Another offering from the porn guru
Title: At the Moment of Surrender
Author: airspaniel
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Mikney/River Royal
Word Count: 3526
Notes: I've been sitting on this idea for a while. Heh, yeah I have. Sure this is gonna get Jossed hard, but I wouldn't want it any other way. There's some hints of dub-con in here, so be warned. Title is from a U2 song, because I'm a big, fat cheesmo.
Summary: Cat and mouse.
Mikney awakens in an unfamiliar bed, in a room with no windows or doors. He tries to sit up, and pain slams into him; his shoulder, his ribs, his back, and he’s dizzy with it for a long moment, clenching his eyes shut.
Then there’s a gentle hand on his chest, warm against his bare skin, urging him back down. Mikney goes willingly enough, still disoriented. He remembers the battle, protecting Jacob, casting the strange lightning, and then there… Then there was a man in iron, and he…
“Easy now,” a soft male voice soothes him from the side of the bed; and the hand on his chest strokes him gently, thumb caressing his collarbone. “Take it easy; you did lose a lot of blood.”
The voice fills him with dread, but he only has a moment to realize it before he falls unconscious again.
-----
The second time Mikney wakes up, he remembers. Remembers the gunshot, the fall; the hazy memory of being moved from the prison under the orders of Royal himself. Remembers a kind voice, and a hand so close to his throat - gods below, he had been so helpless.
There’s an echoing click as the door opens, and Mikney readies himself. He isn’t going to give Royal the same satisfaction twice.
“And how are we feeling today?” Royal says cheerily, leaning against the door. Mikney doesn’t dignify that with a response, setting instead for a cold stare, and Royal laughs.
“Much better, I see.” He pushes off the wall, coming closer to the bed, maddeningly casual. He turns the chair beside it backwards and straddles it; folding his arms over the back.
“Mikney, Mikney, Mikney,” sighs Royal, gently reproving. “You and I are overdue for a conversation.”
Mikney keeps his expression neutral. He has no intention of volunteering any information, about anything; not now, not ever. He has wrestled enough with his allegiance to the Family in recent times, but he isn’t going to betray Quahl like this.
Royal smiles, charming as ever, and leans forward over his arms. “Don’t be difficult,” he tuts. “I promise it won’t hurt. Just a little meeting of the minds, so to speak.”
Mikney says nothing, shifting his eyes from Royal’s face to stare at the far wall, ignoring him entirely. He expects some sort of recrimination for this, some sort of fallout; and when the chair scrapes against the stone floor, it takes all he has not to flinch.
“Goodness, where are my manners?” Royal sounds honestly chagrined as he stands up, strange eyes fixed on Mikney. “You’re injured, and you still must be very tired, and here I am trying to be social. How thoughtless of me.”
He reaches out a hand, pats the back of Mikney’s silk-clad wrist reassuringly, and Mikney jerks away like he’s been burned, a flash of anger hurt fear in his eyes before he can lock it down again.
Damn it.
Royal grins like the proverbial cat until the door closes and Mikney is alone.
-----
Three days pass, by his estimation, though it is difficult to divine time in a room with no windows. The healer visits twice a day, tending to his wound; offering him potions to reduce the pain.
These he refuses. The pain is preferable to trusting the elixirs of the enemy. And the pain is a reminder of his promise, of his loyalties. It keeps him grounded.
Mikney winces slightly as the healer changes the bandage, the dried blood making the linen stick to his flesh, and he doesn’t notice that the door has opened again until he hears…
“You really should let them give you something for that,” Royal says, his voice low and kind sounding. “No point in suffering for no reason.”
It seems he knows better now than to expect Mikney to respond, as he doesn’t wait; simply waves his hand at the healer and says, “Leave us, please.”
The healer ties the dressing, bows, and is gone; shutting the door behind her.
“Still not talking, Mikney?”
Mikney lifts defiant eyes to Royal, decides to change his gambit. “I will speak when the Lady Quahl bids me to speak.”
Royal chuckles. “It’s funny you should mention.” He cocks his head, regarding Mikney curiously. “And what has she done to command such loyalty?”
She is the Fifth Daughter, and that alone should be enough, but that is not why Mikney obeys her. She believes in him, she cares for him, she respects him; and even when they disagree, there’s no one he trusts more. No one he admires more. No one he…
He doesn’t answer.
“Tell me,” Royal insists, still smiling.
“I will speak when the Lady Quahl bids me to speak.”
Silence stretches for a long moment as Royal stares at Mikney. His expression is more amused than anything, though a thread of something like irritation is creeping in; impatience, perhaps.
“She left you, you know,” says Royal conversationally. “Your Lady Quahl. Didn’t even look back as your body fell.”
And no, that’s not true; he couldn’t possibly know that because he wasn’t there. But Mikney had called out for her and she hadn’t… had she? After the shot, it was all so dark.
“She’s gone now,” Royal continues. “Fled. Ran away and left you to die.” He pulls the chair up close to Mikney’s bed, rests his elbows on the thin mattress near Mikney’s arm. “And I’m sorry, Mikney. I really am,” and the hellish thing is, he seems so sincere. So genuinely sympathetic. “I’m sorry she abandoned you.”
“She didn’t…!” Mikney hisses fervently, then cuts himself off because gods below, it shouldn’t be so easy for Royal to provoke him. If Quahl is gone, then it was a calculated retreat. She wouldn’t just abandon him.
Royal doesn’t press him for the end of that thought, just nods patronizingly. “Oh, I’m sure she didn’t. Sure she didn’t just run the instant she felt her inevitable defeat.” He leans further over the bed, runs the back of a finger slowly down Mikney’s cheek and smiles at the way his jaw tightens.
“I’m sure she was thinking of you.”
Mikney’s hand flies on its own, grabbing Royal’s wrist and yanking it away from his face. “Stop this,” he spits, pushed beyond patience and reserve. “I’m not going to be swayed by you.”
Royal’s smile turns distinctly predatory, and something twists in Mikney’s stomach. Even through the silk of the glove he wears, he can feel the heat of Royal’s skin, feel the pulse beating gently against his fingers, and Royal is making no move to pull away. He looks into Mikney’s eyes, holding the gaze for a long time, before tilting his head closer, too close, and Mikney wants to back away, wants to let go, but he can’t.
“We’ll see about that,” Royal purrs, gently removing his hand from Mikney’s grip.
And then he’s gone, pulled away and exited the room; and Mikney falls heavily back against the bed, shoulder throbbing from the exertion, the tension.
His eyes slide closed almost against his will. He feels so bereft, and he really doesn’t want to think about all the reasons why.
Perhaps it is a good thing when sleep claims him.
-----
Mikney awakens to a deep ache in his shoulders, an uncomfortable tension that doesn’t seem to have anything to do with his wound. He shrugs a little, tries to ease it, and then he realizes… he’s been bound; thick iron shackles around his wrists, chained through a bracket set in the wall above the bed.
He arches up to get a better look at the cuffs, craning his neck despite the pain the movement causes. They’re thick, heavy pins holding them closed, and he doubts he could jostle them enough to set them loose.
“That’s pretty,” Royal says, voice low and amused and damn it, he caught Mikney off guard again. Mikney snaps his head down, glaring at Royal as he crosses the room.
“Sorry about that.” He doesn’t seem very sorry, sitting down on the bed next to Mikney, his hip practically touching Mikney’s waist. “I couldn’t have you posing a physical threat.”
"I wasn't fighting you. Why are you doing this?" Mikney swallows hard, because he has a sinking feeling that he isn't going to like the answer.
"Maybe I was just curious to see what you'd look like," Royal taunts, "and I must say I'm not disappointed."
Mikney flushes slightly at the implication, turning his face against his arm. This is humiliating, and he doesn't know what purpose it serves; how Royal is planning to compel him to cooperation like this.
The beautiful, predatory smile is back on Royal's face, if it ever really left. "Not in the least disappointed."
"What do you want from me?" Mikney sighs, helpless and annoyed in equal measure.
"That's kind of a loaded question, don't you think?" Royal cocks his head, considering it. "And there are so many ways to answer it." He reaches up, wrapping his hand around the heavy iron chain.
"I want your help," he says, fingers wandering from the chain down over the iron cuff, toying with the curved edge of it. "I want your allegiance; your loyalty, in time, of course."
Then he strokes over the inside of Mikney's arm, warm and soft, tracing the fine veins that spiderweb to the bend of his elbow; and Mikney's breath hitches, just a little. Royal flicks his tongue over his lips, wetting them, and it may even be an unconscious action, but Mikney is caught by it regardless.
"I want..." Royal trails off, seemingly transfixed by Mikney's pale skin, the way he twitches at the almost ticklish caress of his fingers, and the rest of that sentence is horribly left to Mikney's imagination. Images flood his thoughts unbidden, and he is disgusted by them, but oh... he can feel the heat of Royal's body on his arm, at his waist, and he knows that Royal wouldn't relent until he had surrendered utterly, knows that Royal would be able to make him beg, eventually.
And now, now Mikney is truly afraid.
"Well, there are a lot of things I want," Royal half-laughs, curling his hand around Mikney's bicep. "But tell me, what do you want?"
To find Quahl, to save his people, to be released, to...
He presses his face harder against his arm, willing composure as Royal's hand moves down over his throat, his collarbones, thumb stroking gently in a motion that's soothing and nauseatingly familiar.
"You can tell me," Royal prompts. "I asked."
"I.." he says in a shaky voice, because Royal's hand is still traveling down his body, fingers tracing random patterns over his ribs.
"Yes?" Royal says, looking victorious.
Mikney takes a deep breath. " I will speak when my Lady..."
Royal cuts him off, sighing. "Oh, let's not bring her into this." He flattens his hand against Mikney's stomach, the base of his palm just barely touching the waistband of Mikney's breeches. The gesture seems possessive and ominous, and Mikney twists uncomfortably against the bed, but Royal is not dissuaded. "After all, she isn't here, is she?"
Mikney bites back an angry sound, a non-verbal protest, and Royal chuckles just softly, turning his hand to stroke the back of his fingers against the pale flesh of Mikney's lower stomach as he leans in almost close enough to kiss; barely any space between their lips as he speaks.
"There is so much I can offer you," he breathes, and Mikney shivers at the sensation of the words against his lips. "So much I can do for you, if you will just help me with one little thing."
His fingertips slip just barely under Mikney's clothes, and Mikney tenses because he doesn't want this. He doesn't want it, and Royal doesn't care.
"What would you have me do, sorcerer?" Royal asks, stroking back and forth over that small line of skin, neither advancing nor retreating, and he thinks he's won. Mikney can see the triumph in his expression.
But Mikney isn't surrendering. Not yet. He lifts his head, nearly bringing their mouths together, and in fact he can feel his lower lip brush fleetingly against Royal's when he forms the words.
"Choke on your own blood."
Royal hesitates, is still for a moment, and Mikney has no idea how this is going to play out from here. But they're so close, and he's been deliberately hostile, and he wouldn't be surprised if Royal pressed his advantage, showing his dominance with his lips and his teeth.
He is surprised when Royal takes his hand away and pulls back, just a little. "Well, that's not very nice," he says, flicking his tongue over his lips again, and Mikney tracks the motion, refusing to feel disappointed.
"Don't know why you're being so difficult. I don't want to hurt you," Royal murmurs, lifting his hand to Mikney's face, fingers gently tracing against his forehead to brush his hair back. He can't muster the will to turn his face away, but Mikney glares at him incredulously through his lashes.
The hand on his face curves down, cupping his jaw, thumb caressing his cheekbone; and Royal smiles at him, warm and gracious. "Truly, Mikney. It isn't at all my desire to hurt you."
Mikney's voice is rough, a low rasp of a sound. "Forgive me if I don't believe you."
"Then I'll give you a show of good faith," Royal offers, his other hand creeping across Mikney's ribs, slow and light enough to raise goosebumps. He turns Mikney's head gently, leaning in to speak softly in his ear. "A token, if you will."
A quiet whine slips free of Mikney's throat, and he hates himself for it; hates this, hates Royal and his easy, sure charisma that makes Mikney want to yield to him.
"That's it," Royal purrs, sliding his hand down to where it had rested before, splayed over Mikney's stomach, fingers playing at his breech laces.
Royal would be able to feel, then, the way Mikney's breath had quickened, despite the elf's fervent attempts at control. Able to feel the sharp gasp that escapes when he first touches his lips to Mikney's neck.
Mikney doesn't want this, never would, but it has been so long since he's been touched like this; so tenderly. Royal kisses a lingering path down the column of Mikney's throat, all sweet soft lips and slick tongue, unerringly finding every single spot on that stretch of ivory skin that makes Mikney sigh; small sounds he can't control. Royal's hand moves lower, pulling his laces loose, sliding under the fabric.
“Don’t…” Mikney chokes out, and Royal lifts his head.
“It’s no hardship, I assure you,” he says, almost laughs, breath ghosting hot over Mikney’s jawline, and Mikney hides his face against his arm once more. He can’t hide the way his body is responding to the attention.
“See there?” Royal murmurs against Mikney’s ear, teasing the lobe with a gentle flick of his tongue. He runs his tongue up to where Mikney’s ear comes to a delicate point, so lightly, so devastating; so distracting that Mikney doesn’t twist away when Royal drags his fingertips over his - gods, he can’t help it. Can’t stop it - over his erection.
“Cooperation has its advantages.”
Royal laughs at the ragged gasp that tears itself from Mikney's throat. He strokes him again, more firmly this time, taking him in hand; those slender, deft fingers curling around his shaft and oh... Mikney doesn't fight it. He barely wants to.
"Don'tdon'tdon't" he pants weakly, muffling the words against his arm.
"Don't what?" Royal smiles against Mikney's breastbone, lays another kiss upon it, slow and sweet, even as his hand moves more earnestly; and Mikney feels like he might cry out, might just cry, he doesn't know.
"Don't touch you?" Royal prompts, swiping his tongue over the blue-black ink that swirls over Mikney's heart, twisting his grip as he takes his nipple gently between his teeth and rolls it, and Mikney's hips buck up helplessly, breath choked on a moan.
"No, that can't be it." A dark chuckle against Mikney's flesh, the vibrations shivering through his entire body, and Mikney is burning. With shame, with anger, with need, gods below, he can't even tell anymore.
Royal draws back just enough to bring his other hand into play, pushing the open breeches down over Mikney's hips, leaving him completely exposed.
"My word," Royal says, admiration; appreciation evident in his tone. "You are a beautiful creature, aren't you?"
"Don't," Mikney repeats, humiliated; but his hips are twitching up into Royal's hand and it's getting so hard to resist.
"Take a compliment, will you?" chides Royal, placing a soft kiss just above Mikney's navel, licking a path downward and he can't be...
"Oh," Mikney gasps, "don't, please don't..." And he's half out of his mind and wanting to scream, and he doesn't even know why he's protesting any more.
Royal pauses, licking his lips, so close that Mikney can feel his breath and he arches for it, for more, but Royal steadies him with a hand on his hip.
"Don't what?" he asks again.
Mikney clenches his eyes shut.
Father forgive him.
"Don't stop."
-----
He is released from the shackles by a woman he's never seen before, a soldier, and he doesn't care for the smirk on her face as she says, "General's orders."
His arms are stiff, weak with hours of strain and lack of circulation, and it is a long moment before he can even lower them. The blood rushes back with a sharp, agonizing sting, tingling like needles in his flesh. Mikney makes a small, pained noise, wincing at the sensation.
The woman laughs, and Mikney stares daggers at her, rubbing the feeling back into his arms. "Can I help you?"
She tilts her head, raking her eyes over his body. "You're not my type," she says, laughing to herself as she leaves.
Mikney curses under his breath, turning to lie on his side, hands held protectively to his chest.
Damn Royal. Damn him.
-----
"I'm still not going to talk to you," Mikney says, his voice held carefully neutral.
Royal kicks the door shut behind him, grinning like a predator, hands already working at his shirt buttons.
"I didn't come here to talk."
-----
"They're worried about you, you know. Your majiks," Royal says conversationally, as if he didn't have three fingers in Mikney's body, twisting slowly and pressing gods, just there.
"They miss you. Want you to be as happy as they are."
"Under your command?" Mikney gasps, and Royal slides his hand free, urging Mikney's knees up toward his chest; though honestly, he doesn't need much coercion.
Royal chuckles darkly. "In a manner of speaking." His words break off in a shuddering sigh as he lines himself up and presses inside slowly, relentlessly.
"Oh, that's perfect," hisses Royal, thrusting deep; and Mikney arches his back, clutching at Royal's shoulders, no longer bound but still feeling helpless.
Royal's voice is broken, but he still manages to speak, somehow, between harsh breaths. "You... still resist me?"
Oh, it feels so good, so overwhelming; so necessary, the heat of Royal's body above him, inside him.
Mikney throws his head back, exposing his throat even as he pants, "With my last breath."
Royal laughs again, a maddening, addictive sound. "Then, ah, yes… I shall just have to wait."
-----
Mikney is on the verge, so close to that peak he wants so desperately to attain, and the sound of Royal’s words pushes him higher, farther on the edge.
“You never did say, sorcerer, not really,” he nearly whispers, buried so deep that Mikney can hardly breathe, can hardly tell where he ends and Royal begins, and he’s long since lost track of which racing heartbeat is his own. “What may I do for you?”
Mikney’s so, so close, he can feel his climax already; can anticipate the bright rush of ecstasy that will drown everything else, eclipse everything else in a white-hot burst of pleasure, and oh, oh he’s nearly there.
“Mikney,” Royal sighs; Royal prompts, his hips starting to lose their rhythm. “Tell me.”
“Gods,” Mikney breathes, because yes, oh, yes, he’s almost… “Kiss me.”
Royal does, immediately, and Mikney is lost.
-----
The next time their eyes meet is across the table at his “tribunal.”
Royal still smiles like a cat hunting prey, still asks him the same questions as always. The people he aided through the Gate sit in silent judgment, watching as his secrets, his oaths are laid bare in front of them.
And Royal just smiles at him, showing perfect white teeth in even rows, three-slitted eyes glinting with all he knows of Mikney’s body, Mikney’s voice, Mikney’s desires.
“Well, sorcerer?” Royal asks, leaning over the table, and if Mikney leaned up just a little, it would be close enough to taste him.
“Do I have your allegiance?”
Mikney hates himself, hates Royal, but the feeling is so familiar it twists into something else altogether. Something he has no name for.
He drops his head, defeated.
“Yes.”
Author: airspaniel
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Mikney/River Royal
Word Count: 3526
Notes: I've been sitting on this idea for a while. Heh, yeah I have. Sure this is gonna get Jossed hard, but I wouldn't want it any other way. There's some hints of dub-con in here, so be warned. Title is from a U2 song, because I'm a big, fat cheesmo.
Summary: Cat and mouse.
Mikney awakens in an unfamiliar bed, in a room with no windows or doors. He tries to sit up, and pain slams into him; his shoulder, his ribs, his back, and he’s dizzy with it for a long moment, clenching his eyes shut.
Then there’s a gentle hand on his chest, warm against his bare skin, urging him back down. Mikney goes willingly enough, still disoriented. He remembers the battle, protecting Jacob, casting the strange lightning, and then there… Then there was a man in iron, and he…
“Easy now,” a soft male voice soothes him from the side of the bed; and the hand on his chest strokes him gently, thumb caressing his collarbone. “Take it easy; you did lose a lot of blood.”
The voice fills him with dread, but he only has a moment to realize it before he falls unconscious again.
-----
The second time Mikney wakes up, he remembers. Remembers the gunshot, the fall; the hazy memory of being moved from the prison under the orders of Royal himself. Remembers a kind voice, and a hand so close to his throat - gods below, he had been so helpless.
There’s an echoing click as the door opens, and Mikney readies himself. He isn’t going to give Royal the same satisfaction twice.
“And how are we feeling today?” Royal says cheerily, leaning against the door. Mikney doesn’t dignify that with a response, setting instead for a cold stare, and Royal laughs.
“Much better, I see.” He pushes off the wall, coming closer to the bed, maddeningly casual. He turns the chair beside it backwards and straddles it; folding his arms over the back.
“Mikney, Mikney, Mikney,” sighs Royal, gently reproving. “You and I are overdue for a conversation.”
Mikney keeps his expression neutral. He has no intention of volunteering any information, about anything; not now, not ever. He has wrestled enough with his allegiance to the Family in recent times, but he isn’t going to betray Quahl like this.
Royal smiles, charming as ever, and leans forward over his arms. “Don’t be difficult,” he tuts. “I promise it won’t hurt. Just a little meeting of the minds, so to speak.”
Mikney says nothing, shifting his eyes from Royal’s face to stare at the far wall, ignoring him entirely. He expects some sort of recrimination for this, some sort of fallout; and when the chair scrapes against the stone floor, it takes all he has not to flinch.
“Goodness, where are my manners?” Royal sounds honestly chagrined as he stands up, strange eyes fixed on Mikney. “You’re injured, and you still must be very tired, and here I am trying to be social. How thoughtless of me.”
He reaches out a hand, pats the back of Mikney’s silk-clad wrist reassuringly, and Mikney jerks away like he’s been burned, a flash of anger hurt fear in his eyes before he can lock it down again.
Damn it.
Royal grins like the proverbial cat until the door closes and Mikney is alone.
-----
Three days pass, by his estimation, though it is difficult to divine time in a room with no windows. The healer visits twice a day, tending to his wound; offering him potions to reduce the pain.
These he refuses. The pain is preferable to trusting the elixirs of the enemy. And the pain is a reminder of his promise, of his loyalties. It keeps him grounded.
Mikney winces slightly as the healer changes the bandage, the dried blood making the linen stick to his flesh, and he doesn’t notice that the door has opened again until he hears…
“You really should let them give you something for that,” Royal says, his voice low and kind sounding. “No point in suffering for no reason.”
It seems he knows better now than to expect Mikney to respond, as he doesn’t wait; simply waves his hand at the healer and says, “Leave us, please.”
The healer ties the dressing, bows, and is gone; shutting the door behind her.
“Still not talking, Mikney?”
Mikney lifts defiant eyes to Royal, decides to change his gambit. “I will speak when the Lady Quahl bids me to speak.”
Royal chuckles. “It’s funny you should mention.” He cocks his head, regarding Mikney curiously. “And what has she done to command such loyalty?”
She is the Fifth Daughter, and that alone should be enough, but that is not why Mikney obeys her. She believes in him, she cares for him, she respects him; and even when they disagree, there’s no one he trusts more. No one he admires more. No one he…
He doesn’t answer.
“Tell me,” Royal insists, still smiling.
“I will speak when the Lady Quahl bids me to speak.”
Silence stretches for a long moment as Royal stares at Mikney. His expression is more amused than anything, though a thread of something like irritation is creeping in; impatience, perhaps.
“She left you, you know,” says Royal conversationally. “Your Lady Quahl. Didn’t even look back as your body fell.”
And no, that’s not true; he couldn’t possibly know that because he wasn’t there. But Mikney had called out for her and she hadn’t… had she? After the shot, it was all so dark.
“She’s gone now,” Royal continues. “Fled. Ran away and left you to die.” He pulls the chair up close to Mikney’s bed, rests his elbows on the thin mattress near Mikney’s arm. “And I’m sorry, Mikney. I really am,” and the hellish thing is, he seems so sincere. So genuinely sympathetic. “I’m sorry she abandoned you.”
“She didn’t…!” Mikney hisses fervently, then cuts himself off because gods below, it shouldn’t be so easy for Royal to provoke him. If Quahl is gone, then it was a calculated retreat. She wouldn’t just abandon him.
Royal doesn’t press him for the end of that thought, just nods patronizingly. “Oh, I’m sure she didn’t. Sure she didn’t just run the instant she felt her inevitable defeat.” He leans further over the bed, runs the back of a finger slowly down Mikney’s cheek and smiles at the way his jaw tightens.
“I’m sure she was thinking of you.”
Mikney’s hand flies on its own, grabbing Royal’s wrist and yanking it away from his face. “Stop this,” he spits, pushed beyond patience and reserve. “I’m not going to be swayed by you.”
Royal’s smile turns distinctly predatory, and something twists in Mikney’s stomach. Even through the silk of the glove he wears, he can feel the heat of Royal’s skin, feel the pulse beating gently against his fingers, and Royal is making no move to pull away. He looks into Mikney’s eyes, holding the gaze for a long time, before tilting his head closer, too close, and Mikney wants to back away, wants to let go, but he can’t.
“We’ll see about that,” Royal purrs, gently removing his hand from Mikney’s grip.
And then he’s gone, pulled away and exited the room; and Mikney falls heavily back against the bed, shoulder throbbing from the exertion, the tension.
His eyes slide closed almost against his will. He feels so bereft, and he really doesn’t want to think about all the reasons why.
Perhaps it is a good thing when sleep claims him.
-----
Mikney awakens to a deep ache in his shoulders, an uncomfortable tension that doesn’t seem to have anything to do with his wound. He shrugs a little, tries to ease it, and then he realizes… he’s been bound; thick iron shackles around his wrists, chained through a bracket set in the wall above the bed.
He arches up to get a better look at the cuffs, craning his neck despite the pain the movement causes. They’re thick, heavy pins holding them closed, and he doubts he could jostle them enough to set them loose.
“That’s pretty,” Royal says, voice low and amused and damn it, he caught Mikney off guard again. Mikney snaps his head down, glaring at Royal as he crosses the room.
“Sorry about that.” He doesn’t seem very sorry, sitting down on the bed next to Mikney, his hip practically touching Mikney’s waist. “I couldn’t have you posing a physical threat.”
"I wasn't fighting you. Why are you doing this?" Mikney swallows hard, because he has a sinking feeling that he isn't going to like the answer.
"Maybe I was just curious to see what you'd look like," Royal taunts, "and I must say I'm not disappointed."
Mikney flushes slightly at the implication, turning his face against his arm. This is humiliating, and he doesn't know what purpose it serves; how Royal is planning to compel him to cooperation like this.
The beautiful, predatory smile is back on Royal's face, if it ever really left. "Not in the least disappointed."
"What do you want from me?" Mikney sighs, helpless and annoyed in equal measure.
"That's kind of a loaded question, don't you think?" Royal cocks his head, considering it. "And there are so many ways to answer it." He reaches up, wrapping his hand around the heavy iron chain.
"I want your help," he says, fingers wandering from the chain down over the iron cuff, toying with the curved edge of it. "I want your allegiance; your loyalty, in time, of course."
Then he strokes over the inside of Mikney's arm, warm and soft, tracing the fine veins that spiderweb to the bend of his elbow; and Mikney's breath hitches, just a little. Royal flicks his tongue over his lips, wetting them, and it may even be an unconscious action, but Mikney is caught by it regardless.
"I want..." Royal trails off, seemingly transfixed by Mikney's pale skin, the way he twitches at the almost ticklish caress of his fingers, and the rest of that sentence is horribly left to Mikney's imagination. Images flood his thoughts unbidden, and he is disgusted by them, but oh... he can feel the heat of Royal's body on his arm, at his waist, and he knows that Royal wouldn't relent until he had surrendered utterly, knows that Royal would be able to make him beg, eventually.
And now, now Mikney is truly afraid.
"Well, there are a lot of things I want," Royal half-laughs, curling his hand around Mikney's bicep. "But tell me, what do you want?"
To find Quahl, to save his people, to be released, to...
He presses his face harder against his arm, willing composure as Royal's hand moves down over his throat, his collarbones, thumb stroking gently in a motion that's soothing and nauseatingly familiar.
"You can tell me," Royal prompts. "I asked."
"I.." he says in a shaky voice, because Royal's hand is still traveling down his body, fingers tracing random patterns over his ribs.
"Yes?" Royal says, looking victorious.
Mikney takes a deep breath. " I will speak when my Lady..."
Royal cuts him off, sighing. "Oh, let's not bring her into this." He flattens his hand against Mikney's stomach, the base of his palm just barely touching the waistband of Mikney's breeches. The gesture seems possessive and ominous, and Mikney twists uncomfortably against the bed, but Royal is not dissuaded. "After all, she isn't here, is she?"
Mikney bites back an angry sound, a non-verbal protest, and Royal chuckles just softly, turning his hand to stroke the back of his fingers against the pale flesh of Mikney's lower stomach as he leans in almost close enough to kiss; barely any space between their lips as he speaks.
"There is so much I can offer you," he breathes, and Mikney shivers at the sensation of the words against his lips. "So much I can do for you, if you will just help me with one little thing."
His fingertips slip just barely under Mikney's clothes, and Mikney tenses because he doesn't want this. He doesn't want it, and Royal doesn't care.
"What would you have me do, sorcerer?" Royal asks, stroking back and forth over that small line of skin, neither advancing nor retreating, and he thinks he's won. Mikney can see the triumph in his expression.
But Mikney isn't surrendering. Not yet. He lifts his head, nearly bringing their mouths together, and in fact he can feel his lower lip brush fleetingly against Royal's when he forms the words.
"Choke on your own blood."
Royal hesitates, is still for a moment, and Mikney has no idea how this is going to play out from here. But they're so close, and he's been deliberately hostile, and he wouldn't be surprised if Royal pressed his advantage, showing his dominance with his lips and his teeth.
He is surprised when Royal takes his hand away and pulls back, just a little. "Well, that's not very nice," he says, flicking his tongue over his lips again, and Mikney tracks the motion, refusing to feel disappointed.
"Don't know why you're being so difficult. I don't want to hurt you," Royal murmurs, lifting his hand to Mikney's face, fingers gently tracing against his forehead to brush his hair back. He can't muster the will to turn his face away, but Mikney glares at him incredulously through his lashes.
The hand on his face curves down, cupping his jaw, thumb caressing his cheekbone; and Royal smiles at him, warm and gracious. "Truly, Mikney. It isn't at all my desire to hurt you."
Mikney's voice is rough, a low rasp of a sound. "Forgive me if I don't believe you."
"Then I'll give you a show of good faith," Royal offers, his other hand creeping across Mikney's ribs, slow and light enough to raise goosebumps. He turns Mikney's head gently, leaning in to speak softly in his ear. "A token, if you will."
A quiet whine slips free of Mikney's throat, and he hates himself for it; hates this, hates Royal and his easy, sure charisma that makes Mikney want to yield to him.
"That's it," Royal purrs, sliding his hand down to where it had rested before, splayed over Mikney's stomach, fingers playing at his breech laces.
Royal would be able to feel, then, the way Mikney's breath had quickened, despite the elf's fervent attempts at control. Able to feel the sharp gasp that escapes when he first touches his lips to Mikney's neck.
Mikney doesn't want this, never would, but it has been so long since he's been touched like this; so tenderly. Royal kisses a lingering path down the column of Mikney's throat, all sweet soft lips and slick tongue, unerringly finding every single spot on that stretch of ivory skin that makes Mikney sigh; small sounds he can't control. Royal's hand moves lower, pulling his laces loose, sliding under the fabric.
“Don’t…” Mikney chokes out, and Royal lifts his head.
“It’s no hardship, I assure you,” he says, almost laughs, breath ghosting hot over Mikney’s jawline, and Mikney hides his face against his arm once more. He can’t hide the way his body is responding to the attention.
“See there?” Royal murmurs against Mikney’s ear, teasing the lobe with a gentle flick of his tongue. He runs his tongue up to where Mikney’s ear comes to a delicate point, so lightly, so devastating; so distracting that Mikney doesn’t twist away when Royal drags his fingertips over his - gods, he can’t help it. Can’t stop it - over his erection.
“Cooperation has its advantages.”
Royal laughs at the ragged gasp that tears itself from Mikney's throat. He strokes him again, more firmly this time, taking him in hand; those slender, deft fingers curling around his shaft and oh... Mikney doesn't fight it. He barely wants to.
"Don'tdon'tdon't" he pants weakly, muffling the words against his arm.
"Don't what?" Royal smiles against Mikney's breastbone, lays another kiss upon it, slow and sweet, even as his hand moves more earnestly; and Mikney feels like he might cry out, might just cry, he doesn't know.
"Don't touch you?" Royal prompts, swiping his tongue over the blue-black ink that swirls over Mikney's heart, twisting his grip as he takes his nipple gently between his teeth and rolls it, and Mikney's hips buck up helplessly, breath choked on a moan.
"No, that can't be it." A dark chuckle against Mikney's flesh, the vibrations shivering through his entire body, and Mikney is burning. With shame, with anger, with need, gods below, he can't even tell anymore.
Royal draws back just enough to bring his other hand into play, pushing the open breeches down over Mikney's hips, leaving him completely exposed.
"My word," Royal says, admiration; appreciation evident in his tone. "You are a beautiful creature, aren't you?"
"Don't," Mikney repeats, humiliated; but his hips are twitching up into Royal's hand and it's getting so hard to resist.
"Take a compliment, will you?" chides Royal, placing a soft kiss just above Mikney's navel, licking a path downward and he can't be...
"Oh," Mikney gasps, "don't, please don't..." And he's half out of his mind and wanting to scream, and he doesn't even know why he's protesting any more.
Royal pauses, licking his lips, so close that Mikney can feel his breath and he arches for it, for more, but Royal steadies him with a hand on his hip.
"Don't what?" he asks again.
Mikney clenches his eyes shut.
Father forgive him.
"Don't stop."
-----
He is released from the shackles by a woman he's never seen before, a soldier, and he doesn't care for the smirk on her face as she says, "General's orders."
His arms are stiff, weak with hours of strain and lack of circulation, and it is a long moment before he can even lower them. The blood rushes back with a sharp, agonizing sting, tingling like needles in his flesh. Mikney makes a small, pained noise, wincing at the sensation.
The woman laughs, and Mikney stares daggers at her, rubbing the feeling back into his arms. "Can I help you?"
She tilts her head, raking her eyes over his body. "You're not my type," she says, laughing to herself as she leaves.
Mikney curses under his breath, turning to lie on his side, hands held protectively to his chest.
Damn Royal. Damn him.
-----
"I'm still not going to talk to you," Mikney says, his voice held carefully neutral.
Royal kicks the door shut behind him, grinning like a predator, hands already working at his shirt buttons.
"I didn't come here to talk."
-----
"They're worried about you, you know. Your majiks," Royal says conversationally, as if he didn't have three fingers in Mikney's body, twisting slowly and pressing gods, just there.
"They miss you. Want you to be as happy as they are."
"Under your command?" Mikney gasps, and Royal slides his hand free, urging Mikney's knees up toward his chest; though honestly, he doesn't need much coercion.
Royal chuckles darkly. "In a manner of speaking." His words break off in a shuddering sigh as he lines himself up and presses inside slowly, relentlessly.
"Oh, that's perfect," hisses Royal, thrusting deep; and Mikney arches his back, clutching at Royal's shoulders, no longer bound but still feeling helpless.
Royal's voice is broken, but he still manages to speak, somehow, between harsh breaths. "You... still resist me?"
Oh, it feels so good, so overwhelming; so necessary, the heat of Royal's body above him, inside him.
Mikney throws his head back, exposing his throat even as he pants, "With my last breath."
Royal laughs again, a maddening, addictive sound. "Then, ah, yes… I shall just have to wait."
-----
Mikney is on the verge, so close to that peak he wants so desperately to attain, and the sound of Royal’s words pushes him higher, farther on the edge.
“You never did say, sorcerer, not really,” he nearly whispers, buried so deep that Mikney can hardly breathe, can hardly tell where he ends and Royal begins, and he’s long since lost track of which racing heartbeat is his own. “What may I do for you?”
Mikney’s so, so close, he can feel his climax already; can anticipate the bright rush of ecstasy that will drown everything else, eclipse everything else in a white-hot burst of pleasure, and oh, oh he’s nearly there.
“Mikney,” Royal sighs; Royal prompts, his hips starting to lose their rhythm. “Tell me.”
“Gods,” Mikney breathes, because yes, oh, yes, he’s almost… “Kiss me.”
Royal does, immediately, and Mikney is lost.
-----
The next time their eyes meet is across the table at his “tribunal.”
Royal still smiles like a cat hunting prey, still asks him the same questions as always. The people he aided through the Gate sit in silent judgment, watching as his secrets, his oaths are laid bare in front of them.
And Royal just smiles at him, showing perfect white teeth in even rows, three-slitted eyes glinting with all he knows of Mikney’s body, Mikney’s voice, Mikney’s desires.
“Well, sorcerer?” Royal asks, leaning over the table, and if Mikney leaned up just a little, it would be close enough to taste him.
“Do I have your allegiance?”
Mikney hates himself, hates Royal, but the feeling is so familiar it twists into something else altogether. Something he has no name for.
He drops his head, defeated.
“Yes.”