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“standing” is a strong word to describe aerion’s state as he entered his chambers. dragging, more like. he’s dragging himself into the room. his eyes blur with blood that oozes from unknown places. his face and mouth throb with every beat of his heart, his body is in too global of pain to name.
he hunts for your presence within the dark room. initially, you do not acknowledge him. you ignore his ragged breaths and the sounds of his feet dragging on the cold ground. pretend not to notice the room filling with the stench of filth that radiates from him. he meets you where you stand at the desk in the corner of the room, attempting to cage you against the hard wood. wounded dignity forces the muscles in his neck to lift his head to face you. the attempt is fruitless, his feet stumble against the floor when you reverse your positions. every ounce of indignation he can manage to muster within himself is displayed on his face.
“oh my prince, what has he done to you?” you say with gentle fingers caressing the sensitive flesh of his lip. his nostrils flare as the split speckles with blood. this is the softness to which he has become accustomed, and it begins to melt only the edges of his hardened expression. he cannot see past his own pride to your deception. your hand that suddenly grasps his jaw is of the opposite nature. the cuts and infantile bruises beginning to form on his cheek throb between your fingers, his face molding like torn putty in your hands. you say nothing. his lips are robbed of the expected kiss when you reach through his arms and nestle yourself in his neck. a deep breath through your nose brings goosebumps down his back. aerion smells of bodily fluid and disgrace. it is as if his body cannot contain it all and his pores have opened to proclaim his weakness. anger and confusion fight within him for control as his expression transitions back to one of neutrality to disguise the pain.
a quiet whimper escapes him when you finally grant him his kiss. it is a kiss laced with so much fervor you begin to wonder if he believes it will be his last. the metal restricts his hands from properly exploring your body, making the only part of you he can make contact with your lips. his lips move against yours like a man deprived of intimacy for years, not hours.
the kiss is not his to lead, though he fights for dominance. your hands find the back of his hair to hold him still, to ensure he cannot run. your tongue breaches his mouth first, searching for the spring of blood that causes his mouth to fill. at first contact, he almost bites your tongue off. he’s twitching, panicking into your mouth as his lips continue to fight against yours. continue to fight the sharpness of the tooth settling after every swipe of the wet muscle against it. somewhere in the push and pull the tooth is plucked from its socket. his hand grips your arm with all of the strength he can gather, the claws of his gauntlets making impressions in your skin. the metallic taste of blood grows stronger on your tongue as his tooth disturbingly clicks around in your mouth. your mouth, one of full teeth, taunts him with his own imperfection.
“a shit knight. a terrible son, a ‘dragon,’” you goad. the final words being marked with a sarcastic bend of your fingers. “open your mouth, i ought to return what belongs to you…a token of your failures.”
he winces as the hands resting in his hair pull at him by the fistful.
“i am still your dragon,” he spits with barely open eyes.
“are you? bare your teeth for me, dragon, if you are the beast you claim to be.”
he feels almost feverish. an attempt to wrench himself from your grasp is returned with an even tighter grip on his hair. his head pounds too much to properly best you. his face burns to an even hotter degree when he realizes cannot overpower you. against everything that he is, he has almost no bite.
aerion feels only self-disgust as he shows his blood-covered teeth, the newly lost one just barely in view. the humiliation shows itself on his scarlet cheeks.
his subservience is commanded in the common tongue . a simple “serve” accompanied by a firm press to his shoulders to truly bring him to his knees. it is yet another fist of dirt thrown upon his proclaimed dragon kinship.
“i would sooner end my own life.” bitter words meant to fight for him fall on deaf ears.
his eyes remain at your feet.
two of your fingers reach down and brush his lips. he knows of the defilement you intend and clenches his jaw shut. your thumb joins the fight, pressing where you know the tissue has not yet hardened in the absence of his tooth. it is enough. his mouth parts despite his will. blood-tinted saliva covers your fingers as you wrench his mouth open.
you spare him no kindness when spitting the tooth. he gags at the feeling of it landing on the back of his tongue. his hands, still covered in armor, cannot aid him in retrieving it. he paws helplessly at his own lips, unable to end the discomfort. despite his aggressive coughs, the tooth remains lodged. the swallow is not an easy one. it feels as though the tooth grew claws to scratch him on its path down his throat.
he breaks the eye contact he’d been keeping with the ground between your feet. a darkness like you’ve never seen thrives in his eyes. he appears as though the lights have gone out. your hand grasps the lamp behind you, slowly dragging it to the edge of the desk. bringing it as close to his face as possible, you search for the fire in his eyes. for a sign of the source of his immorality. when the flames finally reflect in the blue of his eyes, you extinguish the lamp.
he whimpers like the wounded animal he is. his body is heavy. the armor seems to have doubled its weight since the trial of seven began.
the position he finds himself in is unfamiliar. exerting his power, his strength, over others is as subconscious for him as breathing. the body beneath him betrays him. his coughed-out words are soft, his body cannot maintain its strength. all that remains to him is you, his wife, who will not pass up the opportunity to lord over him.
you take a few steps back, walking toward the bed facing him, never breaking eye contact. he crawls on hand and knee to reach you, not trusting his legs. it is a painfully slow pursuit. his right leg barely bends and the floor seems mobile. he appears to hold his breath the entire way, fearful of what more pathetic sounds may leave it. the sound of his dragon armor scratching against the floor sickens him.
“bare your pain to me, show me the dragon beneath the skin,” you whisper at him from your seat on the bed.
he stumbles to his knees to begin a deeply unceremonious removal of his coverings. he receives only silence from you as you watch him struggle to separate cloth from dried blood. each injury feels reborn. with every movement the metal presses against his fresh bruises.
warmth has deserted the room. he limps onto the bed to escape the palpable ravenousness radiating from you. a needless pursuit, as you can see him better laid across the sheets. your eyes rake over him, taking in every imperfection. every rip in his skin. every drop of blood. a hand begins to reach toward his thigh. his leg jerks away from you instinctively, what’s left of his consciousness attempting to hide the gaping sword wound from your cruelty. you grasp his legs and force them open.
“it seems they’ve made the prince a princess. is that what you are now? what’s your name, princess?” you speak above him as your fingers pull at his hair.
“br-brightflame,” he says to remind himself more than to you. his mind drifts the power the name had when he was announced. it feels absent now.
your fingers once again gather saliva in his mouth, feeling the tensing of his throat as you push further in.
“i can take you like one.”
he swallows fearfully around your fingers. his heart hammers out of his chest when he feels your hands lifting his leg, exposing his untouched hole to you. the gash on his leg screams as it stretches.
“would that please you? shall i make you moan around my fingers like a common whore?,” you ask as your hand palms his ass.
“st-,” the word dies on his lips as your fingers reach his entrance. he begins to shake beneath you, lips pressed tightly together. fighting a smile, you withdraw your hand. the exhale that leaves him is all too hopeful.
aerion gasps at the tingle of your other hand beginning to circle the deep wound just between thigh and groin. your touch only borders on pain, not yet crossing the threshold. the tip of your finger slides between the flesh. his back arches off of the bed, overwhelmed by the feeling of knives beneath his skin.
digging deeper into the wound, you prod him to answer. “has he robbed the– my dragon of his manhood? your fire is dull, my prince . he took your tongue, too. it seems.”
what comes out of him is halfway between a scream and a death rattle. his cries of pain are only signals of encouragement, you are not to be deterred. his cock swells with muddied desire as you exact your whims upon him, body and mind misaligned.
his lip is pinned between his teeth in terror. though you’ve had sex many times, he’s never felt himself laid so bare. gentle kisses turn to a hardened grip on the soft skin, feeling the warm blood from between his legs begin to ooze down his leg. the entire side of his body has transformed into a fireplace. your teeth close on the flesh of his thigh parallel to the bite. his hands hesitate over your head, wishing to rip your mouth from him but conflicted by the arousal stirring deep within him. he is unsure now what ails him, the pain or the inability to fight. you leave a deep impression of your teeth surrounding the torn flesh, holding him down as he thrashes wildly.
“you will be p-punished for this,” he manages to declare through gritted teeth.
“i will wait every day for it,” you reply, knowledgeable that a day on which your husband can overpower you again will not come for many moons.
every bit of blood that rushes to his cock brings more sensation to the wound. pain and desire grow through intertwined roots, twisting around each other within him.
you spit on his blood-covered leg, massaging it into the gash like the arousal of a soaking wet cunt. you treat it as one, sucking at the edges and pumping your fingers in and out of him as deep as they’ll go. aerion loses his words once more, unable to rationalize violation to this degree. the last wall between him and true madness begins to fall.
“taste yourself. taste the disgrace you’ve brought the blood you speak incessantly of,”
this time, your fingers taste like shame. he betrays himself to taste the combined saliva and blood of the deepest wound. his hips chase the nonexistent friction of the atmosphere as he licks your fingers clean.
you pull back your hand once more. he uses the brief pause while you shift to line his cock up with your entrance to take in the display before him. your night dress is splattered with red. his blood covers your hands and thickens beneath your fingernails. your face resembles that of a cannibal. you award him no patience and sink down immediately. you have consumed him.
“finish like this or waste away in your arousal for the rest of the night. gods know you cannot help yourself,” you challenge.
the first thrust upward is tentative. the added pressure of your thighs on his sets the lower half of his body ablaze. every movement of his hips feels as though it rips the wound open anew. it is not enough. his chest is heaving as he dares make a larger movement. his teeth rip the skin from his lips when he forgoes pleasure for pain. you are steadfast in your refusal to aid in his efforts, enjoying watching him from above as he drags minimally in and out.
his hands fidget at his sides, desperate to touch you but unsure it will bring about more torment. it is a risk he’s willing to take. his hands are swatted when you feel the lightest of pressure on your hips.
“up, you have not earned me” you say to him, raising your arms above your head for him to copy.
he complies with a frustrated groan, too distracted by the stationary heat of your cunt. his injured shoulder begins to groan as he grasps at the railing behind his head. he lays there, his cock begging for relief but mouth wired shut. he has remembered a small part of himself, and that minuscule part is determined not to fix his lips to beg.
large tears spill from his eyes with no warning. the dam breaks in only a moment. his face shines with tears. his lips swollen and the capillaries in his eyes broken. the most beautiful he’s ever been.
your fingers close around his throat, your thumb stroking the large gashes on the sides. his eyes squeeze shut in mild surrender as you bend to suck a large bruise into the only unabused part of his neck you can find.
your tongue licks a hot line to his cheek. he cries out once more. every tear that traverses the slope of his cheeks is met with a kiss and a swipe of your tongue. you’ve never seen a tear leave his eye, much less weep… with the last morsel of innocence tainted, an even deeper appetite emerges. his jaw hangs slack as unrestrained sobs burst from his lips. he is lost within himself, within you.
aerion leans away from your hand that lifts his jaw. disturbed. his lips remain still as your warm mouth captures his.
you disconnect your lips and lift your hips until he slides out of you. completely robbed of sensation.
“we can…we must stop,” you threaten with feigned concern.
“no, please,” he begs with all of the strength his bruised chest can muster. his voice is thick with tears.
“please?” “there must be wool in my ears. i could swear upon my life i heard my dear prince say please”
you recapture his mouth and he concedes for the final time, moaning into the kiss as he grinds his cock between your thighs. a heated exchange of strength through your lips. he begins to struggle to maintain the rhythm of the kiss due to ever-growing weakness. your lips release him as you begin to taste the sweetness of his loss.
you realign yourself with him and begin to grind only forward, focusing only on yourself. he desperately wishes to be the hand massaging brutal circles into your clit.
his hands remain above his head. his eyes can only watch as you use him. he considers begging once more, feeling you begin to clench around him and being powerless to reach his own peak.
a single moment of mercy, he believes. you begin to raise and lower your hips, helping him chase his peak. the edges of his vision begin to blur as he feels the knot in the depths of his belly begin to tighten. when you finish around him, he feels himself begin to dance at the borderline of orgasm. sweat gathers on his brow as his heart reaches terminal speed. with each pulse of your cunt around him his draws quicker breaths. he shuts his eyes, waiting for the dizzying orgasm to rip through his body. his fingers dig into his hands, adding a new injury among a thousand others.
your withdrawal is wordless and quick, ripping yourself from him just before he can finish.
he remains there in his filth, desire spilling over and unable to move. his eyes close as he asks the gods to let enough blood leak onto the sheets that his cock would stop aching.