In the back of his mind, an atavistic sense of fear runs its nails along the sran's skull. Eternity in the land of the three afflictions had left him with a primal instinct to conceal what brought him joy, or comfort, or peace. Give them no leverage, show them no weakness, show them only desires they assume that you have, true or not.

He glances up for a moment, then closes his eyes and starts pumping faster. Even in his own mind, he cannot tell if this is him accommodating a more powerful player or giving into his own desires. Maybe it is both. He wills his mind to shut up and lets the force of his master's thrusts batter the thoughts into pulp.

Chúdan opens his eyes again as he feels the slightest shift in the air of the tent. It's subtle enough that none but a master hunter of the Steppe might detect it, but it's unmistakably there. He lets his gaze wander over the tent for a moment before letting them settle on the man between his legs. While he had picked up the pace and eagerness of his actions, there was a new tension in the muscles beneath the skin, and he watched, he felt the air shift again as Ctoślome drew his wings closer around himself, almost protectively. 

"Stop."

Chúdan propped himself up on his elbows, pulling his hand off the Sran's head and levelling a steady gaze at him. "What is it?"

“Nothing! What? Nothing!” Ctoślome whines, and his eyes grow into saucers of fear and his nostrils flare and he shivers in a phantom draught. “Everything’s—everything’s fine.”

He lets the last assertion hang in the air for a moment before lowering his head, eyes dewy. “Ugh, fine! I’m—enjoying… I’m enjoying it. Okay? You got me. I’m enjoying this. You don’t… you don’t need to gloat over my weakness.” He catches his breath, and his temper. “I mean, please, master, let me serve you. You need not interrupt yourself for me.”

Chúdan says nothing, keeping his gaze levelled on the demon a moment longer, waiting to see if the sran had more to share with him. “Is that all? You fear because you enjoy it?”

Ctoślome’s voice is even again. “Just an instinct to avoid admitting weakness. Of course, there’s no need for that, since you are already my master. And—and you said you prefer to see that other males enjoy bonding.” The delicate demon huffs and raises his knee, revealing a thick cock flopped lazily over his lower thigh, oozing a single bead of precum. It is improbably the only thick and sturdy thing about him. “So I might as well just admit that…” his voice hitches, and he drops his eyes and smiles weakly, “I am enjoying sucking your cock, master. As you can see.”

He sighs. “I beg your leave to continue, master… if you would suffer it.”

Chúdan smiles at the sran, nodding his approval as h lowers himself back onto the blankets. “Good. While there is great pleasure in dominating a weaker foe regardless of their feelings, there is great pleasure as well in seeing a slave enjoying their work.”

Ctoślome expected gloating. Instead, his mortal master had just been pleased, like this was how it should be. He blinks in surprise, and then leans back down toward the man’s hard spear. “It is more pleasant when the slave enjoys it?”

He takes it back into his mouth and moans happily, tracing a hand down to play with his own as well. A moment later he loses his thoughts in the wash of pleasure, and this time he doesn’t try to hold the feeling back.

“Mmmm, perhaps. A man who enjoys his work will perform better and work harder than one who does not. Or who enjoys it and tries to hide it.” Chúdan accentuates this with a moan, as Ctóslome returned to his cock with renewed interest and enthusiasm. The Mledev returned his hand to the srans head as he began to thrust onto his eager lips.

Since he cannot respond verbally, the demon slave lifts his leg in the air again to show off his hardness for his master. His one hand pumps himself freely, while the other splays on the master’s chest to offer support.

 Unlike before, he is now totally relaxed.

“Mmm, that’s it Ctóslome….lose yourself in the pleasure of servicing me.” Chúdan close his eyes again, moaning softly with each thrust into his demon's waiting lips, pre seeping out of him. 

His only reply is a delicate, ecstatic moan as he swallows the liquid life his master was so kindly feeding him.

He sucks harder. Something in the man’s voice said roughness, not gentleness. Power, not docility. A cock required force be met with force. Ctoślome was in awe. A way to submit without weakness, a giving that was pleasurable—it tumbles around the void of his mind, striking nothing, because the sran had done as commanded.

He is lost in the pleasure. Only two cocks. His. His master’s. A bond. Deliciousness. Nothing more.

They lay there a while in a pleasured embrace, the silence only broken by Chúdan's occasional grunts as he used Ctoślome's mouth, cock twitching with each moan the demon makes in response. 

This rather intimate angle starkly highlights the thick muscularity of the man’s trunk, and how it dances as he thrusts upward into his slave’s mouth. Ctoślome feels warmth run up his cheeks as he watches it move, and runs a reverent hand over the skin.

Chúdan lets out a shaky breath as the demon's fingers hanced across his skin, muscles moving beneath them as he flexes, rolling his hips into Ctoślome's mouth at a new pace and angle. All trace of hesitation had left the other man, and  Chúdan was quickly slipping into bliss as he more forcefully fucked his slave.

Ah! Oh—This was much more like how things went in the Riven Lands. More forceful and aggressive, with the subordinate party hanging on for dear life—and yet. This was also so much more pleasant. No fear of being consumed, or tortured, no need to speak in his defense or find some shill to throw in the way. It felt good actually—being allowed to play with his own cock made it easy to forgive the occasional too-strong thrust and focus instead on the feeling of a cock in his mouth, pressing eagerly into him without wanting to harm him.

It was strange all the way around.

Chúdan grunted appreciatively at the noises his lover was making. He had imagined this, of course, since he's first pulled the mask off the Sran and seen his delicate features. The demon who'd taken control of his mind, having his taken over in turn...there was a poetry to it that the Mledevite had been eager to see put into practice. With the other's scatters to the winds, it was taking all his restraint not to break the demon with his desire. He'd come willingly, after all, and did not need the force that most salves required to be put in their place.