The King part 12

DEE

I’m full of emotion as I watch Vadnar pace. I’m glad he entered the enraged state, but unnerved because he still has to fight. Who knows what will be waiting for him at the arena, or if we’ll be separated again.

I surprised myself when I was on my knees, my mouth full of cock. My need for us to survive was quickly overshadowed my desire, and my lips moved because I wanted to please him, not because I had to.

I wish the circumstances were different, but I don’t regret filling myself with him.

He paces for a long time, brimming with energy. The other two prisoners remain quiet, and I wonder how many times they’ve fought in the arena to have survived a month.

Hill is cruel, but his spirit seems unbroken. Maybe we will survive a month too, but I don’t think Vadnar has plans on staying that long.

I hear the daunting sound of footsteps as the ringleader returns. He barks at Vadnar to turn and show his hands, and makes quick work of tying his hands. This time, he uses a strange thin wire. When Vadnar resists, small spikes appear and bite his skin. I flinch when blood sprays, and rub his arm to get him to relax.

When the spikes contract, the cell door opens and Vadnar is led outside. They slam the door on me, locking me and not bothering to bind me. It’s like they have no confidence that I’ll escape. They’re right. Without Vadnar, I’m not going anywhere.

“Vadnar,” I whisper his name, the taste of his seed still on my lips.

His eyes meet mine. He gives me a subtle nod, his eyes focused. I grip the bars so tightly my knuckles crack, and I exhake shakily. My breath reaches him, but it’s not enough. I need to feel his skin with my fingertips, hear his heart beat against my ear.

Fuck. I regret not taking advantage of the time when we were free to confess my feelings.

“I’ll return,” he promises. I want to cry and hug him so they drag me with him, but I can’t risk punishment.

The two guards and ringleader guide the way upstairs. In the distance, I hear Hull say, “goodluck. We will see if that magical pussy will save you tonight.”

Vadnar stiffens, but a push from the ringleader has him redirecting his snarl. They stare at each other for a long minute, the ringleader breaking away and signing his death certificate.

“One day, I will strangle you. And you will spend those last twenty seconds of your life desiring freedom worse than I did when I was incarcerated.”

I shudder, never having seen Vadnar so cold.

Hull makes a sound of agreement; the first time the two agree on something.

The ringleader opens his mouth to reply, but is so shaken he purses his lips and tugs him away.

I stare at Vadnar’s shadow until it disappears, and then panic fills the cell.

There’s a long stretch of silence, but I hear excitement building in the distance. A steady thump of footsteps and a melody of cheers. It’s awful how they’re making music while celebrating such a horrendous sport.

An announcer shouts to the crowd, but I can barely make out the words. I pace in the cell. Is this what the enraged state feels like?

After a few more minutes, the shouts and stomps make the walls vibrate.

“He’s unstoppable!” Comes the announcer’s barely audible voice.

Who is? Vadnar? Is he winning? Who is the gladiator he’s fighting?

“A master!”

“An arena king!”

The next half hour is excruciating. I’m disoriented, having no idea who’s winning. When I hear footsteps approaching, I throw myself at the cells.

Two guards approach, wearing matching black uniforms and carrying a massive bronze tub. One drags it into my cell and the other palms the dagger at his hip and stares at me, daring me to move. A satchel is tossed on the floor, and a Zolan fruit rolls out. The guards lock me in and walk out.

I stare at the steaming water and the food—two welcomed additions after days of traveling in filth and hunger. But I would trade it all for Vadnar in a heart beat.

“And Vadnar?” I ask the men as they walk away from my cell.

I fear the worst when they don’t answer, but then he turns the corner, all bloody and with hands tied. He’s bare chested and covered in dirt. A bruise is forming on the side of his face, that’s otherwise expressionless.

So that’s what the tub is for.

I bite back my curse of anger as I watch him get tossed back in here with me. Immediately, my hands find him. I touch his biceps and blurt questions.

“I won,” is all he says, exhausted. Although he’s beat, he’s in one piece, and that’s I care about.

“Okay,” I reply.

He waves a hand at the tub. “And this my prize.”

“Get in,” I say, fighting my anger. I just want to take care of him.

He rips the blanket off the bed and tosses it over the cell for privacy. He approaches the tub, and right as I think he’s going to step in, he pulls my top off.

“Wh-what are you doing?” I stammer as he strips me.

“Bathing you first.”

“But you’re the one that’s hurt.”

“I won’t let you bathe in my bloody water,” he replies, voice monotone.

“But this is yours, and—“

Although I’m nude, his eyes are blank and seem to take in nothing. He’s not flushed like I was when I saw him naked.

He gently carries me in his embrace, and lifts me into the tub. Some of the dirt and blood from his chest rubs off on my arm, and that’s the first thing he washes. No soap, no rag, just his bare hand on my flesh, brushing gently. His hand moves to my shoulders, scrubbing there, too. And then lower, and my breath hitches, and I realize just how peaked my nipples are, poking out of the water.

His hands swoop down there, methodologically brushing. He cups my breast, and I nearly slip underwater when a wave of lust washes over me. Shame follows, because this isn’t a sexual situation. But having the hands I dreamt of all over me, is making me melt.

I bite my lip as both his hands cover my breasts, so giant that they dwarf them in a warm, gentle embrace. The hands that just hurt or killed their opponent in the arena, are now on me and bringing me care and comfort.

The water doesn’t change color as he cleans me, but it’s bubbling with invisible pheromones.

His hand swoops down to my belly, quick and efficient in its stokes. A hand remains on my breast— the one trembling from how madly my heart beats, and when I feel him at the apex of my thighs, making me flood and my pussy throb, I jolt.

Water sloshes out, and he pulls away. There’s no other reaction, like he was expecting my skittish nature.

He digs through the bag of fruit that was delivered and finds a towel. He makes quick work of wiping me down, and I quickly step into my dirty old clothes.

Once I’m fully dressed, it’s his turn to strip. I keep my eyes on his chest, knowing I’ll faint face-first into the water if I catch a glimpse of his twins.

He sinks into the tub, and I set my hands on his wet chest and I scrub, undisturbed by the blood. He doesn’t flinch even when I skim over his injuries.

I cleanse his chest, my moves not nearly as composed and swift as his were. I awkwardly swipe past his belly, my hand trembling as I grip a cock. I can only stroke it two times before it pulses in response to my touch and I realize we have the same affliction.

I release him, and turn my back as he changes. Warm arms wrap around me, and I turn in his embrace to hug him back. We stay there for a long time, enjoying eachother’s warmth. But of course that can’t last, because the ringleader returns.

“Vadnar!” He cheerly yells. “Come, we are transferring you to another cell.”

“Why?” Vadnar growls, irritated.

“We want to test your enraged state when you fuck a Zolano woman. Come. If you do well, I’ll give you another tub and sack of fruits.”

They want him to fuck another woman like he’s an animal? Try to get him to perform better at the arena?

Vadnar huffs, hot air blowing from his nostrils.

“Fine. I’ll do it. Take me to her.”

A/N: ummm he’s doing what? 😭 should we be mad or not judge because it’s a case of survival?

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