Ride To War: CorvanDazen (Black Prism; Brent Weeks)
NSFW Pre-False Prism's war
Rough and tumble tension sexxxxxxxx
He was drunk. Orholam, he was so very drunk. He leaned forward, elbows slipping across the table as he grinned, eyes half lidded, a laugh bubbling in the back of his throat. A large shape appeared before him, stood just on the other side of the table. He looked up, up, up and felt his grin widen.
“Corvan.”
His friend smiled and plunked a glass of ale down in front of him. Orholam’s balls he didn’t need another drink. He eyed Corvan warily, a sloppy smile tugging his lips. “Yo’ try’ng to get me dr’nk Corvan?” Corvan laughed. “Dazen, my friend, you don’t need my help with that.” He set an arm on the table, grabbed the glass up in his other hand and downed the thing in one gulp. Dazen made a face and pushed away from the table, swayed and lay back down with a smile.
“Yo’re drn’k” Corvan glanced at him from the corner of his eye, grinned slowly. “Maybe a bit….” A large hand reached out to shake Dazen’s head. “Not nearly as drunk as you though.” Dazen laughed the bright carefree laugh of someone who has had far too much to drink before his face hit the table. He was aware, somewhat, of Corvan laughing at him, of a large hand poking the side of his head until his nose was no longer smooshed into the dirty wood of the table. He sucked in a breath and wheezed out another laugh before everything went dark.
Dazen sucked in a breath, eyes fluttering open, slow to focus on his surroundings. He was no longer at the tavern, that much was clear. He shifted. A bed? A soft bed. A ceiling above him, the glow of a torch somewhere to his right. A pounding headache. He groaned. There was a rustling to his right and he noticed the shadow on the wall, watched as it shifted, grew, loomed over him. He opened his mouth, alarmed, disoriented – “Oh good~ I’d nearly thought you died.” Corvan. Dazen stuttered a laugh and moved to sit upright. Orholam his head hurt. He felt the bed dip as Corvan sat near to him, felt the warmth of his hand as he reached for Dazen’s head. Dazen smiled and lifted his head, wrapped his fingers around Corvan’s wrist and kissed his palm.
There was hardly a full beat of his heart before Dazen found himself on his back once more, Corvan’s larger body hovering over his. There was a tickling at his nose, a warm pressure at his lips. He hummed as pushed into the kiss sloppily, realizing he was still drunker than he had thought. His fingers slipped from the coverlet and slid up thickly muscled arms; wound themselves into Corvan’s hair. The larger man pulled away and their eyes met, an ache of loneliness echoing between them. War was their heels, Dazen had lost the girl he loved, Corvan was afraid of losing the little he had, each were desperate for comfort, driven by the severity of their situation. If all went well, Dazen would die and be ‘reborn’ a leader. If things went horribly wrong, Dazen would die, left to lead nothing but the worms eating his flesh.
Theirs was a collision of need built on an unsurpassable level of friendship and the alcohol coursing through their veins. Poppy wine. The thought made Dazen hum again, focusing on the tingling in his extremities. Corvan tilted his head, a questioning look in his blue eyes. Dazen focused on them again, shook his head and smashed their mouths together again.
It was quick, after that. Sloppy kisses led to sloppy groping led to…Dazen moaned, the sound breathless and shaky. His fingers twitched against broad shoulders, large, too hot hands gripped his hips. He rocked forward, brought his body up, let it slam back down and reveled in the deep rumbling moan that tore from Corvan’s throat. Their movements were rushed, hands slipping along sweaty bodies, Dazen’s slimmer form wrapping itself around Corvan, writhing against him, thighs spread to aching on either side of Corvan’s hips. There was a thrust upward and Dazen saw spots behind his eyelids. He yelped, sucked in a breath and shook himself, bit his lip and groaned into Corvan’s neck as threw himself down. Corvan was large, in every aspect, and Dazen was thankful for his friend’s size, knew he could take the beating Dazen dealt when he lost control. He rocked back harder. Another broken moan. Corvan slid his hands up under his arms, lifted him again. Met him halfway. Dazen’s voice splintered. A throaty groan, blunt fingernails digging in and slipping on sweat slicked shoulders.
Corvan grunted, pressed his fingers deep into the flesh of Dazen’s ribs and pushed forward, knocked the air from Dazen’s lungs as he pushed him into the bed, ripped away what little air was left with a brutal thrust forward. Dazen slid along the coverlet, hands scrabbling along the fabric, looking for an anchor as Corvan released all his pent up tension upon his body. His leg was lifted, tossed over his friend’s shoulder, his hips angled until his torso turned. His spine arched, his head tilted until he could scream into the bed, teeth digging into flesh and fabric alike. His body tightened, muscles hard, cock aching. His fingers were still numb, his body loose and weightless from the poppy wine, held down only by the large hands at his hips. Corvan leaned forward, bent him nearly in half. Dazen moaned brokenly, the sound tapering into a whimper, a cry. Another sharp thrust.
Dazen loved this. Loved feeling like little more than a doll. Loved the escape from his own thoughts, the mindlessness, the ferocity. Sex was an outlet and Corvan was a good friend. There was a brush of friction against his aching length and Dazen’s eyes shot open, pupils blown, mouth open. He tensed, vaguely aware of his voice pleading to be touched again. Corvan was a very good friend. Their bodies shifted together, Corvan’s hands wrapped around him, his hips never missing a beat. Dazen writhed, tasted blood. Strong fingers squeezed and Dazen lost himself, shuddering and sobbing as he thrashed and came over Corvan’s hand. Corvan grunted, bared his teeth as Dazen shivered and threatened to go limp. He angled his hips, snapped them harshly, movements stuttering with the tightening of Dazens muscles. He threw the long leg off his shoulders, gripped Dazen’s knees and spread them apart, pulled himself from the pliant body underneath him and rutted between his thighs until he spilled himself on Dazen’s stomach. There was silence, punctuated with their ragged breathing. Corvan’s shoulders heaved, heat radiating from his body. Dazen lay supine and messy, a glitter of satisfaction in his tired eyes. Careless for as long as the moment allowed.
