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In the Belyi Tsar’s court, Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins is untouchable.
With a countenance more evasive than warmth in cold winter and an empty smile that holds nothing but politeness, it has long been decided that none may be allowed to fully understand him. And though not directly related to the Belyi Tsar, he is beloved of the Cryo Archon; among the few rare fae nobility in Snezhnaya.
And yet, a singular visit by the Anemo Archon Barbatos and his Knights of Favonius has him in disarray.
Varka has him in disarray.
All it takes is a glance from the knight across the ballroom, fewer drinks than his usual, varka’s boisterous laughter, and a couple of stolen kisses on the quiet balcony…
And Flins falls.
Falls into the arms of this human from the south who knows nothing about the impossibility of this task.
Maybe he falls in love too— because Flins is stripped naked so quickly; casually riding this man that he barely knows, and driven by a fierce instinct he himself is unaware of, until today. He straddles Varka like a common whore, and with none of that aforementioned regalness.
The ‘sword’ of the Knight of Boreas pierces through him; parting sensitive folds and pleasuring him within. His walls clamp down tightly, and flutter on the occasion to match his trembling heart. Beneath him, Varka has his brows furrowed in deep concentration. His mouth, constantly left agape, nearly draws genuine laughter from the usually well-masked Flins.
Flins decides that he likes this one. He likes this particular human a little too much.
It’s probably also because…
A particularly good thrust has him unraveling and his fae wings unfurl from his back.
Varka is instantly starstruck.
He sees the way sapphire eyes consider him from top to bottom— lingering longer than they should on the crystalline tattoos that decorate his chest and abdomen. Large hands roam up his back and slide down once more in a greedy little attempt to feel the remaining of the crystals that are out of sight.
Flins bends forward, and they share a chaste kiss.
He keeps it short. He must only offer crumbs for now, so as to bait Varka into wanting more.
The fae reclines back into his earlier, upright position and rolls his hips once. Twice. Varka throws his head back and groans. Flins smiles. He must be close. But he’s stubbornly holding back so we can keep this up for longer.
When he finally has himself back under control, Varka takes a moment to admire him with a little too much tenderness in his eyes.
“By the heavens… you’re so breathtaking like this, Kyryll.”
He uses Flins’ first name without much thought. The knight is unaware that Flins has once contemplated cutting out the tongues of those who utter it with complacency. Varka breaks all of the fae’s rules but all it does is contribute to the growing fondness in Flins’ heart.
Varka is a lovestruck fool, and oh it is so endearing… Akin to watching a brave human pour oil onto his smouldering embers.
The fire that burns within Flins is gorgeous for sure, but it is also all-consuming.
Not that Varka knows.
Not that it matters, because Varka seems well equipped in more ways than one, to handle him.
“Do they match the colour of your hair?” the man boldly asks, “Or is it the blue flame that burns beneath you?”
He thumbs the edges of the tattoo that runs across Flins’ abdomen. Those are a little special (and extra sensitive), but Flins keeps his cool.
“Your sapphire crystals.” Varka continues.
He’s fascinated by it. Flins lets out a small laugh in amusement. Though, which human wouldn’t be? The fractured crystals reflect light as much as shades of blue burst forth from within.
As a human, Varka is less-than-knowledgeable of the characteristics of the fae. The blue is especially poignant when his body instinctively recognizes the person in front of him as someone special.
Flins takes a moment to ponder over telling him.
Will this result in overconfidence in the knight? To have so much sway over a fae’s heart like this… And not just any fae: he is Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins of the Belyi Tsar’s court. One of the oldest and most noble of his kind.
Fate does work in mysterious ways. Because how else can one explain this interesting turn of events?
He decides to tease the man a little.
“No, my dear Varka. They do not.” he leans over the knight; dark blue hair spilling over his pale, glittering back and onto Varka’s torso, “but they do have a match…”
Hollow yellow holds sapphire orbs close.
He traces the outer edges of Varka’s eyes with his thumbs— both of them showing incredible vulnerability in this one moment. Flins, with this earth-shattering secret of his, and Varka, with the privilege of his continued sight in the palm of the fae’s hands.
“They match my soulmate’s eyes.”
Varka immediately flushes a bright red.
And Flins lets out an involuntary moan at the abrupt sensation of feeling impossibly full below— somehow Varka is getting bigger. He twitches once, lets out a shuddering exhale after, and his wings flicker like a malfunctioning street lamp.
When he casts his gaze back down once more, blood is dripping steadily from Varka’s nose.
A dangerously pleased expression appears on Flins’ face.
Oh he is so innocent. He has never met a lovelier little thing.
Desperate to see more, Flins bucks his hips. The debauched sound of flesh slapping onto flesh fills the room. And though the fae is the one doing the riding, Varka’s expression screams that he is one who is being taken for a ride instead.
He fetches the knight’s hands from his hips…
… and slides it across the crystals on his abdomen with intent.
Flins knows that Varka definitely feels the shape of his own length protruding out from within. He sees it in the way the knight’s pupils are blown wide open, and the frantic way he looks up at him for confirmation.
The fae smiles gently in return. A predator feasting on the spoils of victory.
He wipes the blood from the man’s nose, and smears red all over Varka’s cheek.
“Varka. My dear…”
“There’s one more thing you should know. These crystals on my abdomen form a womb tattoo.”
“A-A what?” Varka’s voice is small and hoarse; full of understanding that he is fucked in more ways than one.
“A womb tattoo. If it is not already somewhat obvious… I am capable of conceiving.”
The fae thinks that he probably needs to coax the other with one last roll of his hips. But the Knight of Boreas cums so quickly and so hard that Flins half-expects himself to be knotted. Nevermind that humans do not have knots— he is almost sure that Varka will surprise him.
The crystals on his body flare up in a brilliant sea of blue.
They spark at times with a tinge of yellow, and for a brief moment, the shades mix together to create a beautiful emerald.
It spreads across his abdomen especially, and Flins tries to hide the fact that he is overwhelmed.
He fails.
“Oh.” he lets out without thinking.
Varka pulls Flins down towards him for a deep kiss. There is the tangy taste of metal as blood mixes with saliva, and the now-uncontrolled wolf devours him whole. His abdomen bloats lightly from the copious amounts of cum filling up his womb, as Varka tries to satiate himself by bucking his hips upwards wildly.
On the fae’s being, the crystals flare up in more shades of blue.
Strong arms wrap around his torso to hold him close…
And it is all Flins can do to submit as they melt together.
When Varka does not relent even after a while— overzealous hips still thrusting upwards to fuck the remainder of his cum into Flins— the fae begins to whine, “Not too much or I’ll really get pregnant.”
Yet all he receives in response is a solemn oath that Varka “will take responsibility”.
Take responsibility? How so?
Flins laughs internally at the thought of the Belyi Tsar getting a heart attack when it is revealed that one of his oldest and most noble fae has chosen a human as his mate. And that the same human has bravely accepted being wedded to a fae as well.
You do not understand what it is that you wish for.
Or maybe he does? Because Varka rolls them over and practically folds him into half; Flins’ hips are slightly lifted at an angle to compliment the knight’s new position and to ensure that they are still connected perfectly.
A thoughtful act. Everything is now safe from unnecessary spillage below.
Flins imagines that it will probably take. His womb tattoo, though out of sight, should be flashing that breathtaking emerald once more.
As the hesitant thought of his belly swelling with child from a mere one-night-stand fills his mind…
More streams of sapphire light bursts forth.
Contrary to his own expectations, it comes from Varka’s back this time. It encircles his shoulder and head like an oversized crown, and draws a gasp from Flins.
“You…”
A cold blue flame flickers in the knight’s eyes.
“You’ve consumed the heart of a god…?”
Varka blinks in a dazed manner— drunk on Flins and their desperate little act of copulation. The sapphire light goes out as quickly as it manifests and Flins is rewarded with a nice little kiss. He knows that Varka is too out of it to mean anything with this act, yet it strangely feels as though he has just been told, “don’t worry about it, sweetheart”.
He reaches up to caress the man’s cheek.
“Just what else are you keeping from me?”
The knight snaps back to reality at the loving gesture, and grins, “You first, Kyryll.”
Oh. A devious pup.
He offers Varka a chaste kiss for being a fast learner. Now satisfied with his work, the knight finally pulls out. And Flins makes a small sound at how empty it all feels. The fae contemplates making a bigger fuss out of it, knowing that Varka will surely provide if he does.
But there is much to discuss.
“You’re serious about taking responsibility?” His voice drops into a soft whisper.
“Dead serious. If you’re willing to have me.”
“Even if the Belyi Tsar were to decide that you should be executed for defiling one of his favorite retainers?”
Flins imagines that this might give the human some pause. But Varka is steadfast in his convictions:
“I’ll fight my way out if I have to. I hear that it is possible to get a trial by combat in Snezhnaya.”
Of course. Aside from nobility, the court favors strength too. And it is an open secret that Flins will only consider a mate who is strong enough to oppose him.
But he keeps this from the newly arrived Varka. The man does not need a further boost to his ego.
A human who has consumed the heart of a god… His fingers subconsciously move to his abdomen.
Maybe he is the one who has bitten off more than he can chew?
Varka senses his uncertainty and crowds him in a way that he least expects. He gets up on his elbows and traps Flins between both arms; nuzzling close into the small of his neck like the audacious wolf pup he actually is.
It is a little unnerving. Just a little.
This has Flins gently pushing the other man away. He is pleasantly surprised to find that it is easier than he expects. Despite that strange sense of pressure he feels earlier, Varka remains respectful of his boundaries.
Before the wolf is able to come back to his full senses, the fae stands. He ignores the copious amounts of cum that drips down his thighs, folds away his wings, and throws a large overcoat onto his shoulders.
He prepares to leave.
“I’ll consider it.” Flins hears himself conclude firmly, and turns just in time to see the way sapphire eyes widen in shock. It seems as though Varka might have been under the impression that he has this in the bag.
As if things can ever be that easy.
Throw the dog a bone and watch it howl for more.
And if that dog is in actuality a wolf? Even more so. After all, the hunt is the main event for oversized pups that require stimulation. Take that away, and perhaps they will both be bored of each other in no time.
Now that it is obvious someone may not be running on a normal human’s lifespan, there is definitely time to spare.
“Kyryll?” Varka is evidently hurt from this turn of events. Try as the oversized puppy might, Flins does not yield to the pleading look in his eyes.
“Am I not your soulmate?” It begs.
“Not yet.” The fae responds politely to his unspoken question, for it is the truth. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sir Varka.”
He leaves a confused Varka without a second glance, and only covered in a single article of clothing. It will later on prove to be a wise decision because the knight is so distraught that one might have assumed he just had his heart unceremoniously ripped from his chest.
Against his own wishes, Flins might have given in then. He is not heartless after all.
And he is fond of Varka. So terribly fond.
But there is so much more to do, and so much more for them to learn about one another. For both his own sake and Varka’s, Flins thinks that they will take it slow.
It will only be detrimental if he stays.
If anybody has seen him heading back to his quarters that day, they dare not speak of it. They treat the sight of Flins striding across long corridors like a frightful encounter with a nighttime specter. And those who are unfortunate enough to encounter him directly on the path can only quiver in fear with their heads bowed as he passes.
In the Belyi Tsar’s court, Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins remains untouchable…
…for now.