Friday - Free-For-All
Hey, guys! It's that time of the week for you to let your imaginations go wild with no restraints, other than keeping it legal... and possibly bending a few laws (*winkwink*). As always, you only need to follow the rules:
No spoilers in your prompts for at least one week after publication/air date.
If there are spoilers in your story, you must ( Read more... )
No spoilers in your prompts for at least one week after publication/air date.
If there are spoilers in your story, you must ( Read more... )
It is not so much that Dastan is a troublemaker; it is that trouble is his magnet. He is attracted to the thrill of danger wherever it may take him. As a boy it helped him survive the slums, but as a prince of Persia, it can drive Bis to stalking in Dastan’s shadow. Dastan is so dreadfully bored, that it bodes ill for everyone; Bis sees the signs, the sighs, the fidgeting and the longing glances for the street slums.
He itches to be out and about, just for one night, Dastan has begged before. He will again. Always, Bis has given in. Not this time, this time he will be selfish. Just this once, Bis will not give into Dastan - and Dastan will give into his inevitable nature where Bis can contain it. Dastan teases him with foreign princes, who are no better than pirates; with rich merchants who trade between Persia and their Koschkan enemies; with festivities where Dastan flirts into a crowd; and men and women lust for him with their eyes and brief touches. Bis keeps so close to Dastan’s side he might as well be a shadow, glaring into eyes that linger too long, sneering when Dastan is touched.
Dastan has gone to his rooms alone, alone but for Bis - and that is all Bis cares about.
Bis pins the youngest prince of Persia against his bed, face first. Only one of his hands holds both of Dastan’s upon the silk sheets - he does not try to struggle, only shivering eagerly, knowing what is coming. With a thief’s nimble fingers, Bis unlaces the ties that keep cloth upon Dastan’s skin. He yanks them down to Dastan’s knees, his bare bottom for Bis alone to see, to touch, to taste. He runs his hand over that smooth tan skin. Dastan gasps greedily for air, so great is his need.
“What do you want, my prince?” Bis asks softly against that warm, living, skin. His tongue makes trails of wet and heat against that buttocks; he licks at the sweat and feels Dastan make a soft low noise, his body trembling beneath Bis so trustingly. Bis takes a flask of oil from his pockets and rubs his hands in it.
“Bis, please…” It’s what Bis has been waiting to hear, that plea, the prince of Persia begging to be bedded by his best friend. He dips his fingers between that crack of flesh, nail strapping at the bud of tight nerves, dragging the tips of his fingers against it, circling and probing, with a smirk upon his face.
Dastan cants his hips, like a cat arching into touch. His groan is as satisfied as any cat purr.
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“Do I please you, my prince?” Bis hisses, his probing becoming a gentle push, he rests his fingertip there within Dastan, and listens to him breath and strain to remain still.
“Yes…” Dastan hisses, straining to control himself.
Bis pushes another finger in, joining it with the first; he curls them. Gently they move against the walls of that small opening, teasing it into pleasure. Bis finds what he seeks, and Dastan grits his teeth to keep from moaning. Bis is without mercy, touching there, scissoring his fingers against Dastan’s prostate.
“I’m going to bed you.” Bis’s voice is rough and low, for here and now Dastan is his, his alone. His to do with as Bis pleases.
“Yes, yes, please…” Dastan gasps, readily agreeing to anything Bis might suggest. He shivers and his words come with a stutter.
“So willing, so submissive…what would the people of Persia think, to see their prince so?” Dastan whines, as Bis takes his fingers from where Dastan most wants them.
“Slut…” Bis slaps that arching ass, making his golden skin blush bright.
His oiled fingers work to make his length slick enough to take Dastan. His prince would not stop Bis from hurting him, so it is Bis who must take care of him. As it is now, it has always been so. He looks down at all that Dastan is now, willing and eager and knows.
“You would bed anyone, from me - a former street urchin! - you your royal brothers…” Bis climbs atop Dastan, pinning him with weight and warmth, and what he most wants. He takes, he gives.
“They can’t have you; no one can have you, not like this…” Bis knows he rambles and raves, as he thrusts smoothly into Dastan’s warm embrace, they fit together tightly, and it is right, like sword and sheath. Dastan wakens, comes alive beneath him, in this he can not be meek and submissive, he bucks and Bis must ride him rough and hard, must tame him with each thrust and softly spoken threats and promises until Dastan is soothed.
Bis is here, he is alive, he will not let Dastan leave him. This is what he gives and gets.
“Yours.” Dastan promises, weakly, straining to find his climax.
“My prince.” Bis can say no more than this. Dastan moans and gasps, shuddering all over, shivering with his orgasm. Bis groans, biting into Dastan’s shoulder finding his own release which only Dastan can give him. He soothes the red skin with licks and kisses, pleased that Dastan is full of his seed, his life. For him, Dastan will live - if Bis will always be there.
Bis knows he will never go, he keeps the promise he made as an orphan boy. Dastan only has to be reminded that he won’t be left alone. Who would see the prince of Persia out of trouble, if not Bis?
Dastan kisses him, soft and sweet as any pomegranate.
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I'm glad you enjoyed it!
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I love you. this was fantastic. thank you! <3
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I'm glad you enjoyed reading this! :)
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