14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Brokil

"Brokil."

With a heavy sigh, Brokil turned to watch Salthu march up to him, fire blazing in her eyes. As much as he'd tried to avoid it, he knew this conversation was only a matter of time. Once Salthu got something in her head, no one would be able to talk her out of it, and she had been critical of Brokil's decisions regarding their ward from the moment they got him.

It didn't help that she'd caught them sitting on the roof a few nights ago after the pyre, the little elf wrapped up in Brokil's coat. Salthu hadn't looked pleased that night, even less so when Brokil didn't have a good reason for why Athowen's prince, Ghizol's hostage, was practically falling asleep against Brokil's shoulder. Brokil didn't see much harm in it, but he might as well have told Silvyr all of Ghizol's weaknesses, for how angry Salthu looked.

Of course, she knew he'd never do anything to risk Ghizol, but it seemed of little comfort to her when faced with what could only be described as a rooftop picnic. And as always, Salthu was not afraid to show him how upset she was.

He admired that about her, as she was usually the only one who would question Brokil's decisions directly, never afraid to defy him or argue her point. She had been that way ever since they were children, and Brokil respected her strong will. Without her ferocity, Ghizol would be poorer for it.

But gods did it give him a headache when they butt heads over something.

"Yes, Salthu?" Brokil asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the inner wall of the Council Chamber, prepared to be there for a while.

"We need to speak," she told him, stopping a few paces away. If Brokil didn't know better, he would assume that she was ready for battle, wearing her leathers, a sword on each hip, and a snarl on her lips.

"Then speak."

Salthu eyed him for only a moment, and Brokil could practically see how the words she wanted to say rolled around her head before she let them loose. "You're losing focus," she said with all the conviction of someone who had seen it for herself. "It is growing dangerous."

His first instinct was to argue with her, regardless of her conviction. He had just finished discussing the Tyrant King and their unanswered demands with the Elders, assuring them that their plan wasn't yet a failure, and that the King still had time to respond before they could claim it so. More than once they brought up his ward, asking what information the prince shared about his father or the kingdom, and more than once Brokil exhausted himself as he repeated the same answer as always: nothing.

There might be no movement or sign of response from Athowen so far, but Brokil was very focused.

A night on the roof didn't negate that.

Still, he would be remiss not to listen to her. There was a reason the woman was his Second, and while he might disagree with her more often than not, there was usually a truth to her words that he couldn't deny.

"Salthu, speak more clearly," he said, drumming his fingers on his bicep.

"You treat the boy like he's on some vacation," she told him. "I'm not the only one who thinks so. You give him too much leeway. He's not here to relax, he's here because we have demands and he is our leverage." Salthu eyed him with an intensity normally reserved for whelps training in the agoge. He might have shivered if he were still a whelp himself, but her powerful gaze long ago stopped working on him.

"I know why he's here. Nowhere in our demands did we stipulate that we would be flogging him every chance we got," Brokil shot back, straightening from the wall. "I have not forgotten our goals, but teaching the boy of our ways and our lifestyle can only benefit us in the future."

Taking the boy out just once to show him the city wasn't weakness, and it was not an act of foolishness. Sitting with him to talk about the pyre and the fucking food wasn't going to endanger anyone in Ghizol. It served a purpose. It served to show the prince that Ghizol was beautiful, and a war with the Tyrant King could be avoided. Already Brokil had noticed it working. Silvyr was soft, and he absorbed Ghizol and her beauty like soil soaked up water. Perhaps at some point, he might even care about this city.

If Salthu bothered to understand his reasoning, she would see that using Silvyr to persuade the Tyrant King in their favor was a strategy worth using.

"Do you want to encourage the Tyrant King to completely ignore our demands?" Brokil continued, arms tense over his chest. "Because if we hurt him, our chances of removing the subjugation are gone."

"You know damn well I don't mean that," Salthu snarled before Brokil could say anything else. "All I'm saying is that your vision is clouded." She took a step closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Don't let him trick you just because he's a pretty face. No one here cares if you're fucking the boy, but don't let him use you to achieve his ends, or his bastard father's."

A deep heat burned in his chest as his anger rose within him. "I'm not being tricked. I would not be swayed so easily."

He didn't know why her words irked him so much this time, why they hit his nerves in a way he hadn't felt before. Brokil knew she meant well, and that she only spoke up to protect him and to protect Ghizol. Regardless, it was ridiculous and downright insulting for her to insinuate that Brokil would let his ward sway him away from what he needed to do to keep Ghizol safe. If he was the kind of man to be swayed by something like that, he wouldn't have been chosen as chief. Hell, if he'd allowed himself to be tricked by a pretty face, Brokil would remove himself from the position faster than Salthu could condemn him for it.

"You know whose son he is," Salthu said. "Do you not think his father would have taught him how to be a snake just like him? He will burrow into your heart to find your good nature, and he will use it against you."

Salthu's words struck deep, needling at Brokil's own worries that he refused to give voice to, refused to entertain due to the proof he'd seen first-hand. A snake the Tyrant King may be, but there was none of that cruelty inside Silvyr.

"Thank you for your council. Are we done here?" Brokil asked. He needed to walk away before he did or said something he could not take back. He would not be led down a path of destruction over Salthu's words, or Silvyr's heritage. The elf was a means to an end, nothing more.

"No, we're not." Salthu stepped closer. Her shoulders relaxed and her expression fell into something softer. He'd only experienced this Salthu a few times in his life, vulnerable and filled with good intentioned concern. "I'm not trying to insult you, I swear it. I just need you to keep your eye on our goal."

He knew she was worried for him. So why then did his stomach churn with discomfort?

"I haven't lost sight of what we're trying to do," Brokil insisted.

Salthu inhaled, long and deep. "I know that," she said through an exhale, offering him a reassuring smile. "Look, I trust you, I just don't trust that brat. Neither should you. The Quilens are born and bred for violence. I don't think it's completely out of the question to assume the Crown Prince would be the same."

"I just don't see it. He doesn't hide anything well." Brokil couldn't help but think about each time he teased the prince, how the desire and embarrassment would flood his cheeks, and his failed attempts to hide it. "Lying is something that he doesn't seem to know how to do."

"Have you considered that could be an act? That he's pretending to be a cute little thing to trick you?" Salthu questioned. The idea seemed ridiculous, but the argument was not baseless. Brokil wouldn't put it past the Quilens to manipulate the people around them. How else could they obtain and retain so much power? Still, he saw none of that manipulation in the boy.

"I would know if it were an act," Brokil finally said, firm in his belief. "I need to return home. Are we done here?"

"We are done here." Salthu took a step back, though she looked reluctant to do so. "I will back up your every decision, Brokil. So do not think these words come from malice. I need you safe. Ghizol needs you safe. Remember that."

Salthu left, letting the door swing shut behind her while Brokil stayed back, collecting his breath.

His anger needed to be contained. A respectable chief couldn't explode over the concerns of his second in command. She had a good reason to worry, and if their positions were reversed, he likely would have done the same. She hadn't even been cruel or harsh in her concerns, but the topic alone filled his chest with uncomfortable heat that he couldn't explain.

Salthu hadn't spent hours, days, in a home with Silvyr, being pestered not about their war tactics, but the food being made for dinner. She hadn't spent weeks on a horse watching him pluck apart flowers and leaves, hadn't spent every night in a tent listening to his restless dreaming, wondering what could possibly have him whimpering so quietly that the sound was almost lost on the wind.

If Silvyr plotted day in and day out, he would have seen it. Silvyr hid nothing of his emotions well, especially under Brokil's attention. The act would have cracked at some point, even for a moment. Yet between the conversations, the flower mutilations, even while fucking him, he'd never seen hint of a plot. If he had, the Elders would have been the first to know.

Salthu needed to understand that Brokil knew what he was doing. If he could return Silvyr with a positive view of Ghizol herself, the prince might influence the decisions his father made about the city and her people's independence. Surely the Tyrant King would listen to his heir, surely, he didn't want a war between their people.

Showing Silvyr the kindness of Ghizol, the beauty of her, was their safest option toward peace. Brokil truly believed that. It wouldn't serve anyone to be cruel to the boy before sending him home. At that point they'd only be waiting for a revenge plot to take root in Athowen, and they already risked that by taking Silvyr in the first place. Increasing those odds wasn't something Brokil was willing to do. His priority was Ghizol and the people he was charged with protecting. That was why he treated Silvyr as a person rather than a hostage, why he allowed the boy to watch their celebrations from afar and showed him around the city. There was nothing more to it.

So why did his stomach still churn with anger? Salthu hadn't done anything wrong. He hadn't done anything wrong. Her argument had been sensible, worth reviewing and analyzing. He knew that, but it didn't stop him huffing out his frustration and all but stomping his way home.

The meeting with the Elders had lasted nearly the whole day, so it was just before sunset when he finally arrived home, stepping inside to find Silvyr in his usual place on the rug, a book in his lap. Like the last few evenings, he was surrounded by his pillows and wrapped in a heavy quilt. The autumn chill was closing in, and clearly elves could not withstand the cooler temperatures.

Brokil said nothing as he went about his usual ritual of removing all his damned jewelry. He hated that he needed any of it to meet with the Elders, finding the whole tradition archaic and useless. Wearing a golden band didn't change anything about his abilities, yet without it, the Elders would complain, and after dealing with everything else they complained about, tradition was a headache he couldn't handle.

Even the thought filled him with annoyance and, more forcefully than he meant to, he slammed the lid of the jewelry box shut.

"What's the matter?" Silvyr asked, his voice closer than Brokil expected considering he hadn't heard or seen the boy approaching. There was a softness to his words that surprised him. Annoyed him. Confused him.

"Nothing," Brokil said quickly, shoving the jewelry box back into place, groaning when it bumped against a book that hadn't been there when he left. "Can you not put things back where they belong?"

"Ah, I see. You're taking your bad day out on me," Silvyr muttered. "How do you know you didn't leave the book there?"

Brokil rolled his eyes so hard at the question, that he wondered if he could strain something with the force of it. "I know I didn't leave the book there. Are you really going to try that?" he asked, turning to snarl at the boy. "Not even you are that stupid."

"So, I'm stupid now?" Silvyr crossed his arms and glared right back, no doubt in an attempt to match the energy Brokil was giving off. "Just because you have a bad day doesn't mean you get to take it out on me."

"You know nothing," Brokil shot at him, taking a step forward. The elf didn't back down, and his confidence only made Brokil's anger burn hotter. He didn't know what he was talking about. "If you don't want to be called stupid, perhaps you should try not acting like a stupid, spoiled, piece of shi—"

Silvyr's hand struck his cheek, sending a shock of surprise through him, and while there was no pain to speak of, sparks of fury ignited in him at the audacity alone. Without thinking, reacting only to the anger pitted in his stomach, Brokil whipped out a hand to grab the elf around his little throat, slamming him hard against the wall. "I think you forget where you are," he growled in a low warning.

Silvyr gasped, reaching up to grab at Brokil's arm, digging his nails into the skin, though not hard enough to break skin. "Let go," he muttered, trying to push the offending arm away and failing. He didn't sound frightened, but there was a hesitance to his demand. One Brokil recognized.

Testing it, Brokil squeezed his fingers tighter around Silvyr's neck, a grin spreading across his face when the prince flushed a pretty pink.

"I don't think you want me to." Brokil leaned down, eye to eye with Silvyr. The boy squirmed in his grasp and Brokil stepped in closer, nearly nose to nose with him. He squeezed again, bringing a surprised, airy moan out of the elf. "Am I wrong? Speak truth, boy."

"You're not wrong," Silvyr gasped, still clawing into Brokil's arm, his face hot with his confession.

With an almost predatory smirk, Brokil released his neck, then spun the boy around to press his front against the wall. He grabbed that tiny waist in a bruising grip, flattening himself against Silvyr's back and leaning down to run his lips along the curve of his twitching ear. "I need to put you in your place again. Your mouthing off has gone too far, boy. And you thought it a good idea to hit me? Bratty little princeling."

Brokil let out a dark chuckle when the elf shuddered against him, pressing his ass back against Brokil's thigh, and making the orc's cock stir in his trousers.

"Then what are you waiting for?" When Silvyr turned to gaze at Brokil over his shoulder, a familiar fire blazed behind his eyes, and he wondered if this had been the elf's plan all along.

Brokil had no qualms about giving in to his taunts. If Silvyr wanted to act out to get his way, well, Brokil would make him work for what he wanted. The elf would learn quickly that Brokil wasn't one to simply give in to demands so easily, especially not ones given by spoiled little princelings.

"You really are full of surprises, aren't you?" Brokil said, digging his thumbs into the supple curve of Silvyr's ass and savoring the low gasp it pulled from his lips.

He tightened his grip and pressed his leg between Silvyr's, forcing the boy to scramble on his toes as his weight was lifted slightly off the ground. Already Brokil could feel his heat, even through the fabric that separated them, and he couldn't help the grin that spread over his face.

"Grind," Brokil demanded, digging his fingers hard into Silvyr's hips. "Make yourself cum."

Whining pitifully, Silvyr obeyed and started to move his hips, rocking against Brokil's leg in tight circles that Brokil knew wouldn't give him enough friction. As if to confirm it, Silvyr whimpered after a few pathetic rolls. "It's not enough. I can't—"

Again, Brokil reached up to wrap his hand around Silvyr's throat. "You will make yourself cum on my leg, or you won't cum at all," he promised, grinning as Silvyr ground down with uneven, shuddering movements. "You think you just get to make demands? Work for it, and maybe, if you're a good little flower, I'll make you cum again. Do you want that?"

"Yes! Please!" Silvyr arched and rutted himself against Brokil's leg, growing more and more desperate as he chased his own fleeting pleasure. He slipped a hand between his legs, and Brokil nearly grabbed it before he felt the boy pause and press it against his knee instead. When Silvyr looked at Brokil over his shoulder again, his lips were bitten raw and the tears at the corners of his eyes looked delicious. "I want to touch myself," he said through a quiet moan. "Please, can I?"

"Touch yourself, boy," Brokil allowed, shifting his leg higher and eliciting a gasping moan from the prince as his weight settled even more on Brokil's thigh.

Silvyr wasted no time shoving his hand down his trousers, his body going taut and his legs tightening around Brokil's. The wet patch on his leg continued to grow with each grind, and the heat of the fabric against Brokil's leg was almost too much. He wanted nothing more than to yank Silvyr off and slam his cock inside the elf, but he forced himself to remain steady, watching this pretty little thing grind and arch as he sought his own pleasure.

"You're so wet, Little Flower. You're almost there, aren't you?"

Grinding hard, his chest heaving as he struggled to draw enough breath, Silvyr let out a desperate sound in reply. It curled in Brokil's gut like a snake, settling low and heavy and wanting. Gods, this elf would be the death of him.

Because Silvyr was stunning. The way his back arched like a bowstring and his breath came in quick gusts. The way his free hand grabbed at Brokil's knee and dug slender fingers into the fabric. It was almost a shame he hadn't thought to turn the elf around to see his face as he reached his climax. In the candlelight of the tent, he was beautiful when he came, and Brokil could only imagine how he'd look with sunlight streaming through the window to envelope him like a halo.

Silvyr jerked back with a cry as his orgasm finally hit him, and Brokil tightened his grip on Silvyr's hip to keep him from falling. Choking on a pitiful sob, Silvyr dropped his head forward to thunk gently against the wall, still rocking his hips, smearing his mess all over Brokil's trouser leg.

He bit back a groan and his cock ached, but he'd have to wait longer still before he indulged himself. There were other things he had in mind for the night before the main course.

Gently setting the elf back on his shaking legs, Brokil licked his lips and moved down to one knee. "Remove your trousers. Now."

Again, Silvyr did not hesitate to obey him, pushing the pants past his hips and letting the clothing fall to the floor, followed soon by his linen shirt. Stepping out of the pant legs, Silvyr bent forward, pushing out his ass to fully expose himself to Brokil. He kept one hand on the wall to hold himself up, the other returning between his legs and spreading his fingers into a ‘V' to display his quivering hole.

"Please," Silvyr whimpered, licking his lips as his gaze connected with Brokil's. "Touch me, please." Gods, his voice could bring Brokil to his knees if he weren't already there.

Leaning forward, Brokil covered Silvyr's throbbing cunt with his mouth, pressing his tongue along the wet slit to taste him. He'd imagined the elf would taste divine, but fuck, he didn't think his nectar would be this sweet. Hands wrapping around Silvyr's thighs, he held the boy still, despite how he trembled as Brokil lapped at his heat. He didn't pause when he felt Silvyr's fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, deeper. He would willingly fall in.

"Oh!" Silvyr let out a sharp moan as Brokil pressed a finger into him, focusing his mouth on Silvyr's swollen clit before adding a second one. He moved them in and out in long strokes, determined to draw out more of those sweet sounds.

"Is that good, Little Flower?" Brokil asked, pushing his fingers harshly into the elf when he received no response. The sudden cry awarded to him was delicious, yet still, the question could not go unanswered. "Tell me. Out loud."

"Yes," the elf whimpered through trembling gasps. "So good." Silvyr's head dropped forward, his forehead pressed against the wall while his legs jolted in Brokil's grasp.

"And? Do you think I should stop here? Do you think you've learned your place, boy?" Brokil asked, curling his fingers deeper until Silvyr's hips snapped forward and he let out a mewling moan.

"No, please don't stop, please, ah—" Silvyr pleas cut off as Brokil sucked at his engorged bud, and he grinned when Silvyr's knees nearly gave out from the overwhelming pleasure.

"Be specific, boy," Brokil said, focusing his ministrations on that nub, watching the prince turn into a mess of undignified moans and pleas. There was nothing more beautiful. No sound, nor sight, nor pleasure, that compared to having this little flower at his whim. Oh yes, he could get used to Silvyr's begging. "Tell me what you want."

All it took was a command, and Silvyr was practically melting beneath his touch. Perhaps the elf was not used to being told what to do, perhaps he craved someone to teach him his manners. With two fingers deep inside his cunt, Brokil was more than willing to do so, happy to provide this spoiled prince some proper training. A grin spread across his face at the thought.

Silvyr whined in reply, trying to lift himself back up and nearly hitting the wall when Brokil pressed his fingers harshly inside him again. "Fuck me," he begged, glancing over his shoulder with a look that might have been sly if he wasn't red-faced and wet from tears. "Put me in my place… If—ah—if you can."

That damned elf.

While he knew Silvyr meant to rile him up, Brokil did nothing to quell the low growl that escaped him at the elf's words. If Silvyr wanted his full might, then he would receive it.

Pulling his fingers from Silvyr's cunt, Brokil freed his cock from its constraints and stood up behind him, running the head over Silvyr's swollen lips.

"Remember to breathe, boy," Brokil told him, and with little care, he grabbed the elf by the hips and pressed his full length past those pink, outer lips in a single thrust. He shuddered and let out a heaving breath once fully sheathed. Gods, Silvyr felt like sin around his cock.

"Gods," Silvyr gasped, as if reading his mind, fingers curling against the wall.

"I'm not going to be gentle with you, boy. You want to be put in your place?" Brokil pressed his lips against Silvyr's shoulder, biting down on the soft skin until he tasted the faintest amount of blood, the elf bucking his hips at the sting. "I'm going to destroy you, and remind you that your place is on my cock, Little Flower."

Pulling out half way, Brokil slammed mercilessly into him and gave him no time to recover before repeating the motion. Again and again. The tightness around him was exquisite, addicting almost. Silvyr may be a brat, but he took Brokil's cock so well, moaning and writhing so beautifully with each deep thrust.

Brokil wrapped his arm around Silvyr's waist, pulling him off the wall and pressing his back flush against Brokil's chest, his toes barely reaching the ground. Completely at Brokil's mercy, Silvyr jerked and arched against the hold, the most delicious moans and whimpers spilling from his mouth as Brokil used him to reach his own pleasure. Fire licked through his veins as he continued to work his Little Flower, slamming into him without mercy and reveling in every sound that punched out of the elf.

Silvyr tried to rock his hips with Brokil's thrusts, though with his toes dangling above the floor, he struggled for any traction. "Put your arms around my head," Brokil told him, and the elf obeyed without question, letting Brokil guide his arms up and over to grip the back of his neck. Once secured, Brokil hooked his arms under Silvyr's knees, and spread the elf's legs wide, like a flower blooming in early Spring. He stepped away from the wall and turned to face the mirror, a dark grin on his face.

Silvyr looked at their reflection, eyes dropping immediately to watch Brokil's cock thrusting in and out of him, stretching him, filling him. Fucking him. He moaned, loud and delicious, never looking away from the reflection. "Brokil, please—"

Gods, his name on Silvyr's lips was dizzying.

"Look at you. Look at how wanton you are for my cock," Brokil growled into Silvyr's ear, another moan leaving the elf. "Look at how your cunt drips for me. Can you see how well you take me?" With every stroke, Brokil felt himself drawing closer to his own release, but in the reflection, it was obvious his Little Flower was even closer. His brows knit tight and his mouth hanging open, letting all his desperate little sounds flow freely. He looked ruined, just how Brokil promised he would. "Do you want to cum?"

"P-please… Please…" Silvyr sputtered, his fingers curling in the ends of Brokil's hair.

"Please what?"

"Please let me cum!" Silvyr begged, thrusting his hips back to take his entire length, desperately trying to grind harder against him.

"Touch yourself," Brokil commanded, locking eyes with Silvyr through the mirror. "I want to see you make yourself cum."

Silvyr dropped one arm down and pressed his fingers against his clit as soon as the words left Brokil's mouth, his sloppy strokes making him clench even tighter around Brokil's cock. He struggled to toy with himself through the harsh thrusts, but those slender fingers, slick with his nectar, worked so desperately and tirelessly that Brokil couldn't look away.

Between the beautiful moans and the way the elf shimmered in the setting sunlight, Brokil was lost in him, entranced with the reflection of sheer radiance that he speared on his cock. Over and over again until the elf jerked and gasped, mouth dropping open in a silent scream, body seizing and back bowing as a flush of hot wet spilled from him. It soaked into Brokil's trousers, but he couldn't find it in him to care.

"That's a good boy," Brokil purred, slowing to a stop while the elf struggled to catch his breath. Taking Silvyr's hand, the one covered in his own nectar, Brokil brought it to his lips and ran his tongue along the slender digits, sucking each finger clean as Silvyr watched in the mirror.

Once finished, Silvyr's head dropped back to Brokil's shoulder, his emerald eyes boring into Brokil, still so full of hunger.

"Keep fucking me," Silvyr demanded, breathless.

Biting back a groan, Brokil lifted the elf off his cock, ignoring the elf's whimper at the loss. Brokil was not done with him yet. Spinning Silvyr to face him, and once again using the wall for leverage, Brokil shoved his cock back into that sinfully wet heat until he was buried to the hilt.

The elf moaned, crossing his legs behind Brokil's back as though to pull him closer, arching into Brokil's touch when he grabbed the boy's hips and began to move again. No rhythm to it this time, just the echoing slap of skin and a hunger-fueled desperation for blessed release.

Before long, Silvyr was choking on a moan and scrambling once again for Brokil's shoulders, digging his nails in as he tensed around Brokil's cock and found release a final time.

"Look at that pretty little mouth," Brokil groaned, pressing his thumb past Silvyr's lips to push on his teeth, keeping that swollen mouth open as he leaned over to spit into the beautiful cavern. Whining and grinding against Brokil, Silvyr swallowed the spit before pressing his tongue against Brokil's thumb, nipping at the digit with his blunt little teeth and sucking.

Brokil was undone. Fire ripped through his veins and he pulled himself from the prince, groaning deep and low in Silvyr's ear as he shuddered his release across Silvyr's stomach.

When Brokil finally managed to catch his breath and pull back, Silvyr was already staring at him, exhaustion and hazy satisfaction sweeping over his features. He couldn't stop himself. Brokil leaned down, pressing his lips against Silvyr's before he could think better of it. He didn't let himself linger, even when Silvyr's fingers ran through his hair and he shuddered against him, but he allowed the moment of weakness before uncrossing the boy's legs and lowering him back to the ground.

The elf nearly stumbled when his feet touched the floor, his legs shaking too much for Brokil to let him walk on his own. He half expected Silvyr to protest when he lifted him back into his arms, but instead he dropped his head against Brokil's wide chest, allowing himself to be carried to his usual spot by the fireplace.

"Lay down, I'll be right back," Brokil told him, carefully placing Silvyr on the rug. Once he stood, Brokil fastened his own trousers and left for the washroom where he grabbed a few towels and a small bucket of water, setting them on the stone beside the rug when he returned.

Silvyr hadn't moved from his spot, so before anything else, Brokil set a few pieces of wood in the fireplace and set them ablaze. He didn't need the elf shivering in the cold, especially unclothed as he was. Almost immediately, Silvyr sighed and laid out on his back, digging his toes into the nearest blanket and stretching his arms up in a long arch. Brokil never thought to compare elves to contented cats before Silvyr, but the prince looked positively feline as he soaked in the heat.

"What are you doing?" Silvyr asked when Brokil knelt beside him, wetting one of the towels.

"Cleaning you," Brokil told him, pressing the towel to his stomach, wiping off the mess he made.

Silvyr hummed and closed his eyes while Brokil worked.

He was so soft, so delicate, and his hips were already showing signs of bruising from Brokil's hold. Part of him was proud to leave his mark on the prince, wondering how long they'd last and when he'd be able to leave more on him.

"Feels good…" Silvyr mumbled beneath him, lifting a hand to cover a yawn. He let his legs fall open when prompted, and Brokil couldn't hide his smile as he pressed the warm towel against Silvyr's abused cunt. The elf sucked in a quick breath that stirred the pit of Brokil's stomach, but neither of them acted on it, content instead with the lazy silence that settled around them. He'd almost been convinced Silvyr had fallen asleep, only to be proven wrong when he whispered a quiet and slurred, "Thank you," making Brokil nearly drop his cloth in shock.

Had he heard that properly? A gesture of gratitude from a spoiled prince? Brokil snapped his head toward the elf, expecting to see a smirk or a teasing glint in his eyes, but Silvyr wasn't looking at him, his eyes shut and his arms stretched over his head. He looked positively at ease, and Brokil could only get back to work, lest he lose himself in his staring and confusion.

By the time Brokil finished cleaning the elf, the sun had set and Silvyr had fallen asleep, curling toward the fireplace. Leaning back on his knees, Brokil watched the gentle rise and fall of Silvyr's chest, endlessly fascinated with how relaxed he looked when sleep took him.

Brokil hesitated as he reached out to lift Silvyr from the ground. It would be oddly cruel for him to take the elf away from the warmth of the fire only to make him sleep on the stone floor in his room. He should do so anyway, he knew, but the elf's gentle face gave him pause. With care, Brokil pulled the quilt over Silvyr's tiny frame, tucking the fabric around him to create a cocoon of warmth.

"Nuh uh," Silvyr grumbled when Brokil lifted his head to set a pillow beneath it. He couldn't stop himself from chuckling as Silvyr immediately fell right back to sleep. He would let Silvyr have this one command.

As far as he was concerned, he didn't need to worry about Silvyr taking advantage of him. If his demands remained in the realm of sleeping by the fireplace in his nest of blankets, Brokil could allow that.

He made sure to add a few more logs to the fire before retiring to his own bed, if only to make sure the elf kept warm through the night.