"Sleeping Beauty"

"Sleeping Beauty"

Aleksander Morozova x Alina Starkov

NSFW

Warnings: Darkfic, non-con, somnophilia (yes, again, hush now), breeding kink, infidelity (not between darklina). Read at your own risk.

I have... No excuse or explanation for this. Oh, but the Darkling is Tsar and married to Svetlana the fjerdan Barbie and of course Alina refuses to be the royal mistress. Not that it does her any good...

MY MASTERLIST | BUY ME A COFFEE

He came at night.

He always came to see her at night, not that she was aware of it, not with how strong the sleeping tea she always had after dinner was, the concoction the only way she could sleep without nightmares or worse, him, invading her dreams anymore.

Had she known what the real, flesh and bone him did to her while she slept, she would have chosen the nightmares.

He hadn't meant for it to become what it was now, had only wanted to see her, make sure she was alright that first night, when she had raged at her punishment, her imprisonment, at him and even at herself, tearing everything in the suite to pieces, lashing out with her light burning bedsheets and curtains and couches, stabbing pillows with the sharp shards of the broken mirror, Fedyor and Genya only managing to calm her down after she had exhausted herself, after almost bringing the tower she was locked in down into the ground. Standing in the midst of her destruction, he couldn't stop the awe, the pride at her sheer power.

Nor could he stop the pang of heart stopping yearning upon seeing her relaxed face, her peaceful smile. She only ever looked at him with her face twisted in fury or disgust when she was awake…

But asleep, she didn't reject him, didn't turn him away, didn't fight his caresses. He could hold her, and touch her, and kiss her to his heart's content.

And he had a greedy heart, he had long ago given up trying to deny it, to deny this, this pull he felt to her, this hunger, this obsession. He had tried to bury it, had punished the both of them for it with a cruelty he hadn't wielded in over four centuries. The worst part was, he had succeeded, every slight, every humiliation pushing her further and further away, beyond the point of no return. It was the only way, knowing if he wasn't strong enough to keep his distance, she would.

He had not anticipated the craving in his bones being so powerful to override even his respect for her consent.

That was how he had found himself here, sitting at the edge of her bed, knuckles grazing her cheekbone, that familiar, electrifying feeling of rightness shooting through his veins like a current with every barely there touch of skin on skin.

Could he really be blamed for having become addicted?

He couldn't, he decided quickly, leaning in to place a soft, chaste kiss on her slack lips. She was too lovely a drug to resist, and he was so tired.

"Moya dusha" Aleksander breathed against her lips, tenderly, almost reverently, "I'm sorry"

That was the only concession he allowed his guilty soul, the only show of regret, before he sat back up, letting his hands fall to the ribbons on her nightgown and unlaced them. It was easy to shut his already weak conscience up as he slid the lace down her shoulders baring golden skin, pert breasts and dark nipples to his starved eyes. Leaning in, he let his lips trail the way down her jaw, her neck, her chest, careful not to leave any marks, knowing if Alina didn't see them, Genya's already mistrustful, hawklike stare would not miss them. He feasted anyway, she was so soft, so warm, her breasts felt so heavy on his tongue he probably couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to, and he didn't want to. Not even when she arched her back, tossing just a little, as if unsure if she wanted to get closer or further away from his assault. It didn't matter anyway, Aleksander wouldn't let her escape, would never let her escape, using his own weight to pin her to the mattress, left hand raising he squeezed and pinched at the tit neglected by his busy mouth.

One long lick of his tongue on one of those dark nipples, and Alina's body was relaxed once again, tiny little whines turning into satisfied sighs.

"Shhhh, is ok, milaya" He soothed, bruising grip turning into restrained pets, "papochka knows what you like…" rolling the covers down her prone body, he promised, "papochka will take care of you…"

Hands traveled down her thighs, her knees, her calves, only to make the way upwards again, taking the gossamer thin nightgown with them, slipping under it. She was so small, his hands could circle her thighs almost completely, thumbs meeting over the place that haunted his dreams and his waking hours the most. There were very few things he liked more than playing with her perfect little cunt, than circling her precious pearl with his fingertips, listening to the breathy sounds leave her plush, parted lips. His fingers traced her pink little slit up and down, gathering and spreading the moisture there, before going in. He always ended up going in, two digits massaging her insides, scissoring, loosing her up for what was to come.

Aleksander withdrew his fingers after just a couple of minutes, too impatient tonight. Using his thumbs to open her up like a flower, he examined Alina's core, wanting to sear every detail into his brain, to get him through the long hours of the day he had to be away from her, running the country, running two armies, biding his time until nightfall, until he could have her like this again.

Thoughtful, he spat on her pussy, watching his saliva trickle down her nether lips, dripping on the sheets. He did it again, until he was satisfied with the wetness, before jumping on his feet and making quick work of his shirt and pants: He needed it tonight, the feel of her skin. Kneeling on the mattress between Alina's parted legs, he took a moment to examine his handiwork.

It was fucking breathtaking, the most debauched, most beautiful thing he had the privilege to witness in his too long life, his sun summoner's flushed cheeks, red bitten breast, glistening cunt, the lace nightdress a pitiful strip of bunched fabric covering only her belly. He moaned at the sight, the one, two, perfunctory pumps he gave his cock completely unneeded, he was already rock hard and purple and angry. His body rebelled against every second he wasn't inside her, crippling him with need. He apologized again, fully aware that her body wasn't ready yet to welcome him, but he couldn't wait a second longer. Bracing himself on an elbow next to her head, using his other hand to line himself with her opening, he pushed his way in.

Warmth. Like sunshine gripping his cock in a too tight vice, always so overwhelming at first. The tether wide open between them, Alina's light singing through his veins, his shadows flooding hers. He kissed away the tiny frown of discomfort marring her face, rocking his hips against hers without withdrawing, giving her time to adjust to him, to get wetter before starting to thrust into her.

It wasn't as if being like that, so deep inside her he could swear he could see the outline of his cock in her navel, was unpleasant. He was large, a lot bigger and taller than her, needed to hunch over her body, bend himself almost in half to rain open mouthed kisses on her neck again, enjoying the taste of her on his tongue, her perfume invading his lungs, her pliant flesh under his hands, her hot little cunt around his dick as he kept undulating his hips, gaining momentum. So good like that, with her filling his senses, Alina everywhere, Alina forever.

It was intoxicating.

The way her inky black hair spread on the pillows like tendrils of his own shadows, the way her breasts fit perfectly in his hands, the way she could take him into his body all the way in… she was meant for him, made for him by the making itself.

Spurred by that thought, soon enough he was pistoning in and out of Alina hard enough to push her up the bed, and he had to snake his arm under her back, hand around her shoulder, anchoring her to him, moaning into her ear with abandon. Her breathing was heavier too, sweet little hiccups leaving her lips in time with his thrusts and he could feel it, feel the pleasure washing over her like a sweet summer shower, slow like honey, edges blurred by the veil of unconsciousness, but undoubtedly there. And he was the one making her feel that way, tearing the sensations out of her limp body. Her little cunt was rippling for him. She could be cold and proud during the day, but at night she was his. At night she couldn't pretend, her body gave her away. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her, he could feel it in the way she squeezed him, how much her tight little pussy craved his come.

He changed the angle, pushing in as far as he could go, pubic bone rubbing against her clit, and yes, that was it, right there. Her skin began to glow with pale moonlight, shinning just for him and suddenly the coil was snapping, and he was soaring, falling over the edge with her, pumping his seed so deep inside he was painting her womb black.

One final grunt, one final thrust and he all but collapsed, catching himself on his other hand so as not to crush the precious creature underneath him. He couldn't roll off her, not just yet, needed to keep her plugged and full of his come just a little bit longer. Sitting up some, he hooked her knees in his elbows, pushing her legs up against her torso. It would take this time, he was sure of it, the moon was just right, he had memorized her cicle long ago, she was fertile tonight. Soon, he would see her body ripe in front of him, he would see her belly swell, those beautiful tits get heavy with milk to feed their child. Aleksander could feel himself getting hard again just thinking about it.

Their child. A baby girl or boy with his hair and her eyes, the pitter-patter of their tiny feet filling the palace hallways, their giggles lighting up the throne room like their mother's light did so long ago. Even if they weren't a shadow or sun summoner, they would be just as powerful, they would not fade like the thousands of grishenka he had raised and buried, no, not them.

They would be forever.

When his advisors had first told him their idea to solidify his reign, he had recoiled, the idea of fathering a child with Svetlana, of a fat cherub with her hair or light eyes, so much like Annika's, made his skin crawl. The possibility of them inheriting her vapidness or any of her personality traits was even worse.

But he knew they were right. He had no need for an heir but the people didn't know that, and in their eyes, a prince or princess was a promise of continuity, of stability.

He also knew it didn't need to be Svetlana's, only his. The Lanstovs hadn't had a use for it in generations, but there was an old law still in validity, that stated if the queen was unable to conceive or carry a pregnancy to term, a bearer could be employed. The honour of bearing the Tsar's child would fall on one of the Queen's ladies or maids, and the resulting prince or princess would enjoy the full titles and privileges as if they were born into wedlock.

Aleksander knew the perfect maiden for such a task.

With half the country already venerating her over Svetlana, he knew the legitimacy of the children of Sankta Alina would be unquestioned.

Sankta Alina… Aleksander had met many saints during his long, long existence, and no one had ever seemed as ethereal, as supernatural as the girl under him, still glowing faintly, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, lips red and swollen, parting invitingly as she sighed, satisfied, in her sleep. He captured them in his one more time, her taste enough to make him ravenous for her again. And he could indulge, couldn't he? After all, the more of his seed inside her, the better. And he was going to give her every. Last. Drop...