A Spark of Hope
Fyrwen, a young dragon prince to a sprawling kingdom, seeks comfort in the warm arms of his advisor after his ambitious father binds him in marriage with a princess he cannot bring himself to love.
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***Story description***
This story is a request built around Raevocrei's exciting idea of a prince sharing a loving moment with his secret mate.
Description: Fyrwen, a young dragon prince to a sprawling kingdom, seeks comfort in the warm arms of his advisor after his ambitious father binds him in marriage with a princess he cannot bring himself to love.
*A Spark of Hope*
Fyrwen was dirty, tired, but most of all, indisposed once he left the training grounds of his castle at the sunset of another grueling training session. Genichiro, his father's right hand, was a nightmare to his enemies on the field of battle, but the same habits that made him such a fierce warrior did not completely wane off inside the sparring ring. The dragon moved with a speed far above his venerable age, holding nothing back. His sharp temper was the reason for the marred scales that protruded through Fyrwen's ragged clothing, but no complaints came out of the black dragon's mouth. With a stern look about his face, the prince walked through the crowd with his frayed training clothes flying behind him like the rags of a dirty commoner. Beneath such rags hid onyx scales tipped with the noble fires of the setting sun, yet even such fierce beauty failed to attract attention save for a few stray ferals that found the scents of a long day of training interesting enough to gaze in his direction.
"Lord. My lord! A moment please!" Czerach's voice boomed from the entrance of the Kingfisher's Parlor inn. "We have the blue sea accommodations ready for you. And-and should it also be a wench to mend your sore muscles? Agatha has the best healing oils money can buy, and her hands put real healers to shame. My prince. My prince, I'll cut the price in half! Lord!"
The man's enthusiasm knew no end, just like his greed. Fyrwen ignored him for as long as he could.
Then Czerach sent his helpers, two yapping jackals that could only be shaken off by the darkness of a pathway no worthy dragon would ever consider.
Fyrwen's dark scales blended into the darkness of one of the many alleys that led into the district of the furred, or, as his father called them, the conquered. Whatever light pierced the gloom here came from the burning herbs of those who wanted to transcend this plane of existence. Fyrwen avoided looking into their hollow eyes, for the emptiness there simply terrified him. Muck stuck to the hardened scales of his bare feet, and his wings scraped against disheveled walls too narrow for dragons like him. Hands reached out from hollows in the decrepit building, hooking onto him, yet unable to stop his advance. These wretches were too thin, weak, or young to have any chance at stopping him.
"I can't. I don't have anything on me. Leave me. Just leave me be, please." Fyrwen kept his misting eyes on the light at the end of this tunnel of misery. It hurt him terribly to ignore the pain of the conquered. A moon back he would have had a trio of healers mend the wounds of these broken wretches. Tailors to put them into warmer clothes, cooks to feed them, spirit-speakers to renew their faith in a life that abandoned them. He used to have power. Influence. The ability to do some good in the aftermath of his father's continuous expansion, whose relentless ambition saw the gates of his cities flooded with the homeless and the victims of his wars. Mercy, he called it. Mercy for robbing people of their homes only to leave them wither within a district marred by poverty and disease.
"Lord... please....just a few coins." A scraggy lioness blocked the only way out of the alley. In her arms she cradled a cub not older than a few months, her green, desperate eyes filled with pain. "My daughter's sick and hungry. She has the coughs. If you'll only spare a coin for the herbs to-"
"I have nothing. Please, let me pass." Fyrwen tried to push his way past, only to have her frail arm hold him back.
"No, don't turn your back on us! I can set your scales back in place." The lioness brushed over the lines of beating he took during training. "Clean your feet off this grime. I can even..." her desperate hand suddenly fell between his legs, touching the shocked prince where no female other than his wife should have.
"Sorry. I'm so sorry, but I can't. There's nothing I can do!" Fyrwen shoved his way past the desperate mother and made himself one with the crowd.
His tense muscles and ragged breath started to relax only when the fresh air of the herb gardens entered his nostrils. This wide expanse of vegetation was the heart of the healers in the city. Most of them lived here, in cozy homes equipped with several stalls for the mounts of the riders going in or out of the city. Fyrwen saw a couple of mounts stabled at his mate's home as well. The first he spotted was a maned wolf with dark blue tints in his fur. Most likely a howler from the northern regions. The next was a feline of some kind, and the mount after that a wingless whiptail dragon that copiously munched on a dried piece of meat.
Fyrwen narrowed his eyes. Something about the feline seemed familiar. As he approached, more details revealed themselves to his eye. The black stripes dashed across the animal's grey fur. Its swaying tail with a tip so bushy one could easily use as a pillow.
Its gender, clearly male.
Fyrwen's heart leaped in his throat when the wind brought his scent into the feline's nostrils. The great beast turned its head to regard the visitor...
And the prince all but froze at the familiarity of that gaze. This wasn't just some shaggy beast. It was Genichiro's loyal companion, StormFang. A cat he rode into battle for the last five years.
"Hraeth!" Fyrwen burst inside his mate's cozy home, trampling his way from room to room in search of his beloved mate. "Hraeth! Hraeth, answer me!"
Everything seemed in the right place. No signs of a forced entry or anything non-consensual.
"Here!" A weak voice called.
Fyrwen immediately assumed the worst, against his better judgment. Grabbing a knife from the mess hall, he silently walked up to the bedroom door, pushed it open just enough to peek inside...
And let out a heavy sigh of relief once his mate stared back at him with an expression between shock and anger, as if fur suddenly grew all over the prince's face.
"Hraeth...I'm so glad you're naked. Alone. Safe, I mean." Fyrwen dragged his voice. "That came off wrong. I thought-"
"Yes, it did. And no, I am not going to pretend your paranoia sits well with me, so stay there, watch my nakedness, and keep your maw shut. It's my turn to speak after all the noise you've made coming in here."
Fyrwen nodded. That was all he could do, feeling so foolish to jump to conclusions like that.
"Alright. So, wedding is within the next few days, you've been put on your ass by today's weapons handler, and the shaman's attempt to cure you off the affliction that keeps you from bedding your future wife have all but failed. Tell me I'm right."
"Partially. You got two out of three...somewhat right."
The blue dragon cocked his spiky head. "Wedding's not tomorrow?"
Fyrwen sketched a modest smile. "No, it is. At least the dowry part of it. The celebrations will arrive along with my beloved, and then...we'll see what happens."
"I don't follow," the blue dragon patted the bed. He embraced the prince with a pristine wing once he settled down. "You've passed the tests then? How can your stick-sized arms and pebbly brain rise up to Genichiro's standards in less than a month? Blademasters, spear-surgers, even healers like me train years to achieve mastery in our fields, while you-"
"I failed. Big time. What do you take me for, a prodigy? You know how much I hate handling tools of war," Fyrwen stared into his mate's amber eyes. "I practiced the war mace today, and tomorrow he wants me to train with the bow, the two swords, and the bladed staff."
"That's going to go well...your only win is the shaman...you have to go to one if you don't trust your father's apothecary."
"To fix what?" Fyrwen scowled. "My feelings for the only dragon that likes me for who I am? Who understands me?"
"No, my dear, stupid prince. No. Gods, how much it pains me when you close your eyes to the most obvious things," Hraeth cupped his scaly face in his palms. "You need to perform on your first night, alright? There's no way past centuries of tradition. You go to a shaman, ask for something to harden your resolve, and do what all dragon couples do."
"No. Absolutely not." Fyrwen shook his head, a stubborn frown on his face. "That's not me."
"It needs to be, if you don't want Genichiro to put more than his cat in my stables. We're talking about one stupid, tip of a claw concoction you have to swallow for one single night. Isn't that better than to see me carried off to the castle's dungeons? Isn't why you barged in here like a crazed barbarian?"
"I...I can't say no to who I really am." Fyrwen leaned in closer to his distressed mate. "I love you, Hraeth. You. Not the wench my father chooses. And I will protect you with every power I have. I just refuse to be the instrument of his expansion or make this female the recipient of my seed. I mate the one I love, like real couples should."
"We talked about this so often I don't even know what else to add." The blue dragon stood up with a frown of his own. "You can't keep coming here and forget about the world out there. You have a responsibility to your people."
"My pe-" Fyrwen stood up as well. "My people? Rich for you to bring them into this. These are the same people that profit off the conquered without a sliver of shame or regret. I've heard rumors that Czerach threw an entire family out of his inn because a wealthier dragon happened to want their room for a night. The alleys are brimming with beggars, the shelters are stuffed to the brim with prisoners of war, and what do my people do? They live their blissful, ignorant lives, pretending nothing's wrong. They-"
"They do what they can. Some of them, at the very least...like you," Hraeth embraced the fuming prince. "Oh, if only you'd see past the troubles ahead. There is still goodness in this world, Fyrwen, and this marriage...it's just that. An arrangement for the good of two kingdoms. Yes, you will say some words before the shaman, bed your wife a few times, but by doing so you will enter back into your father's good graces. Have your faith in him and your fortune reinstated. Just think of how much you can do for the conquered instead of complaining about what has already happened. If you want to help....if you really want to make this world a better place, start with yourself. You but have to open your own eyes to the warmer colors of life."
The prince took a deep, deep breath. There was truth in his mate's words. Truth he had been too proud to listen to for too long. There was no malice in Hraeth's words. No agendas or goals or whatever. His intentions were just as warm as his body. Selfless. Undeserving of the tempest of complaints that bubbled beneath the prince's dark scales.
"I...I'll be better." Fyrwen grumbled, ashamed how much his words affected the only dragon he truly cared for. "I'm sorry for-"
"Oh, cut the silly chatter before you make me feel sorry for your fancy ass again." Hraeth jumped back in the bed, splaying onto his back to make sure no important part of him was covered by his fluffy blanket. Fyrwen looked over his pale blue belly, his eyes pausing too long on the thin pink crevice that housed the male's genitalia.
"Soooo...back to important matters again. Care to tell me what Genichiro's saber is doing under your dilapidated roof?"
"Before you get paranoid, no. The old bastard doesn't suspect a thing about us."
"Then why take the risk by stabling his precious mount? What if Genichiro gets hungry, or worse, decides to have a sleep-over in one of the guest rooms?"
"Don't go there. You know I'm a mender. Healing is what I do best, and that, my dear, doesn't stop at dragons. I happen to be particularly skilled at reading the needs of a beast." Hraeth scratched between the spikes of his head, a cocky smile appearing on his snout. "StormFang might look like the last thing you want to see on the field of battle, but he's not all fangs and claws...definitely not in my stables. He's got a tender heart that'll melt your scales if you get to know him..."
"Oh no. I have enough of Genichiro's esteemed presence in my life without befriending his cat. Now tell me the real reason why he stabled it here. And be serious, or I'll bore you with my theories until night falls upon our realm."
Hraeth wove a plain, boring, yet believable story about a caravan leader returning with half the promised load. If there was something the king hated, it was being cheated by the very dragons he ruled, and, as the right hand of the king, Genichiro couldn't turn a blind eye on such matters.
"Happy now? I happened to be conveniently close to the gates, and besides, he knows me. Am I not the prince's advisor, after all?"
"Oh, we both know what sort of things you advise me on," Fyrwen winked knowingly. He settled at the foot of the bed, propping his mate's legs on top of his lap. "My father's going to give me an earful over how awful honesty is, and I can almost see Genichiro take the Master of Arms' place for a couple of hours to vent out his frustrations on his liege's unworthy heir."
"Fyr, you're many things, but unworthy is not really one of them." Hraeth pushed himself up to plant a wet lick over the prince's purring snout.
"That was nice." Fyrwen rumbled.
"There's plenty more where that came from. Would you care to accompany me to the mess hall? I have been craving for a piece of honeyed meat even before you so rudely roused me from my slumber."
"S-sorry."
"We'll see how sorry you are after we eat." Hraeth chuckled.
In the kitchen, Fyrwen began to talk about the troubles he suffered since his father found him the perfect match -according to him, of course. The look of princess Freyja was a mystery unraveled only in taverns from the mouth of those too drunk or too gullible to believe every rumor. One thing remained constant though. Her goals. Freyja's ambitions soared as high as the dragons of old, for it was her dream to capture one of the last remaining pairs of feral dragons and breed them for her benefits.
"Really? This lass of yours is quite something. Is she what, going to flip them over and measure their slits to see which is which?" Hraeth chuckled, flipping off the egg-pie that steamed within his frying pan. "Real dragons left our world a long time ago, and for good reason. Those that survived learned their lesson, and you know... I doubt this princess of yours is going to get the chance to even see them."
"Why is that so impossible?" Fyrwen shrugged. "My father's resourceful enough on his own, and with Freyja's help..."
"Well, for one, they're nigh immortal, and secondly, we've culled their numbers enough to not see a trace of them for centuries. How do you think we only hear of them in tales and legends?"
"I dunno. Maybe they just found a new land to inhabit."
"Or maybe they've avoided us like the plague for so long we all forgot about them. Save for Freyja of course. You've got a special one on your hands, my friend. A special one indeed."
"Oh, shut up." Fyrwen grabbed the pan from his hands and started to stir the steaming contents of egg, potatoes, meat and vegetables by himself. While he did so, the topic switched from future wife to future husband, and Hraeth's mood soured a little every time his mate complained about how strict his life became, how powerless he was to stand up for himself, how gloomy this and that was.
"Alright, that's enough," Hraeth shoved his mate away from the pan that started to steam just as ferociously as the prince himself.
"It's not! I'll never be enough for my father! Even after I'm married, he'll demand more and more. I don't want his blood-splattered crown. I hate him, and every day I spend in that castle I can feel myself becoming more like...what...what are you doing? S-stop!" Fyrwen swallowed his words once his mate kneeled before him, his two scaly hands fastened around the rim of his breeches. He tugged, soft at first, then harder and harder as the prince tried to resist.
"Trust me." Hraeth looked up with lustful intent blazing in his eyes. "Food will nourish your stomach, but it isn't what you need right now."
Fyrwen gave up, like he always conceded before the stronger of wills. He allowed his mate to pull his pants down not in the gentle way he dreamed of for their first time, but rough and sudden, just like the unexpected assault he launched on a dragon's sweetest of gates.
"N-no...Hraeth, d-don't." Fyrwen hissed helplessly through his teeth at the onrush of heat draping over his genital vent. Hraeth seemed unperturbed by the sweat that dried up on his delicate folds. Impervious to the smells that have been brewing within the depths of his flesh for a long, tiresome day. He continued to lick the prince's crevice with no doubt whatsoever, savoring the insides of his twitching flesh much to Fyrwen's hissing bliss. "I've trained...I bled....fell into the dirt so many times my scales turned brown. Sssstop. This is demeaning of you- aaaaaahhhhh!"
With a push of his scaly snout, Hraeth sunk his tapered tongue deep enough to taste the prince's spaded cock, wriggling like a trapped eel in there much to Fyrwen's shocked bliss. Stunned with euphoria from being eaten out like a needy female at the peak of her heat, the prince allowed himself to be led past the chairs of the mess hall straight into the comfort of a secluded guess room where he fell with his back against the thick furs of the cot. Such submissive position was ideal for Hraeth, who quickly twined his hands with the prince's feet both hold his victim in place and make out with his sweetest of spots.
"It's...demeaning to...you're my mate. Please...please stop before I...Ngghhhhffffff!"
Hraeth must've gotten bored of all the talking, for he spread the prince's legs wide and started making out with the fleshy vent in his earnest, his pebbly scaled lips providing no shortage of stimulation to the squelching flesh of Fyrwen's soft insides. Precum and saliva alike squelched around Hraeth's kissing snout as he fed from the sweet precum excreted by his mate's stimulated flesh, creating a serenade as sweet as the prince's orgasmic groans.
"I-I'm about to-" Fyrwen clawed toes curled with the unwanted thrust of his hips. There was no stronger force than instinct, Regnar the librarian used to say when he spoke of the mating habits of the wild dragons.
And he was right. With his cock blazing to life under the throbs of heat awakened by his mate's skilled tongue, Fyrwen all but forsook his decency in favor of the animalistic thrusts of a beast. With more and more blood pooling into his nethers, Fyrwen's increasingly harder cock plowed in and out of his mate's teeth-ridden maw, his pulsating ridges coming in and out without the faintest of scratches.
Hraeth wasn't just standing there letting Fyrwen do all the work. He actively used his tongue to direct the prince along the safe pathways of his maw while his locked lips and slurping jaws made Fyrwen soar to the very heavens.
Fyrwen hissed, whined, and cursed. He couldn't hold his seed back much longer. Not when his mate actively bobbed his head up and down to stimulate his mating instincts in such a savage fashion.
Sizzling heat rushed from the depths of his crotch. Eyes bulging wide, Fyrwen desperately tried to shove himself back. To spare his mate of the humiliation of the upcoming torrent of cum that'd stain his mouth with the taste of indecency forever.
But Hraeth had never been one to back down from a challenge. Shoving his flaring nostrils hard against the prince's wet, sizzling crotch, he swallowed the bloating erection down to the last ridge and waited.
Waited for Fyrwen to tremble from every joint in his body as he tried to stop the burning ascent of his seed on the way to his leaking urethra.
Waited for the prince to squeeze his tearing eyes shut as his penis bloated with the taste of finality.
And with one powerful cry that preceded his most needed release, Fyrwen released.
"Khrraaaaaahhhhh!"
The bed shook with the might of his erupting orgasm. Fyrwen's hands balled into fists, crumpling the furs of the bed. Behind, his wings stretched to their full span, knocking items off the bookshelves on either side. He was trapped. Thoroughly and utterly trapped within the suckling confines of a jaw too hungry to let go of his cock.
And Hraeth enjoyed every. Single. Spurt of his cum. The might of the prince's lusts flooded his maw with so much cum that a large part of it trickled between his many teeth, pooling back into the spasming mass of genital muscles that pumped out more and more of that stuff with every throb.
"It...feels so good," Fyrwen blurted out in the midst of his orgasmic spurts. He tried to reach for his mate's head. To show him how much he meant right now. "I love you...I love you so much..." was all he could say as his unresponsive arms continued to furrow the bed beneath him.
Hraeth furiously continued his efforts to pleasure his mate. With seed constantly leaking out of his suckling maw, he brought the prince all the way to his deserved end. Only after the powerful member stopped belching its load, did he finally look into the prince's delirious eyes.
"That...was incredible," he wiped the cum off his chin with the back of a hand and fell on the bed right next to him. "Gods, I feel as wet as a female down there." Hraeth adjusted his subligaria a little, as if that could mask the wet spots that started to appear. "If you say you didn't like it..."
"The only thing I didn't like..." Fyrwen embraced his beloved beneath a velvet grey wing, "was how quickly your blasted maw made me shoot. How does it taste?"
Weird. Sticky. Like a shaman's beverage. Although he wasn't fond of his own seed, Fyrwen's nethers stirred at how highly his blue partner thought of it. The two dragons kept talking of indecent things, shifting the topic to the mating habits of the wild dragons, then to Genichiro's cat, who appeared to be the inspiration for Hraeth's actions.
"With that black wolf? How...is that even possible?" Fyrwen scratched his head as he tried to picture Genichiro's proud mount with a wolf lodged in his backside.
"I said pleasure, not mating. I let them free at night to seek comfort in each other. I'm not there to tell them what's allowed and what's not. Sometimes it's a maw, other times a paw...they're creative like that."
"If that cat walks funny the next day, I'll know who to blame."
They shared a laugh, yet beneath his scales, Fyrwen felt the hot sting of arousal reignite. Though his first ejaculation wasn't exactly perfect, he yearned to reward his mate. To show him just how much he meant. So he gently removed his mate's loin coverings, gasped at the sticky strands of pre-coital fluids made the insides of the cloth a soaked mess, and slowly, tenderly eased Hraeth into his genital vent, the flesh spreading around to welcome almost two quarters of the dragon's throbbing length inside.
"Hrrr....haaaaaahhhhh, you...really weren't kidding..." the sweetest of moans washed over the creaks of the wooden bed. With scrunched snout and trembling wings, Hraeth started throbbing harder and harder, almost as if....
"Gods be damned. Not you too!" Fyrwen embraced him sweetly, letting him take his vent as if he would a female. Hraeth's thrusts were jagged and quick, more instinctual than purposeful.
"Too hot. I didn't expect it to be so...mmrrrffff!" he whined right before he drove his cock into the deepest reaches of the prince's slit. Fyrwen gritted his teeth. Once he felt the hot bite of cum splatter all around his flaccid length, he grabbed his mate as tight as he could to secure his pulsating length inside for as long as he needed to expel every last bit of his seed.
"Graaaahhh," Hraeth snarled once he looked at the sticky mess he made. "One thrust. I can't believe I gave up after one single thrust."
"I think the gods are trying to tell you something."
"That we're a bunch of wimps unable to withhold their seed like most dragons?"
"That we're truly, unequivocally made for each other."
Hraeth seemed to ponder that for a second before he launched a sloppy lick over the prince's black snout. "Eh, I can live with that. Now let's get this mess cleaned up or the mounts in the stables are going to get ideas."
"I wouldn't mind watching them have a go at it. For all I know even Genichiro's cat will last more than us."
The two dragons remained in each other's embrace for a while longer. Seed could be cleaned. Cats and wolves, admired.
But for now, the warmth of a mate was all Fyrwen wanted.
***THE END***
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