❋ drunk chess, the epitome of sexuality.
it had been a game at first.
callous fingers ghosted against draw lips in effort to hide a smile now rarely seen since tainted blood touched them. it pushed back the sorrow, strife & darkness that seemingly kept company with those of like { s p i r i t }; two old friends, and a game of chess. it was innocence soon turned sinful.
❛ shall we make this more interesting? ❜
simple words with a hidden danger laced between curved letter and tongue. a danger of secrets long kept to find themselves unburied. each piece taken is met with a deep draft of { h a r d i e s t } mead. sweet honey aftertaste, fermented and tanged left against moist lips. a daring knight, captured by a stealthy rook. a king easily pressed into a corner of his own making. a noble warrior queen fighting off the advance of would be assassins. warden and commander, moved closer and erupting into a fit of giggles that would remind any of the youngest school boy. laughter of the like which had not been heard for ages; buried under the darkness of past and crimson blood of an uncertain future.
eight games, and many a mead later. the crowd which had gathered has departed them as the night rolled forward. the chargers retired. the inquisitor to bed with his lover. the bard which sung had laid her lute to ground, and went to her quarters. he and the commander had been left alone. the room light around them, and the flame of the candles flickering shadows on both of their pale skin. how it had happened could not be recalled. drunken confession on the warden’s part about sinful fantasies while kept guarded in the tower. a daring, and heroic tale told by the commander which blustered the warden’s drunken fueled confidence. it is not remembered, and nor it may be cared about. in the dark corner of the tavern. the mage, and former templar had long forgotten about the game. pieces clattered to the floor, and steins bare.
settled in the warmth of cullen's lap, the warden mage sat comfortable. his fingers buried into the thick of golden hair; held tightly as if his grip kept him from falling back into an unknown abyss. his lips were warm against the commander's, sloppy and wet. shakingly, and hungrily moving with heedful arousal and long term interest. strong, large hands at warm against his hips, having lifted his tunic cullen's nails ran across outlined muscle. he raised his body to meet with the bite. his tongue heavily pressed against cullen's while his hands fell from their hold on silken strains so lithe arms may anchor against strong shoulders. feet planted on either side of the commander's body as he sits comfortable in his chair, the warden-commander looks down at him. his fingers reach upward to trace plush lips, and deep scar. gray eyes peer from heavily hooded eyes, blurred by drink.
