Violent Little Thing (Audio Script)

Stories

It is so easy to parry your sword, I’m almost offended. I knock it from your hands with a single strike. I don’t even have to move my feet.

“Stop doing that!”

I take in your snarled lip and the flickering ember in your eyes as you glare up at me. In the late afternoon sun, sweat cuts a glittering trail from your temple over the high ridge of your cheekbone, freefalling to the place it clings to your jaw.

Gods, I wish the dragons had not chosen you to be the hero of the realm–hadn’t plucked you from your faraway castle to send me tumbling from my place as general of our elite order of riders. I wish you’d never come here at all.

And I loathe myself for the way some barely controlled part of me wants to lick the salt from your skin.

I take a steadying breath and roll my shoulders, head held high.

“Stop doing what, Princess?”

“That!”

You point to the sword I knocked from your hands where it lay a few paces away with eyebrows raised and a “are you daft?” expression on your face.

Your other hand is cocked on the curve of your hip–fingertips pressing into the precious layer of softness over your muscle that I know this new world will strip from you soon.

Soon, you will be all hard edges like me. I wish you could stay soft.

“I will stop being able to take you so easily as soon as you start listening.”

You take a step away, an indignant look on your lovely, heart-shaped face.

“What do you mean I’m not listening? All I’ve done for two weeks is listen to you. Since the day my entire world got turned upside down and I found out not only are dragons real, but I am, apparently, the foretold dragon rider hero that will safe the realm from certain doom–all I’ve done is come to this gods-forsaken arena with this gods-forsaken practice sword and listen to you berate me for hours while I learn nothing.”

“You’re not learning anything because you’re not listening, Princess. As I said before–widen your stance. And retrieve your sword. We go again.”

“I did widen my stance.”

“Retrieve your sword. It’s not a request. You did not widen your stance enough. Your center of balance is unsteady. I disarmed you with my eyes practically closed by using your own momentum and weight to knock you off kilter. You’re defeating yourself, really. I barely need to be here. ”

“Oh? Is that right?”

“Then why don’t you leave, oh great and fabled warrior general of secret dragon riders?”

I know there is a burning fire in you–the thing the dragons saw when they chose you. It is the flame that will keep you alive in the battles to come.

My entire life has been dedicated to keeping the realm safe. Now, I am here to keep you safe too. If we’re going to survive, I need to find that flicker of wild burning inside you and fan your flames.

But, gods, you’re frustrating.

“Just go.”

“Oh, that I could. Now, for the last time–” “-pick up your sword.”

“If you’re not going to help me, why don’t you let me figure this out on my own and stop giving me more ways to fail?”

The first tear falls, and everything goes quiet.

I have marked your body countless times already. I have watched you earn mark after mark the last two weeks–scrapes, bruises, falls as I have tried to prepare you for your new life. I’ve seen you in pain.

But I’ve never seen you hurting.

Now, I have.

And the urge in me to make it stop is all that’s left of me. I want to go to you, to hold you, to promise you the safety and softness you deserve as you stand there with your back to me and your arms wrapped so tightly around yourself it’s like your strength alone is keeping you from falling to pieces.

I take a faltering step toward you, but hesitate, remembering my place. And yours.

“I–um, I shouldn’t have…”

“You are incorrect. You aren’t failing, Princess. I cannot imagine the weight of what you’ve been handed in the last short while. I cannot imagine the responsibility or sheer amount of choices forced on you about who you will become under the shine of a destiny you did not choose.”

And still, you hold your head high and take every blow. I cannot make you see yourself like I do, but I cannot let you believe you are failing.”

“You certainly aren’t failing me.”

As I go to retrieve your fallen sword from the place beneath the ancient willow tree where it came to rest, I cannot help but picture you–a princess so soft and gentle, raised to comfort and coddle, not punish and kill–downed in a bloody, dying field somewhere, and my heart buckles.

Gods, you have such a long way to go before you could survive a single battle.

I bend to pick up the blade.

“If you can trust me, I will not let you fail, Princ–”

I cannot believe you just tackled me to the ground. I could have you on your back in an instant, but I don’t want to hurt you–

And somehow, I’m beneath you as you straddle me, pinning my right wrist to the ground under your knee. I start to sit up and reach for you with my other hand.

“What in all of the gods do you think you’re doi–”

“Princess…”

“No, you listen to me. My blade is at your throat. I don’t need to trust you. I’m the ‘chosen one,’ right? The lives are in my hands. I only have to trust myself.”

“I can take care of myself.”

You lean over me, expression wild and eyes blazing with your stolen victory as you stare down at me. Strands of your hair tumble around your face, swaying as our breath comes fast and hard.

I feel the pressure of your hand around my wrist like it’s the only thing happening in the entire realm. Your fingertips brush the scarred skin of my knuckles–split open too many times to remember in defense of those he needed it–and the dull ache that lives in the knotted tissue quiets, like the pain has been waiting for you to set it free.

Warmth blooms in the wake of your fingers’ path, and I am made a man of action again. But under your touch, I do not want to use my hands for violence. Under your touch, I want, I want, I want. Gods, what have you made of me?

I swallow, and the blade you hold to my throat bobs beneath my jaw.

If it weren’t for my leather bracers, the heel of your palm would feel my runaway heartbeat pulsing where you hold me in your thrall, and I would be a fool for it.

“Princess…?”

“It’s all on me now. Don’t you get it? It all rests on me. And I know you don’t think highly of me, but you underestimated me when you turned your back, and here we are. So help me, or don’t, but don’t doubt me again.”

Gods, the pressure of your strong, thick thighs squeezing the frame of my hips as you straddle me makes it hard to think of anything but the spread of your warmth settled on my lower belly.

It’s so delicious I want to sink my teeth into something. And in your eyes, the fire I knew was there in you burns like a just-born star, and it’s setting my blood ablaze, too.

You shift your weight slightly, and beneath your heat, my cock grows thicker, longer. I couldn’t help it if I wanted to.

I hold your gaze in silent challenge as I slowly tilt my chin higher, exposing the column of my throat to you. I’ll think about the exact shade it turns your cheeks tonight.

“What now, Princess?”

“I…”

The hand that pins mine to the ground inches upward, and I intertwine our fingers. I hold your gaze with mine and relish the vulnerability I see there, fighting for air under the hero’s heart.

“You’re right, you don’t need me.”

You let me guide your hand to hover over the expanse of my heart. I don’t let go as you register the way my chest is rising and falling for you.

“Oh.”

Blade still to my throat, I raise my hand to gently cup your chin.

“But you can have me, Princess. I can make this easier.”

Your lower lip is so soft under my thumb, and only a lifetime as a soldier keeps the groan working its way up my throat from sounding.

Gods, I have lied to you… each time I told you your softness was a thing to smother. You, with all your shining determination and fight. The truth, Princess, is I would give the world to see you be so brave as to let yourself need.

And all I want is to give you what you need.

You drag your hand over my body. Your touch is slow, tentative as it moves from my chest, down the center valley of my abdomen, and even through the leather it feels like my skin sparks all the way to the place your body is flush against mine.

Your fingers tremble as they move over my body, but you don’t stop. I wonder if you feel me yet… the rapidly growing length of what you do to me.

I bring my thumb away from your perfect mouth, fingers trailing down until I feel your pulse. I tighten my grip at the hollow where your jaw meets your throat.

My hand around your neck, no pressure–only support, and your blade still threatening mine- turns my cock painfully hard.

“Oh…”

Your pupils expand with pleasure as you decide how to tease me, and it makes me fucking ravenous even before I feel your fingers toying at the waistline of my trousers. My muscles tense as you brush the sensitive skin low on my belly,, and you smile like you’ve bested me.

I fear you have.

“Careful, Princess…”

“How could you possibly make all of this easier? All you’ve done is criticize me.”

You grind your weight into me as you shift backward, dragging your core lower over the rapidly hardening proof of how much I want you, and the mere promise of more friction makes my cock strain.

“All you’ve done is underestimate me. I’m so much more than a princess. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

The way you’re watching me lose this battle–like you’re starving and it is the only thing that can satiate you–only strengthens the way I’ve begun to feel like a soldier loyal to a queen. You palm me over the leather with just the right amount of pressure, and suddenly my hips buck as my abs contract with the rush of hot pleasure, lifting your body just barely away from the ground.

“So much more than just a princess? How much more?”

I do not look away from your fiery eyes when you release my fingertips. Instead, I skate my fingertips from your knee, up your perfect thigh, and lightly tap your belly just below your navel.

And gods, the sound you make just from the lightest touch somewhere I’m not supposed to be…

I continue my teasing touch, trailing it down to my own belt and watching you for any signs of discomfort. But all I see is hunger as I gaze up at you–ferocious and determined under the soft sway of willow branches that barely shield us from would-be prying eyes.

With your sword still on my throat and my hand around yours, I begin to unbuckle myself.

“Prove me wrong.”

I know we shouldn’t be doing this. I’m your teacher. Your protector. This will be messy. And if we get caught?

“Anyone could see us.”

The dragon that chose me as a rider so long ago, lands on the jagged ridges of the obsidian cliffs that encircle the practice arena. My old friend roars as he turns his back to us, watching the only entrance to the otherwise enclosed space. He really is a good wingman.

“He will stand guard. If someone is approaching, I will know.”

“I can’t believe they chose me.”

You sit back, dropping the sword and settling your weight on my legs as you run your hands through your hair with an expression of awe and… excitement.

You are shining, alight with possibility and purpose. Your sun dappled skin is pebbled with goosebumps as you gaze in awe beneath the willow tree, and in this moment I can see why they chose you.

I can see you are the champion. And I want to let you feel like a champion now, too.

“Go on, Princess. Make sure I never underestimate you again. Show me.”

“Take that off.”

You nod toward my leather armored torso as your eager fingers pluck at the lacing of my trousers. My cock is so hard for you already, each moment it is not yours feels traitorous.

“Are you commanding me to remove my leathers?”

“Yes. Now.”

“As you wish, Princess.”

You shift farther down my body as I face you, moving to unlace the side seams of my leathers and peel them over my head. In the shade of the ancient willow, the chill air sluices over the sculpted breadth of my torso, joining the heat rising in me like clashing waves. The sensation is striking, and I marvel at the way being with you has already made me feel more alive.

“If only you knew how powerful you really are…”

You pause, and lift your searching gaze to mine. You’re looking for truth in my words… my heart. I do not flinch away, and whatever you find turns the trembling hope in your eyes to something wild.

“You want me to show you?”

I do not hesitate.

“I want nothing more.”

You sink between my legs and use your body as leverage to splay them out farther.

You notch a fingertip in the divot of the “v” of muscles at my hips where they disappear under the leather still holding me in. You tenderly trace the lines of my body–carved out of me by so many years as a warrior–down, down, down until you use both hands to tug the unlaced opening of my trousers down, exposing me so close to the evidence of my arousal.

When I nod, you lower your perfect fucking lips to the place just above my aching cock.

It twitches with need, and I can feel your smile in the open-mouth kisses you begin to trail up my body.

Your mouth burns against me where you move so slowly, and the wanting you conjure in your wake might be the end of me.

“Gods, have mercy.”

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“Do you like seeing me like this, Princess? At your mercy?”

Your grin flashes as you lift yourself up and your mouth descends on my neck.

Your hands are roaming as they please–over my chest, shoulders, down my arms and to the tops of my thighs. But you do not reach for the part of me pulsing with need.

“I am not known as a patient man. If you don’t touch me soon…”

You stop, your lips on the ridge of my collarbone, and take my face in your hands so my eyes are locked with yours. And Gods, there you are. You embody the very ferocity I’ve been searching for for weeks, making everything but you seem dim.

“What would you do for me? If I asked?”

“Anything.”

You poke two fingers into my sternum.