Final Fantasy XVI fic, The Subjugation of the Phoenix by the Might of Bahamut
title: The Subjugation of the Phoenix by the Might of Bahamut
author: caledon (the_tower_room)
pairing: Dion/Joshua
rating: E
summary: O come ye and hear of Bahamut’s conquest
Of Phoenix beneath him who’s not allowed rest
Their bodies entwining ‘neath Rosalith’s skies
And all canst thou hear are their passionate cries
- The Spoony Bard, probably
words: 3660
notes: Written for the FFXVI kink meme: PhoenixFlare, captive/warden public fucking
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XVI belongs to Square Enix.
A/N: To OP: I did try to adhere to the main points. But Bahamut and Phoenix wanted to come out and play, so there ended up being two kinds of public fucking. Hope you’re not averse to the Eikons having their fun :|
“Glory be to Greagor. Let us pray…O most gracious, O most holy…”
The high priest stood in front of the troops in his holy vestments, sonorous voice echoing through the field. Prince Dion was with his captains at the front, head bowed, hands over their hearts as the praying custom dictated.
“…Goddess grant us victory!” The priest finished, and he was answered with a collective cry of “Victory!” followed by the stamping of sword and halberd to the ground before the troops marched forward towards the stone walls of Rosalith.
The city of Rosalith was a pile of rubble and bodies, screams echoed in the air redolent with blood and flame. The Archduke and his firstborn already perished; the duchess’s whereabouts unknown. All that was left was the sickly second-born son who had previously been bound to his bed, and in his nightshirt, staggered to the balcony of his room to be greeted by the sight of his homeland in ruins.
Though he struggled with his ailing body, still he took to the skies as the Phoenix for an attempt to do whatever he could to protect what was left of the duchy. The flames he fired merely added to the already burned remains; but he still managed to fight against the imperial soldiers, screeching a cry as he continued his attacks.
So concentrated was he to the happenings below that he did not sense until the last moment a shadow bearing upon him in the sky.
There was a fluttering at the edge of Joshua’s consciousness, of the Phoenix stirring in his mind. Joshua in the firebird’s body managed to swerve away from Bahamut’s claws that swung at him, deflecting a swipe. His smaller frame light in manoeuvring from the bulkier build of the dragon, as earnestly he instead sent his barrages onto the newly arrived enemy. It didn’t occur to him to wonder why Bahamut never once emitted out any kind of attacks, or that the dragon seemed to be focused only on capturing him.
Wind on his wings, he drew power unto himself for a mighty blast, but the charging of it cost him. Bahamut was able to quickly lessen the distance between them, crashing into him with a roar and swiftly smashing him into the ground below.
The quake that subsequently tremored the earth immediately quelled the fighting, staggering and felling imperial soldiers and duchy defenders alike. Their yells were drowned out by the Phoenix’s wails and Bahamut’s roars on the crater they made.
Hurriedly, soldiers with weapons drawn peered over the rubble, the remaining Rosarians intent on somehow rescuing the last scion of House Rosfield.
Only to be halted in their tracks, with the chasing imperial army also frozen at their heels.
From the pained screeches of the Phoenix and the wet squelching sounds they heard, they were expecting some sort of massacre occurring at the bottom of the crater.
They were instead greeted by the sight of the most Holy Son of Greagor rutting between the Phoenix’s spread legs, the span of glowing scarlet wings held down by Bahamut’s own leathery wings and spikes.
Confused by the suddenly ceased battle, the holy priest, panting and weighed down by his vestments, reached the front, and stopped in his tracks by the spectacle, mind agog. Eyes darting to and fro, he turned and addressed the assembled mass.
“Er…Hear ye, and witness before you the subjugation of Rosaria. Glory be to Greagor for this victory!” yelled he, expecting an answering cry of “Victory!” from the masses, but instead was answered with yells of derision and annoyance, as well as lumps of dirt and rocks pelted at him.
“-Get the fuck outta the way, you wanker-”
“-Piss off-”
“-I can’t believe Bahamut has two dicks-”
“-Yeah. And the Phoenix is just taking it-”
“-I can’t see-”
“-Let’s move over there for a better angle-”
The conquest-dubbed with variations of The Subjugation of the Phoenix by the Might of Bahamut and Bahamut’s Big Boldness and the Phoenix’s Plumaged Pussy and The Defilement of the Gentle Phoenix by Bahamut’s Magnificent Pillars (all courtesy of the bards)-occurred over the course of a fortnight, with Sanbrequois soldiers and Rosarian survivors alike tiredly traveling to the rim of the crater to watch the spectacle, each one initially in wonderment at the marvel of two Eikons mating, and then as the long hours of nonstop coupling passed wondered whether it would ever end.
The duration lasted so long that word had spread throughout the land, and it incited a pilgrimage. There were crafters who managed to make their way from various parts of Storm, wielding sketchbooks and canvases and large chunks of marble in order to immortalize the momentous historical occasion in art and sculpture. Scholars came in waves, to study and debate over Eikonic biology and the long-tangled history of the two Eikons in question, some even going so far as to theorize whether an offspring was a possibility that could result from this.
There was a thick mist of aether that surrounded the Eikons, which helped to power them along over the long duration of their coupling. Sometimes the two would take to the skies in a blur of scarlet and silvery azure, managing to soar out even with their bottom halves still connected somehow. Other times they would even try out different positions in the crater, in whatever way their gigantic unwieldy bodies could allow.
Needless to say, the fortunate/unfortunate masses who’d borne witness to the union of Bahamut and Phoenix collectively felt that the novelty had worn off, and they really very much would like to get on with their lives, but could not very well do so without the Prince of Sanbreque to lead the victory march back to the capital.
When finally the aethereal mist dissipated, so too did the immense forms of the Eikons, leaving behind the prone figures of Dion Lesage on top of Joshua Rosfield-still entangled together, much to the dismay of the imperial soldiers and captive Rosarians. It wasn’t just that they couldn’t bring themselves to part the two unconscious figures (what with Prince Dion’s dick(s?) - people were still debating whether the prince retained the phalluses of his Eikon counterpart - still stuck in Joshua Rosfield’s ass), it was also because of the smell and the veritable pond made of their combined bodily discharges (in which the two were floating in) that served to impede them.
Eventually the two awoke, and attendants braved through the pond to assist them out for clean-up and meals. Once their charges were well-rested, a delegation was decided to stay behind for the imperial occupation of Rosaria, with Prince Dion leading select troops along with their Rosfield prize back to Oriflamme.
Prince Dion knelt before the throne, head bowed and expression morose. The hands held out before him were weighed down by the scroll that dictated Emperor Sylvestre’s decree: that before the statue of the Great Goddess Greagor in the most Holy Church of Sanbreque, he was to reenact the performance of The Subjugation of Rosaria, this time in human form with the Emperor, the Cardinals, and delegates of high nobility as witnesses.
Unbearable guilt ate at his heart; when the Phoenix soared the sky over Rosalith he felt Bahamut stir inside and forced a transformation on him. Dion could only watch everything that transpired from behind draconic eyes and share in the feelings experienced by Bahamut for the Phoenix writhing under his body. He could only be a bystander to the psychic conversation carried between the two as they expressed joy and pleasure at the reunion after centuries of parting, each day of continued coupling equaled to each century they were apart-meaning they had a lot to catch up on, so pent up were they from the long separation.
Once in a while during that time, Dion could also feel the Dominant of the Phoenix peering through the Eikon’s eyes, as helpless as the Prince and commiserating with him over their Eikon’s antics. There were also moments when they felt Bahamut’s and Phoenix’s consciousnesses recede enough to bring both Dion and Joshua to the forefront and have them partake in the mating, losing themselves to the throes of passion.
Even though it was Dion himself who was behind the golden eyes that peered down at bright burning blue, the body was not under his control. He could only pant with the exertion of the thrusts that Bahamut’s body delivered to the firebird underneath him. He could sense that it was the young Lord Rosfield that was currently in charge of the Phoenix, though as with Dion, he had no control.
Dion could only humbly supplicate, “Please pardon the intrusion, Lord Rosfield.” Then winced at the poor choice of words, even as shivers ran down his spine as he felt the fluttering insides that clenched his rigid ridged cocks.
Joshua gasped at a particular delicious hard thrust, the screeching trill of the Phoenix echoing in the crater. “Of which do you mean, oh Prince of Sanbreque?” the firebird’s Dominant managed in-between pants that seemed to be punched out of him with each plunge of Bahamut’s hips. “Your intrusion in my country? Or your intrusion in my body?”
Instead of the answer at the tip of Dion’s tongue, a roar erupted out of him, prolonged and almost pained with all the pleasure that shook him from horn to tail, his wings spanning out behind him, shaking in its spread, feeling Bahamut spilling yet more seed inside the Phoenix, making the body below squirt out the excess.
Before Dion’s hold in the Eikon’s mind was forcibly relinquished from him, he was beheld by the sudden gut-wrenching desire to kiss the human form of the body below. The feeling echoed in Bahamut, though the Eikon made do with however their respective jaws and beak allowed. And then Dion was back in the backseat of the dragon’s mind, intense yearning and uncompromising guilt filling him in equal measure.
The Prince of Sanbreque had not seen the last son of House Rosfield since their arrival in Oriflamme. On the journey back, the young Lord Rosfield had been thoroughly indisposed. His already weakened body had succumbed to the overexertion caused by the combined trauma of Rosaria’s conquest and the death of his family, the transformation into Phoenix, and the subsequent activities with Bahamut that followed.
Dion had not been allowed to meet with their captive, and any inquiries he made were rebuffed, citing that their prisoner was in a special confinement suite and that he was being carefully tended to by trustworthy people.
And now, apparently, their captive had awakened and recovered enough for the Emperor to make his decree, and Dion had no choice but to enact it.
“I hear and I obey,” said Dion in a lifeless tone.
Forgive me, Joshua Rosfield, implored the Prince inside his mind. I am but a weapon of the empire, and I am bidden to be wielded against you.
And I can only pray that Greagor forgives us all.
The altar inside the Holy Church of Sanbreque had been rearranged so that a lone golden throne bejeweled in turquoise stones stood in front of the statue of the Goddess Greagor, facing the rows of pews below the steps. Above on the balcony was the reserved seats for royalty where Sylvestre Lesage imposingly looked down onto the congregation below.
The High Cardinal oversaw the prayer, his voice echoing to the vaulted ceiling, “And so, with the grace of Greagor do we call upon the last son of Rosaria.” Organ music began to play to herald the coming of their captive.
Dion, who stood to the right of the High Cardinal, turned to face the centre aisle where, in a mockery of a wedding march, Joshua Rosfield was made to walk. He wore only a floor-length white cape, embroidered in golden and teal threads with Sanbrequois symbols, and now and then was a glimpse of his bare feet, toes curled in recoil on the cold marble floor. The long fall of his hair was like a halo of flame, the curls intertwined with wyvern tails and pearls, visible through the delicate sheer veil placed over his head. He seemed to wince with every step, flinching every now and again, and the sight pinched at Dion’s heart, muscles ticked at his jaw as he thought with trepidation about what was to transpire. And it was only when Joshua reached him that Dion saw his wrists bound by crystal fetters, restricting his power.
Behind his mind, Dion felt Bahamut’s outrage, and it was all he could do to force the Eikon down.
Closing his eyes, Dion composed himself. He heard the High Cardinal retreat onto the seat reserved for him in the first row. The caramel-brown eyes opened, and Dion reached out a hand to gently grasp the young Lord Rosfield’s own, whose expression was that of abject resignation to what was in store for him.
The Prince led him up the steps towards the throne, and a slew of pages marched forward to divest Joshua of the veil and the cape, baring him to the congregation.
In agony did Dion feel the trembling of the body beside him, and a tremulous gasp rang out of Joshua, echoing, as the plug that had been placed inside his ass as part of the preparation was removed from him.
And now the two found themselves alone before the throne. The ritual as transcribed in the emperor’s decree commanded that the last son of Rosfield face the congregation for their reenactment. But Dion - and Bahamut - couldn’t find it in themselves to share that piece of Joshua. Everything about this was bad enough, and he would spare Joshua in whatever capacity he was able to.
Garbed in ceremonial armour, Dion sat on the throne and pulled Joshua to his lap, the long slender legs draped over the arms of the chair, spreading him open. At the position, there were several exclamations of protest - this wasn’t what was decreed - but Dion cared not for them, only for the figure sitting on him, whose teeth rattled from both cold and fear.
Cupping the trembling cheeks dusted with freckles, Dion leaned his forehead against Joshua’s, and whispered, “I deserve not your forgiveness, Lord Rosfield, but nonetheless I selfishly ask for it.”
A shaky gasp was his reply and he was met by tearful blue eyes.
“Joshua,” intoned Dion, gentle and tender, before leaning for a kiss. The soft full lips were still opened in its gasp, and Dion’s invading tongue was added to the many intrusions already made upon Joshua. There was a part of Dion that made him want to prolong his time with the redhead, to linger in each touch and each kiss. To show that it was passion, and not conquest, that was behind every stroke of his hand and lips and tongue; that it was devotion, and not subjugation, that drove Dion.
The Prince’s hands wandered, a gentle stroke down Joshua’s spine had him arching, a cry the only noise that rang out, the audience behind him unseen and therefore temporarily forgotten: Dion wanted to make sure, that in facing each other, he was all that Joshua could see, could focus on.
Dion’s lips wandered down the slender neck and to the chest, tonguing a rosy bud already hard and distended by the cold air, earning him more pleasured cries, increasing in volume when his hands ambled down to part the globes of Joshua’s ass and reveal the winking wet hole between them.
At this, certain personages in the audience could be found shifting in their seats in discomfort and arousal, themselves majorly affected by the sight of the Prince of Sanbreque’s ministrations to their captive.
Having made do without the codpiece of the ceremonial armour gave Dion easy access to the fastening of his trousers, and he pulled out his engorged cock for all to see-and thus, could people finally confirm that, no, unfortunately, the Dominant of Bahamut did not retain the double dicks in human form. But it was still nonetheless impressive in length and girth, and some even wondered, whether the prisoner of Sanbrequois would even be able to fit that monster inside him, even though he had clearly been prepped beforehand.
Guided with one hand, the audience watched, captivated, as the cockhead trailed from taint to hole, back and forth, seemingly unable to find the opening and leaving a trail of precum in its wake. It was with a collective sigh of relief that the congregation watched as the tip finally caught on the rim, the head just breaching in only to slide out with an audible pop, much to the disappointment of the audience. This was repeated a few more times, seemingly teasingly, as Joshua Rosfield’s wails went from pleasured to annoyed.
And then finally, Prince Dion relented, burying the first few inches of his cock into the waiting hole made eager by his teasing, feeling Joshua clench tightly around him. “Shh,” he whispered, running soothing hands down Joshua’s back and ass, “loosen up for me, little bird.”
Joshua looped his shackled arms over Dion’s shoulders and relaxed his muscles, eyes closing at the feeling of his body being stretched open and trying to accommodate the intruding turgid dick. Now, in his own human body, the sensation of sheathing a hard cock inside was different from when he was made to share in the Phoenix’s own experiences.
The prince’s arms went underneath Joshua’s thighs, large callused hands cupping his ass as he was bounced on the cock spearing him open for all to see, voice high and whiny and breathless as though they were punched out of him with each pounding.
There was just Dion in front of Joshua, sweaty golden-blond hair plastered to his forehead and cheeks, brown eyes reflecting Joshua’s wanton face as he succumbed to the pleasure the prince was wringing out of his body. He felt Dion wrap a hand around his own dick, all this time unattended to yet hard all the same, and he couldn’t help tightening around Dion as he was stroked to completion, his cries ringing in the cathedral.
“Fuck! Joshua!!” was growled against his neck, and the redhead felt the rush of hot cum painting his insides white, familiar with how he experienced it with Phoenix, and yet different from Bahamut’s. For it was entirely all Dion. Dion Lesage’s seed spilling inside him.
The smell of sex permeated the air as members of the audience reached their own climax, adding to the already heady atmosphere.
Slumped against Dion, body still wracked with the last vestiges of his orgasm, Joshua reached for the prince’s lips, moaning through his panting breaths as their tongues met and stroked against each other. He shifted above as he felt Dion's softening cock slip out of him, hole fluttering at the emptiness, and felt Dion's seed spill onto the Prince's trousers below him.
“Joshua.”
“…Dion.”
“Please permit me.”
A tired huff of a laugh escaped the redhead. “Sanbreque’s Holy Son asking of a prisoner of war?”
The prince grimaced, but lived up to his title of being bold. “Permit me to set things right. I swear to you. As does Bahamut.”
The blue eyes that were dimmed with helplessness sparked with piqued interest. Inside him, the Phoenix’s yearning for Bahamut and the dragon’s Dominant was uncompromising and strong. Joshua could still feel it, though his connection to the Phoenix was diminished by the crystal fetters on his wrists.
During those days of mating underneath the skies of Rosalith, Joshua had sensed the helplessness, the entrapment of duty that had beholden the Prince to the empire he served. How the priests, the cardinals, and most of all the emperor, indoctrinated the Prince to the concept of the obligation he owed Greagor for being blessed to become Bahamut’s Dominant.
Lost in the caramel-brown eyes, in Joshua’s heart, he longed for Dion to be free. To shed the shackles of Sanbreque’s stifling religion and of their erroneous sense of righteousness in conquering all of Storm for themselves. Through the connection between Bahamut and Phoenix, Joshua had felt Dion’s growing doubt for everything that the empire had made him believe, for every peaceful country that the empire commanded him to lay siege to.
And the last crumbling of that long-held belief had happened here and now.
Joshua reached up and placed a kiss on Dion’s forehead, on the tip of his nose, and onto his lips. “I and the Phoenix grant you our permission, Dion Lesage.”
Tiredly, Joshua’s lips trailed from Dion’s, his head drooping on a broad shoulder as he succumbed to fatigue.
Though aside from the loud cries issued by the captive, whatever was said between Dion and Joshua remained between themselves, unheard by their audience. The congregation had been pleased with the performance. Though it might not be an exact reproduction of what transpired in Rosalith between the Eikons themselves, it was nonetheless still the symbolic subjugation of Rosaria with the duchy’s last preeminent member of House Rosfield.
But what they failed to see as they congratulated themselves, applauding the masterful presentation, were the Prince’s eyes glowing in a golden light of righteous fury, as Bahamut committed to memory every single face inside the church that day.
No longer would he allow himself and his Dominant to be obligated to the empire.
For them to have forced the Dominant of Phoenix this indignity and have him subjected to suffer such humiliation, both Eikons and Dominants would have their retribution.
There would be no peace to be found in Sanbreque.
There no longer would be an empire.
And its ruins would be their matrimonial gift to the Phoenix and his Dominant.
A/N: A lot of the monsterfucking is inspired by the discussions about it in the PhoenixFlare discord.
Thanks for reading
Sep/2023
author: caledon (the_tower_room)
pairing: Dion/Joshua
rating: E
summary: O come ye and hear of Bahamut’s conquest
Of Phoenix beneath him who’s not allowed rest
Their bodies entwining ‘neath Rosalith’s skies
And all canst thou hear are their passionate cries
- The Spoony Bard, probably
words: 3660
notes: Written for the FFXVI kink meme: PhoenixFlare, captive/warden public fucking
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XVI belongs to Square Enix.
A/N: To OP: I did try to adhere to the main points. But Bahamut and Phoenix wanted to come out and play, so there ended up being two kinds of public fucking. Hope you’re not averse to the Eikons having their fun :|
“Glory be to Greagor. Let us pray…O most gracious, O most holy…”
The high priest stood in front of the troops in his holy vestments, sonorous voice echoing through the field. Prince Dion was with his captains at the front, head bowed, hands over their hearts as the praying custom dictated.
“…Goddess grant us victory!” The priest finished, and he was answered with a collective cry of “Victory!” followed by the stamping of sword and halberd to the ground before the troops marched forward towards the stone walls of Rosalith.
The city of Rosalith was a pile of rubble and bodies, screams echoed in the air redolent with blood and flame. The Archduke and his firstborn already perished; the duchess’s whereabouts unknown. All that was left was the sickly second-born son who had previously been bound to his bed, and in his nightshirt, staggered to the balcony of his room to be greeted by the sight of his homeland in ruins.
Though he struggled with his ailing body, still he took to the skies as the Phoenix for an attempt to do whatever he could to protect what was left of the duchy. The flames he fired merely added to the already burned remains; but he still managed to fight against the imperial soldiers, screeching a cry as he continued his attacks.
So concentrated was he to the happenings below that he did not sense until the last moment a shadow bearing upon him in the sky.
There was a fluttering at the edge of Joshua’s consciousness, of the Phoenix stirring in his mind. Joshua in the firebird’s body managed to swerve away from Bahamut’s claws that swung at him, deflecting a swipe. His smaller frame light in manoeuvring from the bulkier build of the dragon, as earnestly he instead sent his barrages onto the newly arrived enemy. It didn’t occur to him to wonder why Bahamut never once emitted out any kind of attacks, or that the dragon seemed to be focused only on capturing him.
Wind on his wings, he drew power unto himself for a mighty blast, but the charging of it cost him. Bahamut was able to quickly lessen the distance between them, crashing into him with a roar and swiftly smashing him into the ground below.
The quake that subsequently tremored the earth immediately quelled the fighting, staggering and felling imperial soldiers and duchy defenders alike. Their yells were drowned out by the Phoenix’s wails and Bahamut’s roars on the crater they made.
Hurriedly, soldiers with weapons drawn peered over the rubble, the remaining Rosarians intent on somehow rescuing the last scion of House Rosfield.
Only to be halted in their tracks, with the chasing imperial army also frozen at their heels.
From the pained screeches of the Phoenix and the wet squelching sounds they heard, they were expecting some sort of massacre occurring at the bottom of the crater.
They were instead greeted by the sight of the most Holy Son of Greagor rutting between the Phoenix’s spread legs, the span of glowing scarlet wings held down by Bahamut’s own leathery wings and spikes.
Confused by the suddenly ceased battle, the holy priest, panting and weighed down by his vestments, reached the front, and stopped in his tracks by the spectacle, mind agog. Eyes darting to and fro, he turned and addressed the assembled mass.
“Er…Hear ye, and witness before you the subjugation of Rosaria. Glory be to Greagor for this victory!” yelled he, expecting an answering cry of “Victory!” from the masses, but instead was answered with yells of derision and annoyance, as well as lumps of dirt and rocks pelted at him.
“-Get the fuck outta the way, you wanker-”
“-Piss off-”
“-I can’t believe Bahamut has two dicks-”
“-Yeah. And the Phoenix is just taking it-”
“-I can’t see-”
“-Let’s move over there for a better angle-”
The conquest-dubbed with variations of The Subjugation of the Phoenix by the Might of Bahamut and Bahamut’s Big Boldness and the Phoenix’s Plumaged Pussy and The Defilement of the Gentle Phoenix by Bahamut’s Magnificent Pillars (all courtesy of the bards)-occurred over the course of a fortnight, with Sanbrequois soldiers and Rosarian survivors alike tiredly traveling to the rim of the crater to watch the spectacle, each one initially in wonderment at the marvel of two Eikons mating, and then as the long hours of nonstop coupling passed wondered whether it would ever end.
The duration lasted so long that word had spread throughout the land, and it incited a pilgrimage. There were crafters who managed to make their way from various parts of Storm, wielding sketchbooks and canvases and large chunks of marble in order to immortalize the momentous historical occasion in art and sculpture. Scholars came in waves, to study and debate over Eikonic biology and the long-tangled history of the two Eikons in question, some even going so far as to theorize whether an offspring was a possibility that could result from this.
There was a thick mist of aether that surrounded the Eikons, which helped to power them along over the long duration of their coupling. Sometimes the two would take to the skies in a blur of scarlet and silvery azure, managing to soar out even with their bottom halves still connected somehow. Other times they would even try out different positions in the crater, in whatever way their gigantic unwieldy bodies could allow.
Needless to say, the fortunate/unfortunate masses who’d borne witness to the union of Bahamut and Phoenix collectively felt that the novelty had worn off, and they really very much would like to get on with their lives, but could not very well do so without the Prince of Sanbreque to lead the victory march back to the capital.
When finally the aethereal mist dissipated, so too did the immense forms of the Eikons, leaving behind the prone figures of Dion Lesage on top of Joshua Rosfield-still entangled together, much to the dismay of the imperial soldiers and captive Rosarians. It wasn’t just that they couldn’t bring themselves to part the two unconscious figures (what with Prince Dion’s dick(s?) - people were still debating whether the prince retained the phalluses of his Eikon counterpart - still stuck in Joshua Rosfield’s ass), it was also because of the smell and the veritable pond made of their combined bodily discharges (in which the two were floating in) that served to impede them.
Eventually the two awoke, and attendants braved through the pond to assist them out for clean-up and meals. Once their charges were well-rested, a delegation was decided to stay behind for the imperial occupation of Rosaria, with Prince Dion leading select troops along with their Rosfield prize back to Oriflamme.
Prince Dion knelt before the throne, head bowed and expression morose. The hands held out before him were weighed down by the scroll that dictated Emperor Sylvestre’s decree: that before the statue of the Great Goddess Greagor in the most Holy Church of Sanbreque, he was to reenact the performance of The Subjugation of Rosaria, this time in human form with the Emperor, the Cardinals, and delegates of high nobility as witnesses.
Unbearable guilt ate at his heart; when the Phoenix soared the sky over Rosalith he felt Bahamut stir inside and forced a transformation on him. Dion could only watch everything that transpired from behind draconic eyes and share in the feelings experienced by Bahamut for the Phoenix writhing under his body. He could only be a bystander to the psychic conversation carried between the two as they expressed joy and pleasure at the reunion after centuries of parting, each day of continued coupling equaled to each century they were apart-meaning they had a lot to catch up on, so pent up were they from the long separation.
Once in a while during that time, Dion could also feel the Dominant of the Phoenix peering through the Eikon’s eyes, as helpless as the Prince and commiserating with him over their Eikon’s antics. There were also moments when they felt Bahamut’s and Phoenix’s consciousnesses recede enough to bring both Dion and Joshua to the forefront and have them partake in the mating, losing themselves to the throes of passion.
Even though it was Dion himself who was behind the golden eyes that peered down at bright burning blue, the body was not under his control. He could only pant with the exertion of the thrusts that Bahamut’s body delivered to the firebird underneath him. He could sense that it was the young Lord Rosfield that was currently in charge of the Phoenix, though as with Dion, he had no control.
Dion could only humbly supplicate, “Please pardon the intrusion, Lord Rosfield.” Then winced at the poor choice of words, even as shivers ran down his spine as he felt the fluttering insides that clenched his rigid ridged cocks.
Joshua gasped at a particular delicious hard thrust, the screeching trill of the Phoenix echoing in the crater. “Of which do you mean, oh Prince of Sanbreque?” the firebird’s Dominant managed in-between pants that seemed to be punched out of him with each plunge of Bahamut’s hips. “Your intrusion in my country? Or your intrusion in my body?”
Instead of the answer at the tip of Dion’s tongue, a roar erupted out of him, prolonged and almost pained with all the pleasure that shook him from horn to tail, his wings spanning out behind him, shaking in its spread, feeling Bahamut spilling yet more seed inside the Phoenix, making the body below squirt out the excess.
Before Dion’s hold in the Eikon’s mind was forcibly relinquished from him, he was beheld by the sudden gut-wrenching desire to kiss the human form of the body below. The feeling echoed in Bahamut, though the Eikon made do with however their respective jaws and beak allowed. And then Dion was back in the backseat of the dragon’s mind, intense yearning and uncompromising guilt filling him in equal measure.
The Prince of Sanbreque had not seen the last son of House Rosfield since their arrival in Oriflamme. On the journey back, the young Lord Rosfield had been thoroughly indisposed. His already weakened body had succumbed to the overexertion caused by the combined trauma of Rosaria’s conquest and the death of his family, the transformation into Phoenix, and the subsequent activities with Bahamut that followed.
Dion had not been allowed to meet with their captive, and any inquiries he made were rebuffed, citing that their prisoner was in a special confinement suite and that he was being carefully tended to by trustworthy people.
And now, apparently, their captive had awakened and recovered enough for the Emperor to make his decree, and Dion had no choice but to enact it.
“I hear and I obey,” said Dion in a lifeless tone.
Forgive me, Joshua Rosfield, implored the Prince inside his mind. I am but a weapon of the empire, and I am bidden to be wielded against you.
And I can only pray that Greagor forgives us all.
The altar inside the Holy Church of Sanbreque had been rearranged so that a lone golden throne bejeweled in turquoise stones stood in front of the statue of the Goddess Greagor, facing the rows of pews below the steps. Above on the balcony was the reserved seats for royalty where Sylvestre Lesage imposingly looked down onto the congregation below.
The High Cardinal oversaw the prayer, his voice echoing to the vaulted ceiling, “And so, with the grace of Greagor do we call upon the last son of Rosaria.” Organ music began to play to herald the coming of their captive.
Dion, who stood to the right of the High Cardinal, turned to face the centre aisle where, in a mockery of a wedding march, Joshua Rosfield was made to walk. He wore only a floor-length white cape, embroidered in golden and teal threads with Sanbrequois symbols, and now and then was a glimpse of his bare feet, toes curled in recoil on the cold marble floor. The long fall of his hair was like a halo of flame, the curls intertwined with wyvern tails and pearls, visible through the delicate sheer veil placed over his head. He seemed to wince with every step, flinching every now and again, and the sight pinched at Dion’s heart, muscles ticked at his jaw as he thought with trepidation about what was to transpire. And it was only when Joshua reached him that Dion saw his wrists bound by crystal fetters, restricting his power.
Behind his mind, Dion felt Bahamut’s outrage, and it was all he could do to force the Eikon down.
Closing his eyes, Dion composed himself. He heard the High Cardinal retreat onto the seat reserved for him in the first row. The caramel-brown eyes opened, and Dion reached out a hand to gently grasp the young Lord Rosfield’s own, whose expression was that of abject resignation to what was in store for him.
The Prince led him up the steps towards the throne, and a slew of pages marched forward to divest Joshua of the veil and the cape, baring him to the congregation.
In agony did Dion feel the trembling of the body beside him, and a tremulous gasp rang out of Joshua, echoing, as the plug that had been placed inside his ass as part of the preparation was removed from him.
And now the two found themselves alone before the throne. The ritual as transcribed in the emperor’s decree commanded that the last son of Rosfield face the congregation for their reenactment. But Dion - and Bahamut - couldn’t find it in themselves to share that piece of Joshua. Everything about this was bad enough, and he would spare Joshua in whatever capacity he was able to.
Garbed in ceremonial armour, Dion sat on the throne and pulled Joshua to his lap, the long slender legs draped over the arms of the chair, spreading him open. At the position, there were several exclamations of protest - this wasn’t what was decreed - but Dion cared not for them, only for the figure sitting on him, whose teeth rattled from both cold and fear.
Cupping the trembling cheeks dusted with freckles, Dion leaned his forehead against Joshua’s, and whispered, “I deserve not your forgiveness, Lord Rosfield, but nonetheless I selfishly ask for it.”
A shaky gasp was his reply and he was met by tearful blue eyes.
“Joshua,” intoned Dion, gentle and tender, before leaning for a kiss. The soft full lips were still opened in its gasp, and Dion’s invading tongue was added to the many intrusions already made upon Joshua. There was a part of Dion that made him want to prolong his time with the redhead, to linger in each touch and each kiss. To show that it was passion, and not conquest, that was behind every stroke of his hand and lips and tongue; that it was devotion, and not subjugation, that drove Dion.
The Prince’s hands wandered, a gentle stroke down Joshua’s spine had him arching, a cry the only noise that rang out, the audience behind him unseen and therefore temporarily forgotten: Dion wanted to make sure, that in facing each other, he was all that Joshua could see, could focus on.
Dion’s lips wandered down the slender neck and to the chest, tonguing a rosy bud already hard and distended by the cold air, earning him more pleasured cries, increasing in volume when his hands ambled down to part the globes of Joshua’s ass and reveal the winking wet hole between them.
At this, certain personages in the audience could be found shifting in their seats in discomfort and arousal, themselves majorly affected by the sight of the Prince of Sanbreque’s ministrations to their captive.
Having made do without the codpiece of the ceremonial armour gave Dion easy access to the fastening of his trousers, and he pulled out his engorged cock for all to see-and thus, could people finally confirm that, no, unfortunately, the Dominant of Bahamut did not retain the double dicks in human form. But it was still nonetheless impressive in length and girth, and some even wondered, whether the prisoner of Sanbrequois would even be able to fit that monster inside him, even though he had clearly been prepped beforehand.
Guided with one hand, the audience watched, captivated, as the cockhead trailed from taint to hole, back and forth, seemingly unable to find the opening and leaving a trail of precum in its wake. It was with a collective sigh of relief that the congregation watched as the tip finally caught on the rim, the head just breaching in only to slide out with an audible pop, much to the disappointment of the audience. This was repeated a few more times, seemingly teasingly, as Joshua Rosfield’s wails went from pleasured to annoyed.
And then finally, Prince Dion relented, burying the first few inches of his cock into the waiting hole made eager by his teasing, feeling Joshua clench tightly around him. “Shh,” he whispered, running soothing hands down Joshua’s back and ass, “loosen up for me, little bird.”
Joshua looped his shackled arms over Dion’s shoulders and relaxed his muscles, eyes closing at the feeling of his body being stretched open and trying to accommodate the intruding turgid dick. Now, in his own human body, the sensation of sheathing a hard cock inside was different from when he was made to share in the Phoenix’s own experiences.
The prince’s arms went underneath Joshua’s thighs, large callused hands cupping his ass as he was bounced on the cock spearing him open for all to see, voice high and whiny and breathless as though they were punched out of him with each pounding.
There was just Dion in front of Joshua, sweaty golden-blond hair plastered to his forehead and cheeks, brown eyes reflecting Joshua’s wanton face as he succumbed to the pleasure the prince was wringing out of his body. He felt Dion wrap a hand around his own dick, all this time unattended to yet hard all the same, and he couldn’t help tightening around Dion as he was stroked to completion, his cries ringing in the cathedral.
“Fuck! Joshua!!” was growled against his neck, and the redhead felt the rush of hot cum painting his insides white, familiar with how he experienced it with Phoenix, and yet different from Bahamut’s. For it was entirely all Dion. Dion Lesage’s seed spilling inside him.
The smell of sex permeated the air as members of the audience reached their own climax, adding to the already heady atmosphere.
Slumped against Dion, body still wracked with the last vestiges of his orgasm, Joshua reached for the prince’s lips, moaning through his panting breaths as their tongues met and stroked against each other. He shifted above as he felt Dion's softening cock slip out of him, hole fluttering at the emptiness, and felt Dion's seed spill onto the Prince's trousers below him.
“Joshua.”
“…Dion.”
“Please permit me.”
A tired huff of a laugh escaped the redhead. “Sanbreque’s Holy Son asking of a prisoner of war?”
The prince grimaced, but lived up to his title of being bold. “Permit me to set things right. I swear to you. As does Bahamut.”
The blue eyes that were dimmed with helplessness sparked with piqued interest. Inside him, the Phoenix’s yearning for Bahamut and the dragon’s Dominant was uncompromising and strong. Joshua could still feel it, though his connection to the Phoenix was diminished by the crystal fetters on his wrists.
During those days of mating underneath the skies of Rosalith, Joshua had sensed the helplessness, the entrapment of duty that had beholden the Prince to the empire he served. How the priests, the cardinals, and most of all the emperor, indoctrinated the Prince to the concept of the obligation he owed Greagor for being blessed to become Bahamut’s Dominant.
Lost in the caramel-brown eyes, in Joshua’s heart, he longed for Dion to be free. To shed the shackles of Sanbreque’s stifling religion and of their erroneous sense of righteousness in conquering all of Storm for themselves. Through the connection between Bahamut and Phoenix, Joshua had felt Dion’s growing doubt for everything that the empire had made him believe, for every peaceful country that the empire commanded him to lay siege to.
And the last crumbling of that long-held belief had happened here and now.
Joshua reached up and placed a kiss on Dion’s forehead, on the tip of his nose, and onto his lips. “I and the Phoenix grant you our permission, Dion Lesage.”
Tiredly, Joshua’s lips trailed from Dion’s, his head drooping on a broad shoulder as he succumbed to fatigue.
Though aside from the loud cries issued by the captive, whatever was said between Dion and Joshua remained between themselves, unheard by their audience. The congregation had been pleased with the performance. Though it might not be an exact reproduction of what transpired in Rosalith between the Eikons themselves, it was nonetheless still the symbolic subjugation of Rosaria with the duchy’s last preeminent member of House Rosfield.
But what they failed to see as they congratulated themselves, applauding the masterful presentation, were the Prince’s eyes glowing in a golden light of righteous fury, as Bahamut committed to memory every single face inside the church that day.
No longer would he allow himself and his Dominant to be obligated to the empire.
For them to have forced the Dominant of Phoenix this indignity and have him subjected to suffer such humiliation, both Eikons and Dominants would have their retribution.
There would be no peace to be found in Sanbreque.
There no longer would be an empire.
And its ruins would be their matrimonial gift to the Phoenix and his Dominant.
A/N: A lot of the monsterfucking is inspired by the discussions about it in the PhoenixFlare discord.
Thanks for reading
Sep/2023