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When chaos in Camp Broken Glass had been unleashed, Lyng's instincts took hold before his brain could even process what was happening. His hand was on his lance and his legs were rushing forward to knock one of the enthralled Garleans away from a contingent soldier–
When suddenly two hands clasped his shoulders from behind.
"Ah-ah-ah," a chilling, familiar voice—the voice of a long dead man—cooed into his ear. "My lord requests your presence, brave hero. It would be terribly rude to keep him waiting."
As Lyng whirled about, the visage of Fandaniel inhabiting the stolen corpse of Asahi smiled back at him, catlike, donning a Limsan soldier's attire. Hiding in plain sight.
With a snarl, Lyng spun his lance upon his new target and charged forward—only to feel himself grabbed by the air itself, pulled and displaced as the Ascian's magic whisked him away. All went dark, and he felt like his breath had been stolen along with his body, as his consciousness gave way to pitch black nothing.
When Lyng blinked his bleary eyes back open, he felt a sudden unbelievable throbbing in his head, worse than any headache the Echo had ever given to him. A ridiculous first thought suddenly occurred to him, that if he could be so easily taken off guard and knocked out by their enemy, they could have killed him an age ago. Should have.
Fandaniel could have grabbed him in his sleep, or while he was bathing, or while he was eating, or really at any number of points when he'd been distracted and vulnerable, his lance not even in his hand. Hells, he'd grabbed him mid-attack, like the weapon had been nothing but a sharpened stick and not a spear that had felled literal gods. The Ascian had at least previously behaved like Lyng had been a threat, or an inconvenience. But if he could be so easily grabbed and knocked unconscious…
And he wasn't even dead, breath still in his lungs, even as his vision swam and his head spun. The contradiction was so absurd that it threw into question all of the enemy's motives thus far.
Slowly making to sit up and get a better understanding of the situation, Lyng quickly realized that he couldn't move. His arms were pinned up above his head, and when he tried to jerk them, there was a short snap of a rope on his wrists. His legs, too, were tied at each ankle, and spread wide. He was prone in this position, tied up while laying down, though his eyes still made such a blur in the dim light that he couldn't make heads or tails of his full situation.
"What–"
He tried to say. But his mouth practically slurred the word, like his lips were alien to him. Gods above, what had they done to him?
As his bleary eyes finally began to clear and the throbbing in his temples subsided to a more tolerable pain, Lyng noticed the figure sitting beside him. Watching him, silently.
He jerked against the ropes again, startling at the sight of the face that met his own gaze.
It was himself.
The imposter in his own skin was wearing aught but a red silk robe, slipped partly from one black scaled shoulder. Familiar aether azure eyes were fixed upon his own, half lidded with an expression Lyng had never seen upon his own face before. He couldn't tell at first if it was boredom or hungry desire—though he was quickly led to believe it was the latter as his own dark skinned hand, fingers warm and calloused, gripped him by the chin and tilted his head back as though inspecting a fly caught in a web.
"Loath though I was to do it to my own body, the Ascian had a point," he heard his own voice speak. "The sedative was necessary to keep you from breaking free. Restraints alone would never have been enough to keep you. Or me, as it were."
The words only partly made sense to Lyng, only vaguely illuminated what was going on. He'd been sedated and tied up, then? To what end?
"Who are you?" he forced himself to ask, though his own voice sounded sleep rough and strange, tongue heavy in his mouth.
The imposter lowered his gaze, and a smirk played across his lips—another expression he'd never seen himself make before, one he hadn't even been aware he was capable of making. It was nothing short of devilish. "A better question would be to ask who you are." And he gestured upward, towards the ceiling.
Lyng followed the gesture warily with his eyes. And what he saw made him choke, made him gasp, made his stomach churn and his head spin with confusion, body jerking against the ropes again.
There was a large mirror there, attached to the ceiling above him—above the bed he was anchored to, he realized—and the face that looked back down at his own…
It wasn't his face.
It was that of the Garlean prince.
Zenos yae Galvus looked down at Lyng with an expression of abject terror, a face he'd never, never seen the prince make before. His eyes raked over the scene, Zenos's naked body tied down to the bed with his hands pinned up high and his legs spread down low.
Looking back down at himself, Lyng realized the truth of what was happening, and he cried out in horror.
His body was not his own. Soft blonde hair fell across bare shoulders, over large toned pectorals. His skin was cool, pale, and smooth. He was a stark contrast to the dark, scaled body which sat beside him, black hair streaked with aether falling across curved Xaelan horns and horribly amused azure eyes.
"How?!" Lyng asked in a panic, struggling sluggishly in his bonds.
"Perhaps you recall a magitek engineer by the name of Aulus mal Asina," another voice spoke from the corner.
Lyng whipped his head about, and he spotted the Ascian sitting in a plush, embroidered chair, inspecting his fingernails nonchalantly. His voice was altered—not the voice of the man whose body he'd stolen any longer, but a raspier, somehow more sinister lilt. The Ascian's true voice, Lyng had to presume.
"I believe it was the end of your spear that found its way into his gut back in Ala Mhigo, was it not? Or perhaps his gut found your spear?" Fandaniel asked with a shrug. "A sticky end for him either way, but he was kind enough to leave behind his soul extraction and implantation technology for us to play with."
Lyng had a brief flash of remembrance, of a nasally Garlean scientist—the man that had experimented on poor Krile, and had temporarily knocked Lyng's soul out of his body. As Fandaniel said, Lyng had run him through several years ago.
"I took the liberty of making some improvements—and selecting you as my esteemed test subject," Fandaniel continued, looking to Lyng and grinning wide. "It was a gamble, putting your soul in that body, but my lord insisted. And who am I to deny his whims? Besides, I am curious to see how this might play out."
Lyng said nothing in response to the conniving schemer, his teeth grit and eyes burning. Begging, shouting, demanding they undo this horror they'd committed wouldn't yield him anything but ridicule. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction of knowing how terribly they'd rattled him… and yet he trembled still.
"Frightened, are we?" Zenos said in Lyng's own voice, with Lyng's own mouth, drawing his attention back. His accent was wrong—it was a tinny Garlean accent that left his lips, not his own. "You needn't worry, my friend, I wouldn't hurt you whilst you inhabit that body. I'm rather fond of it, after all."
Lyng scowled at the body thief and snarled out in his deeper, Eorzean accent, with the prince's voice, "Remind me how it was that you died back in Ala Mhigo, Zenos? Whose blade was it that cut your throat?"
Zenos had nearly decapitated himself then in some mad fit which Lyng, to this day, still did not understand. He'd forfeited his flesh for a time, freed his soul from it, only for his angry ghost to hop from one body to another until he could reclaim his original body again. That there was no scar upon his throat to boast of what had happened was not due to any care for the body by the prince himself, but rather by Elidibus's handiwork, who had painstakingly repaired it for his own use.
This body had seen more than its fair share of abuse, and Lyng did not, for a second, trust that Zenos would care what happened to it, regardless of whose soul was inhabiting it.
The thief's eyes grew wide with a mad delight at the rhetorical questions asked, and he laughed, "Touché! In fairness, I have long imagined what it would be like to be hurt by your hands. To know what it would be like for you to grip me by my throat and choke me lifeless. To have you rake those fingernails across my flesh, bite my neck with those sharp fangs of yours, to draw blood and drink deep."
The prince in his stolen body reached down and ran his fingers along Lyng's gifted chest, ghosting over the curves of his pectorals, over his abs, nails threatening to do all that Zenos had fantasized. Lyng's breath hitched, and he struggled against the ropes again—uselessly, it seemed, for the sedative that Zenos had given to his own body made him groggy, unable to put his full strength behind the movements. If they hadn't drugged him, Lyng knew he could have used this body to overpower such meager bonds. Perhaps even overpower himself, though such a contest was one Lyng had purposefully denied the other man, not eager to indulge his obsessive desire for a fight.
"Fret not, dear warrior, I am not here to challenge you in combat, to test the strength of our wills over the strength of our bodies. Though I would relish in such a fight, I can see, you will not hunt for prey you’ve already bested once—not until I prove myself worthy of your attentions. No, more interested am I in exploring what this body of yours is capable of, in a... Dominating, animalistic, pleasurable sense," Zenos purred. And he rolled his legs up onto the bed, spreading his dark thighs. Between his legs was Lyng's cock, already partly erect, the head pink and swollen and poking up from the foreskin, the underside covered in ridges of ebony scales.
Lyng should have anticipated Zenos's other depraved desire, should have realized from their nakedness alone what he'd had planned for their bodies. He'd known Zenos had long craved from him not only the thrill of battle, but sexual release as well. Yet still he felt his mouth fall open in shock at the implication of what he intended. That he would so violate Lyng's body!
His eyes shot to Fandaniel, though whether or not his expression was pleading, or perhaps just horrified that the Ascian seemed to be keeping his eyes on him with keen interest, he couldn’t precisely say.
Fandaniel blinked at him, and only smiled wider. “Oh, don’t mind me, hero! I simply must stay for the main event. I’d say I’d be tempted to join in, but I’m afraid my dear master would object to my participation. Perhaps I’ll have some other role to play, but for now, I will be hands off, content to merely watch.”
Not seeming to care about the Ascian’s presence in the slightest, Zenos reached down to touch his stolen cock, fingers beginning to stroke himself to hardness.
"Do not dare!" Lyng gasped, thrashing weakly against the ropes once again. "Do not dare touch–!"
Lyng's words were interrupted when Zenos reached over to stroke along his—that is to say, Zenos's body's—pale cock, gripping the soft member and roughly pumping it in his fist. "Would you prefer that I touch this body you inhabit? That I stir you to arousal, take you in hand the way I so often do thinking of you, my friend?"
Lyng groaned with angry desire and hissed with forced pleasure, his hips bucking at the feeling of that hand being so rough with him. It hurt, the way he was gripped dry and pulled hard, and yet he could somehow tell, this body was used to such rough treatment, its cock responding of its own volition to the familiar abuse. "Fuck, Zenos! Stop!" Lyng growled, trying to turn his hips away from him.
Zenos licked the lips of his stolen body, pink tongue flicking over caramel, eyes wide as he watched Lyng's face twist and contort with fury. "So long have I imagined what I would look like beneath you, at your mercy," he said softly, with something in his tone like awe. "But never did I think I could look so vulnerable…"
He let go and climbed atop of Lyng then, throwing one leg over him and straddling him, bracing himself upon the bed with either hand by Lyng's head, staring down madly into his eyes. Lyng snarled at him, teeth gnashing, a Xaelan gesture that felt odd to mimic with a Garlean's face. It only made Zenos smile down at him.
"Any hurts you give to this body will be yours to bear later, my friend," he said coldly. "So bite me all you like, the consequences will be yours."
Lyng only spat in Zenos's face.
Zenos licked at the spittle as it dripped down his cheek, before crashing their lips together in a ravenous, starving kiss.
"Mmph–!" Lyng tried to cry out, tried to twist his face away, but Zenos was grabbing at his long blonde hair by his scalp, yanking it hard to keep their lips pressed together. His tongue swirled over Lyng's lips, forcing the slick appendage into his mouth, and Lyng did have in him the urge to bite down, bite his tongue off. But remembering that it was his body that the tongue ultimately belonged to, he couldn't.
How despicable! How cunning, in a way that was infuriating! Zenos was right, Lyng couldn't fight back and risk lasting injury to his own body. He was completely and utterly at the prince's mercy.
Zenos did bite himself though, bit at the pale lips Lyng had been granted, fisting harder into his hair as he continued to kiss him relentlessly, breathlessly. How long had Zenos been craving this kiss, he wondered? Years, most likely, if his enthusiasm was anything to go by. The obsessive desire for him made Lyng's stomach lurch.
As their lips never parted, Lyng felt the ridges of his stolen body's cock grind down against the smooth, borrowed one he bore. Those hard scales slid along the head of the pale cock, rubbed it roughly, before catching on the foreskin and pulling it down. And then up again, and down. Lyng had never slept with another Au Ra before, wasn't sure if they all bore scales on their cocks the way his did. He'd never experienced this sensation himself, even if he'd given the experience to his own partners. He hadn't realized it would feel this simultaneously painful... And wonderful.
Gods, but what would it feel like inside of him?
It wasn't want that made the question come to mind, but fear. Fear that Zenos, who was no stranger to lasting pain, wouldn't use any form of lubricant, would try to fuck him raw with that cock. There would be blood if he tried, Lyng had no doubt.
But the thought was moot, as Zenos made to move again, finally breaking their kiss and shifting up towards the head of the bed. It seemed he had other plans to start.
Zenos practically sat upon Lyng's face, up on his knees and turning to face the end of the bed with his hardened cock hanging down just above Lyng’s lips. Realizing what he intended to do, Lyng clenched his jaw tight and tried to look away defiantly. Zenos only grabbed his face with a bruising grip, thumbs pressing down hard into his cheeks as he forced his head into position, tilted back with his throat stretched parallel, and commanded, "Open your mouth."
Lyng refused to comply.
Zenos huffed, and then smiled, before bringing his nails to the stolen body's chest and raking them across the dark skin so hard and so fast that he drew blood.
"Zenos!!" Lyng shouted in alarm at the harm done to his own body.
"You're in no position to refuse, hero," he said with a sinister grin. "As I said, these will be your hurts to bear."
In the distant background, Lyng could hear Fandaniel laughing.
Lyng wished he knew how he could hurt Zenos in return, wished he could hurt this body the way Zenos was hurting his own—wished that Zenos would even care, for as he'd already acknowledged, Zenos's body was no stranger to abuse, self inflicted or otherwise. The only thing that ever seemed to get under the prince's skin was Lyng's apathy, an unwillingness to even play his games. But he was forced into the game this time. Not playing was not an option when his own body was being held hostage.
Slowly, indignantly, Lyng opened his mouth, and prayed that the prince's body didn't have a gag reflex. He knew his own didn't, but that had been a result of practice, and he somehow doubted Zenos preferred to give head over taking it.
"Good," the prince purred, re-gripping Lyng by the face with both hands and stroking his thumbs over his cheeks, almost affectionately. "Yes... Good..." And he lowered his cock into Lyng's mouth.
Lyng had never taken someone in his mouth upside down like this before. He'd also never taken anyone with a ridged cock down his throat before either. It was a mixture of odd new sensations, and he quickly discovered that no, the Garlean prince's body in fact did not have a gag reflex, as that entire long cock slid down his throat, textured scales rubbing and scraping and leaving it raw and sore.
Zenos pet the pale throat that bulged with the inward thrust of his cock. He pulled back, and then thrust again, all the way to the base. And then again, and again, fucking into that tight throat with an ever quickening pace. Ruthlessly, relentlessly. Lyng felt his mind going blank as he was made breathless, choked by his own cock, his head spinning again with both the lack of air to his lungs and the drug still heavy in his blood. He wondered if maybe Zenos would come like this, bring that cock off using Lyng's borrowed mouth alone. It would at least save Lyng the trouble of having to deal with that cock in any other capacity if he did.
Just get this over with, he inwardly screamed, unable to shout the plea aloud.
Zenos chuckled at Lyng's resignation, and bent forward to plant a kiss upon one of the light pink nipples of that pale body's fat pectorals, giving a few more shallow thrusts into his throat as he did. And then he pulled out entirely—leaving Lyng a wheezing, coughing mess, his throat raw and sore from the tear of those scales as they'd raked inside his soft skinned esophagus. Drool dripped down the sides of his mouth, leaving wet streaks; he was surprised when he realized tears were meeting the saliva, streaming down his face in twin rivers.
Whether the tears were from the pain in his throat or the humiliation he'd been enduring, Lyng struggled to tell at first. But looking up at the mirror again, the sight of Zenos's eyes red rimmed and crying convinced him it was moreso the latter. Seeing himself like that, seeing such an alien expression of sorrow on the prince's face, was so wholly upsetting that it almost caused Lyng to break down sobbing. He looked wrecked.
Zenos turned his head up towards the mirror in turn, and he smirked, petting through the blonde hair Lyng now sported. "Beautiful..." he whispered, shaking his head. "I did not know I could look so beautiful... So broken by you…"
"You haven't broken me," Lyng protested, squeezing his eyes shut tight. His voice was a quiet rasp now, a total mess thanks to that awful throat fucking. He wondered if he'd ever inadvertently hurt his past partners the way Zenos had just hurt him, and chastised himself for never having considered it until now.
"Not yet," Zenos conceded to him with a hum. "But there is still time, my friend."
"You're disgusting," Lyng spat venomously at his captor.
"And yet you react so eagerly," Zenos shot back, crawling down over Lyng so that he was on all fours, hovering above the man beneath him with his cock still dangling over his face. One dark hand went to grip at Lyng's given cock again, sliding a thumb across the head. The pale cock was stiff in his palm, erect and aching.
"'Tis this body–!" Lyng tried to argue.
"This body, too, is eager," Zenos interrupted, reaching between his own legs to stroke his spit-slick and erect cock a few more times. "You cannot deny a mutual attraction."
"I do deny it–!"
Lyng choked as he was interrupted by Zenos suddenly returning the previous favor, swallowing down the thick cock Lyng bore. He tried again in vain to twist his hips away, but strong hands pinned them down against the bed, cock shoved roughly into the tight velvet of that mouth.
Lyng groaned in forced pleasure yet again, and he thought to himself it was a good thing he'd taken so many Roegadyn partners when he was younger, trained his throat for this. Zenos's cock was nearly as big as one of theirs, his body absolutely huge for a Garlean—as tall as Lyng at seven fulms, if not taller, and certainly broader. This body's cock at least couldn't easily damage the other's throat, though the pace and enthusiasm with which Zenos was sucking him off still slightly worried him.
As Zenos bobbed his head, fucking that cock into his throat, the black whip of his tail swung down and stung Lyng's cheek, drawing blood. Lyng hissed in pain, and then cried out again in ever greater ecstasy when Zenos scraped fangs against the sensitive head of his fat cock head, licking the pre-cum that beaded at his slit.
"Stop!" Lyng shouted again, as loud as he could with his still aching voice."Sweet Rhalgr, I beg you stop!!"
Zenos didn't oblige him, relishing in the taste of his own body's slick.
Lyng's breathing became heavy and labored as he tried to willfully ignore the sensations, tried to deny the pleasure—entirely unsuccessfully as he shook and shuddered, feeling an orgasm building despite himself. Was it this body, then, or his mind, his soul, that was reacting to this stimulation? When the two were so linked in this way, did it truly make a difference? He felt the pleasuring as his own, even unwanted as it was.
And gods help him, it felt so good.
He'd gone so long without such intense intimacy, the traumas of his time upon the First creating so much physical and emotional distance between himself and those he loved…
Lyng had agreed to this war against the Telophoroi with the sincerest belief that he wouldn't live beyond the year. He’d forsaken intimacy as a result.
As he felt himself burning hotter, brighter, the ache in his loins surging to full on ecstasy, Zenos pulled his mouth free and stopped. His hand gripped the base of Lyng's cock and squeezed hard, a strong vice grip that hurt so much it tore a scream from Lyng's lips as he arched his back.
Lyng had never heard Zenos's voice cry out in such pain before. He doubted Zenos ever had either. It was enlightening to realize that this body's tolerance for pain was no different than his own—that it was Zenos's broken mind which made him endure hurts like they were pleasing.
A peel of low, amused laughter broke from Zenos's lips, as the prince in his stolen body shifted to sit upon Lyng's chest, looking over his shoulder at him. His tail thrashed again, hitting Lyng in the neck this time, though only leaving a stinging red line and not quite breaking skin. "I must say, I am impressed with this body. 'Tis little wonder to me now why we are so evenly matched. Your strength, your endurance… I must know your stamina next."
And Zenos rolled off of him and the bed entirely, bare feet padding across the metal floor towards a table by Fandaniel. He plucked up a crystal decanter and uncorked it with his teeth, spitting the glass stopper on the ground as he poured the contents across one hand. And then more over his cock, stroking himself again. Fandaniel hummed his approval, eyes wide and curious as he watched, one leg crossed over the other.
Panting and straining harder against the ropes, Lyng groaned, "What are you doing–?"
"A small kindness for my own body," Zenos interrupted him.
Oh. Oh he truly meant to…
Lyng thrashed harder, as hard as he could in the state he was in. He pulled his arms down, his legs up, and the ropes on his limbs dug into his skin, while the metal posts the ropes were attached to groaned.
“Oh, I wouldn’t suggest that,” Fandaniel chuckled, resting his hand on his chin, elbow on the chair’s cushioned armrest. “My lord has another means of restraint, you know. One far less pleasant than sedatives and ropes.”
Zenos silently continued to fist his cock, pumping it slick with more oil, a wet sound resounding with each stroke.
Lyng ignored the Ascian’s warnings and pulled as hard as he could, eyes shutting as he put the full strength he could resolve to find within this drug addled body into snapping the ropes.
With a crack, all of the ropes finally gave.
And then in an instant there was a sudden weight upon his torso, a clawed hand grabbing his wrists and shoving them down into the mattress to stop his escape. A pale white face, expressionless, its eyes covered by two small and childlike hands, stared down at him—somehow seeing him, as it tilted its head curiously.
The sight of it froze Lyng in terror, his eyes wide and lips parted in a silent gasp.
The creature pulled back slightly, but kept him in place, its other claw feeling over the body beneath it. Not sensually, but curiously, as if confused, as if it didn't understand the shape of what it was holding. Dark aether billowed from its body, black tentacles swayed from its shoulders, and a thorned halo sat atop its head, like a demonic twisted version of a sin eater.
A voidsent, then. But where had it come from?
"Perhaps you might not have heard of the true origin of the Garlean Empire's strength—before it was an empire, that is," Zenos said, approaching the voidsent and taking it by its porcelain chin. He directed the creature's sightless gaze towards himself, and it was docile in his hands, like an obedient hound. "Though we Garleans never had a propensity for magic like the other races, that did not mean we were without it. The rift between here and the void is treacherously thin, and our ancestors were willing to make deals with devils for the strength to crush their enemies. Great-grandfather dissolved their order in favor of magitek weapons when the empire was founded, but their arts weren't wholly lost. And binding a being to your will, dominating a beast and bidding it to grant you greater strength…"
Zenos shrugged a black scaled shoulder and chuckled, letting go of the voidsent, which remained silent as it looked back down at Lyng—at Zenos's visage.
"It appealed to me."
And the prince in his stolen body climbed back onto the bed, grabbing Lyng by his wide and plush hips and slotting between his legs.
"Zenos, don't!" Lyng shouted, trying to struggle again. The voidsent pushed his wrists harder into the mattress, its weight pinning his chest. "Please, I beg you!"
There was no further preparation, no fanfare, as Lyng was speared open by his own cock sliding inside so forcefully that it punched the breath out of his lungs. Zenos withdrew and thrust in again, rocking his entire Xaelan body into the motion—rocking Lyng's entire Garlean body in turn. Lyng cried out, legs and arms instinctively jerking hard, pushing against the claw at his wrists, legs bending at the knees. The voidsent held him firmer, but, oddly, it reached its free claw down to stroke along his face.
An almost soothing, gentle gesture.
Zenos certainly didn't tell it to do that.
But being fucked into again, he couldn't focus on the voidsent's strange actions, shutting his eyes as each thrust hit him deep inside. Mercifully, Zenos was well oiled up, and the ridges of that scaled cock didn't hurt as much as he'd worried they would—though, like this, they were at the wrong angle to feel pleasant, only tolerable. Clawed fingers continued to pet at Lyng's face, and the voidsent even deigned to kiss him with its porcelain lips, a chaste coolness against his warm mouth. It kissed his cheek, his nose, even his forehead just below the false third Garlean eye that protruded there, before returning to his lips.
Lyng could only let out a gentle little whimper at the affectionate treatment. It felt as if the dark creature was trying to say 'I am so sorry' but without the use of words. If Zenos noticed its little ministrations, he didn't seem to care.
What he did seem to care about, instead, was their position. With a frustrated little grunt, he abruptly pulled out, causing Lyng to shake and shudder.
Both Zenos and the voidsent pulled off of Lyng at once, and though he ached with hurts, strains, and unrelieved pleasuring, still he forced himself upright, lunging for Zenos's neck. His own neck. Damage to his own body be damned, if he could simply choke Zenos unconscious–
The voidsent grabbed him at lightning speed and flipped him onto his belly, pushing him down hard. Both claws grabbed either hand, and the tentacles upon its shoulders wrapped themselves forward around Lyng's chest, its full weight upon his back. Lyng grunted and tried to wriggle free, but it only hissed into his ear and pinned him more viciously.
He could feel Zenos slide that cock into him again, and Lyng cried out, sobbing as he was fucked more vigorously, more violently, each thrust hard and rapid and aimed, perfectly, into his aching prostate. The scales did rub him right this time, drawn roughly across that tight spot, and mixed with his cry was a traitorous moan that bubbled up and out of his lips.
Zenos, for his part, was stoically silent as he rutted, aught but the gentle huffs of his breath audible over the sound of flesh slapping on flesh. Lyng keened as he kept this terrible pace, and the voidsent leaned down to pepper more little kisses along his cheek, over his tears, then down his bare neck. He shivered at the feeling, and he couldn't tell if the juxtaposition of the gentleness with Zenos's brutality was making this better or worse.
Why was the voidsent doing this to him? Surely it didn't pity him.
I do pity you, he could somehow hear it hiss in his ears, though it didn't seem to speak aloud. Our bodies and souls have both been violated. We bend to his will. Nothing about this is mutual, Friend.
The way the word 'Friend' had come across to Lyng was as though the creature thought 'Friend' was his name. Lyng didn't have it in him to correct it, latching instead onto the phrase 'Nothing about this is mutual.'
Lyng's moan turned partly into a rueful laugh despite himself. For the words, as comforting as they were meant to be, weren't quite true. The desire, of course, that wasn't mutual. He didn't want this, didn't want him.
But the pleasure… he was feeling pleasure…
They were both feeling pleasure.
If the voidsent had a response to that, it didn't voice it, though Lyng did notice that it had stopped kissing him. All Lyng could think, and hope the strange creature understood, was that he pitied it too. He would pity anyone or anything forced to serve Zenos.
His thought was abruptly interrupted, though, when Zenos reached around and grabbed Lyng's cock with his still oily hand, pumping it quick in time with his thrusts.
"Gods, Zenos, it's too much!" Lyng groaned at him, his legs shaking, his hands trembling. "Fuck, please, just… just let me…"
Zenos answered him by twisting them both onto their sides, falling onto the bed with Lyng as the voidsent floated up and off of his back. Zenos's warmth—the warmth of Lyng's body, his ruddy skin always as warm as the desert sands—took its place, scaly chest pressed to smooth spine. Zenos curled one leg up and over Lyng's and kept fucking into him. He wrapped his free Xaelan arm around Lyng's broad, pale chest, and the gesture almost would have seemed like an embrace, except his nails dug in and raked across his skin like a cat's claws, leaving bloodied trails behind. Lyng's instincts about Zenos's care for this body had been right. He could only grip back at his hand, holding it so tightly that he went white knuckled. He couldn't even find the strength to struggle out of his grasp, panting heavily as he moaned louder. And oh how he hated the sound of Zenos's voice coming from his mouth, half caterwauling with his mid-pitched gravelly shouts.
Some disgusting, sick part of his mind could only think, this would have been so much better if they hadn't changed bodies, if Zenos were fucking him using his own body instead.
Only Zenos seemed like he wanted to be dominated by him. Like he was currently having his cake and eating it, living out the fantasy of being raped by his dearest 'friend' while simultaneously being the one in control, the one dominating.
"Going to," Lyng panted. "Going to…"
His vision went white hot and searing as he felt the body he was trapped within coil up and stiffen, pleasure peaking so hard that he went numb for a split moment. And then he was crashing over the edge, hard, coming relentlessly across the bedsheets. Zenos kept fucking him through it, kept stroking him, milking the fat cock for every rope of thick cum he could manage to coax, letting it stain his fingers. Lyng had never come so much in his life, feeling his balls twitch with every spasm, feeling more and more shoot from the tip as a full minute passed.
“The young prince is virile, it seems!” Fandaniel cackled. “As any heir to an empire ought to be. What terrible irony that your paramour can’t bear you a child, my lord.” Lyng had almost forgotten the presence of the Ascian in all their mad fucking. For some terrible reason, he met Fandaniel’s gaze, and his face flushed bright red with mortification as the Ascian smiled sweetly at him, almost adoringly. Lyng had to shut his eyes, his chest aching with disgrace.
As Lyng continued to come, Zenos didn’t stop for even a moment, eager to bring himself to his own climax. The overstimulation made Lyng clench and tighten, clutching ever tighter to Zenos’s hand, blood seeping over their fingers from the wounds to Lyng’s chest. He could swear he also felt the dampness of blood from those wounds Zenos had given to his stolen body against his back. But heavens, why did the iron scent make him dizzy with even greater pleasure?
It wasn’t long before Zenos finally found his own release, and Lyng could feel himself being filled, flooded with the warmth of his own seed. His own body wasn’t half as prolific at producing as Zenos’s body apparently was, but it was still enough to coat his insides.
Half gasping for air, panting heavily as he held onto Zenos ever tighter, Lyng felt light headed in the aftermath of his intense orgasm. He dared to have the grateful thought that well, at least it was over now.
Why he’d tempted fate like that, he didn’t know.
“What do you say, now that we’ve had our fill of one another, you treat me to a hunt after all, my friend?” he heard his own voice whisper into his ear, sharp horn scraping against his cheek.
“What??” Lyng hissed in confusion.
But before he could get an answer, Zenos was roughly pushing him off of the bed with such force that Lyng felt his body half fly through the air. He hit the floor roughly, the texture of it the same chitinous metal grating that made up all of the towers which Fandaniel had spread across the land. He made to scramble to his feet despite his exhaustion and the drug still coursing through his veins, only to be grabbed again by that voidsent, held firm in its arms and its tentacles. Cum leaked from his hole and down his leg as he struggled in its grasp.
Zenos ran one bloodied hand through his sweat drenched spikes, licking Lyng’s spend from his other. He rolled off the bed and stood, approaching Lyng and looking up at him, tilting his head at him as he smirked. “I am not satisfied yet.”
“Ah, I will take that as my cue,” Fandaniel chimed in as he practically hopped up from his seat with a bounce of his heels. He snapped his fingers in an all too familiar gesture, and Zenos's stolen form was suddenly clothed, donning the thick padded winter armor Lyng had been wearing when they'd kidnapped him, lance strapped to his back. "I take it you are ready for an excursion, my lord?" Fandaniel asked Zenos, smiling with a grin that looked false and sinister.
Zenos adjusted the gear on his body, refitting the gloves and re-shouldering the lance. And then he smirked at Lyng, and vanished into a portal of dark violet smoke.
The voidsent vanished with him, and Lyng was dropped to the ground in a heap.
Fandaniel feigned looking taken aback, holding his hands up in the air as he gave an exaggerated expression of shock at Lyng's predicament. "Oh dear! Whatever would happen if my lord were to greet your friends as you? I shudder to imagine what carnage he would wreak!"
Despite his pain, his exhaustion, his sedation, and the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through him, Lyng staggered desperately to his feet, lunging to grab for the Ascian. He stumbled past as Fandaniel deftly teleported out of his grasp, appearing just behind him.
"Now now, I think we'd better hurry if you're keen to avoid the bloodbath. Though I do wonder how your friends might react to you in that body, attacking my lord while he inhabits yours," Fandaniel chuckled, beaming as he snapped his fingers again—clothing Lyng this time in Zenos's attire. Minus any weapon, of course. "Oh well, best of luck, hero! You can thank me for my generosity later."
And before Lyng could protest, before he could even begin to think of a response, he was gone again. Whisked away to the wastes of the ruined city of Garlemald, left to hunt his 'dear friend.'