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Fugitive is drawn in by your general demeanor, finding your charisma and bubbliness to be captivating. Most other humans he has slim patience for— Even though he generally makes a point to not outright kill people— but with you he could wait eternities. Fugitive, fascinated by your species, wants nothing more than to observe you, interact with you, challenge your similarities and differences. His mind is very analytical and always hungry for more information, and you make for an excellent little specimen to study.

As you are far more extroverted than he is, Fugitive can sometimes come across as a bit dour or cold, but he can be drawn out of his disciplined shell easy enough. With enough prodding, if you want playful, Fugitive will give you playful. He has a sense of humor more pronounced than other Yautja, and can be very sly and puckish if he puts his mind to it. Admittedly, his mischief is often at the expense of your height (especially compared to him, good Lord), and he 100% uses your short stature against you. Deep down, Fugitive finds that aspect of you incredibly appealing, and you learn very quickly to capitalize on that.

(He's big on carrying you: One, to hold you close and keep you safe, and two, you're way too slow compared to him!)

He likes that you have a collected sort of anger, something that contrasts with him nicely. You are more likely to lash out with your tongue rather than your fists or a blade, and Fugitive finds the human insults you can levy to be quite creative and amusing. Your blunt, honest criticisms are what he finds himself sometimes using as well.

Fugitive doesn't often get it when you tease or flirt with him (language barrier, cultural differences, etc), but will try and humor you. If he is in a particularly cheerful or content mood, he may even try and give you the same. Yautja do not romance in the traditional sense, but Fugitive makes an effort to decorate the skulls he gifts you, knowing you appreciate art and colors. He also makes sure to supply with drawing materials, interesting feathers, and the furs of animals he's hunted.

More selfishly, Fugitive will do things to flaunt his physical prowess and strength in order to impress you; as he would as a respectable Yautja male. He will bask in the attention you give him and be supremely satisfied whenever you are impressed by his multitude of abilities. Showing that he is a virile, healthy, and capable Yautja male is his life's mission, and Fugitive is addicted to your company. And especially all of the affections you give him (Even if he can't kiss for shit...).

In his downtime , Fugitive often spends his off days training, planning his next hunt, and honing his mental skills. He, like many other Yautja males, is a loner, and really only associates with others of his kind for specific ceremonies or festivals. It can translate in day-to-day life with him, and though he won't be reclusive or isolate, can be more reserved. Those quiet days of tranquility are very calming to his mind, and Fugitive is more than content with simply having your presence as well.

Yautja Prime is not somewhere Rogue frequents— For obvious reasons, namely you— but even Yautja need to return home every once in a while. Rogue explained that the celebration was one he simply could not miss, and you were more than elated to tag along with him. He'd been stubborn at first, insisting you'd be in too great danger, but you'd countered that Yautja Prime allows prey species on her surface; and they need only be accompanied by a Yautja. Did it kinda make you feel like his pet? Yes, but if it meant getting a glimpse into the rich culture of the Yautja by attending a religious festival— It's worth it. At least you didn't have to wear a leash... The celebration is in honor of Paya, the creation goddess. Yautja Prime is said to be the first land she created, pulled the first Yautja female from her soil, and populated the planet with all manner of veritable beasts. Paya then instituted the rules of the Hunt, the base of the Yautja Codex, and pulled the Yautja male out from the soil to accomplish this task. The festival, likewise, involves a series of hunts select Yautja males do to honor the goddess, and hopefully impress Yautja females for the next mating season. Rogue wasn't participating in that activity this go around, but he was eager to introduce you to all manner of new foods and c'ntlip brewed from the source. "Eyes down." Rogue clicks, catching you staring at another Yautja female; this one tall and lean, with rich magenta scales. You murmur a sheepish apology, the arm you have slung around his neck squeezing softly. He grunts in response, knowing that you're practically buzzing with excitement. "I can't help it!" You protest impishly, "I hardly ever get to see Yautja females, because you suck at bagging them!" Rogue quirks his brow, briefly confused by the colloquialism, but scowls when he understands. He comes to a halt, thankfully now in a less crowded part of the village. Yautja trickle past you two, some hissing his way, more flaring their mandibles at you. The threatening displays had started the second you disembarked his ship, now nothing more than white noise. "Are you calling me incompetent?" He hisses, the translator in your ear crackling in the way that tells you it was the closest word to the one he actually used. You have to roll your lips in to avoid laughing. "So what if I am?" You coo, shamelessly batting your eyelashes to which Rogue pulls the Yautja equivalent of an eyeroll. Then his expression turns mischievous, and he grazes his tusks through your hair, toying with the long strands. "Yet I bagged you." He replies in turn, actually saying 'bagged' in your native language, the word somewhat garbled on his tongue. You laugh, pushing against his chest though your palm does nothing. Rogue breaks into the rolling chuffs of his laughter. "Plus," He starts again, mandibles closing over his inner mouth in thought. His lime green eyes scour you up and down, two clawed fingers lifting to mess with your nose ring (to which you swat at his hand, muttering a quiet "Watch it"). Rogue seems to settle on his next words, rolling them carefully off his tongue: "I am doing a favor since you're chopped." Your jaw drops. "When did you learn that!?"

You shut your eyes for a second, letting it drown you. You weren’t sure if it was some biological trick he was pulling or if he had somehow gotten under your skin during the trip and hooked you on his smell like a fucking addiction. But you knew better. It wasn’t him. It was you, your own stupid, relentless hunger to crack through his silence, to force his eyes on you and only you, twisting into something deeper, something that sat heavy in your gut and wouldn’t let go.

“You wanna go back inside, Princess?” His voice came out rougher than before, with a need you’d never heard from him, like he was barely holding himself together, waiting for a single word from you to snap the collar over his throat.

“Not really,” you breathed and that was all it took.

His body shifted, knee nudging between your thighs, forcing them apart just enough for his hand to slide from your waist, down to the bare skin above your knee. Cold, calloused fingers dug in, thumb dragging slow circles over flesh that felt like it was burning up under his touch.

“Tell me,” you said, smirking despite the way your pulse hammered, “how long you’ve wanted to touch me.”

“Why don’t you tell me first?” His voice was pure taunt, thick with mockery. “How long have you been waiting for me to put my hands on you like this?”

His grip tightened, hauling your leg up and hooking it over his thigh, trapping you between his body and the wall, your cunt pressed flush against hard muscle.

“You kept pissing me off, but—” Your words choked off in a sudden moan, as his tongue dragged from the bite mark on your neck to the shell of your ear.

“Yeah?” he rumbled right against your skin, close enough that his tusks grazed your jaw.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from whimpering. “When I saw you carrying that Sylthari in your arms… I fucking lost it.”

His teeth scraped the spot where your pulse thundered over your neck.

“That’s what pissed you off?”

You felt the laugh rumble through his chest, low and warm, vibrating straight into you. “I’m sorry, Princess.”

His thumb brushed over your lower lip, the other hand cradling your face like you’d break if he wasn’t careful, making you feel impossibly small.

“That’s why you kept slamming drinks?” he asked. “You wanted me carrying you around like one of them?”

You slapped his chest plate, hard enough to make your palm sting, faking anger. He growled, mandibles flaring wide in clear amusement.

“Don’t get feisty with me,” he warned, but there was no bite in it, both of his massive hands cupped your face now, thumbs brushing small circles over your burning cheeks, forcing your eyes to stay locked on his.

“Why not?” you fired back, heat flooding your face at the intimacy. “I’m the princess. I can do whatever I want.”

His gaze pinned you, yellow eyes softening in a way that drowned out the muffled sound of music coming from the club, silencing everything but the frantic beat of your heart against your chest.

“Then what do you want?”

“You.”

You breathed, the word making you feel exposed, no room for hiding anymore.

His eyes sharpened, mischief bleeding into them and he let you go, stepping back just enough that your feet found solid ground again, your body swaying without his bulk holding you up.

You stood there, legs trembling, thigh still wet with sweat from where it had been locked around him, heart thumping, staring at him with a need you couldn’t resist.

“You know how it goes for Yautja, right?” His hand cupped your face again, thumb stroking gently across your cheek. You tipped your head back to meet his eyes, the sheer ridiculousness of his height making your neck ache.

“I’ve read about it,” you said.

His hand stilled. “You’ve… what?”

The shock in his voice was unmistakable, eyes locked on yours, mandibles twitching like you’d just yanked the ground out from under him.

“Do you want me to say it out loud?” You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling the weight of it even without speaking the word. Virgin.

His palm stayed heavy and warm against your flushed skin.

It took him a beat, longer than you expected, before his thumb started moving again, tracing the curve of your cheek. The shadows in the narrow alley made him loom even larger, but the look in his eyes softened, not matching the menace he really was.

“I don’t know much about human anatomy,” he said, voice low, “but you seem… small, Princess.”

His clawed fingers dragged down your neck, until one thick thumb found the curve of your breast. He paused, before pressing down on your nipple, rolling it in tight little circles that sent sparks straight to your spine.

You jerked softly, a shaky breath escaping your lips. His gaze was locked there, unblinking, like he was studying some rare prey response. The harder it peaked under his touch, the more fascinated he looked, as if your body was begging him for more without a single word.

“Which means?” you breathed, bracing for it, for the polite refusal, the bowed head, the same careful retreat every other Yautja had given you when it came to sex.

“Which means I’ll have to be extra careful with you, Your Highness.” The words came out laced with that familiar taunting tone, eyes narrowing just enough to make your pulse spike and your heartbeat to falter.

“Were you planning to be brutal otherwise?” Your mouth curved, relief taking over you, hot and quick.

“You have no idea.” The growl in his voice was pure tease.

You shoved his chest, hard enough to feel the vibration of his laugh rumble through muscle and bone.

“Watch your mouth, or I’ll report you to my father.” You threatened with a smile.

“Is that so?” He asked, dropping to his knees, “make sure to get all the details.”

Your breath caught, eyes going wide as he gripped the underside of your thigh and forced it open, hooking your leg over his shoulder in one effortless motion. Your dress dragged up, bunching around your hips.

“Wait—Kel’Rakur—”

The protest died in your throat. His clawed fingers brushed over the wet fabric of your underwear, rough pads dragging over your throbbing pussy.

Your hands flew to his dreads, fisting two thick ropes, but he didn’t flinch.

“Look at that,” he rumbled, thumb pressing slow over your swollen clit, watching the way it pulsated against the tight cloth.

“I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

His pupils blown wide, black swallowing yellow as he stared at your cunt like it was rewriting everything he knew. His thumb dragged again, slow and heavy over the wetness and a broken whimper tore out of you.

“If I didn’t know better,” he said, glancing up to catch every twitch of your face, “I’d say your body’s begging for me.”

“Mhm,” was all you could manage, biting the back of your hand to muffle the moan that tried to escape you.

“You know,” he continued, mandibles grazing the trembling insides of your thighs as he leaned closer, “your scent is different from any other female I’ve smelled.”

His mouth hovered right over the dump crotch of your underwear, breath blasting hot against the fabric, making you shiver. You clenched your jaw, fighting the pathetic whine that left your lips anyway.

He inhaled you, deeply, shamelessly groaning at your scent and your eyes darted around the shadowed alley, pulse hammering with the fear of someone hearing, seeing, knowing exactly what your guard was doing between your legs.

“Somebody might—” Your words choked off by a gasp again, as his claws hooked your underwear and dragged it aside, exposing you completely. His mouth lowered without hesitation, tongue dragging slow, wet stripes between your soft folds.

You jerked against him, hands shoving at his shoulders on instinct, caught between pleasure and the raw embarrassment of it all. His head snapped up, dreads swaying, yellow eyes locking on yours with a tilt that asked a single, silent question.

This was it. You could back away now. You could tell him to stop, say it was too much, too embarrassing, too fucking dangerous with eyes that could stumble into this alley any second.

“Keep going,” you breathed instead, a reckless grin splitting your face.

He didn’t hesitate. Mandibles parting wide, he buried his face between your legs, hands gripping on your hips to hold you steady against the rough wall. His tongue worked you over with focus, long, dragging licks that mapped every fold, every slick inch, like he was committing the shape of you to his memory.

You bit down on a moan, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. After all the silent bullshit, all the rigid fucking obedience, here he was delivering exactly what you demanded, better than you’d ever imagined.

Then his tongue pushed inside you and that smile got wiped off your face.

Your eyes flew wide, cunt clenching down around the sudden intrusion, slick and hot and too damn much.

“What the fuck was that?” His voice came out rough, a mix of hunger and stunned fascination. Before you could answer, he dove back in, forcing his tongue deeper, thrusting it in and out with greediness.

You whimpered, hands fisting tight in his dreads because it was all you could do, tug and twist and ride that breathtaking rhythm he set. He growled low in his chest, one hand snapping up to seize your wrist.

“You’re driving me insane,” he groaned. “If you keep pulling like that, I’ll fuck you right here.”

The threat hung between you, heavy and real, even with him down on his knees. His eyes burned up at you, pupils blown wide, mandibles clicking almost threateningly.

“And why would I not want that?” You cocked your head, grin sharpening as he stared.

“Usually females break our spines during mating,” he said, the words fraying as his tongue flicked out to lap at your thigh still hooked over his shoulder. “But I doubt you could manage that.”

“Is that a challenge, guard?” You yanked harder on his dreadlock, watching his mandibles flare and his breath stutter.

“What have I gotten myself into?” The question came out breathless, almost a laugh, his massive frame vibrating with it as he pressed his mouth back against your pussy.

The sound of his own hunger, stripped of his usual infuriating restraint, sent a hot thrill up your spine. He was on his knees, tongue-fucking you against a filthy alley wall and still he sounded like he was the one almost cumming.

You tightened your grip in his dreads and rolled your hips against his mouth, daring him to find out exactly what he’d gotten himself into.

You let the dreadlock slip from your fingers now and dragged your nails along the sensitive skin behind his mandibles. His eyes snapped wide, pure shock flashing across that hard face and a rough little laugh slipped out of you. You’d never seen him rattled like that.

“Keep doing that,” he rasped, voice wrecked, before dropping his head again. His mouth sealed over your soaked cunt, tongue lapping slowly, drinking every drop that leaked out of you, like he was dying of thirst and you were the only water left on this planet.

Your nails kept brushing, scraping deeper into the grooves of his skin, feeling his jaw tightening every time your nails dug harder.

Without a warning, his entire body started vibrating and you lost it.

It began as a low thrum in his chest but built fast the longer your nails raked behind his mandibles, until a full-throated roar erupted from him, a rumble that poured straight into your core.

“Wait—wait—” The words tumbled out, half plea, half surrender, because your hips were already moving on their own, grinding shamelessly against his face. Your hands grabbed onto his head, fingers twisted in dreads, rocking yourself over his tongue as the vibration danced through you.

Your clit throbbed, swollen and desperate, and he rolled it between the rough ridges of his tongue in perfect sync with every desperate thrust of your hips. The sensation was too much, his growl shaking you apart from the inside, every nerve lit up and screaming, your body bucking without thought or control.

His free hand gripped your hip, claws pricking skin as he forced your rhythm, guiding you harder, deeper, matching the pulse of his rumble. Tears welled up in your eyes, riding his mouth like some feral animal while his entire body vibrated like a fucking engine.

You’d never heard a Yautja rumble like that. Never felt anything like the way it shook your bones, buzzed through your clit, made your pussy clench, drip and beg to be fucked harder against that merciless tongue.

It was like he had cracked the code of you in minutes.

Every stroke of his tongue, every adjustment of pressure, every timed lick on your clit, he mapped your body like prey he had been stalking for cycles. He watched the way you gasped, the way you clenched around him, the way your moans broke against your palm. Filing away every twitch, every breath, turning your reactions into a blueprint he was going to follow until you cried out of pleasure.

It almost didn’t make sense.

No one should be able to read you that fast, to know exactly where to press, how hard to drag his claws on your skin, how soft to vibrate until you couldn’t open your eyes from the feeling.

But he did.

And as your nails dug deeper, drawing that rumble out of him louder, harder, you realized with a knowing smirk, that he wasn’t just following your body’s demands.

He was learning you.

He didn’t say a word after that. Didn’t need to. He just let you take what you wanted, let you fuck yourself on his tongue without breaking focus, without rushing you or pulling back. His hands stayed locked on you, one guiding the roll of your hips, the other rubbing slow, steady circles over your thigh where it hooked over his shoulder.

That tender touch should have soothed you, but instead, it worked you up worse, until you were yanking on his dreads with both hands, dragging his face deeper between your thighs and fucking his mouth like you’d die without it. Every grind chasing that low vibration pouring from his chest, until your whole body hummed with it.

“I can’t—stop—” The words tore out of you in a broken gasp, meaningless, because you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to.

Your eyes rolled back, breath fast, hips slamming forward on their own, chasing your orgasm blindly.

He started panting against your soaked pussy, searching for air you didn’t allow him, dragging a desperate chant from your throat: “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Your hands squeezed his dreads hard enough to hurt and he answered with a long groan that made your vision white out.

Even though you’ve touched yourself plenty of times, you’ve never reached that kind of pleasure.

No.

This was alive, wet, rough and perfect. A tongue forcing its way inside you, hands shoving you harder onto his vibrating mouth, the sensation leaving you gasping, shuddering, seeing fucking stars.

Your body slowed on its own, dragging out the aftershocks in weak, sloppy rolls, each one dragging a moan from your throat. His hand pressed tighter over your hip, forcing you down through every last pulse, licking you dry.

“Kel—Kel’Rakur—” you choked out, hands shoving weakly at his head, oversensitive now, every brush of his tongue feeling like it could make you cry. Your legs shook, vision blurring, words dissolving into nothing.

“Ah—fuck—” He finally pulled back when you managed to force his face away, saliva and your own slick gleaming across his mandibles and the whole line of his mouth. His thumb stroked your calf hanging off his shoulder, “what’s wrong?”

“I just came,” you panted, managing a shaky smile, “and it’s sensitive as hell.”

A questioning growl rumbled from him, eyes locked on yours, still glowing by witnessing you losing your mind over his tongue a moment ago.

“You came? Already?”

“That’s how humans work.”

“Princess…” The word came out soft, almost mocking, with a singsong lilt that made it sound like he had just discovered something soft and innocent in the middle of an alleyway fuck. Like you were some wide-eyed novice playing with weapons you didn’t understand.

He looked up at you, rubber dreadlocks tangled in your fists, while he breathed heavily. His gaze was just pure fascination, like the fact that you’d broken apart that fast, that hard, was the most compelling thing he had ever seen in his life.

And from the way his mandibles flexed, pupils still blown wide and black, you knew he was already thinking about how many more times he could make you do it.

But you yanked your leg off his shoulder and huffed, cheeks burning with the aftershocks still twitching through you and that sheer embarrassment because of his reaction. Your knees buckled as you tried to step away, ready to bolt and pretend you hadn’t just fucked his face, but the fabric of your dress got caught, tugged firmly back by his hand. You twisted around, scowling at him on his knees as he pulled you, but your glare slowly turned into a smile you desperately tried to hide.

“Come here.”

His voice guttural and deep as always but painted with something softer, almost apologetic. You didn’t resist and he didn’t let go until you were in front of him again.

“Tease me one more time and—”

“I’m sorry, my Princess.” The words came out a low growl and before you could snap back, his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him while he stayed kneeling. His mandibles pressed against your ribs, holding you tight, almost possessively in his arms.

Every sharp comeback died in your throat, replaced by a soft, pathetic sound you couldn’t stifle this time. His body shook with a quiet laugh, as he knew exactly what he was doing, knew how fast your pulse peaked under his hands when he treated you like that, faster even than when you came on his tongue.

Damn him.

“Hey.” You grabbed under his mandibles, forcing his head up. His eyes gleamed up at you, soft and unguarded.

“How long have you been watching me?” The certainty in your voice left no room for lies.

His mandibles twitched under your grip. He rose slowly, towering over you again, dreadlocks falling forward as he cupped your face and dragged his tongue —still slick with you— across your lips.

“What gave it away?” he murmured, forcing your mouth open, mandibles grazing your cheeks as you felt his tongue on yours.

“You’re being too soft,” you managed between licks, gasping as his free hand slid down your back, palming your ass and squeezing until your knees felt weak again.

“You want me to go harder?”

“How do you even know what to do?” you demanded and he paused, hands enveloping your waist, making you feel small again.

“You didn’t try to snap my spine the second I put my tongue in you, so…” he said plainly.

“How do you really know?” you pressed.

His mandibles parted in a clear, smug grin. “You’re a negotiator for a reason huh,” his claws played with a strand of your hair now, “you saw right through my bullshit.”

“Yeah,” you smiled at the hint of admiration in his voice.

“That’s fucking hot,” he breathed against your ear and then pulled back. “I don’t take a job without knowing the client first.”

His hand shoved under your dress again, claws scraping the edge of your underwear before his rough palm cupped your sensitive pussy, fingers brushing your folds like he was still learning the shape of you.

“You damn stalker,” you hissed, then gasped as two thick fingers dragged over your slick entrance.

“What have you seen me doing?” You already knew the answer, knew exactly what you’d done alone in your chambers, thinking no one watched.

“Everything I needed to know.” His breath ghosted your face, one hand working your pussy while the other twisted gently in your hair, your hips rocking on instinct against his palm. “It’s my job, Princess.”

You scoffed. “So your job includes fucking your clients?”

His palm brushed against you again, stealing your breath. “No. But I can make an exception for you, Your Highness.”

He dragged the title out like a curse, dripping with filthy respect, enough to acknowledge what you were, not enough to keep his hands off you.

His golden eyes locked on yours, thumb pressing your bottom lip open, brushing your tongue while his other palm rolled slow and heavy over your cunt.

“I also read about your kind. Studied your anatomy,” he admitted, tongue flicking out to trace your neck.

“You lied about it before.” You managed a shaky laugh that broke into a gasp. “Didn’t have you for the reading type.”

“I’m smart as fuck, Princess. I’m not just hired muscle.” He bit down on your neck mid-sentence, sharp and sudden, and your eyes flew wide, mouth dropping open.

A loud sound cut through your haze, footsteps echoing off the alley walls and you both froze. His hand left your mouth, tapping the vambrace on his shoulder. The air around you shimmered, cloaking you both in invisibility, the world warping into a heat-hazed blur. Neither of you moved.

The footsteps grew closer. A shadow got bigger across the narrow path and your stomach dropped when you recognized the broad-shouldered silhouette.

Serion.

“Fuck—” The curse slipped out under your breath.

Kel’Rakur’s palm slowly pressed over your mouth, firm and rough, sealing in the desperate sound.

Your eyes turned wide, shocked with the lewd thrill of it, but he didn’t look at you. His gaze locked on the approaching prince, tracking every step, every shift in his posture.

Then, without breaking that stare, the hand still buried between your thighs dragged slowly through your slick folds. His rough finger teased your entrance, pressing just enough to make your legs quake, daring you to stay silent while Serion prowled within arm’s reach.

Kel’Rakur finally turned his head, yellow eyes burning into yours, glowing with that new challenge you had just given him.

That bastard was testing you, seeing how much you could take without breaking, with the prince close enough to hear every single whimper.

Fuck.

Another muffled whine leaked past his palm as his thick finger shoved inside you, stretching your soaked cunt with a smooth slide. Your eyes darted to Serion, mere feet away now, head turning like he sensed something, but Kel’Rakur’s forehead pressed hard against yours, forcing your focus back to him.

He thrusted his finger, slow and deep, palm muffling every choked gasp while your legs trembled and your body tried to split itself between terror and the crushing need to moan.

Your eyes pleaded, stop, don’t stop, fuck, please, but the words couldn’t escape. Nothing had ever filled you like this, perfectly rough, perfectly sized, splitting you open while you drowned in the threat of getting caught.

He eased his hand from your mouth, thumb shoving past your lips instead. You latched onto it and bit down, hard. His eyes flared wide, shock flashing through the predatory gaze and the finger buried in your cunt twitched, diving deeper as you clenched your walls.

You bit harder, saliva spilling from the corners of your mouth and a feral grin cracked your lips around his thumb.

His pupils swallowed the yellow of his irises, his head dropped, mandibles touching your shoulder as a low growl escaped him.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?”

The words sounded wrecked, spent and breathless, like he was the one about to cum. Your pussy clenched around the single finger stuffing you and you squeezed deliberately, once, twice, milking every thick ridge until his breath broke into harsh, uneven pants against your ear.

Your teeth grinding into the pad of his thumb and you clenched again, harder, watching the untouchable hunter come apart under your pussy swallowing his finger. Serion’s shadow lingered close, oblivious, but all that mattered was the way Kel’Rakur’s body shook, his composure shattering with every deep spasm of your slick walls around his rough finger.

He was done pretending he had the upper hand now.

Serion’s shadow still loomed close, his head turning slowly in your direction, scanning the empty alley like he could sense the depravity unfolding right under his nose. Your eyes stayed locked on him, making damn sure he didn’t catch the shimmer of the cloak, while your hands roamed through Kel’Rakur’s dreads, fingers digging into the thick ropes, clutching the back of his neck. He leaned into you, helpless under the pull, breath short against your skin.

“Imagine what the fuck I can do to your dick,” you whispered right into his ear, gaze never wavering from the prince.

“Shit—” The word left him, broken and breathless. His thumb yanked free from your mouth, palm sliding down to cradle your throat, pinning your head back against the wall.

“Fuck,” he snarled, frustration thick in his voice as your cunt clenched again around his digit, each greedy suck dragging a choked groan from his throat.

Then he pulled his finger out in one slide, slick snapping free. His hands hooked under your thighs, hauling you up like you weighed nothing, forcing your legs to lock around his waist. Your ass slammed back against his hips with a sharp slap that echoed off the alley walls.

Serion’s steps stuttered closer.

“Wait—wait, he’s still here,” you whimpered, legs dangling uselessly, barely able to close around the impossible span of his hips.

“Let him fucking watch.” The words came out a raw groan against your ear, and then something hot and alive nudged between your thighs.

“Hold it,” he commanded, voice stripped of everything but pure hunger. “Tight.”

Your hand fumbled blindly in the dark, fingers curling into a trembling fist around the thick, pulsing length rising between your legs. It was too much—too hot, too heavy—even with everything you had studied about Yautja cocks, the reality left you speechless.

You couldn’t see it clearly, but you felt it: the pointy tip punching out of your small grip, extending further, thicker than you had imagined, until your hand looked like a pathetic ring around a battering ram.

“Fuck—” you mouthed, certain it would either split you in half later or you’d beg for every thick inch of it.

Your eyes darted back to Serion, pulse hammering with the fear he had heard, that he had closed the distance and found you—

“Eyes on me.” Kel’Rakur’s growl cut through the panic, rough and absolute, his forehead slamming against yours to drag your focus back where it belonged.

His hips bucked up, forcing your fist to tighten around the monstrous length. You dropped your other hand, both palms struggling to hold him, fingers slicking through glowing precum with every hard thrust. It wept from the tip in thick, radiant ropes, painting your knuckles, dripping between your thighs.

“You’re so fucking big,” you gasped, the words spilling out raw and honest, something between terror and fascination.

His mandibles flared wide, a deep, rolling purr exploding from his chest and vibrating straight into his throbbing cock filling your hands. You stared down, stunned, as it pulsed in time with the sound, every ridge, every swollen vein moving with that vibration.

“Yeah, it can do that,” he clicked against your ear, a dark, teasing laugh shaking his shoulders. “Imagine what the fuck I can do to your little pussy.”

His teeth scraped your shoulder, not hard enough to tore your skin, just enough to make you hiss and you gulped down the urge to bite back, realizing he had thrown your own words right back in your face.

Serion was still there, steps faltering, head turning blindly toward the spot where you hung helpless in Kel’Rakur’s grip, hands wrapped around a vibrating, precum-slicked monster that could ruin you and make you thank it for the privilege.

But with the hunter’s forehead locked against yours, his eyes burning into you, the prince might as well have been on another planet.

All that existed was the brutal, vibrating weight of his cock trapped in your fists and the promise of what it would do to you later.

You couldn’t resist anymore, as you caught one of his thick dreads between your teeth and bit down hard. A guttural growl tore out of him, breath stuttering, hips jerking forward like you had yanked a leash.

His claws sank into your thighs, spreading you wider, the burn sweet while your back scraped the rough brick. He fucked into your fists with sloppy, desperate snaps, wet slaps echoing off the alley walls, swallowed by the low, animal noises ripping from his chest. You bit on another dreadlock now and he hissed, sharp and wrecked, head thunking against the wall beside yours.

There was nothing else now, not Serion’s retreating shadow, not the distant throb of music. Just him. His luminous eyes locked on yours, drinking in the way your breath tore from your lips, chest moving with heavy breaths, teeth biting on your bottom lip to choke back the sounds clawing up your throat every time you struggled to hold his cock.

“Your heartbeat’s gonna kill me,” he snarled, hips bucking harder, brutal and erratic, like he was trying to fuck the rhythm straight out of you. Then his grip turned tighter, claws pricking skin as his whole body locked up. Thick, warm ropes of cum shot out of him, staining your fingers, your dress, his armor in heavy pulses that painted your skin and left you gasping with every jerk.

“Fuck—” you breathed, watching stunned as the glowing seed shot high enough to streak your chest, staining the fabric.

He didn’t stop, he kept grinding through it, chasing every last drop until your hands were slick and useless around his throbbing member. Then he crushed himself against you, sliding that still-hard length along your wet pussy, pinning you to the wall. You whined, high and needy, still oversensitive.

“Was gonna take you right here,” he muttered against your ear, breathless, “till you said it’s your first time.”

You managed a broken chuckle. “So we’re not fucking?”

“If you haven’t figured it out yet,” you started, “I don’t need special treatment. I might be human, but I can—”

“Shut up.” His mandibles parted, tongue shoving past your lips in a rough lick. “I’ll take care of you because I fucking want to. Not because you need it.”

The words left you stunned and your smirk faltered. You stared at him, his breath short, taking in the sweat gleaming across his dark olive skin, pupils blown wide and fixed on you like you were the only thing that existed.

He looked wrecked and beautiful, the afterglow shining over his rough features.

“You can be gentle, guard?” you asked, twirling a cum-slick dreadlock around your fingers, tugging lightly.

“I’m not a brute, Princess.” Amusement laced the rough of his voice. “I’ll fuck you so good you’ll crawl back to me every time your fingers aren’t enough.”

Heat rose into your face and you knew you couldn’t hide it this time.

He had definitely seen you, spread out alone in your chambers, chasing your orgasm with nothing but your own hands, convinced no one was there to catch you.

“You perv,” you breathed.

He laughed, deep and rough, tongue dragging slow across the pulse in your neck as his cock still twitched against your stomach.

He eased you down slowly, steadying you when your legs felt like they were ready to fold. You wiped the mess off your thighs and hands with the hem of your dress, smearing glowing streaks across the fabric. He looked barely touched, cock already tucked away in the slit it came from, armor only faintly streaked, a few stray drops hitting the ground.

He was still trying to catch his breath when he leaned in, forehead finding yours, one hand cradling your skull. The other caught your wrist, guiding your cum-slick palm to his mouth. His tongue swept over your skin, slow and teasing, tasting himself on you while his eyes never left yours.

“Your little hands did good,” he murmured, licking the last trace away, voice low and satisfied, “and since we’re not fucking in an alley—”

“Why not?” you shot back, grinning as he dragged your sticky hand across his chest, pecs flexing under your palm like he was putting on a private show.

“Because we’re not.” He said flatly.

Both his hands locked around your wrists now and he pulled them up to his face. You cupped his mandibles on instinct, thumbs brushing the rough plates and his eyes slid shut for a second, just pure relief painting his features, like he’d been patiently waiting for that soft touch.

And he couldn’t get enough of it once he had it.

He guided your hands over his throat, his shoulders, anywhere he could reach, greedy for every brush of your fingers, every drag of your nails upon his cold skin.

“Let me show you what real fun looks like.”

His gaze snapped open, sharp and wicked, mandibles clicking playfully.

Before you could throw another protest, he snatched your wrist and hauled you straight back toward the building.

No. It meant something worse. It meant another round in the dark, fists and claws tearing into you because to them, you were nothing more than a body to break. A toy.

And no one was here to stop it. No one to make them pay afterwards.

Not anymore.

You dragged in a shaky breath, forcing your lungs to fill even as your chest locked tight. Your jaw clenched until your mouth ached. One last fight, you told yourself. One last time. Don’t crawl. Don’t beg. Fight back.

But the air left you when you heard it… the distinct, heavy clatter of armor. Different from the others. Denser. Familiar. Too familiar…

Your heart lurched so violently you thought it might burst and you bit down harder until your jaw locked. No. You couldn’t let your mind go there, not now. You couldn’t let yourself think of him, him, in a moment like this. He wasn’t coming for you. He couldn’t.

No one is coming to save you, you screamed at yourself, each word kicking against your skull.

The door to your cell groaned open, the sound vibrating through you. Your body convulsed, trembling so hard your teeth nearly rattled and you pulled the bed sheets over yourself, curling beneath them like a child hiding from the monster in the dark.

And then silence.

No footsteps. No breath. No scrape of claws or shifting in the shadows. Just nothing.

Like the air itself had been swallowed whole.

For a moment, you thought you had imagined it all, every sound, every clatter. Thought your mind had finally broken under the weight of captivity, spinning shadows into nightmares that weren’t really there.

Slowly, with your pulse still slamming against your throat, you pried your eyes open, terrified of what you would see or worse, what you wouldn’t. Afraid you had already gone insane inside these walls. Afraid the only thing left was the prison you had built in your own head.

You saw a figure looming at the far end of your cell. Red caught your eye where it shouldn’t have and you blinked hard to make sure you weren’t seeing things.

Your breathing sped up, your eyes narrowing, as if it could prove this was only some feverish trick of your mind. Please, you begged yourself, don’t let this be a hallucination. Don’t let this be your last, desperate hope of him.

Am I already dead? The thought brought panic. Maybe death would be merciful, a painless slide and at least you would go with a familiar face in your mind.

Your eyes adjusted to the dark and the red stayed.

Slowly, you hauled yourself forward and crawled on the cot until you could see clearly.

He was there, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, mask tipped down toward you, utterly still. Silent. Unmoving.

You pushed yourself up to your feet, legs unsteady and took one slow step, then another. Your gaze skimmed him the way you always had. The stance familiar, the long dreadlocks falling over his shoulders like a dark curtain, not like any of the other Yautja. His skin was the same burned crimson you had etched in your memory.

You were close enough now to hear him breathe, his head tilting slightly as you moved nearer.

Your mouth opened to speak, to drop the questions that pounded at the back of your throat. Is this real? Are you alive? Are you… okay?

But instead your palms slammed into his chest plates, pushing with everything you had, anger ripping through you, molten and hardening into something cruel over your skin.

All you could see was red. Not just his skin, but the color of rage eating you slowly from within.

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. You shoved again, a muffled, strangled sound tearing from your throat, anger and frustration making speech impossible. Only those noises could come out now.

You shoved once more and this time he stepped toward you. You stumbled back, then lunged, throwing your body at him with whatever strength you had left, fighting someone who wasn’t fighting back.

Tears blurred your vision, they pooled at the edges and threatened to fall as you shoved, harder now, but his sheer size never wavered. He matched your pushes with slow, steady forward steps, meeting the smallest resistance of your hands and simply closing the distance again and again. Relentless. Stubborn. And you hated him for it.

You hated that he didn’t shove you away. You hated that he didn’t punish you for tearing into him. Your eyes streamed, hot and ugly, the crying felt like loss and relief all at once. Your last shove weakened, hands trembling, but they stayed planted on his chest, fists pounding uselessly against armor just to prove he was real. To prove you weren’t dreaming.

“Speak!” you cried, nails clawing at metal and flesh. “I thought you were dead!” Your voice snapped, raw, as you pushed with the last of your strength.

He didn’t budge. Not an inch.

Then, quiet, closer now, came his voice, rough, guttural, the sound of a bruise you knew by heart.

“I thought I was dead too.”

It landed in your chest like a struck match, burning you. Your lips trembled as a sob slipped out before you could stop it. You shoved again, wanting to hurt him and wanting to prove he was there, warm and alive. Pain and relief tangled together and you felt them both, just as much.

“And now what?” His voice came low and you felt his neck tilt down toward you.

His arms folded across his chest, a familiar display of defence you had come to know.

“You can’t push me off the cell,” he said, gravelly, voice coming from deep in his ribs. It was harsher than before, but not completely threatening.

“I’ll start screaming,” you snapped, tears trickling down your face, voice raw with anger.

“I’ll muffle your screams. Done it before,” he answered, certainty threading through the words in a way that had you wondering what he really wanted. Why come to you now if not to make sure you were alive?

A stupid spark of hope bloomed and you bit the inside of your mouth to force it down.

“Why are you here?” you asked, folding your arms like armor, lifting your chin to meet him with whatever defiance you had left.

He lowered his head to meet yours. Close enough that if the mask was off you would have felt his breath on your face. “Tell me,” he said, voice strange now, softer even, “why do I remember seeing you while I was dying?” The question hit, like an actual shove, your heart missed a beat and then slammed back hard in your chest.

Your eyes locked on the dark voids of his mask. “I—” You had no words that made sense.

“Were you there?” he asked, quieter now, a note of confusion that unsettled you.

“I was in the infirmary… when you woke up,” you said, breathless. The words stuck to the inside of your throat as you stared up at him.

“Why?”

“K’rethya had called for me,” you uttered.

“Did you come into my chambers too?” His head tilted, the motion small and strange and you blinked at the mask. You shook your head. How could you have left your cell?

He straightened, his frame filling the space again, massive and immovable. You saw the pale, healed whip slashes along his back in the dim light and something in your gut tightened.

He lingered by the door a second, as if weighing what to do next. Then he moved to leave. Before he could close the cell door you grabbed it and held it open.

“Wait. That’s it? You come back from the dead and you don’t even explain yourself?” Your voice came out rough with anger and confusion.

“I don’t have anything to explain to you,” he said, curt. His hand didn’t yank the door away. He let you hold it open while you searched his mask, searched for any answer you could squeeze from him.

“Fine. Keep your door open and see what happens when they find out,” he tossed back, dismissive, and turned to walk out of the chamber.

All the things you had done so far, the grieving, the praying, the pleading, suddenly felt like mockery, like a cruel joke you had played on yourself. Because in the end, he had dismissed you. He hadn’t even cared what you went through while you thought he was dead. Not a second spared for the panic that drowned you. Not a flicker of concern for the world you shattered inside that cell.

And just like that, rage came back and slammed its fist against your door.

If five minutes ago you were drowning in nothingness, now it felt as if fire was crawling beneath your skin, burning you alive. Anger, fury, raw and feral, surged up your legs and clawed at your ribs as if desperate to escape. Your throat tightened with a scream that refused to stay buried. The need to shout, to curse him, to tear the world apart with your bare hands, pulled at you with such force it felt like an invitation straight into hell.

And you accepted it.

“That’s it. I’ve had fucking enough with you—” you growled under your breath, rage breaking through your panic as your body launched forward before logic could catch up.

You leapt on him, clinging to his broad back, your fists knotting into his dreadlocks, pulling with everything you had. The strands were thick and heavy and the sound that erupted from his chest, a guttural roar, almost like a strangled gasp, shook through your bones.

His hand shot backward, claws raking your spine as he tried to peel you off. Then two heavy steps and your back hit the concrete wall, the air leaving violently from your lungs.

Still, you refused to give in. Your thighs clamped tighter around his torso, desperate, feral, teeth sinking into one of his locks. The bitter taste of metal filled your mouth as you bit down.

The sound that came out of him was primal, a vibration so deep it set every nerve in you alight with alarm. Danger. Pure danger.

“You damn worm…” he growled, his voice breaking into snarls, low and venomous.

Pain bloomed across your back as his claws dragged against your skin again, trying to pry you loose, but not enough to cut your flesh. Your arms locked stubbornly around his thick neck, as you held him in a chokehold.

His back slammed into the wall again, your ribs jolting with the crushing blow. Your legs faltered just enough for him to seize control. In one swift motion, he tore you off, whipping you in front of him like you weighed nothing. Your legs dangled, caught between his waist, his claws biting into your sides as he pinned you to the cold wall of your cell.

You gasped, thrashing, but his hold was immovable. His palms burned against your thighs, pressing you down, caging you in place.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” he threatened, voice breaking on gritted teeth, restrained fury radiating off him. And you believed it, every word.

“You don’t scare me, mongrel,” you spat back, voice small but steady enough to match his venom. You hissed the words into his mask, the tip of your nose touching the cold iron.

Then his hips slammed forward, crushing you into the wall. A cry tore from your throat, pain and rage mingled together. Desperate, your hand caught another thick lock of his hair, you yanked hard, sinking your teeth into it and this time his blood slicked against your tongue, bitter, metallic, green trickling down your lips and chin.

His hand shot up instantly, claws closing around your face, squeezing until your jaw ached. He forced you to release his hair, his knee coming higher, balancing you, pinning you fully against him. You straddled his thigh, trapped. There was no escape now.

His nails dug cruel circles into your cheeks. You whimpered against his hold, lips wet with his blood and your own spit until he let your face go.

For a second you were both breathing hard, staring at each other, desperately trying to catch a breath. You felt his knee move under you and only then realized how close you were, how hot his skin felt pressed against yours.

It was a beat of something like understanding, a breath held between blows, before the two of you started tearing at each other again.

You were both bleeding now and this time you knew exactly why. He did too. This wasn’t the king’s doing. It was yours and his.

You had chosen to play a dangerous game and you knew you could lose.

You spat the bitter taste from your mouth on the floor, never breaking your stare with the voids of his mask. He breathed hard, your body moving with his as you straddled his thigh.

“Let me go,” you said breathlessly, a whisper laced with anger and that odd, sticky intimacy that pooled in your chest whenever he was near.

“Let me go first,” he answered, his grip tight around your wrist while you clenched one of his dreadlocks by instinct.

“I don’t trust you,” you breathed. The taste of his blood still clung to your tongue and it made your head spin.

“I’ll cut your hand off. Let me go,” he growled low, but the words had lost their edge now, you didn’t feel threatened. His mask hovered so close there was no air between you.

“I’ll chew it down if you don’t let me go first,” you whispered, eyes flicking between the dark hollows of his mask. You had no breath left and he let you have none.

“You fucking—” he started, and before he could finish you lunged for his mask. The fingers of your free hand forced it up, but it didn’t come free, only his mandibles revealed themselves. He shoved you back against the wall, trapping you, his hands clamping your wrists above your head before you could wrench it off.

He didn’t say anything. Just held you, nails digging into soft flesh. A warning. You had crossed the final line and you were going to regret it.

Still, the reckless voice in your head wouldn’t shut up. Undo him. Break him. Make him pay for every absence and every guilty moment of hope he had given you.

Or maybe you just wanted to see his face one more time.

You didn’t let yourself name the feeling pooling in your chest. No. You hadn’t missed him. You were not relieved he was alive. This was hate. Pure, searing hate that made your ribs ache as if you were tearing yourself open.

You leaned forward, forehead to metal, pushing against his mask with everything you had. While your skin clung to him, his body stayed a solid wall.

He didn’t stop you, his hands still clamped around your wrists, squeezing tighter each time your forehead struck against his helmet. He could have shoved you away. He could have thrown you across the room with a flick of his arm. You knew that. He had shown you more than once how easily he could overpower you, how your weight meant nothing to him, how little of a threat you truly were.

Yet he didn’t move.

He stayed exactly where he was, frozen beneath your touch, each push of your head tearing down the last of his defenses. He held you in place like someone begging without words, silently pleading for you to stop but unable to command it. His strength wasn’t what kept you there, it was the strange, brittle stillness in him, the way his breath caught as you leaned in, the way the muscles in his arms tightened as though bracing for something far more dangerous than you.

Your stubborn insistence to see him, to strip him down to the truth of what he was. You pushed at his helmet, desperate to reveal his face just one more time, desperate to see him as something real.

Your mind fixated on the memory of his imperfection, that blind, unmoving eye. The single flaw carved into an otherwise indestructible creature. It had been the only evidence that he was still a living being, one that could hurt, could feel, could die. And that glimpse alone had been enough to root itself in you, enough to become proof he wasn’t the untouchable, emotionless monster he pretended to be.

It was enough for you to keep pushing.

The mask hit the floor with a dull, final thud.

You were breathing like you had ran a race, fast and stupid with adrenaline. For the first time since you got here, you could look at him properly, really look. His face was exposed, details you had only glimpsed once before in the infirmary and it felt like seeing a part of the world you had been denied.

Every line you had half-imagined in the dark fell into place. The ridged forehead, the strange planes of his cheeks, the mandibles folded tight against his jaw. Your gaze quickly found his eyes, captured by the contrast. One iris molten gold, the other a blind, milky white. It was grotesque and gorgeous all at once, a thing that pulled the air out of you.

You searched his mouth as if you expected threats to pour from it. “Threaten me all you want now,” you rasped, voice hoarse, hands trying and failing to pull free from his grip.

He had frozen, taken aback by your stupid, reckless move. Unmasking a Yautja felt like sacrilege and you had just done it. You held his stare, because you couldn’t possibly look away, even if you wanted to.

He searched you with that gaze, as if trying to understand whatever it was you had done. You felt him searching for a way to speak, to lash you, to ask, to warn, but a heavy silence ate the room. You were held there, both of you caught in a dangerous silence, each breath moving your bodies just slightly against each other.

And it burned. Not like the whip. It was an ache that lived under your flesh, a flare that made your skin feel too thin. You wanted him to speak first because you had nothing left to say. You had ran out of barbed words, empty threats felt weak. You couldn’t fight him like this, not when your chest was a knot of pain and longing that you refused to acknowledge.

Did I really miss him?

The words tasted wrong, foreign and bitter on your tongue. You almost spat it back at yourself, swore it away as a lie. But denying it felt like a sin.

You tried to pull away once more. His fingers tightened. You gave up and let your shoulders drop, with a small exhale that meant surrender.

“Are you done now?” His voice came from deep in his chest, a low rumble that didn’t need to be loud. It landed between you like an accusation.

You knew what he meant. You had attacked him, punish him for his absence, for making you crawl and then tending your wounds in secret, for being the reason you had ever seen a sliver of hope. You had wanted to hurt him and break him down and he had let you, accepting every bit of your fury.

Now his blood clung to your lips and the fight in you had nothing left to fuel it. Your arms trembled. The anger that had carried you here was gone, delved by the rawness that came with seeing him alive and unmasked. You were spent and somewhere under the exhaustion, a softer but way more dangerous thing lived. An ache that wanted him to stay.

“Tarr’kon…” His name slid from your lips slow and careful, the way you had rehearsed in the dark.

His mandibles snapped once at the sound, a sharp click that echoed in the small room. You watched the deep ridges over his forehead move with each heavy breath, his mandibles flexing and relaxing, not threateningly, but enough to indicate he was just as breathless as you.

“Don’t call me by my name,” he growled, as if he was holding back himself. His grip barely loosened over your wrists, enough to test but not enough to free you. The air between you sparked, violent and blinding, somehow pulling you closer.

Slowly, he let your wrists go. His hands slid down to your waist and pressed you to the wall, your legs still clung to him, thighs burning. You lowered your hands, trembling, and reached up his face. One careful finger curled around the edge of his lower mandible, cold, hard, dangerous and you tugged softly, as if on a rope that might snap.

He didn’t jerk away. The mandible closed around your finger, obedient. His head dipped slightly, guided by that tiny pull. His gaze never left yours. You despised how he yielded, how something so massive and brutal could move at your command. In this land, you had only learned brute force, but this beast let you. He let you unmask him and touch the face you were never meant to see.

Your heart jolted again, mindless and fierce. He smelled like iron and earth, his breath warmed the skin near your mouth. “I wanted you dead,” you whispered, voice shaking, fingers drifting from his mandible to the hollow of his throat, fingertips ghosting over red, scaly skin, cold, rough and somehow familiar.

You braced for pain. You expected him to clamp your hand and twist until you screamed. But he didn’t.

Your fingers trailed lower across his patterned chest, where darker reds bloomed like bruises across his skin, it rose and fell under your palm, your hand moving with his breath, the intimacy threatening your sanity once more.

For a second you thought you were dreaming again. After nails digging into flesh and blood clinging to your teeth, he let you touch him when both of you had been bleeding and fighting moments before.

Then his clawed thumb swept up and roughened across your lower lip, wiping the copper of his own blood from your mouth. The motion was careful and rough, paradoxical, describing his entire existence.

“I should have left you to die,” he rumbled, voice low and gruff. But under the words there was another sound, so faint you could have missed it if you hadn’t been pressed against him. A deeper, softer vibration that thrummed in his chest. A sound that could almost be mistaken for a purr.

You pressed your palm to his chest again, hunting for that low, hypnotising sound that made your chest clench in confusion. Under your hand it was louder, a steady vibration that crawled into your skin, as if your touch itself coaxed it awake.

“Why didn’t you?” you asked, voice small against the animal beat. Your palm tingled with the rhythm beneath, the noise swelling as if answering you.

“I wanted to see you break first.” His words came out guttural and forced, like a lie. His nails dug into your flesh, softer than you’d like to admit. The pressure made you grit your teeth, letting out a hiss. He was all blunt edges and rough hands, you couldn’t imagine him knowing anything about holding something fragile without hurting it.

“Really?” you tilted your head, breathless and dragged your nails across the taut ridges of his chest, pressing until his muscles tightened under your fingertips.

“Then why did you risk your life for me?”

The rumble answered to your touch, louder now, as if your little cruelty fed it. Maybe pain was the only way he could feel. The thought made you pity him, a being made for killing that had never been taught gentleness.

“I didn’t risk anything for you.” With a sudden motion he peeled your hand away like it had burned him. His other hand stayed at your thighs, pressing you against his torso and the wall. He held you in place, his hand pressing your wrist, as if to let you know he can break you.

“You can’t keep running from me,” you breathed, teeth bared around the words. “Why are you helping me?” Your fingers curled around his forearms, his dreadlocks brushing your skin. For a moment you wanted to go against your nature, hold those heavy ropes instead of tugging at them until they bled. You let yourself imagine trust, a secret softness that would live between you and him alone. You tasted it for a second and it tasted like betrayal.

“Let me go,” he warned again, voice low and dangerous, but your hand was already wrapped around a thick lock of his hair, thumb rubbing the coarse braid as if calming a storm.

He didn’t wrench your wrist away. He didn’t shove you. He stayed still, the tremor in his chest the only sign of the conflict beneath. The rumble moved under your palm, a warning and a comfort at once and you realized you were holding on to him for more than anger.

“Please,” you whispered, letting go of his hair. Your hands landed on his shoulders, fingers digging into the hard muscle. “Please… don’t let me hope again. I don’t want to hope.”

He shifted then, you could see it in the way his shoulders tightened, the way his whole body seemed to argue with itself. For a second he looked like he was contemplating whether to crush you or to walk away. The thought made your stomach knot.

“I know we’re alike. We’re different, you stand out, you don’t belong here.” You kept your voice low, searching his face for any crack of reaction.

“I know.” He growled. The sound rolled out of him and his knee slid back from under your thighs. You found your feet and looked up at him, chest restless with heavy breathing. Shadows carved his features into something stranger than before, but you didn’t look away.

His right hand pressed flat against the wall, palm splayed on the cold stone. His dreadlocks fell around him, long and heavy as he looked down at you.

“We might not be the same kin, but you were brought here by force, like me—” you started, and then his fist cracked the wall beside your head. The noise made you flinch.

“I was destined to serve the king. My loyalty is sacred.” He said it so low it almost sounded like it was being forced out, as if the words cut him from the inside like glass.

“And your brother?” The words slipped from your mouth before you could swallow them. Immediately you regretted it, K’rethya had trusted you with his story and you had promised silence.

His hand shot for your throat like lightning. The first time his fingers actually closed around you and your panic tasted like blood. Terror bloomed hot in your chest, your eyes opening wide in shock.

“How do you know about my brother?” His voice was a forced snarl. You felt his fingers tighten and your world narrowed to the press of thick skin on your neck.

You couldn’t lie. You couldn’t betray the one who had trusted you either, but the claws of his grip left no room for more than breath. Tears stung at your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you managed, the words breaking out of you. Your fingers raked at his hand, nails dragging across callused skin.

He growled, an abrupt, strangled sound and pulled back as if shocked by himself. Air slammed into your lungs and you coughed, hand fumbling to your throat.

He turned around, snatched his helmet from the floor and strode toward the door. You hurried, your hand shot out and caught his arm. He froze like you had just stabbed him.

“If you leave now, don’t ever come back for me. You hear me? I don’t want your help.” Your fingers tightened, pleading in the only way you could.

“If you’re not on my side, then let me die.” The words came out steady, though your voice shook. Then you unclenched your hand, letting him go.

He hesitated, just for one second, but that was enough to spark that tiny flare of hope in your chest.

Then his steps hit the stone. He turned and he was gone. No explanation. No promise. And no hope. Only the echo of the door closing and the cold that followed, the room suddenly huge and empty.

You clenched your chest with your hand, desperately trying to undo the warmth he had left behind.

a/n: not to be dramatic, but this was my favourite part to write. All the tension melting between them, the aggressiveness turning into something none of them understands??? Ugh sign me the fuck up 😩 Hope you enjoyed this part! Thank you all for reading and I’m sooo ready for your comments on this one 🤭 (tell me you started kicking your feet and giggle when he wiped reader’s lips off his own blood. No? Just me? 😅)