Chapter 4: Obeying the Emperor's Command
Van’s grip in his hair was iron, a counterpoint to the hot, slick vice of Taichi’s mouth. Taichi’s eyes, wide and streaming, looked up from between Van’s spread thighs, and the sight of that choked, willing submission sent a brutal jolt of desire straight to Van’s core. He held himself there, buried to the hilt in Taichi’s throat, feeling the convulsive swallow around him.
“Good,” Van gritted out, the word strained. “You take it so well.”
He pulled back slowly, letting Taichi drag in a wet, shuddering gasp. Spit slicked Van’s cock, glistening in the low light of the oil lamps. Taichi’s lips were red and swollen, his breath coming in ragged pants, but his chocolate eyes held a spark that wasn’t fear. It was a challenge. An acknowledgment.
Van used his hold on Taichi’s hair to guide him back. “Again.”
Taichi went, his tongue lapping at the head before opening, letting Van slide back in with less force this time, deeper, more controlled. Taichi hummed, the vibration traveling through Van’s entire body. He let Taichi set a rhythm for a few strokes, watching his own cock disappear between those bruised lips, watching Taichi’s throat work. It was an obscene, beautiful sight. A gift only he was allowed to see.
But control was a habit Van couldn’t break. He pushed deeper, fucking his mouth in earnest now, his hips pistonning up from the edge of the bed. Taichi gagged, a wet, choking sound that made Van’s balls tighten. He fucked past it, into the tight, clutching heat. His other hand came down to cup Taichi’s jaw, thumb stroking over the stretched skin.
“You look perfect like this,” Van grunted, his rhythm becoming brutal, erratic. “On your fucking knees. My favorite thing to use.”
Taichi’s hands, which had been resting on Van’s thighs, came up. One wrapped around the base of Van’s cock, not to push away, but to guide, to feel where he was entering. The other hand slid between his own legs, palming himself through the silk of his trousers. The motion was unmistakable. He was getting off on this. On being used.
That was all it took.
Van’s release tore through him with a guttural shout. He shoved Taichi down hard, holding him impaled as he came, pulsing jets of bitter warmth down his throat. Taichi convulsed, swallowing desperately, some of it leaking from the corner of his mouth, a milky streak on his bronzed skin.
Van collapsed back onto the bed, his grip loosening. Taichi pulled off with a wet, gasping cough, staying on his knees, his forehead resting against Van’s thigh. They were both breathing like they’d run a race.
The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the crackle of the lamps and their slowing breaths. Van looked down at the wreckage he’d made of the beautiful courtesan. A strange, unfamiliar feeling washed over him—not just satiation, but something closer to vulnerability. He’d shown this boy a part of himself he showed no one: the raw, unadorned hunger.
Taichi lifted his head. His face was a mess of spit and come and tears. He smiled, a slow, tired, triumphant thing. “Feel better, Your Majesty?”
Van reached down, his hand surprisingly gentle now, wiping his thumb through the mess on Taichi’s cheek. “Don’t call me that. Not here.”
“What should I call you?”
Van didn’t answer. Instead, he hooked his hands under Taichi’s arms and hauled him up onto the bed. Taichi came willingly, his body pliant. Van arranged him on his back against the mountains of silk pillows, then yanked the loose trousers down and off, tossing them to the floor. He looked his fill: the lean muscle, the dark nipples pebbled in the cool air, the cock lying hard and ignored against his stomach, the unique, smooth place between his legs that made him both and neither.
Van leaned over him, bracing himself on his arms. “You pleased me.”
“It’s my job to please you.”
“It wasn’t a job out there,” Van said, nodding toward the hidden door that led back to the throne room. “That was something else.”
Taichi’s gaze was steady. “It was.”
Van lowered himself, covering Taichi’s body with his own, their skin meeting from chest to thigh. The heat was immediate, consuming. He kissed him, deep and searching, tasting himself on Taichi’s tongue. Taichi’s arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer, his legs spreading to cradle Van’s hips.
“I want to feel you,” Van murmured against his mouth, his hand sliding between them. His fingers trailed through the mess on Taichi’s stomach, then lower, tracing the secret entrance. Taichi jerked, a sharp intake of breath. “Is this where you want me?”
Taichi nodded, biting his lip. “Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I want you inside me,” Taichi breathed, his usual composure fraying into raw need. “Fuck me. Please.”
Van needed no further invitation. He reached for the vial of oil on the bedside table, coating his fingers with practiced ease. He pushed one inside, watching Taichi’s face. Taichi’s eyes slammed shut, his back arching off the bed.
“Look at me,” Van commanded.
Taichi’s eyes flew open, dark with pleasure. Van added a second finger, scissoring, stretching. Taichi was tight, impossibly so, and so fucking hot inside. Van curled his fingers, searching, and found it—the small, swollen knot of flesh that made Taichi cry out, a broken, beautiful sound.
“There,” Van whispered, rubbing relentlessly. “You like that. You’re dripping for it.”
“Van,” Taichi gasped, a plea and a prayer. His own cock leaked steadily onto his stomach, untouched.
Van removed his fingers, slicked himself, and positioned his head at Taichi’s entrance. He pushed in with one slow, relentless thrust.
Taichi screamed.
It wasn’t a sound of pain, but of sheer, overwhelming sensation. His body clenched around Van, a velvety, vice-like grip so perfect it made Van see stars. He buried himself to the hilt, holding there, waiting for Taichi’s body to adjust, feeling the frantic pulse and flutter around him.
“Gods,” Van choked out. He’d had countless lovers, men and women, but nothing had ever felt like this. It was like being consumed by a living flame.
He began to move.
It started as a deep, grinding rhythm, each thrust pulling a ragged moan from Taichi’s throat. Taichi wrapped his legs high around Van’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him deeper. The pace quickened, fueled by primal need. The bed, a massive, carved thing, began to rock, the headboard knocking a steady tattoo against the stone wall.
Van fucked him like he was trying to erase the world outside this room. Like he could drive out the memory of the court’s whispers, Anya’s frozen fury, the weight of the crown, by losing himself in this one, perfect body. He braced himself on one hand, the other gripping Taichi’s hip hard enough to bruise.
“Whose are you?” Van grunted, slamming into him.
“Yours!” Taichi cried, his nails scraping down Van’s back.
“Louder.”
“Yours!” Taichi shouted, the words tearing from him. “Only yours!”
Van’s control shattered. He drove into him with punishing force, each impact a jolt that shook the frame. Taichi was sobbing, his own cock untouched and pulsing, leaking onto his stomach with every thrust. Van reached down and fisted him, stroking in time with his own brutal pace. Three rough tugs were all it took.
Taichi came with a soundless scream, his body locking, his channel clamping down on Van in rhythmic, milkling pulses. The sensation was too much. Van buried his face in Taichi’s neck, bit down on the tendon there, and followed him over the edge, his release emptying into Taichi’s depths with a long, shuddering groan.
Collapse was inevitable. Van’s arms gave out and he fell onto Taichi, their sweat-slicked skin sticking together. The room smelled of sex, sandalwood, and salt. For a long time, the only sound was their struggling lungs.
Eventually, Van rolled off, pulling Taichi with him so their bodies remained tangled. He traced idle patterns on Taichi’s shoulder. The silence wasn’t empty. It was full.
Taichi spoke first, his voice hoarse. “She’ll try to kill me, you know.”
Van didn’t need to ask who. “Anya wouldn’t dare.”
“Not herself. A poisoned cup. A ‘tragic accident’ in the baths.” Taichi turned his head to look at him. “She’s smarter than that.”
Van looked at the ceiling, at the shadows dancing on the gold-leafed panels. “Then you’ll have to be smarter.” He turned his head, his blue eyes meeting Taichi’s brown. “I won’t let her touch you.”
It was a promise, reckless and absolute. The kind of promise that started wars in whispered corners of palaces. Taichi heard it for what it was. He said nothing, just shifted closer, his head finding a place on Van’s shoulder.
Outside, the empire slept, unaware that its heart now beat in time with the breath of a gifted courtesan in the emperor’s bed. Inside, surrounded by silk and the scent of their joining, Van held the cause of his own undoing and felt, for the first time in years, truly awake. The consequences would come with the dawn. But dawn was still hours away.