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“A hundred years,” Perl sobs back. “A hundred years, Master.”
Kerik licks his fingers again and slides them back into Perl. “Nothing has been inside you for a century? You must ache.”
“Yes. Correct. Please, make me wait no longer.”
Perl presses his head deeper into the pillows and moans louder, longer and deeper, louder still when Kerik uses his fingers to stretch Perl’s spit-wet hole open further, turning his wrist, moving his fingers in a way he knows will make a man drip desire.
Kerik’s heart is beating hard. His need to take Perl growing with each little moan and needy shaking sound he makes. “You have oil, faerie?”
Perl makes a soft sighing noise and says, “In the bathing room,” then, “you don’t have to move.”
It takes Kerik a moment to realise what Perl is saying. When he does, he thinks Perl might have lost his mind to lust because Kerik thinks it quite unlikely that he can do magic now. That he can focus his will when he is so desperate to slide his cock into Perl’s hole.
And then he notices the bottle of oil is already in his hand. He isn’t sure which of them did the magic to bring it. But he wastes no time. Not to marvel over the usefulness of the magic, or to ask Perl how it happened. He opens the bottle, soaks his hand in the rose-scented oil and slicks his cock.
A hundred years.
A hundred years and then him.
He moves between Perl’s thighs and mounts him. Sliding in a single perfect glide into the strange cool tightness of Perl’s hole. It is like no act of fucking Kerik has ever felt before. As he presses in, right to the root of his cock, and hears Perl sob, he feels whole and right, deep inside himself.
“Not so chaste now,” he growls.
Perl shakes his head, face down against the pillows.
“Tell me.”
“Kerik Darekul…” Perl stammers, breathy.
Kerik pulls back out, almost fully, just the tip of his cock still inside. “Tell. Me. Faerie.”
“I’m not chaste,” Perl says. “Not anymore.”
Kerik slides his cock back in, slowly, to another groan of pleasure from Perl.
“Because of me.”
“Yes,” Perl arches back and something in him, all his resolve, seems to break. “Yes, because of you, Master. Fuck me, Master. Hard, please. Break my vow.” Perl moves more frantically, pushing himself up as Kerik pulls back — chasing more. “Break everything. Take me so hard you would break me into pieces.”
In response Kerik growls, drawing back and thrusting into Perl harder. As hard as he can, all his strength behind it, making Perl cry out in shock as the force shifts his body up the bed. Kerik does it again. Again and again. Both of them moaning and gasping, two sets of breath becoming more and more ragged with arousal. It’s all animal. Kerik is fully the beast Vane claims him to be. Kerik’s senses are full of Perl, the cries in his ears, the sight of Perl’s pale, perfect skin and the braid that snakes down his back, the scent of Perl’s sweat, like cold air at night, the feel of him, the taste of him, still in Kerik’s mouth.
Kerik feels like his whole body has come alive for the first time.
He takes hold of Perl’s braid, white hair shimmering against Kerik’s darker skin. He pulls. He forces Perl’s head back, exposing his scarred throat to Kerik’s mouth. Kerik kisses him there, biting hard on that reddened flesh, moaning against Perl’s body, “Faerie. My beautiful faerie, begging so sweetly to be taken roughly.”
Perl sobs. “Please, Master.”
“What do you want, faerie?” Kerik says, voice hard around gritted teeth with the effort of fucking.
“Master, may I… Please. May I spend from your cock, Master?”
Kerik’s mind floods with white pleasure. The sound of Perl’s broken voice as he begs to be allowed to spend from only the feel of Kerik inside him. “Filthy,” Kerik growls.
“Yes, Master,” Perl breathes back. “Yes, I am. I am yours, Yours to use. My pleasure is yours. May I spend for you, Master?”
Kerik thrusts forward, taking Perl a couple more times, moving deep and enjoying his whines of frustration.
“Please,” Perl sobs again.
