She drags him to an empty sitting room and sits down on one of the couches. Her armour creaks in complaint.
He's left standing like a chastised child in the middle of the room. Feeling weak, over-powered and out of bounds.
"Come here," she commands and the harsh tone of her voice bounces of the walls. He shivers in response but doesn't move.
Her eyes blaze a chilling blue. "Come. Here." she spits at him and his eyes immediately fall to the floor where he watches his feet take soft steps towards her.
Once he's reached the couch, she takes his wrist in her palm, much like how she dragged him here. He shivers as her warmth passes into him.
Suddenly and unexplainably, he has the intense urge to cry. He can feel the heavy weight behind his eyes and his throat feels like it's closing in on itself.
He should explain himself, he thinks. Not that it's his fault but to prevent any misunderstandings. Surely there is nothing between him and Emilia. And there's nothing between him and Helena. So she has no reason to be acting like a scorned lover. He needs to explain this to her. He needs to demean her. He needs to regain control of the situation.
He can't open his mouth. He can't even meet her eyes.
She tugs him closer and he allows the movement. His body becoming limp as a little ragdoll. One for her to beckon as she pleases.
She tugs him down and his back bends at the awkward angle. He looks up at her with wide, curious eyes. "What-"
"Bend over." Her tone is icy.
His eyes go even wider. All the blood rushing to his face, leaving his back trembling as the chill seeped into it. He shook his head. "What?" he asks again, more quizzically this time.
"Bend over," she runs her hands over her thighs, "My lap. Like a good boy."
"No!" he hurries, desperately needing to escape. He turns to the door, eyeing it longingly. All he needs was a quick teleportation spell. He wiggles his hand, trying to free it but she tugs him forward and he's thrown unceremoniously over her lap.
He squaks in shock and tries to shuffle off. Kicking out in protest. Her hand comes over his back to grip his waist tightly. He stills immediately, wondering how little effort she'd need to crush his ribcage in two.
Perhaps the strength a normal person might need to crush a mouse in their hands. Or fearfully, he thought, less than one would need to shatter a butterfly's wings.
Her fingers massage into his waist and he holds in a whine that had been trying to bubble out. The blood is rushing to his face and his hands are trembling. He moves to bring them together and her grip tightens significantly. He gasps.
"Don't be naughty."
He tries and fails to breath in deeply. Her thighs are pressing into his stomach, making all his breaths shallow and shivery. He's starting to hyperventilate.
"Let me go," he murmurs, feeling the ache in his stomach grow as her knees shift up slightly. The couch creaks and his lower half is lifted up.
Her hands dig into the flesh around his midsection, firm little pushes and squeezes. Kneading kindly at the skin, feeling his form tremble amd wince under her. She hums in satisfaction.
"Are you sure?" she asks, her hands slipping lower. "If I let you go now. I'll have to take my anger out somewhere else. How about I bring down this entire castle, lets see if the Alphalm's cockroaches can get them out of piles of rubble."
Sylas tries to push up and off of her but her heavy hand presses him down harshly. The breath is pushed out of him. He gasps, stiffening against her harshness.
He turns his head to glare at her. "You'd start an all out war over nothing?" he questions quietly, ignoring the way he's draped over her like a throw pillow.
She presses down harder and leans down to whisper in his ear. "You can't go to war with a country that doesn't exist anymore." Her other hand sneaks down to grip at his thigh. "And you're not nothing Sylas. Not to me."
Sylas shivers, brain spiralling in confusion. The hands on him press and rub at him until the skin under them is heated and sensitive. The motions doing a very good job of keeping him from decoding what she had just said.
"You-" he bites at his bottom lip as the hand on his thigh moves higher. Rubbing at his inner thigh in soft circles. He keens loudly. "You can't bring down all of Zewitch," he hisses, face flushed, "Even you're not that powerful."
"Is that so?" The hand on his back slips under his shirt. He gasps. The pressure so unfamiliar. His body goes stiff and then relaxes all at once. The skin under her hand feels as though it might ignite any moment. He lets out a breathy sigh. Her warm hand is placed between his shoulder blades, rubbing at the ridges of his spine. He trembles at the feeling of her calloused fingertips.
She taps into his core, pooling her magic into him. He moans loudly, mouth falling open without conscious thought. It's delectable. The soft warmth of sunshine and spring and Emilia flow into him. He brings his legs together and his body shivers in response to the raw power flooding into him. Invading him. He can reach out into her core now. But there's no end. She's limitless and she's forcing it all into him. He feels something inside him stretch uncomfortablly to accomodate her. He whines. But it's not enough. She's too big. More and more pools into him. "Too much," he cries out, voice thick and wet. A high cry leaves his throat and tears drip from his eyes. His thighs are shaking and his knees buckle, his entire weight fall onto her. His gasping, fingers clenching at the cloth of the couch. "You're going to break me," he gasps out. Trying to push back but he can feel her inside every blood vessel. Inside his DNA. His bones are rattling in his skin and his muscles are turning to mush. He whimpers. A fragile sound. Weak. Close to shattering completely.
Her hand lifts off and he gasps out wondering why everything was shaking. Only at her soft, breathy laugh, did he realise his whole body was shaking. Like a small pup in the snow.
"You want more?"
He shook his head, hands gripping loosely at the couch. He sniffed several times. Completely exhausted. His fingers twitched in complaint amd every breath made him ache.
"Should I let you go? I'd have fun burning Zewitch to the ground."
He thought of his sister dancing merrily on the dance floor, ignorant of a possible war. He thought of Helena, when she was at the academy. Young and ambitious and preaching of Zewitch with such pride.
"No," he whispers wetly. The grip on his thigh tightens. He winces and turns to glance at her. Her eyes are a steely blue and her lips are drawn downwards in disappointment.
"How unfortunate," she hisses. "I suppose you'll have to calm me down then."
The hand on his thigh moves up to curve around the soft mound of his ass.
He gasps, blood rising up to his face. He turns to yell at her but her expression makes him freeze.
Her eyes are curved cruelly, a dead blue filled with nothing but fury. Her hair is shifting as though the energy around her has made the soft golden strands rise. A wolfish grin insults her beautiful features. Lips stretching wider as the pressure on his back increases. "I'll count," she thumbs at the waistband of his trousers, "Don't worry."
Her hand comes down on him like a flash of lightning, seering into him. The scream tore out of him and his legs twitch and shudder in pain. His jaw aches from the pressure he'd grinded his teeth at. He inhales sharply, clawing at the couches.
"One."
"No," he begs, trying to scrape forward.
She tugs him back and the hand that had been resting on his back went up to grip at his hair. Pulling his head back at and awkward angle. He took in the beautiful curves of the wall. Then it all blurred.
"Two." Her hand comes down like fire. It burns and blazes and aches through him. A wet, animalistic sound wretches out of him. He feels the tears fall down his cheeks in teams.
"Three." His body ricochets, twitching sporadically, shuddering and fighting like a beast let loose. His breaths were wild and desperate, the pull at his hair painful. It's too much, she's too strong.
Smack. He can't feel his legs. She's going to kill him. He's going to die here on her lap. Or maybe she'll cripple him, make him her toy permanently. He cries out "Em-Emilia... Please...S-softer..."
She shushes him, letting go of his hair. His head falls forward limply and she swipes off the tears on his cheeks. "Four," she hums pleasantly, "You're doing so good."
He whines in complaint.
"Five." There was a pause, then her hand came down softly. His eyes fluttered shut on instinct but slowly opened in confusion. He hadn't expected her to lessen the pressure just because he'd asked. But he sighed in relief, happy for a reprieve.
And then the burn came.
It wasn't strength. It was magic. Falling from her fingertips. Building up into a cataclysm.
"No!" he pleads, voice cut halfway as a raw scream thunders out of him. It didn't stop. His voice filled the room until his throat was strained. Heat searing through every muscle. Electricity striking through him. Every new pulse. Every new tension. He felt all his muscles loosen, his eyes flittered to the back of his head. He was wailing. Her soft laughter falling down from ontop of him.
He could feel his nerve-endings burning. His body was going to break. She was breaking him. Everything went black.