The hair on his nape stood on end from even the lightest touch of the breeze, manifesting electric just beneath his skin.

His usual stoicism, though securely in place, was underlaced with a tension hard to place to casual eyes. And none would dare stare at a Lord of Fellner long enough to wonder as to its nature.

Gidior and Saera lingered nearby. He suspected Gidior to know his plight- the way he would occasionally look with a hard glance to remind him in his infuriatingly superiour way that- yes, keep on with that, little brother. Wouldn’t want to embarrass us all with a lack of composure, right, little brother?

He wonders if he’s imagining it. It’s been a while since the last time. And the last time, he spent this season barely home in Grymmwatch at all. Gidior never seemed intent upon him until such times as it would grant him those moments for a calloused barb.

In that regard, Calix supposes he didn’t know after all. Which was a relief. Perhaps he’d only seen the way he shifted in place or opened his neck to the breeze and thought nothing of it.

Calix paces away for reprieve. Out of the courtyard. Not for long or he’d be missed. His hands curl against an elegant crenellation as he takes moments to glower his frustration out into the cloying mist that obscured the valley below.

And shifts his hips slowly, thighs just barely together as his weight changes to his other heel.

He breathes, eyes dipping to the moor-grass far below with a look glazed.

The Lord Volkor had not been to Grymmwatch for some time. Since possibly before his letters began.

He imagined where Calix von Fellner came from often in seething interest over the paler beast's existence, imagining him above the valley as a king of all beasts. To his insatiable, ever-seeing ire. There were many moments of madness between his letters where he envisioned eccentric tortures beyond even his own making.

They met a dozen or more times in the moorland on misty morrows and Volkor trained his abeyance as he liked it. Ferociously resentful. Bruised; the slighter lord unable to resist his violence as he despaired over von Fellner and his pale grave-pelt and his bare skin. He would bruise him and shove him over the grasses several or more times thence.

Each beating more strained than the previous. In indulgence of such bitter, bitter envy.

Was he unreasonable for such immense rage?

The mornings were, for a while, enough.

It set him aflame for days when he was summoned to the den-hold Fellner and a thousand things rolled through his mind as a tempest.

Calix von Fellner the first and heaviest of the waves.

To there, lords were called in feast of one of the kingdom's many hunts. The lords of Volgoth and Volkor, in good nature with the Fellners, asked to oblige to such a thing.

Volkor emerged the picture of discomfort tight teeth barely restrained from a snarl at all moments, gaze strained to find him. It would be some time before he did. His pelt, groomed, hid his dissent behind its quills.

He could appreciate Grymmwatch's beauty; more elegant than the Volgoth den-hold, with more artistry to give.

Visitors in good will were not minded around the Keep and he pleased himself with exploring it as he sought out another-- knowing him here. He could be nowhere else.

When Volkor does find him, he recognises the quills and split hair instantly and lunges at him near-silent from around a wall. Out of the courtyard and behind wall and pillar where few would see them yet. He wonders for moments why Calix was here and is overcome in an instant, neck rolling in pleasure. He sensed something on him. In the only way he might, desiring to reciprocate too.

The way he saw him shift on a heel as Volkor stepped over.

He knew Calix bore a cunt. He had stamped at it with his heel through the lord's breeches and had seen it in undress only once. Once he had forced him to bare himself to him at his command.

In some truth. Volkor enjoyed torture. He enjoyed it shared, and when alone. He did not as often demand to see von Fellner naked in the grass. Perhaps only once he had seen him for all he could bare to him in flesh without touching.

He remembered his body closely in fantasy.

It had been some weeks since he had seen him at all, then, also in truth.

The lord shows teeth as he steps behind him and breathes, not announcing himself yet first even as he reaches out with black gloves. His hands flexing. Pausing. When he remembers where they both were- in Fellner lands.

He does announce himself after all with a quiet clearing of the throat in discerning that Calix was probably seeking to be alone. A shame.

Volkor pauses tersely when he was sure he was seen and salutes him with a relenting cant; the same as on the moor, he had learned to offer back to him. He would give him that much- and did not desire to play with dominus-law in the holds of friends.

"What are you looking for, my lord? Awaiting another letter?" Volkor hisses. Laced bitter but intentional as a tease.

He gazes bitterly at the lord and his troubled brow as he, too close, narrows his eyes. His own gaze repressed beneath something a little more politic than his rages on the plateau and it makes him grimace gently as he dares to reach and grip one of the lord's forearms to stop him from escape, fingers flexing around him and beginning to turn him already against the nearest pillar.

"You are some distance from all others."

Calix hears the throat be cleared and, although he understood whom the origin was, did not flinch. Their game had strict boundaries, after all. Dominus-law, though frayed at the edges in the wilderness, was far more consequential here. He knew neither could afford any tremendous foolishness.

And so offered him a burdened kithsign with a lift of his elbow and inattentive glance sidelong.

What are you looking for, my lord? Awaiting-

Calix breathes his irritation with the question.

“I express that you’ll find my patience is thin today of all days.” He growls.
And turns away from the view that could scarcely bring him calm when his body warred against his mind so feverishly.

You are some distance-

Calix makes a face with level brows and a glower from under them, knowing exactly what Volkor was implying even if not discerning his precise intent.

“And you are, of all, the most unwelcome in my presence-“ He offered in the moments where the Lord Volkor took him by his arm, briefly preventing escape.

Calix looks at the touch in offense, a fiery look offered to Volkor's eyes just after. And what was more, this near, Calix’s flush was evident in closeness. The subtle distress in his mismatched gaze as he pulls his arm back with a steady pressure.

“You presume?” He bares his teeth as he asks, turning toward him with a quiet throat-hiss.

“Have care,” he warns, low, “I have many excuses prepared for why you might be found in a lake of your own blood should I tire of you for the last time.”

Volkor sensed him instantly when he was at his side and knew better than to challenge him; to his immense gloom, forced to be somewhat behaved here. Not here could he come upon him and throw him to floor as with all other times. The valleys below tempting nonetheless.

He thinks about it as he peers over Calix's shoulder to the tease of a pale ear and the lands beyond. The kithsign instantly sent his mind to dark places and was forced to resign to something altogether more civil.

I express-

The lord offers him a coy look when he turns to face him then. This near, he saw the very heat painted all over the other's face. Eyes glazed over and just a little tired around the bags of them. That could not be from the trials of travel now, could it, von Fellner?

"Then I shouldn't demand your flesh bare to me today." He offers with teeth. But he should. He sees it on him. It could be no mistake that of all times he desired to be alone whilst like burning oil to the touch. Could it.

But perhaps it was no heat at all. A dangerous affront if so. The fight inevitable- exciting- if it was not.

The reach for his arm was a daring thing. He knows this quickly by the look given to him and his own gaze glazes over in an effort not to simply attack him as he had grown to do. As he desired so deeply to do.

He was forced to glare at him and then to, sickened by himself, relent the gaze for just a moment. In Fellner lands, after all. Better then to be honest. He lets go with a growl returned.

And you are, of all-

Volkor's intrigue becomes a slight grin darkened in the sight of it. Resisting throwing them both into the valley again for it-- he imposes with a growl.

He would grab him. Again. Tighter and firmer.

"And you are troubled." He hisses wildly- recoiling with an intake of breath reminding him of his respect. Dripping as the word was.

Volkor's eyes do not leave his own but do, in pleasure, flicker across his face. He saw the flush all for what it truly was, he thinks. He could sense it on him in the way he squirmed beneath him.

Different from all other times he had met him on the moor.

Different from when they met in Grymmwatch last.

The threat came pretty and it thrills him. Intently. Volkor's own mind dripping in a need to clap him in irons and whip his flanks for the charm of him- for all of the den-hold to observe. And that he insists he hated him so and it would be such a humiliating thing.

Of course, he heeds the hiss with care as he navigates the lord's side in wanting to avoid being sent to an early demise.

"I know what you are in repose. And, no-no, I think I am right to presume... you're different, than all other times. Aren't you, Lord von Fellner." He hisses low on his breath. It did not dissuade him.

Volkor turns him and fights his grip with a growl and the other arm was upon him in an instant to hover by the grave-pelt.

He dares to suggest the presence of his fingers with a petting against the pelt. Snarling with teeth to assure him that he would reciprocate whatever secrecy gnawed in the other's mind for the two of them alone. Even if that were a fight to the death.

"You're troubled by far more than me. So much that you don't see that I may even be able to assist."

Calix would feel the gloves rough over him in not so much imposition it might behead him-- enough to suggest their hiding away. It was in proximity that Volkor felt himself delusional to a desire he recognised very well.

He growls at him in warning as he-- doesn't shove him. But does near him to speak with eye-rolling, repressed instinct.

"I saw no others on my walk here. And I would hate to allow the Lord von Fellner to languish as he does. The way that men like you are allowed to be so troubled in your duty." Said matter-of-factly glazed over with furiously intent.

He clenches his teeth to continue and assures that they looked at one another to do so.

"As we are alike in fealty, it is only an extension of my service to an ally."

Calix would feel the hand at the pelt be at his uniform now- and at breeches, clawing its way to his loins and to the buttons of the fall-front holding him closed.

The other hand crawls to the small of his back in a hurry to hold him should he move. The breathing hardening again as he, enticed, cannot resist silent panting, eyes lidded and glancing between his face and groin just out of sight below.

"Let me assist? Let it be just another unmentioned writing piece." Volkor assures again, insisting, growling. Eyeing him close. "You wouldn't want your family to see the mess of you at such an occasion, would you, von Fellner."

Any strain against him would bring the tension of fingers tightening around the fabric and Volkor shifting on his heels a little more impatiently.

His fingertips toy with the first button, fondling him through the fabric, and his nape bristles at his own words under the strain of allure. Damned southern bitch.

And you are troubled.

Calix’s jaw tightens.

I know what you are in repose-.. -Aren't you, Lord von Fellner.

His face was a deep flush.

“Only because you are in my halls. Where you are subservient to me.” He deflects easily, averting his gaze down the walkway. His body tenses, with the only indication that he was aware of Lord Volkor’s fingers a slight flicker of his eyes and flared nostrils.

You’re troubled by-

Calix fixes him with a hard look again, his body turning to face him with posture that could suggest his readiness to fight. Could suggest his desire to bite with teeth and bruise slender tendon.

I saw no others- men like you are allowed to-

Calix’s teeth bared and his hair visibly stood on end just over his collar. One hand grips Volkor's bicep bruisingly in warning while the other swipes behind himself for purchase upon any surface as he steadied himself as he leaned away.

The hand capturing the small of his back earns another open throat-hiss and look of warning.

“You would— I cannot…” He mutters dryly, his weight insistently pulling away as his legs part to create leverage. As a hand brushes his thighs and his brows instantly turn up with his grunt.

He turns his hand inward, balling a fist of the lord’s frock in his barely contained fury as particolour eyes drop wildly to the buttons under Volkor’s fingers.

“NNnnnm.” It was a sound that never left his mouth, dying being his teeth.

“I will… I will kill you for this another time.” He pants between them.

“Be quick, blackguard.”

Volkor did not wish to earn his death soon and yet could scarcely resist his own fondling, brow tight with each word and each grip of fingers. Proximity to the Lord simply frustrated him beyond reason and it boiled his very blood to be near him.

The flush was not lost on him either. Fury, fury. Surely Calix felt the same.

To test his bounds within the barbs of Fellner territory was no game he could write onto the next morning's page. He could be killed for it. But...

Only because you are in my halls.--

And where you are subservient to another terrible thing, he thinks easily as he holds onto him then. A little more excitably- his frown twitching when face with dissent.

He bares his fangs as they stand face to face, his nape painfully on end in a lust so deep to hurt Calix beyond waking. It forces him to admire him properly from the front as they look at one another and he imagines it. Harming him.

His glove had become so familiar with Calix's bared throat of late that, seeing him without it, Volkor was enticed newly into wanting to take away all his layers of crafted fur.

Here, he would not be able to simply pull him around to his liking. The desperation restrained but matched on Volkor's face as he dares to reach for him again with a sound of impatience.

He was expecting the grasp--

Volkor strains and recoils from it in an instant to grab him tighter in turn.

Oh, so they would both be trapped. That this would be the way of things.

The palm behind Calix closes tightly around his pelt and spine as the other pushes for his groin and simply unfastens the first button closing him away.

"And how long have you been waiting for this." He indulges, wanting to draw out the suffering a little longer and leave him; feel the thrill of mutual madness again and be in fury for it until he was forced to fight and beat him for his pleasure again.

The flush and heat within Calix's skin and the desperate gaze drew out Volkor's fangs and claws in desire as he fondles him quite openly.

The hissing is simply ignored when he should feel Calix strain against his arm, anticipating he might run. No no. Nowhere within your Keep could you hide.

Volkor growls at him and tears the second button out of its fastening to shove his hand roughly within, bearing the gloved hand down upon his cunt roughly.

"Oh no. No, you don't run away now, good bitch." He hisses quickly as he shoves his hand against him and against his cunt in no relief to either of them. None at all, even in rubbing.

Kill him for it. He would die with pleasure for it and perhaps take Calix too.

"Do not struggle for this..." Volkor reminds with a hiss as he pulls his lips apart with two clothed fingers- envious of his gloves' own grip.

He does not struggle. When he relents, Volkor's ego rises to kingship all over again christened by the promise of death later. He regards him with a strange look as he resists chewing him apart right there.

The glove slows down just enough as he is able to contemplate now. The Lord's surrender utmost pleasure to him.

Should he undress for him?
It was a thought entirely repulsive in its danger. Whilst in Fellner territory he had never any intent at all to undress more than to bare his wrists during gesture.

The order to be quick makes him retract his hand and he sighs pointedly as he does pull the glove off with his teeth, shoving it then into his cloak's pocket before his hand returns.

He shoves himself back into the pretty breeches in a hurry— then draws in a breath sharply as his bare hand, slender and calloused, finds the flesh beneath.

His body was warm. And toned. He would feel the fine musculature beneath his abdomen and teased in his thighs; easy to feel as all Margardians scarcely wore anything beneath their formalities.

Volkor frowns in thought as he presses his fingers lower after long moments in savouring the touch. Had he touched Calix with his bare skin before?

The realisation troubles him and he feels the pit form in his own belly instantly in blazing arousal, as he pinches his brow and brings the palm lower.

"Oh..." His fingers glide effortlessly over a smooth cunt that was utterly smoked through, the smirk imperceptible but present. In knowing. As his hand balls into a fist, he grips the pelt and shoves his hand against Calix's back to bring him closer.

He peers up at him with a throaty noise sidelong.

"Utterly soaked through. What would your brother or sister have to say about this?" He growls, capturing the fat clit between his fingers and tugging it firstly.

Fat, wet little thing.

Volkor curls his fingers lower to slide them roughly into Calix's cunt, blunt fingertips curling against his innards for just a moment before he pulled himself out again.

It was in a test of reciprocation as it was in serving to frustrate him. He could feel the slime between his fingers. So thick. He smears the pleasure back over von Fellner's lips again as he swipes over him.

"Wet like a whore. What a repulsive thing." He growls in appraisal.

He rolls his hips elegantly as he holds him close then. Hating him and wanting to hate him still for all he was but, in light of a heat that left him so helpless... a little more affectionately.

"It would be a shame to waste this." He hisses, holding him near and sliding his fingers back within.

His eyebrows raise in sudden, devouring curiosity as he tugs his flesh around in thought.

"Tell me, are you a virgin beast?"

Calix wonders just then what he’d unleashed in his desperation as the button released. The rough hand, still gloved, sends a lash of fire through his veins to his neck.

Brown and blue gaze widens for a moment as he strains to maintain what remains of composure. What misery. His intensity fixes upon Volkor for the insult. Good bitch? How dare…

As the lord plays within his breeches, Calix cast nervous looks—not fully sidelong, just enough to listen—down the corridor.

His lips parted every few moments whenever Volkor's fingers should stroke just so and his grip, however tight, grew more ardent still.

He cared not whether it was bare skin or fine leather.

Oh… Calix’s look flickers up with disdain under barely caged fervour.

Utterly soaked through.

There was a sharp intake of breath through his nose as his hips tightened, clit captured between fingers and tugged. He was wet. Volkor would finally be able to feel it himself. Thick strings of perhaps reluctant excitement gathering between his thighs while he was spared embarrassment simply by the fine make and layers of exquisite black linen that kept him covered.

Wet like a whore-

“Mind your tongue.” Calix warns with a flash of teeth.

“If I could so quickly tend to myself, I would.” His breath came in pants now. Quiet, but hot between them.

“If you intend to toy only, remove your hands. I require service not half-measures.”

Calix swallows hard then, nose wrinkling in his fervent disdain. Volkor's scent and sound like a cloying upon his senses. Trapped as he was, he furrows his brows and endures, gently rolling his hips now with a nervous look to the side.

Tell me, are you a virgin beast?

His attention snaps back between them with a tiny breath. Why had the question taken him aback so? It was not something he had considered until the moment— and it was perhaps the very fact that Lord Volkor asked that gave him mind to wonder…

“You… Would like that, I assume.” He breathes.

Given permission, Calix would instantly find the slighter creature more shrewd-- more feral, as he practically claws at his cunt to open him and force his way within. Even for toying moments in mere appraisal.

The presence of others no longer concerned Volkor in minutes as he tugged and gripped at him. The touching satisfying enough but infuriating in his inability to do more. Forced to gather the soaking wet into his hand in pleasure and then have to merely wipe it back onto the lord's thigh and cunt again to get rid of it.

It could not be his if he could only touch. So he hisses and barks at him instead, pleasured. Coy. His face burned at the sensation as he let himself be tempted into madness by the heat.

Volkor felt his own mouth thicken wet in salivation as he was forced to contend with it. Forced to wait behind some curtain as he pleased the other of his heat but oh-

His grip tightens on the pelt as he considers tearing it off. The breeches down. Struggling in his own restraint after so many weeks and dawns able to destroy him.

When corrected, he growls deep in his throat, the smirk half-mad and twitching in thought.

"Oho? What are you suggesting." He entertains, a hiss.

If you intend to toy only-—

Volkor can no longer maintain himself as his head snaps to Calix then and he stares, mismatched eyes wild.

So he would allow him? Truly?

"You are tricking me." He laughs, in disbelief, as he meets the rolling hips with only cursory, shallow thrusts of his fingers. Pausing now and again in thought as he stares at him and hopes it would not be true that he was.

But in the den-hold of the one who this day and any other wished to kill him... he feels his own loins burn in indecision and his eyes roll. He could punish him for turning the fate upon him too and forcing them both to endure the self-same frustration in their ways.

He does not answer. Only sneers.

The answer doesn't help with any of its charm. Only that he wished to know. Wished to be satisfied that he could have yet another thing to hold over Calix's head— or remember as a mark of his. He could please himself knowing that his secret foe belonged to him in all ways that pleased him.

Mad thoughts and his answer assist Volkor easily to his next decision made in such resenting hate. Something to regret later.

The hand removes itself roughly from the Lord's fall-fronts and takes a grip over his waist instead, shoving him forwards against the near pillar.

"Stay now, then. Or I'll have to send you to sleep before I continue." He warns, guttural as he turns him over in his grip and has him facing away now, clothed flanks on lovely display to Volkor's pleasure.

His palm works down his side and waist and he hisses as he pulls the breeches down, bringing them roughly beneath his flanks. He would feel his pelt tossed behind the both of them, kept away to bare the spine of his regimental coat to Volkor alone.

Easing himself within would be no matter. He would force his way and be slicked by the pleasure already there, he had surmised already. Freeing himself from his buttons and helping himself within in a rough motion—hands clamp against Calix's body to pin him down, forcing his back to arch delightfully for him.

When Volkor hilts him the first time, he gasps messily and tests the welcome hole with an elegant roll of his own clothed back.

"Legs apart, whore." He hisses low, panting over him as hands find the waist surprisingly slender. Easy to admire from behind him, as he presses a palm into the small of his back and pushes him down, holding himself within in observation.

He could imagine it already. The slime, excitement stringing beneath them both in mere minutes. It wouldn't be the first time— heats notorious as they were. Always a delightful surprise from one so. So. Infuriating. Difficult.

But his cunt white-hot in warmth and allure.

If Calix were to argue him, he would pin him and slap the bare skin of his thigh and hip in punishment whilst clasping him. Snarling overhead if he turned to complain or rebel.

Volkor rolls his hips in graceful overstimulation before he fucks him bruisingly, gasping into the pelt behind with a hot breath. Pawing at his pretty waist and sides in desperate pleasure and admiration and anger over him. The pleasure was a terrible, hot agony.

"Down now." Volkor growls, fucking him deeper, rougher against the pillar with practise in his back arching to press himself within heedless of complaint.

You are tricking me.

Calix, for the first time since their having met, curls his lip into the most imperceptible of sneers. Panting, but lips tugged just for a second.

“I like your fear.” He goads. “Manifesting when it’s most sorely needed.”

Calix grunts as he’s backed up against the pillar, wincing briefly before fixing Lord Volkor with the same sternness as just before.

“A pity to see your survival instincts at work. That scores off a few of my ideas.”

Calix grumbles as he’s turned around, bringing his hands up to the stone and turning his head to offer a brown eye curiously over the shoulder. Wary even still.

Their agreement seemed to lower at least one of his ordinary walls. Volkor's attention forcing him to admit to himself that such torture as inflicted by his body was unbearable without release. He could not hardly bear to endure it for all of the day.

Despite all, he hisses when he’s bared, curling his fingers claw-like against the stone as eyes momentarily wild scan the hall distant before a gentle moan perished deep in his throat when the other Lord pins his waist into an aesthetically pleasant arch.

“Nnnahhh-“ He breathes, eyes immediately landing upon the ceiling to be hilted for the first time. Was this- Was this meant to be so-

Legs apart, whore.

Calix’s shoulders rose immediately as he brought his wrist to his mouth and bit himself.

And leans his forehead into the stone.

Clearly stifling a deeper moan. He shifts his weight slightly, struggling to obey at first.

Volkor's pause to admire saw Calix begin to squirm. A huff of rebellion over his own skin under his teeth as the lord began to move in him. Snarls of effort overhead raised the hair on his nape and he clamps his hands back upon the stone with a gasp.

Down now. The rougher motion saw his legs buckle for just a moment before he steps apart, securing his footing more steadily.

His breath came in uneven panting, tiny sounds the indication that anything louder was killed in an act of willpower alone.

Volkor rolls his eyes in instant ire, fury, humiliation- hrm. Thrill and what else. All synonymous with wishing his teeth muzzled together. Hatred enough to almost make him chuckle in his contempt twisted to adrenaline.

He makes to shush him with his rough handling, a low hiss straining in his throat when he grips him in all the more frustration than before.

He could despise him for all he was-- made to be a little more accepting of it here.

"Outside of your loamy den-hold, you are not safe from me. Not while I loathe you so readily." He warns as he pins him and prepares the both of them then, baring Calix's sopping cunt to the cool air and his own arousal with it. Easy to join them together when there was enough slime for more than the both of them simply.

He meets the eye with bared teeth in warning. Fingers pressing in omnipresent reminder when he does fuck him- and he could hardly imagine stopping if caught for it. Oh, no. Not whilst the willing, needy van Fellner had allowed him to claim him. That is what he thinks he would tell anyone.

Volkor considers the question as he does fuck him, eyes rolling at the incessant tightness. Even for him. Pleasurable, warm release- and he smirks out of sight and in ecstasy of the pleasure shared.

More so when Calix obeys his every word for these moments. Oh, what ammunition.

Mind blurred again by the heat burning his senses needy and he hisses over him when the other writhes, pinning him.

"Oh, no no… don't you dare." He groans over him, a hand raising to pin him to the stone by his nape also. Said between pants while Volkor filled him with his length for torturous, rough paces. In some disbelief- not so much a victory. The song of arousal easy to obey in any state.

What is victory to him?

To have Calix on his knees in blood and seed; claimed his own in degenerate union. Or something just a touch less colourful than that. The shame of it most arousing to him of all things.

Volkor fucks him for minutes if to drag out the pleasured little sounds before he was sure that Calix would not fight him away if he fucked him as he would like now.

He stops, pulling himself away unceremoniously and gripping roughly with both hands to turn Calix towards him on the stone, pinning him by both arms first. To which he gives him a long look, glazed over and panting openly into the air in front of him. Air he breathed to both their furious excitement.

The look of coy warning should suffice.

"You'll tolerate this. Or I'll make you." He gasps as he reaches to lift a leg, hoisting Calix off-balance and bringing his hips to him inches enough to help himself within as roughly again.

His free hand takes the bigger beast by his neck as he fucks him then in tight-lipped focus not to finish so soon- forcing himself within a sensation.

It. Hah. Was immense. He could feel the wet pleasure cold against the base of his own cock before long, rough as he was. He leans with an arched back against him and curses himself as he parts his mouth before Calix's throat, hovering and panting but unable to bite. Unable to speak. Choking him from words too. Choking him enough to thrill himself at the force as his hand grips tighter and tighter with a pleased shudder.

Dare he help him along to satisfaction too?

Does he deserve to be helped to a sopping finish?

He contemplates the very thing with a thrumming of fingers against the Lord's collar before squeezing affectionately and only filling him more impatiently, groans disrupted and quiet in his effort not to cum before the Fellner would. The least he could do for himself.

His brows pinch in fury and he rolls his hips pointedly in effort not to- huffing for lack of furious words in focus. He ignores that he thought in an instant the Lord so handsome when so red in the face.

Reminds himself not to. Again. As he shudders against him in strain.

Not to cum first. Don't allow the bitch the damned satisfaction of it.

Likewise, Calix wonders what he’d say if they were stumbled upon in misfortune. He would need to tear himself away and- He would not apologize.

But there would be shame nonetheless.

He sees a look of dark mischief in the eyes behind him. The look of logging something away. Calix considers that this entire encounter was precisely the kind of ammunition Lord Volkor had been dreaming of and his stomach takes a moment to drop with a pang of dread for what such a lapse would cost him in the future.

A hand came to pin him by his nape and his brows knitted into a gentle frown as his look glazes over in surrender.

He could almost- Oh, Emperor’s throne, it was so-

Calix was pulled from his reverie, literally, as he’s roughed into place now facing the other lord. Volkor would get a look of soft surprise and a grunt as he stood against the pillar, returning the look given with his own in apprehension.

“What?” He breathes.

You’ll tolerate this.

Calix barely has time to wonder what he meant before his spine, cushioned mercifully by his grave-pelt, hits the stone behind and Volkor lifts one of his legs and simply. Continues their encounter.

Calix was the picture of dignified shock. His hands flew to the other’s front and took him by hem or lapel- anything he could grip- and gasped. No one would ever, ever presume to hold him in such a way.

The grip that finds his neck earns another small sound. One of defeat as he could no longer maintain the hard look he’s had fixed upon him throughout facing him.

The pleasure he felt-immense. The relief? Transcendent. Pinned as he was he could only manage a few glances down the hall and down between their bodies.

Volkor’s efforts would be rewarded by a clear growing strain in Calix’s demeanor and his squirming. He bared his teeth as he struggled for a satisfying breath and his back arched off the stone that held him.

“Nn-“ He frowned, rolling his neck in the man’s grip with some measure of frustration as a desperate shudder wracks his spine and he rides himself through a tremendous finish that threatened the leg that remained anchoring him.

One of his hands rose in a hurry to grip over Volkor’s and try tearing it off his neck. The brief satisfaction suddenly elucidating him to the grim reality of where his desperation led him.

He holds himself with an arm against the pillar and begins rebelling with a steady struggle to free his leg, lean back his hips and uncouple them.

Volkor wonders if he would be killed for this if found, brows pinched in pleasure and- oh, he could never tell Calix this- apathetic. Perhaps he would be killed.

Perhaps he would be able to enjoy in vicious, shamed moments the way that von Fellner squirmed beneath him for it. Claimed. Ashamed. As he should well be.

Desiring to be fucked as he did. The piteous dog.

To think about the shame and displeasure of it brought Volkor satisfaction like few other things.

Of course, the dripping, insatiable, bitter envy also.

The grunt as he turns the other in place makes his eyes dilate when he grabs at him again, forcing the man to stand by a leg uselessly.

He cared not if he despaired or wanted it. Caring only more if the shame staked through him like growing rot instead. He knew Calix loathed him just the same.

When a hand rushes at him to grab him, it secures a lapel over his breast and Volkor's eyes widen perceptibly more, heart pounding, when he closes his own hand around the thick neck and expects to have to fight him back down.

A growl in his throat is more in surprise.

He dares him with a glance from arm to face, himself flush in frustration. The little noises were, hrmm…

To shame, Volkor's eyes roll as he lets himself be close and fucks him flush- the sounds and sights of surrender a flame in his breast. His heart pounded in trying to restrain himself from finishing before he did.

He would not. Not if he had any say at all.

The squirming from his Lord makes his hand close tighter and he prevents escape with closeness, strangling; the sensation more immense than any other thing.

It was some sort of triumph. And as he hears the protest and feels the warmth tighten around him, his world darkens in ecstasy.

Volkor's throat rumbles in place of words and his eyes roll as the other's very orgasm tested his resolve. More than. More than he could fight it off.

The wresting that follows inspires him to clamp his hand around him in protest as he only continues- kept in his cunt by his own pushing against Calix to pin him.

He growls.

"No, no you don't..!" He was inspired to violence for it and brings his hand tight against von Fellner's throat in an effort to choke him to panic then-- before he would fight him away.

The hand around his thigh grips and anchors itself bluntly against his clothed flesh.

"You will not— get me away, not like this." Volkor gasps, his other hand coming up in turn to grip the arm assailing him.

"Not in your- not in your Keep— hah- I know your plans for me. You won't have me found." He moans, inspired to fight him then against the pillar. In some rising panic as he suddenly realises that, of course. This would be his intention, wouldn't it? To ensnare him into some trap that would see his pleasure found and shamed for all the Fellners to feast on then?

Oh- and the squirming and fighting tested his resolve being his ability at all.

Volkor presses himself to him with his strength and groans, shoulders tremoring in his efforts as he finishes inside with his body bound to his in their fight.

He realises in elucidation how wet they both were, as he was overcome with pleasue and then clarity in moments. How his own cock was soaked in the other's pleasure and, ah, how messy Calix's own cunt was. Not all his own pleasure.

How demure it was.

Volkor's eyes roll in ecstasy when he tries to move- the warmth slick in pleasure.

"A shame that only we can know about- about this, isn't it..." He hisses, the chuckle restrained in short-lived pleasure. Still with hands on him as he sought to keep him from destroying him yet.

"The people of Fellner would like to hear about it, I— I am so sure..." He would hold him in place as he, hilted, pants over him and eyes him hard. The grip loosening over his throat- only a little less. Panting openly in both their efforts.

"That the Lord-bitch von Fellner simply could not help himself."

He enjoys the shame, looking him in his particolour eyes with his own glazed over in unsteady pleasure.

"Oh... You're a messy bitch, aren't you, my Lord." He teases. When Volkor's hand leaves the one wrestling him, it was with great wariness and restrained fury both as he eyes him sidelong.

"You should dress before your men find you." Said with a hiss as he held him down against the stone still, daring him to move. Daring him with eyes as he rode out a furious afterglow within him still.

Calix’s climax tore through him, eyes rolling to rest sternly upon Volkor with conflict writ clear.

No, no you don’t..!

The other lord would feel him struggle in rebellion, neck tight under the increasing pressure of his choking grip- a free hand clapping over Volkor’s wrist in growing desperation to be free.

Like a deal with a daemon, this was. The other’s voice rang in his ears like muffling blood as his body continued to betray him. He, almost deaf to Volkor’s conspiratorial muttering, whimpers in involuntary defeat as he struggles a little more desperately. A little more feverishly.

Calix finally pounds his forearm to the Lord’s chest with a baring of his teeth when he feels him finish inside.

Oh, wretched. How dare…

A shame that only we-

Calix, under Volkor’s loosening grip, gasps loudly- turning his hand to claw at the man’s shoulder in open fury.

That the lord-bitch von Fellner simply could not help himself-

Calix’s panting was dry, strained. His eyes fixate with more clarity and he hisses before allowing moments of silence to pass in warning.

You’re a messy bitch, aren’t you, my Lord.

His teeth snap shut as his expression tightens around them. If looks could kill, he’s sure Volkor should be alight in flames about now. Yet, he hates himself for searching and being unable to find words for him.

His eyes flicker to the open window behind him and wonders.

You should dress before-

He feels Volkor holding him down and- he shudders in open discomfort for what he’s done. Was it worth it? His clarity of mind, ironically, allows him to wonder. Rolling his neck to glance down the hall, he allows the moment between them if only to catch his breath.

“Pathetic," he finally says, "Out with you.”

Leveraging his shoulder with the stone, he shoved the lord away at last. He reaches between his own legs with fingers curled, all within the same elegant movement of elbowing Lord Volkor from his path to the window. He whips his hand into the mist and collects more as his free hand gathers the first of his buttons. He tosses a narrow look toward his vile companion, gesturing with his chin down the corridor.

“You’ve served your purpose, now go.”