holy serotonin
for Cass (@firebirdofscythia): to crackships
listen to "Serotonin" by Santino Le Saint and Cruz Cafuné for full vibes (highly recommend)
CW: smut
This contains explicit sexual content and is not intended for persons under the age of 18. Discretion is advised.
"Dorian baby please," Rhysand breathes, shatters, begs.
"Are you giving up, my love?" That beautiful grin is so deadly. Rhysand feels his heart stop, start, change rhythm.
"Please," His head thrashers, silk catching on either side of him. Lips brush his skin, they're everywhere, they're on him like angel dust. Soaking into his body, lighting him on fire. "Please." His face is wet. It's tears, it's prayer, it's sin, it's "Please baby, please."
"But you look so pretty like this," Dorian sighs softly. There is so much hunger buried in that throat. Fingers, cool and gentle graze his ribs, his hip, his cock. He wants to scream. He whimpers.
"Look at you," It's the voice of a lover, but a king all the same.
Rhysand turns his head towards the mirror, gilded and larger than he has the vision to take in. His dark skin is glowing against the satin white of the sheets underneath him. His hands, veined and bunched in the fabric, act as the anchor to his undoing. His hair, inkier than his soul spills across his face, longer than he usually likes it. And there, lying on his right, casual hands, ghost and real, trailing over his skin is his king. Dorian looks ethereal, Dorian looks ungodly. Pale skin, hair blacker than his, and eyes blue enough to turn water into ice. They are violent in their beauty.
"What do you see, my love?" Fingers wrap around his cock, stroke up, down, so slowly its almost painful.
His vision blurs, becomes soft shapes and uneven colour. He can't see anything, he wants to say. The words are smothered by a moan.
"Do you see how beautiful you are? How you spread before me? So compliant—" Two long fingers find their way into his mouth. He sucks hard, he sucks filthy. "So ready to be devoured." And with that Dorian opens his mouth, and takes the whole of Rhysand down his pretty throat.
Around his King's fingers, the High Lord screams.
