The day crawled by, each hour a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. My gig loomed, a bright, demanding spotlight that would pull me away from the suffocating darkness that had descended upon our home. It was agony trying to focus on my lines, the cheerful dialogue feeling alien and meaningless against the backdrop of Levi's self-inflicted pain.

Yet, on the surface, Levi was… back. A chillingly perfect imitation of his former self. He watched me rehearse with that familiar, intense focus, occasionally offering detachedly brilliant insights into my character's motivations. He even resumed his bizarre chemistry experiments in the kitchen. I'd catch him staring out the window at the sky, his expression unreadable, a vast and empty canvas.

A small, desperate part of me clung to this facade, praying it was real. But the gnawing fear in my gut wouldn't be silenced. I was lucky, at least, that this particular gig was just a one-episode guest spot. A fleeting foray into a fictional world before I had to return to this fractured reality. But the film festivals and award shows… that was a looming shadow just two weeks away. Weeks of travel, of forced smiles and empty congratulations, all while leaving him behind, alone with his void.

The day of the gig arrived. The bright lights and bustling energy of the set felt alien. I went through the motions, reciting lines, hitting marks, forcing a professional smile for the cameras. Each interaction felt hollow, my mind constantly drifting back to Levi.

He had been… subdued that morning. Almost eerily calm. He’d offered a perfunctory "good luck," his eyes lacking their usual spark, and then retreated to his study, the steel door clicking shut behind him like a final, ominous farewell.

The hours on set stretched into an eternity. Every break, every moment of downtime, was filled with a gnawing anxiety. Was he alright? Had he retreated further into that desolate inner landscape? Had he… hurt himself again?

By the time my scenes were wrapped, a wave of exhaustion washed over me, but it was overshadowed by an overwhelming sense of urgency. I had to get home. I had to see him. The applause and well wishes from the crew felt distant and meaningless. My only focus was the drive back, the frantic need to breach the walls of his silence and ensure he was still… there.

"Raphael! Brilliant work today, man," David Chen said, approaching me with a warm smile. As the lead of the show, his praise carried a certain weight, but right now, it barely registered.

I managed a polite, if somewhat strained, smile in return, shaking his hand. "Thanks, David. You were fantastic as always."

He chuckled, a friendly arm briefly resting on my shoulder. "You seemed a little… distant, though. Everything alright? You usually bring a bit more… sparkle to the wrap." His observation, though well-intentioned, felt like a spotlight on my carefully concealed anxiety.

"Yeah, just a long day," I repeated the flimsy lie, hoping he wouldn't press. The truth – the image of Levi's broken fingers and his hollow eyes – was too heavy to share with casual acquaintances at a wrap party.

David studied my face for a moment, his easygoing demeanor softening with concern. "Everything okay back home?" he asked gently, his voice dropping slightly so only I could hear.

The unexpected directness caught me off guard. A wave of conflicting emotions – the urge to confide, the ingrained need for privacy, the sheer overwhelming fear – warred within me. I hesitated, the truth hovering on the tip of my tongue.

David leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur against the celebratory noise. "Raphael," he said softly, his eyes holding a genuine concern that cut through my forced pleasantries, "you seem really stressed. More than just a long day. Let's ditch this noise and grab a quiet drink somewhere. My treat. We can actually talk."

My breath hitched. The casual concern in David's eyes had shifted, replaced by something… else. His closeness, the warmth of his breath against my neck, sent a jolt of unexpected awareness through me. "Just one drink?" he repeated, the question now carrying a weight beyond simple camaraderie.

"David," I said, my voice firm, cutting through his whispered intimacy. I took a deliberate step back, creating a clear distance between us. "My husband is waiting for me at home. I really need to leave."

No.

I won't make that mistake again. I will not betray Levi's trust again. The memory of past indiscretion, the guilt and the subsequent damage to my relationship with Levi, was a sharp, painful reminder. Whatever fleeting attraction or distraction David offered paled in comparison to the fragile state Levi was in, and the commitment I had made. My priority was home, was Levi, was salvaging what we had. The unexpected advance from David, though momentarily disorienting, had only solidified my resolve.

"Ah, your husband. The Saint, wasn't he?" David said, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Levi Blake. Yeah, I remember seeing him at that charity gala last year. Quite the presence. Didn't strike me as the jealous type." He chuckled softly, as if sharing a private joke.

"It has absolutely nothing to do with his jealousy, David," I stated firmly, my voice leaving no room for misinterpretation. "I love my husband deeply, and to be perfectly honest, every other person in this room, in this city, in this entire damn world, is simply pale in comparison. Now, if you'll excuse me," I added, turning away decisively, my focus solely on getting home to Levi. The lingering scent of David's cologne, the echo of his suggestive tone, faded into the background.

...

The ride home felt like an eternity, my leg bouncing uncontrollably against the car floor, a frantic drumbeat mirroring the anxiety pounding in my chest. Every possible scenario played out in my mind, each one darker and more terrifying than the last. The silence of the apartment when I finally burst through the door only amplified my fear.

"Levi?" I called out, my voice tight with apprehension, the sound swallowed by the stillness.

He was there. In the living room. Reading. He lifted his head, his gaze calm, almost… normal, as if the raw, broken man from the kitchen had vanished.

"Welcome home, Raphael," he said, his voice even and measured. "I trust your day has been productive."

The normalcy of his greeting, the lack of any visible sign of distress, was both a relief and deeply unsettling. It was like stepping out of a nightmare and into a perfectly ordinary day, but the lingering shadows of the night before still clung to the edges of my vision.

I didn't just walk towards him; I practically launched myself across the space, colliding with him in a desperate, clinging hug. "Yeah," I mumbled into his shoulder, my voice thick with emotion I hadn't realized I'd been holding back. "Yeah, my day was… good. Really good. How was yours?" I pulled back slightly, needing to see his face, to reassure myself that he was truly here, truly… okay.

"I have been engrossed in a rather fascinating astronomical text, Raphael," he replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "The intricacies of stellar evolution are quite… diverting. But…" He leaned back slightly, his gaze suddenly sharp and assessing. "Hm… during your absence… did you happen to reconsider my… offer? The one concerning the acquisition of another… intimate companion?"

"What?" I exclaimed, pulling away completely, my eyes wide with disbelief and a fresh wave of hurt. "Of course not, Levi! Some arrogant asshole at the wrap party made a pass at me, and I told him straight up that my husband was waiting for me at home. There is no one else, and there won't be."

A slow, unsettling smile spread across Levi's face, his eyes unreadable. "Is that so, dear?"

Levi placed the astronomical text back on the plush cushions of the couch, his gaze fixed on me with an unnerving intensity.

"I have an acquaintance," he stated, his voice smooth and measured, yet with an undercurrent of something I couldn't quite decipher. "A rather… singular individual. Bizarre and eccentric are perhaps insufficient descriptors. He is a prominent art collector. Now, he presides over a rather sprawling mansion on the capital's outskirts. I have… arranged a meeting for us."

"Uhm… Okay," I replied slowly, my mind racing, trying to catch up with this abrupt change of direction. "A meeting? With this… eccentric art collector? For what, exactly?"

A cryptic smile played on Levi's lips, a familiar sign that he was orchestrating something I wouldn't fully understand. "The element of surprise, my dear Raphael. It adds a certain… piquancy to the experience. We shall travel to his mansion… tomorrow." His eyes held a strange mixture of anticipation and something else… something that made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. It wasn't just the unexpectedness of the invitation; it was the way he presented it, the almost theatrical air, that left me with a knot of apprehension in my stomach.

Levi reached out, his splinted hand gently taking mine. "My dear Raphael," he said, his gaze softening slightly, though a hint of that enigmatic amusement still lingered in his eyes. "There is truly no need for alarm. While he possesses… unconventional proclivities, the experience, in my estimation, will be rather extraordinary. I have a certain… faith in his unique perspective. I will trust his guidance in this matter."

"But can you at least tell me…" I pressed, my anxiety still a knot in my stomach. "What exactly are we going to do there?"

Levi's smile widened, a touch more mysterious now. "That, my dear Raphael, will be entirely up to him. I contacted him yesterday, outlining… certain parameters. He has graciously arranged this meeting for us based on those discussions."

A sigh escaped my lips, a mixture of resignation and lingering unease. "Fine," I conceded, the mystery of tomorrow's meeting still a knot in my stomach. "Okay… well, the shooting wrapped up today. It actually went really well. These guest spots, as chaotic as they can be, are surprisingly fantastic for publicity. Especially with award season looming closer. Honestly, it feels like a lifeline right now."

Levi's gaze sharpened. "Award season? Hm… noted. Do inform me, Raphael, if you require any… assistance in navigating its intricacies. I possess certain… resources and a rather keen understanding of strategic influence."

"My agency is usually quite capable, Levi," I said, a small smile touching my lips. "But… I'll definitely keep your offer in mind. You never know what kind of unexpected curveballs award season can throw. Come on now," I nudged him gently, trying to steer the conversation towards something more domestic, more normal. "Prepare us some drinks, would you? You really do have a knack for concocting the most… interesting concoctions."

"As you wish, my dear."

…

The drive to the mansion felt like a descent into another world. The city's familiar grit and noise gradually gave way to manicured lawns and imposing gates. When the mansion finally came into view, it was breathtaking in its ostentatious grandeur – a sprawling edifice of marble and sculpted gardens, far exceeding anything I had pictured. Levi, beside me in the car, regarded it all with a detached amusement, a faint smile playing on his lips. But it wasn't the sheer extravagance of the building that held his interest, I realized with a growing unease. It was what lay within.

We were ushered inside by silent servants. They led us through a labyrinth of hallways, lined with priceless artwork and antique furniture, finally stopping before a set of imposing double doors. With a synchronized bow, they opened them, revealing the inhabitant within.

He was reclining on a velvet chaise lounge, a plume of fragrant tobacco smoke curling around him, clad in a silk bathrobe that did little to conceal a surprisingly toned physique. He seemed almost otherworldly, an ethereal vision against the backdrop of heavy, ornate decor. His hair was the color of pale moonlight, cascading down his back to his waist. His eyes, the shade of glacial ice, regarded us with an unnerving intensity. His lips were full and curved, and his pale skin seemed to glow in the dim light filtering through the heavy curtains. He looked like a fallen angel, impossibly beautiful and strangely detached.

That languid grace, that pale, almost translucent beauty… those ice-blue eyes.

Shit. He was Cyrusian.

The resemblance was uncanny, a distorted mirror image staring back at me. He possessed the same sharp angles of my face, the same high cheekbones, the same subtly pointed chin. But where I was lean, he was powerfully built, his shoulders broad beneath the silk of his robe, his limbs longer and more defined. It was like looking at a version of myself sculpted from marble, imbued with a dangerous, languid grace.

But the Cyrusian aspect… that was the discordant note that sent a shiver of unease down my spine. What was a Cyrusian doing in the heart of Ascaria, especially one who commanded such extravagant wealth? The political tensions between our nations were a constant undercurrent, a simmering resentment that occasionally boiled over. For a Cyrusian to not only reside here but to flourish to this extent… it defied logic, or at least, any logic I understood.

His glacial blue eyes, sharp and assessing, lingered on us for a long, unnerving moment, as if cataloging our every detail. Then, with a languid flick of his long, pale finger, he gestured towards two plush cushions positioned on the floor in front of his chaise lounge. Levi didn't hesitate. I, however, remained rooted to the spot, the shock of seeing someone who looked so much like me, coupled with the inherent distrust I felt towards anyone from Cyrusia, leaving me momentarily paralyzed.

The sound of his voice, smooth and melodic yet carrying an unmistakable undercurrent of command, washed over me. It was Cyrusian. The words themselves were simple, yet they struck a chord deep within me, stirring up a confusing mix of familiarity and ingrained apprehension.

"Child. Why are you so scared? Come. Sit."

My heart pounded in my chest, a frantic drum against the sudden onslaught of memories and prejudices. Levi sat calmly on the cushion, observing the exchange with that detached curiosity of his. But for me, the sound of Cyrusian in this opulent Ascarian mansion, spoken by a man who looked eerily like a more refined, more dangerous version of myself, was deeply unsettling. Despite the tremor in my hands, I forced myself to move, my gaze fixed on this enigmatic Cyrusian, and slowly lowered myself onto the remaining cushion.

"Blake has spoken to me about you," he said, the Cyrusian words flowing like liquid silver. "I am Cassiel."

Cassiel. An angelic name. The Angel of Tears and Solitude. Just like mine. People had often told me I looked like an angel, a compliment that always felt slightly ill-fitting. But this man… Cassiel… he was the embodiment of an angel.

I met his glacial gaze steadily, replying in fluent Cyrusian, the words feeling both familiar and foreign on my tongue after so long.

"Levi does not understand Cyrusian," I stated clearly, my voice echoing slightly in the vast room. "Perhaps it would be more considerate to converse in Ascarian."

Cassiel regarded me for a long moment, his ice-blue eyes narrowed slightly, as if assessing a particularly intriguing puzzle. A slow, almost imperceptible smile touched his plump lips. "Interesting," he finally murmured, the single word hanging in the air, spoken in the same melodic Cyrusian. His choice to continue speaking in Cyrusian felt deliberate, a subtle power play in this strange, unexpected encounter.

“How long has it been since you curated a full sentence in your mother tongue, bird?”

“Seven years.”

Cassiel's glacial blue eyes held mine, a strange mixture of curiosity and something akin to… pity? It was unsettling.

"Seven years," he echoed, the Cyrusian words rolling off his tongue with an effortless grace that highlighted my own slight hesitation. "Yet, when the opportunity arose, the words flowed freely. But now, for the sake of your Ascarian lover, you suddenly find your tongue tied? Truly… interesting." There was a subtle emphasis on the word "truly," a hint of mockery that made my jaw clench.

"This," I retorted, my own Cyrusian sharp with a defensiveness I hadn't intended to reveal, "is exactly the kind of behavior I grew to despise in Cyrusia. That ingrained arrogance, that constant looking down on others, that condescending and frankly rude dismissal of other cultures. They named us angels," I spat the word. "The irony makes me shiver every single time I hear my own name." My fists clenched in my lap.

This ethereal angel was proving to be just as toxic as the ones I had left behind.

Cassiel's glacial gaze flickered towards Levi for a fleeting moment, before returning to mine, sharp and probing. "Your devotion to your 'love' is… touching, 'Raphael'," he said. "But tell me, does this Ascarian truly comprehend the intricate tapestry of your heritage? The subtle nuances that weave the very fabric of your being? Or have you, in your self-imposed exile, merely settled for a… diluted connection? A pale imitation of the profound bonds you left behind?"

His words were like a poisoned dart, aimed directly at the insecurities I tried so hard to suppress. Did Levi truly understand the weight of my past, the cultural chasm that sometimes felt like an unbridgeable gulf? Had I, in my desperate flight from the suffocating expectations of Cyrusia, sacrificed a deeper understanding for a simpler, perhaps shallower, connection? The seed of doubt, planted with such calculated precision, began to sprout in the fertile ground of my own anxieties.

My voice, though steady, carried a tremor of the raw emotion his words had stirred. "Love is mine to give, Cassiel. Devotion is mine to bestow. It does not hinge on whether he fully comprehends the intricacies of a culture I actively chose to leave behind. I forged no true bonds in Cyrusia. What resonates, what truly matters, is the depth of my own feeling for him, for Levi. Not his perception of my heritage, but the reality of the love we share, here and now." I met Cassiel's piercing gaze, refusing to let his condescending insinuations take root. The pain of my past in Cyrusia was real, but so was the solace and connection I had found with Levi.

Cassiel's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile, his ice-blue eyes seeming to pierce through my carefully constructed defenses. "Spoken like a true angel," he murmured, the Cyrusian words carrying a strange weight of understanding, almost… recognition. "That incandescent core within you, that fierce, unwavering capacity for love and devotion… that is your strongest fire, is it not? The very essence of your being. You seek to illuminate his darkness, 'Raphael.' To be the unwavering light that guides him through his shadows. That is your deepest desire. That is what brought you here, isn't it?"

"Yes," I admitted. "It is true."

There was no point in denying the truth that resonated so deeply within me.

Cassiel nodded slowly, his gaze intense. "It is because you are Cyrusian, little angel. It is in our blood, this inherent drive to conquer, to dominate. For some, it is written in the lust for power, etched in blood and conquest. For others… for you, it is written in the fierce, all-consuming language of love. That is why you have tried everything, haven't you? Every single conceivable avenue, every desperate attempt to pull him back into the light. But as you have learned, that inherent will does not always bend to our desires. So I ask you, 'Raphael'... will you finally stop?"

"Never," I replied, the Cyrusian word ringing with a fierce, unwavering conviction that surprised even myself. The idea of giving up on Levi, of letting him succumb to the darkness, was anathema to my very being.

A rich, resonant laugh boomed from Cassiel, the sound echoing through the opulent room, devoid of any genuine amusement, more a sound of wry acknowledgment. "Blake truly has found his match," he mused, his glacial eyes gleaming with a strange sort of respect. "Such unwavering devotion. It is… almost admirable."

He composed himself, the laughter fading as quickly as it had begun. "Now, now, Raphael. The pleasantries, or rather, the intense familial squabbling, must come to an end. It is time for you to understand the true purpose of your presence here, the reason your enigmatic husband orchestrated this… rather unusual introduction. You see," he leaned forward, the scent of exotic tobacco filling the air, "before I retreated to the relative solitude of this estate, I held a rather… influential position. I used to be a consort to the Ascarian King. A role that, perhaps unfortunately, led to a certain reputation amongst the high society of Ascaria. They have, with their characteristic lack of subtlety, bestowed upon me the rather unflattering moniker of the 'love doctor'."

"King's consort?" I echoed, the pieces clicking into place. The wealth, the influence, the almost regal bearing despite the bathrobe. "Yeah. That makes a disturbing kind of sense. Explains how a Cyrusian could amass this kind of… estate in Ascaria. But what exactly do you mean by 'love doctor'?"

"Fret not, child," Cassiel said, a knowing glint in his ice-blue eyes. He snapped his fingers, and two silent servants materialized, each bearing a stemmed cup filled with a viscous crimson liquid. They offered us the drinks with deferential bows.

"The fundamental issue here, 'Raphael'," Cassiel continued, his gaze intense, "is that you do not truly know him. Not the core of him. Because he does not permit such intimacy. He maintains a constant, formidable restraint. This concoction," he gestured towards the crimson liquid, "will, shall we say, temporarily… circumvent that control. He will revert to a more… primal state. Without the filters of his intellect, without the self-imposed barriers."

My heart pounded in my chest, a mixture of fear and a strange, unsettling curiosity. "Is it… an aphrodisiac or something?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Cassiel's lips curved into a predatory smile. "Please, do not force me to resort to such vulgar terminology as 'love potion.' Simply be… prepared, 'Raphael.' He will be… untamed."

I whipped my head around, my gaze locking onto Levi, who had been observing this bizarre exchange with a dark amusement. Switching back to Ascarian, I asked, my voice tight with a mixture of apprehension and dawning understanding, "Levi, do you understand what this is?"

"Yes, Raphael," he replied, his eyes meeting mine with a surprising depth of reassurance. "Cassiel and I have been… acquaintances for a number of years. I am… familiar with his… rather unique methodologies." A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. "But do not be alarmed, my dear. Your safety and comfort will always be paramount. If you wish to partake in this… experiment, then do so. I will drink it alongside you. But if you do not, if it makes you uneasy, then do not. I will not drink it either. The choice, as always, rests entirely with you."

Cassiel chuckled, his smooth Ascarian cutting through the brief moment of reassurance between Levi and me. "Blake, please," he drawled, a playful yet undeniably sharp edge to his voice. "Acquaintances? That is a rather… generous term for our dynamic. More like arch-rivals locked in a perpetual battle of acquisition. How many exquisite pieces of art have you managed to snatch from right under my nose over the years?"

Levi's lips twitched, a hint of his old mischievousness returning. "Ah, dear Cassiel," he countered smoothly, his own Ascarian laced with amusement. "Is it truly such a tragedy if we happen to possess… remarkably aligned tastes in artistic expression? Surely, the universe benefits from such discerning connoisseurs."

Cassiel let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his ice-blue eyes. "Yes, Blake. It is a tragedy. A personal affront, in fact. Especially when your 'discerning taste' invariably translates to you outbidding me every single time."

Wow. Levi has a friend? Or… well, a frenemy, it seems. It's actually kind of great to see him talk about something he enjoys with someone else.

Levi's lips curved into a sly smile, his attention shifting back to Cassiel. "My dear Cassiel," he interjected, his voice laced with a playful arrogance that was distinctly his. "Attempting to outmaneuver a Duke, not to mention the occasionally interfering Saint of Ascaria, in the pursuit of artistic treasures is a rather… ambitious endeavor, even for your considerable resources and tenacity. But I must confess," he added, a hint of genuine amusement flickering in his eyes, "it has always provided a certain… piquant satisfaction to observe your barely concealed apoplexy whenever I happened to grace the auction rooms with my presence."

Cassiel shuddered dramatically. "Yes, Blake," he declared, his voice dripping with mock indignation. "The mere recollection of those encounters is enough to make every single pale blonde hair on my neck stand on end in hatred."

Wait. Wait a minute. Isn't that… almost… attraction? That playful animosity, the thinly veiled barbs, the shared history of intense competition… oh shit. Wait. Am I… some kind of substitute for Cassiel? Is that what this whole bizarre setup is about? But he's… objectively stunning. Like a fallen angel. And he's clearly wealthy, moves in the same aristocratic circles as Levi, shares his rarefied tastes… shit. Compared to him, I'm… ordinary. And listening to them banter, with their titles and their knowing references to galas and auctions… I feel like I'm in some ridiculously opulent play, and I've somehow wandered onto the wrong stage. The insecurity, a familiar and unwelcome guest, began to gnaw at the edges of my newfound hope. Was I just a temporary distraction for Levi, a pale imitation of this breathtaking Cyrusian?

No, Raphael. You absolute idiot. Don't you dare spiral down that rabbit hole again. Levi explicitly told you, multiple times, that he simply didn't have the time or inclination for romantic pursuits before you. And this… Cassiel… he was the King's consort. That implies a very specific, and likely very public, kind of relationship. They're just rivals. High-stakes, ridiculously wealthy rivals with a shared passion for ridiculously expensive art. That's all it is. Two strong, rich, powerful, devastatingly handsome rivals… Just… rivals… Don't you dare let your insecurities get the better of you again. I took a deep breath, trying to ground myself in the reality of Levi's words, in the solid fact of his presence beside me. This whole situation was bizarre enough without adding a layer of unfounded jealousy into the mix.

Cassiel's gaze shifted from Levi to me, a strange mix of amusement and appraisal in his ice-blue eyes. "Blake," he drawled, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, "this child is rather… endearing. Look at his face. One can practically decipher his every thought with a mere glance. Such… transparency. But…" His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, a subtle narrowing of his eyes. "You are a little… petite for a Cyrusian, aren't you?"

Ouch. There it was again. That familiar, unwelcome observation. Yes, I was aware that my height was… average, at best, for someone of Cyrusian descent. Why did everyone feel the need to point it out? Cybil, Ragnar, and now even this impossibly beautiful, condescending Cassiel. Each comment was a tiny pinprick, adding to the ballooning insecurity I was already struggling to contain.

Levi's arm snaked around my shoulders, pulling me gently against his side. "Petite? I've never considered him so," Levi stated, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against my ear. "I've always found him to be the perfect height… for me."

Cassiel raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, his gaze flicking back to me with a dismissive air. "Ah, yes. Perfect for an Ascarian, perhaps. Not exactly the imposing stature one expects from a Cyrusian. And his build…" He trailed off, his gaze lingering on my arms for a fleeting moment. "Lean, certainly. Some… toned musculature, I suppose. But hardly the robust physique we are accustomed to."

"Spoken like a true Cyrusian, Cassiel," I retorted, the familiar cadence of my mother tongue lending a sharp edge to my voice. "Condescending, dismissive, and utterly rude."

"Oh? Is that fire in your eyes, little angel?" Cassiel purred back in Cyrusian, his gaze intensifying, a flicker of something dangerous dancing within the icy depths. "It is always… endearing to witness such spirited defiance. Makes the eventual extinguishing all the more… satisfying." A shiver, not entirely unpleasant, traced its way down my spine.

Yes. This guy is definitely a dominant top. Cassiel exuded an effortless air of command. Levi is also a dominant top. There's no way they shared a sexual history, right? Two alphas like that… it just doesn't compute. Thank god. But… King's Consort…

Shit. He's a switch, isn't he? Someone who can effortlessly navigate both dominance and submission.

I needed to know. I needed to hear the truth. I asked in Cyrusian.

"Did you have sex with him?" The directness of it felt almost violent, a desperate attempt to cut through the layers of insinuation and innuendo.

Cassiel blinked slowly, twice, his ice-blue eyes widening in theatrical surprise before a rich, amused laugh bubbled up from his chest. "Oh, my," he chuckled, the sound echoing through the opulent room. "Who in their right mind would willingly subject themselves to any form of… intimate entanglement with that man? Though I must concede, he does possess a rather… admirable physique. And you yourself, little angel, are quite the attractive creature. Why bother shrouding your desires in the tiresome veils of morality and pride? Ask him, about my offer, 'Raphael.' I have a distinct feeling he would be amenable, if you were so inclined."

Wait. Did he just… casually propose a threesome? Absolutely not. The thought sent a jolt of outrage mixed with a confusing flicker of… something else through me. I mean, yes, Cassiel is undeniably attractive. Possibly the most breathtakingly beautiful man I've seen in years, and that's saying something considering my line of work. I've met countless stars, supermodels, the epitome of conventional beauty. But Cassiel… he has this almost otherworldly aura, a captivating ethereality that sets him apart. But the thought of Levi with him… a sharp pang of jealousy twisted in my gut. I am a jealous creature, I admit it. And deeply insecure right now.

"Absolutely not, Cassiel," I stated firmly in Cyrusian, my voice leaving no room for misinterpretation. "The thought is… unappealing." Despite the internal turmoil and the undeniable allure of the man before me, the idea of involving him in my relationship with Levi felt fundamentally wrong. Then, a strange impulse, a flicker of defiance perhaps, or maybe just a raw acknowledgment of the obvious, prompted me to add, "But thank you for the compliment. I think you are also really, really attractive, too."

"Oh, my," he purred in Cyrusian, his voice a silken caress. "That wasn't mere flattery, was it, little angel? That was genuine honesty. 'Really, really' attractive, indeed. Interesting." He paused, letting the words hang in the air, thick with unspoken implications. "See, little angel? Desires, attraction, even what you might consider deviance… it is all fluid, a shifting landscape. And that, my dear, is its inherent beauty. Why don't you allow yourself the freedom to explore those uncharted territories? Be honest with yourself, 'Raphael.' Blake, bless his heart, is… predictable. Perhaps even a touch inexperienced in certain… realms. But me?" A slow, deliberate smile spread across his lips. "I am anything but. Don't you possess even a sliver of curiosity to glimpse the other side?"

Shit. Of course, a treacherous little voice whispered in the back of my mind. He is undeniably attractive. The way he carries himself, the confidence in his gaze, that almost otherworldly beauty… it’s intoxicating. Ah… did I just get… seduced? Fuck my stupid, horny, and rage-filled body. Is there even one decent, loyal bone left in this treacherous frame? Damn it. Am I really this predictable? Does a surge of lust have this much control over my damn principles? The heat rising in my cheeks wasn’t just from indignation. It was a confusing, unwelcome mix of attraction and self-loathing.

Damn you, Raphael. You pathetic, weak-willed asshole. I cannot believe I even entertained that thought for a second.

"No," I stated firmly, the Cyrusian word ringing with a renewed conviction. "I love him, Cassiel. I truly do. And yes, you are undeniably attractive, but the answer is still no. I cannot live with myself if I allow myself to be swayed by simple… seduction. So please," I continued, my gaze hardening, "stop trying. Just… just let us continue with the reason Levi brought me here."

"Ah, such a waste. But if your… devotion ever wavers, or your curiosity overcomes your morality, you know where to find me. I do find you a rather… intriguing creature, 'Raphael.' Now then," he clapped his hands together, the sound sharp and decisive, "let us proceed. Drink the liquid in your cup. It is a milder concoction, merely designed to… heighten your senses, shall we say. A pleasant rush of blood. His, however…" He gestured towards Levi's untouched cup with a knowing smirk. "That is an entirely different experience. Once you have both imbibed, you will proceed to the designated room. You will find a red button discreetly placed in the bedside panel. The moment you press it, my servants will attend to him. Because," Cassiel's gaze flickered to me, a hint of something almost predatory in its depths, "I am quite certain you have never witnessed the full extent of Blake's… brute strength unleashed."

Levi turned to me, his gaze steady and searching. "So, Raphael," he asked, his voice calm despite the unsettling pronouncements that had just filled the room. "Do you wish to drink it?"

A strange mix of apprehension and a burgeoning, almost reckless curiosity warred within me.

"I think so," I replied, my voice a little breathless. "Yeah. Let's drink it. I am… curious, actually."

We both raised our cups, the crimson liquid swirling ominously within. I hesitated for a fraction of a second before tilting the cup and swallowing the bitter concoction in a few quick gulps. A strange warmth bloomed in my chest, spreading rapidly through my veins. Within a minute, the effects were undeniable. A flush crept up my neck, my heart began to pound a frantic rhythm against my ribs, and a fine sheen of sweat broke out on my forehead. It felt like a sudden fever, a rush of pure adrenaline mixed with an almost unbearable heat that settled low in my belly. If this was the "mild" version, I couldn't begin to imagine the inferno raging within Levi.

He was already tugging impatiently at his tie, his breathing becoming more ragged.

Cassiel observed our reactions with a detached amusement. He then flickered a finger towards one of the silent servants and murmured a few hushed words, his gaze never leaving us. Almost immediately, two other servants, their movements fluid and efficient, approached to escort us towards a bedroom.

...

The heat coursing through my veins was becoming almost unbearable, a relentless inferno that made every step a conscious effort. I could feel the insistent pressure of my growing erection against the fabric of my trousers, a constant, throbbing reminder of the drug's potent effects. But Levi… Levi was in a far more primal state. He stumbled slightly as he walked, his tie completely discarded, his shirt buttons straining against the sudden tension in his shoulders and chest. His breathing was heavy, ragged gasps. The air around him seemed to crackle with a barely contained energy, a raw, untamed power that was both terrifying and undeniably… magnetic.

The room was breathtaking in its sheer scale, a space dominated by a circular bed easily large enough to accommodate a small gathering. Next to the ornate headboard, the red button on the panel glowed. The color scheme was a jarringly sensual and dangerous mix: deep reds that seemed to pulse with heat, blacks that swallowed the shadows, and unsettling electric blues that hinted at something unnatural. The floor was cold, unyielding marble, and towering windows were draped with heavy, light-obstructing fabric. Aside from the colossal bed, a small bedside drawer, and a large, imposing cabinet were the only other pieces of furniture. Was this opulent bedroom actually some kind of elaborate, high-end sex dungeon?

Levi was already shedding his clothes with a frantic urgency, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. "It's so hot, Raphael," he gasped, his voice thick and guttural, barely recognizable. "So hot… I'm burning."

While the drug coursing through my own veins had ignited a fierce heat and a throbbing arousal, I still retained a semblance of control, a sliver of awareness of the situation. It was horrifyingly clear that Levi was no longer in a state where gentle intimacy or consideration for my pleasure would be a factor. So, before he could act on those urges, I moved quickly. Reaching for the bedside drawer, my fingers fumbled for the cool, slick bottle of lubricant. I yanked down my own trousers and began to prepare myself for the inevitable.

Finally, with a shaky breath, I managed to slide two fingers inside myself, the slickness providing a small measure of preparedness for what was coming. Levi, now completely naked, his body radiating a palpable heat, moved towards me with a slow, deliberate stride that held a terrifying undercurrent of raw power. Ah, yes. The moment is here.

Instead of the immediate, forceful advance I had braced myself for, he stopped just behind me, his bare chest pressing against my back. Then, with a surprising gentleness, he rested his chin on my shoulder, his hot breath ghosting across my neck. "So hot…" he rasped, the words a low, guttural whisper that vibrated through my body. "So… hot, Raphael."

Was there still a flicker of the Levi I knew beneath the surface of the drug's influence?

Then his arms wrapped around me, a possessive embrace that squeezed the breath from my lungs. The heat radiating from his body was intense, almost feverish. A furnace pressing against my back.

"You will be good for me, won't you, pulla?" he rasped, his hot breath ghosting down my neck.

Then his grip tightened on my shirt, and with a single, forceful rip, the fabric tore away, exposing my chest. He wrapped his arms around me again, this time with a brutal possessiveness, before roughly turning me and almost throwing me onto the large, circular bed. He followed quickly, crawling over my body, his movements driven by a frantic, unfocused energy. Then came the kisses, a flurry of hot, fleeting touches that landed everywhere – my cheek, my neck, my torso – a chaotic exploration rather than a tender caress. He wasn't lingering, wasn't focusing, just pressing his lips against my skin in a desperate, almost frantic way, as if trying to consume every inch of me at once.

He had never kissed me with such unrestrained abandon before. Our intimacies were usually marked by a deliberate tenderness, a measured exploration. The only exception was that single, surprising kiss he had pressed against my back, a fleeting gesture that had left me breathless with unspoken longing.

"Pulla," he whispered against my chest, his breath hot and ragged against my skin, "tell me… is it hot?"

"Yeah…" I managed, my own voice thick with the drug-induced haze and the unsettling intensity of his touch. "I feel hot, too."

The heat was undeniable, a burning sensation that mirrored his feverish skin. But while my senses were heightened, my mind still clung to a fragile thread of awareness. His frantic kisses continued, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I couldn't decipher his intent. Was this a clumsy, drug-fueled attempt at foreplay? Or was this, in some twisted way, his own unleashed desire to touch and taste me with this unrestrained fervor? The ambiguity was both confusing and strangely arousing.

"Raphael…" he murmured against my collarbone, his breath still ragged and hot, the familiar sound of my name a strange anchor in this sea of primal sensation. "So hot… want you… close…" His hands, no longer frantic but now gripping my hips, pressed me down further into the plush mattress.

It was Levi, yet not Levi.

I tensed, anticipating the forceful entry I had mentally prepared myself for. Bracing for the inevitable, I gripped the plush fabric of the bed, arching my back and raising my hips in a silent invitation. Levi paused, a flicker of confusion momentarily clouding his fevered gaze. But it was fleeting. His hands tightened on my raised hips, pulling me closer, and then, instead of the expected thrust, he lowered his head, burying his nose to my entrance.

Levi's previous clumsy attempt at anal play had been an experimental gesture. This was entirely different. This was a primal exploration, a fervent claiming. He was kissing, licking, nibbling with an urgent intensity that bordered on frantic. Against the curve of my buttock, he murmured the same mantra, "So, so hot…" his breath hot and moist against my skin. Then, with a slow, deliberate drag, his tongue traced the rim.

"So tight…" he repeated, his voice a low, guttural murmur against my skin, the words laced with a primal urgency. "Talk to me…"

"T-talk?" I stammered, my breath catching in my throat. The sensations were overwhelming, a confusing mix of vulnerability and a burgeoning arousal. "What… what do you want me to say?"

"Still tight…"

Was this a clumsy attempt to encourage me to relax? Or was this purely driven by the drug, a primal exploration of taste and sensation?

His tongue plunged in, a slick invasion that stole my breath. A gasp escaped my lips, a sound that was part surprise, part pleasure. He continued his exploration, each thrust of his tongue eliciting a fresh wave of heat that spread from my core outwards. My hips involuntarily arched further into the mattress, a silent plea for… something. I wasn't sure what. Comfort? More? The line between fear and a desperate, unfamiliar arousal was blurring rapidly. His hands tightened on my thighs, spreading them wider, offering himself more access. The wet sounds of his mouth against my slick flesh filled the cavernous room.

"Do you not… like this… still so tight…"

The words were fragmented, almost a primal whine, as if my tightness was a personal affront.

"N-no," I managed, my voice breathy and uneven. "I like it… I just… wasn't expecting it…"

"Why…" he whispered, his breath hot against my slick flesh, the single word a primal expression of the overwhelming sensation consuming him. "It is so hot."

The repetition was a hypnotic mantra, and the heat he spoke of was rapidly becoming a shared experience. My own body was beginning to thrum with a desperate need.

"Pulla…" he breathed, the endearment thick with lust. "So good… you feel so good… want to feel all of you…"

Then, abruptly, he lifted his head, his eyes still glazed with a primal intensity, and his mouth moved to my cock. It wasn't the practiced rhythm of a blowjob. He tasted me. Over and over again. His tongue traced the length of my shaft, licking with a fervent intensity, his lips sucking and pulling, interspersed with hot, wet kisses that left my skin tingling and flushed. It was an intimate, almost possessive act, as if he were imprinting himself on me, claiming every inch of my flesh with his mouth.

Witnessing this raw, unrestrained display of desire, the way his body moved with a primal focus, was strangely mesmerizing. Even in his drug-induced state, a part of him seemed to be instinctively seeking to give pleasure, albeit in his own untamed way. Watching the flex and strain of his toned muscles, the contrast of his pale skin flushed with heat, was undeniably intoxicating. A tightening clench began deep within me, a building pressure that mirrored the frantic rhythm of his mouth on my cock. The edge was drawing closer, the line between fear and a desperate, consuming arousal dissolving with each fervent lick and suck.

"Be good for me…" he rasped, his voice thick with a primal command. "Cum for me…"

Fuck.

The heat, the relentless tempo of his mouth, the intoxicating sight of his focused desire – it all coalesced into an overwhelming wave of sensation. My body clenched violently, and with a strangled cry, I came, the release immediate and intense.

Before I could even register the rush, his sucking and licking shifted, his mouth now diligently cleaning me, savoring every drop as if it were a precious nectar.

The intimacy of the act, so primal and devoid of his usual controlled tenderness, sent a shiver down my spine. As the last tremors of my climax subsided, he finally lifted his head, his eyes still glazed with a feverish intensity, his lips slick with my release. He looked up at me, a primal satisfaction etched on his features.

Once again, the anticipation clenched in my gut. This had to be it. The primal energy radiating from him, the focused intensity of his gaze – it all pointed towards a forceful entry. I braced myself, a strange mix of fear and a perverse curiosity churning within me. But no. Instead, he knelt on the bed, his eyes never leaving mine, and his hand wrapped around his own engorged cock. It was a startling deviation, something I had never witnessed in all our time together. He watched my body, my involuntary twitches and flushed skin, my wide eyes, as he began to stroke himself, his movements raw and rhythmic.

A bewildering array of possibilities flickered through my mind. Was this a twisted form of consent he was seeking?

Perhaps, in this moment, stripped of his usual intellectual constraints, he was simply lost in the sensation, reveling in the physical release and the intoxicating sight of my own arousal mirroring his. His face was a mask of intense concentration, his brows furrowed in a way I had only ever seen when he was deep in thought, yet this was a purely physical focus. His chest rose and fell in ragged gasps.

"God, Levi…" I breathed out. "You're… you're so hot like that."

"Pulla…" he gasped, his voice thick with the drug and raw desire, his hand still working rhythmically against his engorged cock. "I can't… stop…"

"Yeah…" I breathed, my own body thrumming with a desperate urgency that mirrored his. The fear was still there, a faint undercurrent, but the overwhelming tide of arousal had taken over. "You don't have to." With a small, almost imperceptible flick of my fingers, I beckoned him closer, an unspoken invitation to the space between my open legs.

He froze mid-stroke, his breath catching in his throat, and his gaze, still feverish, locked onto my face for a fleeting moment. Then, with a sudden, almost violent motion, he lunged forward and grabbed my ankles, his grip like iron bands. Yes. The moment has finally come. A strange sense of inevitability washed over me, a final surrender to the drug-fueled intensity of the encounter. I was grateful for the foresight of preparing myself. But the relief was quickly overshadowed by a sharp, searing pain. His grip on my ankles was brutal, digging into the bone, and a strangled gasp escaped my lips. They were hurting. Really hurting.

This wasn't even his full strength, just enough to anchor me. He lifted my hips higher and then he began to push himself inside. It wasn't the violent entry I had braced for, but a slow slide. The moment the tip breached my resistance, a long, guttural groan escaped his lips, a sound that spoke of both relief and a primal satisfaction. "Ah…" he rasped. "Still so tight, pulla."

He used his grip on my ankles to spread my legs wider, pushing them towards the sides of the bed. My body was being contorted into a position I hadn't even known it could achieve. Then, he continued his slow, deliberate descent, pushing himself deeper inside with agonizing slowness. With every inch of his penetration, a ragged breath escaped his lips, his face contorted in what appeared to be utter bliss.

The unnatural angle of my legs, stretched and flexed beyond their normal range, was beginning to scream in protest. A sharp, insistent ache pulsed through my hips and thighs. I needed to shift, to alleviate the strain, even if just for a moment. With a small, desperate wriggle, I managed to pull my ankles free from his iron grip, twisting my body to lie on my chest, my back now facing him.

The moment I broke free, a low, guttural sound rumbled from his throat, a primal growl of displeasure. "Where do you think you are going?" he demanded.

Shit. He's angry. Before I could fully process the shift in his demeanor, his hands were on my ankles again, the brutal grip returning with a terrifying swiftness, yanking me back towards him with brutal force. My face slammed into the soft pillows, the air knocked from my lungs.

He released my aching ankles only to clamp his hands onto my waist, his grip digging into my flesh. And then he began to move inside me, the rhythm no longer slow and exploratory, but harsh and demanding. Each thrust was deep and unforgiving, stretching me wider and wider, pushing me to a point where the burning ache intensified into a sharp, tearing sensation. My face was still buried in the pillow, muffling my involuntary gasps of pain and the rising tide of fear.

I could only guess that my attempt to shift had been interpreted as an act of defiance. "Pulla," he grunted, his voice thick with exertion and a strange undercurrent of pride, "it is so good… Look at how well you are taking me."

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Was he truly oblivious to my discomfort? Or was there a darker edge to his words, a possessive satisfaction in my forced compliance? Trapped face-down in the pillows, I had no way to gauge his expression, to understand the true depths of his drug-fueled state.

A desperate internal debate raged within me. What could I do? Another attempt to escape would likely only fuel his anger. The red button on the bedside panel seemed like a beacon of hope. But the thought of the servants subduing Levi, of the chaos that would ensue… a knot of apprehension tightened in my stomach. Perhaps… perhaps it was as that perverse voice in my head whispered – that the initial pain would subside, replaced by a strange, twisted pleasure. I needed to brace myself, to find some way to endure this. With a shaky breath, I lifted my head from the suffocating pillows, gasping for air. I tried to force my own breathing to synchronize with his pace, a futile attempt to find some semblance of control in this utterly powerless situation.

"Good boy, pulla," he grunted again, the words laced with a strange, possessive approval. "Such a good boy. See? You can take it…" His grip on my waist tightened momentarily, a subtle emphasis on his dominance. "Be good for me… Just take deep breaths." His hot breath ghosted across my back, the words a twisted form of encouragement, utterly detached from the pain I was enduring.

"Levi…" I managed, my voice strained and tight. "My legs hurt… This position… I wasn't trying to… escape. I just… wanted to change positions…" I tried to keep my tone even, devoid of the accusation or fear that was churning within me, hoping to appeal to the rational part of him that might still be buried beneath the drug's influence.

He simply repeated his earlier phrases, his voice thick with the drug and exertion, completely ignoring my plea.

Shit. He's completely gone. Lost in this drug-fueled haze. How do I even begin to pull him back from this? Something unexpected… something to break through the primal fog. Ah, yes. The pillow. With a surge of adrenaline fueled by pain and a desperate hope, I gripped the pillow beneath my face, yanked it free, and with a grunt of effort, hurled it backward, aiming for his face.

"It hurts, Levi!" I yelled, my voice strained and raw. "Snap out of it!" The soft thud of the pillow against his head was a pathetic gesture against his brute strength, but it was the only weapon I had.

He didn't even flinch. The pillow, my desperate attempt to break through, seemed to have no impact whatsoever. But then he lifted his gaze, his eyes locking onto mine, and the raw, untamed fury I saw there made my blood run cold. His pupils were dilated, almost black, and a snarl curled his lip, revealing his teeth. My breath hitched in my throat, the small victory of breaking free from the pillows instantly negated by the terrifying intensity of his reaction. The rhythmic thrusting stopped, but the silence that followed was far more menacing than any sound.

I just poked a bear. A drugged bear.

While I was frozen in terror, the adrenaline coursing through me battling with a paralyzing fear, Levi spoke, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Why did you stop, pulla? Do you not like it anymore?"

This idiot.

"No, you idiot!" I spat out, the fear momentarily overridden by a surge of anger. "You nearly broke my ankles and tore my legs apart!"

His gaze flickered down to my still-aching limbs, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Then he repeated, the words slow and almost a growl, "Tear… it apart."

Shit.

He grabbed my entire body with a sudden, terrifying strength, his arms like steel bands cinching around my waist and thighs, and lifted us both from the bed as if I weighed nothing. Fuck. This position… he always liked this, the feeling of me completely wrapped around him, suspended in the air. A desperate, fragile hope flickered within me. Maybe… maybe in his own twisted, drug-addled way, this was his attempt to keep me… intact? To prevent the tearing he had just echoed?

He started walking, and I realized with a jolt that he was heading towards the wall. Then, with a grunt, he pushed me against it, my back slamming into the cool, hard surface. A small gasp escaped my lips, but it was quickly followed by a strange sense of relief. Finally, I was anchored, no longer dangling precariously in the air. He pushed himself inside me once again, the connection immediate and deep, and then he began to move, the rhythm still rough but now somehow… grounded. The wall absorbed some of the force, preventing the extreme stretching I had experienced on the bed.

What in the seven hells? Did he inherit some latent brute force gene from The Conqueror or something? It defied logic. He had the lean, toned physique of someone who favored agility over raw power, and his diet consisted primarily of sugar and enough sweets to send a normal person into a diabetic coma. Where was this inexhaustible stamina and terrifying strength suddenly coming from?

Seeking some semblance of stability, I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist, anchoring myself to his solid form against the unyielding wall. Levi, meanwhile, seemed completely oblivious to my attempts to find balance.

"Is this better, pulla?" he grunted, his breath hot against my ear, his gaze still locked on my face.

"A little, yes," I managed, my voice still shaky, the pain in my legs eased slightly by the support of the wall.

"Good…" he murmured. "So good…"

His hips continued to grind against mine, a relentless friction that sent jolts of heat through my body despite the lingering ache in my legs. The slight easing of his initial fury allowed a different kind of sensation to bloom, a confusing mix of vulnerability and a reluctant arousal. His gaze remained locked on mine, as if seeking some confirmation of the "goodness" he was murmuring.

Then the rhythm of his thrusting changed subtly, a shift in focus as his mouth left my ear and began a fervent exploration of my neck. His teeth scraped lightly against my skin, a series of nibbles and playful bites that sent shivers down my spine. His lips followed, sometimes sucking with surprising intensity, leaving wet marks on my flesh, sometimes chomping down with a possessive edge that bordered on painful, and then soothing the slight sting with a slow, deliberate lick. His hands, still gripping my waist, tightened and loosened with each bite and suck, as if trying to anchor me to his primal need.

"Tell me, pulla…" he whispered against my collarbone, his breath hot and damp against my skin. "Talk to me…"

"What... what do you want me to say? That it... feels intense?" My voice was breathy and uneven, as his teeth grazed my skin again. The sensations were a confusing mix of discomfort and undeniable arousal, and trying to articulate any coherent thought felt like trying to grasp smoke.

"Intense…" he echoed, the word a low rumble in his chest against my collarbone. There was a slight pause, a flicker in his intense gaze that made me wonder if a sliver of his usual awareness was breaking through.

"It's... a lot, Levi," I managed, trying to choose my words carefully. "It's intense, and... it was hurting my legs before. This position against the wall is better, but... you were biting pretty hard." I tried to keep my tone neutral, avoiding accusation.

"Why don't you like it?" he murmured, his grip on my waist loosening slightly. The raw intensity in his eyes seemed to dim, replaced by a look that was unsettlingly close to sadness. Shit. This was unexpected.

"I like it, Levi," I repeated, trying to inject some warmth into my voice, hoping to soothe him. "Just… let's go back to bed, okay? And… maybe be a little gentler?" I reached up, my hand tentatively touching his cheek.

"But…" he murmured, his brow furrowing, his gaze still holding a hint of that hurt. "It is so hot, pulla. It doesn't go away…" His eyes flickered down to my body, then back to my face, a raw, almost desperate need radiating from him.

"Let's go to bed, Levi, okay?" I repeated softly, my voice a gentle plea. He nodded slowly, his gaze still somewhat unfocused, and carefully carried us back towards the massive bed. With each step he took, the friction intensified, his engorged cock rubbing against my most sensitive spot, a constant, insistent pressure that sent a confusing mix of discomfort and a dull throb of arousal through me.

He laid me down with a surprising gentleness, considering his earlier intensity, but then immediately crawled over my body, his weight pressing me into the soft mattress. His mouth became a relentless explorer, leaving a trail of wet sensations across my skin. He bit down lightly on my shoulder, the pressure just enough to register, then soothed the spot with a slow, deliberate lick. He sucked greedily at the hollow of my throat, leaving a faint hickey in its wake, and nipped playfully at my earlobe. Every inch of exposed skin became a target for his fervent attention. "Tastes so good," he murmured against my chest, his breath hot and damp.

Levi's gaze drifted around the room, unfocused for a moment, before settling on the remnants of my ripped shirt lying discarded on the floor. A cold dread washed over me. Shit. He's going to tie me.

"Levi… Wait—" I began, my voice laced with a rising panic, but he was already reaching for the torn fabric. His movements were clumsy but determined as he fumbled with the material, binding my wrists together above my head. The knot wasn't expertly tied, not tight enough to completely immobilize me, but it was secure enough to restrict my movement. I could only assume that the drug clouding his judgment had also dulled his fine motor skills.

"Stay…" he mumbled, his brow furrowed in concentration as he struggled with the knot. "Pulla… stay still for me… Just for a little…"

"You said you will be good for me, yes?" he murmured against my ear, his voice still thick but with a softer edge than before. Then, he pushed himself deeper inside me once again. This time, the entry was a slow slide. I could only assume that my lack of further protest had registered in his drug-addled mind, preventing another escalation of force. Despite the lingering fear and the uncomfortable restraints on my wrists, I could feel a familiar heat beginning to bloom in my core.

A low groan rumbled in my chest, a sound that surprised even me. The steady rhythm, no longer frantic but deep and insistent, was starting to bypass the lingering discomfort. Levi's nonsensical murmurs, the hot breath against my skin, the possessive grip on my waist – it was all contributing to a sensory overload that was tipping over into something undeniably pleasurable.

Released from the rigid support of the wall, my body molded more intimately against his. With my wrists still bound above my head, my chest was thrown open, making me even more vulnerable to his fervent exploration. His mouth trailed down my neck, leaving a hot, slick path to my chest, where he lingered, his tongue flicking and swirling around my nipple, drawing out a sharp gasp of pleasure. My hips lifted instinctively, seeking a deeper connection, a more profound fulfillment of the burning ache that had taken root within me.

Levi's movements became more focused, less driven by a frantic energy and more by a deep, rhythmic need. His hips ground against mine with increasing intensity. The muscles in his back and arms flexed with the effort, his body a powerful engine driving us both towards a shared precipice. His hands, though occasionally tightening on my bound wrists, mostly roamed my torso, his fingers digging into my sides or tracing the curve of my hip, as if mapping every inch of my skin.

"Talk to me, pulla…" he urged, his voice thick with exertion. "Tell me it feels good."

A wave of reluctance washed over me, not because the sensations weren't intensely pleasurable, but because verbalizing it felt foreign. Our intimacy rarely involved spoken affirmations; it was usually a language of touch, of his often possessive praises directed at me.

"I… It… Feels good," I finally managed, the words tumbling out in a rush, a breathy admission of the undeniable pleasure that was now coursing through me.

"Ah, such a good pulla," he murmured, his tone softening slightly.

He continued his rhythmic movements, his gaze softening slightly as well. The intensity remained, but it was now tinged with a shared vulnerability, a tacit acknowledgment of the pleasure we were both finding in this moment.

"My good pulla…" he murmured, his voice thick with a mixture of lust and something akin to tenderness. "Taking it so well…"

A wave of heat washed over me, a delicious intensity that went beyond the purely physical. His praises, though still filtered through the haze of the drug, were undeniably arousing. But a restless curiosity, coupled with a body now fully awakened and craving something more primal, began to stir within me. I knew Levi's triggers, the subtle nuances of his personality even in this altered state. And I knew one thing that consistently shattered his composure: dirty talk. He loathed it. He never even cussed.

Taking a deep breath, I leaned up slightly, my bound wrists protesting the movement, and whispered directly into his ear, the words a deliberate transgression, "Levi, you fuck my hole so well."

A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound that vibrated against my own. His grip on my waist tightened abruptly, almost painfully, and his movements faltered for a fraction of a second.

"Must you use that language?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous, tinged with a clear displeasure.

A thrill shot through me, a perverse satisfaction. "Why, you don't like it?" I taunted, my words muffled slightly by the pressure of his grip. "Don't you want me to beg for your cock?"

"Do not use it," he repeated, his jaw tight, the muscle in his cheek twitching.

"Make me then," I challenged, my eyes locking with his, a silent dare.

His response was immediate. His hand, the one that had been gripping my waist, moved swiftly, his palm pressing firmly over my mouth, cutting off any further words. Yes. This was it. Exactly what I had craved – a raw, physical assertion of control that both terrified and exhilarated me.

I pressed my tongue against the skin of his palm, deliberately slow and wet. The immediate tightening of his grip and the deepening furrow in his brow were my reward. Yes. The possessiveness had curdled into something sharper, something that felt dangerously close to the edge.

He pressed his palm harder against my mouth. "Don't," he hissed, the single word a low, dangerous warning that vibrated against my lips.

I shook my head slowly from side to side beneath his hand, a silent, defiant "no." Despite the pressure and the underlying threat in his eyes, a grin stretched across my lips. Yes. This was it. The raw, untamed edge I had been seeking. Go on, Levi. Get angry. Let it consume you.

"Do not dare," he warned, his voice a low rumble, the fury in his eyes a tangible thing. I shook my head again, a small, defiant movement that seemed to only stoke his anger further.

He abruptly yanked his hand away from my mouth, the sudden release leaving my lips tingling. I had braced myself for a gag, for another form of silencing. But instead, he gripped my waist with surprising force and rolled me over, turning my back to him in one swift, dominating movement. He shoved my face into the soft pillow, the fabric muffling my gasp and effectively silencing me. My bound wrists were now pressed awkwardly against the hard headboard of the bed, the rough fabric biting into my skin. His other hand clamped down on my neck, his fingers digging in with strength that bordered on painful.

I had clearly struck a raw nerve, and the intensity of his reaction sent a jolt of adrenaline through me. His brutal pace against my backside didn't falter either, each thrust a stark reminder of his dominance. And the truth, the thrilling, dangerous truth, was that it was amazing. This raw power was the very edge I had been craving, a departure from the familiar dynamic that had begun to feel too predictable. The fear was still there, a sharp undercurrent, but it was now intertwined with an undeniable and fiercely exciting sense of surrender. The enforced silence, the rough handling, the feeling of being completely at his mercy – it was all igniting a fire.

"Begging for it, were you?" he growled, his voice rough against my ear, the hand still firm on my neck. "For this… This lack of control. Total submission."

Yes, gods yes, he was right. So right it sent a shiver of pure sensation down my spine. This complete and utter lack of agency, being held captive under his brutal mercy... The enforced silence, the dominating grip, the feeling of being utterly at his will – it was a perverse form of liberation, a shedding of my own control that allowed me to finally surrender to the raw, primal intensity of the moment.

Despite the suffocating pressure of the pillow against my face and the painful grip on my neck, a spark of defiance flickered within me. With a surge of unexpected strength, I bucked my hips upwards. It wasn't enough to break his hold or shift his position significantly, but it was a clear, physical "no" in a moment where my voice was stolen.

"Your fire never burns out, does it?" he growled, a hint of dark amusement in his voice as he registered my rebellious movement. "Good." His grip on my neck tightened, and his other hand snaked into my hair, yanking my head back with brutal force. The sudden pull forced me to my knees on the soft mattress, my bound wrists straining against the headboard. "You wanted pain, did you not?" His words were sharper now, the slurring edges of the drug-induced haze beginning to recede.

Despite the brutal pull on my hair and the painful angle of my neck, I met his gaze with a defiant stare. Let him see the thrill in my eyes, the dark satisfaction in his control. Let him know that his attempt to punish only fueled the strange fire within me.

Levi's gaze flickered towards the ornate, dark wood wardrobe that stood against the far wall of the room. "Curious, are you not? Want to see what's inside?"

The sharp tug on my hair was a painful reminder of my current predicament. His command, though delivered with a chillingly calm tone, held an undeniable threat. "Go there," he ordered. "All on fours, and grab something you want. If you don't..." His eyes narrowed. "...I will choose."

The thought of crawling across the room like a submissive animal, my bound wrists dragging against the plush carpet, was humiliating. And the alternative – him choosing – sent a shiver of both fear and anticipation down my spine. His choices, I suspected, would be far more tailored to his desires than to any lingering semblance of my own.

"Why?" I managed to croak out.

"Still defiant? Great," Levi responded, a cruel smile twisting his lips. The sudden tearing of the fabric binding my wrists startled me. Before I could fully process the change, he shoved me forcefully off the edge of the bed. The landing wasn't particularly painful, the thick carpet cushioning my fall, but the deliberate act of being pushed, the loss of control, landed me squarely on all fours, like some cornered animal. Fuck. The sheer, insane brute strength he possessed was both terrifying and undeniably arousing.

"Move. Now."

He commanded, his voice low and laced with an impatient edge. My hands and knees pressed into the soft carpet, the plushness doing little to ease the humiliation that coiled in my gut. He wanted me to crawl. He wanted to see me reduced to this. And despite the rebellious part of me that chafed at the order, another, darker part was morbidly curious, eager to play out this twisted game to its inevitable conclusion. With a slow, deliberate movement, I began to crawl towards the imposing darkness of the wardrobe.

Am I really doing this? Crawling on all fours, like some pathetic animal? Fuck. I really am. I had often joked about being a pig, wallowing in filth, but I hadn't truly grasped the extent of that truth. I hadn't known this level of animalistic submission resided within me.

The plush carpet felt strangely intimate beneath my hands and knees as I crawled. Fuck. This was really happening. Reaching the imposing wardrobe, I stretched out a hand, the movement awkward and subservient, and pulled open the heavy door. The contents within were exactly as we expected: a curated collection of instruments designed for pleasure and pain. An array of dildos in various shapes and sizes gleamed under the dim light, nestled beside sleek vibrators. Leather cuffs lay intertwined with silver chains. Whips of varying lengths and textures hung from hooks, next to smooth wooden paddles. Bottles of exotic oils stood beside smooth, heatable stones, and a single, wickedly suggestive candle completed the tableau.

What to choose? That was the agonizingly delicious question. Dildos were immediately off the table. Levi's own impressive anatomy made the thought of double penetration a non-starter, a bridge too far even for my adventurous tastes. Cuffs? Been there, done that, literally. Whips? We had explored their sharp caress in our last encounter, the memory still sending shivers down my spine, but it felt like retreading familiar ground. Paddles? They were more theatrical than truly painful, the resounding smack more a sound effect than a genuine infliction. So, what remained? My gaze landed on the sleek, humming promise of the vibrators. It was true. In all our explorations, in the vast landscape of our shared desires, we had never ventured into the realm of artificial stimulation. A new territory, an unknown sensation. Could this be the new edge I was seeking? Yes. The vibrators. That was the uncharted territory.

I clutched one of the smaller, bullet-shaped vibrators in my hand. Crawling back to the bedside, I presented my offering.

Levi, however, was far from impressed. He hooked a foot beneath my chin, tilting my head back with casual dominance, his gaze sweeping dismissively over the small device in my hand. "Really?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement and a hint of derision. "This tiny thing?"

He studied my face, his gaze intense, and then pressed his foot under my chin even harder, tilting my head back until my neck ached. "I am nothing if not merciful," he stated, his tone laced with a sardonic amusement that didn't quite reach his eyes. "If this… insignificant trinket is truly your wish, then so be it." With a swift movement, he bent down and plucked the vibrator from my hand, his fingers brushing against mine, a fleeting moment of contact that sent a strange shiver through me.

It was in that chillingly clear moment, watching the detached amusement in his eyes as he pocketed the vibrator, that the full weight of his words hit me. He wasn't talking to me, not the Raphael he knew, his husband. He was addressing a stranger, a blank canvas. A strange pang, a flicker of hurt, resonated within me, quickly overshadowed by a surge of something far more potent: an almost frantic arousal. Stripped of the familiar boundaries of our intimacy, released from the unspoken restraints of our love, I was suddenly, terrifyingly curious. How far would he go? How much would he "torture" this stranger in his bed?

Yes. Let him treat me like a stranger. Let him unleash the darkest corners of his desire. I was ready.

He reached for the bedside drawer, the smooth glide of the wood echoing in the tense silence. My breath hitched as he pulled out a condom. Was he finally going to penetrate me? But instead of putting it on himself, his gaze locked onto mine. "Stand," he commanded, the single word leaving no room for argument. My legs, still shaky from the earlier ordeal, obeyed, and I slowly rose to my feet.

Then, in a move that sent a jolt of pure shock and a strange, dizzying excitement through me, he inserted the small vibrator into the condom. My eyes widened as he then began to roll the condom onto me.

"Only good boys are allowed to sit on the bed. Now. Be good, sit on your knees and do not move," Levi commanded, settling onto the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on me with a predatory intensity. I obeyed, sinking back onto my knees. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he started the vibrator. It wasn't the high-octane buzz I might have anticipated; instead, it was a lower, more insistent thrum. And then I realized its precise, agonizing placement: the vibrating tip pressed directly against the most sensitive part of my cock. It was a cruel kind of torture, a localized assault of sensation that made it utterly impossible to remain still, to not clench and contract against the insistent buzzing. My muscles spasmed involuntarily, a desperate, internal rhythm fighting against the external one he controlled.

"Already failing," he stated, his voice cool and devoid of emotion, yet carrying the weight of a promise. "Perhaps a punishment is in order." His gaze flicked towards the open wardrobe, a silent invitation to the array of implements within. Fuck. No.

"It is not enough, is it?" he murmured, his voice a low, knowing drawl that resonated deep within my already thrumming core. And gods, he was right. I was teetering on the precipice, every nerve ending screaming, the insistent buzzing a relentless assault on my senses. My muscles were coiled tight, each involuntary spasm bringing me closer to the edge. Just one more push. One tiny, exquisite torment to shatter the last vestiges of my control, to send me spiraling into the oblivion of pure sensation.

"It's not…" I gasped out, the admission torn from my throat, a raw acknowledgment of the desperate need that consumed me.

"Honesty is a virtue," he purred, his voice a silken threat. "A little delightful prize for you." A subtle flick of his wrist, and the buzzing intensity ratcheted up a notch, sending another wave of involuntary contractions through me. But it still wasn't it. I needed something more, a sharper edge, a hint of danger to push me over the brink.

He watched me, a cruel amusement dancing in his eyes, as if he could read the frantic desperation in my body. He placed his bare feet on my cock, the unexpected weight and pressure a shocking intrusion. Yes. Gods, yes. This was it. That primal, demeaning touch, the feeling of being so utterly beneath him, was the final catalyst. The moment that pressure landed, a dam inside me broke. A strangled cry escaped my lips as my body convulsed, the intense vibrations amplified by his touch, sending me spiraling into a shattering orgasm.

His feet remained a heavy, unyielding weight against my throbbing flesh, the insistent buzz of the vibrator now an almost unbearable overload of sensation. It was exquisite, yes, but bordering on agonizing. My body, still reeling from the intense orgasm, couldn't remain still. Involuntary tremors wracked me, and a desperate urge to escape the overwhelming pressure took hold. I began to shift, my weight leaning precariously towards the floor, a silent plea for release from this delicious torment. Fuck… I was losing control, the exquisite torture threatening to become simply torture.

Levi simply clicked his tongue, the sound sharp and dismissive in the charged silence. "So disobedient," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over my trembling form with a cool assessment. "How do we break you even further?"

His feet, still slightly damp, pressed against my chin once more, tilting my head back with effortless dominance. The angle forced me to meet his gaze, his eyes holding a cold, almost clinical curiosity. "Answer," he commanded, the single word leaving no room for evasion. "How?"

"Take… the vibrator away…" I choked out, the words a desperate plea for a moment's respite from the relentless buzzing, a fragile offering of compliance. "...then I will obey completely…"

"Why shouldn't I do both? Hm? Tell me." His voice was low, laced with a dangerous amusement. He wasn't buying my flimsy bargain.

"The buzzing… it's too much…" I gasped, the words torn from my throat, a raw admission of being overwhelmed.

"Is it?" Levi countered, his voice a low, knowing drawl. "But you enjoy it. Do you not?"

I did enjoy it, the relentless thrumming a delicious torment that had brought me to the brink of shattering release. But now… now it was bordering on unbearable. Every inch of my flesh was hyper-sensitive, still vibrating with the echoes of my orgasm. Each pulse of the tiny device sent electric jolts through my entire body, my muscles clenched in a desperate, involuntary rhythm. Yes, I liked it, craved the intensity, but a perverse part of me also yearned for something more, a further escalation into a realm of even greater sensation, greater danger, greater degradation.

"It's… too much…" I whimpered, my body trembling violently under the relentless buzzing. But then, a darker, more insistent craving surfaced. "…but… don't stop…"

"Hm…" Levi hummed, a low, considering sound that sent a fresh wave of shivers down my spine. He leaned closer, his gaze piercing mine. "Was that an order?"

"No…" I choked out. "I was begging… Please, more… But not vibrator…"

The vibrator was too localized, too relentless. I wanted something… broader, something that involved more of him, more of his touch, his control.

Levi's toes curled around the base of the condom still clinging to my cock and yanked it free. The abrupt removal of the vibrating latex sent a final, shuddering wave through my overstimulated nerves. Relief washed over me as the relentless buzzing finally ceased, and I gasped, taking several deep, ragged breaths, savoring the absence of that intense pressure. My gaze fell to the floor beneath me, a glistening testament to my shattering release – a surprisingly large puddle of my own cum. How much did I even cum with that tiny thing? I looked up to find Levi watching me, a dark, knowing amusement playing on his lips.

"Sorry…" I mumbled, my gaze fixed on the puddle of my own release on the carpet. "I… couldn't help it…"

"Mmh…" Levi hummed, his gaze sharp and perceptive as he observed my downcast eyes. "Is that broken pride I sense? Such an amusing thing to see. Even when you were crawling on all fours, begging for more, whimpering, you were still clinging to that ridiculous pride, weren't you?"

Shit. He had never once resorted to outright degradation before. Our dynamic, while intense, had always held a certain… respect. So why was this working so well? I knew I thrived on his praise, on being seen as desirable in his eyes. But this… this degradation, this stripping away of any pretense of dignity… how much had my lust truly broken my stupid brain? Fuck. The answer, I realized with a sickening lurch of arousal, was probably far more than I was willing to admit.

"Yeah…" I admitted, the shame a bitter taste in my mouth, yet somehow intertwined with a strange, burgeoning excitement. "I think so… Fuck…"

Levi's reaction was immediate and severe. "Vulgarity, crude language. I cannot stand it," he stated, his tone cold and precise. He stood up from the bed and, with a calm detachment that was more terrifying than his earlier rage, used a damp cloth to wipe the flush and sweat from his body.

The shift in his demeanor was jarring.

How could someone who had just used my body as a canvas for his dominance, pressing his bare feet onto my engorged cock, be so utterly repulsed by a simple "fuck"? It was insane.

He then walked to the dark wood cabinet, the movements of his lean frame fluid and graceful, and returned a moment later, holding a black leather gag and a matching collar.

"Pulla," he began, his voice smooth yet laced with a chilling undertone, "we have the same collar at home, don't we? Such a… familiar piece. But I thought the rather enthusiastic animalistic behavior you've been so expertly demonstrating right now would make this one feel particularly fitting. Don't you agree?" He began to walk towards me, the collar dangling from his fingers. "And about your colorful language, pulla. Utterly disgraceful. Now, be a good boy, and stay still. Take it."

"Please, not the gag…" I managed to stammer out, my voice trembling slightly.

Levi's eyes narrowed, his approach halting momentarily. "Is that disobedience, pulla?" His tone was sharp, a clear warning.

"N-no," I rushed to clarify, my heart pounding in my chest. "Just... not right now… But the collar… the collar is okay…"

"No gag it is," Levi conceded, a hint of a dark smile playing on his lips. "I have other, perhaps more… intimate ways to silence you." He dropped the gag onto the carpet with a soft thud, the sound echoing the slight relief that washed over me. Then, he fastened the leather collar around my neck. He then settled back onto the edge of the bed, the short chain of the collar taut in his hand.

Still on my hands and knees, I felt the subtle tug on the chain, a deliberate, slow pull that drew me closer. Levi spread his legs wider. The gentle pressure on the chain guided my face forward, bringing me closer, closer still, my face touched his erect cock. The other way to silence me. A wave of heat flooded my body, overriding the lingering unease of the gag. Yes. This was far more potent, more intimate, more… right than any physical restraint on my mouth.

The gentle pressure guided my face forward until the smooth, hot skin of his erect cock pressed against my lips.

A low groan rumbled from his chest as my mouth made contact. My breath hitched. The taut chain was a constant reminder of his control, dictating the angle of my face against his throbbing length. It was a blatant act of ownership, silencing any protest through the sheer force. My bare hands, still supporting my weight on the carpet, trembled slightly. I was an animal at his command, my face pressed against the source of his desire.

This was a primal degradation, a visceral act of submission that transcended words. Despite the inherent humiliation, a dark, undeniable thrill coursed through me.

Driven by instinct, a need to please and to explore the forbidden intimacy, my tongue flicked out, tentatively tracing the length of his shaft. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound that vibrated against my lips and sent a fresh wave of heat pooling in my groin. Encouraged by his reaction, I pressed my mouth more fully against him, taking more of his hard length inside. My hands shifted on the carpet, moving slightly forward, as if to offer myself more fully to this act of submission.

The taste of him, clean and musky, filled my mouth, further eroding any remaining resistance. My head moved a slow, deliberate caress against his rigid flesh. Each movement was small, hesitant, yet filled with a desperate yearning to please.

A guttural groan escaped Levi's throat, a raw sound that vibrated against my face as I continued my slow, deliberate ministrations. My hands, now slick with a mixture of sweat and the slickness of my own arousal, moved further up his thighs, my fingertips tentatively exploring the hard muscles beneath his skin. It was a silent offering, a wordless communication of my willingness to submit completely to his desires.

My breath grew shallow and rapid, mirroring the quickening pulse I felt throbbing against my lips. The small, hesitant movements of my mouth became more confident, more demanding, driven by a primal urge to taste and possess. I explored the sensitive underside of his shaft with my tongue, eliciting another low growl that resonated deep within my chest.

With a slight tug on the chain, he guided my head further down. I obeyed instantly, my mouth now encompassing the thick head of his cock. The velvety texture, the throbbing pulse against my tongue, sent a wave of pure sensation crashing through me. A muffled whimper escaped my throat, a sound that was part pleasure, part desperate surrender.

"See, pulla?" Levi murmured, his voice thick with a mixture of pleasure and triumph as he tightened the chain, pulling my head further down his shaft. "How your beautiful lips work so much better than uttering those… distasteful words?"

One moment, a sharp reprimand for my "vulgarity," the next, a low, husky praise that resonated deep within my core. Why did every single thing he threw at me – the degradation, the dominance, now this unexpected praise – work so effectively? It was as if he held the keys to every lock within my psyche. Despite the confusing swirl of emotions, a warmth bloomed in my chest at his words, a primal need for his approval overriding the lingering shame. I nodded slightly against his hard length, my mouth still working diligently.

"That's a good boy," Levi murmured, his voice a low, husky caress that sent shivers down my spine. "Show me more of how much you enjoy pleasing me."

The praise, so unexpected after the earlier degradation, landed like a brand on my soul, igniting a fierce desire to earn more of his approval. Then, his hand, the same hand that had held the chain moments before, gently cupped my face. His thumb stroked my hair.

My mouth moved with a newfound fervor against his hard length. My tongue traced the delicate ridge at the tip, eliciting a low groan from Levi that vibrated against my lips. My hands, still resting on his thighs, tightened their grip, my fingers instinctively kneading the firm muscles beneath his skin. I deepened my ministrations, taking more of his shaft into my mouth, my cheeks stretching with the effort.

A low whimper escaped my throat, a sound that was both a testament to the intense sensations and a plea for his continued approval. My gaze flickered upwards, meeting his intense stare for a fleeting moment, a silent question in my eyes: Is this enough? Am I pleasing you? The feel of his hand still cupping my face, the gentle stroke of his thumb against my cheek, was a powerful motivator, urging me to continue, to lose myself completely in this act of devotion.

He shifted his hand from the gentle caress on my cheek to the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair. There was no harshness, no forceful grip, just a firm, possessive hold. Then, with a subtle movement, he tugged the chain, drawing me even closer.

"Really good, pulla," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "So very good at serving me."

Another wave of intense lust washed over me, eclipsing any lingering doubts or shame. Yes. This was it. This intricate dance of dominance and submission, the push and pull of degradation and praise, the feeling of being utterly his to command – it all resonated within me on a primal level. I reveled in being his toy, in the complete surrender of my body and will to his desires.

"That good mouth deserves a reward, does it not, pulla?" Levi murmured, his voice thick with impending release.

I blinked slowly, a silent, unequivocal yes. He didn't force my head, didn't exert any further physical dominance. Instead, he waited, his gaze intense, his body taut with anticipation, relying on my continued ministrations to bring him to the edge.

I intensified my efforts. My mouth worked diligently, my lips tightening around his shaft, my tongue wrapping around its full length, exploring every ridge and vein. I could see the strain etched on his face, the beads of sweat forming on his brow, the barely contained tremors that ran through his body. He was so close, and he was letting me take him there. The knowledge of that power, that intimacy, was a potent aphrodisiac, fueling my every movement, every suck, every flick of my tongue. He was waiting for me to continue, and I had every intention of obliging.

A hand suddenly gripped the back of my head, anchoring me in place, while his other hand tightened on my jaw, tilting my face up slightly. With a final, guttural groan that shuddered through his entire body, Levi thrust deeply into my mouth, his hot, thick cum flooding my senses. The taste of him, so intensely personal, so utterly mine in that moment, was intoxicating.

"Show me your reward, pulla," he commanded, his voice still thick with the aftermath of his orgasm. A satisfied smile bloomed on my lips as I opened my mouth, letting his seed spill forth.

He released his grip on my jaw, but his hand remained, stroking the top of my head. "Good boy," he murmured, his voice softening slightly. "Took it all with a smile."

Gods, if I had possessed a tail at that moment, I swear I would have been wagging it furiously.

To know that I had pleased him so completely, that I had been the vessel for his release, filled me with a perverse sense of pride. The degradation, the dominance, the raw intimacy – it all coalesced into a potent cocktail of arousal and a deep contentment.

Fuck... Do I really have no pride left? No shred of shame? I felt utterly stripped bare, reduced to nothing more than a creature eager to please its master. I swear to gods, if he had asked me to bark, I honestly believe I would have.

I thought I was a pig, but apparently, I'm a dog now. A pathetic, eager dog, tail practically wagging for a scrap of attention from its master. He had me completely ensnared, wrapped around his little finger, a puppet dancing to the tune of his desires.

Had they finally done it? Had they chipped away at my resolve, layer by agonizing layer, until there was nothing left but this hollow, eager obedience? Cassiel's warnings, Cybil's knowing glances, even the Conqueror's veiled threats – they all echoed Levi's own occasional pronouncements about "extinguishing my fire." Had it finally happened? Had the defiant spark within me, the stubborn refusal to completely yield, finally been snuffed out? Damn…

No, no, I knew Levi. Beneath the veneer of absolute control, beneath the possessive touches and demanding commands, lay a subtle hunger for the challenge. The moment I truly became a blank slate, a creature devoid of any internal resistance, his interest would likely wane. He enjoyed the fire in my eyes, the sharp retort that occasionally slipped past my lips, the very defiance he claimed to want to extinguish. It was a twisted game, and complete surrender would be akin to forfeiting before the final, most exhilarating round.

Damn it, even in this moment of near-total capitulation, a flicker of that stubborn defiance remained, a tiny ember refusing to be completely extinguished. And perhaps… perhaps that was exactly what kept his attention so fiercely locked on me.

If complete surrender bored him, then perhaps it was time for a different tactic. A subtle shift in the game. Push him so he could pull back, test the boundaries of his control. Pull him closer with a semblance of obedience, only to subtly resist, inviting his forceful push. Yes. He loathed the title "master”. But what about other forms of address? Other acknowledgments of his dominance?

I slowly lifted my gaze, my eyes locking onto the piercing depths of his intense blue stare. A subtle shift occurred in my posture, a deliberate act of presenting myself while still holding back a fraction of myself. "What now, sir?"

Levi's lips curled into a dismissive smirk. "'Sir'? Truly, pulla. Must you be so predictable? Did you honestly think that a simple change in address would somehow… pique my interest in a new way?" He paused, his gaze sweeping over my naked form, a look of cool assessment. "Do I look like someone who needs titles and such? Do you honestly believe that I require some sort of submissive word from you to remind you of your place?"

He saw right through it, my predictable little game.

Of course. Why was I even surprised? Damn him. It was infuriating how easily he could dissect my intentions, how acutely he perceived the subtle shifts in my behavior. I hadn't even savored the anticipation of his reaction before he'd already dismantled my strategy. He truly was always several steps ahead.

A slight clenching of my jaw, a barely perceptible tightening of the muscles in my arms, betrayed my inner frustration. Damn him and his uncanny ability to read me so easily. The attempt at a subtle power play had backfired spectacularly, leaving me feeling exposed and, predictably, even more aroused by his effortless dominance.

"Oh? Is that anger I sense, pulla?" Levi chuckled, the sound laced with amusement. He gave the chain a sharp yank. "Angry at me for seeing through your little game? Or perhaps angry at yourself for being so transparent?" His piercing gaze held mine, dissecting my reaction, daring me to answer truthfully. He knew the answer already, of course. He always did.

I flinched slightly at the sharp tug of the chain. My body betrayed the frustration churning within me, even though my lips remained sealed.

"Ah, has my leniency with you been so great that it has bred insolence? A refusal to answer a direct question? Hm?" Levi's voice hardened, the amusement gone, replaced by a sharp edge of displeasure. He punctuated his words with another, more forceful yank of the chain, the leather biting into my neck, a clear consequence of my silence.

Maybe this was it. My refusal to answer, my quiet defiance, had clearly displeased him. And with Levi, displeasure rarely resulted in him backing down. Instead, it usually meant a deliberate escalation, a calculated push designed to break my will, to drag me kicking and screaming to the very edge of my limits once again. A shiver, not entirely unpleasant, traced its way down my spine at the thought.

A smirk played on Levi's lips, a flicker of amusement in his intense gaze. "Trying a new game, are we?" he murmured, leaning in closer, his voice a low whisper that sent a shiver down my spine despite myself. "Let's see if you're better at silence than you are at obedience, pulla."

"Let's take a walk, shall we?" Levi said, his tone deceptively casual. The sharp tug on the chain that followed. The sudden movement yanked me forward from my kneeling position, the leather biting into my neck. He didn't wait for a response, his intent clear as he moved away from the bed, the chain my unwilling tether, dragging me along behind him towards the cabinet in the corner of the room.

"You know I am merciful, my dear," Levi purred. He gestured towards the cabinet with a languid wave of his hand, the gesture belying the underlying command. "No gags for you, not this time. But what about… other persuasions? Hm. Consider it a gesture of goodwill. Pick your own poison from the cabinet." His eyes glinted with a predatory amusement. "Choose wisely, pulla. If you select something… agreeable, I might even allow you the relative comfort of the bed. If you don't, or if you take too long, you will remain exactly as you are – all on fours."

Bed or not bed? But the underlying choice was far more insidious: pain or… something else? Restrictions, perhaps? More than just this damned collar? A blindfold. That seemed the safest option, a barrier against whatever else lurked within that ominous cabinet. Darkness, at least, was a familiar kind of confinement. It offered a strange sort of protection, a withdrawal from the immediate reality of his gaze and whatever tools of persuasion he intended to employ. Yes. The blindfold.

My fingers closed around the soft fabric of the blindfold.

"Hm… Interesting choice," Levi mused, his voice laced with that familiar knowing amusement. "Is this your way of masking your shame, my dearest? To not have to see the depths to which you've succumbed?"

Yes. Kinda. Damn him.

Levi took the blindfold, his fingers brushing against mine for a fleeting moment. "Shame is an interesting notion," he mused, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down my spine. "A sensation I am, incapable of experiencing. So tell me, my dear Raphael." He paused, the silence stretching taut. "How does it feel? This intimate acquaintance with your own degradation? To know that you are all on fours, stripped bare, reduced to a begging, whimpering mess? Hm? Speak."

I clenched my jaw, my gaze fixed on the floor even though he could clearly see the struggle in my posture. The shame was a raw, burning thing, and voicing it felt like a final, irreversible surrender.

"My, my," Levi purred, a hint of amusement lacing his voice. "The silent defiance returns. How predictable, pulla. Very well. Let us see just how steadfast you can be in your quiet rebellion."

Then, the soft fabric of the blindfold was gently placed over my eyes, plunging me into immediate darkness. But the rustling sounds that followed sent a fresh wave of anxiety prickling beneath my skin. He was taking something else from the cabinet. Shit. No, don't spiral, Raphael. Breathe. You know him. He plays games, elaborate ones, but he rarely crosses lines without… a consent. Calm down. Focus on the darkness, on the sounds, on anything but the fear tightening in my chest.

"What does it smell like, pulla?" Levi's voice was soft, almost gentle. The scent that filled my nostrils was unexpectedly delicate, overwhelmingly floral. Roses. An entire rose garden condensed into a single, potent fragrance. But I held my silence, my jaw still clenched, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a verbal response.

"Hm… Silent again," Levi murmured, a hint of steel entering his voice. "Very well, my dear Raphael. If silence is your chosen weapon, then allow me to introduce a different kind of persuasion. Let's escalate, shall we?"

Instead of the familiar sharp tug on the chain, a sudden, unexpected force lifted me completely off the ground. My feet dangled uselessly in the air, the abrupt shift in gravity stealing my breath and eliciting a sharp, involuntary gasp that tore through my silence.

"Relax, my dear," Levi whispered, his voice surprisingly gentle against the backdrop of my precarious situation. "Just a change of perspective. Though, you do look rather… vulnerable up here."

Then, with a deliberate slowness that did little to ease my rising panic, Levi lowered me onto the bed, positioning me on my chest. My back was now completely exposed, vulnerable to whatever came next. A distinct sound reached my ears – a soft swish, followed immediately by the unmistakable scratch and brief flare of matches. Then came the intensified scent of roses, now carrying a faint, smoky undertone. It had to be a candle. I remembered, a fleeting, reckless admission from a previous encounter: the possibility, the maybe enjoyment, of the hotness of a wax on my skin. He remembered. Of course, he remembered.

The truth was this: all I had to do was ask. A single word, a plea, and he would, likely with a sigh of theatrical disappointment, cease whatever torment he had planned. And then there was the red button, always within reach, the ultimate failsafe, the immediate and absolute end to everything. Yet… a morbid curiosity gnawed at me. A perverse desire to experience the sensation I had once so flippantly mentioned.

Then came the first drop. Hot. Viscous. It landed precisely between my shoulder blades, a searing kiss against my bare skin. A sharp intake of breath escaped me, but it wasn't entirely from pain. It was… intense. Surprisingly so. Not the agonizing burn I had anticipated, but a different kind of sensation altogether. A delicious heat that bloomed outward, a stinging awareness that was… strangely pleasurable. A good kind of pain. A good kind of hotness. My muscles twitched.

Another drop followed, landing a little lower this time, tracing a fiery path down my spine. My back arched again, the involuntary movement a clearer indication now of the strange pleasure mingling with the heat. Yes. I enjoyed this. This little prickle, this sharp sting followed by a wave of warmth. It was a sensation that demanded attention. Then another drop, a little to the left, creating a constellation of heat blooming across my exposed skin.

"Silent, but undeniably obedient," Levi murmured, his voice a low caress. "Even though your body betrays your desires, arching and twitching for more of this… attention, you still refuse to voice it." Another drop sizzled onto my skin, and a sharp gasp escaped my lips. "Let me thoroughly confuse you, my dear Raphael."

I had braced myself for the expected: another searing drop of wax, the sting of a well-placed spank, the forceful pressure of his hand guiding me, the suffocating weight of the pillow against my face.

But Levi, ever the master of the unexpected, the manipulative bastard, the delightful devil, did none of those things. Instead, he leaned down, and his lips, surprisingly soft, pressed against the very spots where the hot wax had just landed. A tender kiss on the burning skin. That was his confusion. That was his exquisite torment. The moment his lips touched me, a low, involuntary moan escaped my throat.

Damn him.

"Why... why did you do that?" I whispered, the question laced with genuine confusion and vulnerability.

"Oh, my dear Raphael? Is the silence finally broken?" Levi murmured, his voice a low, knowing caress against my ear, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath. There was a distinct note of triumph in his tone.

"Raphael," Levi purred, a hint of smug satisfaction lacing his voice. "Allow me to thoroughly unravel your composure. Let me confuse you once more."

The words were a prelude to the sharp sting that followed, his hand landing with a resounding smack on my bare backside. A loud moan escaped my lips, raw and involuntary.

Yes, I truly felt like a trained animal. A spank, meant as a reprimand, elicited an involuntary arch of my back, a physical response that spoke volumes of my twisted desires.

Levi's low chuckle resonated in the quiet room. "My, my," he murmured, a hint of amusement lacing his voice. "I am attempting to punish you, my dear Raphael, and yet… what is this with your rather enthusiastic response?"

"Ah…" The admission escaped me, a soft, almost shameful whisper. "I… I like it… damn."

I liked it. I liked the intensity of his focus, the all-consuming nature of his attention. I liked the sharp edges of the pain, so inextricably linked to the dizzying waves of pleasure. Even the punishments, these deliberate acts of control, held a strange, perverse allure.

Leaning closer, Levi's breath ghosted against my ear. "I know you do, pulla," he whispered, the words a low caress that sent a shiver down my spine despite the heat blooming on my back. "That's what makes this so… exquisite, isn't it?"

"Y-yes…"

"Now, now," Levi purred, his voice shifting to a more conversational tone, though the underlying power dynamic remained firmly in place. "Let us converse, shall we? Tell me, Raphael. What is it that you truly desire?"

That sentence. That deceptively simple question, a hallmark of his particular brand of torment. It always sent a shiver tracing its way down my spine, a potent cocktail of anticipation and dread.

"I… I want you… Whatever you want to do to me…"

A complete surrender, an open invitation.

"Interesting, my dear," Levi purred, his voice laced with a hint of approval. "But be a little more direct for me, won't you?"

Taking a shaky breath, I pushed past the lingering threads of shame. "I… I want you inside me, Levi."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Delightful. And without even resorting to your usual crude language. Very well."

Levi shifted his weight on the bed, the subtle movement sending a fresh wave of anticipation through me. His hand then found my shoulder, firm yet gentle, guiding me to roll onto my back, exposing me fully to his gaze and intent. The next sensation was a shock against my heated skin – the slick, cold drop of lubricant spreading across my entrance and down the length of my cock.

"That collar suits you so well, pulla," Levi murmured, his voice a low rumble as his fingers tightened around the chain still fastened at my neck. He didn't yank but the firmness of his grip was a potent reminder of my tethered state. Then, with a slow, deliberate push, he entered me. A gasp escaped my lips, not of pain, but of pure sensation. The exquisite fullness, the stretching warmth, the undeniable feeling of him filling me completely.

The last vestiges of the drug-induced haze had completely dissipated, leaving us both in a state of heightened awareness, acutely attuned to our desires and the reality of the moment. Gone was any pretense of forced submission or detached control; this was a mutual exploration of need. Levi was simply present, lost in the sensation, enjoying the joining of our bodies as much as I was. His movements, though still possessing a dominant edge, flowed with a natural rhythm: the slow, deliberate stretching that built anticipation, followed by a persistent, driving pace.

It was the perfect equation, a flawless synchronization of our bodies moving as one.

His hips began to move with a steady rhythm, each thrust a deep, insistent press that filled me completely. I tightened my grip on the sheets beneath me, my breath catching in my throat as he pushed deeper, stretching me in new ways.

The tempo gradually increased, the initial slow burn escalating into a fiery friction. Every thrust was a potent wave of sensation washing over me, a delicious ache that centered deep within my core. I found myself instinctively arching my back, meeting each of his movements, my own body now dictating the pace as much as his. Moans, low and guttural, escaped my lips, involuntary expressions of the intense pleasure building within me. The scent of roses, still faintly lingering from the candle wax, now seemed intertwined with the musky aroma of our mingled sweat.

His hands, no longer restraining, now roamed freely, tracing the contours of my body, his fingers digging into my hips, guiding and deepening the thrusts. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, the hard muscles of his thighs flexing against mine, the frantic rhythm of his breathing mirroring my own. Each forceful entry was a jolt of pure sensation, a momentary loss of control that only intensified the building pressure within me.

A strangled cry tore from my throat as the first waves of release washed over me, a series of intense contractions that gripped his length. I clung to his shoulders, my nails digging into his flesh as my body shuddered, the pleasure almost unbearable. He groaned against my ear, his own movements becoming more frantic, deeper, as he followed me into the throes of climax.

The world dissolved into pure sensation – the slick friction, the rhythmic pounding, the overwhelming release that wracked my body. My muscles spasmed, and I gasped for breath, the intensity stealing any coherent thought. I could feel his own release deep within me, a hot, pulsing surge that amplified my own pleasure. We were locked together, two bodies moving as one in the throes of shared ecstasy, the earlier power dynamics momentarily forgotten in the face of this raw, visceral connection.

Slowly, gradually, the intensity began to subside, the frantic movements easing into gentle tremors. Our breathing remained ragged, our bodies slick with sweat and clinging together. A profound sense of exhaustion and a strange sort of peace settled over me.

He remained inside me for a long moment, our bodies still intimately connected, the silence punctuated only by our ragged breaths. The leather of the collar, now less a symbol of restraint and more a familiar touchstone, rested against my neck.

"That was… something, wasn't it?" I murmured, the words still a little breathy, a lingering echo of the intense sensations that had just consumed me.

"Indeed, my dear Raphael. It most certainly was," Levi replied, his voice a low rumble of satisfaction. "It appears we both learned a great deal about our… proclivities today, wouldn't you agree?"

"I… I didn't even realize how much I… enjoyed being degraded," I admitted, the words laced with a bitter self-awareness. "Fuck you, Levi. You manipulated me so badly back there…"

A hint of amusement touched his lips. "Apologies for my inherent tendencies towards subtle manipulation, my dear. I find it… remarkably effective."

"Knowing it doesn't make it any less manipulative, you bastard," I retorted, a flicker of my usual defiance returning. "Also… what even is your brute strength? I thought you were all agility and finesse, not… that powerful."

"I am the grandson of the Conqueror, dear Raphael. Genetics, unfortunately," Levi replied, a hint of wry amusement in his voice.

"Yeah… That's exactly what I thought," I muttered, a shiver tracing its way down my spine despite myself. "I was picturing something more… you know… you breaking my ankles or something with some swift move, not… that raw, primal force."

"The first hour or so is a bit of a blur for me as well, I must confess," Levi admitted, a touch of genuine vagueness in his tone. "The initial effects of the… cocktail can be rather disorienting."

"Yeah? Cassiel warned me about that," I added, a knowing edge to my voice. "Said you tend to get… less subtle when the haze hits. Apparently, 'delicate persuasion' takes a backseat to… well, that."

"Are you saying you prefer me to break your ankles, pulla? I'm happy to oblige in the future, now that I know your preferences," Levi purred, a dangerous glint in his voice that belied the playful tone.

"What, no? Don't break my ankles," I hastened to clarify. "But… maybe I might allow you to chain me. Sometimes."

The thought, surprisingly, held a certain allure.

"Interesting proposition, my dear Raphael," Levi replied, his gaze unwavering. "I will certainly consider it… if and when I deem it absolutely necessary. Rest assured, your… preferences will be taken into account when the time comes."