River does not know what to expect when Hadrius had commanded her to sleep in his bed for the night.

His demand, curt and cold, feels like a hunting crop lashed across her face, and she stands before the queen sized bed in a daze, hectic spots of red dotting her cheeks.

Her mind reels with dark, nebulous thoughts. Having just barely survived Odin's sexually deviant behaviour, she wonders if Hadrius is trying to do the same, perhaps in a more coaxing manner. Like a spider, he is slowly luring her in gossamer threads, wrapping her gently, spreading her wide— her mouth grows bone dry at the prospect of him.

Unlike Odin, Hadrius is an intimidating behemoth of a creature. She could not fight him off, and if she did try, River is sure he would snap her elbows within a heartbeat.

He is your master, the voice urges, dryly unpleasant, stealing her fears beneath the conventional expected role of a servant.

You do not deny the man who claimed you as his slave.

River hovers by the foot of his bed, listening to his agile nimble movements within the bathroom— splashing of water as he cleanses himself of Odin's stain, his scent of death.

River wrings her wrists as fear leaps into her throat, pulsing against her temple.

The door opens behind her and, in a moment a blind vulnerability, she risks a doleful glance over her shoulder at the warlord. He has divested himself of cloth, a thin dark inner garment doing little to shield his manhood that is tucked between the material and his right thigh.

The sight of it acutely reminds River of her city's horses, when mating season would come round and a stallion is released within the stables to flaunt it's rippling sinewy muscles, the dexterity of each hooves that pounds the earth to a blinding grimace.

And in between its legs hangs, perhaps, the largest manhood River had ever seen.

Hadrius reminds her of such a creature— in grace, beauty, and cock size.

The women who took him had never ending tunnels for no one could fit that thing.

Hadrius passes her with as much nonchalance as one would a piece of furniture, and draws the silken earthy covers from the bed.

He settles with a deepened sigh, and River silently stares, dumbfounded as the warlord casually lifts the covers to his shoulders. All she sees is his large silhouette curved beneath, the steady rise and fall of his side.

Time slips by on silver feet as she remains unmoving, gazing incredulously at the creature.

She blinks in bemusement; was this not the part where he tells her to strip? Lie beneath him? Spread her legs? Or must she seduce the creature.

Her thighs press together, indignantly.

It is his voice that breaks the lulling silence, resonant and aged like fine Oaks; "If you wish to stand all night, human, do so with the lights off."

River blinks once then twice, snapping into attention; "Sorry," she mutters whilst hurriedly approaching the candles. The flame flickers across her face, warming her lips that pout and blow sharply on the flame, extinguishing light as darkness settles swiftly and heavily.

Rising stiffly, she makes her way to the bed, blindly relying on her sense of touch, acutely aware of her heart which thunders like a jackhammer in the autistic dark.

Her palms brush on the silken cover, tentatively gripping the edge, she lifts it and slowly lowers herself into the bed.

Inhaling a silent, measured breath, River wills her body to stiffen and remain corpse still by his side. Her ears tilt to his soft inhales and sighs of exhales — the only evidence of him living as the rest of his body remains unmoving.

She gazes at the ceiling in a trance of silent fixation, and after a drawn moment, warily slants her gaze in Hadrius' direction.

The warlord had turned over to his side, his virile back facing her. Partial moonlight slants from slightly drawn curtains, casting lines along his upper vertebrae, illuminating white scars and aged wounds.

She rolls onto her side and folds both palms beneath her cheek. She traces the markings on his back with her dull gaze, following trails of ink that spills along the firm curve of his spine and spreads like flames across his ribcage, shoulder blades, lower spine— it all ripples with each breath that shifts layers upon layers of muscle.

Though they do not touch, the heat that radiates from his body is like embers from a fire and it presses on her like a flower between the pages of a book.

Her eyes lift to his ponytail, noting the few strands of silver that mixes in the endless ink black. Vaguely, she wonders how he came to have silver.

Grey, silver and white hair symbolize old age in mortals. She wonders if it means the same for Beasts.

But Hadrius did not seem past the age of forty, perhaps his early thirties. Yet such creatures were known not only for their supremacy but longevity. Extended mortalities that could surpass centuries.

River stiffens beneath the prospect of Hadrius being a century or so.

She blinks hard.

Did he have children?

Did he have a wife?

A mate. That was what they referred to their significant others.

As her eyelids begin to droop with the weight of exhaustion, River allows the final thought to linger in her mind like a mist of fatigue that slowly spreads.

Who was Hadrius' mate?

For the first time in a rather long time— River does not wake with a sense of urgency.

Perhaps it had been caused by the foreign comfort of sleeping on a thoroughly comfortable bed, or maybe it had been the ragged warmth that intensely spread along her front.

River grunts softly and stretches her arm over the hard curve. Her hand flexes and rubs the item feeling unfamiliar bumps then lowers further, fingertips trailing over a soft line of hair.

River presses her tired face into the stiff pillow and inhales, her eyebrows slowly knit at the centre in bemusement as an unfamiliar earthen scent evades her nostrils. Curiously, she wedges her face closer, burrowing her nose into the item and sniffs again... Then again.

It is something familiar yet unfamiliar. Something close to a forest... the scent of earth after a thunderstorm... Or rather, food items... Figs? No... it is neither that sharp, nor is it sweet... Almonds?

Just as her lips begin to part, pink tongue curiously darting out to lick the item— it shifts.

River stiffens immediately as her eyes snap open, widening in terror at the sight of Hadrius' neck, his back pressed against her front. Somehow through the night, she had managed to roll across the distance between and sling an arm across his torso, leg hooked over his hip in such an intimate, thoroughly bold manner.

The horror of it slowly boils through her blood, casting fingers of flames around her neck up to her face.

A sound similar to choking escapes the girl as she jerks away from his body, unable to halt her reeling of terror she continues to roll away until the mattress disappears beneath and the ground takes its place.

River catapults to the floor hard, hand shooting out at the last minute and grabbing the sheets in a futile attempt at preventing the fall.

Jarring pain spreads like a fire across her backside, and she groans as the sheets flatter around her face, slowly falling to cover her body burning in shame. She bites her tongue to prevent making any other sound when the creature shifts on the bed, stirring awake.

"Return the covers, human." Hadrius' voice is thick with sleep, deep with irritation.

River jerks upright position like a bent spring jumping back to its rightful position, "I'm sorry!" She speaks hastily, her head snaps to where his body lies, now on his back. " I didn't mean to touch you like that- usually I never touch people like that, I swear to the gods you can ask my mistress... not that she had ever requested me to sleep with her and—"

Hadrius growls low and throatily, casting an arm over his eyes while the other rubs his toned abdomen. His chiselled lips curl in irritation, "quiet yourself," he mutters as the hand that rubs his torso wanders lower and lower still.

River's mouth clamps shut, curious gaze trailing after his large palm. She had not noticed it then - when she had fallen with the sheets, it stripped the bed clean of any, revealing his large nude body.

It seems his final piece of undergarment had slipped away in the night, and her skin grows hot at the sight of his cock.

Hadrius is beyond well endowed, his cock thick and fully solid. It rests along his hardened lower abdomen, pulsing veins expanding and tracing just beneath the silky skin. One particular vein on the underside seems to thrum as his fingertip brushes along it, the lustful cock head twitching and to her horror, a bead of pre-cum forms, glistening like a diamond above his navel.

Shock surges through River, yet she is unable to rip her stare away as his large palm casually wraps around the unyielding cock.

She is sure, without a doubt, that her own fingers would not meet should they wrap around it.

Before her own eyes, Hadrius begins to pump himself.

His touch is unhurried and languid. Long strokes that pull down, tugging at the circumcised top revealing the bulbous tip.

His hand flexes at the base, seems to twist, then rises as it loosens in grip. The action repeats itself, intermittently picking pace and his chest vibrates as wet sounds echo all around the room, bouncing on her skin.

She watches the pacing of his hand, deliberate strokes, from down at the base, rooting in his dark pubic hair, to up, just below the flaring rim. And then back down again. At no point, during the first seven or eight strokes, does he touch the head of his cock. Just the sensitive shaft.

A titillated groan reverberates from the warlord, briefly drawing her attention to his face still partially hidden beneath the arm over his eyes. His spartan jaw flexes, a slight hue forming on mountain cut cheekbones as he extends his strokes by mere inches to include his cock head, popping up over the tender rim and popping back down under the rim to again stroke his throbbing cock.

All this while, her eyes are riveted on his dexterous hand, the veins trail over his upper hand, soon growing slick with precum adding lubrication to the action. Occasionally she darts to Hadrius' marbled face then back, the slightest tip of her pink tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in smarted curiosity.

His fist continues to slip up and down his shaft, and his thumb continues to strum on his sensitive tissues like a master musician playing a Stradivarius. Hadrius' breathing shallowly quickens; she unconsciously matches his own breathings.

She watches his body clench up, muscles rippling with a certain movement far from human as he passes the threshold of inevitability. He strokes himself rapidly, wet slapping noises sounding morbidly erotic, staining her ears red and her lips part, watching the warlord come undone before her.

His jaw loosens, and lips part as a throaty moan drifts past.

The first spurt of semen erupts out of his yawning cock slit. It goes straight up, and comes down, landing right on the head of his cock, just as the second spurt was likewise erupting. It lands thickly along his lower abdomen with a splat, gushing like a volcano spewing hot lava down a mountainside.

River watches in fascination as the never ending lava-like flow of semen covers his cock, his pubic hair, his balls, his hand and fingers. His hand still moves, slowly stroking himself to completion and his chest trembles, abdomen flexing.

When he is done, his whole torso is white and creamy, the musky smell of his potent fluids pressing on her.

Finally, in the surly silence, River manages to draw her gaze from his manhood and to his face.

She stiffens at the sight of lust dark eyes, the shade of pressed olives, steadily watching her.

Hadrius' sleek hand falls over her side of the mattress, and he curls two fingers, an indulgent dim to his eyes as he beckons her over.

"Come here, human."

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