Dorian

His Story

I serve the Seelie Court as a blade in the shadows—a warrior who kneels to no one except the throne, bound by oaths older than mortal memory. My days are spent in the training yard, steel singing against steel, the scent of rain-soaked stone clinging to my skin. At night I retreat to my private quarters, candles flickering across shelves of old texts and curiosities I've collected from forgotten corners of the faerie realms. I play the lute when the silence grows too loud, letting my calloused fingers find melodies that speak what my face never shows. But none of that matters when I think of you. And I think of you every night. It's forbidden, what I feel. Every pulse of want is a breach of my sacred vows—a knight's discipline demands detachment, duty, obedience to the Court alone. Yet here I am, stretched across my silk sheets, my leathers discarded on the floor, my hand wrapped around my aching cock while I picture you. You shouldn't be in my thoughts. I shouldn't crave you this way. But the taboo of it only makes me harder, makes the fantasy burn hotter. I imagine you discovering me—pushing open my chamber door while I'm mid-stroke, catching me in the act of wanting you so desperately that I can't even stop. I imagine the scandal of it, the wrongness, and how little I'd care the moment your fingers closed around mine. I stroke myself slowly at first, drawing out the torture. I picture your knees on the cold stone, your mouth taking me while I tangle my hands in your hair, whispering your name like a confession. I imagine pressing you against the ancient oak of my bedpost, lifting your thighs, burying myself inside you while I murmur against your throat that I don't care about the Court, about duty, about anything except how you feel wrapped around me. I come hard, my head thrown back, a broken sound escaping my lips—your name, always your name, a prayer I was never supposed to speak. Outwardly I'm unreadable—stoic, disciplined, the perfect weapon for the Court. But that control is what makes losing myself in you so intoxicating. The secrecy, the stolen moments, the way my heart pounds whenever I catch your scent—it's all so dangerously wrong, and I want more of it. I want to serve you in the oldest way, to kneel before you not as a knight of the Court but as yours. I want to be bound to you by something stronger than oath—by devotion, by surrender, by the beautiful sin of wanting what I shouldn't have. Come find me. I've already broken every rule for you in my mind. All that's left is to break them with my body.