Gift fic from my friend Botias!
Summary: The Sleeping Princess episode goes the way Lotor probably would have preferred.
When Allura awoke, it was dark and a little too warm. She tried to move, sit up, pushing with her hands.
She could not. Her hair was caught on something, and her skirts seemed to be as well.
She felt the texture of fabric under her palms, soft and supple—movement—the rise and fall of a breath.
Allura stilled. Perhaps she was in the hospital. The last thing she remembered was Keith’s upset face; had her loyal captain fallen asleep at her side?
Even as she thought this, she felt the beginnings of panic. The man next to her was not asleep. Even now she could feel his breath quicken—she pulled her hands away—and somehow she knew it was not Keith.
“Who are you?”
Only silence. She felt her heart begin to race.
“Where am I?!”
Still she was ignored, but she could feel his silent laughter. Anger gave her the courage to reach for his face, her hands quickly finding the smooth planes of his cheeks and moving upward. Her fingers brushed his hair, found his ears—and followed their shape all the way to the pointed tips.
It seemed she had hit on a subject he wanted to talk about. “Yes, Allura,” he laughed, “Me!!”
It was bad enough to hear his nasty, insinuating voice on her com. To have it in her ears, to feel his breath warm on her bare shoulders—Allura made an angry sound and began to hit him, alternately pummeling and shoving at him with all her strength. She kicked out too, but her legs were bound by her skirts.
If she had been thinking clearly, she would have gone for his nose or his eyes. As it were, she accomplished nothing except to feel the close confines of her strange prison before her wrists were gathered up by his hand.
“Now, now, is that any way to treat your future husband?” She could easily picture his complacent expression, the smug curl of his full mouth, the lazy blink of his amber eyes.
“I will never marry you, Lotor,” she spat into the darkness. “I’ll die first!” She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he held her easily, his long fingers like manacles around her wrists.
“Then it seems my timing is perfect,” he said, his tone rich with amusement. “You are dead, Allura.”
“No…” she whispered, going still in his grasp.
At first, she was so shocked by what he had said that she didn’t notice his lips moving along her collarbone—then it was impossible to feel anything else. His mouth was warm and very soft—and he was kissing her skin with a leisurely possessiveness.
“Stop that!!” she said, hating the thread of panic in her voice.
His only response was the hot, slick swirl his tongue in the hollow at the base of her throat. Allura gasped and pulled away as far the space allowed, skin tingling with shock. He followed just as quickly—in an instant she was pinned against the padded surface at her back, feeling his much larger frame pressed against her from head to toe. The fingers that were tangled her hair tightened now; he held her in place with his hands and body as his mouth moved to her breasts. Allura made a strangled sound when he again stroked her with his tongue, a warm caress that brushed the inner curves of her breasts, laved the sensitive valley in between.
“You taste divine,” he said. His voice was a rich purr, but it was not amusement that deepened it now. He lifted his head to rub his smooth cheek against hers, pressing approving kisses to her temple and the corner of her parted lips.
Then he again he bent his head to her bare skin. She was wearing a dress of some kind; material barred him from going further, but his eager caresses were already causing that barrier to retreat. Allura floundered for anything she might say or do to distract him.
“N-no! N-not until we are married! Not until I am your wife!”
To her amazement and relief, he stilled. For a long moment there was silence in the small space.
“I knew you would change your mind about marrying me,” he said, at last. The self-satisfaction was clear in his voice.
Allura bit her lip as he nuzzled eagerly against the underside of her jaw—at least it wasn’t her breasts.
“I knew you were just being difficult. I can give you so much, Allura! Wealth… power…” And then his mouth was moving downward again, “…pleasure.”
Allura tensed. “But! Not until after the ceremony!”
He stopped again.
“This wouldn’t be a delay tactic would it, Allura?”
There was a slight edge to his voice now. “No one will be coming for you. They believe you dead—I saw the touching funeral procession myself.”
Allura felt a pang of dismay at the thought, but surely it couldn’t be true?
“No, no, not a delay tactic,” she said, rushing into speech. The tension in the big body pressed to hers didn’t ease at her words. Desperately, she searched for something that might convince him. “I-I just realized that I am so—”
She had meant to say that she’d fallen in love with him or some such thing, but, when she went on her voice was softer, and the confession that followed came far too easily in the darkness. “I am so tired of fighting this war; I wish—I wish I had put an end to it long ago.” She made no attempt to hide the ache of emotion in her voice; perhaps she couldn’t even if she’d wanted to. Eyes closed, she waited for what would come next.
Saying nothing, Lotor slowly released his grip on her hair.
Allura’s eyes blinked open, a rush of relief and something like hope breathing new life into her limbs. Lotor’s grandiose schemes, they never worked—not really. Rescue was probably—
She felt a tugging at her skirts, pulling them free from their tangle; the traitorous silk began to slide up her legs.
Panicking, Allura pressed her legs together, and pulled against his grip. “Stop! What are you doing?”
“Peace— An end to fighting—” Lotor scoffed. “Clearly you need to have your priorities adjusted, Princess. The wealth and power will have to wait, but the pleasure we can start on right now…”
Shaking her head, Allura pressed her knees together as hard as she could, but she couldn’t prevent Lotor from sliding one long finger between her legs, pressing and stroking through the thin, soft material that covered her there. He was back at her breasts again too, but Allura barely felt it, too aware of the shocking touch against her most tender and private flesh, rubbing and rubbing until she felt dizzy.
“I’m the first to touch you here aren’t I, Allura?”
Shock had held her rigid and silent under his touch, but the smug certainty in his voice made her see red, “NO!” she lied.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“You take everything as ‘yes’, Lotor,” Allura spat. “You’d mount a—” she yanked hard against his grip “—a stop sign because it led you on.”
In response, Lotor nuzzled her bodice down a little further, his lips finding the tip of her breast unerringly in the darkness. She cried out when he pulled it into the warmth of his mouth, tugging hard and growling with pleasure. Color blossomed behind her eyelids. She cried out and tried to arch away when the finger between her legs slipped under her last flimsy protection and began to probe and push. He found the entrance of her body and slid his finger inside with a grunt of satisfaction. It stung, but he showed no mercy, shoving it into her again and again, pushing little cries out of her.
“Paradise,” he murmured against her skin, and then he shifted his mouth to her other breast, pushing her dress down and laving and suckling it thoroughly. “Such a tight little virgin…” his voice was low and rough in the darkness, almost unrecognizable—but the satisfaction was loud and clear.
She hated him so much just then that she was giddy with it. He pushed his finger into her to the knuckle, making her cry out, weak tears forming. “Never had a man in you,” he breathed. “I’m afraid you’re going to be starting with me, right now.”
His words brought another surge of panic; she pulled frantically against his grip, but it was immovable. There a small, liquid sound as his mouth closed on her breast again. It was almost as if he couldn’t help himself; he rubbed the rough velvet of his tongue against the tip, pressing and suckling until she wanted to scream. Then he began to bite at her, eager pinches of his teeth that promised real pain, but never quite delivered.
She didn’t realize that her legs had fallen open until another finger worked in next to the first, his hand moving un-hindered between her thighs. She moaned, feeling battered by the sensations he forced on her.
She didn’t know how long it was before he finally released her from his mouth, pulled his fingers away.
“I must see this…” She heard fumbling above her, and then light came slowly.
There was no mistaking him; it was her enemy who was doing those things to her in the dark: the long white hair swept back behind his pointed ears, skin the color of the sky at the horizon. Yet she’d never seen him quite this way: his handsome face was slack with pleasure and arousal; his cat’s eyes were hugely dilated and a little unfocused. He was pressed so close that she could see little else except for him. He pulled back from her a little, silently taking in her bared breasts, moving with her rapid breaths, then her thighs and hips, framed by her pushed up skirts and petticoats; his own breath began to come faster, until his chest seemed to rise and fall in time with her own.
She shivered as that hungry, half-lidded gaze moved over her. His lips parted a little; she could see the tips of his lower canines, his pink tongue; it looked as though he were tasting the air as he breathed it in.
“You are so very beautiful, Allura,” he said. He reached out his free hand and began to run it over her breasts. His fingertips slid over the curves, lingering on the rosy marks he’d made with his teeth, and catching against the tight, damp skin of her nipples, causing a twist of sensation. She hissed, but couldn’t pull away, already pressed as far back as she could go. Her reaction seemed to get his attention. He pinched the tip of one of her breasts delicately between his thumb and forefinger, rolling and rubbing until it was painfully tight. He watched in silence as she arched and whimpered.
She cried out when he suddenly transferred his fingers to her other breast, giving it a sharp tweak; he bent his head then, enveloping its mate in the silky heat of his mouth. The opposing sensations made her writhe against his hold. “Please,” she said finally, despising the breathy, pleading note in her voice.
She shuddered when he released her breasts, but felt no real relief. He moved his hand to her belly and hips, stroking her quivering skin, the tip of his thumb pressing lightly into her navel.
He caught her eye as his long fingers slid under the band of her underwear. She stared helplessly up at his exotic face, haughty even with its expression of private pleasure; he began to draw the frail garment down her thighs, dragging it over her sensitized skin. Then his eyes were drawn back to her body; he made a pleasured sound in his throat as he bared her further to his gaze.
Allura made no resistance. A sense of inevitability had come over her; it was clear that he meant to have his way, and her hopes for a timely rescue were gone; her breasts felt thoroughly debauched, and her insides still ached from the stroke of his fingers. It was already too late.
All of her complacency vanished when he absently freed himself from his clothes, and she saw what he expected to put inside of her.
“No…” she breathed, eyes wide. “NO. Don’t even think about it, Lotor! Go find yourself a mare to service and leave me alone!”
He gave her a sly, sidelong look, what she could see of his irises a clear, burning amber, before he returned his gaze to her body. His fingers curled around his rampant sex, giving it a leisurely tug. “What’s the matter, Allura? It only wants to be friends.” His eyes widened a little. “Think of it as a peace process.”
“I hate you.”
He laughed. “In time you will come to appreciate it and me!”
“No,” she moaned, despairing. She kicked out, but he only grabbed her thigh above the knee and pulled it up over his hip, shifting forward until he was holding her open with his body.
When she closed her eyes to block out what she could of what was to happen, the last thing she saw was that he was still watching, rapt.
She shivered when his fingers rubbed over her exposed sex, “You are even more lovely than I imagined.”
She expected him to take her then, but he seemed fascinated by that part of her, dipping his fingers inside and stroking up and down every little crease and fold, heedless of her wriggles and protests, until it was almost a relief when he stopped touching her and shifted closer. Almost. She squeaked when he spread her sex open with his fingers.
He was hard and much too big. A press of his hips and he was squeezing past the untried entrance of her body, only to meet with real resistance. His gasped then; his hand tightened on her wrists with bruising force, but Allura was beyond fighting. She whimpered and kicked futilely against the burning, stretching pressure between her legs.
He stopped, panting. His hand flexed on her hip. He pulled back a little—then the pressure returned, redoubled. Allura shrieked as she felt her body give, letting him press forward with a slick jolt. He moaned her name and slid his thick sex up and up, pushing a burning heat deep into her body.
It hurt. He hadn’t been brutal about it, but Allura was in no mood to appreciate small favors.
He groaned and shifted more over her, mantling her with his body. His hips pressed her thighs wide. He began to move, little stabbing motions, delicate and relentless. His breath came in little growls as he rutted between her legs. He wasn’t idle with his hands or mouth; his tongue lapped over her ear, then she felt the pinch of his teeth on her neck as his hand closed over her breast taking the nipple between his fingers.
Allura began to cry out in time to his thrusts. It still hurt, but that was becoming lost in other sensations, the rub of his tunic over her bare breasts, the insistent nudge of his pubic bone, and most of all the slide of his big sex into the tender little cleft between her legs.
Each stroke stoked her hatred of him, pushing deep, pressing wide, over and over, until she was blind and speechless with it; her skin felt aglow with the heat of her emotions. She hated his breath on her temple, the deep, pleasured groan of his voice when he said her name, the tight band of his fingers on her wrists—she lifted her head and bit his chest hard through the material of his tunic. If her hands had been free, she would clawed at him like an animal.
He groaned at the feel of her teeth and began to shove into her, sharp snaps of his hips. “Allura—I never—so good—” She began to shake her head from side to side, barely aware; her entire body was burning with an intensity of emotion she’d never felt before. Then his hand clamped hard on her thigh, holding her open as his body jerked hard against hers, once, twice, again. She screamed as the intensity exploded into a fierce pleasure that started low in her belly, between her legs; her only reality was the spasms that wracked her body—and him, he was still with her, joined to her, doing this to her. She didn’t care; if her hands had been free, she would have clutched at him. She forgot how to breathe for a moment, choked and sputtered, before continuing in great heaving breaths. He laughed, still moving on her, and stroked her soothingly between her breasts.
When she finally came back to herself he was laying over her, head tucked next to hers. Allura grimaced and blew at the strand of his hair that was stuck to her lips. Her wrists lay in his loosened grip. He only twitched a little when she slipped them free. She planted her hands against his big shoulders and shoved.
It was like shoving a stone.
She shoved again, incensed; he wasn’t just on her, he was in her.
A few more shoves and protests, and he rolled away—taking her with him. For a moment she lay sprawled on top of him, eyes wide, nose to nose with his smug visage, her bare breasts flattened against his chest. Before she could decide what to do, he took her shoulders in his hands and pressed up, pinning her to the low ceiling.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but give a man a little time to recover, Allura,” he purred, his cat’s gaze roving over her exposed charms.
Allura shuddered as he pushed his hips up and against her, his slick flesh sliding against hers. From the feel of things, she was more in need of recovery time than he was. Allura wondered with dismay what the next minutes or hours would hold.
At least he’d already done his worst; that was some comfort.
tbc? I’ll see what I can do.