Chapter Text
Harry woke up when a cold drop of water, which dragged down a rusty stalactite growing from the hatch of a ventilation shaft for a few hours, finally landed on his forehead.
He blinked confusedly and then felt a wave of panic as he realized that in the darkness disturbed only by the faint glimmer of a few torches, he was strapped to a stone pillar by an iron chain with handcuffs. Except for a starched ceremonial chemise which reached to his knees, he had nothing on. So since he wasn’t stupid, his heart missed a beat with that finding.
He knew that ending up in here was always a possibility. His prize for the few years of being what some would call and above-person, hiding in plain sight when he swore the oath. He just selfishly hoped he won’t ever be the unlucky one.
How could it possibly be him?!
There were literally hundreds of mutants under the wings of Royals. Every day, dozens of outcasts, reciting the words of allegiance in exchange for a little DNA change meant to turn their lives easier. Yet: it was Harry who was to pay for all of them this month. It was only his fate to end up killed for the Prince’s purebred urges in this humid dark dungeon.
“No,” slipped helplessly from his lips as he worked himself up to the unsettling certainty of his situation.
“Please, no,” his chest heaved with terror, and then constricted with a regret of ever entering this cursed district of the city with a simple wish to have a chance at survival in today’s world.
“Please! Don’t do it! Please! I can pay you back in a different way! Please! I could work for you! I could become your slave! ...Just don’t kill me. Let me have my life! Please!”
It only took a few dreading minutes of screaming into nothingness to feel the cold seeping into his bones through his bare feet. He couldn’t feel the chills before, due to the shock of waking up in this black pit, but now, his teeth literally started to clatter.
“Fuck!” he barked into the void helplessly and then realized that he should at least try to save himself: “Help!” he screamed with chin lifted to the ventilation, a mocking echo bouncing back from the oddly vaulted ceiling. “Help!” he tried to rattle the chains against the stones to create the loudest sound possible. It took some time (not that long, because since they’ve probably injected him with something, he couldn’t use his mutant abilities) before he finally felt exhaustion. Sweat was pooling at the end of his spine, drops of it rolling down his temples. The icy rocks were still burning into his soles as he tried to breathe, though.
In the second of silence after his deep, desperate exhale which turned into steam, he suddenly heard the darkness tear with a sound. Something was moving, no, slithering across the damp paved floor, that made Harry stop yelling, even if he really wanted to scream more. Through the shadows of the poorly illuminated place, he didn’t see it. But he knew that it was closer every second.
He shivered and with a new wave of the lowest instinct of self-preservation, he tried to tug at his cuffs.
Fear was a bitch. It turned Harry into a poor wreck of a person. He felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks and into the rhythm of his spooked, startled heart, he started whispering the word please, over and over again. Stubbornly so.
It felt awful. More sinister than necessary, Harry would call it. If he at least knew what to expect, maybe he could make peace with it in advance. Prepare himself. Like this, it was just adding to the torture of waiting.
He felt his chest rapidly rising and falling, the coldness of the stone pillar seeping into his shoulder blades through the thin layer of fabric.
How long will it take me to die? Will he torture me? Or rather just get over with it fast enough? he asked himself, as if knowing the answers could ever possibly be comforting.
“Please,” he sobbed again, and it had nothing of his previous dedication to surviving in it. More like a plea for a quick death.
But then he saw the eyes.
Glowing silver. Cold, freezing. Like if the touch of the colour in that gaze alone could cover things with frostbites.
Harry’s jaw fell down in surprise, a weak gasp escaping his throat. Because. He knew those eyes.
Whenever he was angry, they were his.
...
Some believe that one can choose how much they’ll let their beast take over. But that is just a story. Nobody can choose what they are born as. Who they are in life. What they need to do to survive.
Louis was born a Prince, son of two dragons. And he should have been proud and embraced the power. He just could not.
The first person Louis killed was his best friend, Oli. They were just kids, ran to play in the garden. Louis lost a game... When he came back to reason, covered in Oli’s still warm intestines, gaping for air, staring at the joint sticking out the little arm he tore off its body and having Oli’s brown eyes frozenly fixed at him in shock... when he realized what happened, he got a panic attack.
His mother only told him to not freak out about it, giving him advice about how he should surrender to his powers. Louis, however, didn’t see it as a power. It was a curse.
When it got clear to the queen that Louis is a weak excuse of a royal, she slapped his face and left him to drown in darkness. The bravest servant, Louis’ nanny, who was also his wet nurse and loved the boy as her own son, dared to enter his room, even if she saw the massacre by the fountain. She tried to comfort him, soothe him, tell him that he was loved and destined to live a great life. She never managed to convince him, however. Even as young as he was, he couldn’t perceive himself as a powerful creature worth respect as his mother wanted him to see it. He was only a monster, a too dangerous one.
The problem, though, was that he couldn’t die. When he tried poison, just before his heart stopped beating, he changed into the dragon and his body created antidotes. When he tried bleeding out, it worked the same: on the very edge, he switched forms and his wounds healed in a blink. Rope always snapped. No amount of rocks could hold him under water long enough, and if he tried to starve himself, he just killed more people than one. After every try, as if the monster in him was doing it in spite, he paid with committing a murder.
When it got too much, he did the only thing he could: burying himself so deep under his darkness, that there wouldn’t have to slip back into his soul-bearing side of mind and had to relive tearing throats, screams and pools of blood with conscience. In the darkness, he could not be, only endure time.
Every three months, there was a mutant chained to the pillar for him. So that he’d soothe his demon and not break down the whole castle.
Sometimes, it felt like the captives resigned to their fate with reconciliation. Like if they accepted it. Like if they didn’t even long for a chance to fight, because they didn’t deserve it...
Louis tried to imagine that they were murderers. Like him. He tried to not concentrate on it too much.
This time, though, something was different. Something in the air. It made Louis halt before jumping forward. It made him come closer to look. It made him feel a guttural growl forming deep inside of his gut. And then it made him burn inside.
He lost all control and with a tortured roar and snapping bones, he switched into his human form. He panted, his thin pale skin too hot against the rocks. The pain of transformation vibrated through his veins, a white noise pulsing through his ears. But it was somehow dull. Not important. Because there was also the hunger flowing through him. Not the bloodlust kind. It made him stand up.
As his knees buckled, he stared at the curly boy in the chains, blinking, trying to catch up his breath.
“Who are you?” he asked tremblingly. His voice sounded so strange after all the years of not using it.
The lad seemed terrified, silently pressing his back into the pillar as if he could become one with it. But maybe he thought it a sign of hope that Louis has switched. So he gave him his name at last: “H-Harry. I’m Harry.”
Louis swallowed. Because the way Harry’s whisper made his skin covered with chills... Only an urge stronger than the one to kill could ever bring him back: a mating haze, if the partner chose to present as a human. To induce that state, Louis would need another dragon, though. Which – he could tell – this boy was not. No one who wasn’t a member of his precious and pretentious family of pure bloods could be one, so this definitely wasn’t a relative. Louis could smell human on him. Yet. Here they were, flames of desperation awakening in Louis’ belly.
“...What... what are you? ...Why are you here?”
The royals never allowed anyone to use their DNA components. In fact, using it was punishable by death. How could anyone even get their hand on something containing the dragon matrix?
Did his mother send him? Was this some kind of a sick game of trying Louis’ border lines?
He didn’t want this. He never even thought of mating, nor was it ever his intention to try. What it was worth, it was not his fate to give pleasure, he didn’t deserve it, and was in no way prepared to potentially bring new Devil’s breed into this world.
To be honest, he would rather kill the boy right now than getting attached to later bath in his blood – or their hatchlings. It would hurt less. It was a quick decision. Only: it seemed he no longer possessed any self control, he found out as he paced so close to the lad to be able to drag his nose up over his neck, breathing the scent of his sweated skin deep inside of his lungs... and then tearing the obstructive piece of cloth on him with both of his hands, baring him free for Louis to devour with his eyes... and then the soft pads of his fingers, until he yearned to grab for him, turn him over and knead at his waist and ass and thighs...
Harry tried to jerk free, the chains rattling. Louis didn’t really like the sound, so he spined Harry over to press his back into the pillar once again, reaching for the chain and wrapping it around the metal clamp for several times so that the boy would no longer be able to move his hands as they were now raised up, hanging limply in the handcuffs. He cornered him against the stone, aligning their chests.
Harry squeaked in fright, and then, somehow still not on Louis’ wave, he tried to beg for his life: “Please, don’t torture me! Please! I never knew it was your scale I found! I thought it was a crocodile one! Please! I just wanted a chance for a better life! I never used my powers for wrongdoings! I swear! Please, Prince! ...Prince Louis!”
A mutant of his flesh, then...
Somehow, the discovery felt arousing, just as hearing his name out of Harry’s lips. A sweet, honey-like warmth travelled up his spine. His breaths quickened. And it was only when he reached to clasp around the backs of both of Harry’s knees, knocked his legs out from under him (so that his breath hitched) and lifted his weight up to buckle his hips forward, his already fully erected cock pressing right against Harry’s hole, when the lad’s green eyes blew wide with realization of what is to come, only a weak shuddered breath escaping his lips before he seemed to quickly adapt to the situation and changed his tactics of survival: “Ok! Easy! ...You want me? That’s fine. I just want you to–”
Louis wasn’t in a mood for getting bossed around, however. – Or negotiating. It was like if a current of sparks coursed through him, like if a magnetic power of Harry’s body was calling for him. So he silenced his words with joining their mouths, plunging in for a bruising kiss.
Harry resisted for a while, didn’t give in. He tried to hold his breath, too. But the truth was that in his position, there was not much things he could do except not moving his tongue, and then, when he lost the fight with his lungs and had to inhale a gallon of new air, panting, all the resistance somehow left his body. Instead, he felt ignited.
The pheromones must have done their job right, their biology fighting for the nature’s advantage, because even before Louis pulled away, an involuntary moan trickled down Harry’s dissolving dignity as a gush of slick wetted his entrance where Louis’ cock never stopped teasing it.
“Fuck,” Harry threw his head back, his tummy fluttering with shallow breaths, “what is this,” he whimpered, eyes wide with concern when he felt something slick oozing out of him and a crimson red fog clouding his judgement. Normally, fear would devour him as he had never had his hole lubed up all by itself like this, and he definitely also never felt like he’d die if not bred right this second. Now, though, he cared only about one thing: that some place inside of his stomach started burning like if it was scorched and needed rain and that he was sure that if a storm doesn’t come, if he’s left without moisture, it will be the death of him. With every ticking second, every drop he heard falling down after ending its slow way down the stalactites, he could feel the drought spreading, screaming for cultivation. He only craved redemption.
“Please!”
It was a different kind of plea than before, Louis observed. This one was free of dread. There was only an ache for being stuffed in it, yearning to get full. A visceral animal urge.
Louis chest rumbled and he brought Harry’s legs to place them around his waist, let them lock by ankles behind his back. As it was done, he roughly gripped Harry’s hips and moved his own up, his knob finally entering the boy as his previously taunt muscles loosened up and greeted him with an embracing warmth.
They both screamed, their hot breaths mixing in one puff of steam in the poor lightning. Harry’s chest heaved up as he felt his walls stretching over just the top of the Prince’s large cock. A sharp strike of pain made his body taunt.
Louis leaned closer again, to swallow Harry’s moan, to make the ache more bearable for him, even if it was a selfish act of hoping to get the boy relaxed and loose enough to breed him with eggs soon enough. Because he needed him full of shells, pregnant with his future, carrying his seed.
Harry clung to him with a soft gasp and then, their tongues started dancing. It felt overwhelming, to lick into each other’s mouths, tease the other’s lip by grazing it with teeth, rubbing against the other.
When his head started spinning, Louis broke away, but only to start licking down over Harry’s neck, filthily sucking the pale skin into his mouth and sometimes applying pressure to leave his marks. The pleasure it brought caused Harry to not concentrate on the pulsing girth in between his legs for a while. Before the Prince moved.
Harry was so tight. So wet. So gorgeous. And Louis needed to take, not be patient. Out of instinct, he bit into the juncture in between Harry’s neck and shoulder... and bottomed out.
The crimson red fog suddenly turned solid in Harry’s head. And then exploded. It hurt. So bad. But he loved how full he felt, he loved how the Prince’s savage groan thrummed through his body from the spot where his teeth tore Harry’s skin, and it sent a feral shudder of arousal up his spine.
„Ah! Need more!“ his lips parted in a gasp and then opened wider in a contented cry as Louis answered his plea with planting his palm against his stomach and pressed against where his cock was forming a bulge in Harry’s tummy.
“Oh God! Yes! God! Yes! Fill me up! Neet to be full! Please!”
Louis could feel the monster in him preening over this, unable to hold up another untamed growl, long and low. He stirred, pulling out from Harry’s sinfully divine heat, but only to thrust in again and again, adding on speed until he made Harry yelp with the movements, piercing him on his prick, slashing him up, stretching him up so nicely, building this tension in him that made his back taunted as a bow until it snapped with Louis’ next shallow thrust and then turned into a shriek of sensational madness.
Harry’s body was writhing in convulsions of ecstasy, clenching around Louis’ cock, the spasms sucking all energy and control out of him while ropes of his hot come started spurting over Louis’ pecks. He lost control over all of his muscles and if Louis didn’t hook at least one of his limb legs around his hip, not to let him slip off his shaft, he’d only numbly hang there on the chains, short of breath, sweat and slick dripping down his thighs, stars exploding behind his closed eyelids, a desperately puckered, swollen hole gaping for any kind of substitute for a perfect length, a heart wildly slamming against his ribcage.
But he craved more. He wanted absolute fullness. The seed which would grow inside him, eggs that would stretch his womb so much that his skin would tear with stretchmarks on the outside...
“Breed me!”
Louis’s eyes flashed with a silver gleam before he rolled them back into his scull as he got hit with an unfamiliar feeling of something round pushing down his pubic bone and lower into his balls, the whole of his ball sack suddenly unusually heavy and full. He rolled his hips, crashing his mouth with Harry’s again. And then he felt the first egg pushing up.
Harry’s walls burned with the stretch, so much that it made his muscles clench around Louis’ dick, now girthier with the slowly moving object inside, but when he tried to focus on how one of the Prince’s hands tenderly travelled over his chest and nipples, down his sternum and around his bellybutton, all the way up to the now limb dick, caressing every inch of his hot skin as if in soothing manner, it was also somehow extremely pleasurable. When the first egg pressed into a sensitive spot inside that previously scorched place in his stomach, Harry’s cock twitched in a reaction to it and woke to hardness under Louis’ fingers. There was a strange weightiness to the egg and a lot of jelly-like liquid that came with it, too – Harry could feel it trickling right into him, somehow making him feel chilly inside, causing him to curl closer to Louis’ body.
The Prince grunted, moving again, pressing his sweaty forehead against Harry’s and letting out a long rugged breath, as if it hurt him to be going through this. Harry felt special thanks to it and he tried to somehow help Louis by grinding into him, which made Louis growl, and then, at least a dozen of eggs followed in a very quick succession, Harry wasn’t sure about a precise number, because the feeling of the eggs stretching him in combination with the Prince’s fist pumping over his prick until he started cumming for a second time, only made him exhaustedly cry out.
When it was all over and the Prince slipped out of him, carefully standing him down, Harry was somehow glad for the chains, because the dungeon suddenly started rotating around him, the stones under his feet swinging to left and right, and he could only tell that it was all happening due to several kilograms of eggs and aspic nestled in his body which he was yet to get used to. He would have liked to feel, honestly, let his hand marvel over his new shapes. But the chains were still in place.
Just as the thought entered his head, the Prince’s palm stroked over his protruding bump. Tenderly so. Like if it had a bigger meaning.
Harry blinked and waited, his breath shallow. He was not stupid. He was to die here, no matter if with eggs inside of him – or only after they are out.
But Louis placed a damp curl behind his ear and whispered: “I won’t hurt you.”
And he really meant it. In his core, he was somehow entirely certain that he could never hurt Harry. The dragon in him wouldn’t allow it. He was meant to protect him. Keep him warm and nurtured, alive until someone brings the next prisoner for him and takes them out of here.
Because with his eggs inside of him, Harry gave Louis a reason to live, something he never had before.