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This Wrong Feeling, This Cruel Need

His neck was already bruised from the silver strains he was bound with, his stomach craving for food and his throat for water. He felt like his mouth was filled with desert sand, dry and hot. The panorama behind the windows was changing slowly, from day to night, showing him how powerless he was. His fiery power didn’t appear since he passed the gate of Dal’coler, like laughing from giving him hope, for proving he can fight but taking it from him, when he needed it most. He was slowly returning to his old self, fear gnawing on his entrails more hungrily than a wild animal.


The only thing he wanted was to find her safe. Pry her from talons of the fae and take her away from here. Now he was seeing how delusional it was. The palace was a center of all nightmares that haunted him for the last months. How could he ever think that he could try to fight with darkness itself?


Do not.

They want you to.

They would not bind you, if they didn’t sense your fire.

They would kill you, if they didn’t need you.

The dryness in his mouth was making him feel like he is dry himself, dry as a broken branch, like a burned forest he passed with Ona. Dry… but still able to instill doubts in minds of those who were passing it…

His room was spatial, bedsheets made of soft material, windows allowing the soft winter breeze, adapted to his human needs by the magical barrier… But the stone faces that looming from the cellar were looking at him with ominous interest and he couldn’t know for sure if they are sculpts… or guardians set there to watch his every move, When he was not looking straight at them, he could swear that they moved, blinked, their tongues out.

Everything here is not as it seems.

His bed was so comfortable, dressed in a black silk… but he was bound to it.

And naked.

Exposed. Served on a plate.


Do not think of it. You are the fire. Make your fear flame in you and ignite the blaze. They won’t dare…

He felt him first before the door opened. A beautiful laugh inside his mind, like gems and starlight… drifting on the edge of an empty bottomless well.


The one who stole Mina, killed his parents, destroyed his life. He will not let him hurt him. Not now, not ever. He must flame. He must burn.

Lorian entered alone, soft steps over a stone floor. His black eyes held amusement which made Tiyan’s guts turn in rage. His fear masked with hatred, so strong, so primal. Lorian had to feel it, because the laugh rang again. So beautiful. So… misplaced.

“I see you got comfortable in your abode” he mused, walking in, close, closer. He stood near his bed, Tiyan backed off, instinctively, but he couldn’t do much. He was painfully aware of his state. And what Lorian could see when looking at him. “Humans hate our soul-matching robes, somehow, they scare them. So I decided to not offer you one. Your soul… would produce a really… intriguing attire.”

Tiyan started to crawl back again, when Lorian nonchalantly sat on the edge of the bed.

“Ah, human reluctance. Interesting at the beginning… but after some time becoming… dull.”

“I am not here to entertain you” said Tiyan, surprised by the words that are leaving his mouth.

“Are you sure?… if you say so, I must believe it, after all, a human can’t lie to a High Fae” he patted Tiyan’s cheek. “Which makes you a very interesting prey.”

Tiyan’s face flared with anger. He didn’t even know he was able to react as such. Fear somehow pushed back by rage- for all he had to endure to get here, after Qhal’s betrayal and the meat… the meat he was devouring with so much eagerness, through the passages of Ain’asel… a sadistic treat, even more sadistic lie. All fae are the same. All fae are empty, like small folk’s eyes.

Another chuckle, but Tiyan could see that Lorian’s eyes were not laughing.

Tiyan felt the enchantment around Lorian; cruel and tempting, whispering to allow him open on everything, to fall on his knees… humiliating and spiteful, even more scary, because Tiyan knew if Lorian wanted, he would  make him crawl before him willingly.

“What have you done with Mina” his voice was dry too; like desert, like sun-licked stone.

His heart twisted in his chest, when Lorian leaned towards him. His fingers, longer than on a human hand, slowly took a hold on a chain that was binding him to the bed. He saw as shadows started to creep from around the corners. Shadows which could kill him or… make him suffer, if he still was needed.

For fun and joy.

Lorian’s smile became wider. He could see his thoughts. And it amused him. Of course it did.

“Mina.,..  a delicious young soul… what would you like me to do to her?”

His hand pulled the chain and Tiyan was involuntarily was dragged closer, his neck protesting from the treatment.

“If you harm her…” Tiyan’s voice dripped with despise.

Lorian’s face was now so close that he could feel his breath on his face, scentsy; violets, jasmine… and something unearthly.

“She was here for so long… how do you know if I didn’t harm her already?”

Tiyan trashed in the binds, Lorian smiling at his futile efforts. Warm smile. Youthful, like not belonging to an ageless fae that kidnapped his sister and destroyed his life.

“Your fear is delicious. So filling” he purred. “But I feel more in you, which interests me much more…”  his finger landed on his lower lip, and stayed on his chin. A soft grasp, but strong enough for Tiyan wouldn’t be able to free himself from it. “Your power…  a god’s gift,  stronger in you… because touched with my shadows. What a powerful creature you are… weak and strong at the same time… fearing me… but still wanting to oppose.”

He got even closer, the scent of night flowers, as if violets were blooming at night. Everything in him was… night.

“You opposing me… a delightful thought. Strong” he chuckled in his ear. “But I want you to give yourself to me. The thought of winning over your flames… impeccable.”

Lorian’s fingers laid on Tiyan chest and he realized that something pulls… inside him. Fingers, stroking him, like melted into his flesh, making him shiver not only from disgust.

“You are such a beautiful treat” dark gleams in Lorian’s black eyes. “I will love to taste what you hold for me.”

Tiyan suddenly was pressed hard against the mattress. Silk. Awful in its softness… and shadows around him, dancing over his skin. Trying to find a good crevice to push into.

Tiyan realized a terrifying fact. He was a prey. And Lorian… he was a predator that won’t back off before anything.

Horror enveloped him.

He will be submitted by a male.

And even if he told him he doesn’t intend to force him. He will. He will.

The moment in the mountains came uninvited to his mind, and the unwanted pleasure he felt when the same shadows pressed him against a mirage… who was very real now. Looming over him, dripping off stars and black moons.

When Lorian leaned over him, Tiyan lost it. He tossed wildly, trying to somehow break the silver strains, to not allow this to happen. To call his power, given by cruel gods. To burn Lorian , not allow him to do it… kill him before he gets to it… to him. His flames silent though; the tight collar and binds keeping him in place, a merciless reality, which he could not escape.

“Your flame is something I always wanted to taste” Lorian murmured into his ear. “I wanted to feel your power, terrifying for all the others… but so tempting for me…”

He pulled hard by the chain attached to his neck and shifted him, so he landed on his stomach.

“You are so delicious… an unwilling god… but so easily submitted to my will…”


Lorian pressed against his back.

Tiyan felt a warm breath over his neck; he tried to trash in place, but Lorian’s power held him hard and mercilessly. The shadows slowly entered into his muscles, into veins and tendons; spreading, pushing in…  and he felt… not real pain… a horrifying  pleasure… and his flame reacted and tossed in him, like a rat trapped in a ribcage. A delightful pain that takes your mind into forbidden places, against your will and against you whole being. He realised he starts to take the pleasure in, against his nature. Against himself. Leaning towards it like a tree bends to a wind.

What’s wrong with me.

This isn’t real.

“Let me go” he moaned and he knew that his voice wasn’t carrying the weight he intended to put into it. His words were shaky, unable to oppose the terrifying sensation he was being subjected to.

Tiyan could feel through delightful strokes of shadows, how Lorian’s hand traced a path between his legs, a soft, slow caress, becoming more insistent with every stroke. And with horror he realized that he is hard. He was hard, for goddess’ sake. Lorian bit his ear, strong, but the pleasure caused by his power was changing the pain into a delight.

He growled, when the chain pulled him against Lorian’s chest; he followed way too eagerly. Lorian laughed again and it sounded like a liquid lust, going straight into his starved soul, which hated the feeling and hated himself… and wanted it at the same time.

“Hate me” Lorian’s breath. Violets and jasmine. “Hatred is a gate to the strongest rapture.”

Tiyan shivered, when Lorian’s hand resumed its caress between his legs, deliberate, slow, seductive. He was hard, please, goddess. The tighter Lorian’s hand’s pressure, the harder he was getting. He could feel with terrible clarity that Lorian was hard too, against his bottom, pressing to him, cruelly pleasant.

It was awful.

He wanted it.

The night was spreading him, entering him, the night that killed all he loved.  And he couldn’t even stop being aroused. Weak, pathetic.

He was pushed face down the pillow, Lorian’s hand just on his neck, where the collar was biting into his skin. Legs spread, he welcomed it with a desperate keen.

Yes… for goddess’s sake. Please no.

His wounds, still not healed, eaten  slowly by delicious shadows – almost a caress – blurring the border between a torment and satisfaction. Blood trickled down his sides, wet and crimson.

And in the end, Lorian inside him, pressing him to the bed, bathing in his want. Slow thrusts, a flickering stars before his eyes. Fireflies. And fairy lights. Pain of his pushes slowly changing into a pleasure of him hitting his more and more craving spots.

The shadows… they swallow his free will… they make him a clay to sculpt from. And he can’t say no.

They make him hate it and love it at the same time.

“You give in so beautifully…”

Tiyan huffed helplessly, when Lorian started to increase pace, taking him from behind. His was owned by him, completely and fully. His erection painfully tight, his hips pushing it against Lorian’s hand, unwillingly… hungrily.




He wanted it, his fire wanted it. His flame budding in him, intertwining with shadows, brimming with something dangerous. Something that may be even more terrible, if he allows it. Something that may crash him against self-hatred even more. His mouth tasting Lorian’s fingers, his neck bruises wailing against the collar.

The fire…

It searched for shadows, enveloping them with itself, and allowing them to penetrate it. The pleasure started to burn, his flames fastly ignited, tiny sparks over his skin, cracking to the sound of hungry bodies.

“Release your flame” whispered Lorian. “Burn me. As fiercely as you can…”

“Fuck you!”

Lorian pulled out, his hand in Tiyan’s hair, while he was rubbing  himself over his trickling wound… shadows sticking to both of them like moths to a molten candle. Tiyan tossed, growling in pain and shock,  when the fae slowly dragged the blood over his skin,  pain mixed with this terrifying  rapture, both suffocating him with wrongness of this all.  Lorian, with sensual precision went down, down, and with a sigh, pushed again, sliding inside him even easier than before. Tiyan’s moaned, when he felt his insides wet from crimson and Lorian deep, so deep, fucking the blood into him.

Tiyan tossed, hard, under his weight, his muscles tensing in protest, when shadows entered him alongside with Lorian; hot and seething, burying hard into him, deep inside.

He felt as blood trickled down his tights and pooled under him.


Flickering lights under his eyelids becoming darker. Like hollow suns in empty void.

Lorian laughed into his neck, youthfully, cruel; like a child who enjoys destroying his favorite toy. 

“Do you feel it? Your flesh opening for me?”

Tiyan did. He felt it. So much. He wanted to scream… and urge this sick bastard to move faster. Faster. Fuck him. Have him. The scar on his chest pulsed, the self-swallowing beast carved in his skin seemed to want to tear out from him. He felt how it burns, almost alive,  biting into him with with flame that was coming from shadows;the same that were burying into him where he could feel the most.

He melted. Even if it was… Him. Even if… blood.

Lorian’s hand on his scar.

Almost like… under his skin.

Almost digging under it, pulling weak nerves.

He squirmed, pretending before himself it’s not him who craves this. He feared this… and wanted it, like a poison of delicious taste, which may kill him, yet allows him to reach the sky. And Lorian… hit few spots at once, Tiyan’s back arching, tears in his eyes. The flame bursted off him , hot, and eager. The heated shadows clashed against them and delved between them…  becoming one, a terrifying mixture.

Tiyan screamed.

So loud.

The sensation was everything he would even dream of, in nightmares and in the darkest places of his soul. He felt Lorian hand on his neck and he welcomed his long shadowed talons with glee. He pulsed between his legs, hard, cruelly, pouring warm fluid mixed with shadows.

Tiyan allowed everything.

He was being torn. Not only in flesh.

Lorian burned too, with dark shadows, beautiful and tempting, their bodies tightly pressed, their minds in a dark lustful reverie. Fire scorched Tiyan, not harming him, intensifying the heat between his tights. Fire that should burn Lorian… but his shadows submit Tiyan’s power completely, making him a slave of his own need.

A Shadow’s pet. The faeries of the mountains were right. But Tiyan couldn’t care less now.


He knew it was wrong.

How could it matter though… when his power found a home. A home which sucked him in, opening all doors and windows, taking him prisoner even without using real force. Trapping him in a sticky cobweb made of desire.

A home that fucked him into the bed, taking all what was left from his pride. Making him want to be his.

But a home still.

The silent guardians on the arched ceiling were observing, as Lorian takes everything Tiyan is, crashing against his weak soul, filling him with flesh, licking his eager tears from his cheek.


A pull. Lips touching his mouth, his collar digging into his neck even harder.  A kiss that tastes of violets.  Cruel flowers. His body weak from pleasure.

So good… like a dream, most luscious he ever had.

Please, no more.

Blood trickles slowly. Red. Like a dying sun.

A laughter.

And pain.

Delicious… cruel… both. Like the meat Qhal served him.

Like the eyes that devoured him, setting black flames inside his soul.

2 Comments on “This Wrong Feeling, This Cruel Need”

  1. Wow, you really captured Tiyan’s emotional turmoil – the guilt, the anger, the desire.
    It’s all so complex and raw.
    Speaking of Tiyan, with his god-like powers (correct me if I’m wrong), wouldn’t he be more powerful than Lorian? Or at least on equal footing? Or not?
    Another stellar chapter, as always! 🖤

    1. Thank you, I enjoy complex and raw feelings and emotions! And they are so pleasant to write.

      He – would be – his equal (he has no full god power, only partial), but he can’t control his skill 😉 And Lorian knows it. He reads his mind and knows he never tamed it, he still fears it a bit and the power is capricious. And Lorian drinks the gods’ power since long years, paying for it with pain. He has upper hand here.

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