[askshadowheart]

By @ creamyghost on twitter/X

Feral halsin is best halsin

[feychosen]

@feypromised

When one was on the verge of a glorious end, it put much and more into perspective. Gale had planned the evening before with Avarice under the assumption that he would enjoy a romantic night of gazing at the stars with the one he loved before sharing his feelings and being gently rejected. Just a moment to pretend like there was potential between them -he would have to be blind and deaf to not know of Avarice and Astarion's night time activities, and suspected that Gale, even with all his handsome looks and smooth charm, was little comparison to the roguish, bad boy allure of the vampire spawn. Yet, Avarice was always full of surprises and the night had turned out far differently - far better - than he ever could have imagined.

Suddenly, the world did not seem so bleak anymore. The doubts lingered in his head over what path forward he should take when considering the deadly netherese orb within his chest, but they were in the back of his mind now - skeletons in the dark closet of his brain, easily ignored in favor of how happy he was. Suddenly, it seemed like a new future laid sprawled out before him, one with his love at his side. He'd been practically giddy all day, humming and smiling and endlessly in a good mood, even now, during the, at times, massive task of making dinner for everyone.

Entirely worth it though, as Avarice joined him near the campfire.

"Hello." he greeted brightly, flicking a brief, almost shy glance down to the cook pot before, inevitably, returning his gaze to Avarice, drawn like a moth to the flame by his fire bright beauty. Gale grinned, gesturing the other over, gesturing him closer. At once, he could feel the angry, burning gaze of the vampire at their back, but he'd long grown accustomed to ignoring that. "I'm making your favorite for dinner." he shared, a proud tilt of his head, "You never told me, but I know. I've studied you in my yearning, after all, and I'm a brilliant student, especially on my favorite subjects." It was always obvious what meals Avarice liked best out of the different things Gale made, and it was no hardship to offer it to him whenever he wanted.

To offer Avarice anything he wanted, whenever he wanted, in fact. One day, Gale would have to bring him to his tower at Waterdeep, where he had more than a few treasures stashed away that he knew would catch the esurient boy's eye - all gold and jewels and sparkling and magical. Avarice would have his pick of the lot. Gale would give anything for him. Tucking that little dream into his memory, another shield against the hopeless feeling of inevitable death, he hummed a happy little noise as he poured a bowl of herbs and spices into the cook pot, another dream of domesticity with his new lover sprouting in his mind - an endless field of flowers, all filled with Avarice.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, continuing without waiting for an answer, "Me? I'm pleasantly sore and could use a bath, preferably with some lavender, perhaps some rosewater, and definitely some warlock-shaped company, but I have no complaints at all." He gave the other a flirty glance from under his eyelashes, before turning his attention back to dinner, stirring up the pot so nothing burned. A touch more carefully, "Is everything...alright?" A slight tilt of his head, in the direction of their eagle eyed observer, feigning interest in his blood heavy goblet at the moment but Gale could feel the vampire's judgement. If he had his way, he wouldn't be sharing Avarice with anyone, but as it was, he'd take any part of himself the other would offer, even if it meant dealing with Astarion's bad moods. Lightly, putting on his own feigned show of focus on the cooking, a hint of nerves in his voice, "I hope there's no regret about last night..."

[feypromised]

If anyone had told him even a few short weeks ago about the events of last night, Avarice would've laughed in their face. It was no real slight toward Gale, just that... Well, all of this was new. He'd never expected to gain the attention - the painfully genuine, puppy dog eyed love - of a rich and supposedly famed wizard whose favourite pastimes were monologuing and burying his nose in a tome for hours on end. The guy wasn't exactly their usual type of morally corrupt and casual as fuck, after all. No, Gale wasn't casual about anything, least of all romance. Hells, how had he let himself be romanced? Between brilliant displays of Weave and heart-wrenchingly genuine confessions, he couldn't deny the way his own pulse quickened last night while they sat in the illusion of Gale's tower balcony looking out over the sprawling canvas of Waterdeep awash in the orange hues of sunset.

I'm in love with you. Ava kept hearing those words at the most unexpected moments, playing en loop around his mind all day like an echo in a cave. Worse still, they were occasionally punctuated with his brother's voice making accusations he really didn't feel equipped to think about right now. You're in love with him. Was he? Aud often knew him better than he knew himself, but his head and his heart couldn't come to an agreement. The heart said yes as it thrummed with excitement over receiving the sort of treatment doe-eyed damsels only dreamed about. Meanwhile, the head said fuck no with conviction that would brook no quarter, determined as ever to keep swiftly crumbling walls in tact.

And yet here they were standing over a simmering pot that smelled distinctly and deliciously familiar - his favourite. Much to his mounting confusion, he could feel another stone displaced from the barrier encircling his heart. "That so?" Ava mused as he sidled closer despite himself, drawn in by the welcoming aroma and Gale's hopeful grin alike. "Are all wizards such capable housewives?" A tease, but not a mocking one. Instead, their hand settled at the small of his back in some small gesture of encouragement and remained there despite any better judgement. It was a surprisingly comfortable moment as Gale prattled on, the two of them poised by the cooking pot and pressed close in such blatant intimacy.

"Mm. A bath sounds nice," Ava rumbled his agreement - it'd been too long since any of them had managed much more than hasty washes in nearby lakes or the humble basins in the Last Light Inn. "Maybe I'll take you up on that, if we ever make it to Baldur's Gate." A snort of laughter, "I'm surprised a fancy little mage like you was willing to share a bed last night with the state I came crawling back in. Pretty sure I still have blood in my hair." If his looking glass was anything to go by, there were certainly still streaks of dried crimson colouring snow white strands, not to mention the fresh, wet mess of it come morning before Aud managed to heal away the worst of Astarion's feasting. The wounds themselves were still obvious even now, even somewhat healed over as they were; punctures and scrapes of fangs through flesh evident all over his throat and chest, both bared by the scant cut of his leathers.

Speaking of - they followed Gale's wary glance to said vampire standing close by, but Astarion seemed far too engrossed by his goblet to notice them. Hardly a surprise considering how little he'd seemed to care about their evening with Gale. Looking back to the wizard with mismatched eyes, cool silver on warmest brown, "Nah, no regrets. Surprise, sure, but no regrets." Ava's voice dropped lower for the sake of privacy, shoulders shrugging, "Astarion said he couldn't care less so long as he still gets a taste." And oh, they ignored the cold pierce through their heart that conversation had inspired, but could hardly call it unexpected. Instead, he focused on Gale and the closeness of their bodies with a dip of his head, moving the wizard's soft waves of hair aside to feast at his throat instead. A slow, hot trail of kisses pressed into his skin, mouth lingering and nose brushing up beneath his jaw. "Why, do you have any regrets?" they murmured into kiss-warmed flesh as they positioned themself at his back, broad palm settling instead at his stomach to keep him close.

[feychosen]

@feypromised

Given the expressions of shock and concern on everyone's face - or, well, judgement, but that was just how Lae'zel was - the way they all but limped back into must have been alarming, especially since it was supposed to be just a simple, boring day of forging. How were they supposed to know the forge was protected by an adamantium golem? Needless to say, Audacity was all but drained of magic, Shadowheart had taken a dip in lava, they were collectively out of healing potions, and more than one of them had been knocked out cold - some of them even multiple times. If not for his magical safeguard, his Strength of the Grave, Audacity would be dead right about now, in fact.

Yeah, today had been gods awful.

Everyone had split up near at once, to their tents or to the care of others around the camp, which left Audacity curled up alone at the fire, clumsily doing some alchemy to make at least a few healing potions - enough to guarantee they could make it to some merchant to clear out their inventory. Perhaps a bit too clumsily - still woozy from being knocked out multiple times and exhausted to boot, even with the sun only just now beginning to sink below the horizon - whatever he just mixed together in his pestle puffed out a noxious little cloud that sent him reeling backwards, coughing. Definitely not a healing potion.

Cursing under his breath, he dumped the whole mixture into the flames to get rid of it - a bit dangerous, especially on a day like today when everything went wrong, but nothing exploded, so he'd take it. Flopping back across his sleeping bag with a groan, he blinked up at an upside down Halsin, of course, of all people. "I do know how to make healing potions. I'm not inept." he couldn't help but defend himself from an accusation that hadn't yet came - might not come at all, since Halsin was rather nice, but still.

With a groan that was only partially dramatized, Audacity pushed himself back into sitting position. “Join me.” He cajoled, looking up to Halsin with wide, pleading eyes, “I’m hurt, nearly dying, surely you can take some pity on me?” The bear was seemingly an immovable bulwark in terms of Audacity's flirting - and wasn't that a hit to his ego when it was always so easy with others? - but he found he enjoyed the druid's company even without the promise of late night fun at the end of it. He'd always held a passive interest in nature and the like, but exploring it was never a priority when he had to harness control of his shadow magic and help their little family survive each day. Odd that it took a tadpole to the head and a grand adventure before he finally found time to explore his other interests.

Resetting the herbs to make new potions, Audacity was very careful this time. "You know," he started, mock innocent, "If we had a master druid out there with us today, I'm certain that we wouldn't have struggled near as much." He knew Halsin's stance, knew his concerns for the shadow cursed lands they would be heading off to soon enough, but he wouldn't be himself if he didn't push. "Surely you're growing a bit bored spending all your time at camp, right?" The shadow curse had lasted a hundred years; there was only so much research Halsin still had left to do. He tilted his gaze back up, mouth pulling at a pout, "The more healing, the merrier. Look at me, I'm just one big bruise."

[feypromised]

Halsin watched the unlikely crew of adventurers return with a growing furrow in his brow cut deeper with age and worry alike. The tedious little voice in his head chimed off as it always did when he watched the lot of them slouch and stagger their way to bed with more scrapes than they'd left with: he should have been there. Would the aid of one more be enough to change the tide in whatever battles they faced? No mortal could say. Perhaps it was arrogance to believe such a thing, to believe one man could set the course straight in the midst of combat, but the thought persisted all the same with mounting urgency. It was an urgency spurred further by the state of them now - by the state of Audacity.

The sorcerer was no weakling nor any blushing nobleman squeamish at the sight of blood. He'd seen the boy fight and knew him capable, knew him talented, knew him impressive to behold with coils of magic cradled in hand or the lash of a clever tongue at any he deemed unworthy of his brother's compassion. All the same, guilt weaved hand-in-hand with want, twisting a mess of knots in the pit of his stomach to behold Audacity so bruised and bloodied. It was a heady mixture of both that drove him toward the campfire when all the rest tucked in for a night's uneasy rest. Hopefully exhaustion would take them soon enough into sleep's gentle embrace - though, selfishly, he would enjoy this moment's privacy for as long as sleep eluded the battered boy.

Of course, it was no surprise to be met at once with the snap of Audacity's wounded pride. I'm not inept. Halsin couldn't help but chuckle, soft and low, as he settled alongside them before the crackling flames. "Only a fool would think that," he assured and knocked a broad shoulder against the boy's with gentle affection. "But only one of us had their ass properly pummeled by a golem this evening. Why don't you let me take the reins with this, hm?" More command than request, spoken with calm authority as he laid a larger hand overtop Audacity's, work-rough and calloused. A hint of his own druidic magic infused his touch, cool as the wash of moonlight above as it flowed between them, soft and soothing, mending a slew of surface cuts and bruises as it passed from limbs to core to fill the boy up.

"Good. Now lie back and rest some," he ordered with a knowing grin, hoping to ease some of that stubbornness, "- and wipe that pout off your mouth, son." Indeed, the boy was young enough for such an endearment. Yet another reason to feign ignorance at all those delicious little comments, all that sweet flirtation heaped on him since their meeting. With age came baggage, and Halsin was weighed down by enough to know better - know better than to drag another down with him, that is, when Audacity could have his pick of any mate and make baggage of his own. It didn't stop him from tapping a pair of roughened fingertips to that pouting bottom lip, but it did assuage the instinct to press those fingers in between, into the heat of that pretty mouth and down the slope of a wet tongue until the boy's throat clenched around him like an eager lover's cunt.

Halsin withdrew his hand then in favour of taking up alchemy - a distraction, though none could've read that conflict in the weathered lines of his face. "You've survived without me thus far, starlight. Be proud of your victory tonight! Few could've managed it," he praised as his hands set to work grabbing pinches of this and that from his healer's pouches, herbs and berries and other such plant life ground easily by mortar and pestle. It was a relaxing motion, grinding rhythmic circles into the stone with each flex of muscle and watching its product come to life, not long before the potion was bottled and simmering overtop the fire to enhance its effects. "Hm," a wordless rumble, watching the arch of flames and idly licking the herbs' remnants from his fingers. "Perhaps I will, after the shadow curse is dealt with." A nod to himself, deciding here in this quiet moment, "I could use another adventure before these old bones grow too restless."

[feychosen]

@feypromised

Astarion didn't know how he had managed nearly two and a half centuries without having Avarice's neck to press his lips to and drink from. While he had only had animals to compare, he had to imagine that the warlock was of the finest vintage on offer in more sentient creatures. He'd test it with the blood of their enemies, now that everyone knew his true nature, but he couldn't imagine anyone surpassing Avarice and his rich, dark blood with just a hint of sweetness.

Which was a problem, given he had some suspicion of the other's motives, why he allowed a vampire - even just a spawn - to drink his lifeblood, night in and night out. He knew his brother disapproved, always a scowl on his face come morning when he had to refresh Avarice before their journeys. In fact, he knew at least half the camp disapproved, thinking Astarion should be making do with whatever wildlife he could hunt rather than risk one of their own. And he did still hunt. Much as he enjoyed Avarice's blood the most of his newly varied palate, he couldn't take near as much as he needed to satiate - a limited supply that only made him relish it more.

But no, he did not know Avarice's motives for agreeing, even on days where they snipped and snarked at each other endlessly, and perhaps he would come to regret giving the other something to hold over him, but at the moment? He found he couldn't care less. Shifting, he moved in even closer, careful not to pull his fangs free to early. Gracefully, he straddled one of Avarice's legs, resting his body down against him, a hand moving up to curl in his hair and tug his head a bit more to the side, making himself comfortable and in the process, finding that his knee brushed a half hard cock.

A low rumble of amused noise, though he didn't break the seal of his lips, the sink of his teeth, taking another long drag of that vibrant, delicious blood. Was that it then? Was it truly so simple as lust that prompted Avarice's continued agreeability? If so, that was easy enough to manage and Astarion couldn't entirely blame him. While he'd never seen feeding as something sexy before - difficult to do when holding a squirming rat between his fingers - it was undeniably erotic to have Avarice pinned down beneath him, to breath out against the sensitive skin of his neck while preparing to bite, to feel him tense and relax and sometimes even squirm beneath his grasp, to hear the pulsing, heavy beat of his heart, usually fast, as if high on adrenaline - and lust, apparently.

Astarion would be lying if he hadn't, in the past, slowed the flow of blood he pulled from Avarice's willing veins, just to extend their time together - sip instead of slurp, savor instead of speed. These night time moments were as private as things could get in the midst of a busy camp, and he found that he hoarded them nearly as ferociously as Avarice hoarded gold. When the night was still and silent except for the overwhelmingly lovely sounds of Avarice, the scent of him, the taste of him.

At once, the pace of his drinking slows, a flood turning to a trickle. No reason not to enjoy the moment, after all. The ravenous hunger had been quenched, though a new ember was beginning to burn in the pit of his stomach. Hitching his leg up, he pressed it firmly at the crux of Avarice's thighs, giving him some friction for that little problem of his. A brief, fleeting chagrin as he feels his own cock stir with interest, but it was inevitable when he had such a gorgeous boy reacting beneath him, offering himself up so intimately. A roll of his hips, giving himself the gift of some friction as well, up against the other's thigh, tongue flicking out against his neck - seemingly to catch a drip of blood before it rolled down his neck, moreso to taste the skin that housed all that blood.

A passing thought, that if he played his hand right, he could probably distract Avarice entirely, focus him on his lust, on the undeniable heat between them, and could drain him dry - yet no desire to follow through. Perhaps earlier in their journey, but not anymore. He had too many uses for Avarice. Which meant, much to his disappointment, he had to draw back after another long moment of enjoyment. Pulling his fangs free, he gave one long, lingering lick of his neck, cleaning up most of the blood and sealing the wound. Leaning back on his heels, he stayed casually, comfortably straddling one of the other's thick, muscled thighs. A high, heavy sigh of contentment, licking blood slick lips as he gazed down on him with freshly refreshed crimson eyes, "Ah, as delectable as ever, my sweet." An innocent, absentminded shift of his body, grinding against the other's cock, and a teasing trill, "Was it good for you, then?"

[feypromised]

As often as they were at each other's throats in more ways than this, Avarice couldn't help but think of the prissy little vampire as a kindred spirit - voracious hunger and a bottomless greed only tempered by circumstance. They had both experienced starvation and destitution, had both been forced to fight for another man's scraps, and now took no pleasure for granted. Riches, knowledge, power, lust, love. Not that the latter had anything to do with whatever the fuck this was, but he couldn't deny a certain appeal to the way Astarion's long, elegant fingers curled into his hair or the way his blood was savored like a delicacy. Poised over him like this, dug in and clutching, there was a realness to the other that fled come morning when all those masks laid back in place. Ava liked him real - enough to let him gnaw on his throat every night, anyway.

Enough to feel his cock stir in these stolen moments of intimacy, too.

Idiot. He could practically hear Aud's voice in his ear, imagined but no less loud, and his brother would be right. What sort of braindead fool got off on being a vampire's nightly meal? Maybe the tadpole situation was worse than they all thought, wriggling around their skulls and munching up all the gray matter that might've stopped him from wanting this - because he did. Fuck, he wanted it. The heat of Astarion's body growing warmer by the moment as he supped on hot, living blood. The weight of that slimmer frame pressed flush against their bulk, tucked in as if their limbs were meant to slot together. The wet, pain-tinged wound at his throat soothed by the purr-like hum of Astarion's feasting. The danger of it all... Maybe that was the most enticing part of all, and the part that truly awoke a yawning hunger of his own, cock half hard and straining against the front of his leathers - straining against the lean thigh pressed right up against it in a way too precise to be accidental.

Ava was hardly in any mood or position to deny him, not when heady bloodloss had him feeling drunk and boneless, all but putty in the vampire's hands - and mouth. Back arched and hips hitched, just barely swallowing the gasp that threatened to betray him as that thigh pressed more firmly against his growing cock, hard and wanting, pulsing like a second heartbeat. Could Astarion hear it? Hear the blood rushing downward and feel the heat of it throughout? Though he was mostly Drow to look at, the fire of the Hells still burned in his veins and he certainly felt hot-blooded now. Their own hands rose to Astarion's hips, slipping up just beneath the hem of his shirt and settling against bare skin at the hem of his pants, fingers curling inward, digging into pale flesh to make marks of their own.

He knew it was wise to end this feast but couldn't deny the twinge of disappointment as he felt those fangs withdraw. The final drag of a tongue over that still bloody wound coaxed a purr of his own, impossible to stifle nor the moan which followed with his mouth agape. And of course, there was Astarion perched overtop him as if utterly unaffected by the situation. As if Ava couldn't see the bulge of his cock tenting already tight pants or felt it pressed against their thigh with each idle rock of the vampire's hips earlier. It wasn't just that, no - the ruffle of once perfect white curls, the flush of a pale face, the blown wide state of red eyes all but swallowed in black, the frilled fabric of his stupid, fancy little shirt all askew. Gods, it was the hottest thing they'd ever seen. An already sinfully pretty elf made all the prettier by those hints of genuine pleasure and the disarray it inspired.

"Could be better," Ava snarked back, both a petty tease and a promise of what could follow. Fingertips dug deeper, doubtlessly bruising the soft flesh beneath as he got a proper hold on Astarion's hips and used that grip to rock them in a slow back and forth, grinding the pretty thing down against his broader thigh. "Unless you're too afraid to get dirty, Princess," he teased without the usual bite of their back and forths but a grin no less snarling, teeth bared. "Can't have you ripping this pretty shirt -" a hand relinquished its hold on Astarion's hip to tug at the neck of said shirt, no longer as stark white as it'd been at the start of their adventure, and would be even less soon if Ava had his way. Another tug, fingers catching and curling at flimsy laces that loosened like a barmaid's blouse - or a noblewoman's, he'd guess, but he'd never had the pleasure of fucking any of those no matter how many had eyed him with hungry interest while clutching their uptight husband's arm.

A work-rough palm, calloused from years of labour and combat, settled against the swathe of bare skin revealed by Astarion's now plunging neckline. It dragged down far smoother, unmarked skin and dipped below the fabric, stretching it aside in favour of groping one pretty little tit, grasping the supple muscle and wondering if he'd leave bruises there as well. Ava paused a moment - not long, but long enough to stare up at his vampire with newly mismatched eyes searching for distaste or disapproval. Only when he found nothing did he dip further, thumbing over the bud of a nipple until it peaked beneath his rough touch enough to pinch it instead, rolling it between two fingers and tugging as he withdrew. The hand dropped back to join its partner at slim hips and used the hold to flip them both until Astarion's back thudded in the dirt and they hovered over him, starving. "If you want me to leave, tell me now," a challenge, perhaps, but a genuine offer as well.

[nateeseart]

[ki-nue]

ハルシン導師vs自然

[ozumii-fucking-wizard]

someone commissioned me to draw halsin as i want...

[naariel]

Halsin, the babe, the husband, the love of my life, forever

// explicit

[stivkagall]

Halsin | Baldurs Gate 3 sketch

[spacerschoicepropaganda]

Oak Father preserve me…

[joenateuser]

JOSH HEUSTON Photographed by Jamie Green for Esquire Australia

[feychosen]

@feypromised

Audacity, for once, didn't even bothering saying anything, even when his brother got close enough to hear him. He didn't have to when he and Ava had a language all their own. It only took a slightly quirked brow and a twitch of the mouth and Ava knew that Audacity was laughing at him, even if not aloud. That didn't mean he would keep his mouth shut forever - the opportunity for teasing was ripe, after what he just witnessed. "Well, well, well, I suppose you have a type - hungry. At least the vampire only takes your blood, and not all our magical relics."

Gale, even with one of his pretentious tomes open in front of him, was seemingly unable to resist glancing up at Ava, little glances, over and over again. No surprise given the loving moon eyes he'd been making while talking to him. Audacity slanted the wizard a glare, just because he wanted to and watched him fluster and look back down at his reading - all it had taken was one passing obnoxious comment about sorcerers versus wizards and Audacity had brusquely decided to hate him forever.

Talking to him after that hadn't warmed him to the man either - he was the most long winded, oblivious bastard in the realm, which honestly just made it funnier that he'd all but made a move on Ava by pressing in close to show him whatever magic they'd been messing around with. Audacity was left sprawled across one of the logs around camp - he'd started sitting up, waiting to speak to his brother, but instead found himself waiting while Gale talked and talked and talked. Now, he deigned to move his legs enough to give Ava room to sit, only to plop them in his lap afterwards, shifting about until he was comfortable, even with bark digging into his back - not the biggest fan of camping, but it was more comfortable than some of the other places they'd slept.

A click of his tongue, "I think little Asty might regret playing hard to get now." Or whatever it was that he and Ava were doing with each other - whatever it was, sexual tension had been high. And while Astarion wasn't showing it at the moment, Audacity hadn't been the only one glaring at their resident wizard as he wasted Ava's time. He imagined his and Astarion's reasons for irritation were very different though. "Please don't make me deal with the wizard as a brother in law. Fuck the vampire instead." he nearly begged, mostly joking. Ava may have more tolerance for Gale and his nonsense, but Audacity doubted it was enough tolerance to deal with him constantly. "Don't let him grow on you, please. He's certainly as appealing as some clinging mold and he'd love to be all over you like one. Ugh. Gods, I did not need that mental image. The thing with the Loviatar priest was bad enough."

As punishment for Audacity accidentally remembering that, he gave Ava a spiteful little kick to the stomach before shaking his head, clearing those awful thoughts away. He offered the other a smirk instead, "Perhaps I'll talk to him the next time he's putting on his dramatics." He waggled his fingers playfully, a few sparks dancing between them, "Surely if he needs magic than getting fried by my shocking grasp will work just as well as eating our amulets and weapons?"

[feypromised]

Avaraice was still reeling over whatever the fuck that was when he caught sight of his brother's shit-eating grin, not nearly as subtle as Aud might have thought it was. That and the glint of mischief alive in blood red eyes were enough confirmation that he'd seen the whole thing. Again, whatever it was. Something a little more than friendship and a little less than fucking right there by the campfire, but way too close to the latter for comfort. It was certainly no less intimate with how close they'd been pressed amidst a swirl of rippling, glittering Weave like tangible starlight blanketing them. Shit.

"Shut up," Ava snapped as he drew within earshot of his brother, as if there was any hope of that. Sure enough, Aud held his tongue for a grand total of seconds before it clearly because too torturous to bear. Newly mismatched eyes rolled, lips pursed, but there was no denying the flush of heat at his cheeks. "Hells, we were just talking. You're acting like he whipped out a wedding ring - or his cock." They snorted, just imagining the horror on Aud's face if it'd been either, even as their own teasing was belief by that traitorous bit of colour at their cheeks.

Gale was a pretentious loudmouth, but he was a good person. So good. Too good, really, for somebody who'd grown up in the gutters of society scrabbling for scraps without the luxury of a stringent moral compass to direct them. He'd probably balk when they spoke too crass in public or wore something too scandalous or, gods forbid, picked a fight with every ignorant noble who ran their mouth at a servant. Maybe if not... No, that was the Weave talking, filling Ava's brain up with a thick, sweet fog and muddling everything up inside like the wizard himself had fingers in his head. That and those big, hopeful puppy dog eyes it'd be impossible to miss still flitting up at him from across camp.

Speaking of eyes - Aud wasn't wrong. One curious glance was enough to spy Astarion's own narrowed gaze locked in on a fresh target. If Gale noticed the scrutiny he certainly didn't show it, glancing only between the tome still steepled elegantly in hand and at Avarice now lounging atop the same log as his brother. There was a small cliff face nestled behind said log that plunged their modest camp into its ravine, and he leaned back against it with long legs kicked out before him - the picture of a man who knew to appear careless when he very much wasn't, as if he didn't give a shit where a certain vampire was looking or what might be inspiring that scowl on such a pale, pretty face. An arm draped over Aud's legs, head tipped back against the rock, looking up at the same stars both Gale and Astarion had called so beautiful out here in the untouched wilderness.

"Don't," he warned with a tone that suggested he'd be more amused than angry if Aud did get a little spark happy with his next shocking grasp. Another snort of laughter, grin curling crooked at his mouth, "It'd be rude to fry your new brother-in-law before I've even gotten something shiny out of the deal," a little waggle of his currently ringless fingers - well, one anyway. The important one. Ava huffed a laugh and countered the little kick with an elbow to Aud's stomach. "Anyway, it's not like I haven't been trying to fuck the vampire for weeks," if snipping and snarking could be considered akin to flirting, that is. "One's using me for my blood and the other for my treasure. I really do have a type, huh?" he couldn't help but tease.

[joenateuser]

JOSH HEUSTON Photographed by Alexander Cooke for GQ Australia

[feychosen]

@feypromised

"Hello Mera." Emmrich greeted - having successfully escape his flock by starting a lively debate over some ancient grammar in an old piece he'd read recently. Once they all got drawn into the pedantic, semantic heavy debate, it had been rather simple to slip away. Harder to slip by Mera's pack of minders, but the Raven had apparently been on his side, lending swiftness to his feet, allowing him to all but fly into Mera's post-spar tent just after the boy's fight.

Admittedly, his haste may have had little to do with the Raven and much and more to do with having witnessed how viciously Mera had been attacked...not as badly as his opponent had been thoroughly trounced, yet his heart only fluttered to see the wicked cut across Mera's chest, now all safely bandaged, leaving his gorgeously toned abdomen and his beautifully muscled arms on display. Emmrich cleared his throat as he noted Mera's expression, smugness obvious, "Hush you. If you don't stay out of my head, you cannot blame me for what you hear."

Mera looked remarkably well for someone who had just taken part in a viciously fierce fight - a fight he had won, just like Emmrich had won his own earlier. The first day, and his own opponent had underestimated Emmrich's battle prowess - for him being a Raven or for him being older, he could not say, but after the thorough trouncing the Ox received, Emmrich knew the advantage of surprise was long lost to him for later fights during the Festival. Ah well, at least it was Davrin whom he had beaten. Davrin with his flirty smiles and lazy arms thrown over Mera's broad shoulders...

Cutting that thought off at the pass, "I did come here genuinely wishing to check in on your health, dear boy." he insisted earnestly - not to fall into lust or jealousy, though it was horribly difficult when even the bandages cut across Mera's tits so nicely, making already gorgeous, meaty things look even thicker. Emmrich wanted to bite, wanted to stick his cock between them and - he cringed, shaking his head sharply as if to ward off the never ending deluge of filthy thoughts. Ravens were never known for stopping their mouths nor minds when something had caught their fancy.

A huff - at himself, not at Mera, who could not help his Houndsight - and he cut the last bit of space between them away, settling beside the boy, "How do you feel?" He had been glorious in his spar. Emmrich had never been an enjoyer of wanton violence, but Mera had been beautiful with his bared teeth and wild eyes - a Hound let loose from his leash. Despite suspecting he could guess the outcome, Emmrich could not wait to fight him later in the week, to have all Mera's focus on him, to let the dear boy expel all his energy and power, and to witness it up close. A smile, as he lightly, gently knocked their shoulders together, "I do hope you're well enough for the party later tonight. I want to steal another dance." The one they'd shared in the Emperor's pre-Festival Contender celebrations was simply not enough.

Emmrich reached out, running a careful hand over the bandages - over those pretty tits - a furrow of concern in his brow, "It wasn't as deep as it seemed, I suppose?" he asked hopefully - surely not, if Mera was sitting upright, "I was concerned." A wry twist of his mouth, admitting, admiration clear, "Though you were all the more unstoppable afterwards." Mera would make a wonderful Emperor - fierce and protective of his people, fueled by an iron will and unstoppable in the face of strife. Hand still resting, lightly, on his chest, he couldn't help but run his thumb over his smooth, soft skin, praising aloud, "Highly impressive, Mera."

[feypromised]

"Hey Gramps," Mera echoed as soon as the fellow contender made himself known. He could've spoken the words aloud minutes prior as he heard Emmrich approaching - or rather, as he heard those telltale thoughts approaching - but people hated any reminder of Houndsight when it came to their own secrets. Not that Emmrich seemed able to keep secrets at all, if his wide open mind was any indication. Each time he drew close they could hear it without effort, the swirl of soft, comforting murmurs and the rumble of something deep and hungry. The contrast of it all was what drew their interest immediately. How could a mind so brilliant and gentle be home to such vulgar fantasies?

Fantasies about them - from fighting to fucking to holding one another sweetly in the aftermath of either. All three set Mera's blood alight, pumping hard and fast as a white-hot river through his veins. He couldn't wait to spill that blood at each other's hands and taste it on his tongue in the combatants' tents thereafter - tents just like this, private but linen thin where any passers by from the dwindling crowds might hear their cries of a different sort. It sure as fuck didn't tame their fantasies to see Emmrich now and hear those same thoughts echoed back to them in the man's own imaginings. Thoughts that had their heart thudding and their cock stirring, lingering still in the throes of bloodlust and flying high as the clouds.

"Concerned, huh? Sure," he teased with a snort of laughter and the makings of a crooked grin as mismatched eyes dropped to the hand all but groping his tits - long, elegant fingers stroking across the skin with nothing but concern, of course. It wasn't as though he'd mind if Emmrich groped in earnest and made all those fantasies reality, but he sometimes forgot others didn't share his gift. The Raven contender couldn't see the same filth flooding their mind, couldn't be sure his advances would be welcomed, couldn't dare to be anything but a gentleman without consent. Anyway, Mera did believe he'd come out of concern - could see it in his eyes, even clouded with desire as they were. "I'm fine. Stop worrying," spoken softer and more sincere. "It'll take more than a Bear mauling to knock me out of the running."

As if he gave a shit about being Emperor. In fact, winning was the last thing he wanted, but Mera had never been able to give anything less than his best effort at anything, especially when it came to a fight. The Bear contender was strong, experienced, well-respected - he deserved the throne more than a half feral fucking street rat did - but it didn't matter. Bloodlust went straight to his head in the heat of battle and his body always knew what to do in a fight, even if his mind didn't. Anyway, what were a few new scars compared to the mosaic already there? His bare chest was littered with them, old and new. Unsightly maybe, to somebody like Emmrich with all that fair, smooth, gorgeous skin, but they didn't seem to deter him.

Mera hardly even noticed himself leaning forward, almost imperceptible but undeniable, angling in closer and all but arching into Emmrich's hand like a dog begging for more than idle attention. Head tipped, their gaze began to flit over him with interest and concern of their own, checking for injuries and coming up short. Another snort of laughter, "Speaking of impressive - I saw you beat the shit out of Davrin earlier and come out clean. Nobody saw that coming." Least of all Mera. He didn't think Emmrich's age or Guardian made him weak, oh no, but he thought that unerring kindness just might... There was a curl of a knowing grin on his lips, but he didn't say anything, didn't mention those thoughts of jealousy he'd seen swirling in Emmrich's thoughts just now - and earlier, not long before the Ox vs. Raven fight when Davrin had been getting real handsy with him.

Their eyes met as Mera breathed him in, all but sharing breath at this angle. His hand settled overtop Emmrich's, broader and more work-rough than the seemingly delicate digits of the Raven, guiding that touch enough to curl those digits into the thick, sweat-slick muscle of his chest. A mistake, maybe, since he felt his own breath catch in his throat and his own heart thud against his ribs. Cock stirring, he shifted on the cot. "You better find me quick at the party later, then. Dav wants a dance too so he might beat you to it," half a tease, half a dare. Then, more sincere even as he clutched desperately at coyness, "Tell me to save my first dance for you and I will." Mera had a sneaking suspicion whoever stole the first dance would steal him for the night itself, and he was struck by a sudden need for it to be Emmrich.

[feychosen]

@feypromised

Emmrich had partaken in a bit of the finest wine the Tiger Palace had sourced for this celebration, and it had left him warm and pleasantly buzzed. With that, he found his reserve fading away as he stared, more than he normally allowed himself to. Though it wasn't entirely his fault - Mera looked absolutely gorgeous today. He looked gorgeous every day, but something about the semi-informal uniform he wore for tonight's celebration - with plenty of skin shown and a short enough jacket that his sinfully pert ass was on display...it made Emmrich think the most filthy of things.

He wanted to feel that skin, smooth and scarred alike, run his hands over every inch of his boy's body, find each place that made him shudder with pleasure, that prompted a sweet little noise and reaction. He wanted to strip that uniform off Mera and leave just the boy himself behind, not the High Guard. He imagined laying his pup down on the plush, fine bed of the Emperor, spreading first his legs open and then his body, watching the flex and pull of Mera's muscles as he fingered him open, perhaps even kissed him open, pressing his face between those muscled thighs and getting his first taste of that ass, licking him to readiness.

His boy deserved at least one orgasm before Emmrich sated his own hunger, so perhaps he'd suck his cock too, watch with keen eyes at the pretty face grew even prettier with pleasure splayed across it. Only then, when he'd had his fill of tasting his pup, would he press his cock inside him and fuck his promperly. He knew that pert ass would be such a lovely cushion for his cock, that Mera would take him in, so warm and welcoming, while making the most gorgeous of noises, lovely like those grunts he made on training grounds or those surprised little gasps and whimpers he made whenever Emmrich touched one of his bruises. He could only imagine what sort of pleasure hewed noises Mera was capable of, with the right encouragement.

Emmrich would be the exact right encouragement. He'd find every noise his pup could make, would play him with long, elegant fingers as one did a piano. Fingers in his hair, petting, tugging, pulling. Fingers at his chest, at his nipples, tweaking, pulling, toying. Fingers round his throat, holding, caressing, choking. Fingers on his cock, stroking, tugging, playing. Emmrich wanted hands all over him - inside and out, wanted to press fingers into his warm, wet mouth near as much as he wanted to finger him open. He wanted everything. He wanted all. He wanted Mera.

Pulled from his thoughts by some sudden noise in the crowded room, Emmrich noted his boy tilt his head in his direction and cringed. Half a decade and he still had not learned to police his thoughts around his beloved Hound. He knew they had no secrets between them, and he cared nought about that - even if he knew it meant the poor thing having to hear Emmrich ever possessively claim of him over and over again: my Hound, my dear boy, my pup, my beloved, my High Guard, my Mera, mine, mine, mine - yet, he hardly wished to make Mera uncomfortable by having such vivid imaginings in public.

The worst is that it was not the first time Mera had caught him thinking filth - though with the end of his time as Emperor ever swiftly approaching, it was the first time he thought that maybe, just maybe he could...no. At least not yet. He had been patient for years. He could at least manage the rest of week, if anything were to happen afterwards. It's only trial three, his mind lamented, and he mentally shushed it, focusing back on Mera - with less lustful intent...mostly.

"I'm sorry, my dear." he murmured, sidling up beside him and pushing his own wine glass into the other's hand - to cool him off and because he hadn't had any in a time, standing guard as he was, "I find my thoughts wander more freely than ever before, the closer we get to my retirement..." A twitch of his mouth, reluctantly amused by his uncharacteristic lack of control - he was usually able to keep these sort of thoughts safely tucked away until he was alone in his bed chambers, knowing Mera was just outside the doors and then he would simply take himself in hand and - he cleared his throat, cutting that thought off before it could fully form, despite it being damning enough already, "I apologize for objectifying you in such a way." He always made the apology, even if Mera always waved him off.

A moment's hesitation, thinking how foolish it was to even contemplate continuing this conversation - especially here and now, where any could overhear, and yet, "Some of the things I imagine...are they to your liking?" He knew many saw Mera, broad and strong and fierce, and saw someone who would bring such power and control with him in the bedroom, but Emmrich thought otherwise, perhaps of his own wish. His pup was strung up on high alert, always ready for violence, all day - the least he deserved was the chance to relax and relinquish his focus in the night. He would simply be beautiful serving Emmrich in a less stressful capacity. He could imagine Mera now, settled comfortably on his knees, those tits of his just as plush and welcoming as his ass, mismatched eyes wide and mouth open as he eagerly - "Apologies." he huffed, knocking their shoulders lightly together, "I fear even just a hint of alcohol has made me lose my sense." he slanted Mera a sideways glance, "You certainly do not help, but one would think I should be well used to how attractive you are."

[feypromised]

Mera was being tortured. There was no better term for what he'd endured for hours now, not when actual violent bloodshed would be less agonizing. Honestly, he'd prefer a good, straightforward, clear-cut scrap in the yard to this - standing at attention in all this finery, surrounded by throngs of Venerants and looking so out of place among them when he tried to play at... What? Not quite High Guard, not quite consort, slacking at one and having no right to the other. It was the same struggle he'd faced for half a decade now but increased tenfold on a night like this. A night when he had to stand beside Emmrich and want for more while all the gathered courtiers and socialites fawned over their leader in all his glory and poise.

Who could blame them? Certainly not Mera who was fawning most of all, just not aloud. It was a miracle the Emperor was a Raven and not gifted - or cursed - with Houndsight. Most other Hounds present were relegated to guarding the palace perimeter, save for the contender himself and Emmrich's favoured boy. It was both work and favouritism that kept them at his side tonight, a lowborn Scrapper risen to a rich life in the Grand Palace, but no riches or status could match the man himself. Mismatched eyes tracked their master's every mood and move - the way fine, silken robes draped over his frame and contrasted his fair skin beautifully, the steeple of those long, elegant fingers at his wine glass, the slight flush of pink at his cheeks as the drink's effects took root.

Eight, Emmrich had never looked more fucking gorgeous. Mera would bet he'd look even better with those fancy robes stripped away and those deft fingers curled into the meat of their thighs instead, holding them open at the mercy of his clever tongue before those same fingers pressed inside and worked them open, fucking into them so slow and sweet - a much better sort of torture. The sort he'd give anything to indulge in, even if just for a night. Why not tonight? Some stupid little voice chimed in his mind, reverberating around his skull, as if to herald the next series of fantasies he conjured. Fantasies like Emmrich's hot mouth on him, taking him balls deep until he couldn't help but cum, spilling down his master's throat with hands buried in silver hair as his whole body shook. Or that thick, hard cock he'd only glimpsed in the baths before now flushed and pulsing between his tits, fucking back and forth between them while his tongue hung out, panting for breath and eager to catch any of Emmrich's release.

Face hot and eyes averted during such unwise - stupid, delusional, dangerous - thoughts, it took Mera ages to realize those fantasies weren't his own. Well, they all spoke to his own wants, but the thoughts themselves were Emmrich's. Even looking past him into the crowd of party goers, they couldn't help but to focus on him as ever, and his mind was as open to them as always... Moreso, if that flood of arousal was anything to go by. It was as if his skull itself were cracked open and spilling every innermost desire, desperate to be heard. They couldn't have tuned it out if they tried - which they sure as shit didn't. If Mera wasn't hard as a fucking rock already, he certainly would be now with the knowledge that Emmrich stood a few feet away imagining filth about him that made his cock twitch.

Curse these fucking tight ass pants and the bulge of his dick pressing against the fabric. He could feel the slightest warm pulse of wetness spread out along the crotch of his briefs and hoped it didn't seep any farther - hoped also that it wasn't too obvious when he folded his hands in front of himself as if it'd shield him fully from anyone really looking. He'd pray to the Eight that Emmrich was too tipsy to notice, but there were at least a couple Guardians who'd probably find this whole thing hilarious and want to embarrass him further... As if said Guardians themselves had heard, Mera felt his master's body heat and the knock of his shoulder as respectable distance closed to nothing.

Some of the things I imagine... Are they to your liking?

Fuck. He felt hot and breathless and a little bit nauseous as his stomach did traitorous flip flops, but he didn't submit to the words rushing to his tongue. Not yet. Instead, he accepted Emmrich's offered wine glass and took an obedient sip without needing to be told to do so. "You're drunk," they teased with nothing but a playful little curl of a smirk, trying and failing not to let all those glowing compliments go straight to his head and heart - and cock. Then, angling themself to face him, Mera took his hand in theirs and brought it to their lips. It was a chaste enough kiss to his knuckles and a respectful enough gesture, but they lingered longer than they should have against his skin. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop apologizing?" At least one more, my dear. He could practically hear it in Emmrich's voice unspoken. Still, insisting with a snort, "At this point, I think I'd be pretty fucking offended if you ever stopped objectifying me."

Mera let their joined hands drop and released his hold. The next sip of wine he took was more of a gulp - another thing he'd scold himself about later, knowing full well that proper High Guards didn't drink on the job when their master's life was on the line. But hey, since he was already on a roll of foolish behaviour - "They are." A beat of silence, another too big sip of wine, "To my liking." Mismatched eyes flit up to him, blown wide in their own arousal. Could he read it in their gaze? See it written all over their face without any need for Houndsight? Fuck, they were so close that he could taste the wine on Emmrich's breath and feel the heat of his body, overwhelmed to the point of dizziness with how badly he wanted to press flush against him and rut up against his leg with a whine unlike any strong, proud guard dog but a bitch in heat left wanting far too long. "I imagine the same things every night," he admitted while he still felt courageous and idiotic enough, before angling away. "Sorry, Your Majesty."

[feychosen]

@feypromised

Edward did not flop onto the bed for tigers were far more graceful than that, but it was a near enough thing, and Notoriously Elusive Deadly Tiger Who Furiously Rejects All Who Approach - Ned, as his boy had shortened his true name to, for the first three words of it - Ned crawled his way out from under his boy's ribs, despite how warm and comfortable the spot was, better than any sun stained stone for certain. A bit of unsavory squelching and skin pulling and he was free from his boy's body, the bed creaking ominously under the sudden addition of his weight.

Still, it was not the bed that had to take his weight, for Ned didn't bother asking permission before sprawling himself atop Edward's body, all white and black fur, at once breaking out into an uncontrollable purr, dragging his rough sandpaper tongue up the other's neck and snuffling in his hair. 'Your Father's a cunt.' he spoke directly into the other's mind, 'He is not a tiger, so you should ignore his worthless opinions.'

Ned had witnessed the conversation that put Edward in such a mood, had barely managed to stop himself from clawing his way out to deal with the rat. The slimy little worm that was his boy's father was greedily attempting to use Edward's vaunted position to his own gain, all while tearing down his boy as a glorified whore. The only thing that had stayed Ned's hand was the knowledge Edward was more than capable of handling the pitiful little man.

And yet, the sting remained for his boy despite knowing the man's words were worthless - the pain of rejection from a father something Ned knew well. 'I'll kill him for you.' he decided, easily enough, 'Though I bet his meat tastes bitter and his blood sour, just awful prey. But I'll kill him regardless.' He gave another grainy lick up the other side of Edward's neck, just because the first one had made him squirm beneath Ned's bulk in a most pleasing way, before dropping his head on his boy's chest.

Despite only accidentally beginning to purr - unstoppable in the face of his Edward - Ned purposefully ramped it louder, entire chest vibrating with the pleased rumbles. Stretching out, he rested his paws in the pillows on either side of his boy's head, absentmindedly flexing his claws, over and over again, indifferent to the way he tore into the fine feathered things.

'We are the Tiger, and we are Glorious.' Ned reminded his boy, bright silver eyes staring him down - a predator waiting to see what sort of insecurities he might have to kill. 'He is small, nothing but a mere man, jealous of your glory, and you will forget his words until I can kill him.' He spoke the words into his Edward's mind as if an order to be followed, yet he was still purring so fiercely, and he couldn't resist one more drag of his tongue up the front of his boy's throat and over his chin. A touch reverent, 'You are everything, Edward.'

[feypromised]

Ed knew that to pout or cry or rage at his father would be to give the man precisely what he wanted - all those weaknesses on a silver platter, ripe for the picking. William Teach knew exactly how to fashion his words as weapons and wield them against his son in deadly force, if only to earn that coveted reaction. A tiger who shed tears was no true tiger, after all, for the tenets of their training preached control in all things, body and soul. Nothing would please his father more than to watch him fall from the Guardian's grace and be labeled "the whore you are."

Years at the Tiger Palace had taught Ed how to bottle those feelings and fashion them into weapons of his own, claws and fangs of his own making, motivated to greatness by one man's petty grudge. Will received no gratification today when his son stood tall and smiling against the onslaught of mockery, no matter what hurt festered inside. No, he'd not shed a tear or worn a single ounce of that hurt on his face until the moment he was safely back in his chambers - grand and lavish, fit only for the Emperor's favourite, spoiled rotten for more than just access to his body... He hoped.

Thoughts of doubt and shame swirled with mounting strength, a whirlpool alive at his very core that was eager to drag him into the deep, but it wasn't alone. Ned stirred to life behind his ribs, prowling like a caged tiger - if it was possible to cage such a gorgeous, powerful beast. Ed, at least, had no desire to do so. Some men would go mad with that power and seek to tame it, but all he felt was a great sense of comfort to know he was never alone. Comfort and relief when Ned pressed his way out of their chest in a wet series of cracks and squelching that would have any man cringing. There was a release of pressure and then a great force of triple that pressure as their notoriously elusive and deadly companion laid his full weight atop them.

It forced a punch out breath of laughter from his lungs that was followed by a now breathless series of giggles as Ned licked him. A rough, giant tongue scraping from throat to cheek, undoubtedly rubbing the skin red beneath it. Ned left marks behind in everything he did, but Ed didn't mind. How could he, when he was chosen by a fragment of the Tiger itself? It still seemed a wild, impossible notion - the Guardians were real and he was somehow worthy of their attention? - but it was hard to argue with a living, breathing tiger settled atop him and flattening him like a pancake.

You are everything, Edward. "Nor for long. I won't be much of anything if you squish me to death," they teased though made no move to displace him - as if they even could if they tried. Instead, their arms curled around him and fingers buried in his fur, holding him closer and tighter, clinging to him like a lifeline. The rise and fall of their chests together, the beat of their hearts, the heat of Ned's body - all soothed him, but nothing more than the deep and resonate purr rumbling throughout Ed's very core, feeling his tiger's content from the inside out.

Head tipped, nuzzling their face into the crook of his neck and huffing his scent along with a great bit of fur that made them sneeze. Only after a moment of steadying their breathing with Ned's did they speak again. "Thank you," murmured into his fur. For this, for the offer, for everything. "I do want him dead," Ed admitted with the certainty of a man who'd been contemplating this for a very, very long time. "- but I want to be the one to do it. I need to," needed it to soothe something in his soul. Not revenge but justice. The strong weeding out the weak - weak minded and weak willed. His father would hardly be the last small, insignificant man to wield cruelty like this, and he would gladly kill them all. Face in Ned's fur and words muffled by it, "I want to feel his blood on my hands. I want to bathe in it. I want him to beg me for mercy and deny him." If Ed could have purred like the great cat he embodied, he would. And yet even as he spoke the whirlpool rushed on, steady as ever - does Ned think me a whore? Does Jack? Does Ben?

[feypromised]

Ed stretched out long and lithe and languid, looking rather like a tiger himself perched in the lap of luxury - or rather, perched in the Emperor's lap, which was much the same thing. It was the perfect place to be when one was as favoured as he, consort and confidant both, ever at Ben's side or sitting pretty on his cock. The latter would come soon enough, but for now he was lounging with his back against one great arm of the throne and his long, mostly bare legs kicked up over the other arm. Most of him was bare, in fact, in the sweltering heat of summer with nearly sheer swathes of silk hardly covering all that sweat-slicked skin. They both preferred it that way, and he had no shame showing off the beauty of his body: another of the Emperor's treasures for his subjects to look on in envy.

"Your reign's almost over," Ed hummed with a pout at his lips and a glint of mischief nestled in warm brown eyes - the sort that always found a home in his gaze while fighting or fucking. He did more of the latter these days but was well versed in both. Pleasure and pain were two sides of the same coin, after all, and he'd long since become a master in the sparring ring and bedroom alike. It was the sort of look he often got when a plan was forming, some strategy piecing together in his mind to maximize one or the other - pleasure or pain. The same look worn when he swallowed Ben's cock down to the base and blinked up at him with all the faux innocence in the world as he tasted a flood of his Emperor's cum, or when he draped over Ben's shoulder at the war table to whisper a cunning little maneuver that might be ordered of the troops.

Lips twitched as a smirk broke through the put upon pout. "Twenty-four years... Almost as old as I am," Ed teased as that smirk blossomed in full before it was hidden with a dip of his head, stealing a kiss from Ben with a wine-laden mouth. Sometimes they called their Emperor 'old man,' with the express purpose of being dragged over his knee and spanked until lust ran high and they fucked like animals in heat, hard and fast and dirty. More often they called him 'daddy,' and enjoyed how he preened, cooing praise and spoiling them with silk and gold and jewels and promises. Ben made lots of promises, both sweet and sinful - perhaps it was time they made one of their own.

"I'll miss this when it's over," the lavish gifts and status, or the man himself? Ben could have him still when all was done, if he asked, though Ed couldn't help but wonder if pride would keep him from doing so. An Emperor with a consort was one thing, but a man with wants and feelings all his own? Bearing your heart was a dangerous notion for one who was trained to feel nothing. But it wouldn't matter in the end if their plan came to fruition and spared them both from wondering what came next. Speaking of - "Unless it isn't. Unless it doesn't." Doesn't end. Not in full, not when they could lounge like this atop the same throne in the same silk and jewels with the same power at their disposal, merely a swap of titles. Emperor Edward, long may he reign.

Ed adjusted themself in his lap with their ass settled comfortably in the crux of his hips, right up against his crotch where the pert curve could nestle up against the stirring length of Ben's cock beneath those robes. One leg bent to rest a sandaled foot atop the arm of the throne so the folds of silk fell, riding higher at his thigh as an arm slipped around Ben's neck. "What if I put myself forward as a contender?" It was framed as a question, but he'd long since made up his mind about it with ambition burning white hot in the pit of his stomach. Fingers curled into the soft hair at the back of his lover's head, nails grazing his scalp. "You know I'd win," cocky but true, so determined in all that he committed himself to. Another stolen kiss, sharing breath, "We could stay like this," purred soft and sweet. A perfect scenario, if Ben could stomach being consort to the new Emperor himself.

@feychosen