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A sweet scent permeated the bedroom of the Emperor, reminiscent of the mild Eastern wines, their grapes picked much later than any other, sugar melting like honey in your mouth.
The Emperor is pliant in Yuder’s arms, his skin radiating enough warmth that it seeps through the barrier of Yuder’s clothes. Sluggish fingers pull at the buttons of the white uniform and any attempt on Yuder’s part to dissuade his actions is met with a complaint, so he resigns himself to allow the Emperor free reign and accepts the punishment that is sure to follow for his transgressions.
Yuder is stripped out of his uniform, exposing his scarred torso to the Emperor. Under any other circumstances, such a horrific sight would be met with a penalty for the Emperor tolerated nothing but perfection in front of him, everything calculated and controlled.
It is the reason why only Yuder is called to his bedchambers when, inevitably, the drugs fail, and all servants and guards have to be sent away to protect the Emperor’s honor. Nobody else is allowed to witness the Emperor in such a state of disorder, acting like nothing more than a needy whore.
Once, Yuder hoped that this change would improve the situation for the other Awakeners, that the laws and regulations Yuder had pushed for would be accepted more easily now. Instead, the Emperor cursed his new nature the same way Yuder once had, hurling one insult after another.
The Emperor buries his face in Yuder’s neck, biting and sucking at his nape as he pushed his groin against Yuder’s. Under the Emperor’s clumsy movements, Yuder feels himself grow hard. Before the Emperor started summoning him to his bedchambers, Yuder had believed himself entirely incapable of experiencing any kind of arousal anymore. Watching his body react to stimulation while his mind is preoccupied with other matters never fails to stir an uncomfortable nausea in him he swallows like a bile in his throat.
His own lack of participation is no longer tolerated as the Emperor presses against him, burning fever stripping him of the last of his sanity.
Yuder pulls his gloves off to reach for the Emperor with bare hands. Skin on skin, another sacrilege he will have to pay for in the aftermath. Still, he uses one hand to steady the Emperor’s hips. With the other, he spreads his cheeks and pushes one finger inside the Emperor’s wet hole. A shameless moan escapes the Emperor as he pants above Yuder.
“More,” he demands because the Emperor does not beg, not even with his gaze hazy. “Yudrein—“
He cuts himself off when Yuder wastes no time inserting another finger, fucking the Emperor to his first orgasm of the heat. For the next six days, Yuder will attend to his every demand, satisfy him until rationality returns and the shame will have the Emperor send Yuder to the other end of the Empire.
It is not the first time they’ve participated in this song and dance, it will not be the last.
Katchian la Orr wraps his arms around Yuder’s neck, pulls him close for a kiss he will only half-remember and regret entirely and Yuder loses himself to his duty.
In bed, Katchian is as demanding as he is seated upon his throne, but he is much less violent. Instead, his every kiss and lingering touch feels much more like a child’s pitiful attempt at demanding attention. It is no secret in the palace that the Emperor and the Empress have not shared their bedroom since a disastrous wedding night. Ever since, many nobles have wished to help secure the new imperial line, but Katchian has steadily refused any of the concubines offered to him. Once, before he awakened, he made a deriding comment about it to Yuder, referring to these attempts at currying favor as pitiful.
Now and ever, Yuder is the only person allowed in the Emperor’s bed because he needs a bodyguard when all his own Knights are sent away and the thought of submitting to an alpha to aid him abhors the Emperor. The Sun of the Empire does not allow anyone but a broken omega to touch him, no matter how much he might crave for something else.
If Yuder lingers on the faded memory of his own heat years ago, on the times he was taken to bed, he remembers it being more intense, overwhelming. Perhaps it is because he was sleeping with an alpha and not trying to satisfy an omega.
Katchian’s hands steady themselves on Yuder’s chest as he sinks down on Yuder’s cock with a punched-out moan. The warm heat engulfing Yuder rips him from his musings, grounding him between Katchian’s silken bedsheets and the panting omega above him. Slick drips between their legs, honey-sweet, tinted by overripe berries. With this much wetness, sliding in and out of Katchian’s hole is no effort at all. When he feels the Emperor tighten around him, Yuder grasps Katchian’s cock with one hand and thumbs over the slit. Katchian whimpers as the overstimulation overwhelms him. Sensing that he is about to come, Yuder tries to out of the Emperor before he can come in him, a mistake made only once, leaving him with more bruises.
Surprisingly, however, Katchian clenched around him, and his nails dug into Yuder’s shoulders.
“Don’t you dare,” Katchian hisses in warning, red eyes sharp.
“Your Majesty,” Yuder speaks his first words since entering the Emperor’s bedroom. “I can’t—”
“You can, you will,” the Emperor orders. “You are mine, Yudrein.”
Katchian sinks down on his cock again and captures Yuder’s lips at the same time, panting into his mouth as clumsy teeth cut. “Fuck me, Commander.”
Unable to disobey, Yuder raises his hips to slam into the Emperor, rendering him entirely speechless. He fucks him hard enough that Katchian cannot hold himself up so Yuder needs to be the one raising his hips and forcefully pushing him down again. When even that isn’t enough and all that remains of the Emperor’s consciousness is a demand for more, more, more, Yuder switches position so that the Emperor lies beneath him, his face buried in the pillows.
Despite being unable to see his face properly when he fucks into him, every single movement of his body is enough to discern what he wants. The thought settles uncomfortably in Yuder’s mind, a reminiscence he doesn’t want and discards as he brings the Emperor to completion, fucks him through the afterglow until he spills within.
When Yuder collapses next to him, Katchian smiles with lazy satisfaction, the same expression he carries when Yuder brings him the head of a traitor or he has the sun palace lit up for one of his grand celebrations, wasting money, gulping down wine as the people in the South starve.
Yuder’s spent seeps out of Katchian, their fluids mixing, soon growing uncomfortably sticky if left to dry. He allows himself a moment to breathe, then pulls the Emperor close to him and raises him from the bed. He has wind and water clean the bed as he carries Katchian to the adjacent bathroom. Filling the luxurious tub with water takes no longer than a single breath, warming it to the desired temperature even less.
He sinks into the water with the Emperor still in his arms, uses his fingers to clean the cum and slick from their bodies. They’ll not have a long reprieve before the heat acts up again. Already, the Emperor’s hole twitches around Yuder’s fingers as though demanding more.
“Yudrein, Yudrein,” the Emperor breathes and leans against Yuder’s chest in imitation of a lover. “This time, whatever you desire, I will give you up to half my empire.”
It is nothing but the hazy rambles of a man drunk on desire. No such reward will wait for Yuder after this week ends. Perhaps the Emperor will be kind enough to spare Yuder the punishment so his return to the Cavalry will carry less shame.
Still, he replies, “As you desire, Your Majesty.”
There is no use in protesting.