"I don't CARE how many times you repeat yourself, you still haven't given me an actual reason why pineapple on pizza is morally abhorrent beyond price. At this point I think you're just afraid to live deliciously-" The resounding crack of a tree branch being released so it sprang back into a distracted dragon’s face startled the birds trying to scrounge for their lunch among the clearing, a small cloud of them flying up into the air. Tristan trudged on, trying to ignore how his travel companion spluttered, enjoying the briefest moment of silence before Lucien caught up to him once more with a scowl before continuing, uncaring of the interruption. “All I’m saying is, considering how you’re determined we bring the prince back home, cash isn’t going to be an issue. First thing I’m doing when we get back. Bread dough, tomato sauce, cheese, every type of meat they’ve got in the pantry, and I’m making our blessed Soleil shell out that thing to get carved up and sprinkled on top.”
“You want to hold our blessed Soleil’s child hostage. To get a gift from a visiting dignitary as ransom. And you don’t even intend to eat this fruit on it’s own.”
“We aren’t holding Ryker hostage! I’m just saying, if I have to go back to the court for your stupid pride then I deserve something more unique than just gold, and furthermore-”
Tristan tuned out his traveling companion with no small amount of effort. It was a skill only acquired after a week of traveling together. A week of the sheer scarves and layer after layer of fragile silks Lucien wore getting caught on brambles, and the dragon’s refusal to just yank the (admittedly expensive) fabric, taking his time untangling them every time. A week of ‘Switch sides of the campfire with me, smoke is getting in my eyes’ and ‘I’m not eating your rations, we’re hunting tonight.’ A week of every little annoyance picked at and only now were they finally within an hours walk to a proper town. Proper food. Lodging. And the infernal creature could finally start pulling his own weight in this assignment.
For now though? Tristan was wishing for death. That raspy voice was going on, unaided in the conversation. Sure, he could appreciate that a few years of living all on one’s own would result in the need to talk to oneself, but surely three years wasn’t enough for him to have forgotten all social cues such as ‘this person has no interest in this conversation’ wasn’t it?
An arrow zipped through the air, cleanly puncturing any thoughts Tristan had about wishing for an end and pinning them directly against the nearest birch tree. Both human and dragon whirled towards the source, a small bandit troupe stepping out from their hiding places. Tristan’s eyes narrowed, darting over the threats. Five of them.
Ahh yes. This was why he kept his traveling companion.
Their leader was stepping out in front, bow drawn and looking as smug as could be as he aimed it straight at Lucien, which honestly was a bigger offence to Tristan than the attack itself. They really thought scales was the bigger threat? “You said the rumors of bandits in this part of the forest were just that. Rumors.” The words came out sharp and accusatory as he shot a look towards Lucien, who only shrugged in response.
“I didn’t say they were made up I said I was the ‘bandit,’ that's why there haven't been any merchants around lately. But rumors of ner-do-well’s are hardly going to stop other criminals are they?”
“And we could hardly not find you with how you’ve been yammerin’ on. Are ya’ really arguing when we’re- No, boys? Kill them, get everything they’ve got.” Apparently, the leader wasn’t in the mood for waiting for them to finish arguing. As the arrow flew from the bastard’s bow Tristan moved into a fighting stance, drawing his sword as Lucien simply lunged in.
The sound of metal clanging against metal rang through the trees and birdsong fell nearly silent as impatient animals flew off to find other areas to try and attract a mate. Tristan found himself face to face with one of the bandits, a nasty scar twisting their face into a permanent grimace. He moved through his basics, nothing fancy, trying to keep an eye on three members at once without losing track of the fight right in front of him, but he was easily able to see Lucien fighting like a wild animal. No finesse, just claws rending flesh, mouth open with his fangs that polished green betraying the corrosive acid that dripped from his lips. One lucky shot of spittle was already burning through one man’s hand, forcing him to drop his sword and Tristan shoved the man he was fighting into his teammate. His sword found the gap in ill fitted armor easily, making a quick kill before moving on to-
No. No, rather than turning back towards the rest, he felt something sudden finding the chink in his own armor. Just under the arm. He could see the arrow shaft sticking out of him with a strange disconnect at the feeling. It was bad, he knew that was bad, he could see blood beginning to well up and staining the smooth leather, but his body was on autopilot now. Lunging forwards to bury his blade in another bandit.
Between a currently disgraced royal guardsman and a pureblooded dragon, even one forcing himself into a smaller form, a handful of bandits posed no trouble whatsoever. Technically. Lucien had the last of their party shoved up against a tree and was snarling threats when Tristan stumbled, and that was enough to distract Lucien from his focus.
“...And don’t you ever try something like this again,” he snapped after a moment before he released the hand around the final man’s neck. The man bolted, ignored, as forgotten as the corpses that now littered the ground as Lucien came in to grab Tristan by the shoulders. He was vaguely aware that he should be offended by the look he was getting. Worried. Over him. He was. He was fine. It was just an arrow. Arrows weren’t big- And yes it was deep but what did that matter he was fine- “Tristan.” And there he was. Talking again. Did the lizard never. Stop. Talking? One hour, one hour of blessed silence, was that so much to ask for?
That thought was the last thing that passed through Tristan’s mind before he collapsed.
Stupid humans. This was his forest. His. From the clifftop where his cave lay hidden to the nearest town, it was all his territory. And yes, another dragon may have had an easier time defending such a portion of land with wings to fly them around their home, but Lucien had what he needed, and that was a nice wide path through his forest that was the safest way from Port Vlandersin to Twillen, even with the occasional theft. No wonder merchant caravans had been rarer lately if there had been legitimate bandits as well as his own dealings with travelers.
“It’s just not fair,” he hissed softly to the unconscious body as he carried Tristan as carefully as he could. All their bags and belongings he had ended up looping his tail through the shoulder straps, dragging them along the floor and wincing at every bump from a rock making the glass bottles in one make a soft noise. “At least the last one ought to scare off any future squatters for a little while. But Ryker better appreciate what I’m doing for him, it’ll be a full on nest by the time I get back and I hate the sort of effort I’m going to need to put in to getting my home back. I had this all set up just right, you know that? And then you come tramping into my cave and ruin it all.” At least unconscious Tristan made a better conversationalist. No arguing or complaining at him to shut up. It didn’t take long to find a clearing, and still muttering to himself, Lucien laid out the body and began the careful work of unbuckling straps and coaxing off armor, trying all the while to be gentle. Clawed hands were delicate as they pulled the leather armor away, sliding ever so smoothly down limbs and pulling up his shirt until Lucien had a better idea of what he was working with.”
Once he saw it, he wished he hadn’t.
The arrow had punctured Tristan’s side, and in the rest of the fight the shaft had broken into a nasty splintering mess. The bandits hadn’t been using good quality for anything they had done it seemed like, and Lucien didn’t trust the metal used to be clean either. He only allowed himself a second to catch his breath, inhaling slowly before getting to his feet and going right back to muttering away. “It’ll need to come out sooner than later but for now leaving it there keeps the blood in. The river’s too far away to leave him alone for more water so just a fire for now, get it hot get it ready and when he’s conscious he can tend it-”
The words just kept coming as he grabbed his bag and began looking through carefully wrapped vials and bottles, even though the only audience he had were the everpresent trees and the last voyeuristic blackbird that remained.
Tristan woke up as though dragged to consciousness by a fish hook embedded in his flesh. Fighting it every step of the way with a throbbing pain in his side. His groan alerted Lucien who hurried over, settling down at his side. It seemed all his anxiety had settled itself in his tail, because while pale burning eyes stared down impassively that tail lashed and twitched like a tortured snake. “Don’t you dare move,” echoed into Tristan’s head, an order he was determined to argue with until he noticed the scaled hand on his chest, pressing him down into the leaves once more. Only now did he notice his armor was gone, pale skin bared to the elements, aside from where rags bound his side.
Very. Familiar looking rags. Not-rags-at-all type rags.
Lucien looked serious for perhaps the first time that Tristan had ever seen and an all too familiar blue and gold scarf was triple wound around his stomach. Under that stare, he let himself be pressed back into the forest floor without protest, head propped up one one of the packs enough to keep looking at the other. “So. How bad was it?”
“The shaft broke. And- Don’t freak out, it’s still inside you.”
Ahh yes. Those three little words that promised to destroy any peace of mind a person might have. ‘Don’t freak out.’ Always followed by bad news but this time, it was worse than usual. Tristan froze in place, staring at Lucien- At this goddamn quack of a pretend doctor, who had decided to bind him up with the arrowhead still inside his body. He’s going to kill him. He’d save the runaway prince all on his own-
“See? You’re freaking out, I told you not to.” Lucien shook his head, seemingly uncaring of the brutal murder Tristan was busy trying to figure out how to enact without getting his organs sliced to ribbons inside his own body. “I was about to get it out but it’s honestly better that you’re awake, I haven’t tried this before and-”
“Tried what before, exactly?” The snarl didn’t have as much bite with Tristan unwilling to take a deep breath, but he put as much malice into it as he possibly could as he watched Lucien move towards one of his bags. The smaller one, made of well worn leather with a million different pockets sewn into it. He knew what was in that bag. Potions and trinkets, powders and poultices, nothing that he trusted in the hands of an overgrown gecko- But… Lucien was the closest thing to a medic he had right now.
As though he knew what Tristan was thinking, Lucien kept quiet for a few long moments as he searched for- Whatever it was he was looking for. Eventually out came a tall, thin, glass bottle stoppered up and sealed with wax. The murky brown liquid inside didn’t look appealing in the slightest, and Tristan had wrinkled his nose and steeled his gag reflex down before Lucien bit the cork, yanked it out, and downed the entire thing in one quick gulp.
That was. Not what Tristan expected.
He watched warily as Lucien shuddered, re-corked the empty vial, and tucked it back in place. “Sorry about that. It’s. Well for once I’m actually using one of these things for the intended purpose, like to the letter. This potion was designed for the sake of getting shrapnel or arrows or anything really out of what might be considered delicate areas and-”
“And you drank what was meant to be used on me?”
Lucien blinked before letting out a snort of laughter, reaching out to rest his hand on Tristan’s chest with all the familiarity of a years long friendship. “No, no I’m the one who drinks the potion, and provided it didn’t expire then I can…” His smile faltered, just enough to be noticed this close in, and Tristan felt a slow pressure on his chest. The hand that was resting just above the sternum pushed more firmly by the second, and just as it was about to turn to pain Lucien’s hand passed through his skin.
The smooth expanse of pale skin, marred by an oily black scaled arm reaching into and through him, was enough to make Tristan want to gag. Or maybe that was the sudden feeling of being too full, the strange overlap of hand and heart. He could feel exactly where those probing fingers were, every twitch of claws and the weight of his palm dragging through his heart, his lungs, making it harder to breathe before Lucien brought his hand lower. Towards his stomach. Long fingers twisting and passing through his intestines with a slowly dawning look of amazement on Lucien’s face. One Tristan was positive was mirrored, with an added dash of disgust sprinkled on top for flavor. It felt wrong in a way he couldn’t fully describe.
He could feel strange, half there fingers wrap around something inside him. Something firm and sharp and Lucien was oh so gentle, so careful as he guided the arrowhead out. His eyes were glued to Tristan’s face rather than his stomach, and every minute twitch, every wince, he shifted, adjusted, coaxed, until he was able to pull the arrowhead out without disrupting the rest of the healing process. The stitches, the poultice, the bandages, were all able to stay in place as he pulled out the wicked looking point.
The danger was out, and they would be fine. Lucien would make Tristan suffer through a few bottles of his nastiest tasting healing potions to make sure all went properly, but with the wound cleaned, the source out, and everything stitched and taken care of? Lucien was sure this would be healed fully within a week at the most.
He took a moment to inspect the shaft, bringing it close to his eyes and sniffing at it warily. Some sort of poison on the tip he couldn’t identify, that was the only thing that made sense for why Tristan had fallen so quickly. Not strong though, probably just something made to keep opponents down until the thieves were able to take what they needed. “You’re resting until morning, like it or not,” he said idly as his hand plunged right back into Tristan’s stomach. It was such a strange sensation, he couldn’t help himself. “You’ll be better once you can use a horse instead, we’re closer to Twillen than I thought though. We’ll arrive by tomorrow night if you can keep a steady pace.” He was barely paying attention to his running commentary, more focused by far on feeling the pulse and shift of organs beneath his fingertips. Let’s see, the arrow had come in here, and this was the… Liver? Yes, yes he could feel the shape of it if he was careful. Pressure without plunging through again. It was soft under his touch, firm, resisting the pressure of his fingers more than everything else inside. He could feel the small divot of where the arrow had shot though, and offered up a silent prayer of thanks to the goddess for guiding its path away from a hollow organ.
A sharp inhale drew his gaze back up to Tristan’s face, brow furrowed in concern until he saw the expression there. Confused. Definitely frowning. But not pained. “And what exactly are you doing now Lizard?” The other asked, so rude, even after Lucien had just spent a solid half hour trying to make sure he was safe! It isn’t as though he was expecting a knite with so much pride in his veins it was going to kill him to get on his knees and grovel in thanks, but a simple ‘Hey, I appreciate you not letting me die’ wasn’t so much to ask for now was it?
Fine. If Tristan wouldn’t be properly thankful, Lucien would just take his reward himself.
“You just got an arrow in your stomach. I’m making sure that nothing popped. If you want stomach acid leaking out into your insides, or worse, then be my guest. But all the potions in the world won’t help if you go septic.” Lies rose to his tongue easily, the oil of a half-truth gliding the way and making them that much easier for his human to swallow. It was sweet, watching those deep eyes glare up at him before Tristan admitted to himself he didn’t know enough about physician work to prove this wasn’t what Lucien was doing. He relaxed back against the pack once more, leaving Lucien to do as he pleased.
It was so warm inside Tristan. His free hand scrabbled around in his bag, not looking, until he felt the familiar rounded curve of one of the few healing potions he had left, and he passed it into Tristan’s hand without ever taking his eyes away from where his wrist vanished into the hard planes of his stomach. “Drink.” And oh- Now that was a strange feeling. Flesh knitting together around and through him, pressing a fingertip just barely against the notch the arrow had made in Tristan’s liver and feeling it heal against him as the potion took care of the very worst of the injury, enough they wouldn’t worry about anything rupturing as they walked the next day.
Moving up, he could feel out the lobe of the liver, tucking his fingers into the crease and shivering at the thought that nobody else had ever done this to the human. To his human. That in here was virgin territory that shy of someone else stabbing him, nobody else would be able to explore. Down, and he could feel Tristan’s stomach, the organ squirming and churning their meager breakfast under his touch. More out of curiosity than anything, Lucien gave a little squeeze, only for Tristan to grab his arm.
“Don’t-” He watched, blank faced and interested as Tristan swallowed, a grimace on his face. “If you do that I’m gonna vomit, what was that? You just went through before.”
“How many times have I told you magic is as much about intent as it is the words?” So Tristan could feel what he was doing? That was an interesting thing to note, and Lucien gently shook him off before going back to his exploration. He reached in further, careful and delicate as he sought out the distinct handful of a kidney, curling his fingers around it and starting to stroke his thumb in little circles over the surface. It was firmer, more resistant than the hollow organs, and now that he was actively focusing on it he thought he could feel a faint layer of mucus keeping it slippery in his grip. “I wanted to push through before to get the arrow. Now what I want is to feel it all. And you owe me, for taking care of you like that. Is half an hour of attention so much?”
The silence stretched on for a beat too long, enough for Lucien to think it was unspoken permission before he heard “I just don’t like you rummaging around in there without knowing what you’re doing.”
Immediately his lips stretched into a grin that showed far too many of those sharp teeth. Well. If Tristan wanted to know what he was doing, all he needed to do was ask.
“It’s so warm inside you,” he purred, ignoring the groan that rose up as the other realized he was getting a running commentary now. “I didn’t realize I’d feel heat through this. If I drank enough of the potion to last a few hours, would you let me lay in you? Curled up overlaid with your body, half existing as part of you… If we matched our breathing up, we could almost be one. I wonder if we could get our hearts in sync…” A short squeeze on the kidney that made Tristan’s breath hitch, squirming more underneath him now.
“I could feel it too you know.” He released the kidney to move his hand up, index finger tracing slowly along the bones of Tristan’s spine in a careful examination that made him squirm beneath the all too interested dragon. There was a little more resistance in pushing through bone rather than flesh, as though pushing his hand into a bowl of jello rather than pudding. Still not enough to stop him, but curious nonetheless. His hand laid over one lung, fascinated with how it expanded and retraced against his hand. “Your lungs are so full,” he added as an afterthought, pressing against them oh so lightly, enough to make Tristan breathe more shallowly. “Every time you inhale, I can feel them filling out. I want to wrap my hand around it and squeeze. I want to feel each bundle of alveoli pop under my touch. I want to just dig my claws in and see the blood run down.”
He glanced up, caught off guard by the fact Tristan addressed him by his actual name for a change. But it didn’t take long before he was rolling his eyes and focusing as he went back to his plaything. “I remember our deal, I won’t hurt you. Now hold still, I’ve always been curious. This might feel weird…”
The lungs, even though he hadn’t lifted them himself, felt light. Airy, if one would pardon the pun. Like he could squeeze it between his fingers and it would just pop and ooze out between them. When he shifted his attention to Tristan’s heart instead, it felt solid. Every thumping beat against his palm a constant reminder, more than anything else, that this was a real, living person underneath him. Holding it in his hand, fingers wrapped loosely around it, beating out its little rhythm against his skin, this was something so well and truly alive that he hated it.
“Do you think Ryker would let me do this, when we find him?” he asked softly, not looking at Tristan’s face. He didn’t need to, he could already picture the expression there. Confusion morphing to the same disgust that always rest there when Lucien spoke of the prince, which truly wasn’t fair. Tristan was a guard. A human. He couldn’t understand the bond he had shared with Ryker growing up. He could never internalize how much his prince meant to him. “Let me hold his heart in my hands for the sheer joy of it. Drag my claws along his lungs to carve my name into his deepest parts. I could crawl inside him, wear him like a second skin. Draw out his bones with the same care I took your arrow and replace them with my own, leave him always mine. Or even just… Place something inside him. Just behind his heart, tucked away, a secret for us both-”
Lucien looked up, idly waving tail stilling behind him as his pupils narrowed to slits focusing on this royal guard. There was no end to his complaints, were there. No thanks for saving him, only calling him by name to tell him off, and now rather than mere disgust which he had unfortunately grown accustomed to Lucien saw sheer horror in those wide eyes. He could watch as Tristan tried to pull away, to squirm out from where Lucien had settled himself next to him.
No. No, Tristan would never understand his place in this world, that he was here to help Lucien get back what was rightfully his. But he could prove just how much lower than him he was.
“You say that, but we both know you’re just jealous.” Scaled lips curled into a sneer, and to keep him in place Lucien settled on the injured man’s lap. Comfortable and heavy on his thighs. “He belongs to me. Saving him won’t give you honor, returning him won’t restore your title, you’re trying to use me but we both know it won’t work.” His hand settled around that beating heart and squeezed, tugging the thing from its mooring just enough to make Tristan gasp and jolt beneath him. Lucien could only imagine how it must feel the sheer force of the sensation running through him after the invasive exploration of his body. A deep and overwhelming pressure that was exploring every part of him. Sussing out territory that Tristan had never even been able to examine on himself.
His tail began its slow motion once more, a light burning in Lucien’s eyes as he leaned down to whisper “Saving him won’t make him yours. He’s mine, he’ll always be mine, but I’ll keep you too, if you like. You can stay with him. My pretty, pretty humans. I’ll even let you play together when I watch.”
This time when he allowed a single finger to drag along Tristan’s spine, he was more careful with it. Pressing through bone to skim ever so gently over nerves, protected from the outside world and everything else. Lucien had to wonder how it must feel as Tristan shook and squirmed beneath him. Too much. Too much and certainly nearing pain but pride wouldn’t stop the guardsman from screaming if it was all that bad, so surely it must be… Well, good was an overstatement. Most likely just a lot, too much for any one person to handle properly. So much his mind was just throwing out whatever signals it could.
How thoroughly could he make his mark like this?
A sadist. He was traveling with a crazed sadist.
Tristan’s chest barely moved with his shallow breaths, holding so rigidly still one would think he had locked eyes with a predator. And when you thought about it, isn’t that just what he had done? Attracted a predator’s attention and now he had to deal with every second of purring, cooing focus as Lucien rearranged his insides at will.
Every part of this was wrong. His heart was beating fast enough he could swear it was trying to break out of his chest, a sensation he could now say he was actually familiar with given how Lucien tugged it enough he was positive it touched bone. If he had tried again, had pulled harder, would the heart have come out as easily as the arrow? Would Lucien have been able to pull it free, snapping veins and arteries that held it in place, and leave the same unblemished skin once it was gone?
“Lucien-” The word came out in a thick, breathy gasp of air as he felt those claws dancing along his bones, scraping and teasing and gods he wished he was just frozen out of fear. That he kept his arms forcefully still because he knew that if he upset the monster in his lap, he could be put through so much more damage than the simple exploration. But for some reason, be it an evolutionary instinct of trying to convince a monster to fuck you instead of eat you, or because the nerves inside that never should have been touched were just that messed up, or some side effect of the healing potion, he could feel himself getting hard. He felt so full, positive he couldn’t take a deep breath if he tried even though Lucien had pulled his hand away from his lungs. And the attention to his spinal cord was so much and so intense that he was sure his body was looking for any kind of release it could find.
Not because of the almost tender way Lucien was touching him.
Not because of the fantasy the dragon was so eager to croon out, considering owning him as a pet with the prince they were supposed to save.
No, it was purely physical, anyone would get hard with this much attention, surely.
“I’m sorry I called you disgusting, okay?” he tried, squirming as the cold fingers found their way back to his stomach to twine around his intestines. He could feel them wriggling in between those icy digits, looking for the past of least resistance and making him want to pull away all the while. “You can get off of me.”
The way Lucien blinked as though he had just remembered the insult told Tristan it might have been better to keep his mouth shut. Especially as that pale gaze shifted down further, seeing the same issue that Tristan had been trying to keep from making a big deal of. Rather than obey, Lucien’s energy seemed to be renewed as he examined the tent in his loose breeches. “No, I don’t think I will.” Tristan’s heart sank as he watched that forked tongue dart out to wet Lucien’s lips. “You’re not getting out of this just because you realized you’re the filthy one here. You’re getting off on me rearranging your guts? That’s so much worse than my enjoying the view.”
He could feel the shift as Lucien’s hand curled into a fist, though it wasn’t until the fluttering squeeze that he realized just what he was playing with now. Those cruel fingers had curled around his bladder, alternating between petting and giving sharp little squeezes as Lucien leaned over him. “I should show you just how disgusting you are,” Lucien was murmuring now, the barely there touches growing firmer, more intense. “Do you think anyone could take you seriously as a hero after this? A knight practically begging to be taken advantage of by a dragon, hard from a simple medical procedure and forced to piss himself as punishment. No wonder you were kicked out of the guard and sent on an inane quest.”
That crossed a line, and Tristan was about to say as much, was leaning up to shove the bratty dragon off his lap when a brand new surge of pure sensation ran up his spine and made him arch his back, squirming and gasping out as he tried to get away from the sheer amount of too much that was pouring through him. Giving up on his bladder for a moment, Lucien had found his prostate instead, and now was thumbing the little bundle of nerves as he looked down at his companion.
“Hey Tristan,” and oh he would offer sacrifices to every god in the realm if it meant he could go five minutes without that voice piping up. He swatted at Lucien’s arm, but it didn’t seem to deter the dragon as he kept rubbing his thumb in firm circles against his prostate. “I think I found that stick lodged up your ass. Should I get it out of you too?” What? Oh- No no no no- Tristan cried out as Lucien gave a mean little tug, squirming and trying to get out from under him in earnest now, but the heavy weight of the dragon on his thighs was impossible to squirm out from. Not with an anchor inside him. “Seems pretty stuck in there, should I try again?”
Another light tug had Tristan crying out once more, scrabbling and ending up digging his fingers into Lucien’s thighs just for something to hold onto. It was already more sensation that he had ever felt there before and every little tug had him seeing stars in a way he was positive couldn’t be healthy. He was left vaguely aware of the fact that as those fingers kept teasing and stroking over his nerves that Lucien was still, somehow, talking. At this point, he was only left with one real option.
He grabbed a fistful of those stupid silks that crossed over Lucien’s chest, yanking him down and ignoring the cry of protest as he dragged Lucien’s head within reach. Another squeeze at his prostate was met with him grabbing one of those long curling horns to force Lucien into a bruising kiss. Blessed silence, the startled “Mmph?” before Lucien got with the program and started kissing back was the sweetest noise he had heard from the bastard yet.
The sharp bite of teeth Lucien never managed to fully control was a counterpoint of pain, something sharp and known that cut through the overwhelming feeling of too much that Tristan was still riding. The harsh pain of a snagged fang catching on his lower lip, the metallic taste of his own blood as he rocked his hips and tried to ride through the overwhelming waves of too much Lucien was determined to push him through-
Only for those wicked claws to change their focus. Wrapping around his bladder and squeezing as that eager tail slid around his leg. He wasn’t prepared for the pressure, gasping and letting out a whine into Lucien’s mouth the dragon greedily swallowed. Tristan could feel that forked tongue pressing deeper into his mouth but it was an afterthought compared to the fingers pressed harder, forcing a release he had been trying to hold back.
He had given up on trying to move now. His grip on Lucien’s horn was purely to hang onto something solid. Everything was sensation, from the way he shuddered and cried out through Lucien actively wringing every drop of piss from his bladder that he could through his hard cock, to every shivering breath as the other’s free hand plunged into his chest to wrap around his heart once more. He was choking. He was dying. He was going to be found with his pants soaked and a hardon. The moment that crossed his mind however, Lucien changed tactics and went back to squeezing his prostate.
Tristan saw stars as he blacked out, positive he was cumming himself to death.
Lucien didn’t stop until the twitching body beneath him seemed to give up, slumping into the grass. He sat up properly, licking his lips and eyeing Tristan’s dishevelled form. The long blond hair that was usually pulled back into a neat horsetail was ruined with flyaways, mussed and dirtied. Blood smeared over those pale lips like the worst kind of makeup. The bandages would need to be redone, too much movement having made them loose and bloodied besides, and perhaps worst of all those pants would need to be changed before they even thought about going anywhere. Humming to himself, and fully satisfied that he had proved his point, Lucien shifted off the other’s body and began to peel away the wet fabric from his skin before Tristan woke.
“That wasn’t a cheap potion you know,” he commented to the unconscious body as he coaxed the breeches down. As an afterthought, a minor little punishment, he gave a flick to that softening dick that had Tristan’s entire body twitch. “You better not have enjoyed it too much, no whore on the street’s gonna give you what you need if you got addicted.”
Fully satisfied with himself and the ‘payment’ for his help taking care of the wound, Lucien took the clothes to the river to wash to get Tristan taken care of before he woke with enough sense to chew him out properly.
Maybe keeping the guy distracted as a favor to Ryker wasn’t such a bad thing after all.