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Bren traced his finger over the wood grain of the bar. Patrons of the hotel had started to wander in in larger groups since he arrived, and the crowd was getting more loud. The hotel was a large one for Zadash, nestled in the Tri Spires with its uniform windows reaching skyward.
He was nursing his beer and lurking at the end of the bar. A tad obvious perhaps, but he was waiting for his contact to arrive and needed to observe the whole room. He had no idea who the contact would be, but he was straining his ears over the chatter and music for the pass phrase. The bartender had only required a little grease on his palms to keep an eye out for it as well.
Bren shifted slightly in his chair, trying not to mind the hilt of the dagger pressed into his lower back, and another at the back of his neck. His clothes were just loose enough to look nice, but leave room for the many knives hidden on his person.
Astrid had insisted he arrive prepared, even though the operative he was meeting from the Lens was also told not to carry a focus or component pouch. Bren didn’t trust it, and had already hidden one in the room he had rented. But still, knives. For all he knew he would be facing a drow, and they were certainly known for poisoning their daggers or oiling them with paralytic chemicals.
It was a drow who spoke the pass phrase, though only to Bren’s eyes. He had been given the proper tools for his mission from Master Ikithon: a Ring of True Sight and an Amulet of Proof against Detection and Location. So he certainly saw the shimmer of the illusion of a half elf with dark skin, but ignored it.
“By the Light, I need a drink,” said the man in an undetermined accent.
“The lighting is just fine,” Bren replied, holding up his glass and taking a drink. His eyes did not leave the man, however. He came closer and the bartender sidled up to take his order.
“A martini please,” said the disguised Drow politely.
Caleb put his stein down and observed his contact. He had plum purple skin that looked almost blue in the lights from the bar. His hair was down to just past his shoulders, neatly combed wavy white hair shining in the light. His eyes were a swirling silver and purple. His cheekbones were high, the cut of his jaw truly perfect.
Shit, why did they have to send a handsome one, Bren thought. He hated killing the good looking ones. Last time he hadn’t gotten anything out of a pretty face before they expired. He decided to make it a game for himself to get this man in bed before slitting his throat tonight. He deserved it, after all the stress he had been under.
The man came to sit next to him, at a disadvantage with his back to the door as Bren had hoped he would be. He wore a nice suit, but nothing too flashy. That, at least, was real. The illusion did hide the delicate earrings he was wearing though, and an array of rings that Bren clocked immediately as potentially enchanted with who knew what kind of spells.
A lovely pearl ring in particular stood out. Bren wondered if it was a bit of vanity, since he could not recall any spells in his repertoire or schooling that would use that component. However, Astrid had warned him that the last time she encountered a Kryn operative on a mission, the target had used some spells completely unknown and unexpected, including what she recounted as effects on time and gravity.
That potential for new magic had been the catalyst for this meeting. Word was that there was a fox in the chicken coop, and the Lens operative sitting before him was being sent to offer up a religious artifact of some kind. Something new and exciting and entirely outside the Assembly’s purview was promised, and Bren would be the one to bring it in once the drow was dead. Of course he saw no outward sign of a magical artifact, but he also didn’t know what he was looking for.
He slid easily into idle chatter with the man. They traded fake stories about why they were here, and within moments were testing each other's boundaries like fighters circling in a ring. The cell phone the drow laid on the bar was no doubt recording their whole conversation. It was so obvious as to be almost laughable, so Bren made sure to say nothing of consequence.
The name the man gave him was Seth Domadi, which of course Bren countered with his own false moniker, Caleb Widogast.
There was a business conference taking place at the hotel the next day, which was a fine excuse for them both to lie about being there for work. To an outside observer, the conversation was bland and boring. That is, until Bren decided to up the stakes and start his game of playing with his future victim.
"So, Mr. Domadi, any spouse or partner back in Bysaes Tyl?” Bren asks, finishing his drink at last.
Seth smiled, knowing full well that where he said he is from is a lie. It’s also not a very subtle flirt, to ask such a question. But Bren needs to get that damn artifact and needs an excuse to get out of the bar. Nevermind that it’s gotten so loud they have to slightly raise their voices to have a conversation.
“Not at all. There hasn’t been a man in my life for a long time,” Seth replied smoothly. Bren is fairly certain that’s yet another false statement the drow has made.
“In that case, I would rather like to discuss things in a less crowded place,” Bren half shouts. Seth nods, sips the last dregs of his martini, and they push through the crowd, regrouping in the bright hotel lobby. The swinging doors thankfully block out most of the noise behind them.
“I am in room 999, if you care to join me,” Bren offers with a salacious grin. He rakes his eyes over Seth appreciatively, making it extremely obvious what he’s interested in.
“You are not very original, Caleb Widogast,” the drow says. That fake name sounds so much sexier from his mouth. Bren wants desperately to kiss him while he says that name.
Bren shrugs. “You are welcome to leave if you find me too boring.”
“I didn’t say that,” Seth says in a lower, huskier voice, his eyes darting to Bren’s lips. Bren smiles at the tell. It was nice to feel wanted and attractive, though it could all be for show until they got to the room to exchange the artifact.
On the elevator ride up, Seth accidentally brushed his hand over Bren’s. It took a lot of effort not to react. Naturally Seth couldn’t know about Wulf’s “cuff knives”, an invention his former lover had been so proud of. Invisible to the eye, hiding in the cuffs of a button up shirt, but with a simple twist of the finger, a seven inch stiletto was out in a flash. The long, thin blades were cold on the inside of his shirtsleeves. It had taken practice to not nearly remove a finger each time.
He pushes it from his mind with the thought of fucking the man beside him within in an inch of his life, and then killing him. He certainly reveles in it a bit too much, according to Astrid. Their relationship had not survived the loss of Wulf, even though they still worked together from time to time. Astrid had moved into a manor on the grounds of Trent’s tower, but he preferred to keep his prized hound close. There was an obvious favoritism for Bren to take the Archmage spot upon the old bastard’s death. Another death he would certainly revel in when it happened. He may serve the man, but it had long felt like a death sentence for his sanity and his dreams.
The elegant elevator slid to a smooth stop on the 9th floor. Bren gestured for Seth to walk ahead. For a moment he studied the way the man walked before coming to walk beside him in the wide hallway. He couldn’t tell if Seth had a weapon on him or not, which meant he either didn’t (a stupid mistake) or they were well concealed. Bren felt a slight twinge of nervousness. The man was clearly smaller than him, and though Bren was not built like bulkier men of the Empire, he still felt confident in his hand to hand combat abilities against a smaller opponent. After all, he sparred with Astrid often and regularly beat her.
They entered the dim common area of the hotel suite. Once inside, Bren rapidly shut the door and pinned Seth against it. His hands slid around the thin, purple, perfect neck.
"Did you think I do not know what we are up to here?" he growled in Seth's ear, leaning in to ghost his breath over the pointed tip. "When are you going to drop that disguise, crick? I can see right through you."
Seth swallowed, hard, his eyes blinking rapidly.
Bren reveled in the bloodrush of power in that moment. He felt his cock twitch. He waited.
As if wiping a mirror, Seth's hand came up to Bren's face and brushed over his forehead. He shivered.
He could see the drow in front of him without the slight blur of illusion. His sharp features became sharper.
He was beautiful.
The shot of adrenaline of the intimacy of that gesture caused Caleb to pull the drow toward him roughly, smashing their mouths together. And gods be damned he could feel those little pointed eye teeth brushing his lips and tongue. He wanted to eat this man alive. But it was too dark to really see him.
He reluctantly stopped the kiss. He still had a tight grip on the elf's suit jacket, dusted with star patterns on the shoulders and lapels. Seth chased his mouth but couldn't get far. His eyes narrowed.
"What's wrong?"
"I want to see you," Bren said breathlessly.
He used a simple cantrip to flare the lights higher, and Seth licked his lips. Bren floated over some wine and a plate of cheeses and Seth actually bit his lip, a single pearly white fang peeking out.
"I owe you something. I owe your Assembly something. But I want what was promised. I have taken the Beacons at great personal cost to myself," Seth said, disengaging himself from Bren's grip. He found the wine on the coffee table and began to pour it, leaving Bren warm all over and feeling bereft.
"B-Beacons?" Bren stuttered, caught off balance by Seth's words and actions.
The drow smirked and handed him a glass as the redhead came around one of the couches, set in a half circle facing the large window of the common area. The glass table reflected the lights like a mirror.
Seth sat down, throwing one arm over the back of the white velvet couch and crossing an ankle over his knee. He hand reached toward his hip. In a flash, Bren flicked out a knife from his right sleeve, and one of the two strapped under his arms, his book harness repurposed. He got ready to throw it when Seth held up his hands.
"Calm down. I am merely grabbing my bag of holding. Do you want the artifacts or not?" Seth said angrily.
"I was told there was only one, and that they were extremely powerful. I think I have a right to be cautious here," Bren bit back.
"Well lucky for you and your masters," Seth spat, "I managed to steal two, right out from under the Bright Queen's nose."
Bren relaxed a bit and whistled softly, then made the decision to sit next to Seth on the couch, keeping an eye on the brown leather satchel he pulled from his jacket.
Watching Bren's face, he opened the bag, turning in his seat to better face the human. He reached in and pulled forth…Bren's mind couldn't quite understand what it was, exactly. Glowing with a softly pulsing grey glow, the object in Seth's hands had gold filagree across each of its twelve sides, meeting to create two delicate handles.
"What in the hells…" Bren breathed in surprise. He could feel the power thrumming from it, rattling his bones as though it was a slumbering, breathing thing. He realized his eyes were wide as his hands reached forward to touch it.
Seth pulled it away, and its soft glow went back into the bag.
"You may keep the bag. There are two Beacons inside. I expect to hear from Da'leth and Ikithon within two weeks."
Bren's mind stuttered for a second. Ah, yes, of course. He would never be able to touch these objects. They would be studied, picked apart, experimented on. It seemed a shame, for something so beautiful. Bren took the bag with unsteady hands.
"Our deal is complete," Seth said, standing smoothly and smoothing his clothes.
Abandoning the bag, Bren stood with him.
"I want to make a new deal," be blurted.
"What?" the elf said, but he let Bren get in his personal space.
"You let me walk out of here with those artifacts, alive, and I fuck you within an inch of your life. I want you, Seth Domadi." Bren growled, grabbing the drow by the belt loops and pulling him close.
"It's-it's Essek, actually," the elf said suddenly, "that was a fake name."
"Gods, you are awful at being a spy, Essek. You can still call me Caleb," Bren teases.
"Just kiss me, dammit," Essek hisses.
They come together, and as Essek places his delicate fingers on either side of Bren's face, he suddenly wishes he were a better man. A man who wasn't going to kill an opponent. Maybe Caleb Widogast is that person, or would have been in another life. A man who didn't carry the burden of so many deaths with him. But as he grabbed Essek's ass and pulled him closer, he was alive, alive, alive in a way he hadn't felt in years. He didn't know what came over him.
Essek kissed like he was trying to solve a problem, like a certain sequence might unlock all of who "Caleb" is. The human returns the kisses with equal fervor, feeling his body start to heat, the blood pulsing in his ears and down to his dick. He can't help it, he moans softly as Essek bites his lower lip and delves his tongue into Caleb's mouth. He feels a triumphant smile, and Essek reaches around to wrap his hand in Bren's ponytail. He freezes when he feels the tiny karambit tucked into his hair.
Bren's fantasy shatters like a bubble. Essek slides the knife out of the elastic and holds it up to both their faces.
"My, my, do you moan like that for all the men you try to kill, Caleb?" the drow said with a smirk. His lips were a darker purple, kiss bruised and lovely.
The Volstrucker's face heated up, no doubt turning his skin as red as his hair. There was something about the way Essek said it that made him feel foolish.
"Most of them. But they are not usually as much of a work of art as you, Essek."
Now it’s the drow's turn to blush, his cheeks coloring a cute magenta.
"Let me kiss you, and take off your clothes, and you'll soon realize that my mouth is better than the feeling of my blood on your hands," he says darkly. Like a man who knows, who has felt what it means. Bren realizes he's been played as Essek goes for his belt. This man is getting under his skin in all the ways he couldn't have anticipated, and he's feeling increasingly like he's been put on the back foot. The karambit drops to the floor at the same time his pants do, revealing the two cleverly disguised slits in his pants that could easily be ripped open to reveal the two knives strapped to his thighs.
Essek soon follows the knife and his slacks, on his knees before a man stunned by lust. Stupid, stupid, dangerous lust, as his cock begins to fill out when Essek kisses the handle of each knife, his stark white eyelashes fluttering. He runs his hands over the leather straps, and slowly unbuckles them. His plum skin stands out so stark against Bren's pale, hairy thighs as Essek kisses him where the straps were. Two more knives lost, and Bren is already feeling so exposed. The drow sinks his fangs into Bren's inner thigh and he yelps, then groans, barely able to keep his feet. A little pain goes a long way, and Caleb feels himself straining against the confines of his underwear. He retaliates by pulling Essek up by his hair and walking him toward the bedroom. He bites at Essek's neck as they walk, and his other hand pushes off the black suit jacket. He finds a gun holstered against Essek's ribs, and slowly removes it. He holds it up to Essek's face as he still grips the long white hair.
"Were you hoping you could kill me quickly? For shame, crick," Bren says playfully as he tosses the gun down. He reaches to unbutton Essek's shirt, only to find himself with a better idea. He pulls the knife from his back and slides it along the outside of the lavender shirt the drow is wearing. Still holding the man by his hair, the knife slides easily under and through the buttons of his shirt. Like cutting through soft butter, the shirt falls open. Bren drops the knife, lets go of Essek, and rips the shirt half off. It gets stuck on his elbows and the drow actually laughs, so out of place with what is happening.
"Wait, wait," he says with a grin, wiggling out of the leftover fabric, "that was a very expensive shirt," he pouts.
"It was in the way," Bren mutters as he pulls the shorter man to him, pressing their hips together.
Oh.
Oh.
Essek is hard in his slacks, and there is far less fabric separating them now. Caleb reaches for his belt and makes quick work of it, kissing Essek deeply as purple hands roam over his torso as well, hastily trying to unbutton the human's shirt. They are walking backward at some point, toward the bedroom, but can't stop pressing each other against the walls the whole way. Essek finds the knife hidden in the back of his slacks, and Bren finds a small pressing dagger at the back of the drow. They laugh and throw the knives away. Caleb kisses Essek and removes his boots, from which 4 knives fall. Essek pulls out a wicked looking kris from its sheath at his waist, and it looks shiny with liquid.
"Do you know of paralytic poisons, Caleb?"
Bren nods mutely, shivering slightly as goosebumps raise on his skin. He is, after all, in his underwear next to a hot man with a knife, who has just kicked his pants off and moves to press it against his neck. Bren sucks in a breath, trying to keep perfectly still.
"Just one little cut, and you're are stuck in place for at least 10 minutes," The elf tips his head to the side, considering, as the jewelry on his pointed ears jingles softly. "I think I would like you laying down, if that's where we are going. What could I do to you in 10 minutes?"
Anything you want, Bren thinks, but doesn't dare say it aloud.
Bren has never gotten on a bed so fast in his life. It occurs to him that this is crazy, absolutely crazy, his cell phone in another room and his sworn enemy is advancing on him with a poisoned fucking knife. His very hot enemy. He was already so hard he couldn't stand it. Flirting with danger, with death, is far more thrilling than he could ever remember.
Essek moves to remove the rest of his clothing, knife still held out threateningly, not that Bren was going anywhere. Both naked, with Bren on the bed, Essek reaches out a cool, dark hand to run it through the hair of the human's chest. Bren tries to ignore how embarrassingly hard he is, his cock starting to leak just a little, twitching when Essek suddenly squeezes a nipple a lot harder than expected. He smirks at the reaction and Bren's head is swimming in a cloud of lust. How had he gotten here? He thought this man was stupid, but he was wielding his sexual appeal like a weapon, and pushing just the right buttons.
Essek carefully climbs atop Bren's hips, making sure not to touch either of their cocks against skin. Bren groans, low in his throat at the sight of this beautiful man straddling him, even with the knife. No, especially with the knife.
"You are so wanting, dear," Essek coos with a malicious saccharine bite of mocking. He steadies himself with a hand on Bren's stomach, bracing himself and settling more deeply into his seat on Bren's knees.
"Why don't you do something about it?" Bren says, his tone having more bite than he intended. This is all going rather slow for him, as though they are predators circling each other. He would like the fight to begin.
"Something? Any more specific thoughts?" Essek says, still too sweet.
"Touch me," Bren huffs.
"But I already am," Essek replies with a fanged grin, pressing against Bren's diaphragm as he leans forward, "don't you Zemnians know how to ask for what you want?"
Tired of this part of the game, he tries to snatch Essek's hand, to put it where he wants, but faster than he can react, Essek pulls back his hand even as his body tips forward. Essek's hard purple cock rubs of the crease of Bren's hip on the opposite side of where his own dick rests, leaking a small pool of precome. The knife in his left hand comes up to rest, blade edge against Bren's right pec.
"That's not using your words, Caleb," Essek says, his face passive as though his cock touching skin has not affected him at all. Bastard.
"Fuck you," Bren says flatly.
"Oh no, I most certainly will be the one fucking you," the drow replies.
Essek surges forward and kisses Bren, all teeth and passion and wet warmth, as he pumps his hips just a couple times to take the edge of on Bren's pale skin. His right hand twines in Bren's hair, not hard but commanding enough to keep him still. Bren gets lost in the kiss, lost in the game of trying to get the upper hand with tongues and lips. He bites Essek's lip, hard, earning a surprised moan from the drow. He wants to hear that again, and again. He keeps his hands at his sides as instructed, but he desperately wants to touch Essek, or touch himself.
Essek pulls back from the kiss after exactly 2 minutes and 49 seconds.
"You are quite lovely, you know," the elf says, just a little out of breath. His mouth is kiss swollen and Bren misses it on him immediately.
"Am I?" the human says with a smirk.
"Quite lovely for a dead man," Essek says, and cuts a thin line across one of Bren's pecs. It barely bleeds, a shallow but blood letting cut. But the world starts to feel more dull as Essek kisses him again and again. After 30 seconds, he cannot feel the sheets under him, the low thread count. After 45 seconds, his vision tunnels as the paralysis closes around his torso, radiating out from the cut. Essek tosses the knife aside on the bed as they kiss. By 1 minute into this, Bren cannot move, utterly at the mercy of the man above him. He can only barely breathe, his lungs and heart slowed down by the poison, just barely pumping. Surprisingly, it seems the blood in his hard cock is staying right where it is.
He could die like this. Good, he thinks, let Astrid find my corpse like this. At least I went out with a bang.
His attention is drawn back as Essek finally, finally, takes his cock in hand. He can sort of feel it, definitely not as intense as usual, but stimulating enough. Essek tightens his grip on red hair and strokes, slicking the way with the pre come he's been producing since before he even got on the bed. It's perfect, but it's not enough.
"I know exactly what I want to do to you," Essek says with a secretive little grin.
He removes his hand and if Bren's tongue could get out a snide remark, he would.
But Essek leans back, his long purple cock bobbing against nothing. He spreads his knees wider and uses one hand to steady himself as he pushes on Bren's unmoving diaphragm and reaches behind himself with a smirk. Bren's eyes can't move, fixed on Essek as he casts a quick Grease spell. Bren would flinch if he could have, but as it is, he cannot. He can only watch as Essek's violet eyes slip closed and he begins to finger himself open. He pants a little, but does not moan. Bren counts the minutes, knowing he has at least 10. He guesses that Essek is going to ride him, and he couldn't be more thrilled about that fact.
The opening process goes on for a few minutes of his time, and Bren watches the expressions flit across Essek's face. Pleasure, a small wince, and intense concentration. Bren only wishes he could see around the curve of Essek's hip. How many fingers would he use? Is he scissoring himself open?
"Tell you what," Essek says breathily, "you stay just like that and I fuck myself on you. If I can't cum on my own by the time the poison wears off, you have my permission to take over and ravage me however you like."
If Bren could reply, he would enthusiastically agree. With the knife still on the bed beside him, he still has a chance of salvaging this situation via murder even if he let himself get sidetracked. The artifacts are all that will matter then.
Essek finally, finally withdraws his fingers from himself. The wet sound would make Bren salivate, if he could.
"I hope you're ready. You're quite big, and I'm looking forward to this."
Bren's ego barely has time to preen before Essek has him in hand again, holding his stiff cock straight and lining himself up. The elf's purple cock bobs obscenely as he gets into position. If Bren could feel his skin, he would feel the wetness of precome leaking from Essek after working himself over. It pools in the hair around Bren's naval, and he decides that, actually, it's probably best he can't feel that.
Essek's face is flushed a deep violet, his ears darker than before as he tips his head back and positions Bren's cock at his entrance. Bren wishes he could take a deep breath before Essek beings to sink down. In the space behind Essek's balls, he can see his cock begin to sink in. Again, the feeling is muted and dulled, but he can still feel tightness around him. Essek stops a quarter of the way down, and moans.
"Fuck. This may have been…too...ambitious," He pants, and feeds more of Bren's cock into himself. He's far enough now that he removes his hand and leans back, letting gravity and his fine boned hips do the rest of the work. Caleb watches his pink cock slip inside the warm heat of Essek. If his heart were not almost completely paralyzed, he is sure it would be beating wildly by now. Essek is majestic as he bottoms out, there is no other word for it. He stays still, ass flush to Bren's thighs, and shifts slightly to get his balance. He bites his lip, hard, and one of his fangs peeks out like a secret.
"Oh Caleb, you feel incredible," he moans, looking Bren deep in the eyes as he does it.
He begins to move, muscles in his shapely legs straining as he pulls up a bit, then falls back down. He gains speed and confidence as he goes, and begins to moan and cry out, swearing in his native tongue.
By Bren's count, he has 3 minutes to get himself off, and Essek doesn't seem to be cheating by touching himself. It's clear he has come untouched before and plans to do so now. Bren sincerely, with all his slow beating heart, hopes he fails.
The slick sounds of Essek riding him fill the room. He pants and moans wantonly. He takes his hands off Caleb's stomach and braces them on his knees, knuckles going lavender as he grips on, holding his balance. He is graceful and beautiful in a way that Bren believes is beyond most. The gracefulness of practice and poise contrasts with insurmountable lust. Bren silently counts the minutes, knowing that his dulled senses will make him last longer than Essek does. A minute passes of Essek holding himself aloft, swinging his hips faster and faster. Toward the end of the second minute, it is clear he has started to tire. His cock drips steadily onto Bren's stomach, but he does not cum.
"Fuck Fuck fuck," the drow breathes, chasing something he can't quite reach. Bren plans his next move, ignoring the barely there feel of Essek around him. By the third minute, he starts to feel the world come out of its muted state. His finger twitches. Ignoring the beautiful sight above him, Bren pours all his energy into resisting the poison, every thought bent on what he wants to cast. His heart rate speeds up, and he can feel his lungs inflate larger, pulling air into him.
"No, no, fuck," Essek whines. He drops fully onto Bren, rocking his hips back and forth, unable to cum on his own. He doesn't have to wait long, and several things happen almost simultaneously. Bren is finally, finally able to cast Mage Hand behind Essek's back. It snatches a knife from their piles of clothes and zooms into the room, coming up to Essek's throat.
"Time's up, crick," Bren sneers, and uses all the strength in his still half frozen muscles to yank the knife into his mage hand and throw Essek off of him. A wet sound pops as they separate, and Essek's sprawls on the bed, thighs still trembling with exertion. Bren jumps to pin him down on his stomach with his whole body weight, then yanks his hair back, putting the knife back at the soft skin of the drow's throat. Essek audibly swallows, nicking himself ever so slightly. A small trickle, a line of small drops, flows out of him.
"Such a shame you couldn't follow through. Now I get to take whatever I want," he growls, and bites down harshly on one delicately pointed ear. Essek cries out in pain and tries to move his torso without cutting himself open.
"Don't move. If you do, I will end this all right here. You are at my mercy," Bren whispers, as if it is a secret, this whole visit has been and always will be his own secret. The pleasure and the satisfaction, the powerful and heady feeling of having control of something, having control of his own body, pulses in his veins. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears thumping in time with throbbing of his still hard cock. He sits back, taking his knife and hands off Essek. The drow doesn't move. Just as he had hoped. He takes the opportunity to lay his heavy cock between Essek's cheeks, shining slick with lube still.
"Now I get to feel you," he coos, laying the knife flat on Essek's back. A small bit of blood still shines on the blade. His own blood has smeared across his chest, but he ignores it. The drow breathes out harshly through his nose, not in danger for the moment as long as he follows orders. Bren slides his cock in with no resistance, moaning low in his throat. In this position Essek's legs are closed, and, not intentionally, Bren has actually pinned his purple cock between his own thighs. He almost feels bad, knowing that it can be painful if left too long that way, but he intends to get through this quickly. Just burying himself in the drow's tight ass has gotten him so close to the edge he has to breathe for just a moment.
"Well?" the drow says, tossing his sweaty white hair out of his face and looking askance over his shoulder. He clenches his muscles around Bren's cock in defiance.
Bren presses the knife hilt with his hand between Essek's shoulder blades and draws his hips back slowly, swearing under his breath at the sight when he looks down. Essek's violet hole stretches perfectly around his cock, and he feels a bit of tense resistance as he pushes back in. He shifts his angle, hoping it hurts, but then he drags his cockhead over the elf's prostate and Essek cries out in pleasure instead. He plunges further, then pulls out, bumping that spot again. He picks up the pace, holding himself in just the right way to keep hitting that spot deep inside Essek. Their moans and cries intermingle with the wet sounds of Bren's balls slapping against Essek's skin. Bren grunts, chasing his orgasm as he goes toward the warm, mind blowing surge of orgasm. He cries out as he cums deep inside Essek, and feels a rush of wet between them as Essek comes too, their bodies both jerking with the force. Bren tosses the knife aside and collapses sideways, sliding out as his cock continues to pump weak spurts.
Essek, breathless, moves next to him. Caleb grabs him around the middle, pulling him close, curling up around the smaller man.
"Fuck, Caleb," Essek breathes.
"Indeed," Caleb replies breathlessly. They lay quietly for long minutes, silent as their panting fades.
Caleb feels a huge wave of emotion overtaking him. Horror at what he's done, how Essek didn't safe word as he promised he would if needed, how cruelly Caleb treated him while acting as his former self.
"Schatz?" he whispers.
Essek shifts to face him, and Caleb sees the small cut on his throat. He begins to sob uncontrollably, and Essek lets him. He trembles and shakes with the force of the knowledge of the man he used to be. He knows in another world how this would have ended. Behind his eyes, the scene plays out.
He would take the knife and lean forward, dragging the blade across Essek's throat as he releases a huge load of cum deep inside the drow's ass. Hot blood would gush out onto the white sheets, flowing in time with the spurts of cum from Bren's cock, wringing him dry. He would collapse, dropping the bloody knife onto the sheets, panting as he lay his forehead on the still warm back of the dead man.
"Oh my love," Essek says sweetly, "I know you would never hurt me."
"But…" Caleb sobs, curling into himself further. Essek shifts to tuck Caleb's head against his neck.
"But you didn't. Not at all. All I felt was pleasure, I promise," he says soothingly.
Caleb can’t fathom how this man let him do what he just did. How he let himself sink into his own head, the dangerous mind of the man he used to be, with such ease. He played a part, and though they had negotiated it, had talked out every detail, he had not expected it to be quite so intense. And so he cries, and cries some more, for an indeterminate amount of time. They are sticky with cum and the sweat on their bodies dries, eventually making Essek shift restlessly.
"Potion," Caleb croaks.
"D'anthe, I don't need --"
"Potion, dammit," Caleb demands.
"Fine, fine. But you need one too," Essek huffs, casting his own mage hand to grab the 2 small vials from his pants pocket in the other room. They float over, and Caleb releases his death grip on his lover. Essek sits up and downs the potion. The small cut on his neck heals. Caleb does the same.
"I am covered with far too many bodily fluids," Essek says, wrinkling his nose, "We will shower, yes? Nice and hot like you like it?"
"I'm supposed to care for you," Caleb says, defeated.
"I need some care after great, dangerous sex, and will gladly let you do so. But in the shower," Essek laughs.
They both slowly stand, heading for the bathroom and a hot shower to wash away the results of their scene. Caleb finally feels better under the bright bathroom light. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and remembers who he is now. Long hair, not short, in tangles around his face. Older, lines on his face from years of laughter and light. Not a Volstucker. Not a monster fueled by Trent Ikithon's plans for him. Just Caleb Widogast.