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Prince Alester thrives on being incorrigible.
Truly, he can’t help himself. All he wants in his life is for everyone to act out on their desire for him. And if they don’t desire him, he will make them. It’s a game - the only one he can be bothered to play. His mother the queen and all of his older siblings can take care of the bothersome thinking and governing and strategizing. They’re much better at it, too, for Alester is only good at one thing: diplomacy. Assuming the diplomat - or diplomats, plural - are willing to meet with him in private quarters. Alester loves to foster good alliances, of course. He especially loves the kind of alliance where they fuck him hard or shove their cock down his throat. He knows it’s going well when ambassadors find excuses to visit the capital of Edelmant more often than strictly necessary. He knows it’s going even better when they invite him to their own parties.
All of this is to say that Alester is good at one thing: being a shameless slut.
The best part is that he rarely needs to leave castle grounds to find his fun. It’s easy enough to find kitchen staff or someone at the stables willing to take a quick round with him between tasks. The downside is that it really does have to be quick, lest they get in trouble for shirking their work. Alester does enjoy the frantic ruts, barely hidden, leaving him covered with handprints of flour or hay in his hair. Manservants tend to take a little longer to convince, but none have had the willpower to turn Alester down completely. If they’re willing, they’ll spend the night in his bed, enjoying the softness of his beautiful body multiple times. If Alester is feeling particularly impish, he’ll try his luck with whichever guards are on duty. They are wise to his tricks, sure, but they are also very well acquainted with the skill of his mouth. The more resistant they are to their urges, the more delicious their spend is on his tongue.
When the fire within him is even more untenable than usual, when the unbearable heat of it has him crawling out of his skin, Alester goes directly to the barracks. Guards off duty have far less excuses to hold back. New recruits may be hesitant to lay hands on a prince, maybe they have some noble ideas of duty and honor. Their convictions don’t last very long, thankfully. How could they, when they see Alester taking three cocks at once - two up his ass, one in his throat - moaning like a whore at getting his hair pulled? Alester begs so prettily to get passed around, to get filled, to be crushed against their sweaty bodies. Only when he’s exhausted every guard present, when he’s left discarded on the floor, used up and leaking from all ends, will he be content. For a time, at least.
It’s well known that prince Alester prefers men, though it is not a requirement. With his lithe, willowy physique and long, silky hair, Alester has quite the universal appeal. He very well enjoys a strong, tall warrior who can lift him up like he’s nothing, but he also finds a great deal of fun in seducing boring old bureaucrats who have never quite understood what’s so good about sex before. And as much as he loves receiving, Alester must admit he also loves it when the warriors and bureaucrats want him to fuck them. It’s a special little treat. He loves women, too, though he does not always love how much more caution it takes to bed them. He never turns down an opportunity where they please each other with mouths and fingers, and he is a great appreciator of a fine ass - but if a lady is a little too eager for him to cum inside their cunt, well. It is one of the few things that can kill his mood. There is a rarer kind of woman however, whose wish to dominate Alester will make him weak in the knees just to think about. A woman who desires to be the one to fuck him, to tie him up, step on him and spit in his mouth - now that will have him crawling back for more. Most of all, Alester takes great pride in turning the heads of those who consider themselves exclusively attracted to women. To have them cast aside their strongly held beliefs about themselves just to get a taste of him… He never tires of it. He will gladly wear dresses for the sake of their delusion, let them push him front first into the bed where they can’t see his cock, and pitch his voice to their preference.
It’s all a game, and Alester always wins.
He has to, or else he’d lose his mind. Alester grits his teeth as the painter asks him to sit up straighter for what, the fourteenth time? Fifteenth? Alester isn’t counting. He hates this. He hates sitting still. He does not understand why his mother the queen keeps insisting that there should be at least one decent painting of him. Certainly, Alester can understand the appeal of other people knowing how beautiful he is, but he’d be just as happy to show them in person.
“What was your name, again?” Alester asks the painter, not really caring.
“Hans, your highness,” says the painter.
No wonder Alester forgot it. He’ll forget it again in a moment. Hans is incredibly forgettable, both in name and appearance. He doesn’t look bad by any means - though Alester’s voracious appetite rarely discriminates - there’s just nothing remarkable about him. He might be Alester’s age, or maybe a little younger, with the scraggly beginnings of a beard. Alester thinks it might tickle pleasantly if Hans were to eat his ass.
What really frustrates Alester is how Hans has not made any move to ravish him yet. This might very well be the longest Alester has ever been made to sit for a portrait - usually painters break much sooner than this. Many painters have taken this job specifically for his reputation! So what is it going to take for Hans?
“Mm,” Alester mumbles in a belated reply.
He widens the stance of his knees a little, keeping eye contact with the painter as he does so. Hans makes no remark.
“I’m bored,” Alester tells him.
“My apologies, your highness. I’m not very well versed in conversation.”
“I’m not asking for conversation.”
Hans keeps dabbing paint to the canvas instead of replying.
Alester already has his hands in his lap, elegantly folded as per request. He barely has to move them to cup his groin.
Hans says nothing.
Alester slowly, slowly starts rubbing himself through the fabric. He’s always been quick to harden.
Hans says nothing, still, but his face seems a little flushed.
“Mh.” Alester thinks about the last time he saw ambassador Jarozmar. The man made him warm his cock under a desk for hours while he wrote letters for work, then fucked him thoroughly on top of it. It had been a great excursion. “Mhnn.”
“Um, y-your highness…”
“Yes?” Alester says breathily.
Hans swallows. “Could… C-could you sit still, please?”
Hans is definitely sweating, but Alester can’t see any bulge between his legs. That’s odd.
“Hmm, I don’t think I can,” says Alester, truthfully. He has not stopped touching himself. “I believe in your abilities, Hans.”
Hans’ brush is trembling in his hand. “I - I -”
Alester moves his left hand to caress his tits. His nipples have hardened beneath his tunic. “Maybe if you helped me…”
“I can’t,” Hans chokes. “Your highness, I can’t do that.”
Alester whines and writhes in his chair. “Hn, why, why not?”
“Oh gods. I can’t. I mustn’t.”
“I’m telling you that you can. Nh. I could command you to, if you prefer.”
Hans drops his brush. “Your highness, prince Alester, please don’t -”
Alester sees it then: the wetness forming at Hans’ crotch. “Oh!”
That explains it. What a relief to realize there’s nothing wrong with his charms. Sliding down the chair, Alester crawls on all fours to where the painter is sitting. Hans seems like he’s wanting to get up and run, but shaking so violently his feet are failing him.
“I won’t tell,” Alester whispers, positioned between his thighs.
“A,” Hans squeaks as the prince draws down his breeches.
Hans is wet, very wet. His clit is doing its best to imitate a hardened cock, which Alester finds very flattering. It’s not his first time with a man like this. He licks along the drooling slit of the cunt. Hans cries out and kicks his legs.
“Can you fuck my mouth, Hans?” Alester asks in his sultriest voice. “You can hold my hair. Pull it as much as you want.”
Hans can indeed fuck his mouth. He doesn’t seem to quite believe it at first, but after some persuasive prodding of Alester’s tongue, Hans is enthusiastically thrusting his hips into the prince’s face.
“Oh, gods, oh, ohh, gods,” Hans babbles deliriously. He’s got Alester’s hair bunched up in his hands, pulling his head as deep into his loins as possible.
There it is, Alester thinks. The never failing desire to use him. Alester is a tool. A means to an end. A warm body. A tongue. A hole. A cumdump. He’s no prince, unless they want him to be. He’ll always be whatever they want him to be. Whatever gets them off. Whatever gets them to tend to the wildfire inside him. It can’t consume him if they consume him first. He’ll serve himself up to anyone who’ll eat him.
“Oh gods oh gods oh gods -”
Hans grinds himself hard against Alester’s tongue and convulses as he cums, hopefully not for the last time.
“Hahh…”
“Isn’t that so much better?” Alester asks the boneless, breathless painter. He removes his tunic to reveal his own impatiently leaking cock. “I’m ready to sit for the portrait now.”
He better be fully covered in paint by sunset.