens, head thrown back as he comes, still being impaled on Rahl's dick, Rahl fucking him through the orgasm and Cara has had a cock up her ass, knows a little what that feels like and Richard is sobbing into the sheets as he finishes.

And then he's trying to get up again, says, "Let me—please, I want it—please, just let me suck you."

And Cara comes again—didn't even realize she'd balled her hand into a fist and stuck it between her thighs, grinding down on it.

When she opens her eyes Rahl is fucking down Richard's throat, or maybe Richard is fucking himself on Rahl's throat, because his hands are tight on Rahl's hips and he's the one controlling the movement, Rahl's hand fisted in his hair but not pulling, not until he finally comes, bending over Richard and keeping him on his cock: Richard's nose pressed into the wiry hair at the base of Rahl's cock.

Richard's gagging, but he doesn't try to yank off; swallows when Rahl pulls out and smiles up at him, lets himself be pulled up for a kiss, laid out on the bed and stretched over.

Rahl looks at her as he, presumably, fucks Richard's mouth with his tongue, and lifts an eyebrow.

She shuts the door, grinning slightly.

Maybe she'll suspend Denna from the rafters and fuck her with both of her agiels: one for her ass, and one in her pussy. Hm. Maybe if Cara lets Triana play, they can shove another one down Denna's throat.

Life's been good since Richard Cypher became Richard Rahl.