Just some excerpts from the chapters I wrote today. Apologies for the screenshots. The copy and pasting on mobile from Word is atrocious. Putting it under a read more.
Girad shut his mouth, clenching his jaw. Reasoning with his father wasn’t going to work. He had to get out of this another way, most likely by force.
But the ropes around his wrist were rough and very tightly tied in a knot he’d never seen before. Granted, he didn’t spend much time with ropes, but it wasn’t a familiar one.
How could he do this? Girad looked around the room. It was filled with implements of dark magic, things his father used in secret. Or, had used in secret. It looked like Dyon had removed any sharp objects in preparation for this. There was just the dagger and the sword on his belt.
And Girad had nothing. He’d been thoroughly searched by his father’s followers after being brought here, his armor and every weapon stripped from him.
Now, Girad stood next to his father, the King of Aborsken, a title he didn’t deserve. His hands were bound in front of him, a lead trailing from the ropes into Dyon’s hand. He didn’t want him to try to run.
“He’s late,” Dyon said in annoyance. He tapped his foot, put one hand on his hip. “Always late.”
“I wouldn’t be late if you didn’t have so many guards.”
The voice (if it could be called that) scraped against the inside of Girad’s ears like a knife. He gave a cry, stumbled, crashed to his knees on the hard tile.
“I have so many guards because of you,” Dyon responded. He seemed completely unaffected by the voice. It was a boom and a whisper all at the same time, something so evil it slithered beneath Girad’s skin and made his hair stand on end.
A huff, and then darkness surrounded Girad. He struggled against his ropes, wondering if Dyon still had a hold on them.
Fear like nothing he’d ever felt before descended upon him. Girad had been in battles, he’d seen his fiancée nearly die, he’d been betrayed by his father… and yet this was something so cold and horrible that he felt like he was about to drop dead. His heart raced and his blood ran cold.
“So, this is him?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The darkness grew darker, and Girad felt a hand grasp him by the jaw. It was ice. Frostbite instantly took hold in his skin.
A smile. He didn’t see it, but felt it, felt cruelty envelop him.
Summary: Dyon suggests a battle plan that leaves Sol furious. The two realize there's another way to solve this argument.
A/N: For my wonderful friend @lashlamb13!
"That's a convenient way to get everyone under you killed!" Sol couldn't keep himself from shouting. Dyon's suggestion was ludicrous. Putting new recruits on the front lines as bait so another army could attack from the side? It was horrible! It would work, but the method was not doable. Not to Sol, at least.
"It'll work!" Dyon shouted right back, rising from his chair. They were in Sol's study, just the two of them meeting to discuss plans in their war against Hakur. "You know it will!"
"That doesn't mean that it's the right thing to do!" Sol stood as well, spreading his golden wings wide as an act of intimidation. He didn't know if it would work though. Not much could intimidate the king of Aborsken.
"Right?! Wrong?!" Dyon was furious. "Who gives a damn?! What we need is victory!"
"You know, you can take that victory and shove it…!" Sol paused. What he'd been about to say wasn't very kingly. Yes, it was just the two of them here, but he wanted to remain proper.
"Shove it where, might I ask?" Dyon asked. There was a challenge in his dark gray eyes.
Sol, for some ridiculous reason, decided to take that challenge. "Up your ass, Your Majesty."
For a moment, the only sound was their heavy breathing, and then suddenly, Dyon was moving. Sol didn't know what to expect. He almost called for his guards, began opening his mouth to, but Dyon's mouth slammed into his before he knew what was happening. Sol made a sound of surprise, nearly flailed and struggled, but kept his footing with a small flap of his wings.
Sol was absolutely startled by this, even as he began to feel himself kiss back. He hadn't kissed anyone since the death of his wife, Lathae.
The kiss was heated, absolutely filled with anger. Grunting, Sol found himself grabbing Dyon by the throat. Oh, he'd wanted to do that since meeting the man months ago. He was truly horrible sometimes, someone he couldn't see eye to eye with. This argument--or, whatever it was now--was a clear sign of that.
He didn't squeeze though. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Dyon and make him withdraw his alliance with him. As much as Sol hated to admit it, he needed his support and his military strength.
He thought of all this as Dyon grabbed him firmly by the waist with one hand, the other going to the back of his head, gripping so hard it could leave bruises.
They pulled apart to breathe... And to start tearing at each other's clothes. Sol didn't quite know what was happening or why. Why had anger resulted in such a lust for the human king?
Sol gasped as Dyon shoved at him, using his surprise and unwillingness to hurt him to shove him back against one of the bookshelves. Books fell, pages fluttering and bending. At the moment, Sol didn't care.
He was about to shove back at Dyon, then thought better of it and instead reached for his belt, using his grip on it to pull his hips towards him. There was a clear bulge in Dyon's leather pants, and that excited Sol. He'd had sex with a man before, but that had been decades ago, before his marriage, before any of these troubles. He wondered if Dyon had ever indulged in such pleasures before.
Their mouths came back together as they grabbed at each other's belts and began to undo the buckles. They would pull away every once in a while to gasp and pant.
Sol nearly purred as Dyon moved his mouth to his neck, and he found himself tilting his head for him, even as he felt the grazing of Dyon's teeth. He'd have to wear something with a high collar for a little while, it appeared.
His feathers puffed out as he spread his wings back against the bookshelf. He couldn't help the moan that left him as Dyon yanked his pants down and shoved his hand between his legs.
The other king was rough with him, even here, but Sol found that that was just what he wanted. They needed to relieve this pressure between them somehow, and rough, hateful sex could be the way to do it.
Feeling a little vicious, Sol grabbed Dyon by the shoulders and shoved him away from him and towards the table. The other man's cock was free from his pants, and Sol was pleased to see that his own cock was just slightly bigger than Dyon's.
Sol swept up against Dyon before he could move, trapping him with his wings, feathers still fluffy.
Dyon smirked. "You're enjoying this."
Sol gave Dyon's cock a tug, making him gasp.
"You are too."
Sol was the one to initiate the kiss this time, and he was far from gentle with it. He could leave marks on Dyon if Dyon was going to leave marks on him. Though, he knew he was going too far when he tasted the slightest tang of blood.
He pulled out of the kiss, rutting his cock against Dyon's, and the other man let out a guttural moan. It hurt a little, given that they had no lubricant, but Sol kept doing it, needed to relieve the ache between his legs and the anger he felt at this man.
"Oil," Dyon gasped out.
"I have some in my chambers," Sol responded, just as breathless.
Dyon scoffed. "We are not stopping so you can go to your chambers and--"
He didn't get to finish speaking, as Sol had wrapped him up in his arms and wings, and had teleported them directly into his bedchamber. Teleportation was extremely difficult, and Sol had sweat breaking out on his temples from the exertion.
He let go of Dyon, who stumbled backwards, nearly tumbling right down onto the large bed.
"Never..." He stopped to swallow. "Never do that again."
"My apologies." There was venom in Sol's words. This man didn't deserve an apology for anything.
Sol finished undressing, and Dyon took the hint to do the same. Then they were back on each other, grappling with each other to gain control. With a strong flap of his wings, Sol wrestled Dyon down onto the bed. He could overpower this man much more easily if he wanted to, use his magic, but he wasn't going to. Even with this, he didn't want to break his trust.
Dyon seemed to sense Sol's caution returning, and was able to gain the upper hand, rolling the Nessari king onto his stomach on the bed and kneeling over him, a hand placed firmly between his wings to keep him down and in place.
"Where's the oil?" Dyon demanded.
"Nightstand," Sol got out. "Top drawer."
Sol let Dyon stretch over him to get what they needed. He had to admit that he'd wanted to be the one doing the penetration, but he supposed he was fine with Dyon doing it. He'd done both before and didn't usually have a preference.
But this wasn't exactly about sex.
It was about power.
And right now, Dyon had the power over Sol. He had to come up with a way to take that power back, even while underneath him like this.
Dyon returned to his original position, sat back on his heels, and a sweet scent filled the space as he uncorked the crystal jar that Sol kept his oil in. It was expensive stuff--both the oil, and the jar.
Sol gasped as Dyon began to explore. He ran oiled fingers down over his spine, making Sol hum and arch. Then he was using his other hand to push aside one cheek of his ass to bare his rim. Sol was panting and tingling in anticipation.
Dyon wasn't as rough as he had been while handling him here, but he was still rough enough to cause some pain. Sol hoped he could return the favor at some point.
"Ever fucked a man before?" Dyon asked as he played inside him with two fingers.
"A long time ago," Sol answered honestly. "You?"
"Plenty of times."
Sol waited, tense, as Dyon pulled his fingers out, and he felt the head of his cock at his rim. There was intense pressure, and then he pushed in with a painful thrust. Sol couldn't find his breath for a moment, and he almost wanted to make Dyon stop as the pain just grew.
But he didn't.
He'd look weak in front of this man if he did, and he'd never fulfill his rage.
Sol made himself relax into the sensation, tell himself that it could be pleasurable if he just eased up his tensed muscles.
And he was right. The instant he stopped clamping around Dyon to keep him out, he felt pleasure, hot and intense, traveling through him and up into his core.
"Fuck," Sol muttered, gripping at the pillows.
Then he figured out how to take his power back from Dyon. If he didn't make much noise during this, he would show him his power.
It was like Dyon could read his mind. He started thrusting fast and hard, not giving Sol much time to adjust. He flapped his wings, bit at his lower lip to keep in a cry. There was a strangled sound in his throat, but that was all.
However, the thrusting of Dyon's cock soon began to feel good despite the roughness of his movements. He had one hand on Sol's lower back, the other sneaking fingers into his feathers. It made Sol's wings twitch. Never had he had a human touch him here, and he hadn't given Dyon, a human king, permission to do so.
Growling, Sol fluttered his wings, trying to get rid of Dyon's touch there.
Dyon laughed, letting his hand leave his wings to fall to his hip instead.
"My apologies, Your Majesty." His tone said anything but an apology. He was amused by Sol's discomfort.
"Just fuck me!" Sol snapped. "My wings are my own!"
"Fine."
Dyon gripped him by both his hips, and drove him down into the mattress with his own, pounding him hard, the sounds of their grunts and flesh slapping flesh filling the room.
Sol only allowed certain sounds to leave him. Grunts and growls were okay, but anything else would be a sign of weakness.
Though, he yelled when Dyon slid right over his prostate. He hadn't expected the way pleasure burst through him. It had been a very long time since that little bundle of nerves had been stimulated.
"There we go," Dyon growled.
"So... my plan," Dyon said after some time of just the two of them grunting and gasping. "Will you allow it?"
"No," Sol told him firmly. "I'm not letting you... letting you kill your own soldiers."
"They'll die anyway."
Sol ground his teeth together. How could he make Dyon see reason?
"Have you not sacrificed others for your cause?" Dyon asked, accusing, once Sol hadn't spoken for a time.
"It's not a noble thing to do."
"Oh, of course not. Why would the Nessari King want to get his pretty hands dirty?"
Dyon's thrusts became a little uneven. The man was nearing orgasm.
"But people have died because of you, Sol. And they will continue to unless we win this war."
Sol hardly had time to ponder his words, as Dyon's orgasm came, and with a shout, the man released into him. Sol's body copied his, his back arching and his wings stretching out as far as they could. He bit his lip till he tasted blood.
Then it was over, and Dyon was leaning back on his heels, gasping for breath. Sol rolled out from under him as soon as he could, even with bliss making him weak and shaky. He moved sweaty hair out of his face.
"I'm not going to enact your plan," Sol said, voice as firm as steel. "And I won't let you do it either."
Dyon clenched his jaw hard.
"We have to work together on this."
"Well..." Dyon took a deep breath, seemingly trying to calm himself. He looked down at Sol, at the mess on his stomach. "We did meet our mutual end."
Sol hmphed. "And that was what it took to get you to cooperate? A good fuck?"
"Sometimes it's all you need." Dyon got off the bed, reaching for his clothes.
Sol decided he wasn't going to dress, that he'd ask his servants to run a bath for him. Dyon would be leaving his rooms with marks to show for what they'd done. Sol hoped he'd be leaving feeling a little bit humbled and put in his place. Though, surely Dyon was thinking the same of him.
But this was Sol's palace, Sol's country, Sol's war. Despite how Dyon had held him down and fucked him, he had the power here.
He had all the power.
Sol was pleased when Dyon left and the door closed behind him. He himself would probably have a limp to show for this, but Sol had drawn blood from the other king.
What he didn't know was that that would not be the only drop of blood he'd spill from the King of Aborsken, and that their power struggle was far from over.
