B r i e r

It felt strangely familiar, like coming home to a place you'd never visited before. The recognition wasn't one of memory but of instinct, as if some part of your soul had always known this place, always been waiting for it. The golden light that bathed everything seemed to welcome you like an old friend, and the distant chiming of slot machines played a melody that resonated somewhere deep within you, a tune your heart had known long before your mind could name it.

Not because you'd visited often enough to memorize its layout or its secrets – though the velvet curtains and gleaming marble seemed etched into your very being, as if they'd been there since before you were born.

Because every dream eventually led you here, as inevitable as the turning of the tides, as certain as the phases of the moon. Each time you closed your eyes, your consciousness found its way back to these halls, drawn by an invisible thread that connected your sleeping self to this place of impossible luxury and endless possibility.

Before you could even orient yourself in this familiar yet foreign landscape, another sensation wrapped around you. Strong arms, muscular yet gentle, encircled your waist with a certainty that sent shivers down your spine. They held you with practiced ease, lifting you as though you weighed nothing at all, pulling you against a chest that felt both solid as marble and warm as sunlight. The scent of expensive cologne and something uniquely his filled your senses, and in that moment, the casino, with all its glittering splendor, faded to background noise, leaving only the feeling of being held, cherished, and completely, utterly safe.

You barely had time to draw a shaky breath before the world tilted, your feet lifting from the marble floor as though gravity had surrendered its claim on you. The surprised gasp that escaped your lips transformed into something softer, almost musical, as you were gathered into an embrace that felt both inevitable and new. His movements carried a grace that suggested countless repetitions, an arm sliding beneath your knees with the precision of someone who had memorized every curve of your form, while another pressed against your back with a strength that was both reassuring and possessive. He held you as though this was a dance choreographed long ago, a ritual he had performed a thousand times in the space between your waking and sleeping worlds.

"My little dreamer."

The words didn't just reach your ears – they settled deep in your chest, loosening knots you hadn't realized were tightening around your heart with every passing moment apart. His voice held the rich resonance of polished mahogany and the warmth of aged wine, a sound that belonged to no other but him.

When your gaze lifted to meet his, golden eyes already waited there, glowing with an intensity that made the casino's own radiance pale in comparison. They held you captive more surely than his arms, their depths speaking of countless nights missed, of moments counted in the breath between your visits.

Magnifico smiled.

Not the brilliant, calculated curve of his lips that dazzled the wandering dreamers seeking fortunes in his casino. Not the charismatic, practiced grin of a masterful host promising impossible riches to those who dared to test their luck.

This smile was different. This smile was reserved.

It reached his eyes first, softening their golden light to something warmer, more intimate. Relief washed across his features like the first rays of dawn after a long night, and in that moment, you understood – he had been waiting for you. He had missed you.

Magnifico's enormous horns framed his face like a crown of polished stone, their tips catching the golden light and refracting it into miniature rainbows that danced across your cheek. As he looked down at you, his thumb brushed across your side with a movement so absentminded it felt natural, as though his body had memorized the landscape of your form during those endless hours of separation. The touch sent a current through you that had nothing to do with the casino's electric atmosphere and everything to do with the magnetic pull that existed between your sleeping self and his waiting arms. Then, with a motion so slight you might have imagined it, he pulled you just a fraction closer against his chest, eliminating even that smallest distance between your bodies, as though the mere thought of space between you was unbearable.

"There you are..." he breathed, the words carrying a tenderness that bordered on reverence, each syllable a balm to parts of you that had been aching in ways you couldn't name during your waking hours. "I was beginning to think this evening would never come."

You laughed softly, the sound like tiny bells in the vast expanse of his casino, your fingers unconsciously tracing patterns on the fine fabric of his robe.

"I was only awake for a few hours."

"For you."

His smile faltered—not disappearing, merely softening into something touched by melancholy that momentarily dimmed the golden radiance of his eyes. It was as though the passage of time between your visits weighed upon him more heavily than any crown, more burdensome than all the fortunes won and lost in his domain combined.

"For me..." his voice lowered, becoming intimate enough that you felt it vibrate through his chest and into your very bones, "...it was much longer."

He began walking without waiting for a response, carrying you effortlessly through the endless halls of his kingdom. Each step was measured and deliberate, his stride so smooth you barely felt the movement, as though you were floating on a cloud of his making. Performers in impossible costumes paused mid-performance to bow as he passed, their painted faces expressing a reverence reserved for royalty. Dealers with impossibly perfect features smiled politely from behind glittering card tables where cards shuffled themselves, and dice obeyed unspoken commands. Guests who had come seeking impossible fortunes laughed and celebrated their winnings, raising crystal glasses toward their benevolent host, blissfully unaware that they wandered a place from which very few ever truly escaped—a realization that both thrilled and comforted you, for with Magnifico's arms around you, escape was the furthest thing from your mind.

The grand procession through his casino seemed to fade into meaningless motion behind you—performers contorting into impossible shapes, dice cascading across velvet tables, crystal glasses raised in celebration of fortunes gained and lost. Magnifico barely acknowledged them, his gaze never straying from your face as though you were the only true fortune in this kingdom of dreams.

"They're all so terribly predictable," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest and into your body where you lay pressed against him. The words were nearly lost in the casino's symphony of sounds, yet they reached you with startling clarity. "Money. Fame. Revenge. Power." His sigh carried all the theatrical weight of a performer who had delivered the same lines countless times, yet beneath the practiced drama lay something brittle, something genuine. "Everyone asks for something."

His golden eyes, which had been surveying his domain with the detached gaze of a ruler, returned to yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. In their depths, you saw reflections of chandeliers and spinning roulette wheels, yet somehow you knew he saw only you.

"You simply come back."

His grip tightened almost imperceptibly around you, not enough to be uncomfortable but enough to leave no doubt of his possession. You felt the subtle pressure of his fingers against your side, the arm supporting your back pressing just slightly closer, as though afraid you might dissolve between one breath and the next.

"I've missed you."

The confession hung between you, suspended in the golden air like dust motes dancing in sunbeams. The casino's revelry continued around you, a distant celebration you were no longer part of, existing instead in this bubble of intimacy he had created with nothing more than his presence and his words.

Then, quieter still, as though sharing a secret he had guarded since your last departure—

"Every night I wonder if this will be the one where you never return."

The vulnerability in his admission struck you with unexpected force, cracking open the polished facade of the casino master to reveal the lonely dreamer beneath. This was Magnifico unguarded, stripped of his theatrical masks, exposing a raw need that transcended the boundaries of dream and reality.

You frowned, your fingers unconsciously tightening on the lapel of his jacket, the fine fabric cool against your skin.

"I'm here now."

"I know."

Magnifico's smile returned, this time brighter than before, so luminous it seemed to eclipse the golden light of his casino. It was the kind of radiance that could blind, that could make one forget the boundaries between dream and reality.

"And that is all that matters," he murmured, the words both a promise and a confession.

Before you could respond, towering doors carved with intricate gilded filigree swung open of their own accord, revealing an enormous bedroom bathed in the warm glow of countless candles. The bed dominated the space, an ocean of fabric so soft it seemed to swallow the light, its pillows and blankets arranged with meticulous care to resemble clouds rather than mere bedding. Every corner of the chamber overflowed with treasures—books with leather bindings that gleamed in the candlelight, flowers of impossible hues that would never wilt, and countless trinkets and treasures that somehow echoed pieces of you, fragments of your life that he had collected across your nights apart.

Your gaze caught on something new, something that hadn't been there during your previous visit—a glint of silver on the dark mahogany nightstand, catching and reflecting the candlelight in tiny fractured rainbows that danced across your vision. You turned your head slightly, curious about this addition to his treasure-filled domain, your eyes adjusting to focus through the golden haze of his bedroom.

A framed photograph.

Not just any photograph, but one that seemed to pulse with an impossible vibrancy, as though capturing a moment more real than reality itself. One you didn't remember taking, couldn't have taken, showing you laughing in a field of wildflowers you'd never visited, your head thrown back in a moment of pure, unrestrained joy while sunlight filtered through petals in colors that shouldn't exist in any waking world. Your hair tangled around your head in ways that suggested a sudden breeze, and in the photograph, your eyes held a light so bright it seemed to challenge the candlelight in Magnifico's chamber. The frame itself was crafted from a silver so pure it seemed almost liquid, its edges engraved with patterns that matched the intricate filigree of his bedroom doors, suggesting it had been crafted with the same impossible care as everything else in his realm.

Magnifico noticed where your eyes lingered, his own following your line of sight before returning to your face. The shift was immediate—the confident, possessive host giving way to something else, something softer and more uncertain. The arm supporting your back trembled almost imperceptibly, a motion so minute you might have imagined it had you not been so attuned to every nuance of his presence. His golden eyes, which had been burning with intensity moments before, now flickered with something closer to apprehension, as though you had discovered a secret he hadn't meant to reveal.

"Oh," he breathed, the sound barely audible above the distant chiming of slot machines, each note perfectly in tune with the sudden acceleration of your own heart. The brilliant smile softened into something almost bashful, a flash of vulnerability in a being who commanded his own dream realm. His thumb, which had been stroking your side with proprietorial confidence, stilled for a moment before resuming its motion with renewed tenderness, as though seeking reassurance. "I thought it suited the room." The admission came out softer than intended, lacking his usual theatrical weight, and you realized this was perhaps the most honest thing he had ever said to you.

You blinked, momentarily disoriented by the impossible sight, your lashes fluttering against the golden air as your mind struggled to reconcile what your eyes were seeing with what your memories held. "I don't remember giving you that." The words came out softer than intended, almost a whisper of disbelief against the backdrop of his casino's distant melodies.

"You didn't."

He said it with such casual simplicity that you nearly missed the implication, the weight of what he was admitting, as though discussing something as mundane as the weather rather than bending the laws of reality itself. His voice held no apology, no explanation – only a matter-of-fact acceptance of his own power that was somehow more disarming than any theatrical display.

"I dreamed it," he continued, his gaze drifting over the room with quiet satisfaction, as though surveying a kingdom built from wishes rather than mortar and stone. The admission hung between you, impossible and intimate, as his golden eyes traced the edges of the silver frame before returning to yours with an intensity that suggested he had been dreaming of you far more often than you had realized. "It's easier than waiting for reality." The words carried the weight of countless lonely nights, of moments stretched thin between your visits, revealing how he had filled those empty hours not with his usual distractions, but with versions of you that existed only in his mind.

Something about the quiet certainty in his voice made your chest tighten, a strange mixture of flattery and unease coiling in your stomach like twin serpents. It was disarming how he spoke of bending reality to capture your image, as though such power were as natural as breathing. Yet, his casual admission left you breathless with implications that stretched beyond comprehension. The golden light of his casino seemed to intensify for a moment, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air like tiny stars, each one a testament to his impossible abilities and your place at the center of them all.

As he lowered you gently onto the edge of the enormous bed, the sheets cool against your skin like silk brushed with moonlight. There was no threat in his touch, no hint of malice. Only devotion, pure and absolute, the kind that had quietly crossed into obsession without either of you noticing when the line had been blurred. The mattress gave beneath your weight, drawing you deeper into his domain where reality and dream merged seamlessly, where his will shaped the very air you breathed.

Despite his towering size, Magnifico knelt before you, the motion somehow both graceful and reverent, as though he were supplicating before a deity rather than a mere mortal. His massive frame folding into position created a striking contrast between his formidable appearance and the gentle reverence in his actions. He took your hands into his own with surprising delicacy, his fingers long and elegant as they curled around yours, the touch sending waves of warmth that chased away the lingering chill of the sheets. His golden eyes remained fixed on yours, their intensity making it impossible to look away, as though he were trying to memorize every detail of your face in this moment, to store it away for the lonely hours when you would inevitably return to your waking world.

"You'll stay for a while this time, won't you?" His voice carried an almost hopeful quality, the casino master momentarily stripped of his theatrical persona, revealing the lonely dreamer beneath. "I know you always wake eventually," he admitted, his thumb stroking slowly across your knuckles with a rhythm that seemed to match the distant chiming of the slot machines. "I cannot stop that."

Another smile touched his lips, this one small, fragile, like morning frost on a windowpane.

"But until then..." He lifted your joined hands to his lips, pressing a feather-light kiss across your fingers, the touch so tender it sent shivers through you. "...allow me to pretend this world is kinder than the last."

For just a heartbeat, the music drifting through the casino seemed to falter, the chiming of slot machines and distant laughter pausing as though the entire dream realm held its breath, waiting for your answer.

Far below, a sound rose through the layers of revelry—something raw and grieving, swallowed by the chime of jackpots and the clink of glasses. The cry was a ghost in the machine.

Magnifico heard it. The faintest tic at the corner of his eye was the only betrayal. His smile, however, didn't waver. It deepened, warming into something private and possessive, a golden light meant only for you, shutting out the entire glittering, oblivious world.

And why not?

Dawn was inevitable.

And with it, the final, unbearable repetition of this loss. He would have to let you go. Again. The thought alone was a physical ache, a hollowness in his chest that even the endless cascade of dream-winnings couldn't fill. He held your gaze, a silent bargain passing between you. Stay. Just for now.

"Tell me what my dreamer needs," he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble that vibrated through your joined hands, the resonance settling deep in your chest like a second heartbeat. The words were spoken not as a question but as an invitation, a summons to speak the language that existed only between your sleeping self and his waiting arms. His golden eyes held yours, expectant but patient, their depths reflecting candlelight like twin pools of liquid gold, watching as though your answer held the weight of all creation, as if the entire dream realm had quieted to listen to this single moment of communion between you.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly tight with an emotion too vast to name, the answer coming as naturally as breathing, a name that belonged only to him in this sacred space where reality bent to will and time stretched like warm honey. The word formed on your tongue before you had consciously thought it, a truth that had always existed somewhere in the depths of your soul, waiting for this moment of perfect intimacy to emerge.

"My king."

A slow, satisfied grin spread across Magnifico's face, lighting him from within. He lived for this. The exact moment your reality bent to his will, the precise second you surrendered the waking world to the sanctuary of his dream. A soft hum of approval rumbled deep in his chest, a vibration of ownership. He rose, his body unfurling like a great cat, all fluid grace and contained power. With one gentle tug, he guided you from the bed's edge and arranged you amidst the mountain of pillows, positioning you like the most precious treasure in his vault.

He loomed over you, a god carved from shadow and gold. The candlelight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the proud curve of his horns, the impossible breadth of his shoulders. His massive form eclipsed the world, blocking out even the dazzling casino lights until there was only him. Only the heat radiating from his skin and the promise in his eyes.

"Then let your king worship at the altar of your return," he murmured, the words a sacred vow and a possessive claim. His hands came to rest on either side of your head, caging you in, and you could feel the raw power thrumming just beneath his skin.

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. "You were made for this," he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "To be worshipped by me."

His hands, rough from countless shuffles and yet deft as a thief, discovered the edge of your shirt. There was nothing rushed in the way he worked, only a purpose that bordered on reverence. He didn't merely undress you; he unveiled you, like a priceless artifact he'd only dared to dream of. Each plane of skin that surfaced was met with the devotion in his eyes, the faintest ghost of a caress from his work-worn fingers. He mapped the contours of your form with an artist's obsession, as if terrified they'd altered, softened away in the time apart.

When you were laid bare before him, he nestled himself between your thighs, his sturdy frame a firm anchor that coaxed them apart. He lingered there, suspended in a moment that stretched taut, his gaze a roving flame. The force of his scrutiny was a palpable heat, an invisible brand that marked every inch of your being as his own. The air itself seemed to thicken, growing heavy and fragrant with the weight of his longing, with the ghost of all the cold, empty beds he'd faced alone.

"Divine," the word was a whisper of air against your fevered flesh. "A man could burn at the stake and still count himself unworthy of this."

Then he lowered his head to claim his prize.

His tongue was a brand, searing a map of ownership across your flesh with the first swipe. It wasn't a question, but a declaration—a slow, deliberate claim that set your entire nervous system alight with electric fire. He charted your most secret landscapes with a devilish precision, rediscovering every hidden nerve and responsive rise, his breath a hot ghost against your sex. Each deliberate exploration was punctuated by a sharp inhale from you, your body arching against the pillowy clouds that seemed to pulse with a life of their own, mirroring the frantic beat of your heart.

His colossal horns caught the flickering candlelight, fracturing it into a thousand dancing shards that painted your skin in liquid gold. They formed a diabolical halo around his head, a stark, beautiful contrast to the way he knelt between your thighs. Your king, brought to his knees, his entire being focused on the altar of your body.

Eternity stretched thin in the heated air between you. He was a master of this art, drawing out each moment until your universe contracted to the exquisite pressure of his mouth, the possessive sting of his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and the iron grip of his hands molding your hips, holding you splayed and vulnerable. You were a feast laid out for his pleasure, a sacred offering for a dark god. Your fingers, initially seeking purchase in the moonlit silk of the sheets, soon buried themselves in the thick curls of his hair. You pulled, hard enough to make his head tilt back, to force a ragged groan from his chest. The sound vibrated through your core, a seismic tremor that left you quivering, an aftershock promising a greater quake to come.

"Magnifico," the name tore from your throat, raw and desperate, a prayer to a deity you were only now beginning to worship. His golden eyes, already molten, now bled into something darker, more primal, swallowing you whole.

"Mine," he snarled, the word a brand against your skin, vibrating through your bones, an ancient claim that resonated with every cell. "Every fucking inch of you, now and forever."

He feasted with a predator's intensity and a sinner's devotion, his focus a physical force, pinning you in the heart of his dream realm. The cacophony of the casino—the relentless clang of jackpots, the phantom shrieks of winners and losers, the endless murmur of a thousand other fantasies—bled away into static, a worthless backdrop to the symphony he was conducting on your flesh. The universe had contracted, compressed into this singular point of contact. There was only the punishing pleasure of his mouth, the sweet agony of his teeth, the slick, relentless heat building in your core, a storm gathering intensity with every calculated thrust, every possessive scrape of his tongue against your most sensitive flesh. He watched you, a voyeur to his own creation, his gaze drinking in the frantic pulse in your throat, the way your nails scored his shoulders, the broken, breathy sobs you couldn't contain, cataloging every shudder and gasp like a connoisseur savoring a rare vintage.

"Fall apart for me," he commanded, his voice a dark caress, a velvet-wrapped threat that bypassed your ears and went straight to the tightening knot in your belly. "Drown me in it. I want to taste your surrender."

The command shattered your control, an explosive trigger that sent molten lava flooding through your veins. Your orgasm didn't just arrive—it detonated. A white-hot cataclysm seared through your nerves, obliterating coherent thought and leaving behind only the raw, screaming language of your body. His name tore from your throat, a guttural cry that was muffled by the decadent darkness of his chambers. Magnifico's grip tightened, branding your hips as he anchored you through the convulsions wracking your frame. His mouth was an insatiable force, a vortex that pulled at your core, milking the tremors from your very bones until you collapsed into a spent, trembling heap against the silken sheets.

When he finally rose, the lower half of his face shone, slick with your climax. His eyes, twin coals in the gloaming, held a fire of raw, primal possession that threatened to incinerate you where you lay. He loomed, a titan eclipsing your world, and the thick, rigid weight of his erection nudged your inner thigh—a burning, deliberate promise of the claiming yet to come. It was a testament to a restraint so absolute, so fiercely held, it felt like a physical presence between you.

He was a masterpiece sculpted from shadow and sin.

A beautiful nightmare.

A god carved from raw desire.

And he was wholly, terrifyingly, bound to you.

His mouth descended upon yours, a collision of flesh and heat that was less a kiss and more a brutal conquest. The taste of your own climax on his tongue was an intoxicating aphrodisiac, a salty-sweet proof of his mastery that ignited a fresh wave of heat in your belly. It was a frantic, filthy tangle, a war of teeth and tongues where his dominance was an absolute, breathtaking certainty. He nipped your lip, a sharp, stinging bite that was a clear mark of ownership, then laved the hurt with a slow, deliberate sweep of his tongue, a masterful blend of pain and pleasure that left you dizzy and utterly captive.

"Look at you," he snarled, the sound vibrating against your lips as his greedy hands seized your body, branding every curve and hollow as his conquest. "So fucking perfect. So... mine."

"My king," you gasped, the word igniting a wilder fire in the energy already thrashing through his form.

He shuddered, a violent tremor, his muscles clenching and releasing like a great beast's as if fighting some internal war. A guttural groan tore from his throat, raw and ragged, vibrating through the very air between you as he surged against you, positioning the rigid, searing heat of himself at your entrance. His chest heaved with each ragged breath, the muscles of his abdomen contracting in waves, evidence of the monumental restraint he was exercising. He held himself there, the broad crown of his cock tormenting you, stretching you on a promise of utter possession, his immense size a delicious ache that made you tremble beneath him. 

He glared down, his golden eyes molten with raw, primal lust, the candlelight dancing in their depths like trapped stars, searching yours for a flicker of hesitation. There was a desperate, hungry question in them that he tried to smother beneath the facade of the dominant god-king, a vulnerability so brief you might have missed it had you not been searching for it yourself. His horns cast elongated shadows across the walls, creating twisted patterns that seemed to writhe with the same tension that thrummed through his body. The air grew thick with anticipation, heavy with the scent of his desire and yours, a heady cocktail that made your head spin and your heart hammer against your ribs like a trapped bird.

You answered by locking your legs around his waist, the movement fluid and deliberate, your thighs pressing against his powerful frame with an urgency that surprised even yourself. You yanked him down in a silent, desperate demand for the claim he was poised to deliver, your body arching to meet his, your nails digging into the broad expanse of his shoulders. The action was both invitation and command, a surrender that was simultaneously a taking, and in that moment, you understood the paradox of this power exchange between you. 

His golden eyes flared with something akin to relief as your body spoke the language his lips couldn't form, the desperate question in his gaze answered without words. Your torso pressed against his chest, the heat of his skin searing into yours, his heartbeat a wild, frantic rhythm against you. The world beyond this room, beyond this bed, ceased to exist—there was only the space between your bodies, the impossible tension stretched taut as a bowstring, and the mutual understanding that this moment had been written in the stars of his dream realm long before you had fallen asleep tonight.

Magnifico speared into you, a single, devastating thrust that buried every searing inch of him to the hilt. The world dissolved, all sensation collapsing into the brutal, perfect stretch of him filling you completely. He was immense, an undeniable weight pinning you in this fever-dream, his body a fortress of muscle and bone that made you feel both fragile and cherished all at once. He held himself there, buried deep, his forehead crushed to yours, your breaths mingling in the charged air as his chest heaved against yours. The only sounds were the ghostly chimes from the casino floor and the thunder of your own blood, a frantic drumbeat that echoed the desperate rhythm of your heart. Your fingers, which had been gripping his shoulders, went slack with shock, your body struggling to process the overwhelming sensation of being so completely, irrevocably claimed.

"I'd forgotten..." he rasped, the words torn from his throat like a prayer torn from the lips of a dying man. "God, I'd forgotten how it feels to be whole." His voice was raw with emotion, stripped of all theatrical artifice, revealing the desperate need that lay beneath his godlike facade. His hands, which had been bracketing your head, shifted to grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh with a possessiveness that bordered on pain, a silent promise that he would never let you go again.

Then he began to move.

His rhythm was a slow, deliberate torment at first, deep, grinding strokes that punished every sensitive nerve. Each withdrawal was an exquisite agony, a hollow ache that was immediately filled by the glorious return of his length, a reminder of the void that existed when he wasn't inside you. His gaze was molten, drinking in every hitch of your breath, every tremor that wracked your body, every desperate flutter of your lashes. He was a student of your undoing, determined to learn every lesson, to memorize every response until he could orchestrate your pleasure with the precision of a master conductor.

"Do you feel that, my dreamer?" he purred, his hips rolling in a devastatingly slow circle that splintered your vision, the movement sending waves of pleasure so intense they bordered on pain coursing through your veins. "That's where you belong. Split open on me. Greedy for everything I give." His words were a brand against your skin, a claim that resonated deep in your soul, a truth that your body had known all along even as your mind struggled to accept it.

Magnifico’s words were as intoxicating as his body, a verbal caress that seeped into your very bones, stoking the inferno already building in your core until you felt as though you might combust from the sheer intensity of it. You arched against him, a desperate offering, your hands flying to grip his broad shoulders where muscle shifted like living stone beneath your palms. Your nails scraped against his skin, leaving faint red trails in their wake, marks of possession that you both could see and feel. He didn't flinch at the sting, just a low rumble of approval vibrating deep in his chest, the sound resonating through your entire body like the purr of some great beast satisfied with its prize.

"Harder," you begged, the word tearing from your throat as a breathy whisper that barely disturbed the charged air between you. "My king..." The honorific fell from your lips like a prayer, a sacred utterance that held all the power in this strange, dream-wrought realm.

"As you wish," he growled, the words dark and rich like spilled wine, and he answered your plea with a snap of his hips that drove him even deeper inside you.

The pace shifted dramatically, turning from a languid exploration into a primal, demanding rhythm that spoke of ancient hungers and timeless needs. The bed absorbed the force of his thrusts with soft sighs of displaced air, but you felt them all the way to your soul, each impact sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire being. He was no longer just inside you; he was claiming you, branding you, marking you as his from the inside out, each thrust a renewed vow of ownership.

"Mine," he grunted with each powerful thrust, "All. Mine."

The word became a mantra, a sacred worship chanted in the cathedral of your shared dream, each utterance a fresh claim that resonated deep in your very marrow. You met him thrust for thrust, your body rising to meet his with an instinctual rhythm that defied conscious thought, your legs tightening around his waist like vises, pulling him deeper, seeking to merge with him completely until there was no telling where you ended and he began. The coil of pleasure in your belly wound tighter and tighter, a spring compressed to its breaking point, the tension building until your entire frame trembled with it.

"I'm going to fill you," he groaned, his rhythm faltering slightly, becoming erratic as his control began to fray at the edges. "I'm going to mark you so deep you'll feel me when you wake. You'll carry my essence with you, a reminder of who you belong to, even in that other world where I cannot follow."

The words, a raw and primal promise that spoke of ownership beyond the boundaries of dream and waking, sent a jolt of pure need through you that electrified every nerve ending. Your release crashed over you without warning, a blinding, all-consuming wave that left you shaking and breathless, your vision dissolving into flashes of gold and silver behind your closed eyelids. Your inner walls clenched around him, a desperate, rhythmic grip that pulled a ragged cry from his lips, a sound of both pain and profound pleasure as he felt your surrender. Your body arched into his, a silent offering, every muscle tensing then releasing in waves as you trembled through your climax, your fingernails carving crescent moons into the powerful muscles of his back. The world narrowed to this singular sensation, this perfect union, this moment where your dream king claimed you in the most elemental way possible, marking you as his from the inside out.

With a final, powerful thrust that seemed to drive him into your very soul, Magnifico buried himself to the hilt and spilled into you, a hot, possessive flood that seemed to go on forever. He trembled against you, his massive body shuddering with the force of his release, a low, guttural moan torn from his chest that sounded both like victory and defeat, like a man who had found his heaven only to know it was temporary. You could feel each pulse of his climax, each hot spurt that filled you, his essence searing into your very being, creating a connection that defied the boundaries between dream and reality. The distant chimes of the casino seemed to fade into nothingness again, all of creation holding its breath in reverence for this sacred act of possession and surrender. His horns brushed against your temple, the bone smooth and cool against your fevered skin, a reminder of the otherworldly nature of the being who held you captive in his dream realm.

He collapsed onto you, not crushing you, but blanketing you, a heavy, grounding weight that was both a comfort and a cage. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breathing ragged and uneven, each exhale a warm gust against your sweat-slicked skin that sent shivers through your already sensitized body. You held him, your arms wrapped around his broad back, your fingers stroking through the silk of his hair, tangling in the soft strands as if you could anchor him to you, to this moment, despite knowing dawn would inevitably separate you. The scent of him surrounded you—an intoxicating blend of spices, something wild and elemental, and now the musky evidence of your combined desire—a fragrance you knew would linger in your memory long after you woke.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your mingled breathing, the distant, ethereal chimes of the casino, and the thunderous beat of your own heart. You were boneless, sated, floating in a sea of blissful contentment, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. His weight on you was a delicious pressure, a tangible reminder that for now, you were his, claimed and marked in this dream world where his will was law. His hand, which had been gripping your hip with bruising force, relaxed, his thumb now stroking lazy circles against your skin, a gentle, possessive gesture that spoke volumes of the tender darkness beneath his dominating exterior.

"Mine," he whispered against your skin, the word a raw, vulnerable prayer that vibrated through your very bones. His voice, usually so commanding and theatrical, was now stripped bare, revealing the desperate need that lay beneath. "You'll stay with me now, won't you? We can be like this forever. Just us." His fingers now traced delicate patterns across your back, as if trying to memorize every curve, every hollow, to hold onto this moment for as long as possible.

The words, so full of desperate hope, sent a chill down your spine that had nothing to do with pleasure. You tightened your hold on him, a silent acknowledgment of the impossible bargain he was offering. A dream where morning never came. A gilded cage where you were both prisoner and prize. Your heart ached with the knowledge that this perfect moment was already crumbling, that with every second that passed, dawn drew closer, threatening to pull you back to a world where he was nothing more than a fading memory.

"You know I can't," you murmured, your voice gentle but firm. The words felt like stones in your throat, heavy and painful to speak. You reached up to cup his face, your thumb stroking the sharp line of his jaw, trying to convey all the emotions you couldn't put into words—the longing, the regret, the bittersweet knowledge that this was all you could ever have.

His body stiffened against yours. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his golden eyes no longer burning with desire, but filled with a profound, bottomless sadness that seemed to stretch into eternity. The candlelight caught the unshed tears shimmering in his eyes, making them appear like twin pools of liquid gold.

"Then I'll make you," he said, the words a quiet, terrifying promise that hung in the air between you. He captured your lips in a kiss that was soft, sweet, and utterly heartbreaking. It was a kiss of desperation, of a man willing to bargain with the fabric of reality itself to keep what he cherished most. 

"I'll make this dream so perfect, so real, that you'll never want to leave. I'll give you everything. Anything you've ever wanted. Just stay."

Your silence was not a choice.

It was an inevitability. Because as the words left his mouth, a cold dread coiled in your gut. The universe itself seemed to hold its breath.

Then, the rupture began.

It wasn't a sound, but a feeling. A sickening lurch, like the floor dropping out from under you. The garish gold of the casino bled into a murky twilight. The cloying sweetness of expensive perfume soured, replaced by the stale, lonely scent of your own unwashed sheets. The triumphant clang of a nearby jackpot warped into a distant, mournful chime. Every sensation that was him, that was this place, was being violently, silently torn away.

"No." The word was a guttural denial, fractured with a terror that stripped him of all royalty. His arms became a cage, a frantic, futile pressure against your ribs. "Don't you dare. Stay. Please, just stay."

He wasn't looking at you anymore. He was devouring you, his eyes wild, trying to burn your image onto the backs of his eyelids for the bleak eternity he now faced. The possessive monarch was a phantom, replaced by this broken man clinging to a ghost.

"I—" The confession ripped from his throat, a raw, unvarnished thing born of pure desperation. "Gods, I love you. More than this rotten kingdom, more than my own soul. I love you."

The words were a death knell. They were the final, cruel anchor that pulled you under.

And so, the world ended.

Not with a bang, but a quiet, sickening tear. The casino didn't explode; it frayed at the edges, threads of golden light unraveling into an empty void. The glittering chandeliers dissolved into dust. And Magnifico—your captor, your sickness, your everything—he was the first to go.

His form flickered, losing substance, until the weight in your arms was nothing but a memory. His face dissolved last, his expression a perfect, agonized mask of loss.

You felt the ghost of his mouth against yours one last time, a final, desperate kiss that tasted of ash and cheap wine.

Then, nothing. Just the cold, empty reality of your room, and the crushing weight of a love that could only exist in a dream.

While it's not the first time you had fallen asleep in his main tent while he worked, it's the first time you'd done so in his medical chair (which was amusing in itself). Something that was a source of terror for others, but a place of comfort for you— if Doctor was a reader of things beyond medical textbooks and botanical guides, he might have thought of something poetic about the situation, a certain beauty to be found in the layers of complete irony.

… he'd stopped working sometime ago. Though the pen was still gripped in his hand and the papers of notes and chemical results askew across his desk, all Doctor could do is stare at you sleeping so peacefully on the chair, body curled up with a blanket you had taken with you from elsewhere in the circus. Possibly Pierrot's tent, maybe from your own items that came with you when you moved out of that little apartment. Maybe somewhere else altogether.

It doesn't matter to Doctor precisely where the blanket came from— all the same, it's not his body wrapped around yours. Not his feathers caressing your skin, feeling your heartbeat thump low and rhythmic in the center of your chest. It isn't his hands on your chest, his teeth at your pulse—

Ah. Those feelings again. The ones that made his heart begin to ache. Not… painfully. Just… ache. Like a wound that has healed over but not fully knitted together. Like there was ice in his chest cavity, cold and numbing and sharp and seeping. Of course that wasn't the case; the chance of having any sort of cardiac issue was rather nonexistent, and Doctor knew he didn't literally have ice lodged inside of his ribcage.

That would be rather illogical.

But still, he ached merely watching you sleep and breathe and exist near him. So gentle, so fragile, so… lovely.

"Sometimes I wish I knew how to say these things I feel for you, sweetie," Doctor murmurs, voice filling the quiet space. "I don't have the words you do. You are so very good with your words— I have never wanted to hear someone speak as much as I do with you."

He pauses, listening to the dull, gentle, beautifully rhythmic beating of your heart. A heart he has heard quicken and skip and slow and thensome.

Such a beautiful, lovely thing it is.

For a moment he feels… jealous. Jealous? Yes, he supposes it is jealousy weaving through him, leaving the creature unable to concentrate on his work the longer you lay there vulnerable and unconscious. Jealousy is an… especially strange emotion— it isn't confusing by any stretch of the imagination, but Doctor is left powerless against its powerful weight all the same.

"I can't chase you like Pierrot, charm you like Harlequin," Doctor muses to himself, looking down at the scalpel in his hand and how it slices through the flesh of a specimen he probably won't be able to dissect properly. He's too distracted. So he continues, "I am not as diligent as Ticket Taker nor as confident as Jester— and I don't believe my words or hands could ever be as gentle as hers were."

He sighs, dropping the metal tool with a clatter against the metal tray, the scent of old blood making Doctor feel more agitated than relaxed. He allows himself a moment to change his gloves not for himself, but for you. You, the little human who needs to be treated gently in comparison to them. The human with a sweet smile. The human who is so stubborn. The human who, despite everything they had been through together and individually, seems to care about them all a great deal.

Love and jealousy and hunger and ache— to Doctor they're all the same feelings, muddled and gray-toned inside of his colorblind heart. But he wants so badly to see the shades, the nuances. Some part of him desires nothing more than understanding. But when understanding fails, observation and study often make up for it. Maybe that's why Doctor enjoys his experiments— to try and understand all the parts of the world that make no sense in a way his brain.

He stalks towards your sleeping form, voice low and gentle, but dripping with something he couldn't describe. It tastes almost like blood.

"You know how hard it is to let you walk out of this tent? The restraint I have to enact so that I don't strap you down to this very share you seem to be oh-so-comfortable in?"

You don't answer, obviously unconcious and (given how you snuggle even deeper into the blanket) completely unaware of Doctor's own monologue.

He huffs. How can frustration and affection swirl so perfectly within him at such a sight? How can he make you understand all of these feelings threatening to burst from his chest and bleed down his torso?

"I want to love you, sweetie, but I do not know how. I don't know what love is like— I just know…" he sighs, mask suddenly feeling too tight across his face. It's an annoying sensation that reminds him of when he's molting, all itchy and uncomfortable. "… I want you near me. All the time. I want your smile. Your laughter. I want you to tell me about your day. I want to share space with you, to see you fall asleep on my chair and my bed—"

Doctor has to chuckle, breaking him off from his thoughts. He barely remembered to sleep in his own bed— but maybe with you waiting for him, he'd remember more often.

"It is a shame you are not a monster," he finally says, grief filling every syllable. "I cannot bite you. Cannot… mark you. My kind is… not intimate in the way humans are. Familiar, intimate even? You hold my hand without reason and ask me questions without needing the answer. So confusing of you, sweetie…"

He sighs, reaching a hand up to adjust the mask over his true face, wishing for a moment he could take it off and lean over you like a ravenous phantom just to indulge in the addictive taste of your flesh and blood.

Oh, the taste…

You can't wake up now. You can't open your eyes to see him like this, shamefully feral and on the edge of sanity. You're not supposed to see him like this, the terrifying creature that he is to most humans. You're not supposed to be afraid of him— not you. Never you.

"I want…." Doctor takes in a deep breath. It's amazing how big his hand is compared to yours, the size difference stark and stunning in how he holds the headrest of the chair in a hapless attempt to calm himself.

"I want to hold you. Tight. Tight enough that your body melds with mind. I want our ribs entwined and our hearts to beat together— every drop of blood, every scrap of viscera—

I want to be so entirely part of you and you of me that nobody could identify one from the other. I want to feel your pulse sing for me, I want our organs to dance together and our veins to knit into eachother like a mating veil so that we are always and forever complete, I want—"

He stops, words and noise ceasing entirely the moment you begin to stir. Doctor immediately as back and adjusts himself, even reaching a hand up to his leather mask to make sure it was still on tight and secure— you don't need to wake up to that yet. Maybe one day he'd let you see him. Maybe one day.

"Hmm…. Doct….tor?"

Your eyes flutter open, a soft and small motion that he notices instantly. His blood is still searing inside of him, choking him for a sense of decency he knows that humans feel most comfortable with. He has to force an answer across his tongue and pretend he doesn't want to grab you and secure you onto his table so that you could never ever leave him—

"You fell asleep," he says, the act sublime. "I was… about to clean up for the evening. Didn't mean to disturb you, my sleepy, oblivious little patient."

You're too groggy to pick up the odd wording. Doctor tilts his head after a moment.

"Are you well enough to go home?"

You blink, then let out a yawn. Doctor suddenly understands all of the things that Pierrot goes on about whenever he's being overly sentimental, all the things that he once pondered about. Oh, how suddenly Doctor begins to understand it all.

This wretched, terrifying, beautiful, obsessive feeling they call love.

Because there's nothing in the universe that could compare to the emotions inside of Doctor's body soul and heart when your soft lips part to answer him with such delicious honesty:

"…Could I stay with you tonight? I'm… really tired actually."

It's a good thing you can't hear their heartbeats, because otherwise Doctor wouldn't have been able to hide his utter elation. He wouldn't be able to hide the way his body tenses at the thought of you sleeping next to him— he'd probably end up wearing his uniform, and you'd probably ask him about it, but none of that mattered when he knew he'd spend the quiet hours of the early morning watching you slumber with his hands settled on your waist.

He could count your breathing rate. He could notate all the blemishes on your skin. He could attempt to calculate the rhythm of your pulse and how your body relaxed in unconscious.

"Of course you can, sweetie," he finally says, pretending to be feeling everything he isn't in that very moment. "I enjoy having you around me." I love you. "You are always welcome in my tent." I want you to stay forever.

Doctor doesn't know for sure what love is, but he thinks he's on the right track— perhaps some more experiments are in order.

While it's not the first time you had fallen asleep in his main tent while he worked, it's the first time you'd done so in his medical chair (which was amusing in itself). Something that was a source of terror for others, but a place of comfort for you— if Doctor was a reader of things beyond medical textbooks and botanical guides, he might have thought of something poetic about the situation, a certain beauty to be found in the layers of complete irony.

… he'd stopped working sometime ago. Though the pen was still gripped in his hand and the papers of notes and chemical results askew across his desk, all Doctor could do is stare at you sleeping so peacefully on the chair, body curled up with a blanket you had taken with you from elsewhere in the circus. Possibly Pierrot's tent, maybe from your own items that came with you when you moved out of that little apartment. Maybe somewhere else altogether.

It doesn't matter to Doctor precisely where the blanket came from— all the same, it's not his body wrapped around yours. Not his feathers caressing your skin, feeling your heartbeat thump low and rhythmic in the center of your chest. It isn't his hands on your chest, his teeth at your pulse—

Ah. Those feelings again. The ones that made his heart begin to ache. Not… painfully. Just… ache. Like a wound that has healed over but not fully knitted together. Like there was ice in his chest cavity, cold and numbing and sharp and seeping. Of course that wasn't the case; the chance of having any sort of cardiac issue was rather nonexistent, and Doctor knew he didn't literally have ice lodged inside of his ribcage.

That would be rather illogical.

But still, he ached merely watching you sleep and breathe and exist near him. So gentle, so fragile, so… lovely.

"Sometimes I wish I knew how to say these things I feel for you, sweetie," Doctor murmurs, voice filling the quiet space. "I don't have the words you do. You are so very good with your words— I have never wanted to hear someone speak as much as I do with you."

He pauses, listening to the dull, gentle, beautifully rhythmic beating of your heart. A heart he has heard quicken and skip and slow and thensome.

Such a beautiful, lovely thing it is.

For a moment he feels… jealous. Jealous? Yes, he supposes it is jealousy weaving through him, leaving the creature unable to concentrate on his work the longer you lay there vulnerable and unconscious. Jealousy is an… especially strange emotion— it isn't confusing by any stretch of the imagination, but Doctor is left powerless against its powerful weight all the same.

"I can't chase you like Pierrot, charm you like Harlequin," Doctor muses to himself, looking down at the scalpel in his hand and how it slices through the flesh of a specimen he probably won't be able to dissect properly. He's too distracted. So he continues, "I am not as diligent as Ticket Taker nor as confident as Jester— and I don't believe my words or hands could ever be as gentle as hers were."

He sighs, dropping the metal tool with a clatter against the metal tray, the scent of old blood making Doctor feel more agitated than relaxed. He allows himself a moment to change his gloves not for himself, but for you. You, the little human who needs to be treated gently in comparison to them. The human with a sweet smile. The human who is so stubborn. The human who, despite everything they had been through together and individually, seems to care about them all a great deal.

Love and jealousy and hunger and ache— to Doctor they're all the same feelings, muddled and gray-toned inside of his colorblind heart. But he wants so badly to see the shades, the nuances. Some part of him desires nothing more than understanding. But when understanding fails, observation and study often make up for it. Maybe that's why Doctor enjoys his experiments— to try and understand all the parts of the world that make no sense in a way his brain.

He stalks towards your sleeping form, voice low and gentle, but dripping with something he couldn't describe. It tastes almost like blood.

"You know how hard it is to let you walk out of this tent? The restraint I have to enact so that I don't strap you down to this very share you seem to be oh-so-comfortable in?"

You don't answer, obviously unconcious and (given how you snuggle even deeper into the blanket) completely unaware of Doctor's own monologue.

He huffs. How can frustration and affection swirl so perfectly within him at such a sight? How can he make you understand all of these feelings threatening to burst from his chest and bleed down his torso?

"I want to love you, sweetie, but I do not know how. I don't know what love is like— I just know…" he sighs, mask suddenly feeling too tight across his face. It's an annoying sensation that reminds him of when he's molting, all itchy and uncomfortable. "… I want you near me. All the time. I want your smile. Your laughter. I want you to tell me about your day. I want to share space with you, to see you fall asleep on my chair and my bed—"

Doctor has to chuckle, breaking him off from his thoughts. He barely remembered to sleep in his own bed— but maybe with you waiting for him, he'd remember more often.

"It is a shame you are not a monster," he finally says, grief filling every syllable. "I cannot bite you. Cannot… mark you. My kind is… not intimate in the way humans are. Familiar, intimate even? You hold my hand without reason and ask me questions without needing the answer. So confusing of you, sweetie…"

He sighs, reaching a hand up to adjust the mask over his true face, wishing for a moment he could take it off and lean over you like a ravenous phantom just to indulge in the addictive taste of your flesh and blood.

Oh, the taste…

You can't wake up now. You can't open your eyes to see him like this, shamefully feral and on the edge of sanity. You're not supposed to see him like this, the terrifying creature that he is to most humans. You're not supposed to be afraid of him— not you. Never you.

"I want…." Doctor takes in a deep breath. It's amazing how big his hand is compared to yours, the size difference stark and stunning in how he holds the headrest of the chair in a hapless attempt to calm himself.

"I want to hold you. Tight. Tight enough that your body melds with mind. I want our ribs entwined and our hearts to beat together— every drop of blood, every scrap of viscera—

I want to be so entirely part of you and you of me that nobody could identify one from the other. I want to feel your pulse sing for me, I want our organs to dance together and our veins to knit into eachother like a mating veil so that we are always and forever complete, I want—"

He stops, words and noise ceasing entirely the moment you begin to stir. Doctor immediately as back and adjusts himself, even reaching a hand up to his leather mask to make sure it was still on tight and secure— you don't need to wake up to that yet. Maybe one day he'd let you see him. Maybe one day.

"Hmm…. Doct….tor?"

Your eyes flutter open, a soft and small motion that he notices instantly. His blood is still searing inside of him, choking him for a sense of decency he knows that humans feel most comfortable with. He has to force an answer across his tongue and pretend he doesn't want to grab you and secure you onto his table so that you could never ever leave him—

"You fell asleep," he says, the act sublime. "I was… about to clean up for the evening. Didn't mean to disturb you, my sleepy, oblivious little patient."

You're too groggy to pick up the odd wording. Doctor tilts his head after a moment.

"Are you well enough to go home?"

You blink, then let out a yawn. Doctor suddenly understands all of the things that Pierrot goes on about whenever he's being overly sentimental, all the things that he once pondered about. Oh, how suddenly Doctor begins to understand it all.

This wretched, terrifying, beautiful, obsessive feeling they call love.

Because there's nothing in the universe that could compare to the emotions inside of Doctor's body soul and heart when your soft lips part to answer him with such delicious honesty:

"…Could I stay with you tonight? I'm… really tired actually."

It's a good thing you can't hear their heartbeats, because otherwise Doctor wouldn't have been able to hide his utter elation. He wouldn't be able to hide the way his body tenses at the thought of you sleeping next to him— he'd probably end up wearing his uniform, and you'd probably ask him about it, but none of that mattered when he knew he'd spend the quiet hours of the early morning watching you slumber with his hands settled on your waist.

He could count your breathing rate. He could notate all the blemishes on your skin. He could attempt to calculate the rhythm of your pulse and how your body relaxed in unconscious.

"Of course you can, sweetie," he finally says, pretending to be feeling everything he isn't in that very moment. "I enjoy having you around me." I love you. "You are always welcome in my tent." I want you to stay forever.

Doctor doesn't know for sure what love is, but he thinks he's on the right track— perhaps some more experiments are in order.

Ticket Taker loves control. He wants to know that every little aspect of you is something he has jurisdiction over. 

Ticket Taker putting you in chastity for the few times you’re out without him… The belt is clunky and uncomfortable, a constant reminder of him wherever you go, even when he’s not there. The metal cinching around your waist makes you sit up straight to avoid it digging into your sides, the metal cupping over your cunt constantly teasing you without giving you any real stimulation. He loves the control of it all, knowing you were constantly aware of his presence no matter how far you were from him. 

What counts as a mirror though? Is it any reflective surface?

Hypothetically, if you had a metal chastity on, could Ticket Taker keep a pocket mirror at his desk while he works on paperwork? When he gets too stressed with balancing accounts, making sure legalities are correct, all he’d have to do is reach over to the little handheld mirror, sinking his cock into it as soft, breathy groans come from his mouth. He didn’t really care what you were doing or who would see your face flush bright red as his cock sunk deep into you- you were his pet, his toy. You were the one who signed up for this. 

Imagine having to run somewhere private, a back alley or a bathroom somewhere, anywhere that other people wouldn’t see your eyes roll back, or hear the moans spilling from your lips as you held a hand over your mouth, desperately trying to keep quiet, You couldn’t even rub your clit to get off, all you could do was take him until he decided he was done. 

He’d leave you to deal with the mess after cumming inside of you, setting the small mirror to the side, some of your slick still on the edges of it and coating his cock. You’d be stuck with his cum inside you until you got back to him, where he could unlock it for you. You’d be so pent up by then you’d beg him to unlock it, to touch you properly, only for him to send you to clean up, hiding the sadistic grin behind his mask as you whined dejectedly. 

If you’re good for him, he’ll let you cum. Only after he’s had his fill of seeing you desperate, though.

~~~

After another successful night for the circus, and all was properly shut down and closed for the night. And you were able to run back home to do some final preparations for what you had planned tonight. You headed to Ticket Taker tent to talk to him, hoping your plan on mind would work.

Even though he took care of his tasks for the day, and more thanks to your help. He still was able to find new stuff to work on as you found him at his desk, busy flipping through some papers, signing stuff. Clearly focused on work again.

"What can I assist you with, my dear?" He asked before you could speak as you entered his tent. Not lifting his head up from the papers he was reading.

"Um...I just...was wondering if you'd like to come back home with me for tonight, to spend some time together?"

He paused in his actions, finally looking up at you. "A odd request...For what's the occasion?"

"Well...It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you." You said with a nervous smile.

"I'm not quite fond of surprises. You know that. Best to be direct about it, then I'll give you my answer over your question."

You should of expected this, sighing softly as you prepared to give out the surprise. "I wish for us to spend the night together for your birthday."

He was quiet after hearing that, then he set his pen down on the desk and leaned back in his seat. "Just the two of us? Quite a bold request. With how you worded, it it almost sounds as if you're asking me out on a date."

"...And if it was?" You felt more nervous now as your heart started to race.

He picked up on the sound of your heart beating fast, finding amusement from it. "Then I'll say you are quite foolish...But brave to ask."

He looked back at the work before himself. Perhaps a break would be best to re-energize himself...But leaving the circus at such a hour. He knew Jester and the others will be fine, but yet he still worried to leave them alone.

"I'll talk to Jester about this, then I'll get back to you with my answer."

"Oh...Okay." You looked a little disappointed but you understood.

After putting away the work he was currently working on, he rose up from his seat and started to walk out of his tent. "Stay and wait here until I arrive back."

"Yes sir."

You did as you were told, and waited for his arrival back. It didn't take him long to return, as he was now in his human disguise. A clear sign he got the OK to leave, and he was ready to go.

"I take it you don't have much in your home to eat, do you?" He said as he fixed his tie.

"Actually, I bought some groceries for tonight, and more stuff maybe we can use." Your voice trailed off from the last thing you added, making him raise a brow in suspicion.

"Very well. Let's go shall we?" He gestured you to walk first out of his tent, as he followed behind. Then you both started to walk to your home together side by side.

The walk was quiet, peaceful, but you couldn't deny feeling some awkwardness in the moment. Though for Ticket Taker, the silences was perfect to him.

Once you both arrived, you instantly tried to be a good host by offering to take his coat, etc. He accepted your offer, pleased by this hospitality of yours.

He then took quick notice of how clean your home was, more than usual. Everything was in order, you even had a table set up to serve dinner on he suspected.

"Do you want to eat first or...?"

"I had no plans to eat tonight." He admitted. "However, I suspect you cooked something by both how the table is set up...and that aroma in the air. So it would be rude of me to say no at this point I feel."

He smelled something sweet, and familiar.

"Guilty." You chuckled a little as you walked over the oven, then pulled out a pan of baked Brazilian pineapples. "I...I hope they are alright. Pierrot taught me how to cook them but this is the first time I made them on my own."

You gently set the pan on the table, and served a few pieces on a plate for Ticket Taker to try.

He took a seat at the table, accepting the plate with a small "Thank you". He looked at the plate, the smell stronger, as it instantly brought back memories of his past and home land.

Though as he was lost in thought, you stared at him, waiting for him to try it. Finally after snapping himself back to reality, he grabbed a fork and took a piece to try it.

Your heart was racing as you waited for his response. Then he finally looked at you and spoke. "It taste lovely, my dear. I appreciate this very much. Thank you."

You smiled with both joy and relief to hear that, then quickly walked back to the oven to pull something else out. "I also baked muffins!" You said with a smile as you displayed a pan of freshly baked muffins.

He blinked at their reveal, then gave a smile in response. "You seem to know me well."

"Not too well, but I'm learning. Would you like tea or coffee with them?"

"Coffee. You know how I prefer it." You nodded and quickly went to work to get his coffee prepared and served.

Once you gave it to him, you took a seat down at the table, and you both happily ate together for a moment in silence. Until you both felt full or satisfied enough to continue on with other activities.

"And what exactly do you have planned for us tonight? I'm certain it wasn't just to make me embrace my gluttony side, correct?"

"C-correct...But...Could you come to the living room with me?" He raised a brow in curiosity, then nodded as he got up from his seat, then walked to the living room with you.

"That seat with no back, can you sit there please?"

He stared at you for a moment. "Depends, why that seat specifically?"

"It'll be easier to do it if you sit on it."

"Do what exactly? Being vague isn't something I'm fond with, you know."

"R-right...I...I guess I should ask for your permission on this though." You took a deep breath in, before speaking. "May I give you a back rub?"

His eyes widened at your request, and he took a moment to process your question before responding. "A back rub does sound nice to have right now. Very well, you may."

He walked to the seat you asked him to sit on as he removed tie, and unbutton his shirt a little to give himself more freedom to breathe and relax.

Instantly your heart skipped a beat as you watched him, wondering if he was just doing it that way by habit, or on purpose to tease you.

Once he was seated, he waited for you to begin. You felt nervous now as his back was faced to you, as he stared ahead, quiet and motionless.

"Just take it slow, and don't forget to breathe." He told you, making you blush.

"I--I know! I just--Just tell me if it hurts or feels wrong, okay?"

"I will." He said without missing a beat. Then you finally placed your hands on his shoulders. Lightly starting to knead and massage his shoulders. He let out a slow breath in response, and you were hoping he'll relax but he still felt stiff and tense.

"You're stressed..." You commented.

"It'll be unusual for me not to be."

"Right..." You forced a small chuckle in response, but knew there was nothing funny about it. You only felt sad over it and over him. Though tried to focus on giving him a proper massage.

You felt him shift a moment, as something you did made him react. Then you gave that spot more attention, as he lightly hummed. "Don't be scared to press a little harder."

"I...Okay...Just...Feel like it's difficult to do it with your shirt on."

He was quiet for a moment, motionless...Then he started to move to unbutton and remove his shirt.

"W-wait what are you--" Before you could finish your sentence, he was now shirtless, making your face red in response.

"Is this better?"

"Y-yes but...Is it fine to you?"

"What do you mean?" He turned to look at you.

"I...I know how you truly look like. You can...be in that form instead, if you prefer it."

He was silent as he stared at you, then he reached a hand out, grabbing your wrist. "Are you certain you wish to both see and touch me in that form?"

You stared at him, then nodded your head once to say yes.

He gazed into your eyes for a moment, then closed his eyes as he slowly started to change his form to the monster he truly was. Instantly he grew in height and size, then he sat back down.

"Continue." He ordered this time.

"D-do you mind if I use lotion? I promise, you'll like it...I hope..."

"Yes, you may. If anything, I would recommend it now."

You smiled and grabbed a bottle of lotion with a scent you were hopefully certain he'll like. He instantly picked up the pleasant scent as you applied some to your hands, then rubbed them together to spread it nice and evenly. Then you finally got back to work as you started to massage him, with better effort this time.

Instantly he shuddered at the feeling of your hands on him, and he felt himself growing more relaxed as you massaged his back. Then he started to slowly lean in into your touch.

"Hmm...Perhaps I should make you do this more often." He said in a soft low tone. His eyes closed as he enjoyed the special attention given to him.

"If you'd like it. I'd be happy to do this and more for you."

He opened his eyes. "More?" He pulled away from you, turning his body around to look at you again. "What more can you do for me? Tell me?"

He sounded more serious as he kept his eyes fixed on you. Scanning your every movement, expression change, reaction...and listening closely to your heart.

He wanted to hear it beat faster.

"I...I uh...Perhaps other types of massages? I can learn..."

"Other types of massages huh? To relax me correct? To help me release the stress that constantly ails me?"

"...Y-yes."

He chuckled at your response. Then grabbed your arm, to pull you in closer, he was rough but still gentle enough to not harm you. "You never fail to intrigue me. Though you know, there are other ways to help me relieve stress..."

He placed his hands on the sides of your waist, as they slowly snaked around you. "Ways that can both help each other out...Since I am certain you too as well deal with constantly stress. Especially now...after working endlessly today just to please and keep me satisfied."

He pulled you in closer, whispering into your ear. "It may be my birthday, but I am still allowed to give others gifts as well if desired. Would you accept mine, as a show of thank you for your hard work?~"

Your heart skipped a beat, starting to race hard and fast. You tried to get your words out but couldn't as you felt frozen now.

But he could tell what you wanted to say, he could hear it through your body alone...He knew and he didn't bother for a verbal response as he pulled back, looking into your eyes. Then leaned in to press his lips against yours.

You felt like your breath was taken away from that kiss alone, then you kissed him back. Shy at first, but as he kissed again, and you returned it, soon your fears washed away until you were both in a heated moment.

He pulled you in to make you sit on his lap. While he slowly trailed his hand up and down your thigh, rubbing it softly, teasingly enough to stimulate you through subtle touches. Which started to work as you kissed him more deeper, moaning softly in response as you mounted his leg, pressing yourself against his thigh.

He chuckled in the kiss, then grabbed your hips, making you move and rub against him. You responded by repeating the motion yourself, as you felt yourself grow more hotter and excited. All while he himself grew more aroused by the moment too as he felt himself grow hard from your actions.

"I had plans to leave early tonight, you know?" He said as he pulled back for a moment, making your eyes widen in fear. "But now...?" He leaned his head in to your neck, softly kissing it, then took a bite, sinking his teeth into you. As his eyes glowed from the taste of your blood slipping into his mouth. While he lowly growled in the bite, as his teeth sunk in deeper.

You whimpered in response, holding on to him for support. Until he slowly released his bite on you. "But now...I don't plan on leaving until we're both satisfied~." He slowly licked the blood off your neck that he drew from you from his bite, making you shiver and softly moan.