Chapter 6: The Bathroom Break
The low murmur of the State Assembly Hall pressed against the heavy oak doors like a physical force. Dean stood rigidly at his post beside the entrance, the gold braid on his dress uniform itching his neck. Inside, Prince Leto held court amidst a sea of diplomats and ministers, his voice – smooth, persuasive, cutting through the drone – occasionally audible through the thick wood. Weeks had passed since that first raw encounter in the study, since the brutal claiming in the Prince’s chambers. Weeks of midnight summons, of Dean presenting himself in dress uniform only to have it torn off, of being bent over antique furniture and fucked until his thighs shook and his voice broke. Weeks of enduring Leto’s slow, deliberate possession, the scholar-prince meticulously mapping Dean’s limits, pushing him past endurance again and again.
Dean’s jaw ached from clenching. The scar tissue pulled tight. He tracked the Prince’s movements through the sliver of the open door – Leto leaning towards the Veridian ambassador, a hand resting lightly on the old man’s shoulder, that predatory charm radiating outwards. Dean saw the subtle tension in Leto’s shoulders, the faint tightness around his eyes that only someone who’d been under him, gasping and broken, might notice. The meeting had dragged for hours. The air inside was thick with tension, unspoken threats, and the cloying scent of expensive perfumes.
A junior aide scurried past, clutching a sheaf of papers. Dean’s gaze flickered towards the discreet door down the corridor, marked with a simple brass plaque: Gentlemen. The palace bathrooms were marble sanctuaries of echoing silence. He made his decision instantly, a tactical assessment. Risk versus reward. The reward was the Prince’s release. The risk… Dean didn’t dwell on it.
As Leto concluded a point, turning slightly towards the door, Dean caught his eye. Just a fraction of a second. A flicker of recognition, cold and sharp. Dean gave a minute jerk of his head towards the bathroom door, then broke eye contact, staring straight ahead as if nothing had happened. His pulse hammered against his ribs. Seconds stretched. The murmur inside continued. Then, the smooth cadence of Leto’s voice resumed, but Dean heard the faint shift, the subtle dismissal woven into his next sentence. A moment later, Leto excused himself with a graceful nod, citing a momentary necessity. He moved towards the exit, flanked by his usual senior aide, Martell.
Dean stepped forward smoothly, blocking Martell’s path as Leto approached the door. "I’ll attend His Highness, sir," Dean stated, his voice low and flat, meeting Martell’s questioning look with stony indifference. Protocol dictated Martell accompany the Prince everywhere during official functions. Martell hesitated, glancing at Leto.
Leto waved a dismissive hand, his expression bored. "Rhodes suffices, Martell. See that the Veridians don’t start carving up the trade routes in my absence." His tone was light, but the command was absolute. Martell bowed stiffly, shooting Dean a suspicious glance before turning back to the assembly hall doors.
Leto walked down the corridor, Dean falling into step a respectful pace behind him. The sounds of the meeting faded, replaced by the sharp click of their boots on marble. They reached the bathroom door. Leto pushed it open without looking back. Dean followed, closing the heavy door behind them with a soft, definitive click. He engaged the lock. The sound echoed in the sudden, vast silence.
The bathroom was cavernous, all white marble and gleaming chrome. Stalls lined one wall, urinals another. The scent of antiseptic and expensive soap hung in the cool air. Leto turned, leaning back against one of the sinks, his arms crossed. His dark eyes were narrowed, assessing, a flicker of dangerous curiosity beneath the royal composure. "Rhodes," he began, his voice deceptively soft. "This is… unexpected. Explain."
Dean didn’t speak. He moved. With soldier’s efficiency, he unbuckled his dress belt. The leather hissed through the loops. He popped the button of his black trousers, yanked down the zipper. The sound was obscenely loud in the stillness. He pushed the trousers and regulation briefs down his thick, hairy thighs in one motion, letting them pool around his polished boots. He didn’t look at Leto. He turned towards the long row of marble sinks, gripped the cool, smooth edge with both hands, and bent forward from the waist. He spread his legs wide, planting his boots firmly on the tiled floor. His hairy ass was fully exposed, the dense fur dark against his pale skin. The puckered hole, still bearing the faint memory of Leto’s brutal possession weeks prior, was presented openly, vulnerably. He reached back with one calloused hand, fingers spreading his own ass cheeks wide, forcing the tight ring of muscle into stark visibility.
"Thought you could use a break, Your Highness," Dean growled, his voice rough, pitched low. He tilted his hips upwards, offering himself completely. "Looks like the negotiations are tying you up in knots. Figured you needed somethin’… simpler." He flexed his asshole slightly, a silent, filthy invitation. "Been a while since you filled this hole proper."
Leto froze. Utterly still. The only movement was the rapid flare of his nostrils, the sudden darkening of his eyes from cool assessment to pure, predatory hunger. Shock flickered across his aristocratic features, quickly replaced by a feral intensity Dean had only seen in the depths of the Prince’s bedchamber. A low, almost disbelieving sound escaped Leto’s throat – half laugh, half growl. He pushed off the sink.
"Fuck, Rhodes," Leto breathed, his voice thick, stripped of its polished veneer. He was already hard, the thick outline of his cock straining visibly against the fine silk of his formal trousers. He closed the distance in two swift strides. His hands, cool and strong, slammed onto Dean’s hips, fingers digging into the dense muscle and coarse hair. His thumbs pressed hard into the dimples at the base of Dean’s spine. "You presumptuous fucking cunt," he hissed, but there was no anger, only raw, unleashed lust. He leaned forward, his clothed erection grinding against Dean’s exposed ass cheek, his breath hot on Dean’s neck. "Bending over a sink like a common whore… offering me your used hole in the middle of a fucking state function?" He ground his hips harder, the friction making Dean gasp. "You want my cock that badly, soldier? Need it stuffed down your throat or up your ass to remind you of your place?"
Dean pushed back against him, grinding his ass against the hard bulge. "Need you to shut the fuck up and fuck me, Your Highness," he rasped, the defiance in his voice belied by the tremor in his thighs, the way his hole clenched instinctively against nothing. "Before one of those stuffed shirts comes lookin’. This hole’s been empty too long. Feels wrong."
Leto’s hand snaked around Dean’s hip, fingers wrapping roughly around Dean’s already thickening cock. He squeezed, hard, making Dean grunt. "Empty?" Leto scoffed, his other hand releasing Dean’s hip to fumble frantically with his own trousers. The ornate clasp gave way. The zipper snarled down. "After how many times I’ve flooded this greedy cunt?" He shoved his trousers and underwear down just enough to free his cock. It sprang out, fully erect, thick and heavy, the broad purple head already slick with pre-cum. Ten inches of hard, demanding flesh. He gripped the base, the thick veins standing out under his golden skin. "You’re never empty, Rhodes. You’re just waiting for me to fill you again."
He spat onto his fingers, a crude, wet sound, then smeared the saliva roughly over the head of his cock and against Dean’s exposed hole. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly. Dean felt the blunt pressure, hot and insistent, against his tight ring. "Breathe out," Leto commanded, his voice tight with urgency. He lined himself up, the swollen crown pressing firmly against Dean’s entrance. "And take it."
Dean exhaled sharply, forcing his muscles to yield. Leto shoved forward. Hard. No slow seduction, no deliberate claiming. This was raw need. The thick head breached him, stretching him wide open in one brutal thrust. Dean gasped, a ragged sound torn from his throat, his knuckles white where he gripped the sink edge. The marble felt icy against his sweating palms. The stretch burned, deep and immediate, the familiar yet shocking invasion of being filled by Leto’s impossible girth.
"Fuck!" Leto groaned, driving deeper, burying himself to the hilt in one relentless push. His hips slammed flush against Dean’s ass cheeks, the impact echoing in the tiled room. Dean felt stuffed, impossibly full, every inch of that thick cock pistoning deep inside him, stretching him wide, rubbing brutally against his prostate. The pain was sharp, bright, instantly mingling with the shocking jolt of pleasure that radiated outwards from his core. "Christ, you’re tight," Leto gasped, his fingers digging bruises into Dean’s hips. "Like you’ve been clenching for me… waiting…"
He didn’t wait for Dean to adjust. He pulled back almost all the way, dragging his slick shaft out until only the head remained lodged inside, then slammed forward again. Harder. Deeper. Dean cried out, the sound bouncing off the marble walls. His thighs trembled violently. Leto set a punishing pace, short, hard, deep thrusts that hammered Dean’s prostate with every brutal drive. No finesse. No control. Just raw, animalistic fucking. The wet slap of skin on skin, the guttural grunts tearing from Leto’s throat, Dean’s choked gasps – it filled the sterile space with primal urgency.
"Take it!" Leto snarled, pistoning his hips. "Take your Prince’s cock, you filthy slut! Fucking offered it… now fucking swallow it!" He leaned forward, his chest pressing against Dean’s sweaty back, his mouth finding Dean’s ear. "Feel it? Deep in your guts? That’s where you belong. On my cock. Bent over and begging for it." He punctuated each word with a savage thrust.
Dean could only gasp, his vision blurring at the edges. The relentless pounding, the deep, grinding pressure on his prostate, the sheer overwhelming fullness – it short-circuited thought. His cock jerked against his belly, hard and leaking. He was already hurtling towards the edge, the brutal pace leaving no room for resistance. "Fuck… sir…" he choked out, pushing back desperately against Leto’s driving hips, meeting his thrusts. "Harder… fuck… use it…"
Leto growled, low and feral. He shifted his grip, one hand sliding around to fist Dean’s cock roughly. He squeezed the base, denying him release even as his other hand gripped Dean’s hip hard enough to bruise, pulling him back onto each brutal thrust. "Not yet," he hissed into Dean’s ear. "You don’t come until I say. Until I’ve emptied my balls deep inside this greedy hole." He fucked him harder, deeper, the marble sink rattling slightly under Dean’s white-knuckled grip. Dean felt the pressure building, terrifyingly intense, held back only by Leto’s punishing grip on his cock. He was a live wire, every nerve ending screaming, his ass clenching rhythmically around the thick shaft pistoning into him. The sounds were obscene – wet, slapping flesh, ragged breathing, Leto’s low curses, Dean’s broken whimpers.
Leto’s rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming shorter, more frantic. His breathing hitched, ragged gasps against Dean’s neck. "Gonna fill you…" he groaned, his voice thick, strained. "Gonna pump you full… mark you inside…" He slammed home, burying himself impossibly deep, grinding his hips hard against Dean’s ass. Dean felt the cock inside him swell, pulse, and then Leto roared, a raw, unrestrained sound as his orgasm ripped through him. Hot, thick spurts of cum erupted deep inside Dean’s clenching channel, flooding him. Pulse after pulse pumped into him, the wet heat spreading, the ultimate violation. Leto held himself buried, shuddering, his grip on Dean’s cock finally loosening.
The release was instantaneous. Dean’s own orgasm tore through him, untouched, violent and overwhelming. His cock jerked in Leto’s loosened fist, spilling thick ropes of cum onto the pristine white marble floor beneath the sink. He cried out, a hoarse, broken sound, his body convulsing around Leto’s still-pulsing cock, milking the last drops from him. His legs buckled, only Leto’s grip on his hip and the sink keeping him upright.
They stayed locked together for long moments, panting, sweat dripping onto the marble. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the distant, muffled murmur of the state assembly. Leto slowly pulled out, his softening cock sliding free with a wet sound. Dean felt the hot trickle of cum escaping his stretched hole, dripping down his trembling thighs. He stayed bent over the sink, head hanging, gasping for air, his body humming with aftershocks.
Leto stepped back, adjusting his clothing with trembling hands. He looked down at Dean’s wrecked form – trousers around his boots, ass exposed and glistening with sweat and seed, cum dripping onto the floor. A slow, satisfied, utterly predatory smile curved his lips. He reached out, not gently, and traced a finger through the mess on Dean’s inner thigh, bringing it to his own lips. He tasted it, his dark eyes never leaving Dean’s bowed head.
"Presumptuous," Leto murmured, his voice regaining its smoothness, though still breathless. "But effective." He wiped his finger on a pristine white hand towel, discarding it carelessly. "Clean yourself up, Rhodes. Quickly." He moved towards the door, unlocking it. He paused, hand on the knob, and glanced back. The predatory gleam was back, sharper than ever. "Midnight. My chambers. Don’t be late. We’re not finished." He opened the door and slipped out, leaving Dean trembling against the sink, the Prince’s taste and command thick in the air, the scent of sex and power clinging to the cold marble. The distant drone of diplomacy continued, oblivious to the raw claiming that had just transpired in the gentlemen’s bathroom.