Chapter 4: The First Submission
The air in the chamber seemed to thicken, tasting of honey and musk. Aldric moved, the muscles in his thighs tight as he climbed onto the vast expanse of the bed. The silk was cool beneath his knees. Valerion watched him, a satisfied predator, his molten gaze tracing the play of corded muscle across Aldric’s back as he settled.
“Here,” Valerion said, his voice a low melody. He patted a nest of cushions. “On your back. Let me see all of you.”
Aldric obeyed, lying back with a sense of surreal detachment. The frozen moonlight chandelier above cast shimmering, liquid patterns on his scarred torso. He felt enormous here, a rough-hewn boulder dropped onto a tapestry of delicate threads. His cock stood rigid against his stomach, a thick, veined column that seemed to belong to some other, more brutal creature.
Valerion didn’t rush. He knelt beside Aldric first, his silver-gold hair falling like a curtain as he leaned down to kiss him again. This kiss was deeper, hungrier. Aldric responded, his hands coming up to grasp the prince’s slender hips, his fingers sinking into the firm, round flesh. A gasp escaped Valerion, a sharp inhale of pleasure against Aldric’s mouth.
“Yes,” the prince whispered, breaking the kiss. “Use that strength. But not to lead. To hold.”
He moved then, with an uncanny, fluid grace, swinging a leg over Aldric’s hips to straddle him. The heat of Valerion’s body, the weight of him, was electric. Aldric could feel the prince’s own hardness, a sleek, hot pressure against his abdomen. Valerion sat up, looming over him, a pale statue adorned with hair of molten metal. He reached between his own legs, his elegant hand wrapping around Aldric’s girth, guiding him.
The head, broad and blunt, pressed against a place that was impossibly tight, yet already slick.
“Breathe, knight,” Valerion murmured, his eyes locked on Aldric’s. “And watch.”
He began to sink down.
A fierce, hot pressure enveloped the crown. Aldric’s whole body went taut, a strangled groan torn from him. It was too much. It couldn’t fit. Valerion’s face was a study in intense concentration, his lips parted, his breathing shallow. He lowered himself another inch, his body stretching, accepting. A visible tremor ran through his slender frame.
“Gods,” Aldric rasped, his hands gripping Valerion’s thighs so hard he feared he’d bruise the perfect skin.
“Not gods,” Valerion gasped, a shaky smile touching his lips. “Just flesh. Elastic, willing flesh.”
He dropped another inch, and the sensation was blinding. A tight, clutching heat sheathed him further. Valerion’s head fell back, his neck a long, elegant arch, a silent cry on his lips. He paused, his body trembling with the effort of accommodation. Aldric could only stare, mesmerized and horrified by the sight of his own monstrous size disappearing into the prince’s slender form.
Then Valerion began to move in earnest. Not just sinking, but working, a subtle, circular grind that forced a gradual, excruciating yield. It was a battle of dimensions, and the prince was a master tactician. He took every thick inch with a slow, deliberate conquest, his breathing a series of sharp, staccato gasps that bloomed into low, keening moans.
When he was fully seated, Aldric buried to the hilt, they both froze. The feeling was beyond anything Aldric had ever known. A crushing, velvety tightness surrounded him completely. Valerion was panting, sheened with a fine sweat that made his moonstone skin gleam. He looked utterly filled, his stomach taut, his expression one of shattered, exquisite overwhelm.
“See?” Valerion breathed, his voice wrecked. “A perfect fit.”
He rose then, almost all the way, until just the tip remained, the tension thrilling and awful, before slamming back down with a sharp cry. The rhythm began. Valerion rode him with the practiced, devastating skill of a centuries-old expert, each rise and fall a calculated sin. His famous bubble butt clenched and rolled, milking Aldric’s length, finding angles that made sparks shoot behind Aldric’s eyes.
“Touch me,” Valerion demanded, his command fraying at the edges. “Your hands. On me.”
Aldric’s large, calloused hands slid up the prince’s thighs, over the quivering muscles of his abdomen, to palm his slender chest. He thumbed a nipple, and Valerion jolted, his rhythm stuttering into a harder, faster grind. The slick, rhythmic slap of their joining filled the room, a raw counterpoint to their ragged breathing.
Aldric was losing himself. The shame, the confusion, the sheer alien weirdness of it all was being burned away in a furnace of pure sensation. His hips began to meet Valerion’s descents, driving up into that impossible heat. Each thrust punched a broken sound from the prince’s throat—a gasp, a sob, a wordless plea for more.
“You feel it,” Valerion chanted, his eyes wild, his hair sticking to his neck. “You feel what you are. What you do.”
Aldric could only nod, his jaw clenched, a pressure coiling lightning-tight in his gut. The world narrowed to the sight of this beautiful creature coming apart on top of him, to the searing grip of his body, to the scent of sex and crushed petals. The mirrors on the walls seemed to capture the scene endlessly, a thousand reflections of their frazzled, animal union.
Valerion’s movements became frantic, losing their polished control. His own cock, trapped between their bodies, leaked in rhythmic pulses against Aldric’s stomach. “Now,” he hissed, his body clamping down in a series of violent spasms. “Give it to me. Now.”
It was both order and surrender. The coil in Aldric’s core snapped.
His vision whited out. A raw, guttural roar was torn from his throat as he surged up, burying himself as deep as he could go, and emptied himself in long, pulsing waves. The force of it seemed to go on forever, a flood claiming its vessel. Valerion screamed, a high, pure sound of fulfillment, his own release striping Aldric’s chest as his body milked every last drop from the knight’s shuddering form.
The collapse was gradual. Valerion slumped forward, boneless, his head falling onto Aldric’s heaving chest. They were both slick with sweat and spend, stuck together, breathing in ragged, broken synchrony. The crushing tightness around Aldric slowly eased, but didn't relinquish him entirely.
Minutes passed. The humming silence of the chamber returned, now heavy with the musk of their joining.
Valerion finally stirred, pushing himself up on trembling arms. He looked down at Aldric, his amber eyes soft, sated, and profoundly possessive. A slow smile, tired but triumphant, graced his lips. He leaned down and placed a soft, claiming kiss on Aldric’s mouth.
“The terms,” he whispered, “are agreed upon.”
He shifted, finally lifting off, and Aldric felt a strange, immediate emptiness, a chill where there had been overwhelming heat. Valerion curled beside him, one elegant hand resting on Aldric’s sternum, over the beating heart.
“Sleep, knight,” the prince murmured, his voice already slurred with exhaustion. “The court awaits your prowess tomorrow. They are… eager for a demonstration.”
Before Aldric could process the horror or the dark thrill of those words, a deep, dreamless sleep pulled him under, still tangled in the scent of the prince and the silken wreckage of the bed.