Ceremony #3
Sindar cursed internally, even as his cock twitched at the sight of that blush.
He’d already done something wrong, but hell if he knew what.
No one was yelling at him, so he stiffly crawled onto the platform bed, gripping the silk that swathed the Flower’s lower body.
His hand trembled. He could barely contain himself. He was going to come at any moment.
Ardor wet his lips, his gaze uncertain.
It was certainly an unconscious gesture, but at the sight of that delicate pink tongue, Sindar’s cock pulsed.
Do not imagine that tongue on your cock, in your mouth. Do not imagine worshiping that body with your own tongue. Do not. Do not...
But he did. He imagined blanketing Ardor’s body with his and seeing those brown eyes burn with lust rather than anger.
He imagined serving at the behest of those gorgeous hands.
Pleasure ran through him, hot and longing, and with a helpless grunt Sindar came, his cock spurting all over Ardor’s chest and lap.
Ardor’s breath caught, and a hush went through those assembled. All sounds abruptly ceased.
“Sorry,” Sindar croaked, his face burning nearly as much as his loins. His hands trembled where they were fisted in the sheets. “I...”
Wordlessly, Ardor quickly dragged his elegant fingers down his chest through the pearly royal seed, gathering it up. His hand traveled down, down, past his navel, slipping beneath the sheets covering his lap.
He was putting Sindar’s semen into his body. It was a breeding ceremony, after all. But the words “breeding ceremony” did no justice for how such a simple, practical act set Sindar aflame.
“Oh, sweet angels,” Sindar breathed, gripping the sheets tightly, threatening to tear the fine fabric. His cock twitched against his thigh as he watched Ardor’s hand move beneath the sheets, in and out…
“Fuck,” Sindar groaned quietly, and buried his face in his arm as his cock jumped merrily, keenly invested in the proceedings.
Five seconds, and it was over. If they were alone, he would have grabbed his cock and stroked out another orgasm just to watch Ardor do that again, to see that beautiful hand vanish into the mysteries below.
To have some part of himself inside Ardor, even twice removed, was achingly erotic.
Sweet heavens, let him worship! Let him go on bended knees.
He might have, if not for their audience.
Soft laughter wafted through the room, followed by polite clapping that quickly grew to genuine enthusiasm.
Somehow, Sindar had forgotten that the eyes of the entire court were on them.
He’d botched the performance, no question, but the onlookers seemed pleased and relieved all the same.
More importantly... was the Flower pleased?
When Sindar risked a look, Ardor was gazing at him, a fetching pink flush still resting on his cheekbones, his long fingers slick with Sindar’s come. He was clearly relieved Sindar hadn’t touched him.
Oh, but Sindar’s mouth was dry with wanting to touch him. Needing it. Aching for it.
“You are the most beautiful man in the universe,” he whispered, his voice low and ragged.
He wanted to confess so many more truths.
Oh, to suck those beautiful fingers clean!
He longed to lie on the ground, to beg, to worship, and he might have, but someone threw the robe over his shoulders and he remembered he was a king, damn it, and he yanked the robe around him like a shield.
Sindar bowed stiffly to Ardor, and did not wait for a servant to put on his slippers.
He hurriedly stuffed his feet into them, shuffling in a most undignified way until they were on, and strode out of the chamber with his ridiculous cock poking against the fabric, semi-hard and eager for more.
Ambani flanked him as he returned to his apartment, happy as a lark.
“Sweet angels,” Sindar said, his face still burning. “Why didn’t you warn me?” As if anything could have prepared him for Ardor of Pavar reclining naked on a bed. No words could describe what he felt as he watched the Flower gather up his come with those gorgeous fingers.
“You were perfect,” Ambani chirped. “Absolutely perfect, Your Highness! You showed everyone that the king of Kysan is virile and eager. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were besotted. We’ll put out rumors to that effect. Word will spread quickly. Well done.”
“How the hell did Xandar do this?” Arousal still lapped at his brain, tugging at his cock. He’d never ached to worship before. Not like this.
He played at it sometimes, sure. He’d once had a fat, beautiful Kysanian girlfriend who was beautiful precisely because she was large and soft and strong and honest and kind, and she loved to roleplay being a naughty queen.
It amused him to grovel between her pillowy thighs and kiss her feet, knowing he was a heartbeat from the role she coveted.
He even developed a bit of a liking for feet.
But after seeing Ardor on that bed, he wanted to do more than kiss feet and play at submission.
Sindar wanted to be prostrate, a slave. He wanted to suffer, knowing suffering for the sake of Ardor of Pavar would be bliss.
He yearned to surrender and accept love as his master.
Once safely in his apartment, Sindar sank into a chair and put his head in his hands. Patel soon joined them, and he was just as pleased as Ambani.
“Well done. That should turn the rumors in our favor, for once.”
“Ardor was relieved I didn’t touch him,” Sindar said. “What the devil did my brother do to him?”
Ambani’s good humor dimmed. “I couldn’t say. His Majesty was polite and professional toward His Eminence in public.”
Ah, but Sindar could say. His brother excelled at brutally ambushing his enemies in private and skewering every vulnerability.
As teenagers, Sindar had given up trying to hold his brother accountable for the petty cruelties inflicted behind closed doors.
He never had the stomach to match his brother’s meanness, no matter how much it hurt.
Xandar had done something to his Flower, all right. And whatever it was, Sindar was going to find out, and he was going to fix it.