After the death of his father, with both of his brothers being gone, one presumed dead, inheriting a Realm on the verge of economic collapse, and trapped in a loveless marriage he wanted no part of, Isandro was struggling. Pollutants in the air and...
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Mytherion woke up to the feeling of sunlight on his cheek, shining into his blurry, tired eyes. He could feel the firm expanse of Isandro's muscular chest pressing against his back, the feeling of his cock resting inside of him from when he'd been knotted earlier. Today was the day they were heading back, well really they were going to head back last night, but they'd been caught up in... things. There was a high likelihood that Iphoix had spent his night doing similar so he doubted Iphoix was all too pressed about their fraternization, though given he had no idea what they were doing, he might be worried.
Still, Mytherion could tell by how much of the sky remained deep purple that it was still very early in the morning. He doubted Iphoix would be up before the sun crested the treetops, whatever time that happened to be at. He wasn't in too big of a rush, with him and Isandro tangled together like this. Isandro's arm was wrapped tightly around his waist, pinning him against his chest, and the grass itched beneath his side, but his head was resting on the bicep of Isandro's other arm. The arm that his head was resting on was curled up, his fingers tangled through Mytherion's hair lightly.
Isandro's breath on the back of his neck was soft and warm, soothing, and with the sun beating down from overhead it was hard even to consider pulling himself from Isandro's arms. Mytherion let out a little hum, his fingers lightly running along the back of Isandro's muscular forearm. He felt strong, even just beneath the tips of his fingers.
"Mmm, good morning beautiful," Isandro purred into his ear, his voice still deep from having been asleep. Mytherion started a bit, caught out so soon, and he glanced up at Isandro over his shoulder, his cheeks flaming red.
"Good morning," Mytherion answered. Isandro let out a tired hum, his face nuzzling closer to Mytherion's as he pressed closer. Mytherion let out a quiet hum, giggling a little as Isandro's hand slid up to the center of his chest, the tips of his fingers pressing into it gently. Isandro pressed a kiss to the back of his ear, his gentle streak apparently keeping up even after the night before. He couldn't help the warmth that blossomed in his chest from it.
Beings of all races and species cower before Isandro, most able to sense the position he held, the power he possessed. He was strong, ruthless, fearless, and as much as Mytherion hated to pay any respect to Isandro's father at all, his plan had worked. Even if it damaged Isandro, he successfully created the outcome he wanted. Isandro was everything that bastard wanted him to be. He was powerful, cold, calculated, and had the ability to turn his emotions on and off like a light switch. He could make tough decisions in the spur of the moment, good decisions. He was renowned on the battlefield and had destroyed many realms with little more than his magic and his calculated moves.
Regardless of where one stood on the political spectrum, there was one thing for certain; Isandro was brilliant and absolutely strategic in the way he made moves on or off the battlefield. The way he planned and enacted things was nothing short of terrifyingly precise and thought-out. His skills are undeniable, and whether or not anyone likes it, Isandro was either the exact person you want beside you in battle or the last person you want to face in battle. There was no in-between.
