"No. I don't think you will."
Ivah's head tilts slightly, predatory curiosity flickering in his expression. "You sound very sure of that, little prince."
"You promised," Bellamy says quietly. "You promised you wouldn't hurt me again."
Something shifts in Ivah's face at the reminder, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. "No," he agrees, his thumb still tracing patterns on Bellamy's throat. "I don't want to hurt you. There's much more I want from you than that."
The admission hangs between them, loaded with promise and heat that makes Bellamy's breath catch.
"What do you want?" Bellamy asks, though part of him fears the answer.
Ivah leans closer, close enough that Bellamy can feel the whisper of breath against his lips. "What do you want, beautiful? What did youthink you were doing, coming into my cell by yourself? Putting yourself within reach of my hands?"
Bellamy's mouth goes dry. "I don't know."
"Liar." The word is fond rather than harsh. "What did you think would happen when you stepped through that door? What did you want to happen?"
Bellamy draws in a sharp breath, his heart hammering against his ribs as he stares up into those dark eyes. The truth tears itself from his throat before he can stop it.
"I want you to take me apart."
Ivah's eyes go black with desire, and then he kisses him.
It's nothing like the chaste kisses Bellamy has received from suitable ladies at court functions. This is fire and hunger and barely restrained violence, Ivah's mouth claiming his with devastating certainty. His lips are warm and firm, moving against Bellamy's with a skill that speaks of experience and confidence. When Ivah's tongue traces the seam of his lips, Bellamy opens for him without hesitation, a soft sound escaping his throat as Ivah deepens the kiss.
Ivah tastes like danger and dark promises, like ice and steel and something masculine that makes Bellamy's heart beat faster. His free hand tangles in Bellamy's hair, angling his head to take the kiss deeper still, until Bellamy feels consumed by it, until every nerve ending is on fire and he can't remember how to breathe.
When they finally break apart, both gasping, Ivah's forehead rests against his, their breaths mingling in the space between them.
"You can still leave," Ivah says, his voice rough as gravel. "Walk away right now, and I won't stop you."
Bellamy stares up at him, at this man who could destroy kingdoms, who has destroyed kingdoms, who chose to spare one enemy prince for reasons he doesn't fully understand. He thinks of duty and honor and everything he's supposed to be. Then he thinks of the emptiness in his chest that only seems to fill when he's here, with this impossible man.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispers.
The words seal his fate.
Ivah helps him up from the straw-covered floor, his hands gentle but sure as they guide Bellamy across the small space to where a simple cot lies against the far wall. His grip on Bellamy's hips is possessive, directing him with quiet authority until Bellamy finds himself pressed down onto the rough bedding, knees meeting the straw-stuffed mattress.
A hand brushes down his side, coming to rest on his hip, while another traces a path down the center of his slender chest and over his belly before moving lower still. Heat suffuses his skin from fingertips to ears when he feels Ivah's large hand cup his groin, applying only the lightest pressure, and Bellamy bites his lip to stifle the needy sound that winds its way up from deep in his throat. He leans into the touch, chasing the heat of the king's broad palm.
Ivah makes a sound of his own that falls somewhere between amusement and surprise. "I didn't expect you to be so eager for it," he says.
Bellamy doesn't have a chance to object; without any warning he's pushed down the rest of the way, the position forcing him to grip the sides of the cot in order to remain standing. The hand that has been between his legs moves to the catch of his trousers and pulls hard,nearly jerking him off balance anyway. Bellamy yelps before he thinks better of it and claps a hand over his own mouth.
He knows what's coming next, and while the thought of it terrifies him, it also fills him with a wild thrill that he can't ignore. Sparing a hand, he hurriedly pushes at his trousers until they're gathered around his thighs. A heartbeat later he hears the answering rustle of cloth and the creak of leather ties being pulled from their bindings behind him, and he swallows hard. His fingers dig into the wood and he braces himself.
Nothing happens. He turns to look over his shoulder, but Ivah isn't standing there any longer. Bellamy is just about to demand what sort of game the Barbarian King is playing when he feels the caress of rough lips against his backside, and then suddenly an achingly hot tongue is on him, lapping at him in the most intimate way and making his nerves sing out like a choir. The air feels as if it's been punched from his lungs, and Bellamy gasps. He groans and shudders, hissing, "Gods," into the empty space between his arms as they shake with the effort of holding him up.
Ivah chuckles, and the warm puff of air that accompanies it rolls across Bellamy's sensitive skin, making him shiver. He feels large hands grasp his thighs to hold him still, and blunt fingertips that come to rest at the sensitive juncture of his hips. It's all too much, but Bellamy would give anything for more; hard and aching, he fights Ivah's hold on him in a desperate effort to seek friction that isn't there. If he had the presence of mind to let go of the cot he might seek his own relief, but his body seems somehow apart from him, out of his control. It's all he can do not to whine and beg for more when Ivah gives him one last stroke with his tongue and withdraws.
He casts a desirous glance over his shoulder and finds the great king is on his feet again. His hands remain at Bellamy's hips for just a moment longer, rubbing soothing circles into his skin with his wide thumbs. They lock eyes for a moment, and then Bellamy feels the first brush of Ivah's impossibly hard length nudge the cleft of his ass, seeking entrance. He lets his head fall between his arms and spreads his legs as much as the trousers still gathered around his thighs will allow, silently granting him permission. When the first push comes, only Ivah's other hand on his shoulder keeps him from falling forward over the cot.
It's beyond anything Bellamy might have imagined for himself. He feels like he's being split in two, and at first the pain is so intense it makes him dizzy, sending a bolt of fire up his spine and making his teeth clench tight. It doesn't last forever. Bellamy sighs as the last of it fades, eventually giving way to a deep, aching pleasure slowly building within him.
Ivah pushes forward until he's seated all the way, his heavy balls pressed tight against Bellamy's ass. After a moment he rocks forward one more time for good measure. He doesn't move again after that.
Bellamy takes advantage of the reprieve, still gulping each breath like a fish left out on the dock. He imagines he can feel every thick inch of the king's cock inside him, and the thought of it thrills him. His skin flushes with the heat of his own arousal. But what he really wants is friction. He wants movement. Looking back again, he catches a smirk. "Wh—what?" he breathes out irritably.
