Enver wakes up warm, so tempted to roll over and go back to sleep between his lovers. However, as his alarm is currently blaring and he knows he has a meeting with some investors today, Enver reluctantly rises.
“Enver? Stay,” Tav pleads sweetly, as she cuddles against his hip. Durge growls and starts smacking at Enver’s chest in a silent attempt to force him back down on the bed. Snorting, Enver slips out of bed, pausing to press a kiss to Tav’s cheek and catching Durge’s hand to press a kiss to those scaled fingers, before swanning into the ensuite bathroom. A shower is more than helpful to wake Enver up entirely, although he sulks a little as the magic in the water closes Durge’s scratches and bites, fades Tav’s hickeys and bruises. Sighing, he rolls his neck under the warm water and starts scrubbing. He pauses at the soap bar he and Durge share, before purposefully picking up Tav’s lavender small batch bar, smirking as he enjoys the grit of her soap scraping away the dead skin cells. He washes his hair with his shampoo, before “borrowing” Durge’s shower lotion, enjoying how the honey scent blends with the lavender of Tav’s soap. Standing under the stream for a moment, Enver briefly recalls the time all three of them had been in this shower, tired but still so in love that cleaning each other was a soft intimacy he never thought he’d experience. The scents of cleaning products shouldn’t relax and arouse him so much, yet here he is. Soaking in a shower, his cock half-hard, and still needing to be at work within the hour.
“Fuck,” he groans, reluctantly turning off the shower. He towels himself off and struts back into the bedroom, unsurprised that both his lovers are out of bed by now. Walking over to the walk-in closet, Enver plucks out the black and gold suit that he uses for investors, briefly contemplating if he should use the antique gauntlet from the time of the Absolute’s fall, before just scooping up the gold rings with the opals and pearls.
“Oh, that smells delicious,” Enver comments loudly as he steps out of the bedroom, sniffing the air appreciatively. The softly sweet smell of pancakes is barely discernable under bacon and eggs, the blur of breakfast all too tempting for his stomach.
“I would hope so,” Tav jokes, so much more lively than when they met again back in college, “I’ve been slaving over this with a dragon on my back.”
“How dare you,” Durge gasps as he drapes himself on their girlfriend, friendlier and more playful now that his “Father” is on death row with no way to slip away, “I am the dragon, thank you very much!”
“You’ve been hanging around Astarion, haven’t you?” Enver asks, recalling the theatre-major-turned-fashion-designer from that strange year during college when he had to watch all sorts of nonsense happen while abroad.
“…Maybe,” Durge admits, nuzzling into Tav’s neck as she hums and flips the pancake in the pan.
“He has,” she immediately declares, pushing a plate over to Enver, “Although, we have book club this week, so we’ll be hanging out with Astarion, Gale, and Shadowheart while Lae’zel, Karlach, Wyll, and Halsin all complain about the local community center falling into disrepair.”
“Disrepair?” Enver asks, pulling down a mug as the coffee pot goes off, “You mean purposefully having money funneled away from it by the assholes I have to play nice with?”
“Got it in one,” Tav declares, plating up the pancake in the pan before pouring in more batter, “Although, the main problem is the politician. He’s so busy sucking dick—”
“He’s got no time to pay attention to the people’s wants,” Enver hums thoughtfully.
“How good will your publicity look if you give a donation to the community center without letting it get funneled out?” Durge asks plainly, never the one for subterfuge and other political moves.
“A good deal better,” Enver admits, although he’s tempted to make a donation for a far more nostalgic reason. This particular community center was where the three of them met all those years ago, Enver having run away from home, Durge having been brought in to protect him from his “Father”, and Tav being sent there to stay out of the way of “important” people. Halsin, in his patience, had helped all three of them, although Enver isn’t as kind as the druid would like him to be, and Durge doesn’t shy away from a fight that may turn lethal.
“Something to think about today,” Tav says sweetly, swapping out his mug with a nice travel mug, that Enver takes with a smirk, “Anyway, today’s lunch is anti-pasta salad, a muffuletta, some roasted red pepper hummus with cucumbers and carrots, and a slice of that dark chocolate tart you liked from yesterday.”
“You spoil me,” Enver praises, pressing a kiss to her temple, before quickly eating.
“We both do,” Durge argues with a pout, “I made the hummus.”
“Welp, there goes part of my meal,” Enver immediately jokes, snickering when Durge swats at him. Tav rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she plates the other pancake and lifts the entire thing toward Durge.
“Don’t listen to him, Durge,” she assures him, “I watched you make it and I know it’s delicious. It just means more for me.”
“My love,” Enver gasps, hand on his chest while Durge preens under their girlfriend’s praise. Tav huffs, and presses a kiss to Enver’s cheek.
“You’d best be going, Enver,” she sings as Durge takes his turn to kiss Enver’s other cheek.
“Go kick some ass,” Durge cheers, his faux-anger gone in place of their usual calls at his departure. Enver kisses Durge’s cheek as well, sneaking a quick grope to the well-toned ass of their boyfriend before picking up the lunchbox they worked on for him and sweeping out of their home.
Enver groans, leaning back in his very comfortable office chair, feeling very pleased with how this morning has gone. After arriving on time for his meeting, he’s gotten all the investors to pull money from the wanna-be mayor to continue supporting Ulder and his plan on revitalizing the city. Since all the green energy systems the city wants to use comes from Bane Corp, Enver’s company will be in high demand, thus money will be coming in and pleasing the investors. Also, with Tav’s hint this morning, Enver was able to figure out who is doing all the funneling, and has already set up blackmail to force them to stop. Then, Durge’s point about public opinion was enough to have Enver call his HR and his board about putting money into the community center, which has already started to make more good publicity for the company.
Enver stretches again, before turning to the small fridge in his office, humming as he pulls out the lunchbox. Opening it, he pauses before cackling at how obvious it is about who made what for him. The salad is carefully arranged, dressing on the side as to not wilt the greens, and the tart is carefully cut and delicately placed in some parchment paper as to not ruin any of the edges. The hummus, on the other hand, is plopped into its container messily, while the cucumbers and carrots are all unevenly cut, while the muffuletta is pressed down so hard that Enver can see the scale indents from the pressure. Snorting, Enver took a picture of his lunch and sent it to the chat titled ‘the tadfools (and goth)’.
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Goth: So, who wants to guess who made what of my lunch?
[image]
Vamp: Lol. Are those scale marks?
Books: Good Heavens. That looks both tasty and worryingly crushed.
Draco: SUHT YUOR UP!!!!
Tav: I didn’t realize dragonborns can actually blush.
Diab-lol: SIERUGAOSH DURGE WHAT DID YOU DO?!?!
Jen: What
Lae-bae: I wish for that tart slice.
Goth: No. It’s mine.
Lae-bae: Insolence.
Wyll: Can we get back to the fact we can see Durge’s scale marks in bread?
Druid: Can I get pictures of everyone else’s lunches? Looking mostly at you, Astarion.
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Enver chuckles as the group chat suddenly erupts with pictures of food or arguments about so-called privacy. He turns to his own lunch and starts to eat, pulling up a spreadsheet to look over who needs to either be taken out or knocked down a peg. As long as Tav isn’t told, Durge can have a little murder. As a treat.
Enver hums idly as the fool screams under The Dark Urge’s blade, his eyes more focused on his welding. The noble beneath the dragonborn’s frame sobs pathetically, surprisingly rhythmic with the work that Enver is currently securing into place. This particular fool was arguing about the law that Enver put forth, while trying to push basically the very same law that only allowed an abuse of said law for himself, which lead to the idiot to now be on The Dark Urge’s table.
“Enver, is our pretty mouse doing anything that could cause problems with our plans?” The Dark Urge asks abruptly, yanking out one of the noble’s teeth. Enver pauses in his welding to go over the plans Tav sweetly provides every tenday. Nothing comes to mind, although…
“She is going to check on the food pantry she managed to put together with a few of the civil minded Lords, this afternoon I believe,” Enver comments, “Other than that, she shouldn’t be in the way of anything vital to our plan.”
“Good,” The Dark Urge replies, clicking his tongue in annoyance as the noble sobs pathetically, “Hypothetically, do you think our pretty mouse would handle this better than this fool?”
“Looking for material for later?” Enver asks, even as he mulls the question over. Tav is definitely of the sturdier sort, having taken whatever abuse her parents and eldest siblings gave her, only finding respite in Anders and Julian, her brothers closest to her in ages. The Dark Urge grunts, encouraging Enver to continue, “She’d take it better than this idiot, at least. While I think she’d sob if you ripped out her teeth, our sweet girl would handle the cuts and bruises with far more dignity.”
“Gods,” The Dark Urge moans, his pants tenting suddenly as his cocks escape his sheath, “She would, wouldn’t she? Our pretty mouse, taking this and being so good.” The dragonborn looks down at the noble with a scornful sneer, “Although, this prat does nothing but cry like a babe. Hells, even a babe would handle this better.” The noble babbles, pleading for his life, even offering to help them get whoever the “mouse” they’re talking about. Both Enver and The Dark Urge pause at that, sharing a bewildered look, before cackling at how pathetic the noble is.
“You fool, she’s already ours,” The Dark Urge rumbles gleefully, “A final treat for the true end.”
“My dear is currently off being a far more useful citizen than you ever could dream of being,” Enver comments, watching as The Dark Urge picks back up his scalpel, “Although, your death will be useful. My friend, save the liver for me? I need to check if the Steel Watch can hold an acid that burns through such an organ.”
“Of course,” The Dark Urge agrees, pressing the blade into the clavicle, “I want to watch though.”
“Fine, fine,” Enver agrees, turning back to his work as the noble screams and chokes once more.
Enver relaxes, his head cushioned on Tav’s lap as she reads through some papers, enjoying her delicate hand running through his hair. His eyes are closed to the sun peeking through the window of the library, resting on the couch after far too many meetings without his Tav at his side.
“Your friend,” she hesitantly starts.
“Hm?” he hums, his eyes remaining closed even as his eyebrow quirks.
“Does… Does he have a favored tea? Or a sweet?” she asks, so shy as she obviously plans a tea party for just the three of them. Enver smirks, amused at his betrothed’s attempts at playing hostess.
“He enjoys the lavender fog tea you had left over from the meeting with Lady Vanthampur and the other civil minded ladies,” Enver admits, easily recalling The Dark Urge staring at him with wide eyes in the kitchen that night. Biscuits shoved in his mouth with an absurdly large mug full of the tea on the counter, the normally collected dragonborn looked like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, although covered in the blood of some fool as well.
“Oh? Well… huh,” Tav mulls over, stopping her petting. Enver grunts in annoyance, relaxing again when she starts to gently scratch at his scalp and gently run her fingers through his hair again. Although, he tenses again when she asks, “How do you know?”
“…I may have realized I was hungry while working late,” he reluctantly admits, although his wounded pride is softened by a soft laugh and gentle lips brushing against his own lips.
“I see. Perhaps that’s why Rosealine continually overstocks snacks and samples,” Tav muses about their chef’s purchasing habits. Enver hums in agreement, settling back in her lap, soaking in this soft moment, a sweet treat as he continues to build the perfect land to rule for his God. Even though Bane occasionally looks at him in disdain, having Tav at his side will strengthen Enver’s rule, no matter how soft her velvet glove is around his iron fist.
Gortash Week
DAY 6 - TORTURE / PLEASURE (both)
Ah yes, one more little headcanon. I like to think the teleportation boots Gortash stole from Raphael -the same pair he still keeps in his office -played a part in his escape from the House of Hope
