Chapter Text
The tempest king grows bolder by the day, his tyranny knowing no bounds.
Meetings are a mockery of what they used to be. Now, they are simply an excuse to flaunt the boar king's authority. An opportunity to keep his vassals in line, lest they meet the same fate as the trembling figure by his feet.
Today, Felix sits by the king's right hand, a parody of what he could have been if he stayed with the Kingdom six years ago. But that's all in the past, and stripped of the dignity of the position that was once his birthright, Felix sits on his knees, bound once more by an intricate network of rope that secures his limbs together and keeps a glass shaft inside of him. Though this time, Dimitri himself had tied him up, each knot rubbing against Felix's skin a reminder of whose hands had fastened him into this quivering mess.
An Eastern practice, Dimitri had said when he looped the rope around Felix's chest–a perfect welcome to dignitaries the Kingdom is hosting today. As a gesture of friendship, Dimitri has chosen to show off his newly acquired skills in the name of cultural exchange, exposing Felix like a perverse work of art in the room as discussions regarding trade with Almyra proceed.
Despite the winter Fhirdiad air filtering through the room and the cold stone beneath him, beads of sweat trickle down Felix's skin as he shudders in his bonds, shifting uselessly where he's seated. It feels tight, too tight–too full, and by every right his limbs should be numb right now. Yet fire burns within him, his nerves tingling as pleasure throbs through his veins, consuming him with a dizzying need for the release that Dimitri refuses to grant him.
Felix's hair had long fallen out of its loose bun, stray curls consequently tickling his collarbone as his toes curl underneath at the contact. With his hands tied behind him, tucking it out of the way remains an impossibility. So is pulling up his robe that had slid past his shoulders, as well as fixing the manner in which his robes have hiked up his thigh, revealing more of the rope binding his limbs. It bears the consequence of directing attention to his arousal poking through the fabric, an embarrassing and unwanted reality as the tears beading at the corner of his eyes and the deep red warming his cheeks as he clenches around the glass phallus spreading him open.
All too aware of wandering eyes ogling his pathetic form, Felix trains his misty-eyed gaze on the floor, only half-hearing the buzz about him as he focuses on keeping silent–a given when he's paraded on display like this. Breaths heavy against the shifting rope rubbing against sensitive flesh, he prays for this meeting to come to an end. While the boar king is still in a good mood and Felix can still hold off his baser urges, a matter that grows more challenging by the moment.
"Going through Alliance territory can be a fraught task, so what we propose is..."
As the dignitary drones on, a warm hand–Dimitri's–cups Felix's chin, tilting it upwards. Dimitri's thumb brushes past his lower lip, a cue he has taken time and again. Felix opens his mouth to welcome Dimitri as he pushes the digit in, pressing his finger against his soft tongue.
Felix pushes back, licking the pad of Dimitri's thumb before sucking gently the way Dimitri wants it. All the while, he laments how lacking it is, how empty it feels considering what usually fills his mouth instead. He hates himself for thinking so, yet his longing comes unbidden, natural as his inclination to take Dimitri in and please what lingers inside of him.
Yet, Felix's efforts aren't enough. Dimitri withdraws a moment later, donning his gauntlet before tearing through the rope binding his legs together. Being lifted by his arms shortly thereafter interrupts the relief coursing through his veins, the act forcing him to stand on his feet as Dimitri looms and bends Felix over the table.
Don't look, Felix chants in his mind even as eyes fall upon him, yet Dimitri reads him all too well. He tugs sharply at Felix's bun, forcing him to look up instead.
Warmth floods Felix's reddened cheeks anew as he meets those eyes, some familiar, some not quite. He thinks he sees his uncle among those gathered, but it's hard to ascertain when his vision is a watery blur. The only thing he registers is that those gathered around the table wear varying degrees of shock and disgust on their faces, including the Almyran dignitary that has stopped speaking in favor of staring at him.
"Continue," Dimitri says in response to the silence that reigns after, as if he had not just laid Felix on the conference table for everyone to see.
"Very well," the dignitary says, faking a cough as he tears his eyes away from Felix's debauched form. "A secure route through the sea..."
As the dignitary continues, Dimitri grinds his palm against the base of the shaft in Felix's ass. Gasping, Felix arches into the contact, curling into himself as he wiggles fruitlessly. Instead of escaping the intrusive touch, the rope drags across Felix's front, stimulating despite the lack of release he gets from it. Moving his arms only causes the connected rope to drag across his skin, sparking desire in him despite his silent plea for it to all end. The tension building within him is too much, too tight–
The dignitary clears his throat. "Your Majesty."
Felix sucks in a breath, eyes watering once more as Dimitri pulls away before he could reach his peak. Denied of his release, Felix grits his teeth, knowing better than to speak out his wish, lest Dimitri think of a more whimsical punishment to serve him for toeing out of line.
"Yes?" Dimitri asks, voice gravely with displeasure.
"We were hoping for your opinion on the gift we can take back to our king. It is customary for us envoys to do so as a proof of goodwill."
"A proof of goodwill," Dimitri repeats. Cool and composed as he comes off, Felix knows more than anyone how angry he is, on the verge of losing his temper. His hand trembles against Felix's thigh, fingertips curling and drawing light red lines on Felix's skin. Not enough to break skin–yet–but all the same, Felix shivers, gut twisting in anticipation of the boar's wrath.
The dignitary gulps. "O-of course, we don't ask for much." His eyes dart to-and-fro, betraying his nervousness. "For instance, we're more than happy to take your," his gaze falls on Felix, "toy with us after you're, ah, done using him."
A hush falls over the room, a silence colder than Fhirdiad's bitter chill. This dignitary doesn't know, but everyone else in the room does. Of what happened the last time someone tried to take Felix away–
"We wouldn't dream of taking one of your more precious belongings." Yet the dignitary digs in, clearly unnerved but unaware of the true nature of his faux pas. "I'm certain our king would find him fetching and–"
"Ahh!" Felix's unrestrained cry fills the room as Dimitri spanks him. The sting lingers long after the contact–no doubt thanks to Dimitri's crest activating that unfortunate moment. But more than that–more than the pain is the heat of shame that blooms across Felix's skin as the unforgiving glass shifts inside of him, finally pushing him past the brink as he spends himself on the table.
"Your king can do better than with a filthy traitor," Dimitri says, tone measured despite his actions. Despite the way Felix twitches on the table, struggling to keep himself on his feet. Despite the way his vassals gasp as he grabs Felix by the ropes crossing his back, exposing his shame for everyone to see. "Though tainted as he is, I believe there's been a misconception."
Once more, Dimitri pushes him back on the table front-first. "He's mine."
Rope tears and the glass shaft parting Felix clatters to the floor. The emptiness he feels is short-lived as Dimitri spears him on his massive cock, the familiar sensation filling him in a way an inanimate object could never.
"Hah… ahhh…" Felix pants as Dimitri drives all the way in, his fullness always overwhelming no matter how many times he enters him. No amount of preparation ever feels enough, and he remains greedy for more as he clenches around the intrusion.
"You always take me so well," Dimitri whispers, surprisingly reverent.
"I–ahh!"
As Felix's knees buck under all the overwhelming sensations, Dimitri grabs Felix's bound arms with one hand, pinning him on the table as he grips his hip with the other. The metal of his gauntlets scrape against Felix's skin as he begins a rhythm Felix knows too well, a sweet sting along with the tingle of desire that comes with each drag of skin.
"Who do you belong to?"
"Y–augh…" An answer remains at the tip of Felix's tongue, but all that comes out is a moan. Felix's eyes water anew as Dimitri ramps up his pace, unable to do anything more than gasp and squirm helplessly as he takes Dimitri's mercilessly large member. Lewd as this display is, the embers of shame are engulfed by a more powerful fire, one that has his insides twisting, his mind screaming for more–
"That is not an answer." Dimitri yanks his bun, harshly tugging at his scalp to force him to meet the horrified gaze of the dignitary. "Tell him who you belong to."
"I–" Heat travels southward, a bright flush painting his skin as Dimitri continues to pound into him. "You–" A wet gasp, punctuated by Dimitri roughly driving into him. "Y-Your Majesty…!"
It's humiliating, yet he can't look away from the disgust that paints the dignitary's features as Dimitri fucks Felix in earnest. Or bring himself to care, really. Focusing on anything but the way Dimitri's hot flesh sears through him is next to impossible, the appalled looks in his direction far from the forefront of his mind as he feels himself close to the edge once more.
"Again." Dimitri's voice is rougher now, music to Felix's ears even with the depravity of it all. "My name."
"His–ahh–Majesty–ngh–Di…" Every thrust scatters his thoughts to the wind, each syllable a struggle to form. "Dimi… Dimitri…!"
"Yes." Even with his correct answer, Dimitri continues to dig his fingers into his hair. He keeps his pace brutal, every bit the beast Felix has known him to be. "Again."
"Dimi…" The last syllable lodges in his throat, lost to a moan as Felix tightens around Dimitri. "Dima–aaahh…"
Clarity dawns upon him as the old nickname tumbles unbidden from his lips. As his world momentarily fades to white when he comes once more, untouched, a shivering mass on the table only held up by firm hands on his hips.
Those firm, large hands belong to his Dima, ever so steadfast. Strong, in the face of adversity. Powerful as always, each stroke an emphasis until he himself comes inside of Felix, leaving his mark on what's his.
The murmurs that surround them mean nothing to Felix as he trembles on top of the table. All that matters is Dima, Dima, Dima–
Who shoves a plug into him, drawing out a choked gasp.
Just like what came before, Felix greedily takes it in, a small whine escaping him as Dimitri–Dima–grinds the thick object into him. Try as he might, the illusion is shattered as Dimitri adjusts the plug to fit, a ritual Felix is intimately familiar with by now.
His Dima is long gone. Replaced by a mad king obsessed with his plaything.
"Now that we've driven home a point, there are other suggestions I wish to make on the subject of a gift."
Hands leaving Felix, the king of Faerghus resumes the discussion blithely as if he had not been the source of the interruption.
"O-of course, Your Majesty."
The dignitary eagerly takes the olive branch, the rest of the talk a blur as Felix lowers his head, trying to make himself as small as possible. A pointless endeavor when he's still displayed on the table like this, but it's the most he can do as tears roll down his cheeks, unbidden as he mourns what could have been, and what he misses so.
His king in him, his eyes only on him, attention fully focused on his wretched form. Much as humiliation washes over him during these times, fire sears his veins, his heart and body throbbing for the one and only person he was born for.
After all, he is the tempest king's toy.