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“You’re mine now, pretty sandflower,” Shiro growls, bracing one massive hand beside the tribute’s head, the other grabbing a fistful of his purple and red beaded chest piece. Shiro’s hand spans across the boy’s chest from one nipple to the other. He pulls, and the threads snap causing a cascade of beads to scatter across the dusty grass.
Shiro looks at the boy, expecting to see fear in those violet eyes – every tribute is afraid to be hunted and caught, especially by the head of the pride – but fear is not what Shiro sees now.
Determination like steel, stubbornness, fury. And then Shiro's world is spinning, the boy who was spread out below him is suddenly astride and above, and the cord belt which was securing his sarong is now bound tight around Shiro’s muzzle, the ends held by a tight fist.
“I think you’ll find, kitten, that you’re mine.” The tribute leans in, face to muzzle, and licks Shiro’s pink nose. “That beading took my uncles and I three weeks to make, you know. You owe me.”
Shiro growls, a low throaty rumble. It is a noise which has sent prey, tributes, and even other lions fleeing for their lives and the safety of their skins. Shiro has had bed-partners who quivered at the sound, shrinking in fear from his sharp claws and dangerous fangs.
But this boy, he just sits there, a self-satisfied smirk playing across his rough, bitten-pink lips, and smiles.
“I’m Keith.”
Keith. It is good to put a name to the face which snagged all of Shiro’s attention when the tributes were first presented at the conclave.
“You’re the top cat, right?”
Shiro snarls again at Keith’s offhand tone; or at least, as well as he can with his muzzle tied shut.
“You can just nod. Shiro, right?”
Shiro glares at the boy, then huffs and flicks his ears back into his thick, cloud-pale mane. But he still nods.
Tributes are always chosen from the most beautiful young people each clan has to offer. Picked for their grace and charm, tutored in the subjects and aspects which will make them into treasured partners for the lions of Shiro’s pride.
Not many of them get the chance though, because they are often cut down before they can give their heartfelt soliloquies. A lion’s mate needs to be strong, and there’s no doubt that Keith is strong.
He was gorgeous, standing out in the throng of tributes with his distinct creamy-pale skin and inky-dark hair. Shiro had stalked along the assembled tributes in all his leonine glory and he’d felt those violet eyes rake through his fur: proud and strong.
Right from the start, Shiro knew exactly who he would chase across the savannah. Keith had set off like a gazelle, sand flying up from under his bare feet. No, not like a gazelle. The boy who now sits astride Shiro's waist is more like a cheetah: all leg and speed, dangerous up close.
Shiro wants to know just how sharp Keith’s claws are.
Shiro braces himself with his hands flat against the rough sand and earth below, extends his claws to grip into the ground, then pushes with a burst of strength and speed characteristic of his species, and sends them both flying through the air. It is a testament to the strength of Keith’s thighs that he stays in place, gripping tightly to Shiro even as Shiro surges over him to pin him to the ground.
Shiro wraps both hands around Keith's narrow waist, scattering the rest of the beads and shredding the fabric of his sarong in the process; revelling in the way his thumbs overlap at the boy’s navel, long claws indenting his smooth flesh. Keith pulls on the cord around Shiro's muzzle, the rope cutting into his lips over tightly clenched fangs, but the boy uses the tilt of Shiro’s face to brazenly lick across the exposed front of Shiro’s teeth.
Shiro growls, but Keith reaches up with his free hand and digs his fingers into Shiro’s mane, obviously aiming for that sensitive spot behind Shiro's ears which makes Shiro want to melt. He shakes the boy off – now is not the time to give into those instincts – and uses the advantage of weight and size to grind Keith into the sand. The boy clenches his thighs around Shiro's waist, and the scent of heat and sex floods around them.
All the tributes are prepared before the hunt begins, but for Keith to smell this strongly of sex, he must have been thinking about it this whole time. The mere idea that the whipcord strong boy beneath Shiro wants him, has Shiro’s cock thickening quickly until the tip pokes from his sheath. Keith groans, glaring at him with fiery eyes even as he strokes the short fur of Shiro’s brow.
Shiro nudges his cock against Keith’s naked buttocks, and boy gnashes his teeth before flipping them again.
The view is excellent, and Shiro suddenly doesn’t mind having the boy perched on top of him when he can feel Keith rubbing back against his cock, the soft weight of his arse, thighs, and balls dragging over Shiro's throbbing erection. Keith’s thighs tighten around his hips this time, and Keith rocks forward, rubbing their very different cocks together, and Shiro growls in a completely different manner. Pleasure raises the fur along his spine, his ears pricking forward to better catch the soft moans which falls from his tributes parted lips.
“Pretty kitten,” Keith murmurs. Shiro uses his hold around Keith’s hips to rock them together again. He wants the sweet, enticingly moist heat of the boy’s perfect arse, but Keith makes such good noises as they frot together. Bright white teeth catch the plump flesh of his lower lip, and Keith’s fingers move from Shiro’s fur to the rippled scar which runs across his muzzle.
“Someone didn’t trust you once, did they?” Keith’s pretty face darkens with a frown. He bends to kiss Shiro’s scar, and Shiro cannot help but be reminded of the end of that dark and awful time in captivity and how wonderful it felt to finally be freed. Keith drops the end of the rope-cord, and begins to pull it off Shiro’s face. “I wouldn’t want our first time to be like that.”
Shiro stretches his jaw, showing off his fangs, then fixes Keith with a hard stare.
“Who the hell are you, and why are you-?”
Keith grabs Shiro’s cock, squeezing around the base, thumb rubbing over the spines. Shiro moans in pleasure, sharp and hot because it has been a long time since he was touched by anyone, and Keith takes this as permission to slide his hand along the wet shaft, thumbing boldly at Shiro’s slit.
“Pretty…. Is that really what you want to ask me right now, kitten?”
Shiro growls at him, baring his fangs, but Keith just kisses him, and Shiro’s brain stalls.
No one just kisses a snarling lion. No one presses their soft lips against two-inch-long fangs. No one rubs fragile cheeks against a creature who could slash them open as easily as skinning a peach. No one is that brave, and certainly not tribute has ever been so bold.
But Keith is.
And Shiro cannot get enough of it.
He cards his fingers into the back of Keith’s hair, dislodging his beaded headpiece – the last item of clothing he’s still wearing – and moves his hand to cradle Keith’s head in his palm, holding him close as he deepens the kiss. Keith moans while licking into his mouth and Shiro feels like he wants to devour him.
Keith squeezes around the base of Shiro’s cock and Shiro purrs into his mouth. And then he bites Keith’s lip when in one slick movement, Keith raises up, notching the tip of Shiro’s cock against his hole, and impales himself all the way to the root without pause.
“Ahhh!”
“Oh fuck-! Keith!” Shiro licks the bright blood which drips down Keith’s jaw, but Keith doesn’t pause before he lifts himself off Shiro’s cock once more. Each of Shiro’s fleshy barbs drag along Keith’s walls, slicked by lube and arousal, and Keith whines, clenching around him.
“Shiro…” Keith moans into his mouth, apparently perfectly happy to be kept close by Shiro’s massive hands as he rolls his hips. “Oh Shiro- Shiro- Shiro-”
Shiro is not used to hearing his name like a mantra, an incantation groaned into the space between their panting breaths. He loves it, but something inside him makes him want to push at Keith until the boy is either breaking apart around him or snarling once more in his face.
He grabs Keith’s thighs, his clawed fingers wrapping around them, and squeezes before he flings the boy off him. Keith yelps, landing on his butt, but Shiro snatches him up again, letting Keith’s weight rest on his shoulder as he hauls Keith’s arse up off the ground, spreading his legs wide before fucking directly into the pink hole so wet and open already for him. He snarls, and Keith growls back.
“Got you all riled up now, haven’t I, kitten?”
“You presumptuous little brat. Don’t you know who’s fucking you right now?” Shiro emphasizes his words with a sharp thrust of his hips which has his barbs catching deep at Keith’s tender inner walls.
“Yeah, I do. You’re my lion now.” Keith squeezes around him and Shiro’s claws dig deep into his flesh. He cannot possibly lose control already, but the way Keith moans through the pain is exquisite. “I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else, Shiro.”
Shiro roars – wordless and feral – because Keith’s blood is on his tongue and under his claws and the boy is clutching at his cock and driving him mad, and Shiro cannot hold back any longer. He bites down on Keith's shoulder as he comes, barely registering the roughened mark of a scar against his tongue as he pounds his hips into the boy until his come froths up around his cock.
Nothing has ever felt so intense, or so important.
Shiro comes down from the high of orgasm panting, tongue lolling across his fangs to find Keith stroking his ears through his mane. When he looks down, he is distracted from the gorgeous sight of his red cock still speared into Keith’s wet hole, by the irrefutable fact that Keith didn’t come.
That won’t do.
Shiro snarls as he tears himself from Keith’s sweet body – it is too soon and his barbs are still flushed with arousal – but he cannot stand to see Keith’s smooth pink shaft bobbing with need, the very tip leaking sweetly where his foreskin rolls back. Keith cries out, short nails digging into the base of Shiro’s ears, but his grip changes to pulling at his mane when Shiro shifts his weight onto his haunches, huffing a hot breath over Keith’s lovely cock.
“And are you brave enough, my pretty sandflower, to trust a lion’s teeth?”
For a moment, Keith's fingers seem to try and yank Shiro away, but then Keith bucks up against him, cock slapping against the side of Shiro's muzzle. Shiro licks him, the broad flat of his textured tongue covering the whole of Keith’s arousal, and Keith growls as he tries to fit his cock between Shiro’s fangs. The sound is a pale noise in comparison to Shiro’s snarl, but he does not appear discouraged.
“Eager to please me, kitten?” Keith gasps, cocksure but breathless as Shiro plies him with his tongue. “You look so good with something in your mouth.”
Shiro grunts in disagreement, but Keith's fingers twist in his mane and haul him close until Shiro’s nose is pressed tight against his belly. One thing is certain, the boy pushing his cock into Shiro’s mouth is not scared by the threatening scrape of his teeth.
Shiro laps at Keith’s cock, wrapping his prehensile tongue around Keith’s shaft as the boy thrusts into his maw. He moulds Keith’s cock against the roof of his mouth, licking at him fervently, rolling his tongue until he touches the sensitive exposed tip with the most textured part of his tongue. Keith yowls, his hips stuttering, and Shiro wraps both massive hands around Keith’s plush, tight little arse and swallows him down until Keith has no freedom to move at all.
And still Keith grips tightly to the back of Shiro’s head, fingers woven into his mane, powerful thighs clenching around Shiro’s ribs as he is devoured.
Shiro pulls him back enough to manage another teasing swipe at Keith’s tip, and then the boy is shaking apart below him, whimpering nonsensically as he half pulls and half pets Shiro’s thick mane.
He tastes delicious. Shiro has never known another so sweet and perfect. He wants to relish the flavour, spend his time lapping at Keith’s balls, his gorgeous creamy thighs, and the wetness of his smooth pink hole. Shiro hasn’t found someone he wanted to indulge in all his life, not like this.
But Keith gives him no relief, and no sooner has the boy finished shaking from his orgasm, then Shiro’s world is spinning again as Keith flips them both over, shoves Shiro forcefully back against the ground before straddling his waist once more. Shiro is so big, that even astride the narrowest part of his torso, Keith’s legs are split apart lewdly. Shiro growls.
Keith dances his fingers across the points of Shiro’s fangs: Shiro licks him. Keith ducks down and kisses him, wet and sweet and soft, and Shiro only just about manages to swallow his purr before giving himself away.
“I trust you,” Keith says, as though there was no interruption in their previous conversation. He works himself backward until Shiro’s cock is rubbing at the cleft between his cheeks. Shiro really does growl then; it’s too soon.
“I will help you to remake your beads,” Shiro says, hoping to distract the boy with thoughts of the shiny gems which litter the earth all around them. Somehow, he knows it won’t work. “Or buy you something else.”
Keith ducks down to kiss him again, and Shiro wraps the boy’s head in his hand and keeps him there. He likes the flavour of Keith’s mouth, the way he uses his blunt teeth to nip at Shiro’s big tongue, the way he doesn’t flinch away from Shiro’s fangs. When Keith’s sits up again, he cradles Shiro’s massive hand in his own, pushing at the centre pad to make Shiro’s claws extend. Something about those sharp points near Keith’s delicate flesh – and still marked with his blood – makes Shiro groan.
“Better,” Keith comments, and then drops a hand out of sight behind him. A moment later, Shiro chuffs as dexterous fingers begin to roll his softly furred balls around, squeezing and tugging in just the right ways to get his cock to plump up quickly. “You were always too generous, kitten. Too nice.”
Shiro frowns.
“What do you mean?”
Keith doesn’t answer him right away, because it seems he is tired with waiting. He shifts his hand back to the base of Shiro’s cock, the other balancing on Shiro’s abdomen, and Shiro jolts when the tip of his cock is fed into Keith’s beautifully wet heat once more. Keith is still so open from their fucking, so easily moulded to Shiro’s exact shape. Keith wiggles his hips, seating himself deep on Shiro’s cock again, but Shiro can tell when his barbs rub and catch on the tender flesh he abused earlier by pulling out so soon, because as strong and vibrant as Keith is, he cannot fully suppress his little wince and hiss of pain.
But when violet eyes meet Shiro’s, Keith just smirks, so obviously pleased with himself for the feat of taking his cock, that Shiro purrs.
“Saw you,” the boy says breathlessly, “years ago. The pride came to Marmora for the summer hunting and the games.”
Shiro blinks, frowning as he tries to remember, skimming his claws up and down Keith’s side over his ribs in order to feel the boy squirm. Summer hunting parties and games of strength and skill against other clans littered Shiro’s early years, and it is hard to think of himself then, on the cusp of adulthood, still so free of the darkness which hardened him.
Keith rolls his hips, and the action causes Shiro to nick him with one claw, a bright bead of blood rolling down Keith’s ribs.
“Ahhh-! Fuck kitten, you feel so good.”
Keith’s eyes are half shuttered, long lashes obscuring their lovely violet shade, but now Shiro knows he’s apparently seen this boy before, and he wants to remember. He grabs Keith’s chin, forcing the boy to look at him with a little shake.
“Keith. What else? What do you remember?”
Keith squeezes Shiro's hips with his thighs and scratches harmless nails down his chest. He doesn’t even leave a mark.
“I remember you being so fucking gracious when you won that spar against the wolf; like winning was a surprise to you. Everyone knew there was no match for you on the field in speed or skill or beauty, but you were so chivalrous. No future king was ever so nice.”
Keith begins to rock in his lap, hole clenching rhythmically around Shiro's length as he works Shiro's cock deeper and deeper inside himself. He is milking Shiro for his pleasure, and Shiro cannot tear his eyes away. He settles his hands on Keith’s little waist, kneading at the soft flesh with his claws just to encourage little broken gasps of near-pain, and lets the boy take whatever he wants.
“Last morning of the camp, some of us were practising our kata at dawn in the field behind the camp- nngh! We didn’t expect you. And what white lion doesn’t growl at subjects who forget to bow to him? Ahhh- ahhh! And then you didn’t fucking leave.” Keith almost sounds angry in between his gasps of pleasure. “You stopped and walked among us, like you weren't royalty, like we were all equals. You corrected Regris’ high kick and Lotor's stance. You were so fucking nice, like the kindness meant nothing.” Keith picks up the pace with his hips, still rolling, rubbing Shiro's sensitive barbs across the place inside him which will bring the most pleasure. “You told me- ha ha uh, told me I was flawless, that I had perfect form. I was fourteen and you spoke like it was a fact. Hnnngh! And I knew it then. I knew that when the time came for tribute, you were going to be mine.”
Shiro sees the bright spark of desire and sharp joy in Keith’s eyes, and he presses his ears back into his mane. It has been a long time since Shiro cared about disappointing someone.
“Oh sandflower… I’m not that person any more. After the Galra…. Things are different.” It hurts – not physically, but somewhere deep inside, to think of those endless days of torment and violence when his body is singing with the pleasure Keith brings him. Shiro closes his eyes, and the awful things, half-memory and half-waking nightmare try to crawl into the edge of his vision. Keith grabs his muzzle, strong fingers lacing between Shiro's fangs, and forces Shiro to meet his gaze.
Keith is beautiful, and so strong, and so sure of himself as he rolls his hips and dares Shiro to look away again, and Shiro takes a deep shuddering breath before he speaks.
“I’m changed now, Keith. Different from who I was back then. I don’t think you’ll like-”
“Don’t tell me what I’ll think, kitten,” Keith snaps. He clenches around Shiro’s cock, as though emphasizing his point. “That’s for me to decide, not you.” Keith’s fingertips stroke Shiro's tongue ever-so-briefly before moving up to his face, and Shiro whimpers as he traces the pinkish line of his scar with reverential fingers. “People don’t change, Shiro. Just because awful things happened, does not make you an awful person. You were good when I saw you in Marmora. You are good now.”
Keith rises up again, his thighs tensing with a hand balanced over Shiro's heart before he lets gravity pull them back together. His slim fingers knead at Shiro's chest, and Shiro cannot tell if his heart is being pressed with meaning, or if Keith just needs a convenient anchoring point of his pleasure.
“I literally bet my life on it.”
Shiro cannot help the mirth with bubbles through his chest at that. Keith is so brazen, and Shiro cannot even attempt to be morose now.
“I wouldn’t put it past you to have fought me off, little sandflower.”
Keith groans as he rolls his hips again, clearly finding an angle he enjoys. Shiro tightens his grip on the boy’s waist, eager to keep him there, to be an instrument of pleasure and delight.
“Ahhh… fuck yes. They took my knife,” he says casually, “right before the tribute presentation. Fucking marshal unstrapped it from around my thigh. Bastard.” He clenches around Shiro’s cock once more, and Shiro’s vision goes fuzzy at the edges as his cock is squeezed. “I’d better get my knife back, kitten.”
The idea of someone else touching Keith’s lovely thigh makes Shiro snarl. He wraps both hands around Keith’s legs, squeezing so tight he’s sure he will leave marks, but Keith just moans throatily, face upturned to the evening sky.
“I will maim anyone who dares touch you without your permission again, sandflower.”
“Good kitty,” Keith croons, then his hips stutter and he gasps instead. “Ah- ahh!”
“Yes,” Shiro uses his superior size to sit up with Keith in his lap, keeping him tight down on his cock as he begins to lap at his neck, the dip of his clavicle, his chest. Keith digs all ten fingers deep into Shiro’s mane, and Shiro lets the points of his teeth scrape over Keith’s gorgeous skin.
“Oh- oh fuck- Shiro, come-” Keith’s lashes flutter, his body tight and tense as his cock throbs between them. “...Now kitten!”
Keith’s entire body goes rigid as he comes, cock pulsing, hot seed splattering over Shiro’s torso as Keith’s face presses into the thick cloud of Shiro’s mane. They can be no closer, and Shiro obeys the boy’s command to joins him. He bites Keith’s shoulder again – blood hot and copper-sweet on his tongue – as his orgasm crests and washes over him.
Pleasure buzzes under his skin, from the tuft at the tip of his tail to the points of his claws, and Shiro thrusts his hips and keeps Keith in place to ride him through it, purring and chuffing as he fills the boy with his spend in what feels like an endless wave of perfect gratification.
When he’s finished, every atom of Shiro feels too sensitive – the sand, the earth, the slick clutch of Keith’s body – is all too much and not enough simultaneously. But the moment Shiro shifts, placing his hands on Keith’s thighs, intent on lifting him carefully from Shiro’s barbed cock, the boy mewls and clutches at Shiro’s sides with shaking fingertips. Shiro chuffs again, and relaxes back against the ground, bringing Keith down with him until the boy is lain out on his front, the crown of his head barely reaching Shiro’s sternum.
Shiro cradles him, loving the way the boy fits so perfectly in his grasp: small, yet somehow made of raw diamond and iron.
“Keith…”
Keith turns his face up to look at him, but the action causes him to move, and Shiro purrs very obviously as the boy makes little fucked-out pleasant noises while he squirms on Shiro's cock. Even soft, Shiro is still large – far larger than Keith is as his stature and species suggest – and though his barbs are no longer flared, they still provide a rather distinct texture. Keith is obviously sensitive after such single-minded coupling, but still he stays with Shiro’s cock held warm inside him. Shiro begins to stroke Keith’s inky hair, letting the boy’s noises and small movements encapsulate his attention.
He cannot remember ever being so comfortable.
Eventually, Keith shifts enough to lean up on one elbow, and drags his other fingertips through the blood on his shoulder. He frowns at it for a moment, then reaches up, and paints two stripes down Shiro’s forehead, in between his eyes.
Shiro stops breathing, but Keith continues with another swipe of his blood, drawing the same marks over Shiro’s heart, then his own, then finally his own face. With a groan, Keith sinks back down onto Shiro’s chest, and with a more deliberate wiggle of his hips, finally releases Shiro’s cock from his hole.
Shiro would give almost anything to know what Keith looks like now, pink and raw and gaping, surely leaking Shiro's come across the back of his thigh with how much seed Shiro fucked into him. Shiro smooths a hand down the sweet curve of Keith’s spine to feel him – keeping his claws fully sheathed now – and the reality he touches is just as wonderful as the vision in his mind. Keith whines and squirms a little, but Shiro pets him softly, not invading his tender flesh, and Keith settles quickly once more.
Apparently, it takes two very good orgasms for the fight to go out of his boy.
“I’m not being King’s Consort,” Keith grumbles.
Well, perhaps not all the fight.
“But-” Shiro starts to complain. Keith is his mate, that much is dramatically obvious, and Keith has marked them both with his blood, ceremonial binding scored across their skin and Shiro’s fur. Shiro must ask him how he knew to do that.
Keith is his consort. It is already done. Only unmated lions hunt for tribute, and once a mate is chosen and successful, there is no undoing it. It is why there is such a high standard for mates, and why so few tributes survive the process.
Keith fixes Shiro with sharp eyes, their centres burning bright as he presses a meaningful fingertip to Shiro’s pink nose.
“Not a consort. I am your fucking husband, dammit. We’re equals.”
Shiro chuffs, loud and uncontrolled as joy bubbles through him at Keith's bold words and determined tone. He smiles, and wraps his tail over Keith's lovely thighs, using his whole body to hold the boy as thoroughly against him as he can.
“Yes. I’ll get you a crown, pretty sandflower. Anything you want.”
Keith seems to consider this a moment, then grins.
“I like red.”