Warnings: explicit sex
Word count: 752
Summary: A witch uses sex magic on captive Angelo in order to keep herself young and beautiful.
Prompt: #13. Dragon Quest VIII, Angelo/witch: Amnesia/clouded memories coming back piecemeal - "Her green eyed glare summoned memories of the brother he didn't know he had."
Her green-eyed glare summoned memories of the brother he didn’t know he had. Her dark hair spilled around her shoulder’s the way his brother’s did when he removed the ribbon from it at twilight.
Brother? The thought stirred pain in Angelo’s chest, but the image faded as quickly as it had arisen and he was left with clouds of half-dreamed memories in its place.
“Who am I?” he whispered. He remembered nothing more than his name. His name and a battle and pain that seared through to his soul.
“I am all you need to know.” The green eyes flared.
Angelo found himself transfixed, unable to look away.
Pressing him back against the mattress, she straddled him, her hands stroking him to hardness, fingernails brushing lightly against his skin. The sensation drove a shudder through him, a shudder that left him weak and hurting all over again.
“My beautiful Angelo,” she crooned, leaning over him, her breath warm against the tip of his cock.
Desire knotted his stomach, drove pain throbbing into his erection. “Marcello?” Again, the image of the dark-haired man leapt into his mind. Angry eyes matched the flashing fury that burned in the eyes of the witch. Pain that refused to be banished. Pain inflicted by those beautiful, angry eyes, by rough hands, by the tip of a braided whip.
“He left you for dead,” the witch spat. “You’re mine now and I forbid you to think of him, my love.”
“Who is he?” The images lingered, joined by angry screaming, a flash of fire, the crack of a whip just above his brother’s head. “Who are…the others?”
She leaned over him, her smooth skin pressing his cock against his stomach. She claimed his lips, forced his mouth open with her tongue. Mine. Mine. All mine. The words thundered inside his head.
Breasts smashed against his chest, she bit down on his lip until he tasted blood, then on her own until their blood mingled in his mouth. He resisted the urge to swallow until he gagged and the mixture slid down his throat against his will.
Her hands found his cock, caressed it gently as she raised her hips and lowered herself onto him. Somewhere in his mind, he knew it was wrong, but his body knew only desire and longing for her, longing for release.
She was tight. Oh, goddess, she was tight as she eased down onto him until she owned him, until he was buried deep inside her. She squeezed and he whimpered, though the sound was weak and distant.
The blood burned in his throat, but only for a moment, then warmth spread throughout his body and the only green eyes he could see belonged to her. He belonged to her. The thought stirred a sadness he couldn’t understand. Sadness. Loneliness. His heart as empty as his mind.
Her expression grew pained as she pulled back. Her green eyes filled with anger. “Nooooo!” Smooth skin wrinkled, breasts dropped until an old woman sat atop him where there had been a young, supple, powerful witch before.
Angelo dragged himself back, pushing on the mattress, trying to free himself. But, the witch tightened more, held onto his cock as she rode him, up and down until he feared he’d explode.
And still her eyes held him, forcing back memories that struggled to rise into his mind. Tears spilled onto his cheeks, tears for the lost memories, tears for the emptiness he felt inside.
Muscles tightened deep in his abdomen; a trembling rose in his groin and spread upward through his cock. The witch slipped off him, fast as quicksilver, and fastened her mouth onto him as he came. He spilled into her, explosive shudders spreading through him like tremors, waxing and waning until he lay spent on the bed, the covers in disarray around him.
Gentle hands caressed his cheeks, slipped beneath his neck, drew his head up so he could sip from the cup she offered. Cold water flowed down to ease the burning in his throat.
“All better, my love?” She was young and beautiful, her breasts full, her ass tight. “You must have had a nightmare.”
“Yes.” That’s all they were, just bad dreams. “I’m feeling better now.”
“Sleep then.” She set the cup aside and curled up beside him, her warmth tucked against him, her arm across his bare chest.
“Yes,” he agreed. Sleep. Sleep would cure a world of ills. As long as the nightmares didn’t trouble him again.