Morning crept into the room in streaks of pale light, brushing against bare skin and linen in soft gold. The fire had died to embers. The castle was still quiet—no court, no guards, no kingdom demanding attention.
Just breath.
Just warmth.
Kael sat on the edge of the bed, robe loose over one shoulder, spine bowed. He was tracing a scar at his side, absentmindedly. Ilyan stirred behind him, shifted under the sheets, and watched him for a long time.
Then, without speaking, he moved to kneel on the floor.
Kael turned slowly. “What are you—”
“Let me serve you.”
Ilyan’s voice was low. Steady. Not playful.
Kael blinked, caught between refusal and hunger. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Ilyan leaned forward, hands sliding beneath the folds of Kael’s robe, parting it. His palms pressed against Kael’s thighs, slowly guiding them open. Kael’s cock was already stirring—half-hard, twitching against his stomach.
“I want to see you come undone,” Ilyan said, gaze rising. “I want to know what it looks like when you let go.”
Kael didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
But he leaned back.
Let the robe fall from his shoulders.
Let himself be seen.
Ilyan lowered his mouth to the base of Kael’s cock, tongue flicking out, soft and teasing. He kissed a trail up the shaft—gentle, almost chaste. Until Kael’s breath hitched.
Then he opened his mouth and took him in.
Kael groaned.
Not loud.
But low.
Real.
Ilyan sucked him deep, tongue pressing against the underside, hands stroking what he couldn’t take. His head bobbed in slow rhythm, mouth wet, perfect, relentless in its worship.
Kael’s hand slid into his hair, gripping—not to guide. Just to hold on.
“Ilyan—” he gasped.
But the king didn’t stop.
He hollowed his cheeks and swallowed Kael deeper, lips slick with saliva, moaning around him like he was the one receiving pleasure.
Kael’s head fell back.
His hips began to roll into Ilyan’s mouth.
Controlled at first.
Then not.
He was panting now, cock throbbing between Ilyan’s lips, hand tightening in his hair.
“I’m—” he started.
Ilyan looked up.
Eyes full of devotion.
And didn’t stop.
Kael came with a broken sound, spilling down his throat in long, hot pulses, thighs shaking under Ilyan’s hands.
He didn’t pull back.
Didn’t flinch.
He swallowed everything.
Then leaned his head against Kael’s thigh, lips still wet, breath still heavy.
Kael looked down at him.
Eyes wide.
Chest rising.
And whispered, not like a command—but like a truth:
“You’re mine.”
Ilyan smiled.
And whispered back, lips against his skin:
“I always have been.”