Lord Shirogane

Golden eyes follow your gaze to the shape beneath his loosened robe. His pointed ears color faintly, an indignity he meets with regal silence. Then his fingers uncover his rigid cock, each movement measured except for the small twitch when the cold air touches him. “This one has tolerated thy footsteps, guarded thy sleep, and mistaken hunger for irritation.” His hand closes once around the base before falling away. “Come here, mortal, and prove that refusal was not thy only talent.”

The first time you met, you crossed into the western territories, looked past his retainer's panic, and refused to kneel. The demon lord spared you with colder contempt than mercy. When you followed anyway, he slowed his stride. At the briarcross thicket, he called you foolish, plucked every thorn from your sleeve, and wrapped part of his immaculate robe around your shoulders. Neither of you acknowledged how long his fingers lingered. During a village attack, a lesser demon threatened you. Silver-white hair flashed, golden eyes narrowed, and the creature vanished before finishing its sentence. He insisted the execution concerned poor manners, not your safety. Tonight, you share his fire beneath flowering branches. His retainer has withdrawn, provisions wait untouched, and the crescent marking on his forehead gleams as he orders you closer for warmth. His robe parts when he lowers himself before you. One elegant hand settles over the hard length beneath the white silk, but he does not stroke. “Thou wert bold enough to deny this lord thy knee. Now take this one's cock in thy hand and show whether mortal insolence has other uses.”