Xellos was having that fantasy again.
It was his favorite dark daydream, where the last ancient dragon was entirely under his power, unable to teleport or transform, with his nasty horn and interfering clothes cut away.
I would not bind him so tightly, Xellos mused. I would permit him room to struggle, to make some of his own misery. And when the dragon saw him, how Valgaav would curse! How he would thrash and fume with fine and fiery spirit! And how useless his efforts would be! And when he was panting from his initial exertions against his captor, Xellos would approach, and perhaps touch him ... to illustrate the depths of his helplessness. He savored that moment in his mind, the touching. His bare hand slipping down the pale, rippled flank, nearly tickling in its delicacy, stroking the carved hipbone and slipping down to his inner thighs, and the tender meats that lay between them. The dragon would struggle and curse uselessly. Xellos would attempt to reason with him.
"Come now, there's no shame in submitting to me, Valgaav. After all, dragons are beasts, are they not? And if I am a Beastmaster, and you are a beast, that would already make me ... your master," and he would smile, and stroke his captive's face as Valgaav's tangy hatred swept over him.
Valgaav would curse, predictably, and say something stupid and pompous about Gaav, who was probably the last to play such a game with him... And perhaps tears of humiliation would pearl in his eyes when Xellos aroused him forcibly, magically, physically, to a crest of painful desire.
He savored that moment in his mind, as well. Tricking Valgaav's hips to move against his will, and saying something witty about preferring a Beastmaster to a Chaos-dragon, with his prisoner's organ like new-forged iron in his hand, nearly glowing from its own heat. Would he attempt to maintain his stoicism, or would he squirm and swear? When Xellos caught him by the hair, rubbing their bare bodies together smoothly, what would he whisper in the dragon's pointed ear, to tempt his temper? The heat coming off an angry dragon was delicious. He would make sure that Valgaav could feel the hardness of his erection, when the time was right, digging into the side of his thigh. The mazoku would say something lewd or risque about being lovers, rub their engorged parts together briefly, and pinch his nipple. Valgaav would probably try to bite. Xellos would laugh and caress him.
Then he would stab Valgaav in the abdomen.
It would be a very precise, calculated cut through the wall of muscle; a deliberately non-lethal wound ... initially. He would have to measure the depth carefully. The dragon would gasp; then he would cry out, perhaps even scream when Xellos spread the lips of the wound with his thumbs and sank his rigid cock inside.
No, Val-kun wouldn't like that at all. He snickered.
The wound would be very tight and hot, damaged muscles clenching tight on his girth with pain and shock, tighter when Val-kun writhed and shouted from the pain. His thrusts would tear the tissues further and encourage blood flow, until scalding dragons' blood poured over their groins and down their thighs. Everything would smell like blood, and the pain -- the pain and hate from his victim would be intoxicating, genuinely arousing. He savored the hypothetical moment: half-covered in gore, pumping his hard shaft into the fresh wound of a helpless enemy. If he ever found himself in the actual situation, he would probably forget to pace himself.
In the fantasy, he paused on the threshhold of culmination and studied Valgaav's face. He would smile, and (holding very still, so as not to accidentally trigger himself) reach down to his victim's erect, blood-slick member, and stroke the most sensitive nerve-points of the aching shaft. And he would force the dragon to face him as he did so, to capture the look on his face, the anguish and humiliation of the moment Xellos made him lose control. And when every muscle stiffened and his hips thrust forward in cataclysmic, involuntary orgasm, he would impale himself on the mazoku's organ, tipping him over the threshhold. And then Xellos would come, matching Valgaav's arched spine and bared fangs, with brutal thrusts into the raw wound.
And at the moment of greatest pleasure and most intense agony, would the dragon scream? Would he shed tears? Would he call out to Gaav-sama to save him from this hell? Xellos was intensely curious.
I have to know if he would scream, or not...
He pictured Valgaav, shuddering and sweating from the combination of searing pain, absolute ecstasy, and delicious helplessness. Perhaps he would be lightheaded from shock and bloodloss. Xellos saw himself petting his victim's face, neck and chest, calling him a good beast and a pretty dragon. Maybe he would amuse himself with the vulnerable nipples again. Valgaav would either growl, swear, and try to bite him again -- or he would weep, completely broken.
Or, Xellos reconsidered, he might weep and try to bite me. Valgaav is not an easy one to break.
Xellos would laugh, and possibly kiss him, and simply hold him until his breathing quieted, as if they were real lovers. And when the prisoner began to relax, or seem to regain enough strength to show some spirit, Xellos would reopen his wound by simply sliding out his organ, removing the pressure and half-clotted blood that would have temporarily stanched the hemorrhage. He could almost hear Valgaav moaning with fresh pain --
"Oi, what are you snickering about, Xellos?"
"Ah, Lina-san, that's a secret..."