bhaalyn | open post.

( from here )

Did he at least get a reward for it? I can barely remember.

Edited 2023-12-03 23:32 (UTC)

( from here )

So I keep hearing. You'll forgive me if I'm just a little attached to one of the few possessions I have left to my name.

Edited 2023-12-03 23:40 (UTC)

Yes yes, as all mortals are. Quite attached to them, in fact, until the moment there's something they want that they cannot have on their own.

There is always something, you know, and that will always be where I make my dramatic entrance.

Whether or not it's you, of course... remains to be seen.

[ He WILL compromise, and it WILL be for his own desires out of his reach, of course. ]

( DEEP SIGH )

You'd likely be better off if it wasn't me any way. I'm not so positive my soul carries much value.

I think I would be the judge of what is and isn't of value, being a collector of sorts myself. I would not sell yourself so short.

Besides, is it not the trials of life, that shapes and adds value to a soul? Are you not subjected to enough of them?

[ He may be annoying, but he does have a way with words. ]

( an annoying way with them. it galls him that there's truth in what Raphael says.

so.... deflect! )

Have you and Withers been pontificating on the values of lives together? He asked me a similar question on value when we met.

Did he, now? I suppose I can see why he would.

Does he offer the same guidance as I? Shocking, that we would be on the same page.

[ well, maybe not that shocking. ]

The same page of being useless? The very same. ( woops the sass came full on then. )

Withers keeps his cards closer to the chest than even you do, and you play very tightly already. I imagine you both laugh at the mortals running around trying to make odds and ends of the things you leave us with.

It's our perrogative, in fact! What's the fun of playing with mortals, if they know every twist and turn already?

It's much more enjoyable if you are left in the dark as long as possible. Think of it as us enjoying the fact that you stumble around, and make your decisions without all the pieces. It's curious!

[ Jesus christ. immortals. ]

If we're being completely fair, it only makes it all the more enjoyable when we best you at your own games.

Yes, yes, so every mortal says. Everyone wants to be the genius who outwits the greater being.

And yet so few are capable of doing so.

[ Is Deimos? ~~Well... lmao. looks at his final act.~~ ]

Few? Not none?

( 'capable'... lucky... persistent. something like that. )

Well, there have been the occasional tale. Who am I do deny the deeds of those whom have bested us?

[ It is, however, "us", and not "me". His humility only goes so far. ]

( from here )

Then I should count myself lucky I'm the only Bhaal-babe that gets your time.

My time IS valuable, and I'm thankful someone finally understood that.

Anyone that doesn't clearly needs to take a second thought. It's obvious how valuable time with you is.

( from here )

Nearly. So I was only nearly wrong.

[The drow sighs to herself. Clearly she wasn't going to convince them.]

All I'm asking you to do for next time is a little warning. It is my job to keep us all standing, which is made more difficult if people are on fire. OUR people mind you.

I thought it was my job to make sure people end up on fire? Admittedly not our own, but not all of us can specialize in evocation wizardry.

Ideally NOT our own, yes. I don't mind the enemies getting a bit crispy so as long as we're not in the blast radius. Not that Gale also doesn't have his fair share of close calls... Perhaps I should sit you both down to talk about this.

( if he's going down he's taking everyone with him. )

Shall I let him know mom would like a word with us?

I beg your pardon? So just because I care about our party's safety it make me your mother?

More rather the way you convey that concern. It's quite motherly. I imagine.

I guess I can se your point, but I'm no ones mother. Other people ae allowed to express concern. Like a sister or brother.

( from here )

I can't refute that at all.

but even so, i never projected a desire to fuck a mindflayer, just hypothetically wondered what it might be like. just like im sure everyone wonders what it might be like to fuck a druid in wild shape, or how a gnome/half orc relationship would even work

Wait. Go back a second. What wild shape?

does which one really make a difference? aren't all of them equally a bit fucked up?

No. Some are are worse than the others, but now I can't tell you which until you tell me what you've wondered about...

well they all have human mind and intelligence right? and i know (through some reading and conversations with druids, mind, not any firsthand experience) that a lot of animals have pretty messed up reproductive organs that dont exactly match with ours. so my thoughts are

1. can the druid make it so they have regular-ish dicks
2. if they cant then id want to pick the ones that are more normal human looking

but to answer your question yes basically every time i see a wild shape i do wonder briefly

( from here )

I knew you protested too much about the blood oath.

"I could just take you now. Wipe that smirk from your face." Deimos eyes are wild and wide, like a cat caught when it wants to be free to wreak havoc. This close, Gortash can see the way his chest rises and falls in deep, shallow breaths. A sign of exertion? Or a sign of something deeper? Of desire...?

Gods above Deimos hates this part.

And wants it more than anything else.

He lets go of his blade, letting it fall freely and dangerously. If Gortash wanted decorum from his assassin he should have picked a more well-behaved one.

"Let go, Gortash," Deimos' voice is low. He means it as a threat, but it comes out more like a plea. His eyes are fixed on Gortash's. His own wild while he sees Gortash' gaze swallow him whole.

The knife drops, and that's all that really matters. Every time they're close like this, the Bhaalspawn has to work something through. He's always fighting himself.

It's curious. It's in his nature to murder. But Gortash knows that Bhaal doesn't seek his death. At least, not yet. Their alliance holds. It's important. The Chosen must work together. That means the urge to hurt him isn't coming from Bhaal.

"I want to trust you."

He does let go, in order to bring his hand back to Deimos' chin, and tilt his head up so that their eyes meet.

"I'm curious about what you want. Do you even know? I don't think that it's my blood.

I think you want something else from me. Am I wrong?"

That clawed gauntlet grips his chin and holds his gaze. He feels so small in Gortash's eyes. Small in a way that no one else ever has. Ever could. What's worse is that should mean he's being looked down on.

But he knows Gortash doesn't look down on him. Gortash acknowledges how they're equal. The value in his skills. Even now his right to one day take his own life. No, Gortash doesn't ever make him small.

It's the coiling that does. The fire that spreads through him. The sensations Gortash causes that he doesn't know what to do with. Deimos is made perfect for one thing and one thing only. And Gortash... shows him something else.

He swallows the lump in his throat, wishing to Bhaal he could tear his eyes from Gortash. He can't stand that gaze on him.

His fingers curl and his nails bite into his palm as he chokes out a single word of an answer-

"No." It's soft and scared and hangs heavy between them as Deimos finally stills and holds Gortash's gaze.

It's so difficult for him even to say that one word. Gortash can see the tension, the way he's pushing himself past something.

So curious. Gortash is not a man accustomed to denying what he wants. No, when he wants something, he goes after it. Takes it, by any means necessary. Why should he be denied? But Deimos, he seems to struggle with anything that's not murder. That's the only arena in which he seems truly comfortable.

Gortash couldn't live that way. He doesn't think Deimos should, either.

"Then speak it. You can have it. Look at me, Deimos. You can have anything."

What doors are closed to the likes of them? All his life people have tried to tell Gortash where he is not welcome, and he has proven them wrong, time and again. But when it comes to what Deimos wants, there is no closed door to break down. There's only the need for him to reach out and take it.

Gortash pushes his armoured hand back into the tiefling's hair, claws raking across his scalp.

Ngh.

His touch is sharp through his hair, that clawed hand raking lines over his scalp. It's a focus for him in a way he knows Gortash understands. There's tension in him that needs released. And Gortash demands he do so in the most difficult way he knows for Deimos. But he had a that touch - that sharp touch - to help him through it. To give him just a taste of what relief can feel like for him.

All he has to do... is say as much.

Deimos closes his lips and swallows a deep breath as he cranes his neck into that touch.

He bites his lip and finally.... painfully... he answers, "I hate you, Gortash.

I want you."

Hate is such a delicious word. Gortash coils his fingers into Deimos' hair and pulls him up, onto his feet, so that Gortash can bend to meet him in a rough kiss. Eager, aggressive, tasting of wine and spice and blood from where he'd marked the other man's lip.

Gortash smiles into it, and then with a sweep of his arm, he clears their dinner table. Silver crashes onto the floor, ringing through the building. No one rushes into the room. They knew what was going to happen tonight. The candles snuff out as they land on his tiles, the remains of their food scatters.

And then Gortash is pushing Deimos onto the table, pushing his knees roughly open so he can get between them.

His hands trail down Deimos' body, plucking over leather straps and scraping hard red lines over blue skin.

"I know," he murmurs. "Why resist, when I want you too?"

It's like a dam breaking. All that pressure building inside of him suddenly released in the space where their lips meet. Where they crush and break and bruise as Gortash holds him by his hair and Deimos can't help but curl beneath him, back tight and arched up to press his chest against Gortash'. It builds and breaks in this sharp sound of surprise and need that strangles from Deimos' throat.

He knows what comes next.

The cleared table is a clear invitation. Deimos backs into it even as he's pushed to it. He scrambles onto it as his legs part around Gortash's waist.

Instinct kicks in the way it would with any other urge. Gortash fits between his thighs, so Deimos locks his ankles around his waist, pulling him against his hips. Enver works at the very little clothing Deimos wears while Deimos' hips strain and lift and press against Enver's own. Deimos is hard beneath his leathers and it's apparent by the way he rolls his hips against Enver for more from him.

Such need, such urgency. Gortash finds it thrilling. He unlashes Deimos' shirt and strips it away. The belt around his ribs can stay, for the moment - Gortash might find use for that. The laces around his already prominent erection are, however, promptly undone so that the eager flesh can spill out into Gortash's hand. He palms it and squeezes, delighted to have the object of his desire set free from its confines.

"Good boy," he murmurs, and gives Deimos' shaft a firm stroke. Good behaviour is to be rewarded after all. "Lift."

His hands slide around Deimos' hips and shunt him up, just enough to peel the leather away from that pert little ass of his. Gortash likes him this way. Exposed, primed, ready. Eager for his own satisfaction, he bites at Deimos' lips before surrounding them in another crushing kiss.

Deimos growls at those words. Good boy. Gods above he fucking hates what Gortash does to him. He hates that Enver knows it. That he sees it. That he draws it out of him. His fists clench against the edge of the table to keep from strangling the object of his needs and all his insecurities.

Instead Enver kisses him again. As his hips lift and his leathers are peeled away. He unravels his legs from Enver's waist just long enough to help kick off his pants. It creates a gap that's too cold between them for the briefest but most torturous of moments. Then there's that kiss.

Deimos savages Enver's lips. If he wants him to want him, then he'll remind Enver of the danger of his wants. The very real threat of bedding a bhaalspawn. His teeth bruise Enver's before he bites it until crimson spills over his lips. He licks it up, knuckles white on the edge of the table.

Blood spilling between them.

"Ahh-," Gortash mutters, though the sound is lost between them. He prefers to inflict pain than receive it, generally speaking, but it lights a fire within him regardless. There's a thrill in seeing Deimos' feral side, in seeing him act like the dangerous, violent creature he truly is. After all there'd be no fun in taming him if it were easy.

His hands leave Deimos for a moment to unlace his own breeches. He doesn't take them off, but lets them fall open. He's hard and hot, and he pushes the girth of his erection against Deimos' thigh. He thrusts against him, creating a few blissful stripes of friction that draw a long, low groan from his lips.

That's when he pushes Deimos' back, a rough shove to get him back flat on the table. Gortash hikes his legs up for better access, and spits down onto the exposed hole to ease his passage. Then his finger pushes against it, insistent but careful as he pushes the tip inside. He can feel blood dripping from his lip. He licks it off, and flicks his head to the side to get the hair out of his eyes.

"Look at you, so eager," he says, and slides the full of his finger inside Deimos. He's already working him, hooking his finger and starting to move it. His prize needs stretching.

That sound isn't lost. Deimos hears it. He purrs with it, letting it settle and resonate within him. It's the only thing that's familiar to him. Drawing blood. It's not enough to do any harm, but it's a small release of the tension roiling within him to draw Enver's blood. It's better than one of the alternatives...

Though Enver builds them to the other alternative quickly.

Through his haze of lust, anger, need, and frustration he hadn't realized Enver had unlaced his pants. It's not until he feels the warmth of his length rubbing against his thighs that Deimos moans. And while Enver settles between his legs, keeping them wide enough for him, he presses his thighs tight around Enver's waist. Squeezes them around that warm length as much as can-

"Ungh!" Deimos gasps in surprise as he's being shoved forcefully and suddenly back. He blinks in surprise, feeling the absence of Enver's warmth just before he spits...

"Ngh!" Deimos cries out in surprise. Suddenly he's grateful for the table as his head falls back against it. He closes his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth against the sudden dull throb of being stretched. His back arches ever so slightly, pulled taut as his chest rises and falls heavily.

"Shut the fuck up, Enver," Deimos groans between gritted teeth as that finger curls in him. His hips rise slightly off the table and he's surprised by the sudden whine that escapes his throat. His cock is hard. Painfully hard. The tip beads with pre that slowly starts to drip down his length.

Gortash laughs, low and soft. Deimos' muttered anger is almost as good as a moan. The actual moans that follow are even better, reverberating through Gortash's very bones. He loves those sounds. He loves driving this feral, dangerous creature to such pitiful sounds. Nothing gets him harder than the sight of Bhaal's scion writhing beneath his touch. Unless perhaps begging were involved.

It's possible they'll get to that.

For now, he hooks his finger sharply, grazing his nail against Deimos' prostate. He gives his whining companion only the barest moment to get used to that feeling before he's pushing a second finger inside him, and thrusting with them both. He wants him wide and gaping and desperate. Oh, gods how he wants him. He grunts softly as his own cock leaks pre, mixing with the stream pooling between Deimos's legs. He brings his other hand across to wrap around both of their lengths, pushing them together and spreading slick liquid between them both. His eyes flutter closed as he strokes them together, and his hips jut forward into the sensation.

It's mild relief, and barely that. But it's something. His eyes open again, gazing right into Deimos'. At that moment, he grazes both fingers against his prostrate and smiles, knowing he has Deimos in the palm of his hand.

"There, darling. Isn't that what you want?"

It's.... too much. It's so much. It's everything.

Enver has that effect on him. And worse yet, he knows it. He's playing with his body now to drag Deimos to an edge he can't escape from, threatening to push him off it into an abyss of ecstasy Deimos' mind can't even comprehend.

The way that finger grazes his prostate just moments before Enver stretches him with that second finger. The sound that escapes Deimos' throat is sharp and hitched and scrapes out of him before he can stop it. His cock leaks pre near constantly now, providing the needed lubrication for Enver to stroke their lengths together. That feeling alone would be everything if it weren't followed by his fingers hitting that spot again.

Deimos's whole body writhes under Enver. The desire to kill slowly being subsumed by a need much more primal and imminent. A need that Deimos can't understand and can barely even voice except to know that somehow Enver can satisfy it. Without even thinking his voice breaks free before he can stop himself, "Please."

He whines, his hips arched up off the table and his thighs quivering with strain. He's right at that edge and he needs past it. But he can't without Enver. "Please, Enver. I need-"

Oh, it's beautiful. A true chorus in his ears, more musical than the very best of Deimos' songs. Gortash loves it. Better, he hardens from it, growing stiffer and wetter just at the sound. Pre leaks from him, sending a warm shudder through his body. He lets out a soft, pleased sound, before sliding his fingers out of Deimos.

"Good boy," he praises, his voice a low purr. "Easy now. You can take it, I have you--"

And he positions himself, pressing the tip of his slick, hard cock to Deimos' ass. He slides into that waiting channel, just about stretched enough to accommodate him. He pushes in and it's tight, almost impossibly so, but he rocks his hips and forces his way through with his first thrust.

It's heavenly. It's exactly what he's been wanting all day, what he's been imagining since he made all the arrangements. His hands spread Deimos' legs wide, exposing him as much as possible while Gortash starts to pump into his lithe body. He presses Deimos' thighs against the table, fingertips digging in to bruise the delicate flesh. He means to make his mark.

open post.

@nibbling

@narsinssist

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@bloodysnarky

fyi your durge is gorgeous

THANK YOU that's so kind!!!

@inherlight

I indeed would like to haha

oh good i'm glad ❤️

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@cloudofdaggers

<3

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@fictionalised

@banite

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