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.