The Demon Lord and his Hero (BL)

"How romantic, you brought me to the dungeon." Syryn ran a hand down the cold stone wall of the room. There was a single window that allowed moonlight into the chamber, their only source of illumination.

"I wanted privacy," Rowan replied, fingers unbuttoning his collar to cool his skin. "Everywhere else has couples crawling around in close quarters." The anti mage was still feeling the effects of the alcohol he had copiously imbibed.

Paying attention to the collarbones that were exposed to the air, Syryn asked, "Privacy for what?" and he let the words drag along with a load of something dark and suggestive lacing the ordinariness of his query.

Rowan met Syryn's eyes, matching the weight of the stare that was hot against the neutrality of his expression.

The lingering gazes, the expectation so syrupy thick between them - it left the alchemist's breath quickening.

"Syryn, I'm not one of your boy toys," Rowan stepped closer to the alchemist and silkily informed him. "Not someone you can discard after a kissing game." Breath skimming over Syryn's skin, Rowan pressed in closer, towering over the smaller mage.

"I know," The alchemist replied, chin raised to give Rowan access to his lips. The anti mage's face hovered over his, heat building in the blue eyes that trailed down to a waiting mouth.

"Tell me you want this," Rowan's lips ghosted over Syryn's. "Ask me for it."

A frisson of excitement skimmed down Syryn's spine at the knowledge of Rowan taking control. The anti mage had allowed the alchemist to lead their interactions. Now, the older boy was taking back the reigns. Syryn was cornered with his back against the wall, head trapped between Rowan's arms on each side of it.

"Please kiss me, Rowan," Syryn murmured the words he had wanted to for so long.

Without wasting time, the anti mage was swooping down, stealing Syryn's breath away. Warmth blossomed between their lips and the mage breathed it in like it was the last breath he would ever take.

Syryn opened up to let Rowan into his mouth, tongues meeting in gentle gliding motions. Rowan was trying so hard not to devour Syryn in a bruising kiss but the way those hips were pressing into his groin made it impossible for the anti mage to do anything but seek friction against his hardening member.

The alchemist was so soft, sweet and pliant under his mouth, it drove Rowan crazy. Teenage hormones blinded the anti mage to everything but the demand of his loins. He had to put an end to their entanglement while reason prevailed.

After a thorough exploration of the alchemist's mouth, he pulled away from the lethal lips and peppered tiny kisses against the alchemist's neck. "We have to go back- they'll come looking for us."

"Let them," Syryn recaptured Rowan's mouth and ran his tongue over the bottom lip. With a low groan, Rowan was kissing him hard, pulling tighter against the waist that was pressed up against his groin. Wet and warm, their tongues met in a dance that mimicked the motions of what Rowan wanted to do with another part of his body.

With a mighty burst of his willpower, Rowan put distance between them. Eyes shutting, the anti mage took deep calming breaths and fought to regulate his heartbeat. They had to leave. Rowan eyed the beautifully dishevelled boy and was tempted to ruin him further but it wasn't the right time.

"No one's going to believe that you weren't taken advantage of," he observed Syryn with lowered lashes, gold and thick, shadowing the electric blues that were hazy with desire.

"I don't care." The alchemist skillfully pulled his hair free of its ribbon and combed through silky strands with his slender fingers.

A dark look passed over Rowan's expression and his gaze turned sharper. "You don't care for what Artemus or Salem thinks about you running off with me?"

After tying back his hair, Syryn carefully smoothed the wrinkles on his suit jacket and replied, "Jealousy isn't a good look on you, Rowan."

"The audacity," Rowan let out a humourless laugh. "You're a cold bastard, Syryn."

The alchemist's deep indigo eyes curved into a foxy smile. "For your information, I know who my father is - but I can agree with the sentiment."

Clothing now sufficiently righted, Syryn reached out to button Rowan's collar. "When you come back 4 years later, we're going to fuck." It was said with a certainty that came from the confidence that Rowan's opinion about it could be swayed by the force of Syryn's will.

"You're really unbelievable," Rowan testily replied to the unruffled mage.

"We're both horny aren't we?"

Rowan was blown away by Syryn's nonchalant words. "Is this all that it is to you?"

No. This was Syryn protecting himself from heartbreak because the chance of Rowan getting with Lillith was still high. He was the champion and she would be the chosen priestess. To reject Lillith would be rejecting Eos' will, and Syryn wasn't quite sure if Rowan was up for such a blatant show of rebellion just yet.

"I can hear footsteps," Syryn looked at the closed door. The footfalls were soft and had stopped right outside of their door.

"Vincent," Syryn called out, "here for a threesome?"

Rowan's brows were raised at Syryn, stricken at how shameless the boy was.

"That's- no thanks, I'm good." Vincent opened the door and walked in appearing cautiously embarrassed. He looked to Rowan with the universal expression that communicated awkward discomfort at interrupting a good time. "You're done?" He winced, internally cringing at the words. He'd liked to continue to believe that Rowan was asexual, like his parents. The anti mage had a difficult time wrapping his mind around Rowan doing the dirty with anyone besides his own hand.

"Yes," Rowan tersely replied. "Syryn was just leaving."

"No, I wasn't. It's you that wanted to leave."

"Maybe I should come back later," Vincent turned around hastily. "Wait, Syryn?!" He turned back so fast, it whipped the air around him. "You're Syryn Nigh'hart?!"

The alchemist smiled charmingly - coy and blooming with all the allure of his ethereal beauty. Vincent was snared by the smile, staring like a doe caught in the lights of a priest's holy blessing. Syryn's deliberate seduction elicited an eye roll from Rowan who wondered why he had fallen for such a siren.

"I'll leave first then," Syryn lightly patted Vincent on the shoulders and left the room, cadence unhurried and relaxed.

"Here's the latest on Vincent, he's into men."

The terror on Vincent's face was almost comical. "Rowan, I like boobs. I like soft and perfumed thighs."

"I know," the blonde replied. "I doubt you're homosexual."

"And you?" The gold eyed anti mage asked Rowan much too curiously.

"Only Syryn," Rowan answered honestly, certain of his feelings - and thinking himself the biggest idiot in town.

Pressing a hand to his forehead, Vincent washed his hands off the bullshit that would no doubt find them when the princess became aware of Rowan's predilections. "What about Lillith?"

"I don't owe her a damn thing. I'm not her boyfriend so don't give me that look." Rowan tolerated Lillith's attention that came unwanted. He had brushed her off, made it clear to her that he wasn't interested, and even turned down all her gifts, but the princess was relentless. She believed that Rowan would one day fall in love with her if she tried hard enough to win his favour.

"Why did you come here?" He asked Vincent.

"Lord Chancellor sent me to find you. Some mage hunters have arrived for your paperwork."

Vincent had forgotten all about the missive when he had found Rowan looking ravished and sporting swollen lips, that too in the presence of the stranger that was the talk of the ball - the stranger who turned out to be Syryn fucking Nigh'hart.

Syryn appeared back at the table unperturbed, a vague smile pasted on his face for all the people watching him. "What did I miss?" He asked Alka. The mage was eating a piece of fruit from his fork.

Alka tilted his chin to study Syryn like a suspicious mother. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Where is Rowan?"

"No idea. Probably where I left him."

"How many men, Syryn?" Alka asked, tone dropping to a severe octave. It took a while for the alchemist but he understood what Alka was asking about.

"Four."

"Only four?" Alka narrowed his eyes at Syryn.

"So far, yes."

"You should tell Artemus."

Syryn nodded, "I will, but I'm sure he already knows. Your brother is more observant than you credit him for." Syryn snapped a cherry off of its stem and pushed the fruit into his mouth.

"You're right." Alka looked away. Worrying his lower lip with his teeth, the mage let the matter go. Artemus was an adult and could handle his affairs without Alka butting in.

"Would you be okay with Artemus or Rowan dallying with other people?"

Syryn shrugged at the plant mage, "It's the price I pay for my indiscretion. Think of it this way - I'm having my fun before I decide where to park my carriage."

Alka blinked at Syryn and shook his head. "You're a bastard."

"I've been told," Syryn replied. "If it's any consolation to you, I'm saving the rest of my body for one person. As much as it pains me to admit it, I'm not a man-whore, Alka."

They were joined by a presence that butted into the conversation. "I really doubt that. Saving your body for just one man, I mean, I won't judge if you sleep with the entirety of Winter Fortress - the more the merrier right?" Magnus took the seat next to him and smirked, "it's just, something tells me you're going to town someday with not one but two anti mages."

"Not likely. Neither is the type to share," Syryn objectively replied. "And why stop at Winter Fortress? I'll even take King Hill, And then the royal family."

"You're a riot, Syryn," Magnus said with a chuckle. Artemus and Rowan not getting at each other's throats was already a show of temporary peace and sharing, with a heavy emphasis on the temporary part of it. Add an unpredictable Salem to the mix and even Magnus could not foretell what the future held. He was glad to have experienced the bliss and stepped out of it too. Syryn, as gorgeous as he was - was trouble, and Magnus wasn't about that thrill-seeking life.

"Toxic," Alka added.

"I'll drink to that." Syryn downed a glass of peach wine that the fire mage had brought.

"To Syryn's messy future relationships," Magnus raised an empty glass, disgruntled at the alchemist for swiping his peach wine.

"To my brother getting hooked by a bastard," Alka raised his glass of juice. And Syryn couldn't find it in himself to get mad at Alka because it was true.

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