Chapter 5: A Morning Claimed
Gray dawn light filtered through the high windows, softening the shadows in the cavernous bedchamber. Van woke to a subtle weight on his hips and the slow, sweet ache of a body well-used. He didn’t open his eyes. He knew the shape of that weight, the heat of that skin.
Taichi was already awake, seated over him. Van could feel the hard line of his own morning erection pressing against the cleft of Taichi’s ass. He could feel something else, too—a slick, hot wetness there. Taichi had prepared himself.
Van opened his eyes. Taichi looked down at him, a faint, wicked smile on his swollen lips. His brown hair was mussed, his chocolate eyes dark with intent. He had one hand braced on Van’s chest, the other between his own legs, fingers working slowly, opening himself up.
“Good morning,” Taichi murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
Van’s hands came up to grip Taichi’s narrow hips. His thumbs dug into the sharp bone. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Taking what’s mine,” Taichi said, the smile widening. He shifted, the head of Van’s cock catching, pressing against his entrance. “You said I was yours last night. That makes you mine, too. In here.” He leaned forward, his breath warm against Van’s mouth. “My turn to use you.”
Before Van could respond—before he could decide if he wanted to—Taichi sank down.
It was a slow, excruciating, perfect descent. Van watched, utterly transfixed, as his cock disappeared inch by inch into Taichi’s tight, willing body. Taichi’s eyes fluttered shut, his lips parting on a silent gasp. He took him all the way, until his ass met Van’s thighs, until he was fully impaled. The heat was unbelievable, a silken, clutching vice that made Van’s vision swim.
“Fuck,” Van groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. His fingers tightened brutally on Taichi’s hips.
Taichi began to move. Not with the frantic, driven pace Van had set the night before, but with a slow, rolling grind of his hips. He rose up, almost letting Van slip free, then sank back down with a soft, choked sigh. He set a lazy, torturous rhythm, his inner muscles clenching and fluttering with each movement.
“Like this,” Taichi whispered, riding him with deliberate, sensual strokes. “Just like this.”
Van could only watch, mesmerized by the sight. By the play of muscle in Taichi’s stomach, by the bounce of his cock, already hard and leaking against his belly. By the absolute concentration on his face, a mixture of pleasure and profound control. He was stealing Van’s power, one slow drag at a time, and Van was letting him.
Van’s hands slid up Taichi’s sides, feeling the flex of his ribs, then back down to his ass, kneading the firm flesh. “You feel… gods, you feel like heaven.”
Taichi opened his eyes, his gaze locking with Van’s. “Heaven’s a concept,” he panted, his rhythm hitching. “This is real. This is you, buried inside me. This is me, taking every inch of you.” He leaned back, bracing his hands on Van’s knees, changing the angle. The next downward plunge made them both cry out.
Van thrust up to meet him, and the pace quickened. Taichi rode him in earnest now, his body slapping down against Van’s thighs, the sound lewd and wet in the quiet room. Taichi threw his head back, his throat working, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He was beautiful. Destroyed. In charge.
Van let go. He surrendered to the sensation, to the sight, to the dizzying reversal of roles. He grunted with each drive upwards, meeting Taichi’s frantic bounces. His world narrowed to the exquisite friction, the slap of skin, the smell of sex and sweat and Taichi.
That was when the chamber doors crashed open.
Empress Anya stood framed in the doorway, her gown of state a waterfall of embroidered violet silk, her face a mask of cold, precise fury. Two guards flanked her, their eyes fixed straight ahead, their expressions rigid. She had clearly intended to make an entrance, to drag her husband from his bed for some council or other. The scene before her stopped her dead.
Taichi froze, seated deep on Van’s cock, his body taut. Van didn’t stop. His hands, which had been guiding Taichi’s hips, held him in place. He kept moving, a slow, deliberate upward thrust that made Taichi’s eyes widen.
Anya’s composure shattered. The cold fury melted into something raw and visceral. Her face twisted. “You… you animal!” she spat, the words dripping with venom. “In our bed! With this… this eastern whore!”
Van held her gaze. His thrusts became more pronounced, a blatant, rhythmic rocking. Taichi, caught between them, let out a soft, involuntary moan. His fingers dug into Van’s thighs.
“Get out,” Van said, his voice low and utterly flat.
“I am your Empress!” Anya shrieked, taking a step into the room. “I will not be dismissed so you can rut with your catamite like a common soldier!”
“You are in my private chambers, uninvited,” Van said, never breaking his rhythm. Taichi had begun to move again, a tiny, helpless rocking spurred by Van’s relentless thrusts. “You will leave. Now. Or I will have the guards remove you. They will not be gentle.”
Anya’s eyes darted to the guards, who had not moved a muscle. They were Van’s men, loyal to the throne, not to her. The reality of her power—or lack of it—struck her like a physical blow. Her rage curdled into something desperate, pathetic.
“Look at him,” she hissed, her voice trembling. “Look at your precious favorite. He’s using you. Can’t you see it? He’s a spy, a poison—”
Taichi chose that moment to speak, his voice breathy but clear, pitched for Van’s ears alone but carrying across the silent room. “Deeper,” he murmured, sinking down, taking Van all. “Please, my Emperor. Harder.”
It was the final insult. Anya made a sound like a wounded animal. Van ignored her. He rolled, flipping Taichi beneath him in one powerful motion, never breaking their connection. Taichi’s legs wrapped around his waist, welcoming him. Van pinned Taichi’s wrists to the pillows above his head and drove into him, hard and deep, his gaze locked on Taichi’s face.
“Like that?” Van growled, his voice thick.
“Yes,” Taichi gasped, arching beneath him. “Just like that.”
The doors slammed shut. Anya was gone. The sound was a period at the end of her sentence.
Van didn’t slow. If anything, her intrusion had ignited something darker, more possessive in him. He fucked Taichi with a renewed, punishing intensity. This was his. This was his to take, his to claim, his to defend. The political wife, the alliances, the whispers—they could all burn.
“You heard her,” Van grunted, sweat dripping from his brow onto Taichi’s chest. “She called you a whore.”
Taichi’s eyes were glazed, his lips parted. “I am,” he breathed. “I’m your whore. Fuck me like one.”
Van obliged. He released Taichi’s wrists, grabbed his hips instead, and hauled him into each savage thrust. The bed groaned in protest. Taichi’s cries were muffled by Van’s hand slapped over his mouth, then by Van’s own mouth biting into his shoulder. It was fast, brutal, and spectacularly raw. Taichi came untouched, his release streaking between their stomachs, his body clamping down on Van in frantic pulses. Van followed, pouring into him with a final, grinding shout that felt torn from the root of his soul.
They lay entangled, spent, the only sound their heaving breaths. The dawn light was stronger now, illuminating the dust motes dancing above them and the stark reality of what had just happened.
Van shifted, withdrawing. He looked down at the mess between them, at Taichi’s utterly wrecked and beautiful form. “She will try to kill you,” he stated, repeating Taichi’s words from the night before, but now it was a certainty, not a fear.
Taichi turned his head on the pillow. His smile was back, but it was thin, sharp. “I know.”
Van sat up, running a hand through his silver hair. He looked at the closed doors, then back at Taichi. The calculation, the cold strategy he was known for, slid back into place behind his eyes. The intimacy of moments before was receding, replaced by the grim mechanics of power.
“You won’t leave these chambers unaccompanied,” Van said, his voice all Emperor again. “My personal guard will attend you. Every cup you drink, every piece of fruit you eat, will be tasted first.” He leaned down, his face close to Taichi’s. “You are now the most protected treasure in the empire. And its most tempting target.”
Taichi reached up, traced the line of Van’s jaw. “And tonight?” he asked softly.
A ghost of the earlier hunger flickered in Van’s blue eyes. “Tonight,” he said, “you will be here. In this bed. Waiting for me.” He stood, his nakedness a declaration of power in the empty room. “And you will ride me again. Before I allow any other fucking thing in this world to touch you.”