Chapter 7: The Pact
Steam rose from the water, thick and white, wrapping around them like a private cloud. Drac lay back against the smooth rock of the pool’s edge, his massive chest heaving. Water lapped at the old scars on his green skin. He was spent, a contented growl rumbling in his throat as he watched the other two.
Kazan, however, wasn’t done. He moved over Silas with a focused intensity, his scaled hips driving forward with a steady, claiming rhythm. The water sloshed around them with each deep thrust.
A ragged laugh escaped Drac. “Look at you,” he said, his voice hoarse with amusement. “All day you’re quieter than a mouse in a cathedral. Give you a tight, willing ass and you turn into a damn beast. A man possessed.”
Kazan’s amber eyes flickered toward Drac, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. His movements became sharper, more urgent. “I can’t help it,” he grunted, the words torn from between clenched teeth. “He just… he feels too good. Like he’s made for this.”
Silas, braced against the rocky shelf, looked up over his shoulder. His face was flushed, hair plastered to his forehead. He met Kazan’s heated gaze and smiled—a real, unguarded expression of bliss and challenge. Kazan dipped his head, capturing Silas’s mouth in a searing kiss. It was all tongue and teeth and desperate noise. Silas opened for him completely, moaning as he felt Kazan’s tongue slip deep, mirroring the rhythm below. The twin invasions unraveled him, pleasure coiling white-hot in his gut.
“Gods, you two are hot,” Drac murmured, shifting to get a better view, his own interest stirring again just from the spectacle.
With a final, deep roll of his hips, Kazan pulled out. He was breathing hard, his length thick and gleaming in the misty air. He looked down at Silas, his vertical pupils blown wide. “I want to come on your face,” he said, the rumble in his voice vibrating the water around them. “I want to see my seed paint you. Mark you.”
“Yes,” Silas gasped, turning himself in the water, eagerly settling between Kazan’s thighs. “Please.” He didn’t wait, leaning forward to take Kazan back into his mouth, sucking with devoted hunger.
Drac waded over then, the water parting around his bulk. “Here,” he said, his tone practical. “Let me help.” He knelt beside Silas, his own broad head nudging alongside the prince’s, his mouth enveloping the other side of Kazan’s swollen cock.
Kazan jolted, a shocked grunt escaping him. “Drac—?”
“Just helping my brother out,” Drac mumbled, his tongue working a thick vein. “Teamwork.”
The sensation was overwhelming. Two eager mouths, two sets of lips and tongues, working over his most sensitive flesh. Kazan’s head fell back, a long, broken moan tearing from his throat. His claws scraped against the rock. The buildup was swift and undeniable, a pressure threatening to split him open. With a loud, guttural growl that echoed off the stone walls of the gorge, he came.
Thick, hot streaks of seed painted Silas’s face, covering his cheek, his lips, catching in his eyelashes. Silas moaned, his mouth open, drinking what he could.
Drac pulled back, watching. He reached out, sliding his fingers through the mess on Silas’s cheek. He brought his fingers to Silas’s mouth, feeding him the gathered spend. Silas suckled his fingers clean, his eyes shut in ecstasy.
Kazan, still trembling, looked down at his cock, now glistening and spent. He gently tapped Silas’s shoulder. “Can you… clean it?” he asked, the shyness creeping back into his tone for a split second.
Drac piped up, shaking his head. “You don’t ask him anything, Kaz. Not after that. You tell him.” To illustrate, he placed a large hand on the back of Silas’s head. Not violently, but with undeniable firmness. “Be assertive.” He guided Silas’s face forward, shoving him gently but decisively into Kazan’s crotch.
Silas needed no further instruction. He set to work, his tongue lavishing every inch, cleaning the scaled flesh with soft, thorough strokes, lapping up the last remnants. Kazan shuddered, a low, continuous moan of overstimulated pleasure vibrating through him.
Drac noticed a stray pearl of Kazan’s seed on his own knuckle. He raised his hand, licked it off thoughtfully, and swallowed. A slow grin spread across his face. “Huh,” he said, his voice full of genuine surprise. “Now I get it. I finally understand why all the sluts go crazy for Dragonborn. That’s… potent stuff.”
The three of them eventually disentangled, sinking into the hot water until it touched their chins. A heavy, euphoric silence descended, broken only by their slowing breaths and the trickle of the waterfall. The water washed the last of the sweat and spend from their skin. They were a tangle of limbs under the surface, floating in a spent, weightless peace.
For a long time, no one spoke. The sun climbed higher, piercing the mist with weak, golden shafts.
It was Silas who broke the quiet, his voice soft and hazy.
It was Silas who broke the quiet, his voice soft and hazy. “You know, I’ve been thinking. The two of you are perfect.” He traced a waterline over Drac’s collarbone. “Absolutely perfect for what I have planned.”
Kazan lifted his head, amber eyes narrowing slightly. “Planned? What do you mean, ‘planned’?”
Silas just smiled, a slippery, charming thing. He pushed himself up, water streaming from his pale skin. “I mean we should get moving. Thirsty work, all this.” He climbed out of the pool, picking up his discarded clothes. “Come on. I saw a clean stream just past those rocks. Let’s get a proper drink before we hit the road.”
Drac shrugged, heaving himself out with a grunt. Kazan followed, slower, his scaled brow furrowed. They gathered their gear and followed Silas a short way upstream to where the water bubbled over a clean slate bed.
Silas pulled two small leather-wrapped waterskins from his pack. He also, seemingly by habit, drew out two small glass vials from an inner pocket, holding them casually. The liquids inside were viscous, one a deep crimson, the other a venomous green.
“Here, hold these for a second?” he said, handing the vials to Kazan and Drac. He bent to fill the waterskins at the stream’s edge.
As he straightened, his elbow jostled Drac’s arm. The two glass vials tumbled from their grasps, striking a flat stone with a clear, musical clink.
They didn’t shatter.
They rolled, and as they came to rest, the liquids within ignited with a fierce, inner light. The crimson one pulsed like a trapped coal, the green one shimmered with a toxic, magical phosphorescence. The glow seeped into their fingertips where they touched the glass.
“Whoa,” Drac muttered, scooping his up. The light painted his green palm in hellish shades.
Kazan picked his up more cautiously, the amber light reflecting in his wide pupils. “What is this, Silas?”
“Alchemist’s folly,” Silas said with a light laugh, taking the glowing vials back. He turned them over in his hands, admiring the light as it slowly faded. “Just trinkets. Thought they were pretty.” He tucked them away. “Now, drink.”
He turned his back slightly under the guise of securing his pack. His hands moved with swift, practiced silence. The stoppers came free, and the contents of the vials glugged out, poured neatly into the freshly filled waterskins. He gave each a gentle shake.
When he turned, his face was open, helpful. He handed the crimson-tainted skin to Drac, the green one to Kazan. “Nothing like cold, clear water after a soak.”
Drac took his, upending it immediately. He drank in great, thirsty gulps, his throat working. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Good.”
Kazan drank too, more slowly, but he finished it. The water tasted faintly metallic, but he assumed it was the slate bed of the stream. He handed the empty skin back.
Silas took them, his smile gentle. Inside, his mind was a silent roar of triumph. They had swallowed it. Every last drop.
He watched them as they shouldered their packs, as Drac clapped Kazan on the back, as Kazan finally offered a small, tentative smile back. The compounds were now inside them, dormant, bound to their very essence. They wouldn’t feel a thing until he uttered the triggering phrase.
His brutes. His monsters. The thought was a dark, thrilling chant in his soul.
His gods. They had the power to level cities, and they trusted him.
His lovers. The ache in his body was real, the bliss had been real, and that made the calculation perfectly cold.
The world would soon be changed forever. He fell into step behind them, his eyes on the distant spires of his father’s capital, and he smiled.