Fresh Bounty

Erotic short. A bounty hunter takes a young wizard to the king’s court.

1.7k, rated E, cis M/trans M! Power play with a lack of negotiation, but fully consensual enthusiasm for it, cockwarming, threatened overstimulation, D/s, implications of public use, and sex on horseback!

CW for a mention of bestiality in dirty talk, but no animals are actually abused, harmed, or looked on sexually.

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When the bounty hunter comes upon him it’s early in the morning, still an hour before dawn break, and Tomsen doesn’t have space even to scream with the big man’s hand over his mouth, his body pinned beneath the other man’s incredible bulk — he must be three times Tomsen’s size, broad and tall and rippling with thick, corded muscle. His face might as well have been carved from rock, it’s so cold and stony, a hardness to his jaw and his cheekbones and the glint in his eye.

The only softness is in the gentle curve of his smile, triumphant and easy, and despite himself, Tomsen feels blood rush downward, because for fuck’s sake.

It had been a funny little wager with King Roland at the time, to go seven days within the kingdom’s borders without being caught by one of the crown’s bounty men, and Tomsen had really thought he would be able to manage it, that he would find it easy to avoid them, to keep himself hidden.

The first three days had been easy, but those had been the more junior hunters, and had also been before his image and description had been circulated through the kingdom proper — by the fourth and fifth days, they’d had trained hunting dogs and cats on his heels, and he’d had to do far more work to disguise his image, his scent, his magical signature, all of it.

He’d never stayed in one place for longer than six hours, always moving between farms and villages and ruins, and now he’s halfway up the fucking mountainside, had swum across the Crystalline Pond (it’s a fucking lake and it had been freezing), had crawled on his belly through a network of tiny tunnels to make it into this cave and the old den secreted here.

How the fuck this big man made his way inside, Tomsen has no idea, because he’d heard no blast or explosion or axe or shovel, and he certainly hadn’t made it through via the tunnels Tomsen had used himself.

King Roland had told him, grinned at him, said that if he let himself be caught, he’d tell the bounty men they could fuck him as they pleased, and this big hunk of meat undoubtedly has the thought on his mind. Tomsen can feel the thickness of the bounty man’s cock against his thigh, feel the weight of it.

“Day six,” he rumbles in a voice like an earthquake, making Tomsen’s mouth feel dry and his cunt feel all the wetter. There have been close calls over the past few days, and the sheer adrenaline of it, creeping past the men on his tail and avoiding those in his pursuit, had heated his skin and made him throb and tingle, but nothing quite like this, like the man on top of him, his weight pinning him in place. “You held out pretty fucking well, lad.”

“You haven’t gotten me back to the palace yet,” says Tomsen softly, and he tips his head back onto his bedroll, his legs spreading wider apart to give the big man space between them. “I know what his majesty has promised you, bounty man. Going to take it?”

“Take my prize, is it?” asks the bounty hunter, raising his thick eyebrows, and Tomsen shudders as he feels the blade cut under his shirt and then under his breeches, letting the fabric fall right off him and onto the floor beneath him, leaving him naked with just a few threads clinging to his body.

Tomsen smiles up at him, raises his eyebrows and cocks his head slightly to one side. “Don’t you want it?” he asks, injecting the barest bit of breathlessness into his voice, knows that it works, that it will work, because it always works.

The bounty hunter’s eyes are roving hungrily over Tomsen’s body, over his chest, over the fat bud of his cock sticking out from his pubes, over the way his cunt is already wet and ready, open and waiting for him.

“What’s your name?” asks Tomsen.

“Davos,” says the bounty hunter, and he reaches up and pins Tomsen’s hands over his head, then cuffs them, and Tomsen feels a shudder run through his body. It’s anticipatory, tension building up under his skin, and he shifts his wrists slightly, feeling for the weakness in the cuffs where he should be able to pull himself free.

When Davos comes, probably, but it depends on how into things he gets, how distracted he is once he slides inside Tomsen, how vulnerable he is to being kissed, to being caressed —

“That’s it, lad,” says Davos, and hauls him off the stone floor by the wrists, his hand looped under the cords of the rope cuffs before he throws Tomsen over his shoulder and starts to walk out with him.

“Wait, wait,” protests Tomsen, struggling in his grip, but he can’t kick his way out of Davos’ hold or twist free, not with half his body hanging down Davos’ muscular back, his arse in the air, Davos’ arm banded behind Tomsen’s knees. “I thought you were going to fuck me?”

“I’m gonna fuck you, lad,” says Davos, his voice rumbling, and Tomsen tries to push up from his lower back as Davos carries him through a crack in the stone, having to bend his knees but otherwise able to get easily through the gap.

“What, outside?”

“I’m not giving you time to relax and get yourself free,” says Davos breezily, and Tomsen’s stomach gives a flip — there’s something about being caught out, about being treated as suspicious, as dangerous, that makes him thrill, most of all because he’s not meant to be. He’d promised Roland he wouldn’t do any of his bounty men any damage, any harm at all.

“How the fuck are you meant to fuck me then?” Tomsen snaps.

“I’ll ride the horse,” says Davos. “You ride me.”

Tomsen blinks, heat burning through his cheeks. “What?” They’re four or five hours’ ride from the crown city, and he imagines it, naked with Davos’ cock buried in him, people looking over and seeing him, seeing the sheen of sweat on his naked skin. “You’re not fucking doing that,” he says.

“Put it this way, lad,” says Davos. “We’re riding back to Lania with you cuffed and strapped in — either you’ll be strapped on top of the horse with my cock in that cunt of yours, or I can strap you underneath him and warm his cock instead.”

Tomsen shudders at it, at the weight of the fucking threat, and Davos laughs.

“What’s it gonna be, lad?” he asks. “You want the stallion, or the stallion?”

“That joke literally made my cunt dry up,” says Tomsen; the hand steadied across the back of his thighs comes up and Davos’ fingertips touch against where Tomsen’s lips are open then slide inside, two of them sinking right into him and sliding against the roof of it.

He can’t hold back the moan, but he tries to muffle it against Davos’ back even as the big cunt laughs again and says, “Doesn’t seem like it did, lad.”

Davos’ horse isn’t even a stallion — she’s a Palamino mare — and Tomsen tries to hide the sigh of relief he lets out as Davos puts him up on the saddle first. Tomsen thinks that he really might be joking, but he isn’t: he balances Tomsen, his wrists tied in front of him, on her back before he hoists himself up in the saddle.

Not for a second does Tomsen actually feel unbalanced, even as Davos pushes up his knees to give himself space in the saddle, keeping a loose grip on his waist to stop him tipping one way or the other — first Tomsen feels the warm leather of the saddle under his open cunt, against where his arse is a little wet with it, and then Davos has his hands hooked under his knees and is pulling him forward, his cock pressing against Tomsen’s open cunt and then sliding inside him.

Tomsen whines, unable not to at the sudden sensation, the feeling of being filled up right here in the open air on the side of the fucking mountain in the middle of the path, Davos’ horse shifting on its hooves underneath them.

The position is slightly awkward, his arms trapped between their bodies, his body curved away from Davos’, but then Davos in one smooth motion pushes up Tomsen’s wrists, pulls him up off the saddle, and settles them around his neck.

With the size difference between them, Tomsen’s body is suddenly pressed up against Davos’, settled in his lap with all of Davos’ cock crammed inside him, and Tomsen lets out a choked whimper against the base of his neck, trapped and impaled all at once.

It’s incredible, searing heat burning through the whole of his body at the way he’s all but strapped against Davos’ body with no way to pull free, with no way to draw back, with no escape.

There’s a cloak around his neck all of a sudden, buckled in place with all the fabric covering his body like a curtain so that at least people won’t see him completely fucking naked, and then Davos has the reins and they’re riding, and Tomsen chokes.

He’s not even riding that fast, not when the mountain pathways aren’t really that wide, but even with the horse walking instead of trotting or going any faster, the movement is inescapable, the saddle shifting underneath them, Tomsen subtly bounced and shifted on Davos’ cock.

He blinks fast, trying to accustom himself to it, the grind of Davos’ cock within him, Davos’ hips not moving, Davos not thrusting, the only sensation coming from the slight movements of Davos’ cock in him, barely anything and yet fucking everything.

The fabric of Davos’ shirt, bunched up between them, is putting friction on his cock, and Tomsen feels like his brain is turning to slurry.

“There there, lad,” says Davos. “It’s only about four hours back to Lania.”

Tomsen’s head spins, and he drops his face against Davos’ chest, a shudder running through him.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

Davos’ laugh this time echoes through him the same as the movement of the horse underneath them, and Tomsen is powerless to do anything but take it.