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Throughout history there have existed a variety of myths and tales about dragons. Stories of great beasts whose might can contend with the Titans, of flame breathing tyrants driven by greed. Yet for as common as they appear in literature, actually verifying the existence of dragons has proven difficult. To the point where many believe they are simply that: Stories fabricated by bards and warriors throughout the ages.
Aglaea has witnessed the passing of a thousand years and it is only now that she can say with utmost certainty that they exist. For the proof is quite literally standing right before her. A great behemoth who stands taller than Nikador and possesses a wingspan that can blot out Kephale’s light. A daunting creature that she would be hesitant to face in battle. It’s the type of creature parents would tell their children of to keep them from running off, that soldiers would tell one another to keep from deserting, its-
“Beautiful.” Aglaea sighs as her golden threads map out the dragon’s shape. Forming an image within her sightless eyes that makes her look upon the beast with wonder. “Such a pretty girl, Mnestia would be ensared by your beauty.”
The dragon- Pollux, as she’s been introduced as- preens. Her wings flutter and a series of pleased chirps chitter out from her snout. Pollux lowers her head and Aglaea takes a step back when she nearly brushes against her.
“Ah, it’s safe to touch her.” A soft spoken voice reassures her from behind. The Goldweaver turns her head towards Castorice’s direction to let her know that she’s listening. “I tested it with flowers. They wither in my hands but not under her.”
“That’s fascinating.” From Aglaea’s understanding, the relation between her lover and this dragon is similar to the children that originated from Tribbios. A single entity that had been divided into several. Physically separated but whose souls are still tied together. “Could it be because you hold onto Death’s authority and this half of you does not?”
“I don’t know.” Castorice brings a hand to her chest, feeling the Coreflame that now pulses within her. “If that is the case, then it would be nice if we could swap who holds onto it.”
“Professor Anaxa might be able to help you figure out if that is indeed possible.” Aglaea suggests. She and him might not get along, but there is enough respect shared between them to recognize each other’s capabilities. “Ask him what he thinks when you get the chance.”
That is a matter the two of them will have to discuss, for if she personally gets involved then it will devolve into another spat. Aglaea instead turns her attention back to Pollux. The dragon has left her head lowered, waiting like a dog staring up at their owner as they speak with another.
Aglaea places her hand flat against the dragon’s snout. She feels smooth to the touch, lacking any scaling that her kind is described to have. There is only cool, withered skin hugging her muscles. The texture of it is akin to leather. Hard and somewhat rough, but in a way that feels pleasant.
Pollux leans into her touch with a content sigh. She carefully nuzzles against her palm, mindful of her immense size. That action has Aglaea smiling. She moves her hand lower and presses her lips against the spot where it had been. Pollux releases a happy rumble and Aglaea glides her hands along the dragon’s snout.
Behind her, Castorice shifts her weight from one foot to the other. The Goldweaver can hear the faint crease of fabric as she fiddles with her fingers. She does not need the golden threads to recognize when her lover is growing flustered.
“Is something wrong, Cas?” Aglaea utters against Pollux’s snout. Her breath tickles the dragon’s skin, making her nostrils flare.
“Um, no, nothing.” Castorice clutches the front of her dress. Her fingers are rubbing against one another. A nervous tick.
Aglaea roughly presses her nails into the dragon’s skin yet it is Castorice who gasps. That reaction leaves her grinning. Several possibilities flit through her mind, each as tempting as the last. For now she peppers Pollux with kisses and drags her nails against her jawline. The dragon’s purrs grow louder with each one.
“Ah, Lady Aglaea that is-” Castarice starts, biting down on her tongue before she can finish whatever she wished to say.
Something brushes against Aglaea’s leg. Pollux has shifted one of her front legs forward. The smooth curve of a claw slips between the Goldweaver’s feet. It rises up, bunching up the skirt of her dress as it goes. Reaching up to her thighs and pushing against her-
At the same time, Pollux sticks the tip of her tongue out and presses it against Aglaea’s cheek. The dragon’s breath is hot against her skin. The scent of flowers is growing heavy in the air. The Goldweaver slips a thread out from her palm and brushes it against Pollux. Through that brief connection, a wave of desire crashes into her. Powerful and desperate. The hunger of a starving man that’s been presented with his first meal in weeks.
Perhaps she should be appalled by the prospect. This is a dragon after all. One that’s large enough that she could swallow Aglaea whole if she so wished. Yet instead of being repulsed, excitement shoots down the Goldweaver’s spine. Why should she be revolted? This is her lover’s second half. Pollux is Castorice, and Castorice is Pollux. Two different sides of the same coin. If Aglaea desires one then naturally she craves the other as well.
The Goldweaver turns her head and catches the dragon’s tongue between her teeth. Both Pollux and Castorice whine in unison. The claw between Aglaea’s legs rides higher, forcing her to stand on her toes. She grinds against it and sucks on the dragon’s tongue. She receives a deep moan in response.
“Lady Aglaea, please wait a moment.” Castorice chokes out. The Goldweaver reluctantly lets go and turns to her. “Are you sure about this?”
“I told you before, didn't I? If you could touch me then I would let you do anything.” This wasn’t how Aglaea assumed they’d be able to touch when she made that promise, but she still stands by it. She yearns for her lover’s embrace regardless of what form she takes.
At first Castorice doesn’t say anything. Similarly Pollux grows still. The two of them silently communicating through their shared connection. To anyone else it might be unnerving, but Aglaea has long grown used to witnessing such a thing.
“Alright, if that is what you wish.” Castorice says as Pollux starts to pull away from the Goldweaver. “Please take off your clothes first. We don’t want to ruin them.”
“Such a gentleman.” Aglaea teases and she knows from the way her lover averts her gaze that she’s blushing.
It's tempting to reassure Castorice that she has absolutely no problem with her clothes being ruined. However the odds of Aglaea slipping back into her home without encountering anyone is nonexistent. She has an image to maintain in Okhema else the powers that oppose her will try to drag her through the mud. Next time- and she will ensure that there is a next time- she’ll have to bring spare clothes with her.
For now Aglaea bends down and takes off her shoes. Once they’re set aside she drags her fingers up the length of her thighs and slips them beneath her dress. Two pairs of eyes watch intently as Aglaea pulls down her underwear. Neither of them can see anything with how long the Goldweaver’s skirt is, yet the act alone is enough to make Castorice breath out a restrained moan. Pollux digs her claws into the ground and her nostrils flare.
Their reactions fill Aglaea with a sense of pride. Many people have called her beautiful, and she knows that she is, but it is only when her lover is gazing at her with such desire that she truly feels beautiful. There’s something about having the devotion of Death herself that is so addicting. How ironic it is that Aglaea feels most alive within her presence.
Even so, she will never miss out on an opportunity to tease her adorable lover. Aglaea slips a hand between the cut of her dress’s skirt. The fabric rides up as she moves it higher and higher, yet in a way where she remains covered. Pollux’s narrow pupils dilate as she watches her. Aglaea rubs her fingers along her labia, testing to see how wet she’s become and moaning when she presses her palm against her clit.
The frills on Pollux’s head fold back. An impatient groan rumbles out from the depths of her throat. She leans closer, lips curling to show off her teeth. Though she is unable to speak, it gets her meaning across clearly enough.
“Be patient.” Aglaea clicks her tongue. Scolding the giant dragon as if she were a misbehaving puppy. “You’ll be a good girl and wait until I’m ready for you, won’t you?”
Pollux lets out a surprised chirp before lowering her head. She covers her snout with a hand, still peaking at the Goldweaver from between her fingers. This dragon might be bolder than Castorice, but she’s just as easy to fluster it seems.
With a satisfied grin Aglaea slowly, teasingly pulls her sleeves down. Slipping her arms out from them before loosening the waistline so that the whole dress falls down, baring herself completely. If she could pull her heart out from her chest and offer it to her lover then she would do so before it could beat.
“My love, I have yearned to feel your touch for so long that my body aches.” Aglaea places a hand against her chest. She drags it down the valley of her breasts, carving a trail down her body for the dragon’s eyes to follow.
Pollux’s chest expands with each breath she takes. Her tongue lolls out from her snout as she begins to pant. If she could blush then her whole face would no doubt be a deep shade of red right now. Castorice on the other hand almost seems to stop breathing altogether with how awestruck she is. The Goldweaver can feel the threads trembling from their burning desire.
“Look at what you do to me.” Aglaea spreads herself open, allowing her lover to see how she’s beginning to leak. “Won’t you help me soothe this pain?”
With permission given, Pollux lunges. She lays her massive palm against the Goldweaver’s back and scoops her up. A thumb that’s as long as Aglaea’s arm presses against her stomach to help keep her stead. At the same time, the dragon mouths at her collar. Teeth that could so effortlessly rip her apart lovingly, gently nip at her.
A long and thin tongue slithers out and drags up her throat. It prods at her lips before retreating. Then repeats the motion again. Aglaea can’t help but release a breathless laugh once she recognizes the request for what it is. Of course the first thing her sweet lover would seek out is a kiss.
Aglaea caresses the dragon’s jaw as she takes the tip of her tongue into her mouth. The thumb against her middle briefly presses harder when she moans around it. Pollux purrs against her. The vibrations of it shoot straight down the Goldweaver’s spine. An odd yet strangely pleasant sensation. Her toes curl as she ponders how this sensation would translate if this tongue were to delve elsewhere.
When they separate, Pollux wastes no time trailing lower. She nuzzles her snout against Aglaea’s chest, flicking her tongue out to press down on a nipple. The Goldweaver arches her back into it. Her nails dig into the dragon’s withered skin. It’s little more than a feather light poke for the colossal beast.
“Lady Aglaea, are you comfortable?” The Goldweaver very briefly startles when she hears how close Castorice had gotten. She hadn’t noticed her moving.
“It’s the most divine throne I’ve been graced with.” Aglaea turns her head towards her lover’s general direction. It’s a struggle to keep her voice even while a dragon is mouthing her breasts. “Don’t worry dear, I’m not so frail that you need to handle me with silk gloves.”
“I know, but we can’t sense changes in emotions like you can.” Castorice steps closer and places a hand against one of Pollux’s fingers.
“Shall I craft a muzzle for you then?” Aglaea offers and Pollux’s pauses. Her golden threads can pick up on the emotions of whoever they are tied to, even their weaver. It’s merely that most people don’t know how to interpret the way it conveys that information.
“Please.” Castorice happens to be one of the few people that can. Having been tied up enough times to where she learned how to.
Aglaea places a palm flat against the top of the dragon’s head. The golden threads beneath her skin slip out from her fingertips. They weave around Pollux, wrapping around her snout and horns. Forming a makeshift harness custom fitted to the dragon’s narrow head. Aglaea experimentally tugs at the end of the thread to test how secure it is. The straps of it only shift a little as she pulls them.
“Can you make it tighter?” Castorice asks, tracing random patterns against Pollux with the tips of her fingers.
With a hum, Aglaea obliges. She manipulates the threads to hug the dragon tighter while keeping the strands that connect her hand to the harness loose. Another few tugs and it doesn’t budge at all. In that brief time it took to make that adjustment, the threads have grown warm. It's humming with their shared desire.
If Aglaea focuses, she can pick up fragments of Pollux’s thoughts. This particular aspect of her golden threads is seldom used by the Goldweaver due to its invasive nature. However it’s quite useful when the person on the other end is physically incapable of speaking. Whispers of pretty, mate, and sorry flow into her mind.
“Whatever do you feel the need to apologize for?” Aglaea asks aloud. That odd apology is buzzing around in her head like an incessant fly.
Want to lay you in a proper nest. Is Pollux’s response that reaches her through the thread. It's not conveyed through a voice per say, but in the form of words that pop into her head.
“You’re such a sweet and good girl.” Aglaea coos, feeling the threads between her fingers shudder in response. She lifts up a leg and nudges it against the dragon’s jaw. “And good girls deserve rewards.”
She raises her leg higher, spreading herself open with a silent offer. Pollux’s nostrils flare as she exhales a sharp breath. She slowly, timidly brushes the end of her snout between the Goldweaver’s legs. Her immense size means there is no precision or grace to be had from the gesture. The best she can do is rub against Aglaea’s leaking entrance and try to stimulate her clit in the process.
“That’s it.” Aglaea squeezes the dragon between her thighs. She rocks her hips in time with her lover’s movements, helping guide the angle. “Don’t hold back, show the world who I belong to.”
The straps of the makeshift harness are pulled taut when Pollux starts to open her mouth. The golden threads are far sturdier than they appear and will not snap so easily. She only resists them enough to position Aglaea between the tail end of her jaws, just shy of where her teeth begin.
That burning hot tongue reaches out. It laps at Aglaea’s labia, making her gasp out. Pollux repeats the motion again before pushing her tongue inside. Aglaea throws her head back, slamming against the dragon’s fingers. She belatedly realizes that it probably would’ve been smart to warm herself with her fingers first.
Sensing that hesitation through the thread, Pollux slips her tongue back out. Aglaea pulls on it before she decides to retreat any further. She was merely caught off guard is all. A bit of pain can make these trysts all the more exhilarating. It takes a bit of nudging and a few unspoken reassurances to get the dragon to press into her again.
Her walls clench around that prodding tongue as it reaches deep within her. It pushes far enough that Aglaea swears she can feel it bulging against her stomach. Pollux releases a rumbling hum that steals her breath away.
Aglaea has lain with both men and women in the distant past. She has fooled around with her Garmentmakers on the odd occasion when the mood struck. None of those experiences compare to this. To feeling as if she is being devoured in every sense of that phrase.
“A-Ah, Lady Aglaea…” Castorice is gripping the edge of one of Pollux’s fingers tightly. Her face must be so red right now. A pity the Goldweaver cannot see it. “You taste divine.”
She can even detect that through her connection to Pollux? A tidbit that Aglaea cannot ponder further. Not while the dragon’s tongue is pulling out of her and thrusting back in. She’s being split wide open and ravished again and again.
“I really want to bite you right now. I’m sorry.” Castorice hastily squeaks out. She’s starting to struggle to stay steady, having to lean more of her weight against her counterpart.
“What’s stopping you?” Aglaea gasps out. She too is having a harder time maintaining somewhat of a clear head. The overwhelming sensations clouding all thoughts. “Go right ahead my love. Mark me, claim me.”
A rumble bellows out from Pollux’s throat. Not quite a purr, but not exactly a growl either. Rather the sound is something in between the two. The vibrations of it go straight through Aglaea. Her toes curl and back arches as she is very nearly tipped over the edge.
Before she can, Pollux is pulling away. She can’t help but whine at the loss. It takes but a moment for that lovely maw to latch onto Aglaea’s shoulder. Teeth press hard into her skin. It stings when the sharp points of them puncture her. Just as quickly a tongue soothes those incisions, wiping away the beads of golden blood that leak out from them.
Pollux raises her head to inspect her handiwork. Between their size and the way the teeth marks are spread out, one would think Aglaea had been accosted by a beast. Which isn’t an innaucrate description, just not in the sense that most would assume. Yet she knows, as does her lover, which is enough.
Pleased, Pollux dives right back in. She thrusts her tongue back in with no warming. Aglaea moans as she’s filled completely. She tugs at the thread binding her to her lover. Her free hand latches onto the dragon’s snout, unable to decide if she wants to push Pollux away or pull her closer.
The rest of the world fades from Aglaea’s perception. All she can “see” is the dragon that seems intent on driving her to madness. Feel the rough fingers that are supporting her weight and the tongue pleasuring her.
Fragmented whispers flow into her mind through the golden thread. A mix of praises and declarations of love. Sweet, endearing words tinged with possessiveness. The rougher edges that she always tries so desperately to hide leaking out.
Beautiful-
Mine-
My king-
My Goddess-
It all melts together. Boiling over to the point where the lid pops right off. Aglaea cries out, words failing her. She cums hard and Pollux rides her though it. Stretching out her pleasure to its limits. Throughout which a single thought rings through Aglaea’s head: More.
A command conveyed through the golden thread. With a chittering purr, Pollux obeys. She doesn’t slow her pace at all. Continues to press deep inside of the Goldweaver. Reaching farther than any fingers or cock had. Overstimulation burns through her. It coils almost painfully tight within her gut before being pulled free.
Her second release is far messier than the first, staining both the dragon’s maw and her own stomach. Aglaea thinks she might have attempted to call out to her lover. It’s hard to say for sure while her head is completely consumed by the sensations pulsing through her body. A few tears spill from her eyes. They trace a burning trail down her cheeks.
She squirms within the dragon’s grip, attempting to push away. Pollux stills but doesn’t pull out right away. She does so slowly to ease Aglaea into being emptied. Yet despite her best efforts, the Goldweaver throbs painfully. Overly sensitive to the slightest of stimulation.
“Are you alright?” Castorice asks and the question is echoed through the golden threads.
“Of course, I just need a moment.” Aglaea’s voice is a bit scratchy after that. Her muscles have gone completely lax as well, making moving not an option.
“Would you like me to get you anything?” Castorice shuffles on the balls of her feet. An indecisive restlessness taking hold of her. “Water or a towel?”
“Stay.” A hoarse yet stern command has her growing still. Aglaea almost feels bad, as that came out harsher than she had meant it to.
One of the many benefits of being a Chrysos Heir is that they tend to recover fast, whether that be from injuries or from exhaustion. Aglaea prods at the teeth marks encircling her shoulder and finds that they’ve scabbed over. At most it will take a day for something this shallow to heal as if it had never been there at all. A pity.
She sits upright and Pollux’s grip on her loosens to allow her to. Aglaea wipes her face clean with the back of her hands. It’s been a long time since she’s been this unkempt. Usually, even in the heat of battle, the Goldweaver manages to maintain a degree of grace. She must as the inheritor of Mnestia’s Coreflame. Only her lover is allowed to see her in such a state.
She muses how something similar could have been said about Mnestia and Thanatos. Cerces might have been Romance’s lover, but it was Death who first witnessed their despair. It was Thanatos who cradled the distraught butterfly within a protective cocoon as they mended their broken heart. Dare she say it’s a shame that Mnestia only had eyes for Cerces.
“My love, you did wonderfully.” Aglaea brushes aside such thoughts in favor of praising her lover. It is not her place to decide who another should take on as a partner. That is up to them and them alone.
Pollux releases a series of chitters. The Goldweaver doesn’t need the threads to interpret it as a happy sound. Yet the threads do reveal the pent up frustration quietly bubbling inside of her.
“Now it’s my turn to take care of you.” Aglaea is not one to leave her partners dissatisfied. She always makes sure to take care of their needs, including the ones they didn’t know they had.
The chirping grows confused. Aglaea merely smiles at the dragon. She reaches out and plucks at the invisible threads surrounding all of them. They paint an image of Pollux’s silhouette for her unseeing eyes, allowing her to pinpoint her arousal.
Aglaea slips another golden thread out from beneath her skin. This one shoots out from her, slipping underneath the dragon with the swiftness of lightning. When it reaches its intended target Pollux yelps and Castorice gasps. The latter of which nearly collapses, only able to stay upright only because of how much she was leaning against the former’s hand.
“Lady Aglaea, that-” Castorice swallows down the lump in her throat. She clutches the front of her dress, right over her crotch. “That feels strange.”
That does not surprise Aglaea in the slightest. It must be an odd experience to feel threads wrapping tight around your cock when you don’t actually have one. A rather curious, but ultimately meaningless, difference between these two halves that make up a whole. Who or what they had been as a single entity means little to Aglaea. What truly matters is that she adores the person that they are now. Accepting all of their quirks, physical or otherwise.
“Would you like me to stop?” Aglaea makes sure to check. The buzzing within her threads is neither positive nor negative. A result of contradicting emotions overlapping.
“It’s…” The words become stuck in Castorice’s throat. The Goldweaver patiently waits for her to sort out her feelings. “I would like to continue.”
“Do let me know if it becomes too much.” Aglaea sternly reminds her. As much as she adores her lover’s unwavering obedience, it is worrisome when it leads Castorice to hide away her discomfort.
The Daughter of Styx nods. Aglaea turns her attention back to weaving her threads, tying them into a complex knot around Pollux’s stiff cock. Doing so gives her a clearer idea of its size and shape. She notes that it's not smooth like a human’s is, having ridges along the underside.
“It’s a pity you’re so big.” Aglaea sighs. Demigod or not, she is still bound by physical limitations. Taking a dick whose size is comparable to her torso is simply not feasible. “Otherwise I’d make you lie on your back and use you until I’m satisfied.”
Pollux throbs and Castorice rubs her thighs together. Fragments of that mental image flit into the Goldweaver’s head through the threads. She latches onto that thought, imagining it in great detail. Pollux’s rough skin being squeezed between her thighs, those ridges dragging against her as she bounces on it.
A strangled moan escapes Pollux. She shoves her head down, pressing it against her arms. The tip of her cock is weeping. At the same time Castorice clutches her dress tighter. She presses down her hand and her hips unthinkingly grind against it. How cute.
“You’re so sensitive that I’m certain you’d cum just from entering me.” Aglaea’s sultry voice adds to the fantasy. Breathing more life into it. “And while you’d be struggling to catch your breath, I’d take you in as deep as you could go. Pausing only to savor how well you fill me.”
The threads around Pollux’s cock constrict, squeezing it tightly before loosening back up. The dragon cries out with a strangled moan. Castorice pathetically whimpers, trying to suppress her voice.
“I’d start slowly to find the right angle, though you’re so thick it wouldn’t take much adjustment.” The low husk of each word Aglaea utters caresses their ears. Casting a spell that they cannot escape from. “Maybe you’d start trembling because of how warm and wet my cunt is around your cock.”
Hearing the refined and graceful Goldweaver utter such crude words makes her lover whine. The threads squeeze again and Pollux rocks her hips, thrusting into the air. Wishing it were her lover wrapped around her instead.
“I didn’t give you permission to move.” Aglaea tuts and makes the threads grow so slack that they threaten to slide off the dragon. “I told you to lie there and take whatever I give. If you can’t be a good girl and stay still then I’ll have to stop.”
Pollux whimpers, an apology passes through the threads. Her legs shake as she struggles to fight against her body’s need to seek out friction. And though that order was specifically directed at the dragon, Castorice similarly grows still. Both of them are panting. The pleas they are desperately trying to keep from spilling out are reverberating within the golden threads.
“Are you close?” Aglaea wants to hear those pleas aloud. To have her sweet bird sing for her.
“Yes. I’m sorry.” Castorice chokes out. The Goldweaver can practically hear the tears beginning to spill from her eyes.
Aglaea could be strict and edge her for hours on end. She’s done so plenty of times. However this is a new experience for both of them that’s being done on a complete impulse. Even if they had discussed boundaries beforehand, she doubts Castorice would know where to draw lines with this new factor in play. For as much as Aglaea enjoys making her cry, the absolute last thing she wants is to genuinely make her lover uncomfortable.
“I’d like you to hold on for a little longer. Can you do that for me Cas?” So she keeps her tone gentle. Void of the edge that distinguishes commands from requests.
“I’ll try.” In turn she receives a noncommittal answer. That’s good enough.
Aglaea directs the threads wound around Pollux’s cock to drag up its length. Hugging its thickness tight enough for them to get caught on the ridges underlying it. Squeezing when they bunch up just below the head. Pollux jerks, the hand glasping the Goldweaver briefly clenching around her. Toes curl as their owners struggle to remain still.
“You feel so good.” The threads are pulled back down, faster than the slow drag Aglaea had raised them with. “My beautiful queen, how I would lie with you for an eternity if I could.”
Pollux moans and chirps as she repeats the motion. Between the Goldweaver’s soft tone and the threads rubbing against her cock, she cannot deny her body’s needs any longer. The dragon rolls her hips and the golden threads move along with each jerk. When she makes a particularly rough thrust, Aglaea moans and has the threads clench her tight.
Pollux cries out as her body convulses, her cock emptying against the ground. So much squirts out that it forms a puddle beneath her. Though how much of that is because she was pent up and how much because she’s, well, a dragon is impossible for Aglaea to say. She lets her threads go slack and dissolve as Pollux’s body grows limp. Granting her repreive after her climax.
Castorice had come undone far more quietly than her draconic half. Releasing nothing more than a strangled sigh as her body trembled. She lets her head fall against Pollux’s hand, right beside where one of Aglaea’s legs is stretched out.
The Goldweaver observes them both with a smug satisfaction. Her own body is pulsating with desire, all that dirty talk having riled her up. Yet it's a muted feeling that she doesn’t feel particularly compelled to give into. Perfectly content to leave things at that and let her arousal fade with time.
That’s why Aglaea instead reaches out to Castorice. She glides her fingers down the length of the Daughter of Styx’s long locks while being careful to avoid actually touching her. Castorice stirs from the sensation of it. She groans as she adjusts the angle of her arms. Pulling away slightly and waiting for Aglaea to move her hand out of the way before lifting her head.
“Did you dirty your garments?” Aglaea asks once manages to steady herself upright.
“I did.” Castorice croaks out. She clears her throat, swallowing down the excess saliva that’s coating her tongue.
“Show me.”
Castorice stands on wobbly legs. She has to take a moment to remember how to without falling, but once she does she pinches the edges of her dress to lift up the skirt. Aglaea cannot actually see the stain leaking through her white stockings or the way the fabric is tightly sticking to her skin. Despite this, Castorice cannot bring herself to look the Goldweaver in the eye. Humiliation is burning through her skin. An addicting flush she cannot get enough of when it's her lover that is starting the fire.
“What a mess you’ve made.” Aglaea clicks her tongue, feigning displeasure when they both know the opposite to be true. “I’ll have my Garmentmakers scrub you clean since you clearly can’t be trusted to tend to your own needs.”
This too is part of the play they regularly engage in. The power imbalance, the indignity that comes with it. Shows of dominance and submission that extend outside of intercourse. It’s a way for them to convey their affection when words alone are not enough.
A rumble draws the Goldweaver’s attention. Pollux is sluggishly raising her head. She shifts uncomfortably in place as she remains lying in a puddle of her own semen. Aglaea pats her fingers as she stands up, moving off of the dragon’s hand so that she can reposition.
“I’ll have a few take care of you as well my dear.” Though Aglaea says that, she has to contemplate how exactly they could go about doing that. Pondering it as she retrieves her clothes from where Castorice had folded them.
In terms of options, there aren’t many that can be taken on such short notice. Pollux could comfortably crawl into and fit inside Marmoral Palace’s public bath. However it’d have to be completely empty for them to try that and it's nowhere near late enough for that luxury. She highly doubts regular citizens would take kindly to such a colossal dragon occupying the space with them and she refuses to give the Council an excuse to direct their vitriol to her lover.
Jugs of water and mops will have to suffice. It’s not an ideal solution but it's what they have to work with. Aglaea connects with a few of her Garmentmakers to give them the appropriate orders. Under her command they’ll be sure to spoil both halves of her lover rotten. The moment she finishes and refocuses on her immediate surroundings, she notices a buzz within her threads.
“You’re frustrated.” Aglaea calls out as she’s smoothing down the contours of her dress. Making sure nothing is out of place. “Have I done something to upset you?”
“It’s not that.” Castorice casts her gaze down her lover’s figure. The Goldweaver can feel her frustration growing. “You’re in worse shape than I am.”
It’s true. No matter how unruffled Aglaea might be holding herself, it doesn’t change how her hair has become a tangled mess. That her body is marred by loving bites in places her garment doesn’t cover. The sheer size and shape of the latter means she can excuse away her current state as being from a tussle with a beast.
“I wish I could take care of you as well.” A forlorn confession that stirs the wind. The somber flap of a butterfly's wings before landing.
“Oh, Cas.” Aglaea would reach out and pull her into a tight embrace if doing so wouldn’t make flowers bloom from her ribs. “Your words make my heart stir. I’m forever grateful to have such an attentive partner as you.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that you deserve better.” Castorice lowers her head, elongated ears drooping. “You deserve to be with someone that you can actually bathe with, not someone who would kill you by scrubbing your back.”
“Cas.” Aglaea is no stranger to these self depricating thoughts that plague her lover. However it's not often that she so willingly voices them. This must be a particularly strong bout. “If you can touch that Outlander without killing her then you can do the same for others. We just haven’t figured out how yet.”
“We also thought that I would be rid of this curse once I inherited Thanatos’s Coreflame.” Castorice wraps her arms around herself. Caging her ribs and squeezing them tight.
“Have I ever lied to you?” Aglaea steps closer to her. The Daughter of Styx steps back in turn, maintaining the distance between them.
“Yes.” A single, clipped response. One that’s uncharacteristically harsh from those thin and chapped lips.
Well, alright then. Aglaea has but she didn’t think Castorice was aware of her white lies, or that she would be brazen enough to admit such. A change of tactics is in order.
“You told me before that in Aidonia, the greatest expression of love is to lie beside your partner in their final moments.” This time when Aglaea steps closer, Castorice lets her. Though the distance between them shrinks, it cannot be closed completely. “I would gladly die within your arms than live for another millennia if it meant giving my heart to you.”
She is not saying this to appease her lover. Aglaea genuinely means every word of it. The connection between them was instant, though it took both of them a long time to recognize it for what it was. She is drawn to Castorice as a butterfly is to a flower. Tied together so tightly by the threads of fate that Aglaea couldn’t untangle them no matter how hard she tried.
“You promised me that you would show me a beautiful field of flowers when that day comes.” Aglaea continues when her love doesn’t respond.
“I did.” A sigh overtakes her. Castorice lets her arms go limp at her sides. “I’m sorry Lady Aglaea. So much has been happening so fast lately that my mind has become a mess.”
“I know, and I won’t pretend I’ll ever understand how frustrating your condition is for you.” Aglaea can at least circumvent it with the use of her threads and her Garmentmakers. Yet her sweet, touch-starved love has no good work around for it. Pollux can help with that now, but not in the ways that truly matter. “Just know that if I truly took issue with it then we would not be standing here today.”
“Then promise me that you won’t take any unnecessary risks.” It comes out too fast for it to be something Castorice has thought of just now. A concern that’s been quietly growing inside of her until it couldn’t be contained any longer.
How cruel of her. The Flame-Chase is nearing its end and it's in this final stretch where they can’t afford to play things safe. Not when the Black Tide grows more aggressive with each Titan felled. Each of the chosen knew from the beginning that not all of them would be able to see it through to the end.
“I swear to Mnestia that I will do everything in my power to survive this cruel journey.” Aglaea places a hand against her heart as she vows this. The golden threads that are too thin for anyone else to perceive tremble, calling out the falsehood of her words.
Castorice’s shoulders droop as the tension within them abates. Behind the Goldweaver, Pollux lets out an audible snort. Her lover doesn’t have Mnesita’s threads to reveal that which cannot be seen, but that does not make her a fool. Death follows the Chrysos Heirs wherever they go and it just happens to walk closer to some than others. Yet they shall pretend to remain oblivious to this fact because not even the Titans can escape its long shadow.
But that day is not today. So Castorice lets her lie. She keeps how much it shakes her hidden away, and likewise Aglaea pretends not to feel how the golden threads quake from her distress. In due time, the next step of the Flame-Chase will be set underway and this exchange will be left to the back burner to never be brought up again. Yet it will still be there, quietly burning away, until the flames grow large enough to consume them both. And that too shall be as fate demands.