For the kink asks:
Occtis/Julien/Kattigan and collars. Occtis needs something to remind those two that they need to fucking cool it, cause he knows and he cares too lol
lol I got this one and basically started frothing at the mouth immediately, it’s PERFECT. 😈💖 just an undead wizard and his situationships boyfriends guard dogs
nsfw for inappropriate uses of magic, vague d/s dynamics, men on leashes, and general horniness.
~
It starts with a comment spat by a mercenary who had almost ended up getting skewered rather than giving over the very important, very necessary information it turned out he had.
“Better get your dogs on a leash, boy.” The words are snarled at Occtis as he stands between the mercenary and the combined, dangerous front that is Julien and Kattigan. Between the former’s short temper and the latter’s relative disregard for social niceties, this isn’t the first time they’ve almost started a fight when talking would serve them better. Occtis has managed to salvage the situation this time, but it’s beginning to become a problem.
Especially since they still spend an unnecessary amount of time trying to outdo one another, which means that every situation tends to just… escalate.
The words linger in his head, even when he knows they were meant as an insult. A part of him is revolted by them; it sounds like the way his family would treat people they viewed as lesser, as if they were mere objects or, at best, animals to be owned and controlled. Occtis cannot imagine treating anyone that way.
Still…
Images intrude on his thoughts when he least expects them, filtering in like particularly insidious daydreams. Flashes of hooking his fingertips under a band of leather encircling Kattigan’s throat, feeling his pulse thundering beneath Occtis’ touch; a vivid picture of Julien on his knees, a leash trailing from Occtis’ hand to the collar fastened around his neck. The thoughts return and return, no matter how often he tries to banish them as perverse fantasies unworthy of consideration.
It’s driving him a little crazy.
He’ll think of it when he’s trying to sink into a trance for the night, one or both of them asleep alongside him (they’ve stopped letting the two of them take watches together after an… incident that led to the entire camp getting woken up by a shouting match). It takes every bit of self control he has not to trace his fingertips along the fragile skin of their bare throats, imagining.
He continues to shove the constant images down until a night in the far north of Timmony, where they’ve managed to find an inn for the night rather than needing to camp. It means they have more comfortable accommodations, but it also means easier access to a few of the party’s more obvious vices, and Occtis is unsurprised, but not remotely pleased when Kattigan and Julien end up half-drunk and arguing, yet again.
He at least manages to get them upstairs and into their rented room before his temper snaps. He doesn’t think; he just lashes out, channeling a spell with formless, angry intent. Cold green light encircles both of the older men’s throats, tethers of it extending back to Occtis’ hand, and he yanks just hard enough to get their attention.
Julien stumbles, almost going to one knee, and Occtis sees the slight glassiness of drink give way to a flicker of heat in his eyes. Kattigan stills, but his gaze turns immediately to the arcanist - not in anger, but as if awaiting a command.
The sudden knowledge of the power he holds right now - not just the spell itself, but the effect he is capable of having on these two - absolutely floors him. His anger wavers, and the magic fizzles out, dissipating into empty air.
Kat moves first, ducking his head in an almost sheepish motion, a slow grin curling his lips. “Sorry ‘bout that, pretty boy.” There’s still a faint slurred edge to his words, but his attention is focused, direct. Julien hums a wordless agreement as he closes distance to catch Occtis’ hand, pressing an apologetic kiss against his knuckles.
He is sufficiently distracted from his earlier annoyance to accept the apologies. Julien’s lips brush over the back of his hand, then the curve of his wrist; Kattigan slips up behind him, mouthing at the corner of his jaw. Occtis relaxes into the familiarity of their touches, and he lets the night dissolve into something softer: kisses that taste of too-rich wine, warm bodies against his, calloused hands on his skin.
In the morning, they’re still sprawled across the bed, limbs tangled, pleasantly sated. Julien stirs from where he’s sandwiched between Occtis and Kattigan, running a fingertip absently along the arcanist’s collarbone. “That spell,” he murmurs after a long few moments, quietly thoughtful. Occtis freezes for a moment, but the knight’s next words are more than a little reassuring. “I wonder if you could do it again.”
Kattigan’s chuckle holds a note of wordless agreement, and Occtis feels heat beginning to build in his core again, sees the flicker of new and curiously compelling images in his mind’s eye. “Or maybe I’ll find something a little more permanent,” he muses, already considering, and no longer remotely disgusted by the thought.
Judging by the way both of them answer, they aren’t bothered by the idea, either. In fact, Occtis thinks as he moves between them, they seem to be looking forward to it.