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“A gift! For you, My King.” The merchant presents a small phial in his palm, no bigger than her hand. The maroon liquid shimmers in the light, sloshing against the glass.
“What is this? An elixir?” He eyes the liquid suspiciously, taking it between his fingers and swirling it around.
“A potion. Said to enhance the vitality of the one who drinks it.” A grin creeps on her face, hiding an unspoken truth behind it. His lips purse into an unimpressed line. Before he can question her more, she bows respectfully, turning away from the banquet table. He watches her figure grow smaller as she takes a seat on the other side of the grand hall.
He scoffs. A potion? Such things don’t exist. Magic cannot be stored in a bottle, and alchemical solutions are a misguided myth of the past. Still, he can’t help but swirl the ‘potion’ with a curious eye. The maroon liquid seems to sparkle as it catches the light of the castle chandeliers, begging him to take a sip.
He glances up past the grand table to the royal hall beyond. Chatter mixes with the laughter of his people, filling the hall with a pleasant stream of noise. To anyone else it might be annoying, but to him it’s a gentle reminder that his kingdom still stands despite the recent hardships it’s been forced through. Despite the recent siege on his castle, he remains standing with his citizens. Alive.
No thanks to you.
His peaceful smile sours when he spots you entering the hall. You take your seat at a table with a yellow-skinned Robloxian wearing a green visor. Some merchant must’ve invited you– that’s fine. He can enjoy his night without interacting with you.
The phial beckons him again. The curio is barely an ounce. What’s the harm? Surely such a small amount couldn’t hurt him even if it were a poison. And the myth of enhanced vitality? He could use such a thing whether or not the potions effects hold any merit. Really, either something happens, or nothing. There’s no reason not to. He removes the stopper and downs the sweet liquid in one swig. It burns like a strong alcohol down his throat, unpleasantly hot yet floral. Thank goodness it’s so small.
It takes no time at all for symptoms to begin. The burning persists uncomfortably, trailing down his throat to his stomach. His cheeks flush a light red, warming his face. Was this simply nothing more than a potent wine? Such a waste of money. Hopefully that merchant didn’t pay too much for it.
About an hour passes and the celebration quiets down as more guests file out of the hall, most being children and those who must work in the early morn. Though it’s customary to say goodbye to the king before departure, and he does quite love chatting with his people, this night feels… off. The heat has now traveled to his chest, not warming him uncomfortably so, but quite unusually. His heart thrums, making it difficult to concentrate on the current conversation with the child before him. Luckily, her parent pulls her away, excusing themselves for the night.
Ah. He’s not sure how he didn’t notice before, but the room seems to be a bit darker. He lifts his gaze to the chandelier; still lit. Has it always been so hot in here as well? Though the cool mountain air pours into the hall, he can’t help but feel hot under the collar. He pulls off his cape, handing it to a nearby servant to be put away. Perhaps he’s falling ill. A few days off shouldn’t hurt after an event such as this. He turns his gaze back to the few people left at their tables. Unfortunately, you are still amongst them, chatting with the same Robloxian.
“Your Majesty?” a quiet voice beside him startles the king out of his thoughts, “Pardon my bluntness, but are you alright?”
“O-of course,” he stammers. Damn it. Despite the helmet over her face, he can tell she’s giving him a doubtful look.
“It’s just that your breathing is a bit shallow, not to mention you seem awfully warm. Your skin is red.” Is he? He touches his forehead with a few fingertips, pressing chilled fingers to warm skin. A thin sheen of sweat sticks to them when he pulls away.
“I see… Perhaps- Maybe I should,” he breathes out in response, chest feeling awfully tight. The knight says something in return, but for the life of him he can’t figure out what she said. It’s like she’s speaking a different language. He mutters some excuse about being sick, pulling away from the table with stumbling feet. The sounds of the hall barely register through to him, sounding as if his head is underwater. Someone might’ve called out to him, but he ignores it. Part of him knows there’s something awfully wrong with him right now, and he can’t let anyone find out. Unluckily, or perhaps luckily, he misses your concerned look as he staggers into a connecting hallway.
Trembling hands, tight jaw, unbearably hot and sweaty. The heat and tightness now travel further down, settling in his stomach and much too closely to his groin. He groans, pressing his warm back to the cool stone wall of the corridor. With shaky hands, he fumbles with the buttons of his waistcoat, sliding it off his body to his feet.
“What’s happening to me?” He can scarcely get the words out with his labored breathing. The sound of heeled boots on the stone floor catch his attention, swiveling his head to the source much too late.
You.
Right beside him.
“What do you want?” he grumbles through grit teeth, jaw tight and nails digging into his palms. You say nothing, only giving him a look of concern and stepping a bit closer. The heat radiating off you isn’t as intense as his feverish body, but he can feel it on his skin nonetheless. You reach for him, placing a flat palm on his forehead.
Telamon, how your touch makes him shiver. Your hands– your touch is a cool blessing upon his face as you slide down to his cheek, then his neck, checking his temperature. Each glide of your fingers feels hot and cold at the same time, sending a pleasant shiver to the heat pooling in his stomach. No matter how much he knows he shouldn’t be enjoying touch from you of all people, he does.
“Contrary to what you think, I don’t hate you as much as you think I do.” Your hands move away, “What’s happened to you? You’re baking in your own skin.” The silence stretches for several moments before he finally responds.
“I think it was something I drank,” he admits reluctantly, “some poison presented as a gift.” He runs hand over his face with a groan, yelping when your nose suddenly invades his neck. His body shivers when you take a deep inhale, sending the same numbing, electric feeling straight to his groin.
“What are you-!”
“An aphrodisiac. You drank an aphrodisiac– a powerful one at that.” You pull back, “You reek of flowers and sugar.”
“What…?” he breathes out, face etched with reluctant understanding. “That’s all it is? Not some poison designed to be my undoing?”
“Of course not,” you scoff, kneeling before him, “Though, there’s only one way to purge it from your body.” You look up at him expectantly, hands resting on his waist. He grits his teeth, heart pounding in his ears at the implication. Of course, of course this had to happen to him with you.
“And what if I don’t?” His hand automatically rests atop your head, gently pulling at your hair to keep your gaze fixed on his.
“If you don’t purge it now, then it’ll last for days, but most likely weeks,” you state matter-of-factly. He groans, face flushing hotter, though not because of the aphrodisiac.
“Do… we have to do it this way?” He might have considered it if it were anybody else and anywhere else but here.
“Your symptoms have progressed too much. Haven’t you seen your pupils? They’re blown wide.” You pull on his pants, exposing his damp boxers, “Trust me, I’ve seen this sort of thing before.” You pause, making his skin prickle as you stare right at his groin.
“Fine,” he growls through grit teeth, “You will assist me. Get started.” He grips your locks tighter, pressing your face to his wetness. You obey, almost eagerly, and slide off his boxers. A trail of slick sticks to the inside, connecting to his folds before you lick it away with a shuddering gasp from him. Almost immediately, his body tenses as your lips push their way between his, moving hungrily across his skin.
It takes almost no time at all, really. Between the aching heat in his stomach and your touch on his bare waist, his body gives in. Just the right flick of your tongue across his nub and he’s a shaking mess, fluids coating your mouth in a thick sheen. A string of curses spills forth from his lips as he grips your locks tighter, nearly stumbling forward.
“Is… Is that all?” he breathes out, slumping against the cool stone wall again. The usual wash of tiredness falls over him, but the aching pressure remains. Perhaps it’s just from the intensity of it all. You pull away, leaving a thin strand of slick and saliva between your lips and his.
“No,” you reply, licking your lips clean, “at least one more time.”
“Then continue.” He pushes your face back between his legs. “I didn’t tell you to stop.” All he gets is a muffled reply from you as your tongue continues its heavenly work, sliding between his tender flesh. A strangled moan catches in his throat as you slide two fingers into his wet hole, threatening his already-crumbling composure from coming completely undone. His other hand flies to your head, squeezing and pulling as the added fullness threatens his wobbling knees.
Telamon! How those fingers slide in and out perfectly. The smell of flowers, sugar, sweat, and musk clings to the damp air, filling his lungs with nothing but the reminder that this is all his fault for drinking that phial. Sweat drips down his brow as his head starts to hang heavy, losing control over his own body from your ministrations.
Restraint slips. He grinds forward, sliding his clit over your tongue with a lewd cry. The burn from stimulation courses from his heat-softened skin and through his thighs, making him crash forward onto the cold floor with you below. The loud sound of clinking metal on the floor fills the hall as his crown rolls off his head, forgotten while he grinds senselessly on your tongue. He ignores your helpless cries and pushing hands on his hips as his second orgasm spills across your mouth and chin, marking you further. With a gasp for fresh air, you manage to pull his weak body off your face. Your breaths mingle together, both heavy. He stares much too softly, eyes lidded with unraveling desire.
“Another one,” he demands, roughly grabbing your hand and pressing it against his plush outer folds, slipping a finger between them. With a sigh, you obey, sliding your fingers across his clit and teasing it between them. He falls forward with a whimper, nestling himself in the crook of your neck. His hips stutter and shake, no doubt from overstimulation. You’re just about to fill him again with a digit when he pulls away with a crazed look in his eyes.
“More,” he commands, tugging at your pants, “I need more of you. It’s not enough.” Though he’s acting like a lust-crazed maniac, he waits for your response before pulling further. You stare into his pupils, noting how they’re back to normal. With a quick inhale of his scent, you shake your head.
“You’ve had enough. You should be back to normal now.” He growls at your response, pulling at your shirt.
“You dare deny me?” He releases you, pulling up his pants as he stands and pointing at you with a trembling finger. “Fine, but if you tell anyone about this, I’ll have you killed.” Despite his harsh words, you crack a smile. His tone is hardly threatening, especially with his glassy and tired eyes.
“I won’t. Promise.” You climb back onto your feet, handing him his discarded waistcoat from the floor. His eyes widen just a fraction, a light blush tinting his cheeks. He gingerly takes it from you, gaze lingering on yours. The moment doesn’t last long. With a huff he pulls it on before turning out of the hall.
Ah. He forgot his crown. He’ll be back for it later. You take it in your hands, walking back out to the grand hall. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand before you forget, lest everyone speculate about the two of you.