Chapter 93: Too Weak To Walk

Hours merged into a relentless blur of heat and friction. Round after round, Darius claimed Basil in every position imaginable, turning the bed into a chaotic mess of tangled sheets and ruined pillows. Basil had lost count somewhere between being bent over the edge of the mattress and being pulled onto Darius’s lap, impaled and bounced until his thighs shook. Darius had taken him from behind, on his side, and face to face, his name a desperate prayer on Basil’s lips each time. Every round had ended the same:

Darius buried deep, flooding him, whispering "mine" against his throat while Basil sobbed into the sheets. He filled Basil with his seed repeatedly, driving into him until Basil’s limbs went entirely limp, his body thoroughly worn and exhausted. Lying there in a daze, Basil wondered where Darius summoned such boundless strength. Darius was supposed to be recovering from severe injuries, yet he had moved with absolute dominance, handling, fucking, and rendering Basil completely helpless.

When the storm finally subsided, a heavy quiet settled over the space, leaving the room smelling of salt and spent heat. Basil lay near unconsciousness, half-twisted in the sheets, one leg thrown over Darius’s thigh, his chest rising and falling in shallow, wrecked little breaths.

His skin was a map of Darius’s possessiveness—red marks along his collarbone, fingerprints pressed into his hips, and a drying trail of seed cooling on his stomach. He could not lift his head. He tried, once, and the room tilted sideways. Darius rolled him gently onto his back, pulling him into his chest.

A soft kiss landed on his forehead.

"You did so well, my prince," Darius murmured, his thumb brushing Basil’s cheek. "You took everything. Took me so completely."

?Basil’s eyes fluttered. A weak, breathless laugh escaped him. "I bet your lunch is all cold."

?Darius paused mid-kiss, letting out a quiet, chest-deep laugh, resting his forehead against Basil’s. "I’m already filled," he said, and there was something almost smug in it. "I could go without food for a week now. You gave me more than any tray could."

Basil made a small, mortified sound, a strangled mmph, and buried his face in Darius’s shoulder.

?Darius let him hide for a moment, chuckling softly before gently brushing the damp hair from his forehead. "We need to clean you up. If my seed stays inside you too long, your stomach is going to ache."

?"I don’t have the strength," Basil mumbled, the words muffled against skin. "I can’t even move. It’s like my legs don’t exist anymore."

?"Don’t worry." Darius was already shifting, sliding an arm beneath Basil’s knees. "I have more than enough strength."

"No—" Basil’s hand shot out, pressing flat against Darius’s chest. "Your leg. You’re still recovering. You shouldn’t be—"

?"I can walk perfectly fine." Darius chuckled as he stood, lifting Basil as if he weighed nothing, cradling him against the warm breadth of his chest. "You’re the only one who still thinks my leg has a problem." Basil clung to his neck, dizzy with the sudden height, watching the room drift past. His mind snagged on the same stubborn question. How? Darius had flipped him through every position a body could bend into. He’d held his weight for hours. He should be wrecked too. He ought to be feeling some fraction of the physical strain, yet his stride was steady, his arms iron, his breath barely winded.

Darius nudged the bathroom door open with his foot. Steam curled through the gap as he set Basil down on the wet marble bench inside the shower enclosure and turned the tap.

The shower hissed on. Warm water sluiced over both of them, and Basil shivered, suddenly, painfully aware of his own nakedness.

?"Turn around," Darius said softly. "Hands on the wall."

?Basil’s face burned. "Darius—"

?"I’m going to help you bring all of it out," Darius said calmly, his gentle hand guiding Basil’s hip, turning him toward the tile. Now that the fever of passion had cleared, a wave of acute self-consciousness crashed over Basil.

Flushing deeply, he felt a sudden surge of shyness, staring at the wet floor, wishing it might open and swallow him whole.

He pressed his forehead to the cool tile and closed his eyes as Darius knelt behind him, completely unbothered, and parted Basil’s thighs to position him properly. He carefully inserted a slick finger, pressing past his entry.

Basil’s breath caught at the instruction.

?Darius worked slowly, gently, crooking his finger just inside, coaxing the trapped fluid free. Warm water ran down Basil’s spine. A thick string slid down the inside of his thigh, and Basil made a small, humiliated whimper. ’How could Darius do this without an ounce of shame?’ Every slow, deliberate movement of Darius’s fingers sent a strange, hypersensitive pulse through his core, making him squirm despite his embarrassment.

?Darius added a second finger, working deeper with smooth, sweeping strokes that cleared out the warmth lodged inside him. Basil’s hips twitched without permission. His traitorous cock began to stir against the wet tile wall.

Darius paused, a dark, amused smile breaking across his features. "It looks like your body still wants more."

Basil’s eyes widened, panic mixing with his embarrassment. "No... no, I don’t. I don’t..." He shook his head hard, water flying. "I’m seriously worn out, Darius."

"If you were really tired," Darius said, withdrawing his fingers, "your prick wouldn’t be standing, and the last thing I’ll do is leave my prince unsatisfied."

Without waiting for another protest, he turned Basil by the shoulders, easing him down until his back met the tile, until Basil was looking up at him through the steam. Then Darius knelt.

Basil’s breath stuttered. "Darius—you don’t have to—" The rest of his sentence was cut off as Darius’s mouth captured his sensitive cock, hot and wet, taking him down to the root in one slow swallow. Basil cried out, one hand slapping against the wall, the other tangling in Darius’s wet hair as his knees buckled.