Over the years, he had met many different folk, all promising that they were undefeated, that they could handle him without a problem. Cyrus had rarely denied them the pleasure of trying to tame it. That lengthy, thick slab of cockmeat, veined, throbbing and damn monstrous, was infamous for ruining his partners. The warlock could only warn them, he never boasted, nor did he show-off; he already knew. Past experiences made it known that he had to be pretty careful, and while some had asked him to be a little rougher, he always held back. For him, it was a lot more about the pleasure, than trying to feel his large, full tank testicles against someone's chin or smothered down into someone's cheeks. That was never the case. But, seeing as he was within Magnar's grasp—quite literally—and welcomed to his chambers, he would do as asked, so long as the Dragon King understood that communication was key. Last thing he wanted was to hurt him and be at risk of having his head ripped right off, or burned alive on the spot. Still, the dangers of the dragon didn't even pass his thoughts. In fact, he was quite turned on, seeing Magnar settle onto all-fours on his bed, naked and willing, that tall and muscled frame ripe for the taking, to be massaged, held and fucked until he was dripping wet with sweat.
Just as Magnar opened his lips, he locked in, watching careful as they spread to accommodate that wide, hefty pink head into the heat of his mouth. At first contact, with the tongue sweeping along the flushed crown, the warlock's chest rumbled with a groan, deep and satiated. There was something thrilling to watch a lordly and dangerous creature like this, stretching his lips out as far as they would go, looking up at him with an expression of obedience and something of innocence. A grin crept to Cyrus' face when he noticed pearly white teeth over the sensitive flesh, bared for him to see as inch after inch sank into his mouth, soaking in that slick drool that Magnar produced. In response, Cyrus let out a deep, but hindered moan from his throat. "Mmm, that's it... there you go—My Lord," he moaned out, hands moving to settle behind his back, just like his guards who guarded his chambers. He intended to do nothing just yet, waiting expectantly to see how far Magnar wanted to worship and go at his pace, before the warlock could attempt to fuck his throat like he had been ordered to.
As the blunt tip reached the back of his mouth, there was a moment for the man to adjust to the throbbing mast filling up that entire mouth, that tongue bathing that heavy meat. He was coming up to his fullest potential, his shaft was still filling out fully. Just as Magnar took in a deep breath through his nostrils, he felt the muscles relax. With a testing push of his hips, he breached the throat, spreading the passage apart, stretching it to fit him. Cyrus raised a foot and set it onto the bed, creating some leverage to act upon. His arousal was at its peak, full and throbbing, the monolith stuffed the mouth entirely, partially the pharynx, but most of it was untouched, untamed. At last, he laid a hand into Magnar's soft bed of hair atop his head, fashioning a light grip into his hand. It wasn't to push or pull him to fuck him down onto his pulsing tool, but merely to keep him in his place. His other hand came down to the base of his shaft in order to angle and keep his length steady, aimed at the perfect angle towards those plump, reddening lips. "What a beauty you are." There was a growl in his voice, something primal and beastly. While maintaining eye contact, his upper body remained still while his hips beckoned forward, slowly inching his meat deeper, expanding that throat, inflating that neck out as the girth fought against the tight, slick walls. Cyrus had barely reached the halfway point, when he gradually retracted his length, until only that flared, pretty head remained in his mouth.
Without missing a beat, he forced it back to the same level of filling, marked by where his cock was wet. As the chamber began to fill with echoes of the wet shaft sloshing deep into the depths of his throat, Cyrus had closed his eyes and tipped his head back. His hand kept Magnar's head locked in place, while the skilled rolls of his hips continued to roll back and forth, leisurely fucking the dragon's mouth and throat. It wasn't like he had asked, Cyrus was aware, but he was building up to it, if only to test his capabilities and threshold of what he was comfortable with.