Y'know those posts you made about the thief and the prince? What if the draught doesn't actually work on the prince and he's just faking, having a good time?
referencing this story
The prince had been pretending to sleep for the last hour or so, forcing himself to lie still and silent, waiting. His eyes were closed just in case. The thief was impressively deft and quiet, and sometimes there was no warning of their arrival at all. He refused to lose out on this experience by getting caught, waiting to be ravished. He was lying on his back, cock already half hard under the covers, blushing to think he had trained himself to sleep this way to keep it accessible to his night time visitor.
Despite lying back comfortably, eyes closed, the thrum of excitement under his skin kept him from falling asleep. And when he finally heard the slither of a rope and gentle landing of feet, he marshaled himself to remain undetected. The thief had climbed in through his window as they often did, sweeping over to delicately dab an earthy, sweet liquid on his lips. He had to suppress the urge to lick the thief's fingertip, draw it between his teeth and suck on it. After months of use, it seemed the drug worked less effectively every time. Perhaps the prince had built up an immunity, because it merely filled his mind with a pleasantly hazy, misty feeling that made everything slow and heavy. Truly it just helped sell the illusion that he was asleep while the thief did their best to break his brain.
They had clearly noticed the stiffness of the prince's tool, because they chuckled as they ran a finger along its length. They murmured something throatily, too guttural to be heard, but the sound of it affected him all the same. His cock throbbed, and he heard them laugh again. Then the blanket was bunched up around his hips and he shivered lightly at the sudden cold air. The sudden warmth of a welcoming throat made him so dizzy, he felt on the verge of completely passing out. The thief moaned around him, then pulled off with a deviously wet sound, whispering "my pampered prince" directly to his cock.
It took all his restraint to keep his responses muted, even with the drugging. The combination of the thief's clear enjoyment and their degrading, objectifying words was heady. They mused aloud how the sweet, pure, prized prince was secretly a sex toy of the most luxurious kind, free for the taking really. Their hands gripped him in various places as they straddled his hips, guiding his cock into an impossibly tight, hot, wet hole. The moan that escaped his lips felt as though it had been squeezed from low in his belly-- impossible to contain. They stilled for a moment, panting and suspicious, then leaned away.
For a brief moment the prince worried they might leave, but then he felt a hasty drop of potion spread across his lips. And then the thief's agile fingers slipped inside his mouth to rub the magic directly on his tongue. He felt himself sink deeper into the magical haze, like his elegant bed were made of clouds. Their hand stayed on his face, with two fingers in his mouth, playing with his lips and tongue.
Then the thief is riding him. He looks through the lashes of his heavy eyelids, almost unable to sneak a peek at all. They must have picked up one of his many decorative crowns at some point, because a gold halo encircled their head, made molten by the firelight. Surely they thought the ornamental piece to be a frivolous, wasteful, obscene thing. The prince enjoyed the careless disregard for his belongings and his rank. The thief had no concern for propriety, let alone hierarchy. They scoffed at deference, openly treated him like a pretty piece of meat.
"Your Majesty," they crooned sounding close, "I believe this is the most use you have been to anyone in a long time."
