by Alanna Lynd
His lips found Alard's. When Alard's mouth parted for him, Louvel's breath filled him, and then the heat of his tongue, all of his senses overwhelmed by the man's taste. A moan escaped him. His hands took hold of Louvel's head, gently holding him in place, and they kissed until Alard was light-headed and out of breath.
“Never revenge,” Louvel murmured against his lips. “Will you stop doubting me?”
Alard swallowed, suddenly overwhelmed. “I have never learned how to...”
Trust? Love?
The words frightened him. Even more it frightened him that they were true, and how badly he wanted it.
“When I saw him, I thought I had lost your regard,” Alard whispered at last. “Forgive me. It is important to me. You are important to me. That is my only excuse.”
“You are just as important to me.” Louvel's eyes shone golden as he brushed his lips against Alard's once more. “Will you accept that as the truth? You wear my collar. Your body bears my mark. You are mine. Not because I want revenge, but because I want you. Now. Always. Will you accept that?”
“I'd do... anything for you.” The words broke out of Alard suddenly. He shivered a little. “You may beat me. Punish me as you see fit. I'll submit to it all, because you are a good man. A good alpha. That is the truth. But because of that, I will always feel jealousy too.”
“Maybe,” Louvel said softly, “you'll be less jealous once you understand that there is nothing he—or anyone else—can offer me, because I have exactly what I want. What I have hunted for more than ten years.”
Louvel's hand drew down his body. It found Alard's prick, hard and aching for attention. Then his fingers closed around his balls, and Alard moaned at the sensation. They were sore and swollen, heavy from having been granted no release for several weeks now.
“There. That pleases me,” Louvel murmured. “See. I hold you in my hand. I could hurt you, or pleasure you, as I please. And you would let me.”
“It is your right,” Alard whispered fervently.
Louvel's fingers squeezed a little, and he groaned, clear liquid dripping down his prick, the tears of frustration that were all he'd been granted these past weeks.
“It is,” Louvel murmured darkly. “And also, it is all I want. You. All of you, completely mine, to hurt or pleasure. To cherish. What do I have to do to make you believe it?”
Alard's heart was racing in his chest. Between his legs, desire pulsed, a red-hot ache that made him want to spread his legs and beg—but instead, he leaned forward, put his lips against Louvel's ear, and whispered, “Catch me!”
Then he shifted, bolting from Louvel's grasp as soon as his paws touched the ground.
He did not get far—but for a few, beautiful moments, he ran, driven forward by nothing but the joy of stretching his body and the sounds of pursuit, Louvel's paws rustling through dried leaves and breaking small twigs as he bounded after him. The sounds came ever closer, and that too filled Alard with joy.
This was what he wanted. Louvel racing him. Louvel catching him. Louvel—
He was wrestled to the ground, Louvel's body heavy, all coiled muscle that would not budge no matter how much Alard twisted.
Louvel wanting him.
Only him.
That was what Alard wanted.
He groaned as Louvel held him in place. Sharp teeth sunk into his skin once more. In surrender, he arched his throat, panting at the beautiful pain of his alpha's teeth digging into his flesh. It felt good. It felt right. He was owned, collared and marked.
When Louvel raised his head after a moment, golden eyes gleaming, red dripped from his fangs. Alard felt the answering ache pulse at his throat. He whined as he lapped at Louvel's lips, tasting his own blood, panting and ecstatic.
Louvel had chased him down. Louvel wanted him.
A moment later, they had both shifted back, naked bodies entwined in the last rays of light of the sinking moon. When they kissed, Alard tasted the iron tang of his own blood in Louvel's mouth and moaned. They were both hard. Louvel's cock slid against his stomach, huge and hot, and he groaned as he thought of it inside him.
“I've only got spit,” Louvel warned him, voice husky with breathless need.
Alard didn't care. He'd take anything, anything at all. He wouldn't mind if it hurt. He wanted it to hurt. To pulse with that same red-hot ache at his throat that marked him as Louvel's, subdued and claimed, and Louvel's, body and soul.
“Yes,” he said simply, choking back another moan even as he grabbed Louvel's hand to draw his fingers into his mouth. He sucked on them, cheeks flushing at the obscene, wet sounds, but Louvel only gave him another soft laugh.
“Yes. Get them good and wet,” Louvel murmured. “That's all you're going to get.”
Alard groaned again. He was dizzy. His skin was burning with need. His balls were sore, so full and tightly drawn up, his cock dripping tears of clear fluid onto his stomach.
When Louvel drew his fingers out, they were slick and gleaming with his saliva. Then they rubbed against his hole, sliding inside easily enough. Alard gasped when they twisted inside him, another drop leaking from his cock. He felt so full he didn't think he could bear it.
“Please,” he moaned, writhing helplessly when Louvel's fingers slowly, patiently rubbed against him inside, just where he needed it the most.
“You think you can take me?” Louvel asked softly as Alard's hole clenched around him at his words. “All of me? Because I want to fill you up, Alard. I want to stretch your hole until you're begging, fuck you so hard you feel me until the next full moon.”
“Please,” Alard groaned again, thighs spreading wider as Louvel's fingers nudged him. Every touch sent fire racing up his spine, his balls throbbing as he tried to hold back.
Then Louvel pulled out and he felt himself wrestled to his stomach, his legs parting eagerly when Louvel's knees nudged them apart.
Louvel mounted him, spread him open, Alard's hole yielding to the relentless penetration. It ached, the slow slide inside of Louvel's large cock eased only by spit—but it was what Alard wanted.
He panted, pressed his face into the moss, overwhelmed and owned. Louvel's skin was hot against his back. Louvel's cock felt immense, burning him from the inside—and still it slid in deeper, filling and stretching him until there was no part of him that wasn't owned by Louvel.
Every motion put pressure onto the spot within him that made him arch his back as much as he could to have more of it there. His cock leaked drops of fluid. His balls ached so much he thought the merest touch would set him off. He wanted to rut against the forest floor.
Instead, he raised his hips, denying himself any friction. He moaned hoarsely when Louvel drew out only to thrust in even deeper, hard enough that Alard cried out at the sparks of unbearable ecstasy that shot up his spine.
"Please," he begged again, nearly too overcome to form words. "Please, please, I must..."
"No," Louvel whispered, cruel and kind at once.
Alard sobbed as Louvel filled him, the thrusts even harder now, rubbing against him with every slide in and out until tears were dripping from his eyes.
It was unbearable. The pleasure was too much, too intense. Alard panted, dizzy, unable to get enough breath, whining and writhing on the thick cock that impaled him—and then Louvel groaned with deep satisfaction. Once more, he pushed inside him hard, the thrusts deep and brutal, his fingers digging into Alard's hip as he was held in place.
Louvel's release filled him with waves of heat while Louvel panted against his neck, and Alard sobbed. Obediently, he held himself still as his trembling body tightened around Louvel's throbbing prick to hold all of his alpha's release inside him.
It seemed to go on for an eternity. Louvel spilled so much of his seed inside him that Alard breathlessly wondered whether Louvel had denied himself for as long as he had denied Alard.
But then Louvel rolled to his back, sated at last, mouth nuzzling at Alard's throat. He kept Alard in his embrace, his cock still
buried deep inside him.
Alard made a pitiful, weak whimper, his cock red with blood, swollen so hard that he thought he would die if he'd be denied yet again... and then Louvel's hand stroked down his slick, heaving stomach.
"Now. Come," Louvel breathed into his ear, and just as his hand closed around Alard's cock, his teeth found the bite mark once more, biting down as Alard's body arched in ecstatic pain.
Heat shot out of him, a long, tense moment of letting go, of being thrust over the edge of a cliff. The pleasure was so sharp it took away his breath. He convulsed in Louvel's arms, wetness splashing across his belly, more and more of it as his balls throbbed and his cock jerked, Louvel's hand stroking him briskly to force more and more of his pleasure from him.
The edges of Alard's vision grew dark. All his existence seemed concentrated on the laboring of his body, the pain of the bite and the keen heat pooling in his belly, shooting out of him. It was torment. It was a pleasure greater than anything he had ever known.
He no longer knew his name, or who he was, or even where he ended and where Louvel began.
By the end of it, there was nothing but the sensation of Louvel's teeth, Louvel's cock still hot and huge inside him, Louvel's heart beating against him.
"Louvel," he sighed, long minutes later, when he had regained enough breath to speak. His voice was rough. His body ached. Louvel was still inside him, and he thought with a shiver of arousal and trepidation of the sensation of him pulling out, his sore hole being made to stretch once more.
Louvel breathed hot air against his skin as he nuzzled upwards.
"Sleep," he murmured into his ear.
Alard shivered. "But..."
"Sleep," Louvel said, his voice darkening a little.
Alard could feel the interested twitch Louvel's cock gave inside him.
"Rest. You'll need it," Louvel promised quietly. "Because I'm not finished with you by a long stretch."
Alard exhaled, bruised and aching and perfectly content. All around them, the forest was slowly starting to wake. The first birds were singing. The moon had dropped completely below the horizon. He could already see the barest hint of the sliver of rose that heralded the lightening sky.
Louvel's lips pressed a kiss to just above his collar. His arms tightened around him.
Alard had never been happier.
***
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A special sneak preview of Disciplining His Elf Lord by Alanna Lynd:
Luiyor pushed golden curls out of his eyes, breathing heavily. There was not even a drop of blood on his armor, he noted with pride, though it dripped from his blade to stain the trampled grass.
Three orcs, and not a cut on him. His companion, stern, silver-haired Veregorn with his icy eyes of gray, would be proud. He would have to be! Any orc they killed meant one less danger for the unsuspecting farmers in these lands, after all!
A warm glow of pride filled him when he entered the small clearing where they had made their camp, though it faltered a little when Veregorn scrutinized him. Veregorn had said just to scout—but then, the death of an orc was always reason to rejoice. Even Veregorn could certainly not find fault with him for single-handedly ending the life of three of the vile creatures?
“The way is clear,” he said, and then allowed himself a little smile. He had done good work. Even his father would have been proud of a fight such as he had waged against the creatures. Luiyor had been lethal and swift, like a true elven warrior of the Emerald Wood. “I surprised orcs setting up a camp. They do not pose a problem anymore. There were no traces of others.”
Veregorn looked at him for another moment, then got up from where he had been seated by the fire. Luiyor faltered a little when there was none of the praise he had expected—of course, nothing ever truly impressed millenia-old Veregorn, but was it too much to ask for at least half a smile or a simple nod in acknowledgment of his deed?
Veregorn stepped closer. “Where? How far away?”
“Not too far. I followed the river to the next bend. They were setting up a camp in the old ruins.” He gestured towards the east, where the gleam of gray stone could be seen atop a hill rising from the forest.
“I surprised them before they could finish. None escaped. No one will know we are here, I made certain of that.”
Luiyor allowed himself a small smile now, for he had watched and waited long enough to make certain that no scout was missing. Veregorn might be right about traveling in secret, but that did not meant that he would have to allow such evil to continue. No one would be the wiser, but maybe the farmers in this area would be a little safer, thanks to the strength of his sword-arm.
“You surprised them? None escaped?” Luiyor faltered a little. Veregorn's voice was soft and tense with suppressed emotion. Was he maybe upset that Luiyor had not brought him notice before, to allow him a part in the fight?
“Fool.” Veregorn's voice was filled with disgust. “Did no one teach you to think? Scout, I said! Scout—and you go and kill what is undoubtedly a scouting troop of a much larger force. I have seen smoke in the distance. When the orcs you killed do not return on the morrow, that force will be warned. Tomorrow, this forest will be swarming with the creatures.”
Veregorn's hand shot out to twist in Luiyor's hair, holding him in place as he helplessly met Veregorn's eyes. There was a cold fury in them that made him swallow, his body tensing with something that was not quite fear.
"Veregorn," he began softly, trying to stay calm. Veregorn was a man of reason, certainly this uncharacteristic display of anger was just a momentary lapse. "There is no need to be angry. Maybe I made a mistake, but I promise, I knew what I was doing!"
Veregorn simply looked at him, his fingers tightening until Luiyor winced. "No need to be angry? I am not angry. You have not earned anger yet. Pray that it will never come that far."
Luiyor tried to smile. "Then would you please release me? I will gladly apologize, I am aware that I probably should have waited—"
Veregorn's lips twisted into something that might have been a smile. "Aware, you say. That only makes it worse. I told you what I expect from you when I allowed you to go out to scout our way."
Luiyor swallowed. Tears welled up unbidden when Veregorn's grip on his hair suddenly tightened. "Allowed? I am sorry, Veregorn, but there is no reason to treat me like—like some green recruit! I am—"
Veregorn exhaled deeply. "You are—a lord? A mighty warrior? An experienced man of the Emerald Wood?" He shook his head. "You are none of those."
His fingers loosened their grip on Luiyor's hair, and he pushed him down to the ground with a sound of disgust. "A green recruit? Yes, that is more like it. And I have no patience for those. I did not agree to travel with a child I cannot trust to follow my rules."
"Your rules?" Luiyor winced at the breathless outrage in his voice. "I am not—I am not some child! I am your equal in at least—"
"No." Veregorn shook his head as retreated to where his bedroll was spread out by the embers of their fire. "You are not my equal. Maybe in a thousand years. For now you are little more than a child. I should have made this clearer when I allowed you to travel with me, perhaps. My task is a lonely one. I have neither desire nor need of companionship. If you seek to travel with me, you will not distract me with your complaints. Most of all, you will obey. You will listen, and you will obey."
Luiyor gasped in outrage once more. "What gives you the right to—you are not my king! You have no right to—”
“I have every right,” Veregorn corrected with a small, amused smile. “If you desire to travel with me, you will follow my rules. You never stop pointing out what a loyal servant to your king you are. It should prove no great difficulty to follow my orders then, since clearly I cannot count on you to use what little common sense you have.”
Luiyor's lips parted for a gasp of pro
test, but before he could make a sound, Veregorn gripped his chin, forcing Luiyor to meet his gaze.
“You talk and talk about how you are no lord anymore but a mere soldier of your king, how you are not prideful but humble enough to accept orders from a superior. Let me make this very clear then. If you travel with me, you accept me as your superior. I am your officer. My orders will be followed. Do you understand?”
Luiyor licked his lips nervously. A part of him hated Veregorn for the way he refused to acknowledge that in truth, they were equals, even though Veregorn had seen more battle. But another part of him quailed at the thought of continuing his lonely journey, with no company save memories of his prince to cling to. How long until he would see his prince again, or his home? Just how was he to single-handedly regain his House's lost honor when his prince had parted ways with him? Luiyor would have gladly given his own life to ensure his safety, but that choice had been taken from him.
Veregorn's company had been a relief. To lose it again, so soon—he hated the thought as much as he hated Veregorn's smug superiority in pointing out his faults. But there was no honor in denying one's faults, and Luiyor knew that he had no right to show pride, not when his own father had died as a coward. No, better to grind his teeth and accept the way Veregorn pointed out his faults. Humbleness and penitence for his mistake would see his House restored again one day, not pride.
"My life belongs to my king and my prince," he finally admitted. "But—I agree that you have greater knowledge journeying in these parts. I will also admit that you have greater experience in the slaying of orcs than our greatest warriors. I will follow, Veregorn. I will not question your orders again." As much as it grated, his pride was ill-placed here. And there was no dishonor for a soldier in following the commands of his superior. He had done well in his youth, after all. Veregorn would soon see his worth.
"Good." Veregorn finally released him with what seemed like a genuine, small smile. "I would not have enjoyed watching you walk off into the wild here. You would not have lived long. And there are too few of us, and too many orcs, to waste a life so needlessly."