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All that really matters is that he got Tails out of here. The whip in his back, the stocks he's locked into, the sand clumped with old blood under the pads of his feet; none of that means anything anymore. Tails is safe now. So that's all that—
Another strike sends him jolting forward, teeth grit hard enough he's afraid they'll crack. He's not gonna give them the satisfaction here though, no matter what. He hasn't up to now and he's not about to start. He'd rather die silent than ever scream for them. He breathes hard through his nose at another lash across his shoulders, jerking in the hold around his neck and arms, quills bristling. A hand grabs his muzzle and yanks his face up. Familiar yellow eyes glare down at him.
The Black Arms overseer says a word he doesn't know, thick with gravel and a foreign tongue.
He spits up at him.
Based on all the previous times he's heard it, the overseer snarls out another word that probably translates to Stubborn Idiot. Dumbass, maybe. He can't really tell. It honestly sounds like two pumpkins rubbing together to him. A clawed hand digs into the wounds on his back and he slams up against the stocks, bucking and trying to kick at whoever's behind him to no avail.
He's not about to bow to anyone. Submit to anything. They can take their stupid whip and stocks and the whole rigamarole and stuff it. No doubt Tails is already well on his way home by now, so, he'll be fine, and another Black Arms raid shouldn't happen to Knothole, not for a while. Hopefully.
The Black Arms overseers talk over him, and he can't make out much between them, but a few words have become familiar. Enough that he gets the gist of them discussing his continued disobedience. He certainly doesn't miss when the larger one says ‘Pit’, or when the uglier one laughs.
At least they're done hitting him.
The Pit is a familiar torment at least. Empty. Dark. Dungeon. A heavy iron collar clapped around his throat and a chain curled up on the floor. The wrought door bangs shut as they leave. A sliver of light snakes in through a slit higher up in the facade and he stands under it, staring up at the hint of a sky. Red sunset, weeping clouds. His back throbs in a too familiar lattice, sticky and tight with drying blood.
There used to be another collar and chain in here. He follows the length of his own chain to where it tethers to the wall, fingers running over where he'd helped Tails chip away at the stone until his leash came free. A new iron plate has been added to the tether. There hadn't been enough time to work on his own and there’s no point in trying at it now.
’I'm not leaving you, Sonic!’
He had to shove Tails towards the door, telling him to get out already since the guards would be back on their rotation any minute. They didn't have time to argue about staying or going, Tails just had to leave. If he got anyone out of this nightmare, at least he'd get his little brother home safe. Tails had reluctantly gone about getting the door open, hesitating before running up and hugging him one last time. He can only hope Tails actually made it out and wasn't captured again. Killed. Worse.
He sighs, careful of his wounds as he tucks up against the wall. They'll probably leave him down here for another few days. No food. No water. Like it's all somehow going to convince him to play nice with them or something. He bares his teeth, glaring at the stonework. As if. What a bunch of chumps, hitting on the little guy.
The door opens hours later, far earlier than he anticipated. He scrambles to his feet, eyes narrowed at the overseer that steps in. Standard fare Black Oak. Some kind of nightmare creature that might've been someone or something once, but he can't tell what exactly. He just knows they rolled up on Knothole and burned half of it to the ground before he could even blink.
“Come.”
He laughs. “Nah, I'm good.”
The overseer stalks forward and grabs the length of chain, yanking him forward by it. He pries at the collar on his throat where it digs in, his gloveless hands slipping on the chain when he tries to get a hold of it, his bare feet unable to gain purchase on the stone as he snarls up at the overseer. He's tugged closer. A particularly hard pull sends him tumbling into the overseer's grasp. Claws rake over the wounds on his back and sink in. White hot. Burning. He curls away from the fingers to no avail, writhing and clenching his teeth. Suddenly, the collar falls away from his neck with a click and he sags forward, right into the overseer’s arms. He shivers. His fur damp with sweat. His entire back on fire, like he's been raked over coals and heated glass.
A large hand pets over the fur between his ears and he grimaces. His feet sit unsteady beneath him as he pushes away, but he'd rather stand on them than have this guy continue to touch him at all. Most of the overseers have a penchant for it, petting, touching, hands wandering around where they shouldn't.
The overseer approaches the closed door, eyes narrowed at him. “Follow.”
He thinks about running—and then a pair of cuffs are clapped on his wrists, a lead attached to them. He scowls at both.
He's led up from the dungeons, walked past the stocks and through the belly of the servant's tunnels, eyes following him all the while, the faces of the Mobian servants he crosses paths with drawn and solemn, their gazes pointedly avoiding his as they hurry past, until finally the halls of the palace unfold around him. Obsidian and marble sprawls in every direction, veins of red and white and bruised fixtures. Strange, alien, ornate. He finds himself craning his neck to look at the intricate molding and decadent murals lining the impossibly tall ceilings overhead. He's never seen anything this fancy in his life.
The overseer beckons for a carved wooden door to be opened and the attendants to either side push it wide to reveal a black-stone bathing chamber. A large communal pool takes up the center, mosaic tiles rough and smooth under the pads of his feet as he's led inside, the water steaming from the hypocaust tucked under the belly of it. His cuffs are removed. Escape crosses his mind again, but he also has no idea which way is out at the moment, nor does he have his shoes, and recapture after he runs his feet bloody will only land him back in the stocks again. The Pit. Somewhere worse. And, it's not like this is that bad compared to all of the other stuff anyway. It's just a bath...
He wrinkles his snout at the water, eyeing it. It looks shallow enough at least. But still. Clearly noticing his hesitation, the other Mobians present—a purple cat and a red wolf with crude spectacles—stand from their places around the bath and undress him from the threadbares he'd been shoved into by the overseers before leading him into the water. They settle him in with firm hands when he pauses at the bath's edge and begin to scrub at his fur, careful around the lashes on his back, the unblunted ends of his quills. He's only glad they have not seen fit to clip him down just yet.
His eyes jump from the strip of dark leather on the red wolf's throat, to the tag of striated bronze stamped with foreign markings and the bites and bruises all too evident under the fur of his shoulders and neck. Naked. No gloves. No shoes. It does not take much to guess what the red wolf's job in the palace is. The cat, on the other hand, is far more put together. Loose bands of gold locked around her wrists with a long, thin chain dangled between them, a red jewel settled on her brow and her clothes sheer and fine. She looks relatively untouched. Strangely well-groomed compared to the other Mobians he's encountered so far. She wears no collar. Her eyes still sharp where the red wolf's are a little worse for wear around the edges.
The cat settles in front of him and swipes at his muzzle with a damp cloth as the wolf ensures his claws are free of debris, the pads of his hands smoothed with scented oil. Neither of them say a word as they work. The continued presence of the overseer, as well as the guards stationed to either side of the doorway, most likely guaranteeing their relative silence.
“Clean?” the overseer asks after a moment, pupiless eyes drifting to him sitting in the water.
He has to bite his tongue not to say, uh, yeah, pal, what do you think? He's in a bath, after all. He doesn't expect the cat to guide him to sit on the dry ledge of the bath or for her to spread his legs with gentle hands on his knees. His face goes hot.
“Apologies, this is only customary,” she says before running her fingers over him.
He jolts when she prods in even further. Checking for something, searching. It's all a little bit much. He clenches his fists, staring at her shoulder and waiting for her to finish. She's at least clinical about it. Cold. If he doesn't think about it too much, it's like he's at the Doc's or something, and not a bath chamber smack in the middle of the Black Arms Empire.
Thankfully, the examination ends as soon as it began and he relaxes again, feet sliding back into the water, the pads of them smoothing over the warmed stone of the bath’s lip. Nearby, the red wolf rises from the bath and grabs something from a Black Arms attendant who enters the chamber.
“He’s clean,” the cat says, swiping at her fingers with a cloth. Her eyes flick up to him, a knowing glint in them. “Not intact.”
He's certainly no expert, but he's pretty sure you can't actually tell a lot about someone just from that. More for show then anything else. 'Customary'. He huffs, staring at the water. That's just codeword for outdated notions the rest of the world bucked off a long time ago.
The overseer hums consideringly.
His ears flip back the longer the silence goes on. He really hopes he's not about to get dog walked to the chopping block for daring to not have kept his virginity intact for these bozos. Sue him for getting laid or whatever.
“It will do,” the overseer says.
He's almost impressed. It's the most coherent sentence he's heard the guy say in Mobian so far, barring the fact he also just called him an 'it' and all.
“It is better you're experienced...easier,” the cat says, patting his leg before reaching up and accepting the item the red wolf hands to her. “Thank you, Gadget.”
She opens the lid of the decorated box in her hands and plucks out a flower.
“Here,” the cat says, holding it out to him.
He's not sure what he's supposed to do with it. It's deep purple, many petaled, the stamen at the center curled like flesh-stripped spines and bright red. She holds it to his muzzle. He blinks.
“You must consume it,” she says, in the same blunted manner as before.
He opens his mouth. Her fingers press it in far enough past his teeth that he rears back, pushing her hand away. It's oddly sweet where it sits on his tongue and not really what he expected at all. He chews. He winces. The texture definitely leaves a lot to be desired. The taste of the pollen, too. A chalice is pressed into his hand and he downs the water, swiping at his snout once he's polished off the whole thing.
“Thanks..." he says with a too sharp smile, his skin still prickling from when she'd gone and stuck her fingers in him just a moment ago.
She no longer looks at him. A furrow creases her brow as she picks up a clean cloth and grabs his arm to finish washing his fur.
It's like a fever swells under his skin the longer the flower’s taste lingers on his tongue. Sour and acrid. The red wolf—Gadget leads him out of the water and where he assumes he'll be put back into iron cuffs again there's delicate gold ones instead, a slim chain running between them. An additional set adorns his ankles with its own chain linking them together and a collar of similar make clicks into place around his neck. The cat swipes her thumb into a bowl of red ochre paste and smudges marks over the fur on the back of his hands, his arms and legs. Even his quills. A thin stripe is pressed along his eyelids when she gently smooths them closed with her fingers. He's not sure who or what they're even preparing him for anymore, but based on the impromptu exam she put him through and the fact he has not been given a scrap of clothing, it's obviously something to do with sleeping with someone.
He grimaces. His back still stings from the whipping hours earlier. His muscles sore from straining in the stocks. He's not really in the greatest shape to be doing anything with anyone right now, he knows that much.
Regardless, a warmth builds low in his gut while they pick over and all but preen him. His tail curls down the worse it gets. It settles in even further as the cat finishes adorning him and turns to the overseer and says, ‘he’s ready.’
“Ætheling.” The overseer bows, a fist over his sternum.
He stares at the room he's been marched into, his eyes deliberately skipping over the obvious shape of someone curled up beneath the sheets on the bed and settling on the fireplace instead. The wall, the wardrobe. Everywhere except right at spilling satin. The whole of the room is draped in decadence, red finery. Ætheling. Prince. He shivers. A fever under his fur, the sweet-sour bile from the flower stuck in his throat.
The overseer grabs his arm and forces him into a bow beside him as the Ætheling rises from his bed. The bare footfalls stick in his ears as the Ætheling approaches, his own heartbeat fast under his sternum.
“Leave.”
He thinks the voice means him until he hears the overseer retreat, the door shutting behind him.
“You may rise,” the Ætheling says.
He looks up. He's not sure what he expected from the Prince of the Black Arms Empire. Certainly not a hedgehog. He stares at the red and black fur, a patch of softer white on his chest, sharp up-turned quills and the wrinkled displeasure on the Ætheling’s muzzle. Gold on his neck and wrists, definitely not a collar or cuffs, but fine, ruby-laid jewelry that mirrors his own chains in an odd way. His eyes jump to the gold rings on the Ætheling's bare fingers, the stripes on his arms, swiped like blood down the backs of his hands. The fact the Ætheling is as naked as he is does not go unnoticed either. His skin pricks, hot and too tight.
He has to admit. At least the Ætheling is undeniably pretty in some way, straddling the thin line between handsome and refined. He really can't imagine how this would all go if they stuck him with some ghoulish jerk.
He laughs despite how his heart kicks.
The Ætheling's eyes narrow. “And what is so amusing?”
“I dunno. Just thought you'd be scarier, I guess.”
“Do you know why you're here?”
He looks down at his own arms, the delicate chain between his wrists, his ankles, the red ochre markings on him and the slight floral scent to his fur from the oils Gadget rubbed into it. The bed. Its sheets like fresh blood. A heat builds higher with every minute, concentrated right between his legs and it leaves little to the imagination of where this is headed. “I think I can take a pretty good guess.”
“And this arrangement does not unsettle you?”
He shrugs. “It could be worse.”
Honestly, at this rate, he's quickly approaching levels of 'too horny to care'.
The Ætheling huffs, he'd almost call it a laugh if he was more confident in his ability to read this guy. “They told me you had spirit.”
“Chock full of it, actually.” He grins. “Part of my charm.”
“Indeed.” The Ætheling beckons him forward with a hand. “Come closer.”
He steps up close. “Someone's eager, huh.”
“Quiet.” The Ætheling brushes his hand over his brow, his quills, tracing the markings left behind by the cat, a claw trailing over his cheek with a strange tenderness. “Do you have a name?”
“‘Course I do.”
An annoyed rumble in the Ætheling’s chest starts up. “And what is it?”
“Well, some people call me the fastest thing alive, but you can call me Sonic.”
“Arrogant and spirited.”
“Hey—” He holds up a finger. “It's not arrogant if it's the truth.”
“Hmph.”
“So...” He turns his muzzle into the hand on his snout, breathing against the rough palm pads. “Do you got a name?”
“Shadow.”
“Cool, cool...”
A name to the face, finally. Or, the title at least. He knows of the Ætheling the same way everyone else does. That if his people come to your corner of the world, you won't live to tell about it unless the Cyning takes a liking to you. And Black Doom is not a man who's attention anyone wants to be under. A part of him is morbidly curious if the old saying holds any merit. Like father, like son. Only one way to find out he supposes.
Shadow trails his fingers down his jaw and over the line of his throat, lingering on his pulse for a moment before they settle on the collar, smoothing along the patterns in the gold. The flower's taste grows sharper the further he leans into Shadow's touch. A singular warmth gnawing up his spine.
Part of him really hopes this guy isn't looking for a virginal breaking or whatever antiquated beliefs the Black Arms might have. As the cat guessed in the bath, that boat sailed a while ago, and he's not about to break the ice here by announcing he's like eight bodies deep. He's sure Shadow will find out soon enough anyway.
“Do you always sleep with the worst behaved prisoners or is this just like a power trip thing for you?”
Shadow stiffens, fingers curling into the collar. “You're mouthier than the others.”
“Yeah? Well, my mouth can do a lot of other stuff, too.”
“Tch.” Shadow eyes him. “Your eagerness will not spare you the inevitable.”
“Sure.” He glances down and then back up. “So, do you got alien junk or is it like—” A hand on his shoulder shoves him down to his knees and he winces at the ache that shoots up his thighs. “Warn a guy, will ya? Geez.”
Shadow retreats to the bed, settling on the edge of it and beckoning him forward again. “Come here.”
He goes to stand.
“No,” Shadow says, arms crossed. “Crawl over.”
He rolls his eyes. “Anything for you, your highness.”
Anyone else would have whipped him across the back enough times he couldn't stand by now. Smacked him around at the least. Done anything besides sit and stare at him, but Shadow's taken every single thing he's said and done in stride. It's almost thrilling.
When he crawls to Shadow he makes a show of wagging his tail. If Shadow wants him to play the dumb dog here, then he'll do it with a smile. He kneels at Shadow's feet, looking up at him from where Shadow's perched on the edge of the bed. When he grabs Shadow's knees, spreading them and sliding up close between them he knows it's too bold, that he should wait for orders, instructions. Shadow says nothing, however. Only watching him with slowly deepening pupils and a growing tinge on the bridge of his snout.
He grins up at Shadow, hands running up the Ætheling's thighs. “Did you want me to bark for you, too?”
Shadow looks down his muzzle at him, eyes narrowing. “You're incorrigible.”
He rests his chin on the sheets between Shadow's spread thighs. “I'll take that as a compliment.”
He expected Shadow to be packing heat. Instead, he's met with damp fur in front of his snout. A somewhat similar situation to his own, a little to the left, definitely not all Mobian, but familiar enough. He laughs, and Shadow stiffens under the breaths ghosting over him.
“Anyone ever eaten you out before?” he asks, looking up at Shadow.
“I have not given them the privilege. No.”
“Can I?” he asks, dragging his nose along Shadow's inner thigh and feeling him shiver.
Shadow brings a hand up to his ear, a thumb smoothing from the center of it all the way to the tip. “If you must.”
He smiles, and guides Shadow to laying back on the bed with gentle hands on his stomach. Staying kneeled off the bed, he settles in further, breathing right against Shadow's cunt the whole time. He massages at Shadow's thighs before flattening his tongue against him, swiping up the length of him, deliberately avoiding the nub and ridged purple flesh above it as he focuses on everything but.
Slick wets his nose, smearing his snout as he wraps his arms under Shadow's legs and pulls him in closer. A hand buries in his quills and then another, holding him in place as Shadow rocks up into his mouth. He hums against Shadow. A moan rumbles through the Ætheling in response, Shadow's claws finding purchase in the fur under his quills.
He huffs out a laugh against Shadow’s cunt and feels the thighs to either side of his head start to shiver as he lavishes attention everywhere but the apex of him. Hot all over, a wetness between his own legs as he finally reaches up to massage a thumb over the equivalent of what he assumes is Shadow's clit in a slow circle. It pulses under his touch, a heat emanating from the ridged area nestled around it that's strange under his fingers. Almost unnerving in a way. He takes away the pressure again and buries his snout back into each buck of Shadow's hips, tongue lapping over Shadow's slit.
The sounds from Shadow grow breathy and strung out, a tightness coiling in Shadow's muscles as he pets over Shadow's stomach, the lines of his pelvis. He smirks against him. He pins Shadow's hips in place on the bed. Holding Shadow down as he retreats and slides his snout along Shadow's inner thigh, teeth grazing the thin fur there instead of giving Shadow exactly what he wants. He's sure the Ætheling is used to always getting everything handed to him anyway. Maybe it'll do him some good to be denied something for once.
A growl rumbles through Shadow. The fingers tangled in his quills dig in hard as Shadow drags him up onto the bed with him. He laughs as Shadow snarls, a hand seizing the collar on his throat.
“Stop playing games,” Shadow says, teeth bared at him. All fangs and too sharp.
He swipes the slick on his snout and chin off onto his own shoulder as he dances his fingers up Shadow's sides, thumbs playing in the dips of his ribcage. “What? Not a fan of a little fun?”
Shadow shoves him and he rolls onto the sheets with it, back quills sticking into the satin below him. He grins as Shadow settles over him, a leg sliding right up against his own aching cunt. He grabs at Shadow, lacing his hands behind Shadow's neck, the chain connecting his cuffs pulling taut across Shadow’s throat.
He breathes slow. Each one sticky and smoldering on the way out, Shadow's muzzle pressed close enough he can taste the heat from him in his own teeth. He smiles wider, too wide, showing his own blunted fangs. He pulls the chain tighter and listens to the way Shadow's breath hitches. He could try to kill the Ætheling like this if he really wanted to. The Ætheling could definitely kill him if he wanted to as well. When their snouts meet he rocks up into the thigh pressed against him, the friction tearing up his spine and arching his back, his chest pushing into the one pinning his own as Shadow falls over him.
It's like slipping under a coal fire. Grabbing at wanton ruin as Shadow's fingers dig into his waist, holding him steady as he grinds up into Shadow's leg and moans against his teeth. The lashes forgotten on his back. The stinging gone. All the aches and pains dissolved under the taste in his mouth as a tongue laps its way in. Bitter. The flower’s pulp in his teeth as much as Shadow's. He bucks up into Shadow with a groan, the friction between his legs burning right under his sternum and coiling in his gut.
Sweat slick spine, palm pads, his fur damp at the crooks of his knees and elbows as he writhes under Shadow, breaking off the kiss with a pant when Shadow's hand finally finds his cunt. Fingers pressing and searching lazily, too slow. Shadow's teeth nip at the fur above his collar, grazing skin as Shadow draws a line up from one end of his cunt to the other and circles at his clit before retreating them lower again. He huffs. It's not nearly enough. He needs more
Shadow laughs against his throat as he whines. “Beg me for it.”
His legs spread and pull where the chain tethers them together, hips hitching into nothing as Shadow props himself up and waits. Shadow looks down at him. His pupils beyond dark, a void chewing the red down into a sliver of coherency.
“Nah, I'd rather no–”
Shadow's fingers find his throat again and tighten. A muzzle settles against his ear, breaths hot in the curve of it. “Beg.”
The chain between the cuffs of his legs strains as he pulls them wider, his heels sliding against the sheets, hips squirming under the onslaught of heat licking up every inch of him. “Not a chance,” he grits out, breathing hard.
Without a word Shadow grabs the gold chain linking his wrists together and snaps it in two. It gives in a scatter of metal links. Shadow backs off entirely after and he props himself up on his elbows, watching as the Ætheling seizes the other chain linking his ankles together and pulls until it gives as well. Untethered, Shadow grabs the cuffs on each of his ankles and spreads his legs wide. Pinning them to the bed.
“You would do well to learn manners.”
He tilts his head. “Yeah? Like what?”
“Like how to address your superiors properly.”
“You want me to call you Master or something?" He laughs. "No shot.”
Shadow drags him closer over the sheets, pinning one leg beneath his knee and the other still caught in Shadow's hand as Shadow reaches for himself with the free one. And he hadn't really paid it much attention before, considering he'd kept most of his priority everywhere below Shadow's clit when he'd been down there, but the ridged flesh from before isn't just an extension of Shadow's cunt, its a sheath. Melded with it. Like an amalgamation of the two. A cock slips between Shadow's fingers, ridged, purplish, foreign.
He blinks. “Ha!” He laughs, pointing up at Shadow. “I knew it!”
Shadow rolls his eyes. “Have you ever considered maybe your people's are the alien ones. It seems highly impractical, to only have some form of one or the other. If your species became decimated, it would make adequate reproduction rates quite difficult.”
Geez, this guy sure could spiel when he got going... “Eh.” He shrugs. “You get whatcha get I guess.”
Shadow's eyes rake down the whole of him, concentrating right between his legs. “Indeed.”
He wriggles on the sheets at the scrutiny, legs still trapped in Shadow's hand and under his knee as Shadow works at his cock. Fingers drift over his cunt, gathering slick on them before Shadow resumes stroking over himself with a renewed glide. The heat from before unravels and bubbles up to the surface of his skin at the sight, his breaths heavy as he tries to ignore the racking chills beginning to chatter his teeth. It's too cold and too hot all at once. He needs someone to touch him—fuck him, yesterday. He reaches down, fingers moving fast on his own clit.
“Stop,” Shadow says.
He keeps going. He doesn't really care what Prince Dorkus has to say anymore, he just needs to come already. His spine bunches, thighs quivering. His stomach tightening as he—
Hands seizes his wrists, pinning them to the bed as Shadow straddles him, cock searing where it sits against his stomach fur. He stares right at it, precum already leaking from the arrowed tip.
“You will listen when I give you an order,” Shadow barks, releasing one of his wrists to wrench his chin up to look at him.
“Why's that?” he asks, smirking. Pushing his luck beyond any measurable reason. “It's not like you're my Prince. And I think you like it. Someone not doing whatever you tell them to do for once. I mean–” He reaches down between them, fingers brushing Shadow's cock and it practically jumps into his touch. “I'd say it's doing a lot for you.”
"Stop talking." A thumb pushes against his lips and he parts them, letting it slide in. It pushes further, finger pads running over his teeth as the claw presses down, right into the center of his tongue. “I should have your tongue ripped out for your presumptuousness.”
He twists his tongue out from under Shadow's thumb, lavishing it with a swipe and laughing around it when Shadow shudders on top of him. Shadow withdraws his thumb, hand still settled on his jaw as he watches him. The flush on Shadow's muzzle deep and dark and all too telling.
“Nah, you won't. I think you like it right where it is actually,” he says.
"Insolent." Shadow slips his hand down to the collar, pinning him against the bed by it as he settles between his legs. His other wrist gets released finally and he runs his hands over Shadow's flanks, along his ribs. Mapping the Ætheling out under his fingers as Shadow braces himself to either side of his head.
“Not even gonna warm me up first?” He mock pouts, chest tight, heart pounding.
“No,” Shadow says, reaching down to line himself up.
“Ah, man, guess I'll have to–” His teeth click shut at the first press against him, the slide thankfully easy with how wet he already is, the beginning of a fullness prickling his fur. “Hah, shit.” He breathes, staring down between them. Right at the rest of Shadow's cock that hasn't settled into him yet.
Shadow rolls his hips and he grabs at Shadow's shoulders. He groans at the sensation, the cock moving warm and thick in him the more he takes. He clamps his legs into Shadow's sides before remembering to make himself relax as Shadow rocks forward again. A huff of hot air hits his muzzle, Shadow curled over him. He looks up to see Shadow’s brow has furrowed. His eyes closed. He wonders how much self control it's taking Shadow to go at this all slow-like.
“Y’know, I can take it if you–”
Shadow thrusts up flush in a hard jerk and he hisses through his teeth at the sensation. The sudden stretch. A satiating fullness. Hips flush to his, Shadow's muzzle buried in the side of his neck with slow breaths. He pets at Shadow, hands smoothing through his fur, over the quills on his back, tugging idly at them. Shadow pulls out and rocks back in and he runs his fingers lower, down to the base of Shadow's tail. He feels the muscles tense under his palms as Shadow thrusts into him harder, picking up the pace. A moan works out of him. He knocks his head back against the sheets and grabs at Shadow more firmly, holding on as Shadow starts to fuck him in earnest.
He's not really sure what the end goal is here to be honest. Occasional bed companion, maybe. Some kind of weird part of his training regimen. It's not like it really matters right now as the molten liquid in his veins slips around inside of him, right down to his pelvis, clit throbbing. He reaches between them, fingers running over himself and Shadow doesn't stop him this time. Too busy chasing his own ruin. Shadow hunches over him further, grabbing at him harder, claws digging in as he carves his hips against his. His hand becomes caught between the two of them as he jerks himself off all the while.
Shadow's muzzle turns into the crook of his neck, nosing along the collar, his neck, his shoulder, teeth grazing his fur with panted breaths. A language he doesn't know the words to leaves Shadow. Curses maybe, endearments, who knows. He moans as Shadow's pace quickens, his own fingers moving faster over his clit.
“Sonic...” Shadow breathes out against him.
He digs his claws into Shadow at that, keening low in his throat as he drags Shadow close, legs wrapping tight around him. There's not a chance he understands the rest of what Shadow's saying around it, but he'd know his name anywhere. His hips jerk up in time with Shadow snapping into him, a shiver building in him and winding down his limbs. His thighs tremble. Head twisting away from the teeth latched into him as Shadow snarls, humping into him with abandon. His shoulders slide against the sheets as he tugs at Shadow for leverage, heart hammering in time with Shadow's pressed right up against his. It feels like he's on fire. Melting. Tearing apart at the seams.
“Fuck! Shadow—fuck, I’m—” He smacks his skull back into the sheets, arching up into Shadow's chest and clenching hard around the cock inside him. His legs jerk to life all at once, shaking as his spine snaps forward and he scrabbles at Shadow's shoulders and quills, claws raking over fur and skin, slack-jawed keens leaving him as he comes like he's rattling apart.
He rocks his way up through the feeling before slumping against the bed and breathing hard. Warm. Fuzzy down to his fingertips, thighs still twitching. His legs fall open further as Shadow continues to fuck into him, reckless and wanton. Hips smacking, the filthy wet sounds of Shadow driving into his cunt filling his ears. The punched out breaths from Shadow grow louder. A unique desperation in the way Shadow's fingers cling onto him tighter, in the way Shadow's legs almost tremble where they've forced his wide.
Shadow snaps into him with harsh thrusts that jostle the breath out of him. Movements growing sporadic, fast and frantic, grunts lain into his fur as Shadow tenses all over, spine bunching under his palms. Shadow snarls out his name and shoves flush, curling his hips up into him as hard as he can, his cock all but pulsing, buried as deep as it can go as Shadow groans into his neck. Heat bursts in him. Building with each twitch of Shadow's cock until it finally spills over and cum slips out of the seam between them, dribbling hot on his thighs, snaking towards his tail.
He stares at the ceiling. His heartbeat far too loud in his ears. Shadow noses at his throat, still stuck inside him, cock softening slowly as he pants. He pets his hands over Shadow's heaving sides with shaking fingers, his own breaths quickening again, a warmth snapping up his ribs and slithering right under his sternum. A poisonous, artificial wanting. He grinds up into the limp cock inside him and Shadow pulls out with a hissed breath. He huffs and squirms. Frustration heavy in his gut, his clit pulsing with a renewed need. He reaches down to try and finger at himself and Shadow seizes his wrist, squeezing hard. His lip curls to show his teeth as he tries to yank out of Shadow's grip to no avail.
All at once, Shadow rolls off of him and onto his side, dragging him over until they're facing one another on the sheets before pulling him in close against him. His arms sit, pinned and stuck between them as Shadow's fingers card through the quills on his back. The position consequently shoves his face right up under Shadow's jaw.
He breathes in sharply. Burnt lavender, woodsmoke incense—he remembers where he is with a spike of clarity. The stocks, the dungeon, his home burning all around him as he grabbed Tails' hand and ran. Who's bedchamber he's in. Who's currently holding him. The Ætheling's pulse thrums fast under his snout and he thinks about ripping his teeth right into the Ætheling's jugular. He knows he could do it. If he moved quick enough. If he really wanted to. A part of him considers it, ponders the thought longer than he should. Instead, there's a rumble from Shadow. A purring. He leans into it as Shadow's fingers pet languidly over him, until he writhes under the touch again, searching for more friction and finding none. The now familiar fever skitters fast through the whole of him as if he never satisfied it at all.
The door opens. A Black Arms attendant approaches the bed and says something in their own language and Shadow responds in kind. The attendant retreats, the door shutting behind them. Shadow pulls away from him, holding up another flower in his hand and splitting it down the middle. It is the reverse color scheme of the first one.
“Do I gotta eat this one too...?” he asks, grimacing.
“Yes," Shadow says, placing one of the halves in his own mouth before prying his teeth open with his thumb and sliding it onto his tongue as well. “It's the antidote.”
He chews it. Bitter. Caustic. He makes a face and Shadow huffs under his breath. The moment he swallows it, he can feel the heat simmering down finally. As it spools out of him further, the pleasant hum from before is quickly replaced with a scattered net of aches and pains. His back and shoulders flare with a worse heat. On fire where the lash wounds reopened and stuck to the sheets as Shadow fucked him, his fur chilled and damp from fresh blood, the air tinged with a copper-stench.
He stares at the Doom's Eye centered on the necklace around Shadow's throat and everything snaps back into place like a smack to the face. The new soreness in his legs and hips. The bruises and bites littering his shoulders and neck. The scratches, the claw marks, the cum and slick drying between his thighs. He hisses through his teeth as he shifts, tail twinging. Its like he's had his head held under water and only now he's been wrenched back out of it, reality settling in as he blinks. His collar and cuffs sit far heavier than before, the satin sheets sticking to his fur from the sweat damping him. He thinks of spider webs. Of flies. Venom. Fangs. Flowers. Fire. Running.
He looks over Shadow and all he can see is his eyes. Red. Bright. Dangerous. Black Doom's very own spawn. The taste in his mouth curdles and he wrinkles his snout.
“Couldn't you guys make better tasting drugs?”
“It’s an aphrodisiac.” Shadow brushes a hand over the side of his muzzle, strangely tender and fond. “They're for consummation.”
“Consummation?” His ears flip back, heart kicking. “Of what?”
Without a word, Shadow pulls him forward and kisses him, slow and soft where it was frantic before, his fingers wandering further back into his quills. He falls into it despite everything.The antidote still thick on his teeth as Shadow’s own tongue slips against his. Shadow draws back after a moment, eyes flicking over his face—and this close, there's a quieter, nearly brown note to the red that he didn't notice before. A hand cups the side of his face, warmer than he thought it'd be now that the constant fever has fled his skin.
“The equivalent word in your tongue is difficult to parse...I suppose it's something like–”a thumb smooths over his snout“--marriage.”
He coughs. “What?”
He goes to sit up and Shadow pulls him back down, dragging him close to him, the same rumble in his chest as before.
“You didn't tell me we were gettin’ married! I thought this was just, y'know—” He tries to find the right word for whatever this is, heartbeat pounding in his ears all the while. “Regular, princely horniness or something.”
“You were given an Ætheling's collar.”
Right. As if that means anything to him. He doesn't speak the language here. He barely knows half of what is said to him, or about him. It's not like he knows anything about these people other than the basics and the fact they landed on his part of the map and decided everything they found there is ripe for the taking. He's only glad Shadow is all but fluent in Mobian, otherwise this encounter would have probably been a lot different—definitely way more awkward... 'Ætheling collar.' Whatever that means. He just knows he's seen all kinds of collars since he was dragged here and clapped into irons. They all mean the same thing to him anyway. Stuck. Trapped. Owned.
He reaches up for his own collar, fingers running over the fine filigree. The lashes on his back throb. “Right, yeah…so, does this mean I stay here with you or…?”
Shadow's hand smooths over his thigh, up the seam between them and through the cum still easing out of him. “It means you're mine.”
He shivers at that.