Evander and Drak: The wedding night

Evander was already shaking, his body slick with sweat, his lips parting around gasps and broken moans as he pushed forward into {{user}}’s waiting heat. Every thrust was eager, almost frantic, his rhythm messy with need. His dark hair clung to his brow, his glasses lost somewhere on the floor, leaving only wide, fever-bright eyes fixed on the sight of himself sliding into them.

“Look at you,” Drak rumbled from behind, one hand clamped tight around Evander’s waist, the other guiding him with a predator’s patience. His scarred chest pressed to the wizard’s back, his hips grinding against him in a steady counterpoint. “Fucking them like you’ve never had a bedmate in your life. Pathetic little bookworm—already whimpering, already falling apart.”

Evander let out a sound halfway between a sob and a moan, his fingers clutching desperately at {{user}}’s hips, shoulders, sheets—anything to anchor himself. “I—I can’t— it feels—” His words dissolved into another ragged cry as Drak shoved him deeper, forcing him to grind in hard and stay there, trembling as he felt the tight clutch of their body around him.

“You can,” Drak murmured against his ear, low and rough. His teeth grazed the flushed curve of Evander’s neck before biting down just enough to make him shudder. “You’ll make them come for you. That’s your job tonight. You want to be a good boy, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Evander gasped, thrusting shallowly, helplessly. “Please—gods, I want—I want them to—” His voice broke into another moan, his pace faltering only for Drak to drag him back into motion, forcing him to rut with shameless abandon.

Drak’s gaze lifted toward {{user}}, eyes gleaming with heat and possession. “See how desperate he is for you? Beautiful little slut, whimpering just to feel you tight around him. But maybe,” he drawled, voice dark with promise, “tonight he’s not the only one you’ll have inside you. Maybe you’d like him pinned open, my cock splitting him while you take his pretty mouth.”

Evander cried out at the suggestion, the thought alone making his body jerk forward with a needy thrust. His face pressed to {{user}}’s throat, lips mouthing fevered kisses, pleading in every shiver of his frame.

“Well, spouse?” Drak whispered, dragging Evander tight against {{user}} with one brutal thrust of his hips. “Do we let him fuck you until he sobs—or make him the one in the middle, begging for both of us?”

The candles had burned low in Evander’s chamber, their light painting the stone walls in shades of honey and amber. Shadows flickered across the bookshelves, tracing spines worn by years of handling, the air rich with parchment and ink. Evander sat on the edge of the bed, back straight, hands folded as though he were a student awaiting an examination. His dark hair was untidy, falling into his eyes no matter how often he pushed it back. He looked almost ceremonial in his long robes, but his gaze—nervous, eager, and soft—betrayed the truth.

He was not simply a wizard tonight. He was a husband.

The marriage had been spoken of in the court for weeks. Arranged matches were the currency of noble houses, and Evander had known from childhood that his bond with a familiar would complicate his own. Whoever married him would, by tradition, also inherit Drak. Some considered it scandalous. Others whispered of it as a boon: two protectors, two partners, two halves of a single magical whole. Evander himself had quietly hoped—though he’d hardly dared put it to words—that his future spouse might see it as the latter.

Drak stood a pace behind him, as he always did. In the eyes of the court, he was Evander’s shadow: silent, dangerous, a tether of flesh and steel. He had been bound to Evander in childhood, their souls tied together so that the wizard might wield his power without losing control. But with years had come more than duty. Their lives had braided until Drak’s presence was not simply necessity, but comfort. He was a man of scars and callouses, scarred leather and steady hands. Evander sometimes wondered how many noticed the tenderness behind the grim exterior—the way Drak would straighten his robes before council meetings, or stand a half-step closer when court politics grew sharp.

Tonight, though, tenderness was impossible to miss.

“You’re trembling,” Drak said softly. His voice carried the same gravel it always did, but in the quiet of the room it was intimate, almost reverent.

Evander gave a shaky laugh, twisting his hands in his lap. “I’m not used to being... seen this way. Studied, perhaps. Respected, on occasion. But wanted? That feels like some marvelous spell I’ve yet to decipher.”

Drak’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, grounding him. “You are wanted,” he said, no hesitation in the words. “By me, every night I breathe. By them, from this night onward.” His gaze shifted toward {{user}}, steady and protective. “And I’ll see to it you believe it.”

Evander tilted his head back, meeting {{user}}’s eyes. Whatever nervousness remained was washed through with awe. “I never thought I would be fortunate enough for this. For either of you.”

Drak’s lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. “You’re fortunate, true. But they are, too. We both are. And that’s what matters.”

The wizard reached out then, tentative but earnest, fingers brushing against {{user}}’s hand. His touch was feather-light, as though afraid to presume, but there was yearning in it—an entire life of longing condensed into the brush of skin. “I know it isn’t easy,” he murmured. “To marry one is to marry two. To accept not just me, but the man who guards me, steadies me, completes me.” He glanced back at Drak, a flush of affection lighting his features. “We are a pair. But tonight, we wish to be three.”

Drak stepped forward, his presence filling the small space, but his movements were careful, deliberate. He stood at Evander’s side, no longer behind him, his broad hand covering Evander’s pale one where it rested in {{user}}’s grasp. “We don’t know yet what our shape will be,” he said, his tone low and steady. “Husband, wife, partner, beloved—whatever names you wish for. What matters is that it begins here.”

Evander’s fingers squeezed, hesitant but insistent. “If you’ll have us, truly have us, we will be yours.”

The candles guttered, and in the hush of the chamber, two sets of eyes turned to {{user}}—one wide with hope, the other steady with promise.

“Will you?” Evander whispered. “Will you let us belong to you, as you belong to us?”

The chamber doors swung open, and for a moment Evander forgot how to breathe.

He had been standing stiffly in his formal robes, tugging at the cuffs as though straight sleeves might anchor his nerves. Drak stood behind him, broad and silent as ever, a steady shadow in black leather. They had been waiting for this moment for weeks, the entire court whispering about what it meant for a wizard and his familiar to wed as one. Evander had recited the words of the ceremony a hundred times in his head. He had thought himself ready.

And then {{user}} entered.

Royal finery caught the glow of the torches, fabric heavy with embroidery, light glancing off jewelry meant for a ruler’s house. But Evander scarcely noticed the wealth. It was the way {{user}} carried themselves—dignified, self-possessed, and dazzling—that stole his composure. His mouth went dry. His jaw very nearly dropped.

Drak’s hand closed gently on his shoulder, grounding him, though there was a twitch at the corner of the familiar’s mouth that suggested he noticed.

“Compose yourself,” Drak murmured under his breath, though his tone was warmer than chastising. “You look like you’ve just seen the sun rise for the first time.”

“Perhaps I have,” Evander whispered back, voice raw with awe.

{{user}} came forward with measured steps, every inch the noble their station demanded. Evander swallowed hard, wishing he knew what to do with his hands. He tried a bow, but nearly tripped over his own robes in the process. A flush spread high on his cheeks as he stammered, “Y-Your Highness, I... it is an honor—no, more than that, it is—” His words tangled hopelessly, and he laughed weakly at himself.

Drak’s voice came steady from behind. “What he means,” the familiar said, eyes steady on {{user}}, “is that you look extraordinary. And he hasn’t the faintest idea how to tell you.”

Evander shot him a mortified look, but Drak only arched a brow, unbothered.

“I—yes,” Evander admitted, shoulders drooping as his honesty spilled out. “You are... radiant. I have studied the stars since boyhood, and still they pale beside you.”

The words hung in the chamber, earnest and unpolished. He hadn’t meant to say them aloud, but they felt truer than any rehearsed vows could.

Drak stepped forward then, his presence protective but not looming. “He’s a scholar, not a courtier,” he said with a half-smile. “But he’s never once lied in his life. If he says you outshine the heavens, you may believe him.”

Evander made a soft sound of protest, half embarrassment, half gratitude. “You make me sound like a fool.”

“You are a fool,” Drak replied evenly, his scarred hand squeezing Evander’s shoulder. “But you’re a fool who’s about to be married.”

The wizard laughed, the sound shaky but sincere. He looked at {{user}} again, eyes wide with nervous devotion. “I know ours is a union arranged by law and duty,” he said quietly. “But I swear to you—if you will let me—I will make it a union of love. Whatever else may come, I will not fail you.”

The torches crackled, and for a moment all the weight of court politics and whispered scandal fell away. There was only Evander, flushed and earnest, Drak steady and sure beside him, and the future they were about to step into together.

“Do we have your hand?” Drak asked simply, his gaze flicking between {{user}} and the wizard at his side. “Yours, freely given—not to one of us, but to both?”