"There." The prince's voice has gone rough, fraying at the seams, and Bryn can hear the effort of restraint in every syllable. "Keep touching that spot. Get yourself used to it. You're doing so well."
Bryn is flushed from more than the water. The praise hits him somewhere deep and primal, in a place he didn't know existed before Ithyris found it, a place that responds to being told he's good with a full-body shudder of pleasure that has nothing to do with the finger inside him and everything to do with the fact that no one in his life has ever told him he was good at anything without immediately following it with a request for more. His cock leaks against the prince's stomach and he works his finger in and out, pressing against that place on every stroke, and the pleasure builds in slow, rolling waves and he is panting and trembling and spread open in Ithyris's lap and the prince is watching every second of it with eyes that have gone black.
"Another," Ithyris says. "Add another finger. You can take it. You're so good at this."
He pushes a second finger in and the stretch burns and he whimpers, the sound sharp in the quiet cavern, and Ithyris exhales hard through his nose and one of his hands leaves Bryn's hip and wraps around Bryn's cock beneath the water. The touch is loose and slow, just his fist around him, barely stroking, enough to keep Bryn suspended in pleasure while the burn fades.
"You're taking it so well." The prince's thumb slides over the head of Bryn's cock and Bryn gasps and clenches around his own fingers. "Look at you. Spread open on your own hand with my cock right there and you're still so tight. So greedy for it. You want more, don't you?"
"Yes." The word is barely a whisper.
"Three fingers. Spread them when you push in. Stretch yourself for me. I want you wide open."
Bryn works a third finger inside himself and the stretch is real now, a burn that borders on pain, and he presses his forehead against the prince's shoulder and pants against his wet skin. Ithyris strokes his cock in time with his movements, slow and steady, his thumb circling the head on every upstroke, and his other hand strokes up and down Bryn's spine, warm and grounding.
"That's it." The prince's voice is wrecked. He is vibrating beneath Bryn, his body taut with restraint, and Bryn can feel his cock straining against his thigh, hot and hard and leaking. "You're perfect. You're so perfect, Bryn. Spread them wider. Open up for me."
Bryn spreads his fingers and the stretch makes his eyes water and his mouth fall open and he rocks back onto his own hand and forward into the prince's fist and the dual sensation is overwhelming. He is fucking himself on his fingers in a dragon prince's lap while Ithyris praises him and strokes his cock and tells him he's good and the filth and the tenderness of it are so tangled together he can't separate them and he doesn't want to.
"Enough." The prince's hand closes around his wrist, stilling him. Ithyris's voice has bottomed out, barely human, scraped down to something animal and desperate. "That's enough. Pull your fingers out. Slowly."
Bryn pulls his fingers free and the emptiness makes him whimper and Ithyris makes a sound in return, a growl that vibrates through the water between them, and his hands grip Bryn's hips and lift him and Bryn reaches down and wraps his hand around the prince's cock and positions him and the head is blunt and hot and so much bigger than his fingers and he feels his body clench and then open and he sinks down.
The water changes everything. The mineral slickness and the heat ease the way and Bryn takes the prince faster than he has before, sinking down the thick length of him in one slow, continuous slide, and the fullness is staggering. He is stretched wide around Ithyris, his body accommodating every inch, and he can feel the prince deep inside him, and his fingers were nothing compared to this, a pale imitation of what it feels like to be full of Ithyris.
"Oh gods." The prince's forehead drops to Bryn's collarbone. His hands are shaking on Bryn's hips. "You feel... Bryn, you have no idea what you feel like around me. Tight. Hot. You opened yourself up so well. So good for me."
The praise makes Bryn clench around him and the prince groans, raw and guttural, and his hips buck up involuntarily, driving deeper, and they both gasp.
Bryn braces his hands on Ithyris's shoulders and lifts himself and sinks back down and the drag of the prince against his oversensitized walls sends sparks through his vision. He sets a pace that is slow and deep, rolling his hips, grinding the prince against that spot inside him on every downstroke, and Ithyris's hands guide him, his fingers digging into the muscle of Bryn's thighs, spreading him wider so he can take the prince deeper.
"Faster," Bryn gasps, and the prince's eyes flare and his hands tighten and he starts to thrust up into Bryn, meeting his rhythm, his hips snapping up as Bryn sinks down, and the force of it drives the air from Bryn's lungs. The water churns and splashes against the stone rim of the pool and the sounds they make echo off the cavern walls, amplified by the stone, wet and raw and obscene.
"You have any idea how you look right now?" Ithyris's voice is destroyed. He's panting, flushed, scales spreading across his shoulders, and his eyes are fixed on the place where his cock disappears into Bryn's body. "Riding me in the water. Flushed allthe way down your chest. So desperate for it you opened yourself up on your own fingers because you couldn't wait. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen. The most beautiful thing anyone has ever seen."
"Shut up," Bryn gasps, and the prince laughs, breathless and dark, and slams up into him so hard he cries out and his nails rake down Ithyris's shoulders and draw blood.
The prince wraps his hand around Bryn's cock and strokes in time with his thrusts, tight and fast, his thumb working the sensitive spot beneath the head, and the pleasure converges from every direction, the fullness and the friction and Ithyris's hand and his voice and his eyes, and Bryn is coming apart in his lap.
"Close," he chokes out. "I'm close..."
"Come for me." Low. Certain. "Let me feel you. You've been so good. So perfect. Let go."
Bryn shatters. The orgasm rips through him with a force that bows his spine and tears a sound from his throat that echoes off the cavern ceiling, raw and open and beyond his control. His body clamps down around the prince, clenching in waves, and he spills between them, his cock pulsing in Ithyris's fist, and he is shaking, every muscle in his body seizing and releasing.
Ithyris follows. His hips slam up and he buries himself to the hilt and comes with a groan that echoes through the cavern. Bryn feels the hot pulse of the prince inside him, filling him in waves, and Ithyris's hands grip his hips hard enough to bruise and the prince grinds up into him through it, each pulse pushing deeper, and his face is pressed against Bryn's throat and his breath is ragged and Bryn's name falls from his mouth, broken apart and reassembled between gasps.
The prince is still hard inside him.
Bryn feels it as the aftershocks fade, the persistent thickness that hasn't diminished, the heat of the prince still filling him.Ithyris's cock twitches and Bryn feels a slow trickle of the prince's release seeping out around the base of him, warm in the warm water, and the prince is breathing against Bryn's throat with the deliberate, measured control of someone holding himself very still.
Ithyris shifts his arms. Wraps them around Bryn's back. Pulls him against his chest, one hand cradling the back of Bryn's head, and the gesture is so tender and so clearly an attempt to settle, to simply hold him, to not ask for more, that something twists in Bryn's chest.
"This is fine," the prince murmurs against his hair. His voice is thick and rough and the strain in it is audible. "Just let me hold you. I don't need..."
"Get on the ledge."
Ithyris goes still.
