Work Text:
"Hold the boy still," Artur says as he steps up to the altar, unbuckling his belt. The noonday sun beats down across his bare back and shoulders, and in the hush from the crowd, he can hear only his own heartbeat and Khachik's panting breaths.
"Aye," his brother, Mihran, says, and wraps an arm around Khachik's chest and tugs him back into his own chest, crooning in his ear, "It is our duty, son. The land needs an heir, and only we of its blood can provide."
Khachik's eyes are wide, his face red both with the sun's heat and his own shame, and he yelps as Artur reaches out, hooks his fingers in the flimsy cloth covering him, and tears it away in one harsh tug. Before he can move - try to cross his legs or any such fool thing - Artur forces his thighs apart with his hips and steps between them, stroking at his cock as he inspects his nephew's hole.
Rose-pink and glistening with the oil Mihran stroked over it before they all ascended the altar, twitching as Artur taps the head of his cock over it in a filthy kiss.
Artur glances up, smiles slowly, and Khachik swallows. "You left him tight for me, Mihran?"
"Easier to breed a tight hole," Mihran says, thumbing roughly across one of Khachik's nipples until he bucks and gasps. "Is his cunt as pretty as the rest of him?"
Khachik has always been the darling of the court with his sun-streaked blond hair and eyes as green as mountain lakes, body lithe and graceful as a temple dancer, laugh sparkling and smiles coming easy. Even his cock, pink and hard and dripping, is somehow sweet, and he whines as Artur wraps his free hand about it and rubs his thumb over the pouting slit, feeling it jump and thicken in his hand.
"Even prettier," Artur says, watching Khachik's hole flutter vainly. "Brace him."
"Uncle-" Khachik starts, only for his words to die out in a choking moan as Artur bends his knees and pushes. His nephew's body resists at first, struggling to keep him out, but Artur is patient and persistent; he retreats an inch, then returns, adds pressure, watches Khachik's rim turn pale and taut-
And then he's through, into slick velvet heat as tight as a fist, and Khachik moans and shudders, thighs trembling where Artur's cradling them to his chest, feet curling tight in the air.
Artur curses, tosses his head back with a snarl, and the crowd applauds. The noise is nothing next to Khachik's whimpering little moans and Mihran's heavy breathing, his dark eyes fixed on where Artur is fucking his son.
"Perfect little hole," Artur gets out, rolling his hips back slowly and then snapping them roughly in until Khachik's ass meets his hips. "Perfect little cunt to fill with my seed - Mihran, you made a good one."
"Shh," Mihran murmurs to a gasping Khachik, wrapping a hand around his jaw and forcing him to look forward at Artur. "Your uncle paid you a compliment. What do you say?"
Khachik pants, struggling for breath enough to speak. "Oh - uncle, please - I -"
Artur draws back, straightens his legs, and fucks in and down, and Khachik's words shatter on a cry, his back arching into Mihran's hold on him, struggling against the confinement. His cock twitches and spills copious clear fluid on the heaving flat of his belly, and Artur grins, wolfish.
"Everyone sees me taking you, Khachik. The entire town - they all see you whining and begging for your uncle's cock, for his seed to fill you full - they all know you belong to me alone. Who else will have you once you've-" and here he throws his full weight into the thrust, hips meeting Khachik's ass in a filthy, slow grind, "-taken all of me?"
Khachik can only sob, a wrecked, wanting sound that pierces the air. His hands, trapped at his sides by Mihran's arms, scrabble at Mihran's thighs for purchase and find none. He tightens, trembling around Artur's cock, the red flush spreading from his cheeks down onto his chest, and his breathing speeds, his whole body beginning to shudder.
He manages a sound that almost approaches 'please,' and Artur deigns to drop a hand from one shaking thigh to curl it around his cock. "You want me to touch this? Why? We all know that the only thing you're good for is being bred, and soon, the realm will hear the tale of Prince Khachik, bearer of his uncle's children."
Khachik, if he hears, pays no mind. He arches, only kept from falling off the altar by Mihran's grip on him, and comes, dripping thick streaks of white onto his belly. His climax rolls through him in waves, great ripples that suck at Artur's cock as if begging him to push in further, conquer more -
Artur's hands tighten on Khachik's skin. His eyes slam shut. The pressure breaks, billowing up from his balls and down through his cock in pulses of heat as he spills. In his mind's eye, he imagines it - those twitching, wet pink walls, exhausted and too loose to close, now painted in streaks of hot white.
Khachik moans again, manages a faint, "Uncle, inside me-?"
"The appropriate place," Artur says, hips shuddering to a stop inside Khachik. "Do you feel my seed?" He can feel it against his cock, a hot slickness that eases the way as he begins to pull out.
"Yes." Khachik tosses his head and gasps as Artur pulls completely free, his softening cock hitting the altartop. No matter - all that matters is Khachik's ruined little hole: gaping like a cunt now in truth, red and soft and glistening, translucent white spilling from it to streak his skin.
If only Artur were a younger man and could fuck it back into him. Instead he wipes his cock clean with the provided cloth, tucks it back inside his trousers, and rounds the altar.
"Now, Mihran, your turn to breed him."