it was a summer day. your clothing, heavy with sweat, clung to you like a second skin. practical for the damp mog of your homeland - now merely a grim reminder in the blaze of the sun. though you pushed down the discomfort, taking short breaths as your brother had instructed. if you couldn't handle this much at least then you could kiss your dream of knighthood goodbye.

this day was too important to care about the heat.

the adults went back and forth, discussions of the war and sacrificial politics, the kind your brother would curse about late at night, one too many bottles deep. you didn't care much either way. the future was too distant to worry about. if you were allowed to talk you would have said as much but his hand on your shoulder made you hold your tongue. instead, you are preoccupied with watching him.

tucked away behind the princess and hidden by the shadows. his face still flushed from the sun despite it all. he looks at you with all the curiosity in the world and suddenly everything is much too tight.

later that night, in your dilapidated house falling apart at the seams of cracks that ran through walls, when the light had dimmed and the clouds cloaked the moon, you thought about him. the familiarity of the shadows that curled around him like a claim. like sea-glass to glint among the rocks of the dull coast. it would not be so bad to protect a boy like him.

that was years ago. now you were older, strained with years of training to map out the stars on your body, aware of your position in relation to the sun.

politics still held no interest as you were sworn to the throne. your duty was to protect the royal family, not fret over the lives of the common folk, or indulge yourself in the unceasing, baseless rumors. change is a delusion in a position like yours. it's better to focus on your real job. volunteering for every night shift, stationed outside his door to keep his highness safe at his most vulnerable. it was supposed to be grunt work assigned to the new recruits, though you were still seventeen years young, you were a better knight than most units combined. you would brush it off with easy excuses of minimal effort and simple work.

that was a lie of course.

there was no way you could trust such an important task to others so unskilled and uninterested compared to you. it was simply a bonus that his highness had finally begun remembering you apart from the sea of guards, soon you could even be promoted to a personal guard. yes, the grunt work was always worth it in the end.

even as the heat had not abated in the thick of the night. humid air, sweat soaking beneath the heavy armor. the endless time you used to think. you thought about a lot, to distract from the boredom, the heat, and the ever-weighted feeling of dread.

thoughts of the days training, what you would eat tomorrow, the spider-web cracks in the walls stonework, your brother's latest drunken arguments - the bruises still held tight against your joints. a lot passed through your head like flickering flames, never to stay too long lest it burns. mostly, as is most willing, you thought about his highness. playing through the day you had met on constant rerun as the well-worn memory got fuzzed at the edges, smudged from years of fond handling.

you go over the rumors that have been spreading. they echo that change will come, that change has come at the expense. they fold and twist into each other to weave a grim tapestry. you trace the suggestions of his highness, various fates and choices, picking at threads and whittling at empty words until the substance has evaporated. until the design is unrecognizable.

his highness does not change. you know him like the flowers know the stars and the dogs know the burrow-rabbits and he does not change. there is no place for the sun than the kingdom that touches the stars. it's a truth even the princess cannot touch.

she would never let him be snuffed by caligi corruption. if she wanted to stir up rumors it should be from the inside. a class-defying love story that conquers all odds, a young maiden and a strong knight like how the commoners like to praise. that would shake the world, you think while sweat rolls down the back of your neck.

you wanted to ask what his highness thought about that. he liked to listen to you babble sometimes in short-clipped conversations when the night was slow. maybe he would agree.

you grip the handle of your sheathed blade, hearing the pull of leather against leather. it was a stupid thought. one you shouldn't entertain tonight, not when the air was so heavy it weighed on your tense shoulders. the wind of the abandoned hall is impossibly quiet over the pounding of blood rushing through veins.

his highness had come back late tonight, alone. eyes rimmed red and body shaking. the usual company of maids and guards was nowhere to be seen.

there was nothing you could say to that because you were a proper knight and he was a proper prince. it was not your place to comfort. though it didn't stop you from straining your ears to pick up something - anything - from behind his door. a shuffle of movement, silence. it didn't reassure you, not that you knew what you were looking for.

it was a typical summer night and you do not concern yourself with rumors. this time you could not shake off the immense feeling of dread beginning to pile in your chest. like the world had begun to turn that much faster. the clock was three minutes off. the sun has begun to dim.

something was wrong.

you tap your foot, the sharp click of heel against stone. it does nothing to release the energy bound tight, winding like a spring ready to snap. flex your fingers, roll your neck, trace the cracks from brick to brick. from the moment you could walk your brother thrust a sword in hand and rules in brain. proper conduct is all you know, the ideals and position of a knight on board. you know flowers will never reach the stars, living as a mockered-reflection. you know a dog's only purpose was to herd the rabbit for the kill.

you know that if the rumors were true and jhunne was to be taken away this does not matter.

so with all the courage or stupidity in the world, you turn around and knock.

the sound is deafening. it echoes like a curse through the empty halls. they were in the farthest corner of the castle, tucked away from the bustle of the outside world. where only spiders and cracked-webs and desperate dogs make their home. it was known to him and you only.

the seconds tick by, you count each one like the tick of the clock. it clicks against the back of your tongue. you were met with silence. something like relief slides off your shoulders. armor creaks with you as you shift. his highness must be asleep by now, as he always is. enclenching your jaw, you go to turn back into the dark until a soft, faint voice carries through. the wind brushes against your ear as he speaks.

“come in.”

you choke on the weight of it and close your eyes. the door opens with ease.

the room beyond was nothing short of impersonal. devoid of anything that was truly marked his. in all the time guarding it, you've never set foot inside. glances were merely caught as the maids bustled through his highness’ morning routine, shooing you away when he got too close.

time spent here was limited to sleep, too caught up with routine and the never-ending events of the day. all were organized and observed by the princess who was a known stickler for order. he never seemed to complain though so you kept suggestions about skipping class to yourself. still, it didn't stop you from tracing your eyes over each piece of scarce furniture. all the way until you get to the open window, curtains billowing to reveal the moon, big and round, hung against the backdrop of a starless night.

your eyes flicker to the right.

he was sat at the vanity. a small candle set to the side, flickering in the dark, cast a dreamy glow over his skin. through the reflection, his eyes were downcast, unfocused. he was preoccupied with mindlessly brushing through his hair, there wasn't much you could do but trace the shadows that form his face on the mirrors surface.

he makes no move to acknowledge your hovering at the door so you clear your throat. “your highness.”

it startles him. looking up to catch your eyes in the mirror, a glare of red in the shadows. he stares, wide-eyed and quiet, while his hands clutching the brush stutter to a stop. you would continue to liken him to a rabbit if it didn't make you feel like such a danger.

“is there a problem?” the words stilt in your mouth, too bitter and shaped to do anything but choke out. his face twists, glancing back down with a scoff. the brush hovers in the air, immobile.

“well i wasn't the one who called you in here, am i?” he bites but it catches on the shake of his lips.

you don't comment that he did call you in. instead, shifting awkwardly in place, metal plates grating, before settling on a bow. you mumble, “apologies, your highness.”

sweat trickles down your neck, the breeze did nothing to temper the oppressive heat, almost moving to excuse yourself. though it wasn't proper to do so without being allowed, nothing about this night has been right. it wouldn't surprise you if his highness would brush this off as some sort of dream-like event and never acknowledge it again. somehow that makes your stomach twist.

when he finally does speak, it's soft. “sir knight, what are your thoughts on marriage?”

your heart skips and with his eyes turned away, you settle on setting forward, shutting the door behind you. you consider the question, rolling it over in your mouth before saying, “it's a thing people do.”

that gets a laugh. he brings his hand down to cover his mouth, glancing up at you. the drumming of your skin doesn't stop even as he settles into something almost wistful, considering. “yes. it is.”

your lips feel dry, though it's marginally cooler inside his room than it was outside. the window kept a nice breeze. his highness doesn't look away and his contemplating stare almost burns you.

“dromeda wants to marry me off.”

you keep your mouth shut.

he turns the brush over in his hand, a deep frown on his face. “it's been in talks for…a while,” he continued, shoulders hunching. there's a bitter edge as he speaks. “she met with them today. i wasn't even there and now we’re to be engaged.”

there's a sharp pain in your chest, you settle on calling it pity. of course, the rumors were true. there was only one person in this world that he could feasibly marry, the caligi princess with her connections and political advantages. after the empire's subjugation of the country something needed to be dealt as a stabilizer lest it all collapses. you always knew this, your devotion and purpose was simply a pawn stuck in the shadows. the confirmation makes your throat burn.

with thoughts racing, the heat of the moment, you blurt out, “is she pretty at least?”

you wince as soon as you say it, jhunne slamming the brush down. wood hitting wood with a harsh clack. the wind picks up and the candle explodes before it is snuffed out.

“how would i know! i've never even seen her before!” he yells, voice cracking as he stands with a clatter. you instinctively reach out but you’re too far to touch. his shoulders shake for a few seconds before he crumples into himself, elbows on his and face buried into his hands. “it's not fair.”

you grit your teeth, stepping forward. you did not care for politics, held no regard for the country with its cruel, sweltering heat. you were young and impulsive and the paradigm of a proper knight.

“you don't have to get married.”

his highness laughs. “not my choice to make.”

it takes three long steps to cross the room and for the first time since you met, he stands in your shadow. it takes five short seconds to realize that you hate that. so you kneel, at his feet where you belong, and take his hand.

“you don't have to get married,” you repeat, with more force behind the words. his eyes shine under the shadows. “we could run.”

he laughs, again, high and disbelieving in the throat. it sounds like a series of wind-chimes, twinkling through the breeze. you squeeze his hand. he hesitates, eyes flitting back and forth, to you and to your hold, to the open window.

“sir-”

“jhunne,” you say his name like worship and watch him shudder under your reverence. it rests easy on your tongue. it would be heresy to defile him, drag him down to stand equally, but as you kiss the back of his hand, you know you have never been more of an honest man. “i hold no loyalty to this empire. my devotion, my servitude, lies with you and only you.”

you own me. i would die for you. i love you more than anyone in this world. the words die on your tongue.

he stares, eyes wide like he wasn't aware of what you would do for him. “you…”

he wrenches his hand away as if you had burned him. the look on his face twists into fear. you don't move but watch carefully as he stumbles back. the hand you kissed was cradled to his chest, he turns, gown fluttering in the wind.

“this- this is incredibly unbecoming of a knight. i mean you-” he cuts himself off, stuttering through the words like he isn't sure what he wants to say. after a deep breath, he whips around with a glare. “i could have you arrested!”

there's a few seconds of silence. his fiery stance shaken by your impassive stare. this was the time anyone else than you would have groveled, begged for forgiveness, and hoped to get off with at least their life. the idea didn’t cross your mind, all you could think about was the moon behind him. it centered around him like a halo, spilling reflection through dark hair.

“and what am i getting arrested for?”

he gapes, it's a clear question of authority and from his most loyal of knights no less. there's a clear flash of hesitation as he looks to the side of the room. they're alone though and he has no choice but to give you full attention.

“you broke into a royals personal chamber,” he says, crossing his arms. you he was trying to glare at you but the stilted words and janky movements left him more like a petulant child.

you tilt your head with a wry smile. “if i recall, you let me in, jhunne.”

red rushes to fill his face, it must be strange to hear his name called so casually. he turns and begins to pace the room. you take this as the time to slowly stand up, much more relaxed than before.

“you did it again! addressed me without permission, wrong at that, and t-touched me. if anyone knows you could have your hands chopped off!” his voice raises, getting shriller by the second. at the last second, he turns back to add, “or worse!”

“or worse.”

“yes! not to mention,” he laughs but you can see the way his hands twist. “running away? devotion to me? that's- that's an absurd suggestion to even think about. it's practically treason.”

you couldn't stop yourself from snorting. jhunne for his part looks absolutely mortified. it's truly a shame he was never more rebellious.

“you insolent-”

“it's as you said,” you say, voice low, stepping forward. “if anyone finds out i will surely be charged with some serious crimes. hell, they might even skip the trial and go straight to execution.”

jhunne faltered, his anger falling away to something more fearful. he's probably never truly considered the after-effects of punishment outside of theoricals.

and you can't help but grin. “of course. that's only if anyone finds out.”

it's a brief second that you wonder if you went too far. jhunne had never got to make a home in the hills, he was a primed and tamed rabbit. he knew nothing of what dogs like you did. would never dream of jaws snapping at his neck. you almost begin to back-track, supposed to help him not scare him. until the fear falls away into hesitance into consideration.

eyes flicker over your form before settling on your face. he turns, and lightly steps towards his bed before placing himself on the edge. when he faces you he doesn't meet your eyes.

“i don't mind getting married. i just…” he sighs, bringing a hand up to rub at his face. “i would have liked to meet her first. i don't want to spend my first night with a stranger.”

there is a twitch in your fingers. jhunne sits up, posture straightening and it takes your breath away. you wish, if just for a split second, that jhunne hated the princess. succession was messy business but if he had that desire for more you would lay your life to give it to him. his eyes flicker over your body once more.

“it seems you're the kind who has no issues committing sins against the royal family.” he leans back, the nightgown has begun to slip. you drag your eyes across the reveal, the soft curve of his throat. there's an odd tone as he speaks, eyes shadowed with an unknown emotion. “i suppose that means you won't mind committing a few more.”

a thousand different ways to take that and none of them good. you think of cliche maiden tales, of dashing knights and evil witches. you watch how he shifts in place, thighs squeezing together as the gown rides up and you feel hungry.

“we’re alone in my bedchambers,” he murmurs and you flick back to the shadows of his eyes. “it's a situation one can easily take advantage of.”

he meets your gaze.

your brother had trained you for years, drilling every possible lesson he could think of into your head. follow your duty, fairytales aren't real and never act out on your desire. keep it a secret tucked to your chest for only the late nights. but the words of your brother felt too far to remember, not here, not with the moon peering in and you're alone and he's offering.

“i can't,” you choke out.

“you can,” he croons, ripples of fabric like water. “i don't have a choice.”

jhunne was going to be the death of you. no brighter than the sun beckoning icarus to his embrace and you step forward. it's a sweet defilement, a willful giving. impossible to tell who's in control anymore. a hand comes to brush his face. your gloves, a thin leather, prevent true contact. a final deniability.

you follow the curve of his jaw, down to the soft slope of his neck where thick hair curls under ear. he leans to your touch, exposing the length of his neck. god, you want nothing more than to lay claim.

“do you know what you're asking for?”

“does it matter?” he blinks, slow.

it does. you could force him down now, make him take it, and make it hurt. a misconstrued sense of justice, tough love to teach him how the real world works outside of his sheltered, pampered life. if you ruin this then no one will be able to put him back together but you. there's a shimmer in his eyes, apprehension. jhunne is still a child, barely fourteen. your muse and star and rabbit. you couldn't do that to him.

you tilt his head up. a nice flush has settled across his round cheeks and nose. there's a moment as you lean forward, just to look, that he glances at your lips before meeting your gaze. his eyes shine as they flutter close and you have half a mind to lay a kiss on his temple before pulling back.

he makes a noise of confusion, hand coming up to rub his head while his brows furrow. it was undeniably cute, the reaction of a boy who's never been denied. still, you reach into your bag, tied to the belt. there wasn't much to be stored there except for a small vial. another way to get through the night and an extra precaution in case a particularly pretty maid caught your eye. you toss it to jhunne and he fumbles to grab it.

his hands curl around the glass, shimmering under the moonlight, and gives you a wide stare. thick liquid moves slowly inside as he turns it over for inspection.

“what's this for?” he asks.

“it's oil. it helps.” it was a vague offering to gauge his reaction.

he looks back to the bottle, hesitant. “oh, um. right.”

phelles was an empire of morals. divine purity and religious words were the law. it was an indisputable fact and yet you were almost affronted at his complete lack of knowledge. to think they were going to send him away like this was obscene. at least, you mused, you were getting something good out of it. you liked to be relied on.

which is why you let him struggle in favor of stripping your armor. it was nothing heavy, the basics to last you through a fight with minimal protection but not enough to be clanky. you unfasten the leather, pulling off the breastplate and discarding it to the floor. the belt around your tunic comes off with ease. you hear a small gasp as you strip away the fabric.

jhunne holds none of your shame in watching. he stares, unabashedly, eyes roaming over your chest. lean and sturdy with more than enough scars to your name. only a few were from real battles, the rest were gained through increasingly harsh sparring with your brother. you weren't unattractive by any means but it didn't stop the buzz of nerves beneath your skin. at least until he turns his head and smiles with just too much teeth and he still hasn't opened the bottle.

“it's a twist,” you offer, eager to direct some attention.

“oh.” he doesn't move.

you step forward to pull it from his grasp, gloved fingers brushing against his own. without a second thought, you lean down to grab at his waist.

he squeaks as you lift him, tossing him back to the middle of the bed so you can climb on. his nightgown flutters and he laughs, leaning back. from here you had a perfect view, the fabric settles around his stomach to reveal his legs, soft like the rest of him. you place a hand, still gloved because the idea of skin on skin was near unbearable, unallowable, before sliding down the front of his thigh just to them apart. he lets you and in a moment of delusional confidence you grab his nightgown and pull it off entirely.

for the first time, you get to see him for what he was. all layers stripped away to reveal a small, pudgy boy, still soft with baby fat and milk. well-fed and unworked like most nobles are. round face perfectly framed by pitch-black curls that tapered into the darkness. keeping him something almost intangible, hard to grasp. but you can, massaging into his thighs.

he was beautiful and he was yours.

jhunne gives you no question and you give him no choice. sliding up to place his hand into yours, you turn to reveal his wrist and move down to press your lips to the veins. it was a phellenes tradition, a blessing of life and devotion, a promise of servitude. an apology.

you don't let go of his hand, even as you pull back. instead, you bring your attention to the vial of oil. with practiced ease, you unscrew the bottle and tip it over his fingers. it pours thick with a nice shine, dripping over the sides and into a small pool on his stomach. you chance a glance up to jhunne only to find he's still watching you. that makes you feel awful so you lean forward and press your head into his shoulder, ignoring the uncomfortable tightness of your pants.

you turn your head just enough to speak low into his ear. “you're going to prepare yourself.”

he shudders and you tighten the hold on his wrist. with one hand available, still rested on his thighs, you slide down to press into the small tent forming in his bloomers. you press your palm down hearing him whimper while his hips buck into you without thought. that brings a small grin to your face. probably felt against his skin if his sharp gasp and sudden fingers around your wrist were anything to go by. he was far too weak to push you off and you had no problems starting up a steady rhythm, feeling him harden beneath thin fabric.

“why can't you do it,” he whines, high in the throat and petulant like a child, pushing his head to the side to leave his neck exposed.

unable to resist you nip the skin below the ear and feel him gasp. you grind your palm down harsh to get a reaction that comes in the form of a whimper.

“behave yourself,” you say, kissing to soothe the skin. “you need to learn.”

his head rolls back to face you, bumping your foreheads together. though his eyes are kept down, his body relaxes and the grip around your wrist vanishes.

“sorry,” he whispers and you hold back a groan.

you hook your fingers into his shorts and pull them down, risking a peek lower. jhunne was short but thick and leaking at the tip, curved nicely to nestle into the fold of his stomach, with only the faintest wisps of hair. the sight alone was nearly enough to make you come in your pants. you could only dream of being this close, of knowing. burying your face into his neck, you inhale, wondering how many times he would kill you tonight until satisfied.

there was no point in hiding away, you wanted, needed, to see what you were doing. you kiss his shoulder and move back, taking a pause to admire the sight. flushed and heavy-lidded, lips gnawed red. he was a sight of divine, lacking any feasible flaw. completely untouched with his hand hovering, slick with oil.

you ignore his dick in favor of shifting him in place, pulling off his bloomers completely to be discarded. pushing his legs up and back, pulling his thighs for a better view. he's completely pliant under your touch, falling into place with ease. you bring his hand down to circle his entrance. he shivers and ducks his head to the side.

it's a slow-going process, carefully guiding him until he's knuckles deep in himself, legs trembling with effort. you rub slow circles into his thighs, praise coming to you as natural as breathing as you wipe away his tears and silence his whines.

“that's it, darling, you're doing so good,” you purr over the words even as he falters. “relax and add another finger.”

he moans. “it's too much.”

you laugh breathlessly and kiss his knee. “you can take it.”

with enough oil soaked into the leather of your glove, you press your own fingers to his entrance, feeling him tense. “relax.”

he does so just enough for you to slide in, pressed tight against his own fingers. his body trembles even as he takes you. it's a delicate thing to stretch him out, go too rough and he’ll bleed virgin blood - though that was not yours to take. you grit your teeth and shift to push your trousers down, freeing yourself from the fabric confines. there's just enough oil left in the vial to coat your hand and cock, giving yourself a few hard tugs for reprieve.

jhunne wasn't faring much better. his cock lies neglected, red, and leaking at the tip. cute and unfulfilled even with every twist of your finger makes him shake. a thin sheen of sweat had already begun to form. he wasn't looking anymore, face scrunched as he bites at his bottom lip in a vain attempt to stifle his noises. that makes your dick twitch.

he lets you take over the pace, slow as you push against his walls. just loose enough to form a steady rhythm. it wasn't long before you decided to pull out, his fingers following suit. it wasn't nearly enough time spent but you paid it no mind, always more fond of the kill than the thrill of the chase. you were giving him a reprieve of his duties, nothing more and nothing else.

though as you line up against his hole you grab his hand, leaning forward to keep your arms at the sides of his head. you pretend not to notice the shake. he cracks open his eyes and you shudder a breath, fingers intertwining with his own. “do you trust me?”

there was something vulnerable in you, in yours. like a dog staring into the eye of the rabbit, seconds before his jaws snap shut for good. jhunne seems to fear no death as he nods. the taste of metal is thick on your tongue.

“it'll hurt,” you tell him, offering no comfort. there's no grace of a smile or the turn of reproach, just a grim acceptance of the act. you kiss the corner of his lips and linger a second too long.

and then you push in.

he's a lot tighter than comfortable, body tense under your hands. you keep your focus to ground yourself and keep pushing so you know you're in. hitching his leg up to wrap around your waist for a better angle. you work the stiff muscles in a weak attempt to relax though you feel much the same. wound up and ready to snap at any minute. hyper-aware of your weight on your bed, the shift of your bones, the throb of your dick. you're halfway in when he starts crying.

there's nothing to do, nothing you want to do as you watch him hang his head back and wail. it's a loud, broken thing of a child. something hot burns in your gut, rolling around with no place to settle. tears begin to pour in uneven streaks down his cheeks as he shakes his head. you close your eyes and choose not to consider what that means.

you continue on. he sobs wetly, cracking at the edges. “sir..”

“lophias,” you tell him, selfish as ever. “please use my name.”

the hand in yours tightens just as his body does and you have to grit your teeth. he chokes on your name, shaking under you. the heat of your gut fans into a fire, spreading all through your limbs at the sound. finally, finally, you grab his dick, a soft tug for relief, a distraction. he cries and bucks into your touch. his grip is impossibly tight, nails digging into your flesh to keep you aware. your touch is gentle but firm, strokes to divert attention but not push him over the edge. you wonder, briefly, if he is bleeding for you, just as you reach the hilt.

silence falls over the room. the only noise is the pulse of the blood in your ears, the rustling of the wind, and jhunne's soft sniffling. you don't stop stroking him even as his breathing begins to shallow. it's only when he says your name, a sharp gasp, that you open your eyes and know you could never go back.

his face was a deep red and his eyes were glossy, hazed over with an unknown emotion. your heart thumps and you know he hears it.

“lophias,” he repeats.

“what do you need?” you ask, beg.

he says nothing but whimpers your name and you still your hand, just to let it fall to his hip. with no other option, you slowly pull out, just an inch or two, before pushing back in. he makes a strangled noise, eyes tearing up at the movement. with every roll of your hips, it gets easier, smoother until you start hitting the spots. you can see the exact moment he began to shift, body tensing not from pain, face darkening as his mouth falls open.

you lift his thighs, just enough so-

he jolts, tensing as his eyes roll back and his back arches and, gods, there it is. jhunne moans, proper and drawn out, barely able to get his mouth around the syllables of your name.

“fuck, you're perfect.”

the moment the words left your mouth, you knew it was over. lines upon lines of praise, adoration, desire poured from your mouth like a dead man's prayer. words you should never say, tucked away for the dark of night to be discussed between you and your hand. you agonize over the confession to bare your dog-hearted hunger, for him, only for him because he is real in your hands and in this night, under this moon, he is yours.

waves crash and break to smooth sea glass eyes and his face crumples. he throws his free hand over his eyes as if that will save him, hiccuping while the new-spurned sobs pick up weight. the jaws have begun to close.

“i want to see you,” you beg him as if he has a choice. this is want, forced down and taken to be something mortal, something alive. the arm moves back and he chokes at the rock of your hips. your hand comes to splay across his cheek, feeling the wet soak into leather. “that's it, my love.”

there's a shift as you push forward, angled right to get his body lurching, back bending. a stream of filth falls from his mouth. you pull back to touch him, taking hold of his dick, straining in your hand. with the flick of your wrist, you begin a new pace, harder and deeper and just as achingly slow. his own hand follows yours down, once again finding its place around your wrist. blunt nails claw into skin and you hope it scars.

it's easier now, sliding into him. he rocks back into you, bucking his hips with no thought. the feeling of warmth and wetness has begun to settle as your head spins, breath growing ragged. heat flares in your stomach, and muscles begin to quiver. jhunne screams your name as he comes.

his body tenses, clamping harsh to make you groan, shaking as he spills white streaks across the soft of his stomach. it's a few minutes of overwhelming noise as he's driven to the peak. then just like that he relaxes, collapsing back as all tension melts from achy limbs. he gasps for air, chest heaving, like the very act of existing in this moment was too much.

and you. you stay very, very still.

your job was done. jhunne, your star and rabbit, was no longer of virgin name. stripped and laid bare for the burrow-grave fate that ticks ever closer. and yet. you were still aching, still needing inside, the idea of consequence ever off.

it's an agonizing task to pull out, done only with a knight's focus and a grimace. you keep your gaze turned away from the streaks of red that paint his thighs. when you're done you chance a glance up, breath catching in your throat. he's watching you. beneath heavy-lidded eyes and bite-red lips, still open and panting. your hand was still intertwined with his own, an awkward slotting that left you flexing your knuckles.

jhunne doesn't let you pull away, fingers curling to press into the back-hand. “sir.”

the title doesn't make you flinch. his free hand reaches out as an offering, you take it. leaning down to let him cup the side of your cheek, trail the edge of your jaw, rub at cracks in the skin. your dick, pressed hard into the fat of his stomach, throbs. his hand lowers.

you swallow. “my prince, there's no need.”

“i want to,” he says, staring into your eyes as he takes soft hold. “who are you to deny me?”

it burns. his gaze, his touch, the guilty pound of your heart, like every second is a further stripping of the wax to leave nothing but the ugly charred truth. there's nothing worse than the graceful inexperience. feather-light torture to caress but not give. you almost wonder, as nails scratch over your tip and trace down the veins, if he does it on purpose. if feigned ignorance means cruelty. if you deserve anything more than denial.

at the base he wraps his fingers, too small to touch, and yanks. nails dig into sensitive flesh, a harsh becoming. if blood is spilled here does it mark you a virgin no more? there's something of a smile on his lips as you whimper into his hand.

when he pulls away, the moonlight catches on cum dripping from his fingers. a cold, sinking feeling of shame washes over you. he puts his fingers to your lips, smearing slick across your mouth. the bitter taste of metal lingers on your tongue. you watch as his tongue drags across his bottom lip. he asks, “will you ever be married?”

“do you wish it?”

your prince blinks slow and turns his head to the side, where your hands still lay joined. he says, “stay with me tonight.”

it's a hard thing to resist leaning down, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, so you don't. mumbling against the skin, kissed hot to combat the ever-settling chill, you say, “i am sure this is treason.”

“then you are a criminal and i am a fool.”

you laugh. and laugh and laugh until your body shakes and chest hurts, until you slide your hand from his weak hold, laughing so the sting in your eyes can be thrown for another cause. all the way until it's impossible to breathe, sucking in harsh gasps and sticky-coated hands come to tug at curls. when you finish and the silence is more familiar than ever, you roll over.

no longer on top, a pretend back-cornering, you lay splayed at his side. for this moment you could be equals.

he moves, a quiet shuffling until his head comes to rest on your shoulder. it can't be comfortable, though you make no motion to move. you close your eyes and breath. take in the seconds of silence after the kill, before the hungry dogs limp back to their owners. the after-image of dawn as the sun breaks on the horizon and stars flicker out of view.

in a few minutes, when his breath evens out and his body stills, you will stand. to clean and re-dress so as to not give a suggestion about what took place this night. the maids are sharp with gossip and rumors, but you know better than that. when you dress, pulling on heavy metal and chaffing leather, you will be slower than needed. you will convince yourself as an extra precaution.

the wind continues to billow. shutting the window, pulling back the curtains, plunging the room into darkness. it will leave the air thick and heady. without a glance back, not to ruin the moment as to tuck the want safely hidden in your chest, under your tongue, and you will take your place at the door.

for now, you keep your eyes closed.