I'm not going to lose, yo
It was hot. The heated pressure pressed down on him, threatening to suffocate him. The lack of air, the high temperature, the friction, they drove him to the brink of insanity. He needed more. He wanted more. But what was more? What was it that he need?
He clawed at skin, drawing blood, leaving marks, receiving his own marks as the result, and pain.
The remote part of his mind knew there was something wrong with this, that he shouldn’t be here, naked, with every inches of his skin burning with need for someone else, degrading him down to the basest of his raw desire, leaving only instinct to make his decision for him. But thinking straight right now was like him trying to grab hold of an armful of sand with sieve. Not when that friction focused his mind to only thought about down, down there.
He tried to surge closer, to create more of that wonderful friction, but the other wouldn’t let him, pushing him down, restraining his hands, blocking his every move. He wanted to curse, loudly, vulgarly, but his mind was unable to locate the right word. It was hazy, and muddled, and raving as only a person driven to insanity could.
“Say it,” he heard someone said, the voice so far away, as if coming from another dimension. “Say you want me, Lionel.”
Lionel, yes, his name... He was Lionel.
He opened the eyes he didn’t realize he had closed. He could see a blurred face of someone with very, very beautiful green eyes. At first, he couldn't place who the person was, but then… those eyes reminded him of lizard… of… a dragon.
Lionel pushed the man away, trashed with all his might. The attempt was futile. He was no wilted flower. Even as the third prince of his country, one who was assigned to be a diplomat, to look pretty and make war with words instead of swords, he was no less trained in martial arts than his brothers.
The man in front of him though, was a monster. The grip on his hands was painful, and he could feel now the trickle of blood obscuring his eyes. The torn skin on his forehead stung. He couldn't even remember how he had hurt himself. And thinking… it was so hard to think.
"What have you done to me?" Lionel hissed.
The king's lips parted in a toothy smile. "Sobering up are we?" he mocked.
"Fuck you," Lionel said, spitting the king's face. It spattered back to his own cheek due to gravity, but a few drops landed, Lionel noted with satisfaction.
The king was dazed for a moment in surprise. And then, "Ah, should've seen that one coming," he laughed in mirth.
"Let me up," Lionel said.
"I can," the king said. "But then, it wouldn't be fun, would it?"
Lionel trashed again. It was still very like pushing on an unmoving wall.
"Since you so keen on it," the king said in annoyance. "I'll leave you alone."
Lionel felt something clicked around his wrists. The king had reached for the chains that he saw earlier and fastened them on him. Lionel cursed in his mind. He immediately tested the restraint and felt it wouldn't give. The bed creaked as the king got off.
"Your brother, Mathiu, is it? He arrived in court just this morning to plead your release. What do you think stop me from asking my general to severe his head?" the king told him.
Fuck. Fuck it. Lionel cursed. He gritted his teeth and swallowed down the humiliation of what he was about to say. "Please…" he said.
A smile. "Please what, my dear Lionel?"
"Please fuck me, your majesty."