anyway, here's a little something something about Daeran getting a bad dream and then getting dramatic over it
takes place after Daeran's personal quest in act 5 and after Berci was done with his mythic quests on the gold dragon path
word count: around 1.6k
Bertalan woke up to pressure around his fingers. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, but even then, he could tell it was still the middle of the night. The room was brightened by the moonlight streaming in and while the Knight Commander wasn’t quite used to his newly grown wings, his instincts to block the unwelcome light with them has been fully developed. The sheet underneath him stretched as the presence next to him seemed to have pulled away slightly, but the pressure on his fingers did not let up. Bertalan blinked a few times, trying to convince the muscles in his face to let him look ahead. His lips gently curled to a faint smile as his vision began clearing and he started to make out the visage of his beloved beside him.
A few moments later, however, he also saw the anguish etched onto Daeran’s face. The Count’s breathing was heavy and erratic, his nightmares were sending shivers down his body. One moment, he would bury his face into his pillow, flinching away from Bertalan in his sleep, while in another he’d clutch his hand with all the strength he had. The Commander reached out and swept a stray lock of hair out of Daeran’s face, allowing his knuckles to brush against his cheek, hoping that his touch would ease his night horrors. He ignored his own throat growing tighter and his mouth filling with the nauseatingly bitter taste of fear. He lifted his lover’s hand to his lips and left a tight-lipped but insistent kiss on it. A selfish part of him ached for the relief of their contact almost as much as he did for the sight of the Count being lulled into a peaceful sleep.
Daeran stirred at the pull and when he couldn’t back away from the Commander’s kiss, he finally opened his eyes.
‘Bertalan,’ he whispered his name as relief began to settle in him.
‘I’m here,’ he let go of the aasimar’s hand and leaned over him. He left a light kiss on his eyelids while he slowly slid his arm under Daeran’s waist. ‘I’m here,’ he repeated, while he pressed his forehead against his. He straightened up, pulling his lover with him, who blindly wrapped his arms around him in turn. One hand rested on the Commander’s spine, while the other came to right beneath his wing, and Bertalan couldn’t resist the urge to use those wings as their shelter, as their shield against all else in the room.
‘If you keep squeezing my leg like that, you’ll end up breaking it,’ Daeran pulled away slightly with a complaint. Bertalan retracted his wings and looked down to see his tail tightly coiled around the Count’s shin. He let out a sigh, exasperated at himself, and moved away to give his beloved some space. Daeran took this chance to get out of the bed.
The aasimar’s sleepiness was visible for the first few steps. He combed through his messy golden hair with both his hands, taming the light curls while he straightened his posture. He walked with the measured casualness and practiced dignity befitting his noble birth. Bertalan’s heart sank at the sight. He knew the Count was taught never to let his vulnerabilities show, but it’s been a while since the last time he was this guarded around the Commander. Only a few hours ago they spent their evening merrily, with a hearty meal, some good wine and conversations that came as easily to them as breathing. Now, Daeran was approaching the table, and grabbing the wine bottle. He poured whatever was left at the bottom into a glass but he didn’t drink it. He merely leaned against the edge of the table, and watched the moonlight dance on the red liquid he was swirling.
‘Do you want to talk?’ Bertalan tentatively asked.
‘There is not much to talk about,’ Daeran answered without looking at him, ‘people dream of all sorts of foolish things, this is no different.’
‘Then what troubles you?’
Daeran’s movements stopped at the the question. His face betrayed nothing as he was staring into the empty air in front of him. But there was a tremble in his hand clutching the wine glass and he slouched as if he was ready to collapse, defeated by his sorrows. Bertalan sprang out of the bed and rushed towards him, but before he could reach the Count, he answered.
‘In my dream, I was back in Heaven’s Edge.’
The words stopped the Commander in his tracks, though only for a moment. He waited for his lover to continue, and only moved when he started speaking again. He stepped with the instinctive care of a ranger following the sounds of anguish in the wild. Something in him ached when he realized this but Bertalan ignored the feeling. Daeran’s words were the only things worthy of his attention.
‘It was ten years ago, and my family was…’ the Count took a sip of the wine before he went on, his voice theatrically rising in both pitch and volume, ‘but rather than watching my mother succumb to that accursed, demonic disease, I was watching you,’ he raised his gaze to Bertalan. He looked him in the eye at first, but then he allowed his attention to wander to his chest. To the invisible wound over his heart. ‘As I said, the dream was a rather foolish one but it is hard to dismiss the fear it evoked, given that it is rooted in something very, very real,’ he gulped down the rest of his drink and for a moment, Bertalan was convinced he would smash the glass in frustration but instead, Daeran put it back on the table in a motion that was swift and almost too graceful. ‘So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll spend the night… upset, to put it mildly,’ his voice was shaky as he gripped the edge of the table, hard enough that his knuckles turned white.
‘If this is about my wound,’ the Commander closed the distance to him and placed a hand over his, ‘I don’t intend to let it kill me. You have nothing to be afraid of.’
‘I know,’ Daeran’s voice was low, ‘I know,’ he shook his head as if he could wipe the doubt from his mind doing so. ‘I just… I thought I was done feeling this… terrified of being left alone and I hate that I’m feeling like this still,’ he shut his eyes tight. ‘But you are dying and I am powerless to do anything about it, all I can do is watch and wait for… a change,’ he chose his last word with great care.
Bertalan reached out to cup the Count’s face. His thumb caressed him until he relaxed at the touch slightly, and reached up to press the Commander’s hand to himself harder.
‘I feel fine, Daeran, more than fine with you around,’ he left a kiss on his temple. ‘I promised you a future together, didn’t I? Do you know me as someone who breaks his promises?’
The aasimar hesitated. ‘No,’ he sighed. ‘by now, I should know better than to doubt you but… there is a first time for everything. If we fail-’
‘We won’t,’ Bertalan interrupted him. ‘Not if I can help it.’
‘Good, because it’s been ten years since I truly felt inspired to look forward to anything,’ Daeran leaned forward and rested his head against the Commander’s scaled collarbone. ‘I want to see nothing more than the man I’ll become with you by my side. So I cannot part with you just yet, and I especially do not want you to choose Pharasma’s court over my exquisite company,’ he looked up at him and despite his words, his eyes reflected nothing but pure desperation. But then the moment passed and those same eyes gleamed with a steeliness that Bertalan only saw once – in an echo of the young Count, right before he invited the being that held him hostage for the next ten years. ‘We cannot fail. And we cannot afford sentimentality,’ his gaze shifted to the small space between them. His voice rang with more and more rage and determination as he went on. ‘Areelu Vorlesh has to die. Burn her, bleed her dry, shove her in the Worldwound, I don’t care what it takes, just-’
As Bertalan listened, he felt a chill in his bones. Without thinking, he claimed Daeran’s lips before anger could truly take over him. The kiss was slow and soothing, but it only proved to be perfect to stoke the Count’s stubbornness. Still, he returned the kiss, and as he did so he slid a palm to the back of the Commander’s head. He let out a quiet but frustrated groan as his fingers closed around his dark hair.
‘I heard the saccharine drivel your new friends filled your head with about redemption,’ he pulled away for a moment before closing the gap again, his lips tightly locking around Bertalan’s. ‘If we find her and you feel a draconic urge to forgive her,’ he kissed him again, demandingly, ‘or show her mercy,’ he lightly bit his lip in warning, ‘you better ignore it.’
Bertalan blinked at him in surprise. ‘Are you giving orders to your superior, my dear advisor?’ He made an attempt at teasing him, trying to ease his tension, only to get pinched in the side.
‘I am being serious,’ Daeran looked him dead in the eye, ‘promise me.’
The Count’s sternness gave him pause. The Commander left a feather-light kiss on his lover's cheek, before he pulled him into his embrace. He held him stiffer than he would have liked.
‘Alright,’ he nodded against Daeran’s ear. ‘I promise.’
Thank you <3 I didn't need a specific number but I ended up going with that lol
Anyway here's some silly drama between Berci and Daeran, late into act 3
Word count: around 1660 words
Prompt: an impulsive kiss
The tavern was bustling, with the snow that has been slowly falling throughout the evening, many sought out the comforts of the establishment. Both the comfort of a warm shelter against the winter night and the comfort of companionship. Daeran mainly just wanted to drown his frustrations in booze.
After the sacking of the Ivory Sanctum, the Crusade has come to a brief standstill, waiting for the Queen’s reinforcements to proceed with the attack on the Midnight Fane. But Galfrey was taking her sweet time and Knight-Commander Bertalan was a restless sort. It didn’t take long for him to ready his forces, which left him idle for too long for his own good. After a few days, he gathered a party and left Drezen. And Daeran was left behind. He emptied his glass and ordered another round.
The Count was baffled, both by Bertalan’s decision to sideline him so, and by himself for feeling so… upset, maybe even offended by him. He was a capable healer, after all, and the Commander relied on him heavily for that reason. Ever since Daeran volunteered to aid the Crusade, he was practically inseparable from the Commander. It was a bond that was annoyingly exhausting, but also quite flattering. Then that bond grew into something different, exhaustion turned into something light and sweet, flattery became something substantial and affectionate. Like the smell of roses and the taste of Kyonin berry wine. The Count groaned at the simile. It was bad enough that sex would inspire him to write atrocious poetry, but now he couldn’t even curse Bertalan without comparing his eyes to the color of the sea at dawn or his smile to the warmth of late summer nights. He took a large gulp of his drink, and winced at the flavor. Why did he have to order Kyonin berry wine?
Daeran couldn’t help but recall his last birthday party at Heaven’s Edge. Bertalan spilled some of that wine on him. For someone so capable, the Commander was certainly a clumsy buffoon at times, the Count thought, suppressing a chuckle. Whether he intended it or not, the mishap did give Daeran a few moments of privacy during the party. And like a fool he spent most of them writing a note that was a testament to his nonsensical longing. He muttered a curse as he reminisced then took a sip of the wine. All he could think of back then were those crimson eyes fixed on him as he lectured him about the architecture of his ancestral home. A boring subject and yet… he was more than happy to indulge him, answering his questions, solely because of the way he was looking at him. His curiosity was devoid of judgment or scrutiny. His attention was neither controlling or suffocating. But it was also clear he could not care less about the many reconstructions of Heaven’s Edge. For a brief moment, the thought of being seen didn’t seem so terrible. And that realization was followed by a wave of foolish, dangerously selfish yearning, bad enough to make the Count put quill to parchment. What he wrote was a wish he didn’t dare ask of the Commander: remember me. It’s not like Bertalan would ever find that note, Daeran thought as he swirled the wine in his glass. He hid it in a secret compartment, then turned the key to it into an intricately ornamented pendant. That pendant was now hanging from the Commander’s neck but he didn’t seem to figure out what it was.
The Count’s musings were interrupted by commotion in the tavern. A new guest entered, and the rank and file in the room sprang to their feet at his sight.
‘At ease,’ Bertalan’s voice filled the room, his footsteps were heavy and resolute as he made his way straight to the bar where Daeran was sitting. A broad palm landed gently on the Count’s back as the Commander took a seat next to him. ‘Finally,’ he spoke softly, ‘I’ve been looking all over for you.’
‘How very thoughtful of you. I’m flattered that you deigned to grace me with your attention,’ Daeran said, barely glancing at the dhampir next to him.
Bertalan scoffed. ‘I missed you, too.’
The Count rolled his eyes as he swallowed the last drops in his glass. From the corner of his eye, he saw the bartender approach the Commander who shook his head instead of ordering. He refused to turn to him fully.
‘Are you not going to ask about my trip?’
‘I doubt it was particularly interesting, given that I wasn’t there.’
The Commander chuckled at that. ‘True,’ his voice rang with affection, ‘however, I did figure out your puzzle.’
This caught Daeran’s attention. He blinked at him, surprised. ‘What puzzle?’
Bertalan answered by taking off the pendant hanging from his neck. He placed it on the bar between Daeran and himself and the Count could feel his stomach drop. ‘I nearly drove myself insane, trying to figure out what this might open,’ he traced the links in the necklace with a calloused finger. ‘You could’ve given me a hint or two, you know.’
‘Had you asked, I would have told you that the key was a metaphor and so was the lock,’ Daeran shrugged. He knew there was no point in lying at this point, but deflection and denial have been etched into his very being.
Bertalan merely smiled at him and took a folded piece of fine, pristine parchment out of his pocket then put it beside the pendant. ‘Luckily, I remembered finding a lock with seemingly no key back in Heaven’s Edge. It was embedded into one of the newer walls. And wouldn’t you know it? I found a hidden compartment, with a message inside.’
Daeran said nothing. The Commander’s smile faded but not completely, he leaned closer and asked quietly. ‘Why did you hide this from me?’
‘I wrote it on a whim. I didn’t think about it much so there was no point to handing it over,’ the best lies were the ones with a modicum of truth. Daeran knew this well. In truth, he knew his wish was best left unsaid. Had the Commander questioned why he had such desires… his revelations might have lead to something truly ruinous.
‘Mm-hmm,’ unfortunately, Bertalan was dangerously talented at spotting lies. He straightened up and took back the note. He unfolded the parchment and silently read the words written on it, again. He looked quite thoughtful, Daeran noted, and the Commander never looked more handsome than when he was thoughtful. Eventually he put away the note and hung the pendant on himself. ‘I couldn’t guess what I was going to find, if there was anything to find at all. I also couldn’t tell whether you would’ve stopped me before I found your… treasure. So I didn’t take any risks. I left you here without telling you where I was going,’ he sounded almost guilty. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m sorry.’
‘Upset? You gave me a taste of a life I’ve missed terribly,’ Daeran waved his apology away. ‘One of leisure and decadence, what is there to be upset about?’
‘Your words drip with venom, Dae,’ the dhampir stood up. He lightly squeezed the Count’s shoulder. ‘If my words aren’t enough, seek me out later and I’ll apologize properly.’
Before Daeran could dismiss him, the Commander has already turned to leave. He watched him as he made his way to the exit and left without looking back. Something bitter was coating his throat, something seething was lighting up his stomach. Anger welled up in him, not at Bertalan, not at his stubborn curiosity, not at his blasted secrecy, but at himself and his foolish pride, his juvenile lovesickness, and the lies that sprang from his lips completely instinctively. Before he knew it, he was standing. He was moving, without thinking, purely driven by a need he could not name, but one that was eating him up from within. He ignored the chill nipping at his skin as he stepped outside. He ignored his hair growing heavy with the snowflakes clinging to his curls. His attention had one object and he was moving further away from him. Daeran didn’t realize that he started running. Bertalan was just about to turn down a narrow alley when he heard the Count getting near. Right as he turned to face him, Daeran grabbed him by the collar of his coat and let his momentum carry them both further down the alleyway, right against a shadowed wall. He claimed the Commander’s lips ravenously, desperately, pouring the bitterness borne of his absence into their contact. Bertalan pulled him closer, his hands roamed Daeran’s back as if he tried to hold him in every way he could. Eventually he turned around with him and pressed the Count against the wall. He pulled away just long enough to loosen Daeran’s collar, giving himself access to his neck. He kissed him sloppily, his lips caressed the veins along his neck, he savored the feeling of his pulse against his tongue and his goosebumps vanishing under his touch.
‘Don’t you ever cast me aside like this again,’ Daeran forced the words out of himself before he forgot how to be resentful.
‘I didn’t-’ Bertalan began to say but as he pulled back he was met with a glare. ‘You’ll never be cast aside, I promise you.’
Daeran felt his chest grow lighter. ‘And don’t keep secrets from me,’ he added before his anger all but vanished from him.
The Commander chuckled as he leaned in. ‘Secrecy begets secrecy, Dae,’ he teased him by lightly nipping at his lower lip. ‘I’ll be ready to be honest with you, when you’re ready to be honest with me.’
‘You and your accursed insistence on fairness,’ Daeran grumbled then kissed Bertalan again, and this time he allowed himself to be lost in his embrace.
in which Daeran decides to pester Berci during night watch time and things escalate to say the least (as in be warned for explicit descriptions of sex acts, do not click on the readmore if you don't want to see it)
it takes place sometime during act 3, Berci is still on the aeon path
word count: around 3.1k
The woods were quiet. The full moon hang above and its brightness turned the thin layer of clouds into a milky veil against the blue darkness. Bertalan moved silently towards an old beech, eyeing its sturdy roots. After all, those roots will have to be his shelter for the next few hours. He sat down with his back against the trunk, setting his weapons beside him and quickly muttered thanks that were not truly aimed at anyone. The bark of the tree was mercifully smooth against his back. The Commander reached for the nape of his neck, and his fingers brushed against the edge of a wound which has not healed quite yet. He was used to such discomfort – a dhampir cannot be healed with holy magics, or with the potions most people can rely on. The tools he could use to patch himself up were rare, expensive and often illegal, as such he savored every scroll, potion and wand. The cut running down his back was... inconvenient, but not life threatening, it didn’t warrant more than the potion he drank during dinner. It was a nuisance, but it didn’t stop him from volunteering to keep watch for the night.
Bertalan wasn’t sure how long he’s been sitting under that tree. Before he left for his watch, he saw Arueshalae prepare a thoroughly constructed camouflage, that reflected of her understanding of the Worldwound’s terrain – as well as her experience walking both the Abyss and the Material Plane. As such, a part of him felt at ease, knowing that it would take truly thorough and meticulous scouting to discover the camp. And the cloudy night sky made that almost impossible. Still, almost impossible was not actually impossible, and the Commander preferred to be overly cautious rather than risk the lives of his fellows out of overconfidence. Besides, a part of him cherished being out in the wild on a quiet night, disturbed by nothing but nocturnal critters. He often missed this blend of restlessness and silence in Drezen. Stillness in the city often proved to be good for one thing only: to guide his attention to the luminescence of the souls of its residents. Solitude in the forest was blissful in comparison, which made it easier to stay vigilant, to keep his senses keen on anything out of the ordinary…
...such as rustling coming from the direction of the camp.
Bertalan grabbed his bow, but didn’t move beyond that. He wanted to get a good look at the approaching figure before he took aim.
And what he saw was a familiar silhouette, surrounded by a constellation of crimes. For a moment, it seemed Daeran was merely taking an evening stroll, his poise relaxed but dignified. His squinting and his aimless meandering quickly shattered this illusion, however, and all Bertalan could see after that was a man growing more and more frustrated with himself by the second. The Commander chuckled at the sight, and put aside his weapon. He risked letting out a whistle, and hoped Daeran was the only one who heard it. The aasimar whipped his head in the direction of the sound, and his tension seemingly vanished the moment he spotted the person he was looking for. His steps were hurried as he approached the dhampir, but he refused to run. A faint, indignant sneer appeared on his face, though a smile was still trying to tug at the corners of his lips. Daeran was the very picture of feigned annoyance.
‘I see you are intent on getting on my last nerve this fine evening,’ he complained as he sat on a root next to Bertalan. The Commander, however, dragged him down to the ground beside him.
‘We can’t risk getting spotted.’
Daeran scoffed. ‘Unbelievable,’ he said as he moved closer to him. He leaned on his side against the base of the trunk, and propped himself up by his elbow. His knee lightly rubbed against Bertalan’s thigh, but he seemed determined to act like it wasn’t an intentional movement.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ The Commander’s voice was low.
‘Aside from you leaving me with our precious companions who snore loudly enough to be heard on the farthest reaches of the Abyss, and then hiding well enough that I gave myself a headache looking for you, well…’ Daeran turned his gaze elsewhere, pretending to think on the question. ‘If I were to regale all my troubles, I’d be talking all night and verbosity is such a bore.’
‘Mmm-hmm,’ Bertalan nodded in mock agreement. ‘That’s good, as long as you sulk silently, I can keep watch without distractions.’ He pointedly ignored him and kept his gaze fixed on the darkness of the forest instead.
A few moments passed in silence. The Commander might not have looked at Daeran but his focus was on him, even if a part of him knew better than to split his attention. A part of him that was frustrated by the rapt attention he paid to the sound of his breathing, to the rustling of his clothes against the foliage.
To his hand gliding across his chest as the Count moved closer to him.
‘How is your neck?’ His question was barely louder than a whisper, if there was any sarcasm seeping into his tone, Bertalan couldn’t say for certain. But he knew not to assume sincerity from him, especially when he showed anything akin to concern.
‘It only hurts if I turn it a certain way,’ he looked back at Daeran who all but cuddled up to him. ‘I can still use my bow, still use a blade,’ he let out a somewhat self-deprecating chuckle for indulging him. ‘As long as you don’t make me shrug or force me to look at my left hip, I’ll be fine.’
The aasimar stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable, although something flickered in his eyes. Something akin to a realization slowly sinking in. He shook his head with a smirk.
‘Am I supposed to make do with just half of you?’ He asked mockingly as he wrapped his leg around Bertalan’s. The hand resting on the dhampir’s chest slowly moved downwards as the Count leaned closer to him. ‘You are asking for the impossible,’ he whispered as his hand finally arrived to his hip.
Bertalan swallowed, forcing himself to ignore Daeran’s warm breath on his ear, and the tingle it sent down along his spine. He turned away, determined not to make note of the light heat rising in his body along the trail left by the Count’s touches. And he definitely did not pay any attention to the leg resting between his own.
Daeran quietly laughed. ‘You’re usually better at handling my taunts.’
‘You usually know better than to tease me like this when I ought to concentrate,’ Bertalan shot him a pointed look. ‘A lot more is riding on me than just keeping myself safe, do you understand?’
The aasimar merely grinned and pulled away – so he could move on to straddle the Commander. He groaned as a response but before he could say anything else, Daeran hushed him with a finger on his lips.
‘This is all your fault,’ he whispered as he leaned down. ‘You inspire me to do foolish things.’
The dhampir pulled Daeran’s hand away by his wrist. The frustration in him started to bloom into something seething. The rational part of him wanted to believe it was anger. Anger at the Count for his insistence to get under his skin, for his juvenile demands for his attention. Anger at himself for… allowing him to continue. For letting his focus falter not just then and there under that tree, but each time he beheld the eternity of the multiverse. Daeran… had a way of making a single moment spent on the Material Plane feel just as precious. He stared up at the aasimar surrounded by an aura of starlight, he frowned at him but he couldn’t bring himself to push him away. Not when his weight on him felt as soothing as the bark of the beech at his back. Not when the heat of the desire he evoked felt so much kinder to Bertalan than his own rage.
‘What do you really want, Dae?’
Daeran’s grin instantly vanished. ‘Well… right now, I’d just like to hear you call me that again.’
Bertalan cocked his head, squinting at him with suspicion.
The Count waited for a moment, and when he recognized he’d only get silence as an answer, he gave a small nod with a barely visible smile. He let his eyes close as he leaned in and rested his forehead against the Commander’s.
‘Honestly, at first, I really was just annoyed by all the snoring back at camp. Then the annoyance turned to tension, and I left to find you before that tension could turn into nonsensical fear,’ he shrugged. ‘I thought listening to your breathing instead would help me rest easier. Unfortunately, you… you have this terrible way of making me forget my troubles,’ Daeran pulled away to look Bertalan in the eye. He seemed strangely serious and the Commander found himself reaching for his face, as if he could wipe away whatever inspired the aasimar’s gloom with a single, tender caress.
‘That does sound terrible.’
‘Indeed. If I was as much of a heartless coward as I ought to be, I would not be in this predicament,’ he sighed. ‘How could I ever forgive you? How could you make me believe that contributing to the Crusade might not be such a ghastly thing?’ Daeran let out a bitter chuckle. ‘It does not – it should not – come so naturally, and yet…’ he shook his head. ‘It all just feels like this.’
The Count held out his palm and pure, golden light emerged from it, light that meant to heal the living, and purge the undead. Bertalan wrapped his hands around his, extinguishing the glow by closing Daeran’s fist.
‘Why don’t you light up the whole forest?’ He scolded him, but didn’t let go of his fist. His thumb instinctively rubbed the Count’s knuckles.
‘That didn’t hurt you, did it?’ The question sounded sincere enough.
Bertalan shook his head. ‘I just didn’t want you to give us away,’ he lightly slapped the aasimar’s thigh. ‘What were you thinking?’
Daeran didn’t answer, at first. His thighs hugged the Commander a little tighter as he leaned in. Bertalan thought that his kiss was uncharacteristically shy, but that notion was shattered when he pulled away and the dhampir could glimpse the challenge in his eyes. A challenge he should have ignored. A challenge he was most eager to meet. His hand clamped onto the back of Daeran’s head as he pulled him on his lips again. He felt a smile creeping onto the Count’s face, and something about the sensation sent a gentle tingle down Bertalan’s spine. His blood was rushing down in his body, urged by a need for his lover and yet his lust felt as comforting as a serene night at home.
‘You are an utterly vexing and perplexing creature,’ Daeran said when Bertalan pulled away to undo his trousers.
‘You are not wrong,’ the Commander fought every fiber in his being in order to avoid reaching for the aasimar’s bulge. Instead, he slid a hand under his shirt and slowly ran it up along his side. He felt his muscles tense up under his touch, as the Count lightly arched his back. The dhampir sat up and craned his neck towards him, a smile brightening his face. ‘Do you want me to stop?’ He asked in a whisper, as he cupped his chest.
Daeran grinned down at him. ‘My dearest Commander, you haven’t even begun.’ His teasing was followed by a sharp gasp when the dhampir answered with a light squeeze. ‘Oh, do go on.’
Bertalan let out a voiceless chuckle. The rational part of him screamed in the back of his skull, warning him of the potential danger they faced. But that voice was drowned out by the sound of his heartbeat in his ear, and the soft moan of his lover as he pulled his erection free.
‘Do keep it down for me, will you?’ He said then spat in his palm. ‘Get loud enough and I might just stop,’ he warned Daeran as he began stroking him.
The Count bit his lip to suppress a whimper. ‘I do enjoy this side of you,’ he spoke breathlessly. ‘I like it when your passion is tinged with… just the right kinds of threats.’ He clamped a hand on his mouth as he watched Bertalan’s hand move up and down his length. His pace was steady, inviting, almost playful and Daeran was quite familiar with such a game. He laughed softly as he undid his shirt, exposing his leanly muscled chest, and leaned back, using the Commander’s legs as leverage. He began thrusting into Bertalan’s hand, letting the moonlight cast soft silver onto his bronze skin.
Bertalan was mesmerized by the aasimar’s visage. He watched his chest heaving, his neck straining as Daeran threw his head back in ecstasy. His free hand trailed his lover’s belly as it rolled with the bucking of his hips, and without thinking, the Commander began moving with him. He suppressed a curse as pleasure began lighting up his nerves and leaned forward. His mouth latched onto Daeran’s chest, letting his flesh muffle his groans while he feverishly lapped at his nipple.
‘Bertalan,’ the Count quietly moaned his name as he grasped his hair, trying to hold on to whatever was left of his composure.
‘What did I tell you about keeping quiet?’ The Commander pulled back long enough to claim Daeran’s lips. ‘Don’t make me stop… don’t you dare… not now…’ he whispered against his mouth, his lips trembling in arousal. He left a trail of kisses along the aasimar’s jaw, right to his ear and lightly bit down on it, trying to keep himself silent. ‘I really… really need to feel your cock against mine,’ his admission felt like a weight being lifted off him and hearing Daeran’s laughter in response sent his heart soaring.
‘You become such a sweet-talker during our trysts,’ he joked as he left a kiss on Bertalan’s forehead. ‘Allow me, I can look down at your left hip.’
Bertalan chuckled at that, and allowed Daeran to push him back against the tree trunk. He welcomed the reprieve of stillness, but the anticipation was tearing him up from within. His gaze was fixed on Daeran’s flushed face, the hunger in his eyes, his devilish grin as he laid eyes on the Commander’s erection.
‘Forgive me, I must,’ the aasimar said as moved away and leaned over Bertalan’s lap.
Before the dhampir could respond, his tongue was already pressed against his shaft, moving along its length excruciatingly slowly. Soon he was enveloped by the wet warmth of Daeran’s mouth. He bit down on his knuckles, ignoring his fangs piercing his skin, trying to quiet the moans Daeran was drawing from him with the movements of his head. It took all of Bertalan’s being to stop himself from grabbing the Count’s hair and claiming his throat for his pleasure. Instead, he threw his head back against the tree behind him and focused on the murky darkness beyond the canopy, doing what he could to stop himself from coming undone. Thankfully, Daeran merely wanted a taste of him, and it wasn’t long before he pulled away and left a deep, sloppy kiss on Bertalan’s lips.
‘You are exquisite,’ he said as he straddled the Commander once more.
The feeling of Daeran’s cock throbbing against his sent Bertalan’s head spinning. He sat up straight, grabbing the Count by his hips and thrust up. The sweet friction drew a light hum out of Daeran. He waited for a few moments, trying to get a sense of the Commander’s rhythm, then reached down to press their shafts closer together while he started moving in tandem.
‘You are exquisite,’ he repeated, unable to think of a better word to describe the man under him, the feelings he evoked, the sensations that threatened to overwhelm him. Daeran’s free hand came to Bertalan’s cheek, his thumb reflexively moving towards his mouth. The Commander angled his head to close his lips around his finger and the sight of it nearly drove Daeran over the edge. His eyes fluttered shut and he rested his forehead against the dhampir’s. Their movements grew hurried with their hunger for each other, with their desperate need to find release in each other’s embrace. Daeran continued to whisper sweet nothings into the small space between them, even as he began slurring the words, even as he seemed to have forgotten about everything but Bertalan.
‘Dae...’
If the Commander said anything else, Daeran didn’t hear it. His climax washed over him in waves and if Bertalan didn’t grip him as firmly as he did, he probably would have collapsed onto him. He buried his face in the nape of the Commander’s neck, and the edge of his wound became the anchor that pulled his awareness back to himself. He was just about to calm down when he heard Bertalan’s breath hitch, followed by the feeling of his seed spilling onto his lap, mingling with his own. He moaned into Daeran’s jacket as he rode out his ecstasy, his hands roamed along his back insistently, as if he needed the reassurance that their pleasure wasn’t just a figment of his imagination.
Shortly after, the Count climbed off his lover and sat beside him. Their legs sprawled out, their chests were heaving as they calmed themselves. Daeran was beaming at the Commander, radiantly as if he was aware of the glow of his aura and he was determined to outshine it. Bertalan sighed, rationality slowly overtaking his thoughts once more. He scanned around, looking for any changes in his surroundings and a tinge of guilt welled up in him.
‘Bertalan,’ the aasimar spoke his name softly, turning his attention back to him. For a few moments, Daeran didn’t continue he just gazed at his lover with a soft smile hiding in the corners of his gleaming eyes. ‘I keep forgetting how to be afraid around you.’
The woods were quiet. The night breeze gently caressed the foliage and goosebumps were forming on Daeran’s chest in its wake. He hurriedly dressed himself, somewhat awkwardly trying to protect himself from the chill. Bertalan couldn’t help but smile at that, and before he knew it whatever bitterness was rising in him, dissipated without a trace.
1, 3, 9, and 30 for the Knight-Commander asks, please?
Thank yooouu 💖
Do they think they're going to make it out alive?
That varies from act to act. In act 1, Berci was more or less convinced that the wound would kill him, and he even begged Terendelev to let him die – though that was mainly because while he didn’t remember what being Areelu’s lab-rat entailed, he knew that whatever gave him the wound was far worse than the wound itself. So he was quite apathetic about his own well-being for that act and only changed his attitude when the assault on the Grey Garrison didn’t kill him. After that he was more or less convinced that he’ll be fine.
3. Who is/are their best friend(s) among companions and why?
Aureshalae is probably his closest friend, mainly because he genuinely admires her efforts to become a better person. Secondarily, because they’re both rangers, sometimes they straight up think of the exact same things when they’re out on the field.
But of course, Berci also values the friendship of those who ended up challenging his decision to become an aeon like Seelah, Ember, Woljif, even Camellia (as masochistic as that sounds) and – as expected – Daeran.
9. Do they have hobbies beside the crusade? Any passions or skills they have?
Botany. Berci once wanted to research plants before demon-hunting proved to be a more lucrative profession. But his fondness for plants never really faded. He also used to play the lute for Kitten while she was growing up but he hasn’t touched an instrument for a while. And of course, he likes riding around with Kitten, if that counts as a hobby.
30. Did they choose to take the crossbow or the scroll to run away from Deskari right at the beginning?
He took the crossbow. As I said he was quite reckless in act 1.
