by T Shadow
Or the way she wakes up in the morning. Do little moans escape her lips as she slips back into the world of the living, does she mewl like someone begging to be touched? Does her back curve as she presses her arse back, or does she stretch her lithe body to its limits, moaning at the rush of blood to her slow moving limbs?
I grab the base of my shaft through my boxers in my fist and give it a gentle stroke, coaxing the fire in me to rise to the surface.
My obsession with her body alone is something that needs to be controlled, but it's my obsession with her mind that could never be leashed. That beautiful, crass and sarcastic woman has ruined me for any other female in the galaxy. It was when I awoke, bound to that chair like a victim that my dick started to act on its own accord. And I was annoyed that in that moment, I enjoyed being tied up more than I enjoy tying people up.
Thinking about being tied up only pushes me to move faster, my gentle languid strokes are forgotten as I push the front of my boxers down and pull my cock out, hard and erect. I grab it and move rigorously, my thoughts of Remi in different positions, as well as dominating me pushes all of my blood south.
Her knots weren't professional, no, they were sloppy, but the cable ties removed any urge for me to scrutinize. That woman had me hook, line and sinker from the moment I woke up and my balls twitched in anticipation. There's something about being a subject to a beautiful woman that stirs all kinds of wicked thoughts in me.
Infuriatingly gorgeous, yet interestingly built, I could only sit and listen to her whilst she spilled a secret that even I didn't anticipate. That large, white, iridescent Dragon looked at me with her off-white, milky eyes as if she was alone in the desert and I was a tall glass of water. She didn't only look at me that way, though. I noticed how every single one of us got that look. Even the youngest of us, Leland, caught her attention.
But it's how she looked at me that has me ending my violent masturbation session with a shout, her name falling off of my tongue as if it was perched on the edge. My sticky white cum shoots up my chest, but it doesn't bother me in the slightest. Not that much bothers me nowadays.
I'm jealous enough to admit that he caught her attention the most. Kindred souls she said. I could understand that. Remi mentioned nothing of her life before the Lord's Guard, only that she had a sister— who was still alive and hiding— so I can only imagine that they both suffered more than the brutal training that the Guard had inflicted on her.
As I lay here, I think about all the things that she could have experienced, and all the things that she did experience, I also think about all of the things that Leland experienced. But before I let myself wallow too deep though, I climb out of the Hotel bed and move towards the ensuite with one purpose— showering.
It's true that Leland had suffered at the hands of his siblings. His father normally inflicted pain from a distance and by instructing others to do so, but never by his own hand. It seems Remi experienced his brutality in one way or another. Banishment from the Realm wasn't the harshest of things that he'd done to her.
Her.
As I step into the shower and stand under the spray, a voice comes alive within me that sounds gruff and hoarse. I recognize it well, considering I've heard it my entire life.
"Her. Ours. Mine. Mine. Mine…"
There he is again, stirring up my thoughts enough that I forgot what train I was on. I was trying to think about her as a being with a body, mind and soul, you know, someone who’s caring and kind. But Kinar-ai has pushed all of my appropriate thoughts out of my mind and replaced them with tantalising, seductive, over the top sex scenes.
Her under me. Me under her. There's ropes and chains involved, part-shifting as she runs her taloned hands down the inside of my thighs and up towards my rock hard cock again. One minute she's teasing me like a burlesque dancer on the stage, next she's deep-throating me with the intention of choking on my dick.
"She's our precious! You know she is! ACCEPT IT!"
Did I mention that my beast and I are currently at war with our thoughts? Whilst he pleads and pressures me to accept that the burn in my chest is something positive, my own head is telling me it's a bad idea, something I'd regret with a burning passion should our fates ever come to fruition. If we mated with her, we couldn't ever bring her back to the Realm, and the thought of it breaks me.
"What makes you think we're ever setting foot back in that hell-hole?"
It's not like I want to. I snap back. I'm duty bound to finish the mission.
"Bollocks, you didn’t sign a fucking contract, so you don’t need to honour shit. This mission is about finding an imaginary thing, that we don't fucking know about, to keep a ruthless, psychotic dictator happy." He spits out, "that man can fuck himself seven ways from Sunday with a ten foot bargepole for all I care."
I chuckle at that. But my response only fuels his fire.
"That cunt has dictated your entire life and your father has done nothing but sit by and let him fuck you up. If he wasn't gripped tightly in that twat's fist, he would've helped you, not subjected you to the same torture he went through himself."
It's because he can't do anything that I went through what I did-
"You'll not make excuses for your torture. You're just as damaged as the rest of your quartet, and it's time you realised that."
I go to argue with him, but I'm cut off by a roar that chills me to my core.
"You won't go back to that place, because if you do, I'll make sure you don't go back anywhere, ever again." He pauses for a beat before whispering, "just because you can sit through the beatings and the pain, doesn't mean I can. And I won't sit aside any longer."
His confession— his promise, it hits me like a freight train, or a Mack truck, or a ton of bricks. Either way, it knocks me for six and I have to place my hand on the side of the shower to hold myself up. The water, which was once blistering hot, now turns freezing cold. It causes me to roar in surprise— like a girl— and jump back from it as if it was acid and capable of burning my skin down to the bone.
I must've roared louder than I thought, because the pounding of fists on the ensuite door arrives only seconds later, a worried Finnegan on the other side.
"Rem? What's wrong!"
His fists are seconds away from causing holes and our expenses won't cover all the damages that have been done to the suite. Although damages give them a good enough reason to redesign it. The red really is awful.
Exiting the shower in my haste to save some money, I slip on the edge of the shower floor. Although dragons are renowned for their grace and fluidity in the sky, we're clumsy as fuck on two legs. In an attempt to save myself, I grab onto the towel rail but the force of my body flying through the air rips it from its mount. There's nothing I can do to stop it's current trajectory as it hits me in the side of the face like a lover scorned.
I grunt as I take the slap and land onto the floor in a heap of wet, naked flesh. Looks like I'm starting the day off with a cracking headache and a bruised ego. But it gets worse. I wish that when I fell down in a flurry of limbs that I hit my head hard enough to knock me out. Unfortunately for me, I survive the endeavour which allows me to witness the one thing I desperately tried to avoid.
The door to the bathroom flies inwards, no longer attached to the hinges on the doorframe. And on the other side stands Finnegan, flushed, huffing and puffing like he didn't already blow the damn door off. It takes him a second to realise it, and I only remember when I feel a chill breeze brush over an exposed body part.
The speed that Finn covers his eyes could rival the speed of sound. But his voice has taken on the dynamics of a female, because it becomes shrill and inescapable. "Why the fuck are you on the floor with your knob out! We aren't a fucking nudist colony in this suite, and what was that growl about? I thought you were fucking dying you prick!"
Anger has replaced his worry, leaving behind a heap of frustration. Seeing my semi-okay state is enough for him, and he walks away, muttering loudly and leaving
me lying on the floor in a heap of confusion, cold water and pain.
"And you broke the fucking towel rail. Great! Another thing we have to pay for!"
The door of my room slams, the sound bouncing around my skull like a fucking rogue ball on a squash court.
Funny how that cunt never mentioned that he broke the bathroom door.
"You did break the towel rail first…"
Assholes.
•°•
“And when I finally got in there, the bastard was laying on the floor stark bollock naked, clutching his cheek like he was savouring the feeling of a kiss from a pretty woman!”
A chorus of laughter comes from the living area. Now that I’ve finally found myself some clothing and I’m no longer scantily clad in a towel, I exit my room to find that the other lads have quietened down. It’s when they realise that I’m standing amongst them with a slow fading bruise on my cheek that they roar with laughter again.
They’re like a bunch of Disney hyenas. I roll my eyes, annoyed with their childish antics, but can I really blame them? If I were young and without a care in the world, I’d laugh at everything too. But young, I am not.
I move quietly towards the kitchen, with one thing on my mind— coffee. I grab one of the standard issue coffee mugs and chuck it onto the coffee machine haphazardly. It falls out, and I fume at the fucking thing. I place it back in the coffee cup holding section a few times before it actually stays. It's a small battle won, but a battle won nonetheless. With my mood somewhat lifted, I open the cupboard to get a coffee pod, to realise all of those have disappeared. Not a single. Fucking. Coffee. Pod. In. Sight.
I close the cupboard door with a slam. If they didn’t realise I was already silently fuming at the bathroom endeavour, I’m madder than a pissed on chicken right now. The silence behind me speaks volumes and the fire in my chest only burns hotter at my new found rage.
Getting hit in the face with a metal towel rail is one thing, running out of coffee first thing in the morning is another. Looking over my shoulder, I notice that both Finn and Landon have coffee cups in front of them— devoid of coffee and cold. Leland has a glass of orange juice, so I exclude him from my plans that involve slowly murdering the other two. As they notice me staring at their coffee cups, they slowly remove them from my line of sight and therefore, from the table, as though they’ve simply disappeared and never existed.
This day started on a monumental high but has only gotten shittier. Leaving the bastard coffee cup under the machine, I stalk towards the door like a man on a mission. Removing one of my suit jackets from the coat hanger, I shrug it on before opening the door to our suite.
“I’m going to that café down the street. Leland, you’re invited if you want to come, as for the two of you however,” I look back at Landon and Finn, shooting daggers across the room, “you can go fuck yourselves.”
Exiting the suite, I hear the door slam behind me. That’s the end of my grand exit, a loud, warranted door slam to convey my frustration. I don’t feel bad about displaying my attitude in the same way a teenager would, considering all of them act like petulant pricks.
No one fucks with someone who hasn’t had caffeine.
As I step onto the first set of steps at the end of the hallway I hear a door close behind me. It doesn’t slam loudly, rather, it shuts gently under the care of the individual. I guess Leland is coming to the café after all.
•°•
The Karma Café has some garishly yellow walls, though they look freshly painted. No way in hell could these walls stay so vibrant. Canary yellow screams at you from the moment you walk in, but it’s the worrying amount of teapots that scare me. What happens if there’s earthquakes here?
“England isn’t known for h-having earthquakes, and if they d-do, most people d-don’t feel them u-unless they’re sitting right on top of it.”
Fuck. I obviously said that dumb comment out loud. Not my finest moment. “I knew that.”
“S-Sure you did, otherwise, w-why w-would you have asked?”
Fuck this kid, seriously.
“Right… so…” Averting the conversation, I start looking for the menus. The table has nothing but a pair of wrapped cutlery and a tablecloth on it. The front of the café has no chalk board menus either. I’m a little stupefied, does this place not sell food or coffee?
I tap my fingers repeatedly on the edge of the table until the waitress arrives. In this monstrosity, she stands out like a decades old sore thumb. Not because she’s ugly, but because she, like this café, seems unnervingly out of place.
Her brown hair is up in a ponytail, but it's curled on the ends. Tightened with a blue bandana, it screams fifties America at anyone who notices it. Right now, she’s wearing a collared shirt and a wide knee-length skirt that has a poodle stitched on it. She looks young, but motherly. Not to be confused with matronly.
“Good morning boys, I’m Winter and this is the Karma Café, where you may be served what you deserve. What can I get cha?”
Leland looks at her before muttering, “Miss W-Winter, d-do you have any cake?”
“Cake? Of course sweetie. We have the classic Victoria sponge, carrot cake, and red velvet if you’re nasty.”
“If I’m n-nasty?”
“Just an expression dear. Which one would you like?”
Sitting for a moment, he ponders. Whilst he does that, I quickly order, “Winter, please could I have your strongest cappuccino and a slice of your carrot cake? Homemade I assume.”
She scribbles down the order on her pad, smiling at my homemade comment. “Sure did sweetie, I made them myself.” She turns to Leland and pokes the eraser of her pencil into his shoulder. “You made your mind up yet?”
He nods as rouge colours his cheeks, “Yes miss, I’ll have some of the Victoria sponge please, and a glass of orange juice.”
“Coming right up darlin’.”
As she leaves an uncomfortable silence fills the space between us. It’s hard to make small meaningless conversations, especially when Leland and I have had a difficult relationship from the beginning. Because of my position, any friendship we may have had had already been destroyed from the get go. And now, because of Remi, it’s somehow my responsibility to repair it.
“So… Leland. Did you hear what Remi said before she left the other day? I mean, you must have, considering she whispered in your ear.”
“I d-did.”
“And… she told you to trust the one that you loathe. I know you hate Landon, but only because you butt heads over the intellect over experience debate. You’re friends with Finnegan, so the only person you could possibly loathe must be me.”
He looks at me through those thick rimmed glasses like I’m shit on the bottom of his shoe. Technically I outrank him, so his reaction is somewhat expected.
“You do loathe me, don’t you?”
“I d-do, I won’t d-deny it.”
“Right. Okay. I want you to tell me why you hate me.”
“Isn’t it ob-bvious?”
“Not to me it isn’t.”
Leland sighs, but it’s not like someone who’s defeated. It’s like a teenager who’s pissed off at the world. “Fine. I loathe y-you. Y-You parade around like you own the p-place, but you don’t. You’re my f-fathers puppet, the enemy of m-my enemy does not m-make you my f-friend.”
“According to popular belief Leland, the enemy of your enemy is your friend. But you viewed me as the enemy before allowing me to try to help you.”
"How could y-you have helped me?" His voice rises with the growing irritation he feels. I know, because his neck is going an angry red colour as he attempts to suppress his rage.
I look around the place quickly, noting that one— there's no one else here, and two— that the waitress isn't listening in. "Leland, calm down, I'm only trying to help-"
"Trying! When did you t-try to help? Huh? When they tried to drown me the first time?" A laugh escapes him, but it's devoid of all humour. It's dry and bitter, like
he can't believe what I just said. "What about the other t-times, huh? When I was o-ostracised for being different, for b-being the last b-born or the youngest. W-what about when they c-couldn't break me, so they resorted to attempted m-murder? How did you h-help me then?"
Bringing my hands up towards my face, I press them together as if I'm praying. I'm not. It's just easier to balance my chin on my fingers and still keep calm. "I couldn't stop the brutality inflicted on you by your siblings. But I could help you by asking for intel that only you could provide. Since my promotion, I was able to remove you from their presence as much as possible without becoming suspicious. And in light of being told about this expedition, I was able to recruit you, per se, to help. That was one reason that I wanted you, but the other was because I needed to get you away from them." Taking a breath, I carry on, "you don't trust easily, you never have. I don't expect you to now, but I did what I could. Even if it was too little, too late." I can tell from the look in his eyes that he doesn’t believe me. I don’t expect him to, considering I’ve been just another bastard in his life that didn’t help him and looked the other way. "I know you don't believe me, and you don't have to. But I'd like for us to try, if you want?" It's uncanny how I feel like a mother right now. Last time I checked, my genitalia was still external to my body. Let's call it brotherly instincts to forgo all the creepy taboo that I'm feeling.
"Y-You want me to try?"
"Well… yes. I'm going to try too. It takes two to tango."
His face pales and instead of being angry, his mood shifts to disgust. I know I've put my foot in it now. "Y-You know that two t-to tango is a reference to s-sex right?" He huffs, looking around for the waitress, "y-you just made it w-weird."
Made it weird I did, but I see the light in his eyes that eradicated the dark, if only for a small moment. "Hm. That I did. My bad, I just meant it takes two people to work on a relati- friendship. And now you're safe away from your family, I'd like to have a friendship with you." I offer up my hand to shake. It seems like a good starting point in the construction of the bridge. If at a later date he decides I'm too much of an asshole, he has the power to take a match, strike it, and burn the bridge to light his way.