Hello, SoFurry, and welcome to my second story. This story includes a bit of extreme fetish in the form of watersports, musk, and possibly smegma? Though I think I've handled it all relatively tastefully. I've had the idea for this tale burning in my head over the past few months after playing a little too much in a video game and fancying myself with a few characters I created in it. All characters are originals and any resemblance to currently-established characters is unintentional. I am wholly willing to rename my characters if any resemblance to yours offends you in any way. Once again, I am very appreciative of you reading through my works, and I hope you enjoy it in a most paw-curling manner. Please note that although it leaves on something of a cliffhanger, I may or may not write a second portion to supplement it. And without further ado...

The Age of Wonders: Empire in Decay

By Milotis

There is a cub's tale in Leonine culture that tells of a great and powerful lion. He roamed the land, destroying all his enemies, conquering his competition, and when he had run all other males extinct and established himself as the singular ruler of the entirety of the dry savannah, he finally began to rest. And rest he did. His days were filled with endless gluttony and laze--naps in the sun, only for his massive harem to bring him the labors of their hunts to enjoy. Muscle turned to fat, strength turned to sloth, and even the lumbering of the few steps from his cave to his sunning rock left him winded. One day, another male arrived on the edge of his kingdom. Starved, weak, his ribs evident through his patchy and malnourished hide, he approached the king's palace, pushed to near-suicidal desperation for a meal and home.

Of course, he'd heard tales of this king in his travels. His strength, his glory, his ferocity in battle. And yet, when he arrived, he'd found a beast so wide that it couldn't even stand upon its feet to mount a defense of the home it had fought so hard to create. As is the birthright of male lions, the starving, haggard beast challenged the king for his crown and thereupon easily bit through his immobile throat with the last remaining strength he had.

Over the following years, the starving male grew to be every bit as strong, fierce, and terrifying as the king that had come before, but too keen was the memory of the previous king's demise. Rather than relegate himself to a life of luxury, he continued to hunt, to keep himself in peak excellence, so that when a challenger came to claim his crown, he would not be overthrown in the same manner as his predecessor.

Although the Leonine tell this story often, a reminder to young males to keep themselves in peak physical condition, it so fell upon the Leonine Empire that they grew too comfortable, too compliant in their strength that they, as the King from their fable, had grown too fat and complacent that when their empire was threatened, they were too disorganized to mount a defense.

After all, who would threaten them? Their empire was vast. It spanned the entirety of the Eastern Drylands, from the Desert of the Snakemen to the west unto the Peaks of Shadow to the East. They had the most ferocious military on the continent, and, besides the Human Empire to the far, far South, the greatest military in the world: huntresses that spent years mastering speed, ferocity, and combat led by the few male officers that had, from birth, been trained as the most lethal killers around and then honed their skills further in the blood of their peers. Their land was not very suitable for farming for outsiders and water was scarce, such that it didn't make for prime conquest spoils, and the harsh journey to even get to their domain would have put even the most well-organized logistics officer to the test.

And so that it was that their empire, fat with wealth generated by their exotic exports of artwork and spices, was wholly unprepared when massive hordes of undead descended from the Peaks of Shadow and flooded their realm. Villages were trampled, outposts gradually crumbled upon endless assault, and the shadow marched westward all the way to their capital city of Lionheart before they were able to muster their forces, organize them, and mount a passable defense that ended in territorial stalemate. Although their mastery of warfare provided them enough grit to fight the enemy back from the grand, massive walls of Lionheart, they were merely too outnumbered in the field to begin retaking their land. Even though their huntresses could easily take on the horde of shambling corpses ten to one, they often returned with disease and plague so foul that their lives were lost soon after each victory. And so, little by little, the numbers of the Leonine military slowly, painfully, tortuously dwindled until their walls were all that they could hold.

Eagles, of course, were dispatched to kingdoms both near and far requesting aid, but as it so often happens, the threat to a neighbor is easily ignored until it becomes a threat to oneself, and the responses ranged from nothingness to heartfelt 'good lucks'. After all, the Leonine, in their arrogance and wealth, weren't exactly the most benevolent or tolerable of allies. With their most profitable hunting and farming grounds seized by the Dark Horde and massive amounts of refugees flooding the streets, food quickly trickled to a halt and many of the lower caste began to resemble the starving male from the children's fable. Desperation seized the city, and one could feel the slow descent of death as hope faded to fate's resignation. Until one, fateful day, a strange, black bird arrived with a message tied to its leg. The moment the eagle handler removed the letter, the bird evaporated into a cloud of glistening, luminescent smoke. The sheer novelty of such a fantastical letter arriving drove the handler to sprint from her tower, descending the myriad steps in record time to deliver it to the Emperor's Prime Courtesan...

"My Emperor, a most peculiar letter has arrived," the Prime Courtesan announced as she strode into the grand hall, within which sat the Throne of the Empire, the veritable heart of Lionheart. "Delivered on the wing of a black bird, who thereupon, as spoken by the Eagle Mistress, disappeared in a plume of smoke."

The Emperor's curiosity was piqued. The pinnacle example of his kind's masculinity, to achieve the rank of Emperor was a price paid for in the blood of other males in the Court of Battle. Although his grand, silvered-steel armor was forged to give the appearance of musculature, there was little doubt that the muscle beneath was just as impressive as the cuts and curves of the forge. But the hopelessness of the situation had set in on even him, and his proud, golden hide seemed to sag more and more by the day as his own food was starting to be rationed. Fiery, golden eyes narrowed at his Prime Courtesan and a low, intrigued growl rumbled in his throat as he extended his clawed hand outwards. "Bring it here, Fela," he commanded in his gravelly voice.

The letter was delivered to his hand, and Fela, dutiful courtess that she was, kneeled before her Emperor as he unbound the letter and brought it up before those emberlike eyes. They narrowed as they perused the words within, and there was a conflicted tone in the growl the Emperor released as he tossed the letter to the floor.

"My Emperor...?" Fela questioned with a slight tilt of her head.

"Summon my royal warhost and council. We march at first light," he huffed in a still-conflicted tone. Fela had serviced the Emperor since he was a mere Lieutenant, however, and knew the best way to fill her curiosity was to keep her silence and let his thoughts continue. It took several moments of tense silence before she was rewarded for her patience, however, "The City of Pridecrest still stands," he rumbled.

This caused a flood of hope to his Courtesan's eyes. Pridecrest would've been the first city to fall. Closest to the Peaks of Shadow, they'd received their initial reports of undead from that city, along with increasingly desperate pleas for aid that finally turned to silence before the Empire had managed to muster their military. Her hope was momentarily interrupted by the continuance of her Emperor's words, however.

"But they are referring to themselves as the Free State of Shadow's Watch now. And request a meeting to 'save our people'. Can you believe such arrogance!?" He let out a singular, fierce roar of rage that rattled the stained glass windows of the massive hall. "Treason. Treachery. The audacity to request aid after announcing defection!"

Although the Emperor was known for his unshakeable pride and arrogance, Fela, however, was a much calmer mind, and her role as his lead servitor was often to settle him and bring him to more logical conclusions when it pertained to diplomacy, "This is a trap, my Emperor. We should not be baited."

"And if it is? What would you have me do? Sit in my hall while my people starve? While we slowly decay into dust until all that exists to stop these pustulent corpses is an unguarded gate? We can weather a siege no longer. If Pridecrest still stands, we will need them to fight back, and I need to reestablish our Empire's swift justice on this pretender King by right. If it is a trap, then I will, at the very least, butcher the necromancer brave enough to summon me, and die a warrior's death than let myself starve by the day while my Empire crumbles."

Fela's muzzle grew taut. For a brief moment, the Emperor's argument made sense in her mind--she, too, would rather a warrior's death than a slow, agonizing one. "My Emperor, Brutus, might I entreat that you consider acting... diplomatically? In the event this isn't a trap and Pridecrest stands, they must have found a method of combating the dead. To act with fervor and imperialism might dissuade them from sharing such secrets with us."

"And what message would that spread? That I would sup with some pretender male, self-established on a throne I, alone, have the power to assign? Our lands to the west would be in complete anarchy. This is our people's way."

Although not many could stand to question the Emperor's tact and walk away with breath still in their chest, such was the duty of a Prime Courtesan. Females outnumbered males in the Empire by virtue of the bloodied path that males were forced to claw their way to the top, and to ensure a female mind still prevailed, she, alone, had the right to question his decision. "My Emperor, dare I note that if we don't make friends with this... subsect of our society, we may not have an Empire left whose way yet needs protecting."

The Emperor's teeth bared for a moment as he heard her words, but he settled quickly as his brain processed them. His nostrils flared in frustration as he gave a single nod. "Summon my host and council. I will entreat with this... pretender male in-person. And if this is a ploy by the enemy, then we shall crush whatever officer of theirs devised it."

"At once, my Emperor," came Fela's response. She wasn't certain that her advice had landed quite as effectively as she wished, but, at the very least, he had mentioned entreating instead of outright slaughter.

Upon the next morn, as the sun began to creep up from the horizon, the Emperor's host was gathered. A grand contingent of the Emperor's finest huntresses, led by the most promising of males, and headed by the Emperor himself departed through the Eastern gate. Such a procession drew more than a small amount of attention as they made their way from the royal palace through the city, and rumors and whispers began to spread like wildfire. The citizens speculated everything from a final, suicidal attack on the enemy, to a retreat to safety in a foreign land, all the way to a hopeful diplomatic mission to gather aid. But no words were shared from the Emperor to his people. The gate closed behind them and, just like that, the city's leadership was absent, seated by the Emperor's Prime Courtesan in his stead. It certainly wasn't the first time a Prime Courtesan had sat the throne, but in the wake of the current, losing war, the unrest was felt almost immediately on the streets, and those few shops left open began to shutter as they braced for the worst.

The Emperor led his contingent northward at a branch in the road, taking a longer route, though one that was known to be more sparse with hordes of the shambling enemies. Without mounts to ride atop of (after all, what self-respecting warrior would let a mere beast share in their glory in battle?), they moved slower than most delegations, but the discipline of the Leonine army was renowned, and they still crossed the dry, arid landscape with haste enviable by other species.

As he laid his eyes on what had become of his lands, the Emperor felt distress and fear seeping into his heart. What had once been rolling, golden plains, had decayed by the spreading of the dead and disease, now a graying landscape covered in dirt and dust, only occasionally broken up by the errant, lifeless baobab tree. He could feel the spirit of his contingent withering as they gazed out at what had become of their pridelands, their empire.

Though the journey from capital to Pridecrest--or now, supposedly, Shadow's Watch--took only a week, the fear that had begun to run rampant through the warhost made that journey seem like an eternity. Still, they were in luck as their journey was completely void of the undead. By the last day of their journey, hope began to creep back into their veins. They began to encounter small scouting parties of their own kin hailing from Shadow's Watch, though they were somehow... different. Although only a couple years of divergence had passed their people, the conversations the scouts exchanged with other huntresses led to the determination that much had changed in the once-proud city. Gone were the proud, platemail or chain armors, gone were the glistening glint of swords and well-forged spears. Instead, they looked more akin to barbarians, dressed in little more than thick hides from slaughtered beasts, and carrying crude weaponry akin.

Their personalities, too, had soured. Although the Leonine had always been known as a... barely-tolerable people due to their pride and arrogance, these barbaric scouts had the audacity to speak with disdain, with haughtiness towards their own brethren. Exchanges abounded of these ruffians taunting, insulting the warhost with jeers of cowardice and inexperience. Still, the Emperor stayed his course, and his huntresses, enraged by such insult as they were, were temporarily cowed by their commanders keeping order.

And suddenly, there it was: Pridewatch. Or what remained of it. The walls of the city, once bright gold, now greyed against the darkness of the sky beyond. The legion of bright, proud flags that once flew over the city were nothing more than sad, tattered cloths, soaked a dark mauve without a heraldry upon them. The mood of the procession hushed as they all wondered what it was exactly they were about to walk into. At the very least, it was comforting to see their own kin standing atop the walls. Malnourished as they were, their tails and ears were a comfort over what they'd expected to be the rot of humanoid carcass shambling atop the walls.

The gates opened, albeit slowly with the minimal manning that the gatehouse possessed: a singular, hide-clad huntress struggling against the weight of the crankshaft. The Emperor, used to a grand reception of the highest ranking individuals the city had to offer, felt insult strike his chest as a mere singular female stood before him, clad in no more than a simple, graying-purple robe. Her bow was slight, barely descending a modicum before she rose again, "Emperor Brutus, we are honored, by your presence. We'd only dared hope for a representative of your Empire," came her soft, somewhat monotone voice.

The emperor felt his pride stoke anger in his chest at such veiled insult, and though he could hear the voice of Fela in his head, urging him just as if she were present, to keep his nerve, he couldn't help but spit back, "My Empire? I would dare say that you are a member of such an Empire. And you will greet me with a proper bow, peasant, lest I bow you myself."

His leadmost two huntresses, most favored, decorated, and fiercest, seized upon his tone and drew into hostile stances, hands atop the hilts of their blades as they leaned imposingly towards the simple ambassador. His threat landed with all the grace of a rhinoceros rumbling into the river, and she responded with a mere scoff. "You will follow me to the palace, Emperor. The King and her Advisor await you eagerly," she noted simply as she turned and began to lead the procession through the city.

In Lionheart, such blatant, casual disregard for propriety would've been the swift death of any mere commoner, and as if anticipating the command to execute, his two Royal Huntresses looked at him speculatively. Still, so stunned he was by how he was spoken to, the words caught in his throat, and with every bit of grace as his feline instinct gave him, he recoiled from such insult visibly. Cowed, as he was, he could manage nothing but a nod to his guards and began to follow the attendant through the city.

In his mind, he'd imagined the revelry, the cheering, the music and joy as his procession walked into a city that hadn't felt the presence of its Empire in two long years, but the reality couldn't have been further from it. The females that lined the street to watch their approach hissed and jeered. The uproarious hatred that poured from multiple stories of the main road deafened the majority of the host, and each of the huntresses and officers that fancied themselves the saviors, found themselves very quickly feeling like the villains being paraded through the city.

The absolute squalor of the city was palpable. Shops were empty, stalls dilapidated alongside the road in the absence of commerce, and dirt and dust had settled atop of what should have been freshly-swept street. Even the approach to the palace was painfully squalid, though much more populated. It seemed that this was the sustenance hub of the remnants of the city, and as they walked up the approach, they passed long lines on either side of the road, culminating in two carts stocked with bread, of which, a half a loaf was given per slender, starving leonine by armed huntresses. It was, reassuring, at the least, to see that there were cubs still left in the city. Slender, dark and dusty fur, they shuffled in the line alongside their mothers to the carts for their share of food.

As they entered the palace, it was no less cripplingly depressing. Hallways which should have been stocked with grandly-dressed courtesans, walked by the highest males of society, and decorated with gold, tapestries, and finery, were instead barren and void of life. They came to an intersection in the palace with a grand door ahead of them, towering, imposing, but no less darkened by the malaise that had settled over the city, and only then did the attendant stop her silent lead and gesture down the hallways to the left and right, "Emperor, your host can take their rest in the rooms alongside this hallway. Though we weren't expecting quite as many, they should find them supplied with bread, water, and clean linens. You will follow me into the throne room to meet with our King."

The depressing, tired squalor of the city had taken much of the fight out of the emperor. Reviled, hated by those which were his own subjects only years earlier, his desire to reclaim this city paled in his revelations of reality. As his host shuffled whisperingly down the hallways to find a room to stay, he couldn't even raise an objection to this mere attendant commanding him to do something. He merely narrowed his eyes. If this were a trap, this was where it was to be sprung. Adjoined by his two royal huntresses, he stepped past the attendant as she opened the large door to the throne room, and found himself gazing into what could have easily been ruins. Barely-lit by a few sconces and the gray light coming through the grand windows, he stepped up the thread-bare rug that led him to the throne.

"You will forgive the state of our city--the dead cause all to rot, to decay. Until they are purged, so, too, will you find our flags tattered, our halls void, and our streets empty and dying," came the voice from the throne. The Emperor was briefly stunned, however, as the voice that spoke to him was most certainly not the voice of the King he had installed on this throne. Instead, a female, tall, yet no less slender than her subjects, stood from the throne and slowly descended to welcome the Emperor and his two guards. Clad in robes that had likely once been grand to gaze upon, now they were grayed as with the rest of the city. She descended, her golden fur and feminine frame barely discernible from the silhouette cast from the windows behind her. "I am King Scaura, and I welcome you to our Free State. It is my hope that you will assist us in ridding our land, our world of this menace once and for all."

Although the pallid city had briefly sucked the fight from the Emperor's bones, decorum demanded that it return. Entreating with a female? On equal footing? Preposterous. Absurd. Vile and wretched. He'd never hear the end of it. With an air of insult painted across his furred brow, he scoffed at the approaching 'King' and shook his head, "And who are you to ask anything of me? You are no King, but a traitor. You establish yourself upon a throne that is not yours to own, claim independence, and then have the nerve to summon me? What have you to say for yourself?" he snarled through his teeth, feeling his claws reflexively slipping from his fingertips to bare.

The King handled the Emperor's insult with grace, tact. She merely stared as he snarled, and then a moment longer, as if to establish that she did not move on the Emperor's time. "Emperor, we held to the Empire as long as we could. Eighty percent of our forces died under the banner of your empire. Any male that was old enough and fit enough to fight died to buy us enough time until you came to save our city. In the minds of my people, you are the traitor. You abandoned them--us--and stayed in your palace while we fought to keep the hordes from making it farther west."

Her words bit into his ears, and he snarled once again at the insolence of the female daring to speak to him on matters of state. Sharp teeth bared, he stepped forward, only to find himself collide with an invisible barrier and stumble, shocked, backwards. "What--", he managed to stammer out before being cut off by the commanding air of the King before him.

"You must understand that when we were offered another option to salvation, we had to take it," came King Scaura's voice: calm, collected. "Months we waited for your aid. Until a mere refugee offered us life. One that would have been purged under your regime. We are done speaking now, but I leave you in the capable hands of my Chief Advisor, Farron, and I hope that you can see that helping us helps you just as well."

The Emperor shouted a brief retort, thinly-veiled threats of retaking the throne of this city as his hostess casually walked up the stairs to her throne and retook her seat. From the side of the room, a glow began to brighten from the shadows cast by the towering, stone pillars that held the roof of the castle. "Emperor, I am humbled to meet you in-person. I'd never thought I'd see the day," spoke the figure's voice as it stepped forward. The glow faded, and the shimmering barrier that the Emperor had struck into dissipated as well.

Although magic was known throughout the Leonine Empire, it wasn't ever practiced. Sorcery and wizardry were the path of cowards. Although they fancied themselves the martial masters of the continent, covens of witchcraft and cults to Old Gods were routinely ferreted out and exterminated to preserve the strength-based bloodline of their people.

Finally, a modicum of respect--even if it had come from a foul sorcerer. The Emperor turned towards the new voice and inspected its owner with a quick once-over. The male that stepped from the shadows was the veritable opposite of the Emperor, and the precise opposite of what males of the Empire strived to be. At least a head and a half shorter than the Emperor himself, clad in a loose-fitting robe over a more snug tunic that outlined a lithe, almost waifish frame. Not an ounce of muscle could be identified upon his body. Against the Emperor's firelike amber-golden eyes, only piercing blue gazed back at the proud ruler. However, the most striking attribute was the male's snow-white fur, a stark contrast to the golden fur that almost all of their kind possessed. A disgusting mutation in the mind of the Emperor. Compared to the proud, flourishing, grand mane of the Emperor, this paltry excuse for a male had only the slightest hint of a sleek mane, giving him a distinctly feminine appearance.

Farron took the inspection with an air of knowing patience. It obviously hadn't been the first time someone had gawked at his contra-logical appearance, and he couldn't help but exhale a soft, breathy chuckle as he shook his head. "I am certain you have many, many questions, Great Emperor. If you would follow me to your quarters, I'll be happy to answer them all and offer you our proposal."

The Emperor's brow furrowed as he nodded dismissively at his Royal Huntresses, and each in turn took their leave with a low bow. His gaze returned to the pitiful creature before him and exhaled a haughty chuff that shook the cheeks of his muzzle. His distaste for everything the miniscule Farron represented conflicted with the fact that it was the first instance of propriety he'd experienced as of yet in this traitorous city, and he gave a nod and began to follow the sorcerer out through a side door and through the dark, dusty halls of the Castle.

"We have you in the previous King's quarters, your excellency. It has, among the comparative rooms, avoided the decay best of all of our suites. It should have all the amenities you are used to," explained Farron as he turned to lead the Emperor up a stone, spiral staircase, barely lit by every third sconce.

"How do you exist?" Came the exasperated voice of the Emperor. By this point, his rage had merely faded to distaste, and he opted, instead, to seek the answers burning in the back of his mind. "The Academy should've culled your weakness before you saw your tenth summer."

Another soft, knowing chuckle emanated from the graceful, dainty male in front of him, and his head nodded as he continued to lead up the stairs, "I apologize that my existence gives you insult, Your Greatness. I was born smallest amongst my siblings and remained such up until I should have been sent to the Academy. By that time, I had already started to display aptitude for magic, though it was uncontrolled," he explained calmly as they rounded the top of the stairs into a lengthier hallway. This was, at the very least, decorated a bit grander than the rest of the Castle, and was well-lit enough to note the grand entrance to the King's suite at the end of the hallway. "My mother opted to retain me on our small farm, educate me there rather than send me to my death. We only came here two years ago when the dead started showing up on our farm."

"And they did not purge your weak blood on sight? Rather, made you royal advisor?" The rudeness had left the Emperor's tone, replaced, instead, with uncouth curiosity rather than insulting bite.

"I offered salvation. The remaining were all starving, defenses were failing. My magics conjure the food that the city eats, the clean water they drink. They defend these walls without aid from spear or bow. It's allowed us to make less-risky attacks at the dead's lines and opened up our scouts to try and identify how to stop them for good," he explained in that soft, lilting voice. As if to demonstrate, he outstretched his hand, whereupon blue energy swirled brightly until fading to reveal a single, plain muffin. It was offered out to the Emperor, but hastily declined with a wave of his hand, whereupon it dissipated in a puff of blue, glimmering smoke.

The door to the King's Suite was opened for the Emperor, and while it wasn't quite the accommodations he was used to, it certainly was nicer than any other room he'd encountered in the building. A massive, curtained bed sat against one wall, a large, wooden washtub and privy opposite. Several well-cushioned chairs angled around a central, grand, wooden table, to which Farron gestured. "Please, be seated and relax. I am sure your legs are exhausted and your feet ache from the journey. If you don't mind me joining you, I'd be delighted to propose to you my King's offer and negotiate the terms of our potential alliance. I have express authority to negotiate on her behalf," Farron noted as he ushered the Emperor to one of the overly-cushioned chairs and offered a hand to seat the larger male down.

The Emperor seated himself with a grunt of effort. Although he would've never admitted as such, the long journey was, indeed, tiring, and his feet and legs did ache. He curiously looked around the room before directing his gaze back to Farron, "Am I not being provided attendants for the evening?" he questioned with a soft huff.

"I am afraid that with the lack of males left in the city, the role of personal attendant has been eliminated from our roster," explained Farron with a brief, apologetic bow of his head.

"Then you could provide me one of your personal attendants instead," retorted the Emperor assertively.

There was a brief, awkward silence as Farron merely stared at the Emperor before his muzzle turned upwards in a semi-smirk and a chuckle passed his lips. "I do not have attendants, your greatness. I have neither interest nor intent of spreading my bloodline farther than myself."

"You have no interest in females!?" exclaimed the Emperor in disbelief. "You've already passed, what, twenty summers?"

"I am afraid not, Great Emperor, and yes--twenty two of them thus far."

"You are, indeed, a strange excuse for a Leonine. Miniature, magical, maldeveloped male. I will summon one of my huntresses to attend my aches, I suppose," the Emperor rumbled grumpily as he unclasped his sabatons and stretched his legs out to rest atop the table. His paws splayed as he stretched them out, rumbling softly. "Tell me why I journeyed here, then. To be insulted by a lack of hospitality and treason?"

"I would be overjoyed to provide you whatever hospitality I am able, Great Emperor," cooed Farron consolingly as he took a seat on the table and testingly reached out for the Emperor's paws. "Allow me the honor of tending to your aches whilst we converse, please," he continued.

The Emperor had to admit, the soothing, soft, lilting coo of the smaller male's voice wasn't entirely unconvincing. Although he was an absolute abomination to what a male Leonine should have been, in a different world, he would have made an absolutely stunningly beautiful female. His tongue swirled in his own muzzle for a moment contemplatively before finally lifting his feet to the lap of the smaller male. "Fine," he rumbled simply.

Farron didn't hesitate in taking those feet into his dainty hands, in spite of the potent scent of travel that was upon them. His nimble fingers began to work between the pads, splaying and stretching the tired and worn muscles of those complex digits. He had a particularly talented touch, and a subtle touch of magic caused a cool, healing energy to resonate from his fingertips into the pads of the Emperor's feet. Brutus caught himself starting to rumble, eyes lidding in delight and quickly silenced the subconscious display of enjoyment, huffing slightly as he sat forward more in his seat. "Tell me of this so-called plan, then," he spat as harshly as he could manage, though the harshness had certainly been tamed by the apparent expert that was so... enthusiastically working at his feet.

"If we can get to their source, I can destroy them," replied Farron simply. "All undead are chained to a powerful, magical catalyst. If it is broken, they will all return to their natural state. Permanently."

The Emperor's eyes narrowed, and his ear flicked a single time in interest. "And the source is...?" he asked with an air of impatience.

"Our scouts have found a heavily-guarded fortress in the center of the Peaks. It is well-defended, but not impenetrable. Had I arrived before this Kingdom had lost the majority of their militia, it is likely we could have taken it. Now, however, we lack the forces to lead a direct assault upon it. But with your warhost..."

"You'd have me sacrifice my people so that this traitorous Kingdom survives?"

"So that your Empire survives, Greatest One," replied Farron with a single, solemn nod.

The Emperor began to open his mouth to respond, but was cut off by a sharp, delighted growl as Farron's hands moved from the well-tended feetpaws up to the Emperor's calf and his fingers pressed into the aching muscle with the same expertise that he'd worked the larger male's feet. His nostrils flared with the force of the exhaled, content sigh that escaped him, and there was little denying that the sudden movement softened the attitude of that massive beast. After taking a moment to gather his thoughts (and enjoy the massage he was receiving), he finally spoke. "We are already surviving. If we are sacrificing our lives, I require more. And if you are so powerful that you, alone, can hold off the threat, why can you not undertake this mission by yourself?"

"Currently surviving, perhaps, but our scouts report that deliveries of food to the Capital are... scarce. And I have all my channeling apparatus installed here. Within this Castle, I am... significantly more powerful than in the field. But we wouldn't expect you to do this without compensation. Just as you were forsaken by those who couldn't fathom the threat when you called for aid, my King knows you'll require more," Farron began with a nod. His hands worked harder into that calf, expertly kneading the taut muscle beneath that proud, golden, though travel-matted hide. "Our terms are thus: after completion of the task, we will sign over all western lands of this province to the Capital province, though will retain northern and southern farmland to reestablish our people. We are given the right to settle Eastward into the peaks, and will maintain diplomatic and trade relations with the Capital, such that you will benefit from any wealth discovered therein."

"Those were already my lands. As are the rest of this province. What is to keep me from reconquering them the moment I have regained my strength?"

"Ah, well, that is the double-edged sword of our final stipulation. I would be established on your Council as ambassador. Your personal sorcerer to dissuade you from hostilities with Shadow's Watch and utilize my powers to establish you and your Empire as the most powerful, glorious, and wealthy empire not merely on this continent, but in the entire world, Greatest One," Farron cooed in that sultry, lilting tone.

The Emperor had to believe that Farron's words were laced with magic. They landed on his ears with grace, and they tickled the furs within in such a manner that he was almost convinced. But his disdain and hatred for magic ran many generations deep in his veins, and he shook his head, "I've no use for foul sorcery or magics. And talented of a masseur you may be," he noted, nodding his head down towards his calves for emphasis, "I've score of attendants ready to serve my every whim."

"You might wish to retain your reticence of my powers until you've seen them firsthand, Strongest One, but I'd venture to say that your attendants serve you out of obedience and tradition. Have you ever been tended to by one who appreciated their craft out of pure adoration? I'd think that the reason you're likely preferring my touch to those of your attendants is because I don't merely find it an honor, but also a great delight to be touching your magnificent hide."

The Emperor was briefly placated by the words, though suddenly recoiled. He recognized the sultry tone of Farron's voice, the implication laced beneath, and he recoiled. His feet pulled from the other male's grip and set heavily on the floor. "Foul! Wretched! Are you attempting to seduce me, you pathetic peasant!? Implying that I'd _ever_waste myself on a male rather than spread my superior lineage onwards!?"

Farron's hands settled in his lap, and he endured the verbal assault calmly and gave a simple nod of understanding. His hands moved behind himself and he laid back into a relaxed posture. "Waste yourself? Absolutely not, Greatest One. After all, asserting your dominance over this Kingdom's ambassador, over sorcery, over other males should be your titleright, should it not? Having me tend to any of your needs should be the natural order of your highest position, whether they be professional and empirical or... domestic. Before you cast me out, I'd go so far as to ask that you let me finish the rest of your massage. I can assure you that my touch is more practiced than that of your warband's huntresses."

The larger male's eyes leered and he rumbled a predatory, low growl of warning, though silenced it with a quick flick of his tongue over his teeth. "At the very least, you seem to know your proper place in the great order of the world, wretch. Very well. You may finish your duties and leave me to think on your offer for the evening," he spat in concession.

The smaller male gestured to the large, finely-adorned, curtained bed and bowed his head. "By all means, Great Emperor, remove for me your armor and grant me the honor of soothing your traveled muscles." Politely, Farron stood from his seat and turned his back such that the Emperor could undress in relative privacy.

The sound of clasps being flipped, buckles unbuckled, and myriad pounds of steel rattling to the floor filled the sounds of the otherwise silent room as the Emperor disrobed. "If I hear a word of this get breathed to anybody, I will claim your head for my throne room, witch," spat out the Emperor harshly.

Farron chuckled silently as he shook his head, though he wasn't sure if the Emperor was looking at him or not. "Not a word, Great Emperor. As a future member of your Council," he forwardly noted, "it is my foremost duty to keep your confidence with the utmost discretion."

Farron heard the creak of the bed as the Emperor climbed atop it, followed by the distinct flop of an exhausted beast into a soft mattress. There was a heavy, relaxed sigh from the bed's occupant before he was summoned, "Come. Do your duties."

He turned to face the bed, and as he approached, Farron felt his fur bristle slightly. Even in the dim light of the sconce-lit room, the Emperor's body was absolutely marvelous. His hide, a bright golden color that was only disturbed by the darker shades at the tip of his tail and that glorious, masculine mane of his. He suppressed the urge to let out a growl of his own with a single gulp. The Leonine Emperor's body was war-forged, and every muscle was outlined even beneath that hide of his. A veritable machine built for battle, for conquest, and for defending the oft-challenged seat that he'd held for years from other aspirants. As Farron shuffled onto the bed alongside the Emperor, he was overwhelmed with the fierce, masculine scent of the travel-worn male, and his nose wrinkled briefly, then relaxed into the pheromone-laden miasma that settled within the confines of the bed's canopy. He slowly straddled the larger male's lower body and leaned forwards, pressing his fingers into the thick, coarse muscle of his back. In order to make any purchase, he had to focus his body weight over his hands, and even then they barely made an indentation as he pressed. Another soothing trickle of magic seeped from his fingertips to sweeten his massage further, and as he began to slowly, firmly knead the muscles of the Emperor's back, he heard that larger male respond in kind with a content rumble.

"I will admit this much, witch... You do have a talented touch. And a skilled tongue. Not many would have convinced me to hear them out this far."

"Both my touch and my tongue could be yours, Great Emperor. It would be my deepest honor to tend to your every need at your palace. To use my powers to fulfill your ambitions. To watch you conquer the world and bring the strongest of kingdoms to your court." Farron finally found himself able to express a soft, lustful purr under the guise of envisioning that conquering, and the more his hands rubbed and worked at the larger male's powerful frame, the longer he breathed in the stink of martial supremacy, of dominance earned upon a lifetime of dedication to strength, the more he found himself giving more and more effort to that massage.

Farron could feel the subtle, yet sudden turn in the Emperor's countenance. From fierce, professional, to the building subtleties of lust. And who could blame the beast? For all intents and purposes, Farron was more feminine than even most of the females of their species. Slender, delicate, pliable. That evident desire to serve, to inflate the Emperor's ego further, and to drive his ambitions more than even Emperor Brutus had ever imagined was having a notable effect. "Ha. Are you certain? My needs are many. Not many of my attendants last a fortnight. As Emperor, I demand worship of the most profane and obscene fashion."

"As you deserve, Strongest of Warriors. I would expect nothing less than to show you utmost devotion on your Council."

"Prove your obedience, witch."

Farron ceased his massage as he was given pause. He had been caught slightly off-guard. Actions he could take to prove his willingness certainly flooded through his mind briefly, but he wasn't entirely certain that he and the Emperor had entirely the same ideas. He faltered before speaking in a soft whisper, "How might I prove myself, Emperor?"

"Regale me with how you would tend to me. Appease me with how you would debase yourself for my enjoyment. I will be entertained to hear what you expect an Emperor desires from his attendants," rumbled the Emperor with a delighted little snarl.

Farron faltered yet again for a brief moment before he leaned downwards, bracing himself on the Emperor's firm trapezius until his muzzle rested beside the Emperor's ear. The warm tickle of Farron's breath caused that ear to flick as Farron whispered, "my Emperor would never need a bath again, for my tongue would keep his entirety clean, and my breath would forever smell of his excellence, his superiority."

Brutus chuffed softly beneath the lightweight male and shook his head, "Is that so? That is an intriguing thought. Even my closest attendant balks at savoring my musk after a long day."

"Such would never be a worry for you, Grandest of Males. The more potent your musk, the greater the show of my subservience to your will," Farron responded in a soft, sultry whisper into the Emperor's ear.

"Start at my feet. Now. I will judge your usefulness on where you falter before obeying, witch."

Farron complied readily. He crawled his way down to the foot of the bed where the great beast's feet lay and grasped the first. Kneeling by the Emperor's calf, he lifted that paw to his muzzle. The scent of travel was upon the paw, as well as some residual dust that had snuck into the vents of his sabatons, but Farron didn't hesitate a moment. His muzzle buried into the center of those leathery, rough pads, and the Emperor could feel the cool air being pulled between his toes as the smaller male inhaled deeply. Farron had to admit, the scent wasn't wholly unpalatable. If anything, it smelled of cornmeal. Well, masculine, musk-laden cornmeal, but cornmeal nonetheless. He took a few moments, showing his tolerance for the Emperor's pawmusk before Brutus felt the warmth, the wetness of the diminutive male's tongue suddenly lash out and press firmly, all the way to the back of the pool of fur that grew between the proud leonine's pads. He couldn't help but let out a lustful snarl as he felt that submissive little act, and his paw splayed wide to afford Farron further access.

"Nnnh. You filthy little cretin. What self-respecting male would find himself between another's paws, tasting of their filth and musk? Most would see themselves at the end of a blade before such a shame," taunted the Emperor. All the while, Farron continued snaking his tongue between each and every toepad, weaving his tongue through the musk-moistened fur and cleaning that male without the slightest notion of disgust, much less hesitation.

Farron knew that the Emperor's words were merely that. Words. He could tell by the splaying of that paw and the distinct, eager flick now present in the tip of the Emperor's tail that the large warrior was very, very evidently enjoying the attention he was receiving.

Brutus was, above all else, impatient. When one was the strongest, they did not often have to experience the necessity of waiting for their desires, and he suddenly wrenched the saliva-glistening paw from Farron's grip and raised the other to his muzzle. "This one too, wretch," he snarled aggressively into the blankets beneath him.

And Farron complied. Readily. Without the slightest notion of hesitance, he buried his muzzle into the center of that paw and found that potent scent he'd first experienced renewed. His eyes lidded, and he couldn't help but let out a soft, delighted little rumble as he inhaled a scent that most would've found vile. But he had to admit, certain as he had no interest in females, similar scenes had played out in his mind when he was alone with his own thoughts, all the way down to the burning insults the Emperor was slinging at him. He almost lost himself to his thoughts as he merely breathed through the scent-wettened fur of that footpaw before finally it nudged his muzzle eagerly. As if suddenly remembering his duties, his tongue lapped out hungrily. Although slightly dry from the dust he'd cleaned off the first foot, he no-less-eagerly began to snake that pink, warm muscle through the fur and between the leather of the Emperor's paw.

Both of the males found themselves absolutely delighted for entirely opposite reasons: Brutus for the positively vile distance that the other male was willing to go to appease him, and Farron for the absolute thrill of serving the grandest of males and the deepest of his desires.

Brutus finally withdrew his paw from the smaller male, and let it fall to the bed. There was a brief silence as he merely reveled in the warm jolts of delight and ego that fluttered through his body at being served in such a way. And by another male, no less. It was unconventional, certainly, but there could've been no greater way to cement his dominance than using another male, right? That was, at the very least, what he convinced himself of as he fluttered his eagerly flicking tail upwards and presented his muscular backside. "My tailside," he rumbled with a brief pause as that tail flicked to and fro up in the air. "And not just the parts you find palatable."

Farron turned, positioning his knees between the Emperor's calves and gently nudging them to gain better access as he crawled the short distance required, "Highest Excellence, there is not a part of you I'd ever find unpalatable. It is a humbling honor to be allowed to taste your greatness..." He murred softly. And he found himself realizing it wasn't wholly fluff to enrapture the Emperor. Indeed, behind him, his own tail flicked nervously, but excitedly as he gazed down on that perfect musculature of the Emperor's gluteus, as if marble sculpted by the greatest of artists had been draped in golden finery. And it was his to enjoy. He braced his hands on the backs of Brutus' thighs and descended. Eyes lidded shut as his muzzle settled on the crevasse formed by those powerful muscles of the Emperor's rump, and he inhaled deeply of the beast's scent yet again. He found the musk of the Emperor's tail definedly different than that of his paws. Warmer, deeper, richer. An earthy pungence that left little doubt as to precisely where his nose was perched.

Farron shuddered at the thought of descending to the depths of such depravity with the most powerful male on the continent. Only in his wildest of fantasies had he ever dared to dream of even getting this far with any other male, much less... the Emperor. He huffed again, burning Brutus' musk into his brain before finally tilting his head to the side. His tongue lapped out, caressing the fur of the Emperor's left glutei and wriggling its way beneath the fur in order to clean the flesh beneath.

"I haven't all night, male-slut. Skip the pleasantries and prove to me that you'll clean the places most in need of cleaning," the Emperor commanded with a lustful growl. His command was immediately answered, drawing a fierce snarl from the beast as Farron's hands parted those chiseled muscles and he felt that muzzle press insistently between them.

Brutus felt the sudden cold moisture of the smaller male's nose press against the thin ring of exposed flesh that surrounded his tailhole and a shudder wracked through his entire body. Two more deep breaths he felt drawn through his fur and over that flesh before he felt the warmth of the other male's tongue slip down over his taint until it barely flicked the back of his furred sack. It drew slowly back upwards until the tip of it lighted on that ring and began to slowly, gently trace circles around it.

Powerful as the Emperor was, he could count the number of times he'd received this treatment on one paw, and never had it happened before he'd bathed thoroughly. Yet here was this, admittedly, lovely specimen subjecting himself to the potency of his unabashed musk and sweat.

Farron's first taste between the Emperor's legs was... intense. The gamey flavor of the larger male's body washed over his tongue in waves. Starting with the salt of his sweat, then the dustiness of his travels, and finally the muskiness of his congealed pheromones that had been trapped between those powerful thighs. When his tongue settled on the fleshy ring of his tailhole, however, another flavor joined it. Bittersweet and earthy, there was little denying the scent and taste of an unwashed rump, and although the flavor of such an act might've been more than a little repulsive, the lust that it triggered inside of Farron only drove him to crave it more. Hesitant circles around the ring turned to more insistent, firm strokes that painted Brutus' backside in the sorcerer's saliva.

"Hrgh... You're absolutely perfect, you tail-licking wretch. I can smell the stink of your arousal. You actually do enjoy this, don't you?" rumbled the Emperor. In spite of the insult thrown, Farron could hear the distinct appreciation in his voice for this treatment that he was receiving. "If only you had a cunt I could fuck full of my cubs to reward your obedience," he noted with a remorseful shake of his head.

Farron had lost himself between the powerful cheeks of the Emperor's rump, and the words took much longer to register than they normally would have. He left the embrace of Brutus' tailside in order to speak, "Perhaps not a cunt, Great Emperor, but... If you desire to take me, you still might do so," he cooed in response.

"A tongue is not the same."

"My tailhole, Strongest of Warriors..."

Farron's suggestion lingered in the air for a long moment as if the thought had never even occurred to the Emperor before. With females, there wasn't a need, as the thought was constantly on repopulation and the spreading of his lineage. But... with this little minx of a male... suddenly he wasn't entirely sure why he'd not thought of such before. A punishment for disobedient attendants that he might still use them for his pleasure without granting them the honor of his progeny.

"You'd best think carefully on what you offer, little male-bitch. I will not be gentle."

"And I would expect nothing less. My servitude is about your pleasure, Emperor, not my comfort."

Every word Farron spoke was pure symphony to the Emperor's ears, and it sent another shudder down the muscular male's spine. "If you soil me, you will be personally attending my hygiene."

"It was already my intent to do such, Emperor."

With that, it seemed that the Emperor's instinct could be quelled no longer. He rolled over onto his back, powerful musculature easily flipping the much smaller sorcerer from atop him to bounce off the mattress beside him. He sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees as he waved dismissively at Farron. "Remove your clothes, my breedtoy."

Farron slid from the bed and offered a compliant bow of his head towards the Emperor. He stood before the larger male, not bothering to slink away for privacy as he slid the robe from his shoulders. This left him in a short-sleeved tunic and simple linen trousers. The tunic was the first to be removed, and even in the dim light of the room, the Emperor saw enough to make his throat rumble hungrily. Slender, lithe, signaturely feline. It was a far-cry from the norm of their people: even their females tended to train for physical superiority, but Brutus had to admit that there was... a distinct feminism to such fragility that played with the predatory instincts in the most basal parts of his mind. That white fur was absolutely intoxicating, mesmerizing, and he found his gaze lost, entangled in the plush fur that covered Farron's body. His nostrils flared as he chuffed appreciatively. "Had you tits, you'd be the most beautiful female I'd ever seen," he rumbled with a shake of his head. "The rest of it now," he noted with a quick gesture to those linen trousers.

The sorcerer's thumbs were slipped into the waistband of his trousers and he tugged them down from the slight flare of his hips. In truth, the Emperor had no idea how he was going to react. On one paw, he'd never considered actually laying with a male before this evening. Males were meant to compete, to fight one another, to kill one another for power. On the other paw, the thought of dominating another male touched somewhere deep in his mind, and one willingly submitting to him, establishing him as the superior was... an attractive proposition.

The trousers were slipped completely off, tail slid from it, and they were kicked aside to leave both of those beasts completely naked in the slight chill of the room. Golden eyes raked over every inch of Farron's body, the slender, waifish torso, the slightly flared hips. The gaze paused briefly as they settled on the pointed, exposed pink tip of the lionhood peeking from the contrasting, snow-white fur of his sheathe. No less small than the rest of the male, he was definitively below average in almost all physical regards. Even the laden pouch that hung below his sheathe was... quaint and cute at best. This only made the ominous smirk on the Emperor's muzzle grow larger though. "My, my. You're just inadequate in all regards, aren't you? Come. Get a closer look at what a _real_male looks like," he commanded as he stretched and slid to the edge of the bed, letting his legs drape off the edge at the curve of his knees and parting them to expose himself to Farron.

"It... it is an honor, Emperor," came the hushed coo from the white-furred Leonine as he stepped forward, falling on his knees before the seated beast, and crawling forward until his nose pressed right against where the Emperor's sheathe joined with his sack. A third type of musk filled Farron's nose that night. He'd savored the foot musk, the tail musk, but this was the most enticing as of yet. Distinctly and undeniably male, the scent of unwashed sheathe and cock flooded his nose while his eyes marveled at the close-up view he was getting of this other male. He was much larger than Farron, although the Leonine weren't particularly known for their length nor girth. Whereas Farron was, at best the length and girth of his own pinky finger, the Emperor was at least two fingers thick and an additional few inches in length. Already proudly displayed outside his sheathe, the pointed, conical shaft throbbed eagerly, glistening in the light with the secretions produced by his sheathe that had congealed to the surface. The outline of small, fleshy barbs could be seen, rear-facing down the entirety of that proud spear. A singular, clear bead of preseed had already formed at the top, threatening to cascade downwards the moment it lost equilibrium.

Farron was almost breathless as he breathed in that scent, tail flicking behind him, body shuddering needily, eagerly, and also with a decent bit of nervousness thrown in for good measure. "You are marvelous, Greatest of Warriors. The most handsome and virile of males," Farron cooed in compliment as he saturated himself in the scents and sights of the larger Leonine's body.

"You are correct. I am," asserted Brutus as he suddenly pulled away, gesturing to the bed with a wave of his hand. "On all fours. Present yourself like a female begging to be bred," he commanded with a lustful snarl pulling at the sides of his muzzle.

And, of course, Farron complied. He climbed atop the bed on all fours, turning until his backside faced the other male. He parted his legs slightly to drop his rear and more evidently reveal himself before hiking that snowy tail upwards and angling it towards his own head to fully present. He'd expected an immediate mount, to feel the Emperor force himself upon and within him to claim his pleasure. What he hadn't expected was the soft huff-huff sound of the Emperor's sniffing, followed by a low, predatory, warning growl. "Nnnh. You even smell like a female, male-slut. Tell me what a good girl you'll be for me."

"I'll be your best girl, Great Emperor. I will do your most vile of bidding, be honored by your seed whenever you've excess. I'll tongue-clean every part of your body every day. Please... Let me be your female," Farron begged quite convincingly. Of course, the very act had him as hard as he could ever possibly be. Diminutive as he may have been, the scant evidence that he was, indeed, not a female throbbed beneath him and oozed a small, slender rope of preseed to the blanket beneath him. He was on edge. He needed it, wanted it, and his begging wasn't entirely falsehoods for the sake of diplomacy. While he certainly was willing to do what it took to secure this alliance, he had unexpectedly found himself invariably enjoying his evening with the Emperor.

"That's my girl. Purr for me like a little kitten while I get lined up," the Emperor rumbled as he angled himself with the smaller male. Farron felt those strong, powerful hands seize his hips, felt the heat of the male's body drawing closer to his, and finally felt the prodding tip of that pointed spear pressing against his backside. It missed left once, then to the right. Then once too low that prodded the back of his furry, little sack. He purred the entire time, demeaning himself with that domesticated noise as he patiently waited for Brutus to find his mark. And suddenly there was a surge, an intense, sudden fullness as his eyes went wide and his purr rose into a fierce, instinctive snarl as his teeth bared. A burning, stretching pain filled his body as the Emperor surged forward with a single thrust, hilting himself until the top of that Empirical sheathe kissed the tight, gripping ring of the sorcerer's tailhole.

The Emperor, too, let out a fierce snarl as a pleasure like no other he'd felt enveloped his maleness. Aided by the lubrication his sheathe provided and the now-constant spurting of preseed from his tip, he'd managed to hilt on the first thrust and was immediately gripped by the vicelike muscles of the smaller male's tailside. He could feel Farron's pulse in the tight ring that was wrapped around the widened base of his cock, each beat causing a soft thump around the entirety of his spear. His instincts, however, demanded more, and he didn't give Farron much time to adjust before he began to piston himself in and out. He leaned forward, over the smaller male to seize the scruff of his neck and mane between his teeth and tugged hard, sharply backwards. Their bodies were made to handle such a grip, however, and even as Farron's head was wrenched backwards by the dominant male, he let out a soft, whimpering, submissive moan of delight.

He could feel the barbs of the other male lightly dragging inside him on every retreat, only to be shoved right back within him the next moment. A tantalizing, obtuse sensation of being empty, full, and empty again as the Emperor used his body. But it wasn't entirely for the Emperor's pleasure. After the initial pain had subsided and those first few thrusts had beat his body into relaxing enough for Brutus to take him, Farron found that a strange, delightful, pleasurable pressure began to build at the base of his own lionhood that kept him almost painfully erect as the other male took him. Every thrust drove the underside of the mounting male's shaft right into that delightful bundle of nerves that sent fireworks through Farron's vision. His mouth dropped agape and his tongue lolled out. His eyes rolled back in his head as he was overwhelmed with just as much (if not, perhaps, more) pleasure than the beast atop him.

Just as quickly as it all began, it came to a roaring halt. The Emperor's thrusts became more erratic, more instinctual as the primal parts of his brain started to seize control. Leonine weren't very much known for their longevity, but rather, their repetitiveness. The last few thrusts of his were short, desperate, and hilted himself ever deeper inside the male beneath him until finally released his hold on the back of Farron's neck and reared his head back to let out a triumphant, proud roar that was surely heard through the entirety of the castle.

Farron could feel the beast's barbs flare outwards within him, locking the larger male inside his body as he felt the obtuse, strange warmth of seed being pumped into his body with rough, powerful contractions that made the spear inside of him jolt with each gush. The Emperor fell quiet in the throes of his climax, patiently locked to his petite malebitch with a Cheshire look of satisfaction plastered across his muzzle. That look quickly changed to curiosity, however, as the male beneath him began to shudder, to pant openly in short, sharp breaths, and pressed eagerly back against him once, twice, and a final third time before he released a fierce, primal snarl as well. His rump clenched down and Brutus could feel the contractions of the smaller male's orgasm from within Farron's body, followed by the telltale scent of seed spilled onto the blanket.

Farron lowered his face, exhausted, to the blanket of the bed, huffing, puffing, and positively bristling with the static energy left in place of a deep, prostatic climax. His hands grabbed fistfuls of the blanket, and he lazily smacked his tongue over his muzzle whilst the larger male was just beginning to finish those powerful spurts inside of his body.

"Did you just climax from being taken like a female!?" exclaimed Brutus incredulously.

Farron could do nothing but purr in absolute delight for a long moment before spiriting a response, his head nodding slowly, satiated in the blankets. "You are too perfect, your Excellence," he managed to tiredly pant out. "My body is unable to withstand such virility..." he mewled with a soft vibrato from his purring shaking his tone.

The Emperor seemed satisfied by this answer. Every word from this little minx's mouth just stroked and stoked his ego in the most delightful of ways, and it just made him all the more amorous. He could feel himself softening enough to dislodge those barbs without injuring his little partner too much and gave a final rough thrust forwards before slowly wriggling his way out of the snow-furred male's rump. He slipped out with a soft, wet pop and took a gaze at his handiwork: the tight, quickly-sealed ring of that male with only a single droplet of his seed leaked to drip into the fur of Farron's taint, painting it a strange, off-white color against the pristine moonlight surrounding it.

Lovely though, the sight of this presenting male was: that exotic, erotic contrast of the small scrotum hanging where the lips of a womanhood should have started, he was having too much fun and he certainly wasn't going to squander such a willing, enthusiastic partner. "Well? Clean me," he commanded, the feigned impatience in his voice starting to wane as Farron succeeded at winning him over.

And there wasn't the slightest bit of hesitation. The more graceful, dexterous male nimbly slithered his way up to the male's lap and his tongue immediately lashed out. He washed the Emperor as if that shaft hadn't just been tucked sheathe-deep in his tailhole. The taste of seed, of unwashed maleness, and even his own insides gathered on his tongue as he coiled it around that pink, throbbing length and bathed it like his very life depended on it. With his enthusiasm, his desperation to please, it took nearly no time at all before Brutus was cleaner than he'd been before he penetrated the little sorcerer, and Farron pulled away slowly, still leaving his muzzle only a whisker's distance from the other's throbbing lionhood.

There was a brief silence, the proud, powerful Emperor staring down at this submitting, eager male, observing those ice-blue eyes that gazed right back up at him, observing the way that moonlight tail flicked delightedly back and forth from his rump. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that this was, perhaps, one of the most memorable evenings he'd ever had--but such words would never, ever pass his lips. Every deviant act he could think of, this fragile little thing had managed to accept with positive glee and enjoyment, and while he could get those particular acts from his usual attendants, such enthusiasm was seldom found. Finally, he broke the silence with a soft huff. "Fetch a chamberpot, male-bitch. I am weary from my journey and wish not to walk to the privy," he rumbled as he pulled away, taking a content seat at the edge of the bed. "After I piss, perhaps I'll give you the honor of taking you again. And again still. You are not too tired from our first breeding, I presume?"

The sorcerer slipped from the bed, standing atop well-rutted, shaky legs before he reestablished his balance. "Never too tired to please you, Great One," he cooed softly as he knelt and slipped beneath the bed, pulling back with a rather ornate, well-cleaned, ceramic chamberpot. He slid upwards, between the Emperor's legs and brought it within distance. Delicately, his slender, soft hand reached out and, without so much as being commanded, he angled the Emperor towards the pot.

Such an act was... unexpected, to say the least, and the Emperor narrowed his eyes at Farron with a soft rumble. "I can do this myself, eager little pet," he noted. Nevertheless, he shifted forward slightly, parting his legs as he visibly began to relax.

"You can do everything yourself, Great Emperor, I've little doubt. But why should you? Your every need should be tended, should it not?"

The Emperor merely grunted his acknowledgement in response before the room fell into a pregnant silence. He found it exceptionally difficult to focus, to relax while this other Leonine so delicately and adoringly held his lionhood for him, but after a few moments he managed. It started first with a few droplets, then a brief pause, and finally the dam burst. A sharp, sudden jet of amber sprayed from that pointed tip, and Farron quickly adjusted to ensure every drop made it into the pot. The sharp, pungent reek of a male feline's mark pierced the air, cutting through even the fog of sexual miasma that had formed to cause Farron's nose to wrinkle. And piss that beast did. After fifteen seconds of that spray, he exhaled a sigh of content, only for the flow to redouble in strength. Farron's eyes locked to that release in absolute fascination, flicking briefly from the Emperor's lazily lidded eyes, then back down to that spraying lionhood. Although the chamberpot was certainly King-sized, for a brief moment, Farron pondered if the Emperor might exceed its capacity, for he showed no sign of slowing. He could feel the occasional spatter of that mark as it smacked the bowl and misted his muzzle, warm, pungent, and even though his muzzle instinctively wrinkled at that scent, there was something so positively erotic about being this close to his partner during such an intimate, vulnerable moment.

That spray finally began to taper off, ebbing until only a few droplets remained, and Farron briefly flicked his eyes down to the puddle of gold the great warrior had released, filling nearly half the chamberpot before dripping to a slow finish. After another brief moment, the Emperor's eyes reopened, and he found the piercing, blue gaze of that little sorcerer staring straight back at him. Once again, their eyes locked for a moment, and some strange, unspoken language passed between them. That desperation, the need locked behind those icy eyes mixed with the fierce, dominant lust and fire of the Emperor's golden gaze. And without a word, Farron's face suddenly disappeared beyond the rim of that chamberpot.

For a brief moment, Brutus almost thought to stop him. Nobody should demean themselves that far. And then his ego seized the better half of his mind. He heard the first wet slurp of tongue meeting that steaming, golden pool and felt his cock lurch in absolute glee. There was a pause before the second slurp sounded, and yet another long pause.

That first taste caught Farron off-guard. He wasn't entirely sure what possessed him to descend into the Emperor's mark, but he'd expected to be repulsed immediately. Instead, while the acrid flavor of male feline stung his tongue briefly with the acidity, it rapidly faded to the pungence of his musk and pheromones and salt. And Farron liked _all_of those tastes. Surely his first taste was a fluke, and he descended for a second soft lap of tongue-into-urine. The acidity bit less the second taste, but the musk, salt, and pheromones were no less potent. And with that, he began to lap like a kitten from a saucer.

The second pause had the Emperor think that, perhaps, he'd found the little submissive male's limits, but just as he was reaching down to pull Farron back up, he heard the pitter patter of rapid licking echoing from beyond the paltry, sleek fluff of the sorcerer's mane. He watched in absolute fascination, leaning forwards to see if he could catch a glimpse of the pure deviancy taking place just outside his view. As if such a sight couldn't last long enough, he watched as that mane descended further and further, following the retreating pool of steaming amber until, at long last, only the sound of tongue polishing bare ceramic was heard coming from beyond Farron's head.

When Farron withdrew, it took him a moment, sheepishly looking down at the floor as he set the chamberpot down and slipped it beneath the bed once again, empty, cleaned. The wordlessness of the Emperor was more burning than the taunts and insults that had been thrown his way. But finally he ventured to raise that icy gaze back up to Brutus', ears splayed flat in submissive fashion. Once again, they wordlessly exchanged emotions, thoughts of what had just occurred. That predatory, lustful gaze from the Emperor had only intensified, and his proud spear throbbed uncomfortably out of his sheathe, barbs flaring slightly with every pulse of the beast's strong, powerful heart.

"I accept your King's terms, male-slut. You will join me in my chambers tonight and we shall plan our strategy tomorrow. I expect we depart on the following sun."

The rest of their evening was filled with seemingly endless lust, and by the early hours of the morning, both of them were exhausted and reeked of one another's body. When they finally slipped beneath the blankets, sleep was quick to catch them, however, not before Farron noted the Emperor pull him close and press an affectionate nuzzle against the back of his mane. A single word was uttered from the proud beast before exhaustion ushered them both into dreams: "Mine."