"Show me," Ivah commands. He runs his hands down Bellamy's back and gives his hips a gentle squeeze. "Show me how much you want this."
Bellamy groans, turning it into a growl as he pushes off from the cot and shoves himself back against Ivah's thighs. The king grunts and responds in kind, nearly sending Bellamy over the other side of the cot with barely any effort at all. "Good," he says. He takes a fistful of blond hair in his hand and tugs lightly. "Keep going."
It takes a few tries, but Bellamy eventually finds a rhythm; he braces himself with his hands and thrusts back against Ivah, impaling himself on the king's massive girth. Each time he receives an answering grunt that seems to melt through his skin and pool hot and heavy in his core. He starts moving faster, panting into the cold air of the cell, slamming himself back against Ivah while he mindlessly chases his own pleasure. He can feel himself building toward climax, quickly cresting a wave that will crash over him and drag him under. But just as he reaches for that perfect bliss he's been seeking he's abruptly stilled. Held in place by a grip far too strong to ignore.
Bellamy fights to move again, to chase that last bit of pleasure he desperately needs. When he's denied that yet again he reaches for his own cock to do it himself. Ivah's hands quickly move to grasp his wrists, bending his arms back until he can hold both with one big hand. He uses the other to push Bellamy's head down into the rough cloth that covers the cot.
That's when Bellamy discovers that what he has been doing, the pleasure he's felt so far with his own meager efforts, is nothing compared to what Ivah can do to him on his own. The shoddy little cot creaks and groans beneath him as Ivah slams into him from behind, driving both Bellamy and the cot across the floor inch by inch. He bends over, still keeping a hand on Bellamy's slender wrists, and takes hold of the frame. Bracing himself there, he drives even deeper,stuffing his cock into Bellamy like he's nothing more than a body made for the older man's pleasure. Bellamy bites his lip to keep from crying out or babbling all the obscene pleas that are poised on his lips; if the guards ignore his orders and come down to investigate now, they will find an enemy king mounting their prince, and they will undoubtedly act without hesitation then. That's the very last thing he wants.
"Deep, deep in me," he manages to gasp, trying to make the words come in some way that seems coherent. He whispers, "Please, Ivah.”
Ivah snarls something unintelligible and nearly bends Bellamy in two. "Is that what you want, my little prince?" he growls into his blond hair.
Bellamy tries to nod. He knows he's too far gone, too lost in ecstasy to make more sense than that. When he hears a hitch in the heavy breaths against his ear he has to suppress a whine, realizing it's his body that has pushed Ivah to his limit, and the barbarian takes every ounce of pleasure he can wring from it. He bites back on a roar as he comes, spilling deep inside Bellamy's body exactly the way Bellamy has asked. He keeps pumping his hips, thrusting even after he's finished and pushing his warm spend deeper and deeper each time. Somehow just knowing that is Bellamy's final undoing; with Ivah still draped over his back and buried within his body, he cries out against his arm, his own climax finally overtaking him. It wracks him head to toe, leaving him trembling, and—he's shocked to realize as the fog slowly lifts from his mind—Ivah holds him close throughout it.
When it's over, Bellamy hardly dares to breathe. He isn't sure he'll be able to stand yet, and with Ivah's body still pinning him to the cot he can't even try. It feels as though several minutes pass before Ivahfinally stands up, withdrawing his still half-hard length with far more patience than he'd shown while shoving it in. Bellamy can feel the trickle of warmth making its way down the inside of his thigh, and the sheer obscenity of that realization makes him shiver. Inexplicably, he can only think of how much more he wants. The feeling is at odds with everything he thinks he should feel. With the urgency of his own arousal gone and that anxious feeling banished from his chest, it seems proper that he should feel ashamed. Instead he only feels more desire. Something that goes deeper even than what few truths he will admit to himself in the uncomfortable silence of the cell.
Ivah hauls him up straight, and Bellamy winces at the sudden stab of protest from his spine. His trousers have fallen around his ankles at some point without his knowing, but the task of bending over to retrieve them suddenly seems like far too much to ask of his poor, battered body.
Ivah’s hands are strong but gentle as they help Bellamy pull his trousers back up over his hips. Bellamy’s legs are unsteady, but Ivah helps him to his feet with his hands on his forearms, and the simplest of his touches burn almost more than the feeling of Ivah claiming him for his own.
As soon as Ivah's hands fall away, the full weight of everything crashes over Bellamy like a cold wave. He jerks back, pulling out of Ivah's grip as horror floods his chest.
"What have I done?" The words tear from his throat, raw and desperate. "What have I done?"
Ivah watches him with those dark, knowing eyes, frustratingly calm in the face of Bellamy's growing panic. "You did what you wanted to do."
"No." Bellamy shakes his head violently, backing toward the cell door. "This is a mistake. This can't happen again. I can't—I can't see you again."
"Can't you?" Ivah's voice is maddeningly patient, as if he's speaking to a spooked animal.
"You know I can't. This is—" Bellamy gestures helplessly between them, his voice breaking. "If this is some manipulation, if you're using me to get to the throne, then this is your chance. Take it. Kill me and claim what you want."
Instead of doing anything of the sort, Ivah steps closer with hands raised in a gesture of peace. One large palm comes up to smooth over Bellamy's disheveled hair, the touch so gentle it makes Bellamy's chest ache.
"Go back to your room, sweet Bellamy," Ivah says quietly. "Lock the cell behind you. Pretend this never happened, if that's what you need to do."
The kindness in his voice is somehow worse than anger would have been. Bellamy stares up at him, this dangerous man who has just unmade him completely, searching those dark eyes for any hint of mockery or triumph. He finds only patience and something that looks dangerously like affection.
Bellamy hesitates at the threshold, his hand trembling on the cell door. Every instinct screams at him to run, to forget this ever happened, but his feet feel rooted to the stone floor. He's infatuated with this impossible man, and they both know it.
"Go," Ivah says again, his voice soft but implacable.
On shaking legs, Bellamy finally forces himself to move. He stumbles from the cell, his hands fumbling with the key as he locksthe door behind him. He tries not to look back at Ivah, tries not to see the way the lamplight plays across his features or the patient understanding in his eyes.
But he looks anyway, and the sight of Ivah standing calmly in his cell burns itself into his memory.
Bellamy flees.
He makes it back to his chambers without encountering anyone, though every shadow seems to hide watching eyes, every sound makes his heart race with the fear of discovery. When he finally reaches his room, he locks the door behind him and immediately collapses to the floor with his back pressed against the wood.
His whole body is shaking now, tremors that start in his hands and spread outward until his teeth are chattering. He bites down hard on his knuckles to keep from screaming in frustration, the pain sharp and grounding against the chaos in his mind.
What has he done? What damage has he caused? The questions circle in his head like vultures, each one bringing fresh waves of panic. He's compromised himself completely, given his greatest enemy ammunition that could destroy not just him but his entire kingdom. If anyone finds out, if word spreads that Prince Bellamy of Mirn has lain with the Barbarian King...
But even as horror and self-recrimination tear at him, another thought creeps in unbidden: When will he see Ivah again?
The treacherous question hits him like a strike across the face. Tomorrow night, his mind whispers. He'll go tomorrow night, just like he has every night for two weeks. Just like he knows he will every night until this madness finally destroys them both.
