5
"We'll just see," Bakhtiar taunted as he climbed into bed. Moments later, the others crawled in alongside him, and it was the first time in his life that his enormous bed had ever been so full.
Smiling, happier than he had been in what felt like years, Bakhtiar finally succumbed to sleep.
Predictably, he woke while it was still dark out, though judging by the muffled talking outside the change of guard was taking place, which meant it was two hours before he normally woke up. Getting up, he relieved himself and washed his face, not really feeling like going back to sleep.
As he wouldn't be leaving his room anytime soon, and he didn't feel like getting in trouble if he used the secret passage to so much as go get additional work to do—not, now that he thought about it, he was in any hurry to see his office.
What did it even look like right now? Was it all cleaned up and repaired? Looking the same as always? The idea of changing it, at least a little, held sharp appeal.
Getting rid of that bookcase for a start.
The idea of ever again being trapped in a space made thorns spread through his chest, sharp and piercing.
He took several slow, deep breaths until the thorns retracted, at least mostly, then left the washroom in search of further distraction.
Once more of the palace was awake he would—
He was grabbed from behind, a familiar hand wrapping around his throat, a long lean body pressed against the length of his.
"Well rested, my prince?" Kurosh purred in his ear.
Bakhtiar shivered.
"Would it matter if I was?" He knew that tone of voice. Kurosh was on a mission and there would be no mercy.
Kurosh squeezed his throat tighter, just enough that Bakhtiar would have moaned if that was possible, then let go and pushed him across the room to the large lounging area where they spent most nights now reading and relaxing before bed.
Before tonight though, Reza and Taher had not been part of his harem.
"Were you all just waiting for me to wake up?" he asked.
Kurosh pushed him to his knees, not quite as rough as he could be, probably still mindful of his healing wounds, even though he was basically fine at this point and everyone was a worry wort.
His harem loomed over him like a sultry tribunal, and Bakhtiar had never been so delighted to submit for judgement.
"He does look pretty on his knees," Reza said idly, as though he was talking about the weather, turning to look at Farrokh.
Bakhtiar quirked a brow.
"Just how long have you been talking about me inappropriately with them."
"Shush," Farrok said in his teacher's voice, which just made Bakhtiar's cock harden further, and he damn well knew it.
"Since the beginning. They both knew where this was likely to go. We weren't letting just anyone into your chambers, Bakhti. No matter how pretty their voice or ridiculous their muscles."
Taher cast him an amused look, then finally broke the line of wicked promise to circle around behind him, pulling Bakhti's hair free of its loose braid and casting it to spill over his shoulders.
"You're so beautiful, my prince. I'm told you're even pretty when you're a filthy mess."
Bakhtiar's face heated.
"You won't find out if you just keep talking and—" He glared up at Farrokh, who'd shoved two fingers in his mouth.
"Better," Farrokh murmured, eyes heavy-lidded and full of slow-burning heat.
"You've gone too long without if you can be this mouthy, little prince."
Bakhtiar just sucked on his fingers like he'd soon be sucking on someone's cock, meeting that heated stare unflinching until Farrokh withdrew, and Kurosh took his place, kneeling naked in front of him to work on the loose ties of Bakhtiar's pants.
"Are you ready, Bakhti? To show your new concubines what a desperate, insatiable, cock hungry little slut you are? How you're not satisfied until you're so used up you can barely crawl into bed?
How even then you're not happy until you fall asleep stuffed full? Maybe with four of us we can keep up with how greedy you are."
He shoved Bakhtiar to the floor and yanked his pants off, and it was Reza who wrapped around his cock and stroked him teasingly, long, loose strokes that weren't nearly enough to satisfy, rubbing a thumb over the tip before spearing it over Bakhtiar's lips so he could taste himself.
When they rolled him over and put him on his knees, Taher knelt in front of him.
"You have tattoos," Bakhtiar said breathlessly, leaning forward to drag his tongue across the beautiful songbirds perched amongst impressively detailed branches and leaves.
"How very bold of you, storyteller."
Taher gave a short, breathless laugh as he took hold of Bakhtiar's hair and guided him further down, cock in his other hand.
"Not as bold as making the crown prince himself suck my cock."
Bakhtiar dragged his tongue across the tip of it, then suckled teasingly.
"You don't seem to be making me do anything."
"We told you he was a brat," Kurosh said, and then his hand was on Bakhtiar's head as well, fingers tangling with Taher's as he roughly shoved Bakhtiar onto his cock, forcing it deep, giving Bakhtiar no time to adjust, unable to do anything but take and take.
It was far less a matter of him sucking cock and much more a matter of hole being used with abandon, until he was desperate for every bare chance to breathe they gave him, throat sore and jaw aching, sweat dripping down his face and tears stinging his eyes.
At one point Taher roughly withdrew and was replaced by Kurosh, who used him even more roughly, fully aware of just how much Bakhtiar could take.
"I can't believe you ever thought we'd grow tired of you, Bakhti. All else aside, how could I ever stop enjoying the way you so eagerly take my cock?"
He thrust deep, held himself there, fingers painfully tight in his hair, until Bakhtiar's vision went spotty and his lungs were burning—
Kurosh withdrew, leaving him gasping for air, and he'd only just gotten enough breath back when Taher returned, clearly having taken some cues from Kurosh.
Back and forth they went, chasing their own pleasure in his throat, until Taher shoved in deep and held him there in an echo of earlier, spilling hot down his throat as Kurosh came across his face.
The mess spilled across his nose and cheeks, his lips, clung to his eyelashes, forcing him to wipe at it in futility as they drew away.
He was yanked back, thrown once more to the ground, and it was Reza who settled between his thighs like he owned the space, big and broad and beautiful as he stared down with fire in his eyes.
"What a delicious, decadent display you are, my prince."
Bakhtiar didn't even bother to try not preening at the words, stretching out to put himself on further display.
"Do I meet the expectations of your daydreams, faithful guard? Is this what you pictured standing there day after day?"
"Better," Reza murmured.
"Especially since now I can follow you into your office and bend you over that table and fuck you so hard everyone outside knows exactly what I'm doing."
"That's not going to help me focus on my work at all," Bakhtiar said, and moaned as his thighs were grabbed almost bruise-tight, Reza's fingers digging deep into the muscle. Farrokh settled as his side, but instead of touching Bakhtiar yet he leaned in to kiss Reza hungry and sharp.
"Fuck." That was a pretty sight.
Kurosh settled at his other side, and it wasn't hard to tell from his well-used lips and mussed hair that he'd been exchanging some kisses of his own while Bakhtiar was distracted entirely by Reza and his little fantasy. As Reza and Farrokh drew apart, Kurosh kissed Reza. Behind Bakhtiar, Taher pulled his head into his lap and leaned over to kiss Farrokh. Fuck, he could watch the four of them trade kisses all day long.
And so much more of course. There was an endless pile of all the ways he could watch the four of them. Kurosh and Reza together, the soldier more than a match for the assassin, playing rough and fucking rougher. His storyteller and his scholar would be sweeter together. Kurosh and Farrokh had been playing a game of push and pull from the beginning, taunting and provoking. Would Reza be obedient for Farrokh's stern teacher mien, or would he be a bad student? How sweetly and prettily would Taher obey Kurosh?
So many combinations, so many ways to play.
He was jerked roughly from his thoughts and admiration by two familiar fingers shoving crudely into him.
"Fuck!"
"Soon," Farrokh murmured, stretching and twisting his fingers, making him gasp and try to twist and writhe away from the too much, too fast.
He was still reeling from two fingers when additional ones teased at the edges of his hole, working around Farrokh's presence, before a third, unfamiliar finger pressed inside. Bakhtiar looked down to where Farrokh and Reza were working him open together then let his head fall back as he moaned, landing heavily in Taher's lap, grinding against his cock, already hard again.
"Too—too much—"
"Liar," Kurosh murmured, shifting and lowering himself to kiss Bakhtiar's mouth, biting and sucking at his lips until they were throbbing, already well-used from the earlier face-fucking.
"It's never enough for you. Did you tell your new concubines the stupid thing you used to do when you were younger? Before you had us here to keep you satisfied?"
Bakhtiar tried to reply, but there were five fingers in him now, stretching him wide, pushing deep, their arms rubbing against his thighs, and it was all so much, too much, but still not enough.
"What did he do?" Reka asked.
Kurosh chuckled.
"What did you do, Bakhti? Tell them?"
"I can't—fuck—" he snarled as the fingers ripped out abruptly, leaving him hollowed out and raw. He gulped for air, wiped stinging sweat from his eyes, and stared up at the faces patiently staring, two smug and knowing, the other pair curious.
"You're all evil bastards." He grunted as that got a hard slap to his thigh from Kurosh.
"I went into the city, all right? I paid street workers like I was the whore spreading for rent. I'd go corner to corner, four or five in a row, until I had to limp all the way home."
Reza snarled and grabbed his hips so hard he probably would leave actual bruises, and thrust inside him with neither warning nor care. Bakhtiar howled and flailed for something to hold onto, but his arms were taken and pinned above his head by Taher, held in a grip stronger than he would have expected.
All he could do was take it as Reza fucked him in long, deep, hard strokes that never slowed nor faltered. Just drove into him over and over, like Reza was possessed, or on a mission to drive Bakhtiar out of his mind, or so out of his own mind all he could do was chase his own pleasure at the cost of everyone and everything else. Bakhtiar gasped and groaned and pleaded, driven to even greater torment by the hands that rather over him, teased his cock without ever giving him the attention he needed to come. Fingers pinched his nipples, dragged nails across his stomach and along his dick. Tongues and teeth followed them, hot and wet, leaving him desperate and helpless.
He was so close—
Kurosh wrapped a hand around his cock, stroked him hard and fast, and ordered him quietly to come. Bakhtiar obeyed with a howl, barely noticing as Reza came deep inside him. He was still panting heavily, trying to remember how to think, when Reza and Farrokh switched positions, and he was stuffed full once more. His mouth dropped open on another moan and two thick fingers slid inside, Kurosh looked like a smug cat as he dutifully sucked. His just-spent cock twitched helplessly as Farrokh fucked him more slowly, but no less relentlessly.
"Farro—"
"Take it, little prince," Farrokh murmured.
"It's so much."
"Yet you're getting hard again already," Kurosh said, "like the greedy slut you are."
"You—are—too—" Bakhtiar said, or tried to say.
Judging by the increased smugness on Kurosh's face, enough of it had gotten through.
"All for you, pretty prince. Do I know how to serve you, or not?"
"P-perfectly," Bakhtiar said, writhing and gasping and crying desperately as Farrokh's thrusts picked up urgency, and Reza's hand returned to his cock, stroking in time with Farrokh's thrusts, until their combined efforts tore a second orgasm from him.
He laid, boneless and spent, on the floor as they shuffled around, whimpering, aching and yet still hungry, as Taher slid inside his sore, wet hole and fucked him in long, easy strokes, going in deep and lingering there before pulling out nearly all the way and starting again.
Warm kisses were pressed across his body in random bursts, praise falling over him, but it was soft and distant, a background to the pleasure he was drowned, in lost in.
There was no way he could come a third time, his cock wholly spent, but a third orgasm washed through him anyway as somebody kissed the moans from his mouth.
He whimpered as Taher withdrew and tried to sit up—only to be lifted like he weighed nothing, grabbing at Reza with a gasp as he was carried over to the bed.
"That's new."
"Yes," Kurosh said from where he stood at the foot of the bed, hot gaze wandering over Reza.
"All that delicious strength is going to be delightful."
Bakhtiar chuckled as he was laid in bed, though he also noticed no blanket was drawn up, and Kurosh hadn't fucked him over on the floor.
"And you call me a slut."
"I was the assassin who was supposed to kill you while you were out getting fucked by street whores," Kurosh said, and slid into bed behind him as Reza stepped out of the way. Bakhtiar whimpered as he slid inside.
"You're stuffed full again exactly as you like best, my prince, now go back to sleep. If you stay that way until lunch, you'll wake up stuffed full, too."
Bakhtiar had a retort for that, he really did, but he was sore beyond measure and exhausted beyond reason, and it took no further urging at all to fall into slumber.
As promised, or threatened, he woke to someone fucking him. He grabbed at the arms wrapped around him, feeling the large, defined muscles that no one else possessed, and gasped out, "Reza."
Reza bit his ear as he continued his steady, even strokes.
"I could grow fond of this, my prince. Sliding into you while you're fast asleep, oblivious to all around you, only to wake up gasping my name. You're the kind of pleasure people go to war for."
Bakhtiar moaned, could do nothing but hold fast as Reza fucked him, sobbing out as his orgasm took him, whimpering as Reza pulled out him a moment later.
"You're all going to kill me."
Farrokh laughed as he and Taher helped him out of bed and over to the bathing area, where they got him thoroughly cleaned and into the steaming water.
It felt heavenly on his sore body but nearly painful on the parts of him that had been thoroughly used the previous night—and just minutes ago. He rested his head against the bath cushion someone set behind him.
"I'm not sure jumping straight from two to four was my wisest idea."
"Still one more to go, my prince."
"I will not survive that," Bakhtiar said, dragging his eyes open. Four fond faces stared back at him, heating his face far more than the steaming bath water ever could.
"So what are we doing today other than not touching me."
The only replies to that were a bunch of entirely-too-pleased-with-themselves expressions.
Farrokh moved to sit next to him, settling in close and gently kissing his mouth.
"All you need to do today is rest, Bakhti. Nap, be read to, watch us play taaki and be wholly unimpressed with how long it take us to finish a single round, summon people to sing or play for you. Act like an indolent prince for once in your life."
Bakhtiar would be going stir crazy by dinner, but he was more than happy to try anyway.
Fin