Sin & The Prince

Sin was unaware of the vision he made as he plunged into the throng gathered at the edges of the ballroom.

His eyes gleamed behind the mask, color flushed high cheekbones, and his mouth was reddened from the ride. His gait was almost predatory as the dildo inside him shifted, pressing and rubbing in an almost maddening way. His lean body was clad all in black, emphasizing his sleek muscles as he strolled through the press of Lords and Ladies in search of his destiny.

Prince Charming—Chance to his friends and intimates—was bored. He'd danced with Ladies; he'd danced with Lords. And not a single one of his partners had attracted him in the slightest.

He was just about to give up when he spotted the slim young man moving through the crowd, the unrelieved black of his clothing making the bright colors around him look almost garish. The ring his fairy godfather had given him earlier warmed around the base of his cock, gripping him almost like a lover's fingers might. This was the one. He knew it.

Moving away from the laughing courtiers that surrounded him, he glided through the crowd to his chosen one, catching the sleeve of the young man's doublet as he passed.

Green eyes met warm honey, and it seemed as if their surroundings faded away.

"May I have this dance?" Chance asked, and the man nodded, licking his lips. Sweeping him into a waltz, they whirled out onto the floor.

Sin couldn't look away from his partner's smiling face—that lush mouth, those cat-like eyes. Amber colored hair spilled around that delicately boned face, over the top of the white half-mask he wore, and the young man's fingers fairly itched to see if it was as soft as it looked.

The Prince held him close, his leanly muscled body in its white doublet and hose a perfect foil for Sin's black clad form. They molded together as if they were one, and he allowed himself to be swept away.

Chance danced his prize to a half concealed door across the room, slipping out of the ballroom as the final note of the waltz sounded. The two men stepped apart, somewhat awkwardly, and his black-clad mate bowed.

"My Prince," he began, his voice husky, strangely hoarse, and Chance pressed his fingers against those ripe, reddened lips.

"Shhh—Chance, my love. Call me Chance. Do you have a name?"

His partner nodded, licked his lips again. "Sin—Sinclair."

"Ah, Sin. I like that. Take off your mask, please," he ordered, and long ivory fingers fumbled at the velvet ties. Those elegant hands drew the embroidered fabric away from his face, and the Prince caught his breath at the masculine beauty that was revealed. He did away with his own face covering, and the two stared at each other in silence, both fascinated by the other's perfection.

The Prince—Chance—moved first, unbuttoning Sin's doublet, easing it off his broad shoulders gently. His long, slender fingers undid the tapes holding up his hose, and the slave allowed him to strip them down his legs, kicking off his boots and steeping from the form-fitting silk that had hugged his legs. He remembered the dildo buried inside him as it seemed to swell and pulse—just as it had when Chance's hand had gripped his arm in the ballroom—and flushed. The Prince stilled, cradled his soon-to-be lover's face in one hand.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked gently, and Sin's color deepened further. Instead of explaining—how did one explain this precisely?—he turned.

He heard the Prince's swiftly indrawn breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

The touch, when it came, was infinitely gentle, tracing over the long weals covering his back, descending to the firm curve of his ass.

"You've been ill-used, my love," the Prince murmured softly, and Sin's muscles clenched as he touched a particularly nasty bruise. The pleasure as the dildo shifted nearly made his knees buckle, and Chance's arms slipped around him, holding him up as he found the base of the object buried deep inside him.

A soft chuckled split the air and Sin found himself turned, held loosely against the Prince's body.

Those soft lips pressed against his, and he moaned quietly as Chance's tongue slipped into his mouth.

He found the other man's hair was indeed as soft as it looked as he twined his fingers through it; his mouth hungry on the Prince's, and a soft whimper escaped him as he was pushed away.

The Prince's eyes were narrowed on his face, a smile curving that delicious mouth as he unfastened his clothes with shaking hands, revealing a body nearly identical to his own.

Smooth ivory skin only a shade darker than the slave's sheathed rippling muscles, and Sin was astonished to see two bright gold ring piercing the Prince's flat little nipples. He forced his gaze downward, traveling over the washboard muscles on the Prince's stomach down lower to the amber curls surrounding the rigid thrust of his cock—and his eyes went wide at the sight of the ornate glass ring circling the base of that upstanding organ.

Chance grinned at the other man's astonishment, wrapping one hand around his cock and stroking—and those gorgeous light green eyes followed the movement, his face flushing even more. He watched as his chosen mate wet his lips, lifted those absinthe-colored eyes back to his face—and the Prince grinned.

"Fairy godfathers have rather strange notions, don't you think?"

And Sin's eyes went even wider, his mouth dropping open. "Y-you too?" he managed to stammer, and Chance nodded slowly, stepping closer as he gripped the ring circling him, pulling it off.

His own godfather had put it on him, warning that it could only be removed in the presence of his mate, his true mate—and the Prince was glad that it had responded to this man. He was beautiful, and a bit shy—and absolutely perfect.

"Turn around Sin, and lean over that couch. I think you've had that in you quite long enough, yes?" he asked, and his gorgeous lover did as he was told, folding himself over the arm of the settee behind him. He spread his legs, and Chance took a moment to smooth his hand over that sleek striped skin, frowning at the thought of what had caused such extensive markings. The boy had a Master, that was for sure—but the Prince grinned as he realized that Sin was all his now. The only marks that would be left on that sleek ivory flesh would come from his whip, his paddle—and any other instrument he could think of. And he would never use him so roughly—that fine skin should be reddened, not bruised.

Shaking off his thoughts, he concentrated wholly on the here and now. He parted the sleek swell of his lover's ass, gripped the base of the dildo and carefully pulled. Sin's whole body shook as it eased out of his hole, and a low moan filled the air as he shuddered helplessly, glancing over his shoulder at the Prince, those beautiful eyes darkening, pleading.

Still holding the cock ring, Chance slipped his arm around his lover's hips, slipped the smooth glass over the head of his heavy sex. He leaned forward, his body wrapping around the other man's, his mouth on level with his ear.

"Mine, yes? As I am yours?" he whispered, and Sin turned his head, lips grazing the Prince's.

"Yes," he sighed, and the Prince slipped the ring down the long, thick shaft, his mouth opening over his lover's, kissing him deeply.

Sin squirmed against him as desire flashed through him, a different kind of desire than that awful, sickening feeling that overcame him beneath Julian or Dietrich or the Master's hands. This felt clean, and pure, and roused him like nothing else ever had—not even in the idyllic days before his father had died.

Chance let him up, only to tumble him back over the arm of the settee, their long bodies tangled together as their mouths sought and met. Their hands skimmed over each other's bodies, touching and caressing and simply learning, and Sin strained to get closer to his lover.

And finally the Prince knelt up between his legs, Sin's thighs draped over his, and guided the head of his heavy cock to the ring of muscle between his cheeks.

Their eyes met, locked, and the Prince pressed himself inside, Sin opening around him with a groan of pure bliss.

Chance caught his breath at the feel of his mate closing around him like a velvet glove—hot and tight and so damn perfect he almost lost it right then and there.

But he wanted to enjoy this first time, take it slow, and he did.

The Prince rode his lover slowly, his hands griping the other man's hips tight to hold him down, rising and falling in his body with exquisite care.

Sin arched up off the couch, dragging Chance down to him, his mouth on his shoulder, his neck, his jaw before finally finding his lips, tongue surging inside as he ground himself down on his lover's cock, and the Prince couldn't hold back any longer. His grip tightened, and his thrusts sped up. Sin writhed on his cock, his breath coming in pants, wordless cries—and Chance felt his lover's seed spurt between them as his own climax swept over him, spilling deep into his mate's heat.

The clock in the square began to chime the hour, and Sin's eyes went wide at the sound.

"Faster. Take me!" he begged, panting, not knowing how time could have passed so quickly.

He was on his hands and knees, his lover behind him driving into him harder and harder. His heart galloped in his chest, and his orgasm shattered through him—his ringed cock spurting as he felt Chance's seed boiling up into his ass.

He bolted, grabbing his clothes and darting from the room, yanking on boots and doublet as he ran, stumbling towards an open door and the cold night waiting outside.

Dimly, through the thundering in his ears, he heard his lover shout his name—but he kept running.

The clock was chiming five as he found his horse and pulled himself up, wincing with pain as his bare flesh rubbed against leather. The groom holding the stallion's head started, and he grabbed the reins, nudging his mouth into motion as the clock struck seven.

He leaned over the horse's neck, riding hell for leather down the road leading away from the palace, his every thought in making it home before the horse changed back to a mouse and his finery back to homespun trousers.

Every beat of the horse's hooves against the road sent a shock through him, his sore ass protesting such treatment, but he ignored it, urging his mouth to go faster.

He made it to the edge of the clearing before the stables of the Master's house as the clock struck its twelfth note, and found himself tumbling to the ground as his fairy godfather's magic ran out. The beautiful horse changed back to a mouse, scurrying off into the long grass. His doublet and boots turned back to rough cotton and worn leather.

Midnight had come and gone, and he was back where he belonged.

Picking himself off and dusting the dirt from his chest and legs, he stumbled up to the house, trying to ignore the tears pricking at his eyes.

Chance was frantic.

His lover was gone, run off, and all he had was a name.

There had been hundreds at the ball the night before, of all the best families, and even pouring over the invitation list had netted him no answers. There wasn't a single Sinclair on that list.

He eyed the heavy glass dildo sitting on the velvet cushion before him, and traced a fingertip over one of the prominent veins, imaging he could feel the heat of his lover's ass—and sighed. He had no choice now; he was going to have to visit every single family on that list in order to find his mate. Someone, surely, would have heard of him.

Sin closed his eyes and felt the tears streak down his face as the Master himself wielded the cane.

It slashed across his thighs, cracked against his ass, flicked over his still-ringed cock hard enough to make his entire body quake against his restraints.

The Master had been furious to find that the last stall in the stables had been unfinished, his slave dead asleep in the tiny room they allowed him at the back of the house.

The older man had stripped his trousers off and found the ring, still snug around the base of his cock, and tried to remove it, but it wouldn't budge. His cruel fingers had delved between the tender ass cheeks and found him slick with cum. And his rage had ignited.

Julian and Dietrich had dragged him into the cold room and bound him to a hook. His legs had been spread and tied off to rings set in the floor. And the Master had begun his punishment.

First had been the cat o'nines, then a leather whip.

He paused every now and again to demand a name, but Sin stubbornly refused to talk. He wouldn't sully his magical night with the Prince by sharing it with his owner.

Dietrich and Julian watched as their toy was beaten, and even Dietrich was amazed at his father's cruelty. But neither said a word, too afraid of bringing the Master's wrath down upon their own heads.

A commotion sounded in the kitchen, and the Master paused mid-stroke, cocking his head to one side and listening.

"Julian, find out what that is. And if it's nothing, remind the kitchen staff that they can be next to taste my wrath," he snapped. His younger son nodded and slipped out the door, only to appear a moment later.

His dark eyes were lit with excitement, his color high. "Father! The Prince is here! He wants to speak with you!"

The Master's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Does he now? I wonder why. No matter. Boys, let's go greet our Prince, shall we? This one can rest a moment."

He dropped the cane to the floor, smacked Sin's ass sharply to get his attention.

"Be quiet, or it will be far worse for you when I come back," he growled. The boy nodded, let his head fall back to his chest as exhaustion overcame him. He was too lost inside himself to hear Julian's news, only caring that the punishment had stopped, at least for now.

Chance looked Lord Evram up and down, then looked at the man's two sons. Neither one was his mate, but the dairymaid he'd met in the lane had pointed him to this manse.

"My Prince, what a surprise! How may I serve?" Evram asked, sweeping his sovereign a low bow. The two young men flanking him followed suit, the younger of the two glancing up through his pale hair with shining eyes.

"I'm looking for a young man," he began, and the younger one licked his lips, his eagerness almost comical. "A young man named Sin—Sinclair."

Lord Evram eyes narrowed fractionally—if Chance hadn't been watching him so closely, he might have missed it.

"There's no one by that name here, my prince. Just my sons—Julian and Dietrich," he said smoothly. One of the kitchen staff, clustered in a knot at the far end of the room, choked, and Chance's gaze went to the man, his golden eyes narrowing. The fat man, wearing a cook's apron and hat, flushed scarlet beneath the Prince's scrutiny. Lord Evram ignored him, but a muscle in his cheek began ticking.

"Funny, I was directed here. A local lass told me that there was a green eyed, black-haired young man here by that name—in fact, she informed me that his father used to own this estate, until he died and you took it over in lieu of payment on debts owed you. And that the boy was now serving here as a common slave," Chance said, fighting back the fury that threatened to overwhelm him yet again at the thought. His Sin, serving these bastards. He had questioned plenty of the locals, and they'd all told him tales of Evram's cruelties towards the rightful heir. He'd heard how Evram and his sons beat him, and used him, and offered him to their friends. And how Sin had quietly accepted his fate, doing as he was ordered.

The Lord was shaking his head. "She lied," he said flatly.

And Chance heard a noise coming from the closed door behind the three, his eyes going narrow. It sounded as if someone were crying.

"Guards, open that door," he snapped, and the soldiers behind him swept forward to obey.

Sin thought he heard his lover's voice, muffled and indistinct, coming from the kitchen, and began to sob.

Why the hell had he run from the palace? He'd left the man that was meant to be his, a man powerful enough to protect him, and had gone right back to the life he'd sought to escape in the first place.

The shame of being a debt-slave, of being nothing more than a toy for the Master and his sons, and a very real fear of seeing his Prince's face twist in disgust when midnight struck and his godfather's magic disappeared had driven him to run. And now it seemed that he had lost his mind as well.

Chance strode across the room, brushing past the Lord and his two sons to get to the door. His soldiers were staring inside, their expressions varying from shock to pity to disgust.

He came to the door and looked into the gloomy interior, and the fury he had been containing finally burst free at the sight of his battered lover hanging like so much meat form a hook, his beautiful body a mass of cuts and bruises and lacerations.

"Get him down, and arrest Lord Evram!" he snapped, aching to go to Sin, take him in his arms. But he was afraid to touch him, afraid to hurt him any further.

Soldiers closed in on the three nobles, taking their arms and binging them securely. Lord Evram's expression was a study of astonishment.

"What? Why? My Prince, you cannot do this!" he sputtered. Chance smiled slowly, icily at the man.

"But I can. You harmed the Prince's Consort, my lord, and that is akin to harming the Prince himself. Me, in other words."

"Consort! How the hell can he be your Consort?" the younger son cried, and Chance looked at him slowly. The boy didn't look quite so eager now. In fact, he looked downright scared.

"He became my Consort last night, at my birthday ball. He wears my ring," he answered calmly. The older man's expression darkened.

"He is my property!" he snarled, and the Prince shook his head.

"I'm afraid not. Not anymore."

He stepped aside as the soldiers carried his lover's limp body from the room, holding up a hand to stop them. He leaned over Sin, touched his face with gentle fingers, and those thick black eyelashes fluttered, lifted so that astonishingly green irises were visible. If he hadn't been so angry, the expression on his mate's face would have been comical.

"AM I dreaming?" he asked in that husky, slightly hoarse voice Chance had grown to love, and the Prince smiled, shook his head.

"No, love, I'm real. You're safe now. In a weeks' time you'll be crowned my Consort. And you'll spend the rest of your life with me. Mine, yes?" he said, and that swollen mouth twitched in the tiniest of smiles.

"Yours. As you're mine," he murmured, and Chance leaned down, pressed his lips against his mate's.

"Forever," he whispered, and straightened. "Take Lord Evram and his sons to the dungeons, and my mate to my carriage," he said, and the soldiers grinned, nodding their heads.

The ones surrounding the Lord and his sons prodded the men forward, and the ones carrying Sin carried him gently out into the winter sunshine.

A slender man dressed in crimson leaned against a tree, watching the soldiers emerge form the house. Beside him stood a man dressed in leaf green, one arm slung low around his companion's hips.

"And they lived Happily Ever After," the Prince's fairy godfather said softly, and his companion laughed, pulling him close.

"Aye, and they lived Happily Ever After," he agreed, leaning down to kiss his lover. Both Sin and Chance's godfathers faded slowly from view, their words shimmering in the cold winter morning's air.