Fuck.

The kitchen vanished, replaced by the rough-hewn logs of a small cabin. A month. A whole month had apparently passed in this dream-induced reality. But amidst the rustic simplicity, something felt jarringly out of place: a small wooden box overflowing with letters. My eyes were drawn to the unmistakable Royal Stamp emblazoned on several of the envelopes. Levi? Sending me letters? The handwriting was exquisite, elegant strokes forming neat lines. I picked one at random, my fingers tracing the royal crest, and unfolded the crisp parchment. The contents were… unexpected. No declarations of love, no passionate yearnings. Instead, friendly observations, anecdotes about court life, even inquiries about my well-being.

The Dream Raphael, the docile slave version of myself, was actually… corresponding with King Levi? Exchanging friendly letters? What in the seven hells were you thinking, subconscious Raphael? Dragging me into this medieval nightmare, only to reveal that you were apparently pen pals with the king? You absolute idiot!

Stepping out of the small cabin, the village unfolded before me, and it was immediately apparent that these were no Ascarians. A patchwork of faces, skin tones, and clothing styles suggested a gathering of individuals from disparate lands. So, even in his dream-tyranny, King Levi was enacting a form of… liberation? Bringing together the formerly enslaved?

As I wandered through the dusty lanes, past small farms carved into the landscape, the comforting aroma of baking bread wafting from a nearby shop, and the rhythmic clatter of a tailor's needle, a small child, no older than seven, darted out from between two buildings and collided with my legs. I steadied her, and she tilted her head back, her eyes widening as she looked up at my face.

“Raph!” she exclaimed, a bright, unguarded smile spreading across her features. Oh, Dream Raphael, you oblivious swine… you didn't just make pen pals with the King, did you? You actually befriended the locals in this bizarre prison of my subconscious?

“H-Hello there,” I managed, forcing a warm smile onto my face, desperately hoping this child wouldn’t detect the unfamiliarity in my eyes.

“You have a letter!” she chirped, reaching into the pocket of her worn tunic. She proudly presented a folded piece of parchment, extending it towards me with a trusting innocence that twisted my gut. Gods… Another letter. Dream Raphael, you oblivious, idiotic son of a bitch.

I snatched the offered letter, and mumbled a barely coherent "thank you" to the child. Without meeting her innocent gaze again, I turned and practically fled back to the perceived safety of the small cabin. Yes. There it was again. Prominently displayed on the folded parchment. The Royal Stamp.

My hands shook as I unfolded the parchment.

“Dear Raphael,

“I sincerely hope this letter finds you well. Please reassure me of your well-being, and that of the other residents in the village. I have gathered the necessary information regarding their identities; arrangements have been made for their return to their respective homelands within the week. Your efforts in this endeavor are deeply appreciated.

It is with a heavy heart that I must now make a request of you. Please, arrive at the palace. This is not a Royal Decree, carrying the weight of obligation, but simply me, Levi, requesting your presence.”

He was releasing the others? Thanking me? And then… a personal request to come to the palace?

Hold on. Process this. Everyone in the village greeted me like an old friend, calling me "Raph" with a familiarity that suggested genuine affection. Dream Raphael didn't just exist here; he integrated. He made connections. And then… the letter. Gathering information, ensuring their well-being, learning their countries… Gods. Dream Raphael wasn't just a passive participant in this bizarre scenario. He befriended these people, and then, it seems, he reported back to King Levi. Oh, Dream Raphael. You pathetic, attention-seeking… you befriended an entire village just to have people adore you, didn't you?

But the summons to the palace… Was King Levi truly going to express gratitude? Thank me, his former slave, for… what, exactly? Facilitating the release of others? Being a friendly face in his bizarre experiment? Of course not. This was Levi, even in his dream-incarnation. There was always a deeper game, a hidden motive. Think, real Raphael, think. Why did my Levi marry me? To sever his ties to the dukedom. But this Levi was already a king. And the casual mention of his reign… it implied a different history, a different set of circumstances. What if… what if this Levi was still bound by the political realities of his world? Still married to Julia, perhaps a powerful marchioness in this dream-realm? Oh, Gods… a royal scandal was brewing, wasn’t it? My arrival at the palace, the former slave summoned by the king… it had all the hallmarks of a public spectacle, a deliberate act to either solidify his power or create chaos.

Well… there was no avoiding it. With a deep breath and a growing sense of trepidation, I made my way to the edge of the village, where a modest post stood. Showing the Royal-stamped letter earned me immediate passage; an austere, carriage was brought forth, and with a snap of the reins, two horses began their swift journey towards the distant Royal Palace. I clutched the remaining letters. The real Raphael, could undoubtedly walk through those palace gates without question. But Dream Raphael… oh, Dream Raphael. What manner of standing did you possess in this strange, fabricated world? Would these letters be enough? Or would I be met with suspicion, an imposter in a life I didn't live?

As the carriage drew closer, the silhouette of the Royal Palace loomed against the horizon, its many windows ablaze with light. There I saw it – banners bearing the royal crest, the sounds of music and laughter carried on the night air… a Royal Ball? OH MY GOD! Levi, you manipulative, calculating asshole!

The carriage halted, its wheels crunching on the gravel of a secluded courtyard. I presented the letter to the guards. They wordlessly gestured me towards a discreet back entrance. I was led through a maze of dimly lit corridors and then ushered into a lavishly appointed dressing room. Attendants moved, presenting me with tailored garments – rich velvet, intricate embroidery, the kind of attire befitting someone of… significance. Oh God! Me, standing beside Levi, a silent figure amidst the glittering elite, just like those charity galas where his veiled threats hung heavy in the air, a promise of retribution for any who dared cross him. Fuck…

Finally, the guards led me to the grand ballroom.

Seated on twin thrones at the far end of the hall: Levi and Julia.

Just as I'd suspected.

Levi’s attention was fixed on the swirling mass of nobles, his expression a neutral mask. But Julia… her gaze swept across the room with undisguised disdain, a curl to her lip. Neither of them acknowledged my presence, yet the air around their thrones crackled with a palpable tension. It was the same energy I’d witnessed countless times in reality – a shared impatience, a barely concealed contempt for the nobles.

As Julia and Levi gracefully ascended from their twin thrones, a wave of polite applause rippled through the ballroom. But beneath the veneer of royal composure, their discomfort was a tangible thing. Knowing their history – the cousinly bond, the separate chambers – I could sense the immense weight of this charade. They moved together for the ceremonial dance, and it was breathtaking. Every head in the ballroom turned, captivated by their elegant steps and regal bearing. They were the epitome of a royal couple. Yet, amidst the admiration, only I, could feel the silent yearning for a freedom they could never publicly acknowledge.

Their elegant dance concluded, a roar of enthusiastic cheers erupted from the assembled nobles. The inevitable moment had arrived. The ceremonial kiss. There was no flicker of jealousy within me, only a profound sense of sorrow for the charade they were forced to enact. They leaned towards each other, their faces mere inches apart, and their lips barely made contact – a fleeting brush, perhaps even aimed at the air beside their mouths; the distance made it impossible to discern the precise point of contact. Yet, the crowd responded with renewed fervor. As Levi and Julia turned to offer a regal wave, their impassive masks were firmly in place. But I could see the light extinguish in their eyes.

As Levi and Julia retreated from the center of the ballroom, the echoes of the crowd's enthusiastic cheers and applause following them like a wave, the assembled nobles eagerly filled the vacated space. They paired off, their elaborate gowns and tailored suits swirling in synchrony. I could only stand at the edge of the spectacle, a knot of distaste tightening in my stomach. The forced gaiety, the superficial charm, the air of entitlement that seemed to cling to them like expensive perfume – it all felt grating after witnessing the quiet suffering of the King and Queen.

A guard firmly clasped my arm, and steered me through a labyrinth of corridors. He finally stopped before a carved door and ushered me inside.

I found myself in the bedchamber of Julia and Levi. Both of them stood in the center of the vast room, their movements jerky and desperate as they tore at their jewels and accessories. Julia ripped the lace of her gloves, while Levi’s fingers fumbled impatiently with the clasps of his collar.

Julia collapsed to the armchair. She reached for a nearby decanter of deep red wine, her grip firm as she poured herself a generous measure. Then, her gaze, direct and assessing, settled on me. It was a look I recognized, that mirrored our very first encounter. She was studying me, the unfortunate soul foolish enough, or perhaps brave enough, to have been drawn into the intricate and often perilous orbit of Levi Blake.

Levi echoed Julia's sentiment with a clipped word, "Revolting," as he lowered himself into the armchair opposite hers. Then, he reached for a crystal decanter filled with amber liquid and poured himself a generous measure of scotch. The sight gave me a jolt. My Levi had been steadfastly sober for nearly three months. This dream Levi, it seemed, was still finding solace in the familiar burn of alcohol after enduring a distasteful obligation.

Julia’s voice cut through the tense silence, direct and impatient. “So, Levi, speak plainly. What is the grand design behind this… charade?”

Levi lifted the glass of scotch to his lips, taking a fortifying swallow. “Ugh,” he muttered, his voice low and thick with frustration, more to himself than to either of us. “Gods... How many more of these insufferable performances must we endure? How many more years of this… existence?”

That's exactly what I felt watching them. That kiss, that brief, barely-there touch, must have truly shaken him. Years. They've been living like this for years.

Julia’s voice rose. “Oh, yes, Levi? You think you have it bad? Do you have the faintest idea what poison drips from the tongues at those insipid tea parties I’m forced to attend? It’s either your supposed inability to produce an heir, or the endless speculation about my own ‘delicate constitution’ and supposed ‘barrenness.’ Do you have any comprehension of the vile, disgusting whispers those entitled swines dare to breathe into my ear under the guise of polite conversation?”

No wonder they both looked as if they wanted to flay their own skin.

Levi dragged his palm roughly down his face. “You know perfectly well, Julia, that I cannot unilaterally dethrone you, just as I cannot simply abdicate myself. And as for the matter of siring an heir… That is a contingency that will remain… perpetually unfulfilled on my part.”

Yep. That was the Levi I knew. The unyielding defiance, the absolute refusal to be dictated, even when it came to the fundamental duty of a king.

“So, what was the grand scheme, then?” Julia asked, swirling the wine in her glass, her gaze flicking towards me with curiosity. “I assumed you were finally going to acquire a suitable consort or something. But… you brought him?” She gestured towards me with a subtle tilt of her glass.

“My dear Julia, allow me to clarify. He isn’t a consort. He is the King’s Consort.”

Oh my God! That manipulative, calculating bastard! Even in the twisted landscape of my own subconscious, I’m still a pawn in his intricate games. It’s happening all over again. Dream Levi is about to unveil his male "bride" to this room full of tradition-bound nobles, and the predictable chaos is about to erupt.

“W-what?” Julia stammered, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“Indeed,” Levi continued, his voice smooth and laced with a hint of triumph. “Not only is my chosen consort a man, a fact that will undoubtedly ruffle a few antiquated feathers, but he is also an outsider, someone not born into the precious circles. And,” he added, his gaze turning towards me with a deliberate intensity, “he is a freed slave. What more opportune moment could there be to finally abolish this barbaric practice? A Royal Consort, who himself endured the chains of slavery, will now have a voice, a platform from which to speak truth to power.”

Holy shit. He’s doing it again. The fucking nutjob. Using me, using our relationship, to enact sweeping social change. Eleven months ago, it was nobility. Now it’s slavery.

Julia stared at Levi, her expression a mixture of disbelief and utter bewilderment, as if she were witnessing a descent into complete madness.

“You intend to… abolish slavery,” she repeated slowly, each word measured, “and declare this man your consort… publicly?”

“Precisely,” Levi replied, as if discussing a minor administrative detail. “The groundwork has been laid. Now, it is simply a matter of the tedious process of paper pushing and official decrees.”

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"Even in the deepest, most private corners of my own subconscious," I murmured under my breath, "you are still a terrorist, Levi.”

“The nobles are going to tear us apart,” Julia stated, her voice flat.

“Even better,” Levi replied, an eager glint returning to his eyes. “If we are particularly fortunate, we might even find ourselves relieved of these tiresome crowns altogether.”

For normal people, being dethroned would be a nightmare. For Levi and, surprisingly, even Julia in this dream, it sounds like a vacation. And they're willing to burn the whole system down to get it. Terrorists, both of them, in their own royal way.

“Ugh…” Julia sighed, the fight seemingly draining out of her. “Just… tell me what needs to be done.”

“Nothing particularly taxing,” Levi replied. “Some tedious paper pushing to make it official, a few words of hope and reassurance for the bewildered citizens, a liberal sprinkling of thinly veiled insults directed at the more… recalcitrant nobles. You know, the standard, utterly soul-crushing average Queen duties.”

The citizens get hope, the nobles get subtly eviscerated, and Levi gets to stir the pot. It's a win-win-win in his book, I'm sure.

“Gods, Levi,” Julia groaned. “I loathe you with the fire of a thousand suns, you asshole.”

I bit back a laugh.

“Minor inconveniences, merely details,” Levi waved a dismissive hand. “Do, however, endeavor to ensure my mother doesn’t succumb to a dramatic fainting spell upon hearing today’s… revelations.”

“Gods give me strength,” Julia groaned, running a hand through her hair. “The absolute last thing I want to deal with is that old harpy. She’s the one who orchestrated this entire miserable union in the first place.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“Go fuck yourself sideways with a rusty spoon, Levi,” Julia retorted, her voice laced with a potent mix of fury and utter exhaustion. She snatched the wine bottle and strode towards the door. As she swept past me, however, her sharp gaze softened for a fleeting moment.

"Well then, dear Raphael," Levi said, a hint of that unnerving charm in his voice, "please, make yourself comfortable." He gestured with a languid hand towards the ornate armchair Julia had just vacated. I hesitantly sat down.

“The actual hell?” I managed to sputter out. “Making me your consort? Without even a goddamn asking?”

Levi raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a picture of innocent bewilderment. “My dearest Raphael, I distinctly recall you giving your enthusiastic consent to this… endeavor.”

Ah!!!

Dream Raphael, you treacherous swine! The letters! All those friendly letters… You were in on this from the beginning! You were helping him orchestrate this entire audacious scheme to abolish slavery! You double-dealing… Dream Raphael, you absolute pig!

“Of course he fucking agreed,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “Of course, that impulsive, attention-seeking idiot, jumped at the chance to be part of your grand scheme. Just like how I, in my infinite wisdom, impulsively agreed to marry the real Levi eleven months ago without fully grasping the glorious chaos that would ensue. Gods…”

Levi, seemingly unfazed by my outburst and his own momentary confusion, smoothly offered me the crystal decanter. Against my better judgment, I took it. With a frustrated sigh, I poured myself a generous measure and took a large, burning gulp. Gods, I hated scotch. Fuck you, Dream Raphael. Still as impulsively agreeable and oblivious as ever. You got me drinking this swill in my own damn dream.

Levi waited, his gaze steady and expectant, a silent prompt for me to break the bewildered silence that had fallen between us. But the truth was, I was utterly speechless. My Levi, at this hour, would likely be ensconced in his study, clad in his favorite silk robe, his voice a low growl as he tore into some unfortunate minister. This dream Levi, however, sat across from me, slowly swirling the amber liquid in his glass, his expression a mask of genuine confusion. He was probably wondering where his agreeable, if somewhat naive, Dream Raphael had suddenly disappeared to, replaced by this agitated, scotch-guzzling imposter.

“Are you… perhaps experiencing a flicker of doubt?”

My mind was a complete blank. No thoughts, no arguments, just a hollow echo of disbelief. But Dream Raphael had apparently signed on the dotted line, metaphorically speaking. To maintain some semblance of order in this chaotic dreamscape, I supposed I had to play along.

“No,” I managed to say, my voice sounding oddly detached even to my own ears. “Just… give me the damn papers.”

“Papers? Whatever for, my dear?”

I’d been expecting some sort of marriage certificate or formal contract. Of course not. What would a King need with such mundane documents?

“Levi…” I sighed. “Look, my brain feels like it’s been scrambled. Just… just do whatever it is you need to do.”

Levi took a hesitant sip of his scotch. “Understood,” he murmured. He moved slowly, until he was standing directly in front of me, leaning down until his face was mere inches from mine.

This was it, wasn’t it? We were going to kiss. In my dream. With a dream version of my husband who was also a medieval king.

Did this even count as cheating? Was this dream-Levi merely an extension of the real Levi? My mind was a battlefield of conflicting emotions and racing thoughts. Although… there was a noticeable hesitation in the king's approach. I knew the real Levi had no prior experience with man before me, and this Levi had likely only ever exchanged chaste pecks with Julia for public appearances. The realization was oddly… endearing and slightly hilarious.

Finally, he closed the remaining distance. Our lips met, a soft pressure. Then, a fraction of an inch separated our mouths again, a breath held between us. Hesitant, undeniably inexperienced kisses began to brush against mine. It was almost… endearing in its awkwardness.

Gently, I placed my hand on his cheek, my thumb brushing softly against his skin, a subtle encouragement to explore further. He seemed to understand, and he leaned in again. It was still a tentative exploration rather than a passionate embrace.

“Place your arms on my shoulders, Raphael,” Levi murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against my lips. I complied, my hands finding purchase on the fabric of his royal attire. Ah. I recognized this subtle shift in the dream's narrative. In the next instant, his hands found my waist, his grip strong as he effortlessly lifted me, guiding my legs to wrap around his. Wait. Hold on a damn second. Was this… was my subconscious finally venturing into the territory of a full-blown wet dream? The realization hit me with a jolt, a mixture of surprise and a slightly embarrassed curiosity.

Wait. No… My mind raced, the burgeoning arousal abruptly slamming into a wall of reality.

Levi lowered me until I was perched on the edge of the bed, my legs remaining wrapped around his waist. We were still fully clothed, the stiff fabric of his attire pressing against me. And it was undeniably clear. Despite the implied direction of the dream, he was utterly clueless.

“Levi…” I murmured. “Look, I’ll… I’ll handle the, uh, the preparation. Just… hand me something to make it easier, alright? Like maybe a body oil, or… something.”

Levi’s right eye crinkled. He was probably utterly perplexed by my request. Body oil? In this context?

Levi reached towards an intricately carved nightstand. His fingers fumbled for a moment before he grasped a glass bottle filled with a viscous, pink-hued oil. Thank God… My Levi, always kept his preferred lubricant in the top drawer of his nightstand, too.

With a sigh of resignation, I slid my pants down my legs and further back onto the plush velvet of the bed. I reached for the glass bottle, the pink oil feeling thick and slightly foreign on my skin. It was definitely not the same as the lube I was accustomed to, but it was undeniably better than nothing. I tipped a generous amount onto my fingers and then carefully applied it, subtly easing my middle finger inside. King Levi watched my movements with an intense focus. It was a gaze that held a base level of desire. But I could sense that the curiosity was the dominant force.

I continued the stretching, easing my ring finger in to join my middle. A familiar warmth bloomed within me as my muscles gradually accommodated the pressure. King Levi remained a silent observer. He seemed to be cataloging every movement, every subtle shift in my body, perhaps storing this novel experience away for future reference. Then he loosened the buckle of his belt and, crawled over me, positioning himself above.

“I… I need a little more time,” I managed to murmur, my breath catching slightly.

“That is not the reason for my proximity,” he replied, his voice a low rumble against my ear. Then, he lowered his head and began to kiss me.

Aha! It seemed the astute King Levi had finally grasped the concept of… foreplay. Well done, Your Majesty. While I had been preoccupied with the less romantic task, he had apparently registered the lack of any preceding intimacy and was now attempting to rectify the situation with a surprisingly tender assault on my lips.

Despite the surreal circumstances, I couldn't deny the undeniable electric current that was now coursing through me. A genuine heat was beginning to bloom.

“I am ready, now,” I finally whispered, my voice a little breathless.

Levi, now kneeling between my legs on the plush bedding, slowly lowered his own simple linen underwear. Did I need to give him a medieval version of the 'go slow' speech? Warn him not to just… impale me? Manslaughter by dick was a real concern here.

He then reached down, his fingers wrapping firmly around the his length, guiding and positioning the tip. Despite my anxieties about roughness, he applied only the most subtle of pressure. I took a deep breath. With a slightly firmer push, he finally breached the threshold. Even with the stretching I'd just done, I could definitely feel his size. A sharp intake of breath escaped my lips.

“Dear… it is…” he breathed out, his voice thick with a mixture of awe and perhaps a touch of surprise.

“Yeah,” I managed, a slight grimace tightening my features. “It’s… a little tight. Instead of trying to force your way in, could you… move very slowly? Like, excruciatingly slow?” I instructed, my hands gripping his thighs for purchase.

Levi withdrew a fraction, the slickness of the oil making the movement surprisingly smooth. Then, he eased himself back in, repeating this gentle push and retreat. Finally, with a soft sigh, his tip slid fully past the initial tightness.

“Now…” I instructed, my voice a little breathless. “You can try moving a little deeper, but please, keep it slow.” Levi, to his credit, maintained his glacial pace. With incremental pressures, he continued his inward journey, stretching me with a gradual thoroughness. A low breath escaped his lips, a subtle indication of the effort and perhaps a touch of burgeoning sensation on his part as well.

“You are… surprisingly gentle…” I murmured, a genuine note of wonder coloring my voice.

“Should I not be, dear?” he replied, his voice a low rumble.

“No… it’s just… I suppose I’d mentally prepared myself for something a little less… considerate,” I admitted, a slight flush creeping up my neck.

“Please, dear Raphael,” he murmured, a hint of wounded pride in his tone. “Do I truly strike you as some… uncivilized brute? A mere savage devoid of any finesse?”

The mirroring was uncanny. The exact same wounded pride, the same subtle disdain for what he clearly perceived as base, 'animalistic behavior.'

“No, no, not at all,” I hastened to reassure him. “It was just… my own preconceived notions. Please, continue.”

A subtle smirk played on Levi’s lips, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Yep. Even in this medieval fantasy, the man was still a delightfully petty, grudge-holding bitch. With that silent, smug encouragement, he finally thrust deeper.

I tightened my legs around his waist, my breath catching in my throat.

“Raphael…” Levi murmured, a note of genuine bewilderment in his voice. “It appears… physically impossible to proceed any further.” Curiosity piqued, I pushed myself up onto my elbows, peering down at our joined bodies. He wasn't even halfway in. It was like trying to fit a stubborn cork into a bottle that was clearly too small.

“Ugh, for crying out loud,” I groaned. “Alright, new plan. More of that damn pink oil. Slather it on. And then,” I instructed, meeting his slightly bewildered gaze with a determined one, “kiss me. And then, Levi, for the love of all that is holy, just… ram it in.”

Levi reached for the pink oil bottle, withdrew completely, and thoroughly coated his length with the pink liquid. Fuck. What had I just done? Damn you, Raphael. Both of you – dream you and real you – are equally impulsive, short-sighted idiots who leap before looking.

“Deep breath, then, Raphael,” Levi murmured, his voice a low rumble of anticipation mixed with a hint of remaining uncertainty. He positioned himself once more, the awkward angle from before seemingly uncorrected. I took a deep, bracing breath, clenching my jaw in preparation for what was to come. With a determined grunt, he thrust forward. A sharp cry tore from my throat. There was a definite, unwelcome edge of pain to the intense stretching sensation.

Even with that forceful entry, he still wasn't fully seated. But a newfound determination seemed to have gripped Levi. He continued to press forward, stretching me with a still somewhat clumsy, persistence.

“It… it actually hurts a little,” I gasped out, my hands clenching the sheets. Levi lowered his chin to rest on my shoulder, his breath warm against my ear. “Just a moment more, Raphael,” he whispered, his voice soothing. “It will be better soon.”

He continued to nuzzle against my shoulder. He pressed deeper inside, inch by reluctant inch, until he finally seemed to find a rhythm, a hesitant back-and-forth that was still more about stretching than pleasure. Small whimpers began to escape my lips.

The initial discomfort started to dull. With each hesitant thrust, a different part of me was being awakened, a slow burn igniting beneath the lingering tightness. His breath hitched softly against my neck with each small movement.

The whimpers softened, morphing into small gasps. The dream, with its bizarre medieval setting and the initially awkward intimacy, was evolving into something… else.

Levi, sensing the change in my reactions, deepened his kisses on my neck, his movements becoming a fraction more confident. The steady tempo continued, each push and retreat easing the lingering tightness, allowing the burgeoning warmth to bloom more fully. My hands, which had been clenched white-knuckled in the sheets, began to relax their grip, my fingers now tentatively exploring the fabric of his attire.

“You can… pick up the pace a little,” I urged. Levi, slowly rose onto his knees once more. He gripped my thighs, lifting my legs higher and wider, adjusting the angle with a newfound confidence. Yes. This was it. There was no more hesitation.

The change was immediate and electrifying. Each powerful thrust sent a jolt of sensation through me. My hips began to lift to meet his, the rhythm building, the pressure intensifying in all the right places. Moans, no longer of discomfort but of a burgeoning pleasure, escaped my lips as the dream-king, shedding all traces of his initial awkwardness, drove into me with a primal urgency.

His grip on my thighs tightened, pulling me closer, deeper, as the rhythm became faster, more demanding. The pounding resonated deep within my core, each thrust sending waves of heat through my body.

The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, until a strangled cry escaped my lips as the first tremors of release began to ripple through me. Levi’s movements became even more frantic, his own breath coming in ragged gasps as he drove into me one last time, a guttural groan escaping his throat as he finally found his own release, his body shuddering against mine.

Just as Levi was murmuring something, his voice thick with satisfaction – though the specific words were already beginning to fade at the edges of my consciousness – my vision started to swim and blur.

This was it, wasn't it? The return to reality. Right now? At the moment of my dream-induced climax? Damn it… I was a grown-ass, twenty-five-year-old adult. I shouldn't be having these kinds of… medievally themed… nocturnal emissions.