Hello folks! I go by many names, but here it's mostly Water or K'ika - either is fine!
This is a sideblog to my main: TheGoddessWater
I get up to a lot of shenanigans. Sometimes those shenanigans involve writing smut.
Currently, I intend to use this blog pretty much for my original fiction only, but I won't guarantee that I'll never post fanfic stuff here either. Also, I may share friends' works, all of which shall be labelled.
For the moment, all of my works will be for my fantasy duology (Talentless/Wild Card), or for my light sci-fi, dystopia (Miadhachain Legacy).
I write with a variety of characters and relationships, some LGBTQ+. Some not. Most of them get stupid nicknames.
M/F | Adair & Astrea | Bloodless Legacy (Crossover between @bloodlessheirbyjacques's Bloodless Heir and my Miadhachain Legacy)
Adair made a deal with Pirate Corinthian, but when its decided he's not holding up his side of the bargain, Corinthian uses Astrea to make a point.
Words: 1,678
Prompt: Non-consensual Voyeurism
Content: Rape (non-graphic) | implications of brainwashing | non-consensual bondage | character death (minor)
"If you fail me, little Camoan, I'll tie you in the corner and make you watch."
Adair had never doubted the threat, not for an instant, and those words rattled about in his head during each training session Corinthian shoved him into. He drew on them, used Corinthian's threat to drive him every time the next task seemed just out of reach. He had to do it.
For Astrea.
For himself.
For both of them.
And, as the magic crackled through his prosthesis, the scent of ozone burning through the air around him in a way that would once have left his hair standing on end, Adair reminded himself that he’d asked for this — all of it. He'd swore. He'd promised, begged on his knees, to learn. Begged to be shaped into Corinthian's tool, and pled, too, for the promised reward if he did.
His grasp on the magic faltered. He grabbed for it again and felt it slip away once more, like trying to hold water in his fingers.
"You're not even trying."
Corinthian's voice struck like a bolt from the blue, the sheer disapproval in those four words enough to make Adair's mouth go dry.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice? I told you the price, little Camoan."
Corinthian turned, voice rising, calling orders to one of the crew in a language Adair didn't speak, but something about the cadence and shape of the words sounded Pyrian in his ears.
Desperately, Adair tried again to call the magic.
It wouldn't come. Like trying to capture a cloud. The magic wouldn't obey him, wouldn't come to his call, no matter how hard he tried to reach it. He'd been able to do it before, hadn't he? Was he really not trying hard enough now? How could he not be?
He was still trying when the member of the crew Corinthian had called over hooked his fingers in the collar at Adair's neck and yanked him backwards, destroying what remained of his concentration as he half dragged Adair below deck with Corinthian, imperiously, following behind.
"I'll do better," Adair begged, then tried again with his Camoan, pleading for another chance. When the words he'd been taught to say failed to so much as elicit a self-satisfied grin from Corinthian, he felt the cold hand of something that seemed suspiciously like despair grasp at his heart.
The three of them stopped outside Astrea's quarters, Corinthian's crewman binding Adair's mismatched hands together at the small of his back.
Adair refused to open his mouth for the gag, clenching his teeth and turning his head away with every ounce of defiance he still had. The crewman grumbled something, and then Corinthian's nails bit into the side of Adair's face, making him gasp. And that was all the opening needed. The thick roll of cloth was stuffed between his teeth and a knot tied so tight at the back of his head that it forced him to accept the gag just to ease the pressure in his mouth.
Corinthian reached for the door, then looked back at Adair, their eyes meeting. The sheer disappointment in Corinthian's eyes as they stared Adair down left his stomach flipping and trying to curl in upon itself.
The moment passed. Corinthian pushed open Astrea's door and gestured for the crewman to bring Adair.
"A guest for you, sweet girl."
"Adi?" The way Astrea could put confusion and surprise all on the two simple syllables of his nickname made Adair's chest ache. He locked his gaze upon hers and, as though hoping he might have manifested sudden telepathy, begged with his eyes for her to run. He knew she wouldn't. Wouldn't understand. Almost certainly wouldn't heed his urging even if she did.
Corinthian stepped between them, reaching for Astrea, drawing near, fingers caressing her cheek and speaking to Astrea in low tones, the words meant for her alone. The fawning way that Astrea turned her attention to Corinthian left Adair's stomach roiling.
The crewman dragged Adair, still struggling against his bindings, to the corner of the room where chains lay as though they'd been waiting for him. The crew member wrestled Adair to his knees and linked the first set of chains to his bound hands, yanking backwards and making the chains rattle when Adair tried again to pull away.
In the middle of that small room, Corinthian's voice rose from that soft murmur, not much, but loud enough for Adair to make out the words — spoken in clear Oracean — as Corinthian directed Astrea's gaze away from Adair, where the sound of his shackling had drawn her attention. "Don't fret about him, sweet girl. He's about to learn a valuable lesson." Corinthian patted Astrea's cheek once, twice, and then crossed to Adair, dismissing the crew member with a hand wave and a clear intention to take over the process of binding Adair.
"Remember, you brought this on yourself," Corinthian said, ratcheting all the give out of the chain hooked through Adair's collar. He glared at the pirate, wrinkling his nose and pulling back his lips as best he could to bare his teeth while the gag kept him silenced.
Corinthian's hand slid to Adair's cheek, the touch almost tender and the implication of power in that contact somehow worse than an actual slap would have been. "You know whose fault this is, don't you, little prince. It didn’t have to come to this." Then Corinthian leaned in, voice low against Adair's ear, the words whispered in a sultry husk like those of a lover, "Prove to me you still want your prize, little prince. Make me believe you."
With that, Corinthian turned to the crew member once more, uttering a curt two words and nodding towards Astrea. From the way blood had drained from Astrea's face, Adair's guess that the language had been Pyrian had to have been correct — for all the good that knowledge would do in the moment. He didn’t have to speak the language to know precisely what that command had been.
The door had scarcely closed behind Corinthian when the crew man all but lunged for Astrea, his big hands far too rough on her small frame as he pawed at her with intentions all too clear.
The chain hooked onto the collar didn't allow enough ease to turn his head away, forcing Adair to stay watching as Astrea was manhandled and fondled. Straining against his bonds, he tried in futility to yell through the gag, tried to demand that Astrea be left alone.
And when the man pinned Astrea on her stomach, hiking up her skirt to mount her roughly, and her screams reached that achingly familiar pitch? Adair couldn't try to look away. The pirate had even had the audacity to make sure to position himself and Astrea so that Adair would see Astrea's terrified face, her eyes begging for help.
Adair threw himself against his bonds, nearly choking from the pressure of the collar at his throat, screaming into the gag, his feet skidding on the floor as he tried to lever himself up against the hold of the chains.
That was Astrea.
He'd promised to protect her. He had sworn to keep her safe. And now? Anger clouded his eyes. Anger at his own failures, at Corinthian, at their whole situation, at the man defiling Astrea right in front of him.
Rage sparked in his veins.
And with the tempest of his anger came the magic.
Heat and light flashed. The air boomed and crackled with the sharp metallic scent of ozone mixed with the acrid stench of singed flesh and hair.
The man atop Astrea slumped, then collapsed on top of her, wisps of smoke rising from his suddenly still body. Astrea trembled beneath him, her breath shuddering as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. Her terrified eyes met Adair's once more, and he tried again to speak, as though this time his words might get through instead of getting trapped behind the gag and emerging only as garbled, desperate sounds.
"Adi!" Astrea scrambled out from beneath the man's body, stumbling towards Adair and tripping on unsteady legs as she rushed to him. Her shaking fingers dug into the knot at the back of Adair's head, trying to pull the gag free. "Hang on, Adi," she whispered, even as Adair tried in vain to ask her if she was alright.
Knowing that she couldn't be.
After what felt an eternity, Astrea tugged the gag free and Adair worked his jaw, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times before attempting to speak, the words that had been so blocked before having suddenly taken their leave.
He could only stare at her, searching her face for…something. Some assurance he knew he couldn’t find. Certain the look on Astrea's face was her doing the same to him.
At the other side of the room, the door opened once more, marking Corinthian's return.
"Highness." It was the only word Adair managed to say to her before Corinthian intervened, catching Astrea by the shoulder and pushing her away with the merest pressure.
"Away from him just now, sweet girl. I fear you'll only spoil his lesson."
Adair wished that Astrea would have put up any resistance to the command, but she merely gave him an apologetic look before moving away, leaving him to face Corinthian.
The approval on Corinthian's face left Adair's feelings in a confusing flip-flop, trapped somewhere between relief to have done well, and dread that Corinthian looked so pleased. A single, slender finger caught beneath Adair's collar, Corinthian's nail scraping delicately against the skin of Adair's throat to direct his attention upwards. "I knew you could do it, little prince," Corinthian said, voice pitched once more in that husky tone. "You've earned your prize." And, as if there had been any question as to which prize they meant, Corinthian indicated Astrea almost without turning their head, angling their forehead and pointing to her, almost, with eyes alone.
Unwholesome OC Week Day 1: "I Hate Everything About You"
M/F | General Vancil/Penelope Vancil | Talentless
How these two decided getting married was the right course of action is anyone's guess. They've never learned how to get along.
Words: 912
Prompt: Hatefucking/Violence
Content: Toxic Marriage | physical violence | non-graphic vaginal sex | fighting to fucking
The crack of the General's hand against her cheek left Penelope tasting blood, and not for the first time. Her eyes burned as she turned back to him, glowering and wiping her mouth on the back of one hand, almost surprised when there wasn't a trace of the blood she tasted marking her skin.
"You dare," she hissed, "to strike me?" As though by pretending as though the action were a new one might make her husband reflect upon his choices.
Any hope that she might have had that he would find her words intimidating — small though the chance might have been — vanished as he scoffed, his hand darting out to catch her by the chin and yank her close to him.
"You dare to speak to me so insolently?" he hissed.
Penelope twisted from his grasp, slapping his hand away. "I do." She raised a hand to the space between her breasts, the place where her small dagger sat nestled between them, as it always did, as she glared at her husband. The unspoken threat didn't faze him. She shouldn't have been surprised; it never fazed him even when it was spoken aloud either. "Who would have thought the great General Vancil could be goaded so by mere words?"
"Silence."
"No."
Rage flashed in the General's eyes. Penelope knew what would be coming next, but the knowledge of what he would do was little enough preparation for the way he shoved her back into the wall.
"You have yet to learn your place."
Her place. The box he seemed to think he could cram her into if he only trimmed enough of her away. As if she could ever be held within whatever narrow definition he expected to contain her. He'd always liked her fight, her fire, yet now he sought to douse her, tame her to be the soft glow of a candle flame instead of the blaze he'd been scorched by and chosen to capture anyway.
"You have never had a place for me."
"You would find it if you behaved." The response was expected, turning it around on her, as though she were ever the only part of the problem.
General Vancil caught Penelope by the chin once more, his thrice damned blue eyes all but smouldering with rage, and something else, as he stared her down.
She refused to look away, glaring right back and noting the way his pupils widened the longer she returned the challenge in his gaze.
It was the only warning she had before his mouth was upon hers.
So often — not always, but often — it was what their fights became. Sharp words turned to the domineering need to keep the other person from speaking in the most primal way; tongues, teeth, and lips used to enforce each other's silence. Blows became hands fisted in clothing that was soon ripped — sometimes literally — from each other and discarded, the garments casualties of the Vancil couple's personal war.
Love had never been a factor. Not even on those nights they had conceived their children, their crude rutting little more than finding a release they could never seem to find through fighting alone.
It was no different this time. There had never been any of the tenderness that Penelope had been given to expect between husband and wife, not with him. Each staggered step to their bed was like ceding contested land in a centuries long skirmish, a give and take which overall left neither any richer.
The General pushed Penelope's legs apart, forcing the shape of himself between her thighs and driving his length into her with all the gentleness she imagined him using while spearing a boar while on one of his infernal hunts.
She scarcely made a sound as he began to thrust, swallowing back all but her sharpest gasps. He'd never earned anything more.
Her fingers digging into his back and scraping up his hard flesh only ever encouraged him, hastened his release, tactics Penelope had learned early on in their coupling that she employed often to bring about a quicker end. It had become habit for her to ensure she'd picked her nail beds free of all traces of him as she cleaned up in the aftermath.
Penelope's teeth sank into the General's shoulder, his motions sparking something like pleasure in her core, a precipice he'd ever led her to the edge of, drawing her closer, and closer. The promise of something more always just on the horizon.
General Vancil grunted his release, his seed spilling into her, off in search of a womb that would never again allow his or any other's offspring to take root. He rolled off of Penelope, satisfied with his own part of their coupling, his movements loaded with self-satisfaction.
If the thought of walking away from the General — from everything — didn't feel so much like conceding him yet another victory, Penelope might have left long ago. The passing humiliation of having his wife leave would only temporarily dull the shine of General Vancil's reputation, and merely temporary would never be good enough. Penelope wanted to see the day the exalted General lost his favour, would not be reduced to learning of it through barely reliable hearsay.
No. When the man who had ruined her life finally fell from the pedestal he'd been placed on, she'd get to watch it as it happened.
And if it got too bad before then? Well. She always had her knife.
June 3 | NECROPHILIA / CORRUPTION / POWER IMBALANCE
June 4 | NONCONSENSUAL VOYEURISM / MINDBREAK / INCEST
June 5 | DUBCON / UNETHICAL EXPERIMENTATION / POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOUR
June 6 | WOUND FUCKING / MIND CONTROL / BLACKMAIL
June 7 | BAD SEX / CANNIBALISM / CODEPENDENCY
additional info & rules below the cut! ✨
This event is centred around OCs (original characters). While customisable video game protagonists (e.g. tav/durge (bg3), warden/hawke/inquisitor/rook (dragon age), the rogue trader (rogue trader), etc.) are welcomed, canon characters should be relegated to background characters in works made for this event, if included at all.
By choosing to take part in this event, you confirm that you are both of legal age and mature enough to take part in an event centred around dark and potentially triggering topics.
While no one is obligated to interact with topics they do not wish to, there will be zero tolerance on attempts at censorship, kinkshaming, harassment, or bullying of any kind. Anyone who partakes in this behaviour will be excluded from this and all future events.
Prompts may be interpreted however you wish! Feel free to take one, two, or even all three prompts for a given day, combine them, make separate works for each one, whatever calls to you; there's no "right way" to take part. Additionally, there is no limit as to how many works you can create for any given day. Want to write two different fics for the same characters for the same prompt? Go for it! Want to draw two different art works for two different characters for the same prompt? Hell yeah! Go nuts, show guts. Or, y'know, whatever.
Please tag your posts with #unwholesomeocweek so we can all peruse everyone's creations! While not necessary, feel free to @ this blog too, if you would like to. I'll be going through the tag and reblogging everyone's works here as much as I can during the week, but if you believe your post has been missed and you have followed all the guidelines set out here, please send an ask to this blog off anon in case I've missed it!
Additionally, if you are posting your work to AO3, add it to the collection! This will open the day before the event starts (31st May) and remain open for a month after the end of the event (7th July) to catch any late entries.
All works reblogged to this blog will be tagged for common triggers with the format "trigger tw" (e.g. rape tw, incest tw, etc). While not an obligation, participants are encouraged to include tags in the same format on their original post for ease of filtering. If there are any specific triggers anyone would like tagging, please send an ask to this blog and I will do my best to accommodate you. (Note: this can be on or off anon, at your preference.)
While including trigger tags is a courtesy, works that include neither tags nor content warnings in the body of the post will not be reblogged to this blog. (Note: where the content warning is the prompt, it is not necessary to include a warning in addition to the prompt (e.g., if the prompt is sexual assault, it is not necessary to include a warning for this in the body of the post so long as the prompt is included). If your post is a link to a fic hosted elsewhere, including a screenshot of e.g. AO3 tags is an acceptable alternative.)
Works made using generative ai are not welcome in this event.
Works set in the harry potter universe, or making use of its canon or lore, are not welcome in this event.
Where are all my romance/kinky writeblr blogs!? 💕🌶️
I’m looking for my fellow sexual deviants kinky, spicy, romance writers and writeblr blogs to follow! Can you please do me a favor and either like/reblog/send me a pm so I can follow you? I’d really appreciate! My main genre is fantasy romance in all its forms and I’d like to interact with more like-minded people so we can gush about all our crazy ideas!
Two words. Just two simple, whispered words were enough to make Zaria's heart pound against her ribs. Or maybe it was Adair's breath in her ear, or those wicked — heavenly — fingers of his moving just-so within and against her that made her shiver. Perhaps it was all of it together.
Zaria gripped the sheets in both hands, gasping and rolling her hips into the motion of his hand. His bare chest was warm against her back, even the metal of his left hand — resting against her thigh — had warmed through the flush of her skin against his fingers.
She whined once, bucking into the thrust of his hand.
"There you go. You're perfect, sweetheart."
God. Maybe it was the words. Or just how he said them in that low, sensual tone he was using, his accent dripping like honey.
Zaria moaned, pushing herself back into Adair and feeling him hard against her backside. Desire for more hummed through her and she managed to gasp, "Let me up."
He hummed a low consideration, his thumb still teasing against her pearl, and for a moment Zaria was certain that he wasn't going to listen. She nearly swore as he sat up, the absence of his skin against hers almost jarring and she whined as he slipped his hand from her.
It took a breathless moment for her to collect herself, even though she'd been the one to ask. She turned to face him, hand meeting his chest.
"Lie back."
There was something guarded in Adair's expression as he allowed Zaria to push him to the bed, her fingers cool against the heat of his skin.
"Good boy." She grinned down at him as she straddled his hips, teasing a single finger down his chest and stomach, and nodded approvingly. "You're so obedient."
Adair shivered at the touch and his whispered "Fuck," would have been drowned out if the only sounds between them had been anything greater than their mingled breaths.
His hands met her hips, the touch of his right hand leaving smears of her own honey in its wake as his grip settled. His thumbs brushed minute circles into her skin, and she shivered, rolling her hips against him in a slow grind meant more to tease than bring anything close to relief.
Zaria caught his left hand, urging it from her waist and pulling it upwards, towards her face. She could feel Adair’s hesitation in the resistance of the movement, saw it in the flickering confusion that took the place of his cocksure smirk.
"Zaria, I don—"
Her lips closed around the tip of his middle finger, sucking it into her mouth to the second joint, the tang of the metal coppery against her tongue.
Adair had frozen beneath her, his lips parted, his chest shuddering with shallow breaths.
Zaria drew back, her eyes locked on his. "You short circuiting, hotshot?"
"Oh, don't you even go there." He turned away, still watching her from the corner of his eye as Zaria licked a slow line from the base of his palm straight to the tip of his middle finger. A sound that might have been a whine escaped him, his hand twitching in her grasp.
Zaria ran a finger up his wrist, tracing the grooves between the metal plates with her fingertip and she gasped at the way the fingers of Adair's right hand flexed at her waist, gripping more firmly.
She tilted her head, regarding him with half-lidded eyes as she pressed a kiss to his palm, still trailing that single finger along the inside of his wrist. "You told me once," she said, voice pitched to a quiet suspicion, "that you couldn't feel much with this."
"Don't do this to me," he whispered, eyes darting away as he bit his lip.
"So why," she continued, murmuring against his hand as though he hadn't spoken, "are you practically jumping out of your skin right now?"
She caught his thumb in her mouth, tongue sliding over the metal as Adair all but writhed beneath her, his chest shuddering as he gasped. His hand twitched in her hold again, fingers spasming against Zaria's cheek.
"Stoppit."
She gazed down at him, tongue still trailing over and around his thumb, her eyes lingering over his body. He’d looked away, staring rather pointedly at the wall.
Zaria paused her teasing, pressing a kiss to the middle of his palm.
"Adair?"
There was an odd tightness to his response, as though he had to force the words through too small an opening to speak them. "You're going to give me phantoms doing that."
What?
Zaria watched him for a moment, waiting for him to explain, dropping another kiss to his palm. Adair showed no signs of elaborating, his eyes still locked on the wall and his breathing starting to even out once more.
Slowly, Zaria lowered Adair's hand, pressing it to her bare breast instead. "Just touch me, Adair," she breathed, holding his hand there until she felt his fingers softly curl against her skin as he cupped her breast.
"I could hurt you," he whispered, wary as his gaze returned to her.
"But you won't," she whispered. "I trust you."
She sighed with pleasure as his hand moved against her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple — his touch so much more gentle than she would have expected.
"Oh. Good boy."
Slowly, she ground against him, rolling her hips as she pressed once more against his waiting cock, grinning at the way Adair hissed her name between clenched teeth. Again, she ran a single finger down his chest, meeting and following the thin line of hair down his abdomen until she reached that thatch of curls at the base of his arousal. She paused there a moment and then slid her hand back up his stomach, all the while continuing that slow, intentional grind against him.
"You absolute tease."
Adair sat up, his hands sliding around Zaria's waist to settle at the small of her back to steady her as she shifted her motions to ensure that she could still press against him just-so. His lips pressed to the hollow of her collarbone, his breath hot against her skin and Zaria moaned.
She gasped, grabbing at Adair, fingers digging into his hair as he mouthed at her. His lips trailed down from her collarbone and over the curve of one breast before the wet heat of his mouth closed around her nipple, tongue laving over that sensitive skin.
Zaria gasped, her grip on his hair tightening as she whined his name, her whole body jerking with each flick of his tongue over her. She squeezed him with her thighs, clinging to him as she shivered under his touch.
Eventually, a breathless Zaria caught Adair by the shoulders, pushing away at the same time as she tried to shove him back to the bed. "Lie down again."
He resisted, leaning back in, his mouth pressing a slow line of kisses along the underside of her jaw as his hands slid up her back, pulling her more firmly against him. "Is there something in it for me?"
"Only if you're good." She shivered again as he nipped at her, teeth grazing over her skin, his fingernails teasing aimless patterns against her back. "What happened to you being so obedient a minute ago?"
She was sure she could feel his smirk against her throat as he nuzzled into the space just below her ear. "Ask me again. Nicely."
"Please, Adair."
He hummed softly, the sound more like a vibration against Zaria's neck. "Much better."
When Zaria pushed again at Adair's shoulders, he allowed it, pulling her down with him.
"This isn't what I meant."
He grinned at her. "Is it not?"
"Not quite." She kissed him once, slow and lingering, then sat up, shaking away his hands as she settled herself over him once more. Adair's hands slid up her thighs, coming to rest at the curve of her waist.
"There you go." Zaria reached down, taking Adair in hand to guide him into her as she sank onto his cock.
He groaned, arching beneath her, his grip on her hips digging in as she settled, gasping, with him fully inside her. And when Zaria took a shuddering moment to accustom herself to the sensation of him, Adair's hands slid over her skin in a soft caress, his touch a quiet reassurance.
Zaria's hands met his chest as she first raised herself and Adair groaned, arching beneath her once more.
"God, you're perfect, Zaria."
She gasped as he moved with her, meeting her eager motions with his own and it wasn’t long before Zaria's thighs began to quiver. She braced herself over him, trying to quell the tremble in her legs, her breaths coming in soft moans with each of his thrusts.
Adair pulled out and Zaria might have seen fit to complain had he not grabbed her and pulled her to the bed next to him. He rolled on top of her, catching her thighs and encouraging them around his hips, leaving neither time nor space to question what he was doing.
Zaria's hair fanned across the pillows beneath her as she reached for Adair, looping her arms around his shoulders and raking her nails up his back. His mouth met hers, swallowing her moan as he thrust inside her once more, setting his own urgent pace.
Her breath came in a series of short gasps, her only words a litany of pleading yeses, pleas for Adair to just finish exactly what he'd started when they'd first tumbled into bed that evening.
She came, crying her release in his ear as she shuddered beneath him, her nails leaving indented crescents in his back as she clung to him though her waves of pleasure.
The motion of Adair's hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering. He moaned, arching and pressing his forehead to her shoulder, and Zaria felt the first pulse of his climax within her half a moment before he made that low, groan in the back of his throat that she'd become so familiar with.
Slowly, Zaria smoothed a hand up the back of his neck as his ragged breaths slowed once more and he pushed himself up, levering himself up on his left arm to grin down at her. She slid her hands over Adair’s shoulders, letting her fingertips tease over his chest, brushing like the kiss of moth wings over his skin as he rolled off of her, flopping to the bed beside her.
He reached over and caught her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. "God, sweetheart," he breathed as Zaria rolled to face him, curling against his side, "the things you do to me."
We are starting off, admittedly, very strangely. These characters are not really from a project, they're based on a dream I had a little while back, but it was fun to actually play with them intentionally!
Word count: 2,670
Content: Incest | noncon | possession | edging
"Surely this is a jest," Faramund said, aghast. He was usually unflappable, but this situation was far outside of his area of expertise.
Namely, finding himself, all asudden, sprawled on his back on a bed decorated with rose petals and surrounded by sweetly burning candles whose purpose was nothing so innocent as magic. Mortifying enough, to be sure, but the slender man perched on the edge of the bed in a short silk robe currently tying up his long, lilac hair was-
"You must know, you must, that I'm your brother."
That did not produce the reaction he was hoping for.
"Well, when one does insist on engaging in spurious actions, one must be prepared for the risk of many a consequence," his brother Adelmar said, voice light. Amused, even.
How was this the sort of situation anyone would've considered to prepare themselves for?!
"I'd not have done it if I'd known he was one of your little playthings."
"That's not the point," a voice said, through his lips. "The point is that you oughtn't be stealing other people's bodies in the first place."
Was that…the original owner of this body? But how was such a thing possible? Who ever heard of a body having two souls in attendance? Usually the weaker would retreat into dormancy, or fade away entirely.
Well, Adelmar always had been drawn to those musclebound hero types who had no trouble attempting the impossible – so long as it didn't involve resisting his incubine proclivities.
"What kind of evil wizard are you anyway," Faramund asked Adelmar, somewhat desperately. "What do you care if something is morally wrong?"
"You always did miss the mark, brother dear. It has nothing to do with magic good or evil, only magic true or false."
"Oh, lecture me from your high horse, do!"
He had never wanted to be the kind of 'wizard' that his older brother was, who had learned half his craft as pillow talk from whatever bored old man would take him, and seemed to do nothing at all with it except ensure that his bed was always kept warm. Faramund had learned his magic the hard way, and he had always taken what he wanted, and what he was owed. Between them, who had the right to say which kind of magic was 'true' or 'false'?
But Adelmar, hair up, leaned over and placed a hand on his chest, and Faramund hated the way this body reacted to that, shivering in familiar anticipation.
"You may disprove of me, but I've never once turned to false magic. Your actions, far worse than being wrong, are simply tacky."
"Does this latest toy of yours know what your particular magical entails, your oh-so-illustrious history?"
"Don't think to turn us against each other," that other voice said in response. "We haven't any secrets from one another."
"I don't know what you think of me," Adelmar said. "No one has any secrets after being with a partner for several decades."
Decades? But…it was one thing for Adelmar to look young, he was a wizard, he used magic. But this toy of his had all the vitality of youth, Faramund would not have stolen the body if he hadn't. They could not have been together all that long if he was human. He was human, wasn't he? He had to be. Didn't he? Nothing about him felt anything other than human.
"In any case," Adelmar continued, totally unaware of his thoughts, "if you want to steal the lives of others so badly, we're only to happy to give you the full experience."
"This is sick," Faramund said, "both of you-"
But he was cut off when the body he was in reached up and slid a hand into his brother's silken hair before pulling him down for a kiss, a request Adelmar laughingly obliged.
He had never been in a situation like this, neither in control of a body nor dormant within it, but merely there, forced to experience everything as if it were his own actions. And he did feel all of it, everything, how his brother looked so soft and sweet and innocent, but how his kisses were anything but, as arrogantly demanding as any warlord after tribute.
He understood how Adelmar had, as a youth, gotten the attention of any lecherous old man within a hundred miles, but he still didn't know how Adelmar constantly won this particular battle, convincing once stalwart and upright heroes to surrender themselves to him. But however he had managed, the fact that this one had been thoroughly conquered was not in doubt.
He felt 'his' hand slid down his brother's back and come to rest on the rounded curve of his ass while the other reached up for the tie that was barely holding that useless little robe on.
"Greedy," Adelmar said. "You're supposed to behave yourself."
He felt both of 'his' hands drop away, back to the bed below.
Adelmar sat up, and toyed with the lacings of Faramund's trews, high over his stomach, tugging, but not quite enough to untie them. His other hand rested on Faramund's thigh and his thumb stroked up and down, up and down, driving Faramund nearly to distraction, which was certainly the point.
"We're not in a hurry, after all."
He dropped the laces then and his fingers trailed slowly lower, which the body Faramund was in so desperately hungered for, he could feel that, the control that this fallen hero was exerting not to move, to not rise to meet Adelmar's hand.
Faramund was an adult, a highly educated man, a practiced wizard who had stolen dozens of bodies and used them up for his own purposes. He had faced down heroes and demons and monsters alike, unflinchingly. But when his brother's hand came to rest between his legs, he still found himself overcome with an instinctive panic. For one moment that body was his and he wrenched himself away before-
The hero took back control somehow, he still didn't know how, but it felt like being held down. He could just about feel that, like hands at his wrists, exerting pressure on him, although it couldn't be any such thing in reality. Nothing was touching him, not his wrists or anywhere else.
Not that that state of affairs lasted very long.
"You're so shy," Adelmar said, amusement like poison in his voice.
In his panic, Faramund had sat up, and found himself totally unable to move again as his brother came to rest against his back, and sliding his hands leisurely around Faramund's sides, one up, coming to rest over his chest, the other sliding downwards on its previous path.
What were his options? He was completely cut off from his magic, somehow, so he could not use that. And he also could not gain permanent control of this body to leave.
"Don't," he said, words being all he had, ineffective as they were.
"Everything has consequences," Adelmar said, utterly unconcerned, and he tugged loose those ties over his stomach, unlacing them all the way down.
A gasp escaped him as his brother's hand closed around him, possessive and assured, moving with an expert rhythm that made his flimsy and nearly useless words desert him entirely.
"You're so needy," his brother teased against his neck, "who wanted me to stop? He's never reacted to me like this."
"No," Faramund managed to say, just that, and nothing else. No, it couldn't be him, it was this body which his brother had already trained that was to blame. It had to be. But whichever one of them it was, the result was the same, a growing, insistent heat between his legs, fueled further by every shaking, shuddering breath his bother pulled out of him.
And then-
Adelmar let go.
"Ah-!"
"Surely you didn't think I'd be so hasty and inconsiderate, did you? This is a special night for you, after all."
Faramund didn't like the sound of that, but set it aside for now as Adelmar removing his hands had restored his ability to think, barely.
"How long," he asked, "have you been wanting to do this to me?"
"What makes you think I've ever thought about you? You just happened to fall in our hands, that's all. Though, one might say that as the older brother, correcting you is my responsibility."
Adelmar tugged the shirt over Faramund's head and pulled him backwards until he was where he had started, on his back on the bed, looking up at Adelmar's smug expression.
"But you can't say the same, now can you? All the snide comments, always so preoccupied with my bedroom habits."
"My own brother? Don't be preposterous."
Adelmar laughed. "Your current body is saying something different, you must agree."
As if Faramund would ever believe that Adelmar hadn't done something! For all he knew the herbed candles were part of some lust spell he wasn't aware of. There must be dozens of those, he hadn't given this area of the human experience much thought at all, and certainly never any study.
"But I'm neglecting you again, aren't I?"
"I'm not-"
His brother lightly ran a thumb over one of his nipples, causing Faramund to end that sentence in a strangled noise of protest.
"It's no secret that my name sounds good in the mouths of others, but I do wonder how you'll say it."
"I'm not going to say your name."
"Maybe, maybe not." There was a vicious triumph in Adelmar's golden eyes as his gaze raked slowly over the body Faramund was in. "Oh, brother dear, you love being in control, don't you? You like having someone's body as your puppet, you like making them burn their lives down. Do they beg you, to get their bodies back? What do you think, will you beg it of me?"
Adelmar's hands were still moving, which was making it very difficult to think but gods he was annoying, he'd always been so annoying!
"S-shut up, going on and on and on about it like some kind of priest at your pulpit-"
Faramund would've continued, meant to continue, to insist that he was a practitioner of dark magic. To insist that they were both considered evil, were they not? To ask how was it that Adelmar had any reason to judge their actions against each other. But he did not get the chance to say any of those things.
Adelmar'd given up his games and now settled his hands against Faramund's hips, pinning them down hard enough to bruise, and leaned forward. It was just his tongue at first, curled around him hot and wet, and then his entire mouth, and Faramund's mind went blank.
"He's good, isn't he," the hero whispered, just for the two of them, because the words were not aloud, just echoing lightly in his mind.
"He's my brother!" Faramund managed back, eventually.
"So? It's not like it's your body anyway."
He felt the metaphysical hold on him change then, somehow, as if the hero was changing his grip, taking both the Faramund's wrists in one hand.
He 'felt' it as the other, in an echo of Adelmar's earlier actions, trailed down his chest and stomach before settling between his legs, firmly grasped around him, achingly tight, considering it wasn't actually holding anything.
"Make no mistake," the hero said to him, "he's just having fun. What you do is no concern of his. I'm the one punishing you, and I'll have you begging his mercy and forgiveness before dawn."
What?
What?
He had never felt magic done like this, like the soul shared the same form as the body, could feel like one, could be manipulated in the same way.
But, wasn't this just some fallen hero? Some magicless meathead his brother had corrupted on a whim, like all the rest of them?
Wasn't-
Adelmar stopped then, dragging Faramund's attention finally back to the physical realm where cessation of activity felt like a knife in his side.
Adelmar was laughing again. "Knowing you, you must certainly be laying all of this at my feet. I've bespelled you, or drugged you somehow, but no. In planning, preparation, and execution my dear Wulfgang is the leader. He asked if me and I just can't resist spoiling my lovers. The point of this evening, so that you don't miss it, is that looking down on those without magic will only get you into trouble."
"I'm in no mood for lectures."
"Oh, I know exactly what kind of mood you're in."
Adelmar pulled his trews down the rest of the way and flung them off before he divested himself of his own robe even more quickly.
There was nothing at all that Faramund could do about this, this body was simply too used to his brother already, moving eagerly under his touch, wanting it.
It was certainly this body, it certainly wasn't him-
But he still gasped again when Adelmar entered him, and took him with such easy familiarity. Faramund had just enough control to tighten his fingers against the sheets, and try to keep his mouth shut. The owner of this body, Wulfgang or whatever it was his brother had said, was oddly silent, a shackle and nothing more, leaving him to bear the full brunt of it which was-
Which was-
"Ah!"
"There you go," his brother said in an annoyingly patronizing tone of voice. "Not so bad, is it?"
"Screw you."
"Patience, patience, we might yet get there. I like indulging my lovers and I don't care if it takes us all night, do you?"
It couldn't be like this usually, could it? Feeling this stuck, this breathless, no, it couldn't possibly. That was just part of this twisted game, Wulfgang had said so. Faramund was to be begging for mercy at the end, and until that they would keep them like this. He was a wizard, wasn't he? He had a surplus of willpower to draw on, didn't he? But Adelmar and his toy clearly did also.
It was just a game to them, to both of them, to break his willpower before dawn. Well, he couldn't get out of it, but he wasn't so easily bent as that. Let them try all they wanted.
"Come on," he said, as arrogantly as he could manage around the screaming insistence of his current body. "I thought you were supposed to be fucking me. Put your back into it."
Adelmar laughed again. "You're really so very needy, aren't you? We're still hours out from dawn. By the time we get there, you'll have more than had your fill. I never fail to deliver."
"Six hours," Wulfgang whispered, for Faramund's benefit. "That's a lot of time for anyone, but especially for a coward like you, who can't even bear the weight of his own body."
Faramund grit his teeth and clenched his hands tighter than ever, trying to form a bulwark against the pounding of his heart and fiery heat of his blood and the ringing in his ears.
Oh, only six hours, was it? He had done spells that took longer than that before! Granted the situation had not been quite so disadvantageous but…
"I don't know why you choose to live as you do," Wulfgang went on, "when there's so much fun to be had in the physical. You have so much catching up to do."
As Wulfgang said that, one hand released itself from the sheets and gripped his own length, stroking in time with Adelmar's thrusts.
"Oh-"
Faramund slammed his mouth shut again, but the noise hadn't escaped Adelmar's notice given the pleased expression he was making.
Six hours, huh?
"I- I'm not giving in that easily!"
"Oh," Adelmar purred, "I was really hoping you'd say that."
To win a war, some battles may have to be lost. It was a strategic decision, Faramund told himself, as Adelmar kissed him and he did not stop himself from kissing back.
Rui and his first...love is a strong word. Much too strong for whatever exactly he and Heath have going on. But it certainly is going on. In secret. Exactly the way Heath wants it.
There was something thrilling about knowing that they shouldn’t have been there, not like that. Not at all, really. Everyone had been warned away from the old barn at some point, but it was still one of the best damn places in Aynor to get a little bit of privacy.
And privacy was exactly what they needed at that moment.
Heath’s hands were tight in Rui’s loose hair, his hair tie having been one of the first casualties of their fumbling. Rui had his arms wrapped around Heath’s shoulders, fingers buried in the back of his shirt, holding him close as they kissed.
Rui’s back hit the side of the barn and he gasped, the sound swallowed up by Heath’s mouth on his own. Heath drew back for a breath, growling low in the back of his throat in a way that made Rui’s head spin.
He cupped the back of Rui’s head and pulled him back in for another kiss, his tongue pressing into Rui’s mouth like it belonged there.
Rui clawed at the back of Heath’s shirt, grabbing a fistful of the fabric and pulling it loose from where it had been tucked into Heath’s pants. The fingers of his other hand found the hairs at the nape of Heath’s neck, just long enough to grip, and tugged.
Heath groaned as Rui braced hard against the barn and hooked a leg around his hips, pinning them together in a way that made it impossible to ignore the effects that their hurried kisses and uncoordinated touches had had on both of them.
“Fuck, Rui,” Heath panted, chest heaving when they broke for air again. “Fuck, you’re hot.”
“Sorry,” Rui murmured, sounding almost embarrassed as he gazed up at Heath’s lust darkened eyes. “It…happens.”
“Not like that, ya dumb jer.” Before Rui could protest the name, Heath’s mouth was back on his, his breath in Rui’s mouth and hips jerking pointedly against Rui’s.
Rui closed his eyes and bit Heath’s lower lip, groaning at the pleasurable friction as Heath rutted against him.
“He-Heath,” Rui finally gasped, putting a hand on Heath’s chest to push him back. Just a bit. His thumb smoothed over Heath’s collarbone, exposed from when he’d earlier pulled open the top two buttons of his shirt to mouth at that smooth skin. “What do you want right now?”
Rui watched Heath’s tongue flick out to moisten kiss-swollen lips. His hand came up to cup Rui’s cheek, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. His voice was low and full of desire as he purred, “You.”
“Me,” Rui whispered back. He parted his lips, tongue flicking out to trail against Heath’s thumb, drawing a gasp from the other boy. Encouraged, Rui turned his head, mouth open to catch Heath’s thumb, drawing it into the heat of his mouth.
Heath shivered at the slide of Rui’s tongue against his skin, his eyes dark and aggressive with desire.
After a few moments, Rui caught Heath’s wrist and drew his hand back slowly, licking his saliva from Heath’s thumb as he did. He locked eyes with Heath, lips quirking with mischief as he pulled Heath’s fingers to his mouth, his tongue trailing a slow line up Heath’s middle finger before closing his lips around it as he sucked.
“Fucking Burn Me.” Heath shuddered and caught himself agianst the barn wall, bracing his forearm to the wood next to Rui’s head as he shivered with each flick of Rui’s tongue against his skin. And when Rui dared to take another of Heath’s fingers into his mouth, Heath whimpered. Had the barn wall not been there to support the two of them, Rui was all but certain that he’d have wound up flat on his back with Heath collapsed deliriously atop him. “Ashes and cinders, Rui. Fuck.”
Heath’s breath was ragged in Rui’s ear, the whine of his wordless gasps pleading in a way he never would dare to with words alone.
Slowly, so, so slowly, Rui slipped Heath’s fingers from his mouth, grinning at him. “You said you wanted me.”
“I do. Fire burn me, I do.” Heath groaned low in the back of his throat and caught Rui’s hand, pulling it to the straining front of his pants. “I’ll return the favour. Promise.”
“Yeah?” Rui grinned, one of those rare smiles that actually showed his teeth. He traced the outline of Heath’s erection through his pants. “Could be fun.”
“Really?” Heath asked, even as he tugged the laces on his pants loose and shoved them down, just enough to expose himself.
Rui’s fingers curled around Heath and gave an experimental stroke, leaning in to press an open mouthed kiss to Heath’s ear when he whined. “Really.”
“Can you use your mouth?”
Rui paused mid-stroke, unsure that he’d been quite prepared to offer that. “You… want me to?”
“After what you just did? Please.”
It took only a few moments to rearrange themselves, Heath leaning back against the barn, eyes half-lidded in anticipation and Rui on his knees before him, one hand on Heath’s hip, and the other at the base of Heath’s cock as he considered how to proceed.
He started by running his tongue up Heath’s shaft, the action earning him a breathy “Oh, fuck me” from the other boy. Confidence growing, Rui parted his lips and took Heath into his mouth, as far as seemed manageable, using his hand to cover the rest.
“Fuck.” Hands tangled in Rui’s hair again, tugging in a way that wasn’t entirely pleasurable as Heath gazed down at him. Rui began to bob his head and Heath’s breath hitched. “You look so good like that. Pretty little jer.”
Rui scowled and drew back, letting his teeth scrape against Heath in warning.
“Fuck! Careful, Rui, teeth!” Heath gasped, staring down at him.
Rui glared up at him, hand still on Heath’s shaft. “I’ve told you not to call me that.”
“C’mon, it was a compliment. I said you were pretty!”
Rui’s scowl deepened and he bit the inside of his lower lip to let the pain temper his flash of ire.
“Hey, c’mon, quit looking at me like that. You know I don’t mean it.” Heath combed his fingers through Rui’s hair, causing strands of it to fall into Rui’s face and Rui brushed at his forehead with his wrist to sweep them away.
“Doesn’t make it better.”
Heath gave Rui a lopsided grin, still slowly working his fingers through Rui’s hair. “I’ll stop. Promise.” There was the slightest pressure on Rui’s head, the unspoken urging to resume what he’d started.
Rui shook his hair out of his face again and leaned back in, mouthing at Heath’s cock once more.
Finding a rhythm was a challenge. Heath’s hands kept tugging at Rui’s hair, trying to make him take more into his mouth than he was ready for and Rui had to push back against him to make him stop. Once he didn’t have to keep fighting against Heath’s hands, Rui managed to settle into a pace that — if not perfect — at least left Heath making all kinds of pleased, desperate sounds.
Heath gasped, a sharp inhale of breath, and his grip on Rui changed — forcing him away instead of trying to pull him closer.
Rui glanced up, but Heath wasn’t looking at him, his startled gaze locked on something just around the corner of the barn. He turned to look just as Heath shoved him back and Rui — unprepared for the sudden motion and power in Heath’s hands — slammed back into the dirt with enough force to knock the wind out of him, just barely catching sight of a figure, too fast to identify, darting away, back around the side of the barn from which they had presumably come.
Heath swore under his breath, tucked himself back into his pants, and tugged once at his laces before sprinting off after whoever it had been — leaving Rui, confused and gasping, on the ground.
Content: hand jobs | hot spring make-outs | hesitant participation
Despite the arrangement, even after the first time together — just the three of them —Tihomir had always seemed so unsure, hesitant to take up any of the invitations extended by Fraise, and never mind those that Xalvadore offered. And if there was the possibility of the other two joining in as well? It seemed like Tihomir always had somewhere else to be that night.
If not for the fact that Tihomir's hasty refusals seemed to bother him more than anyone else, Fraise might have been prepared to let it all slide. But she knew him, knew that flicker of guilt in his darting gaze. Perhaps he just needed a bit more easing in to the idea to join them again.
Fraise caught Tihomir in the halls, falling into step beside him and reaching to catch his hand in hers, lacing her fingers through his. He didn't startle at the touch — always a good sign, one that meant he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he'd failed to Sense her approach.
She kept her voice low as she spoke, lest her words meant only for her retainer reach those she'd not intended, "If you'd be willing, dear, Xal and I would like to request your presence in our bathing chamber tonight. A little relaxation would do us all well. Shall we say a mark past dinner?"
By the pink hue creeping over Tihomir's cheeks and the way his fingers tightened on hers, Fraise was certain he'd heard.
-------------------
Fraise hoped that she would never come to treat Xalvadore's private hot spring with the same level of mundanity that he did. To him, it had long ago become little more than the merest point of interest, a natural conclusion to have drawn with his Talent, an impulse that he'd followed through on years before. Never mind that the fact was that he'd just decided to create his own hot spring. Indoors.
She prayed that it never stopped sparking at least a little awe to think that Xalvadore had the power to just make something like the spring wherever he so chose.
Fraise shook her hair out, combing tangles from it with her fingers as she reached back to split it into three sections to begin tying it back. Across the room from her, Xalvadore stood disrobing and Fraise let her eyes linger upon him. He caught her gaze and winked at her as he set his clothing aside before stepping into the water.
Xalvadore sank into the hot water with a pleased groan, closing his eyes and leaning back against the edge of the pool. The messy knot that he'd tied his hair into was already beginning to slip, rogue strands escaping from his hasty updo to dip into the water.
Fraise finished twisting her own dark locks into a thick braid and slid into the water next to her husband, reaching up to pluck his already fogging glasses from his face and set them far enough away to lessen the chances that someone might drop them in the spring.
"Do you think he'll come?" she asked, settling herself against Xalvadore.
"Between the two of us, I'm certain he will. So long as he decides to join us."
"Xalvadore."
Xalvadore draped an arm around Fraise's shoulders, pulling her against him and dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "He did last time. Tell me I'm wrong."
She swatted at him, playfully indignant. "You know that's not what I meant."
"I do." After a few quiet moments, Xalvadore hummed. "Shall I Send for him, dear?"
"Oh, don't, love. He'll think he's in trouble. I doubt he'll be much longer if he's planning to join us."
Sure enough, no sooner had Fraise spoken, than the door opened, Tihomir peeking inside, almost as though he didn't expect anyone to actually be within. Fraise elbowed Xalvadore — an unspoken 'told you' — and then waved. "Come on in, Tiho. We just got in."
His eyes darted from her to Xalvadore and back then away. "Just us, then?"
"Of course." Fraise folded her arms on the edge of the pool, watching as her retainer entered the bathing chamber, already absent his usual sash and coat, clad in only a charcoal smudged linen shirt and plain breeches. "So glad you were able to join us. We didn't ruin any plans you had, did we?"
"No." His movements were almost furtive, telegraphing his unease. Tihomir kept himself turned away from Fraise and Xalvadore as he undressed, baring the freckle-splattered skin of his back and shoulders and displaying those bizarre tan lines that seemed to be a phenomenon wholly unique to him.
He glanced over one shoulder, his eyes meeting Fraise's attentive gaze and the colour rose in his cheeks once more, the blush spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. He turned away, messily folding his shirt and setting his clothing aside.
Fraise jumped as Xalvadore leaned over, whispering in her ear, "There's that classic Casican modesty of his."
She half turned, made to swat again at Xalvadore, and missed — succeeding only at splashing ineffectually at him instead. Sometime between Tihomir's arrival and that moment, Xalvadore had not only managed to find wherever she'd set his glasses but had put them back on, watching Tihomir through the fogged lenses, and he frowned as the water hit his lenses.
"Must you, love?" he asked, removing his glasses to shake the water from them.
Fraise leaned back to grin at her husband. "If not me, then who?"
"I can think of others," he said, smiling as he replaced his glasses. "Though perhaps not many."
"Do I need to separate you two?" Tihomir's voice was soft as he reached them, seating himself on the edge of the spring with his feet and calves in the water.
Xalvadore laughed, offering Tihomir his hand. "Of course not."
Tihomir waved away the offered hand and lowered himself into the water, his expression suggesting that the sheer heat of the pool might have been greater than he would have preferred.
Grinning, Fraise greeted Tihomir with a kiss as he seated himself next to her, cupping his cheeks and pulling his mouth to hers. For a few moments, Tihomir's hands seemed almost to flutter around Fraise's body, indecisive butterflies unable to settle in one place. Fraise caught his wrists, pulling his hands to her shoulders. "You can touch me, Tiho. However you want."
Tihomir's gaze darted again to Xalvadore and returned to Fraise. "However I want?" He didn't wait for a confirmation. His grip loosened, hand slipping from her shoulders down towards her breasts, his thumbs brushing against her nipples, and Fraise shivered despite the heat of the spring, her breath shuddering out of her. Slowly, Tihomir leaned in, pressing his lips to Fraise's shoulder, leaving soft kisses along her skin and up her neck.
She sighed with pleasure, eyes closing. "I so hoped you'd join us tonight."
"You told me to," Tihomir whispered, nuzzling against Fraise's throat, his hands sliding from Fraise's breasts to pull her against him in a loose embrace.
Beside them, Xalvadore chuckled. "It was an invitation, dear. In this, you may always refuse." He caught one of Tihomir's hands and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss first to Tihomir's knuckles, then another to the back of his hand. "But we're happy to have you any time."
Tihomir looked away as Xalvadore pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist, biting his lower lip and letting his gaze linger over the water, his cheeks reddening.
Fraise took the opportunity to sit up, leaning in to catch Tihomir's earlobe between her teeth, nipping at his skin until he gasped. "Don't look so worried, Tiho. We're just here to have a nice time together."
It had taken a small effort to get Tihomir to begin to unwind, with heated kisses from Fraise and carefully encouraging touches from Xalvadore coaxing the tension from his body. Eventually, Xalvadore and Fraise had gotten themselves situated with Tihomir between them, his back flush against Xalvadore's chest and Fraise halfway in his lap. The retainer's eyes were closed, his head tilted back against Xalvadore's shoulder as Fraise's mouth teased against one nipple, Xalvadore's fingers giving equal attention to its twin.
Tihomir groaned, his breath leaving him a whine as Fraise drew back, adjusting her position, one of her thighs brushing against his arousal beneath the water.
Fraise caught Xalvadore's eye, and nodded her head pointedly downwards. He grinned in reply, his teasing hand slipping from Tihomir's chest to slide down his body, dipping below the water.
Tihomir's eyes blinked open, his blue eyes dark with desire and he whispered a breathless, "What…?" at Xalvadore's touch.
Fraise cupped Tihomir's cheek, forcing him to look at her, her thumb brushing over his cheek. "Let us take care of you."
Xalvadore nuzzled into the crook of Tihomir's neck, and Tihomir shivered at the brush of Xalvadore's beard against his skin, whimpered at the touch of Xalvadore's hand beneath the water where it had closed around the firm shape of his cock and begun to stroke. He reached back, one hand catching in Xalvadore's hair as he closed his eyes once more and leaned back against the king.
Fraise's fingers trailed down Tihomir's heaving chest, drops of water from her fingertips racing each other over his speckled skin. He bucked beneath her hands, moving in time with the motions of Xalvadore's hand.
Fraise rested her hand flat against Tihomir's chest, pressing him more firmly against Xalvadore as she used him for leverage, leaning in to mouth at the shell of his ear, her teeth catching on his earlobe before her tongue flicked out to lap at the earring clasped though one of Tihomir's folds of cartilage.
Tihomir groaned, whispering Fraise's name as he arched again against Xalvadore. One of his hands groped, searching for purchase along the edge of the spring, and slipped as he tried again to hold on to something solid.
"Perhaps," Xalvadore murmured, "we might be more comfortable if we took this activity to bed."
Fraise hummed her agreement and stood, offering a hand to Tihomir once she was out of the water. Whether it was the heat of the spring, or his clear and present arousal throwing off his balance, she wasn't sure, but Tihomir didn't refuse her assistance getting out. Nor did Tihomir raise a complaint when Xalvadore's 'steadying hand' came to rest far lower than could be useful for providing balance, settling on the bare curve of his ass.
Tihomir glanced around the bathing chamber, confusion furrowing his brow. "We should… we should dry off first. Shouldn't we?"
"An excellent point." Xalvadore waved a hand, pulling the water from Fraise and Tihomir's skin into a single orb, which he cast back into the spring, before shaking his own dampness away with a few flicks of his fingers. "I think that's sufficient."
Fraise caught Tihomir's hands, pulling him towards the door to her and Xalvadore's bedroom, where the three of them collapsed together onto the bed without even bothering to pull back the covers.
When the sounds of their shared pleasure had died down, and Fraise lay nestled between her husband and her retainer, the only thought left in her hazy mind was thanking the Goddesses that Tihomir had finally decided to accept their invitation that night.
Joined a few friends to collectively tackle Kinktober and this is one of the days that I picked to cover. There shall be more.
Starting off with Rui and Léandre from Talentless. Despite how much I love to talk about these two, they are, in fact, side characters in the greater scheme of Talentless.
Words: 1,431
Prompt: Coming Untouched
Content: Biting | premature ejaculation
While it wasn't always common for Fraise to go off somewhere without Xalvadore — certainly not as common as it was for him to be called upon to make a trip without her, which always led to significant complaints behind closed doors on both their parts — it was even rarer for her to bring Léandre as her accompaniment in place of Tihomir. Had no one noticed Tihomir caught in one of his vacant fits the day before Fraise was expected to depart, Rui suspected that it was more than likely that she would have continued the typical trend. Instead, a change up had been called for at the last moment, Léandre being swapped in as part of Fraise's travel retinue in Tihomir's place.
It had been strange without Léandre around, Rui only realizing in his weeks of absence exactly how familiar and normal his partner's everyday presence had become.
To judge by the kiss that Léandre greeted him with after the weeks away, it certainly seemed that Rui hadn't been the only one struggling with their time apart.
Léandre had waited only long enough to pull Rui into a secluded alcove, back him against the wall, and draw him in for a long kiss — one that seemed all but designed to make up for each and every one they hadn’t been able to share. When they finally parted, Rui was breathless and grinning — flashing Léandre one of his rare toothy smiles.
"Welcome home."
"Good to be back." Léandre’s mouth found Rui's once more, his tongue sliding past parted lips and drawing a low groan in response. Rui's arms slipped around Léandre's shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair and digging into the back of his shirt, urging him closer.
Léandre braced one hand against the wall, his other hand sliding around Rui's waist to the small of his back, his touch solid and steadying.
Slowly, Rui slid his hands back over Léandre's shoulders, fingers tugging at the closures of Léandre’s shirt, he worked the top two open and leaned in to press an open-mouthed kiss just below Léandre’s collarbone. There was still the faintest hint of yellow from a lingering bruise and Rui nipped at Léandre’s skin, teeth grazing over him with not nearly enough force to leave new marks — not yet.
"I see I have some work to do."
Léandre's breath left him in something that could almost be called a whine, his grip on Rui tightening with need. "Please, babe."
Rui chuckled and slid a hand to Léandre's jaw, tilting his head to the side so he could trail his tongue slowly over the apple of Léandre's throat, tasting the salt spray residue from the return journey. He nipped once, just barely catching Léandre's skin between his teeth before releasing him once more. A promise to be fulfilled later.
Léandre groaned, his fingers burrowed into the back of Rui's shirt, grip tight enough that Rui was sure that — had the fabric not been there as a barrier — the scratches left behind would have lasted for at least a couple days.
"Don't do this to me."
Rui laughed, low in the back of his throat, as he pressed a hand to Léandre's chest — directly over where he could feel the pounding of his heart, and grinned up at him. "Missed me?"
In reply, Léandre caught Rui's face in his hands and dragged him in for a bruising kiss, all tongues and teeth that spoke of silent, urgent desire. "Goddesses, babe. I have been dreaming about seeing you again since we had to leave."
"That long?"
"Always."
"And now, here I am." His dark eyes shining with mischief, Rui slid a hand to the front of Léandre's pants, palming the rigid outline of his cock there and Léandre groaned, leaning forward to rest his forehead on Rui's shoulder.
"Babe, please."
Rui hummed as he pretended to consider their options, hand still teasing over Léandre's arousal, and he smiled inwardly as Léandre's hips rolled into his touch. His words were soft, breath and lips grazing the skin of Léandre's ear when he whispered, "Your rooms are closer."
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They wasted no time once the door to Léandre's rooms had closed behind them, Léandre grabbing Rui from behind and sweeping aside Rui's hair to press the heat of his open mouth against the rune inked into the back of Rui's neck.
Rui gasped, reaching back to catch Léandre's hands and pull them to the closures of his shirt, sighing with pleasure as Léandre worked them open, fingers trailing over Rui's bared skin.
"Good boy," Rui whispered, voice low and full of promise as he guided Léandre's hands lower. He closed his eyes, allowing Léandre to take more of his weight as he shuddered with the brush of Léandre's fingers against sensitive skin. He gasped, heat prickling over his skin as Léandre's fingers closed around his stiff cock and Léandre pressed a kiss to the back of Rui's ear.
"You're so hot, Rui."
"I hope you plan to do something about that."
Léandre's breath of laughter down the side of his neck was almost intoxicating against his heated skin and Rui shivered with the pleasure of it, then gasped at the touch of cool air as Léandre freed him of his shirt.
The rest of their clothes were not long in following suit, puddles of cloth marking their progress to Léandre's bed. Léandre tumbled to the bed, grabbing Rui and pulling him down on top of him, leaning in for a demanding, greedy kiss as Rui straddled his hips.
"Mark me up, babe," Léandre whispered when they parted. "Y'don't know how much I've missed it."
Rui's hand met the firm, muscled curve of Léandre's chest and he squeezed appreciatively, nails biting into Léandre's skin in a way that had the other man arching beneath him.
"At least as much as I have, I'm sure." He practically dove for the junction where Léandre's shoulder met his neck, biting down and sucking hard against his skin to ensure the resulting bruise would last.
Léandre writhed at the attention, his feet skidding against the sheets and his voice cracking with affirmations and insistence for more.
Rui drew back to admire his handiwork, one finger tracing the red mark he'd left behind before choosing a new target, working his way down Léandre's chest and leaving a varied trail of love bites in his wake. Rui nipped twice at the skin of Léandre's stomach to get his attention and locked eyes with him as he laved his tongue up the valley between Léandre's pectorals.
Léandre moaned, head falling back against the pillows. "Goddesses, you're perfect."
Rui's mouth closed around one of Léandre's nipples, his teeth scraping over that sensitive nub as Léandre arched and squirmed beneath him, all pleas and broken gasps interspersed with Rui's name. His fluttering hands seemed not entirely sure where to settle — whether that was somewhere on Rui, or buried in the bedsheets beside him.
Grinning, Rui once again shifted his attentions, engulfing one of Léandre's ears in the heat of his mouth, his tongue tracing over each crevice and fold of his skin. He groaned as Léandre's hands found their landing place, his fingernails dragging over the skin of Rui's back, seeking anywhere to gain purchase.
Léandre sat up, pressing his forehead to Rui's shoulder as he gasped. His hands spasmed against Rui's skin, his breath hot and the urgency in his voice muffled against Rui's shoulder as he came, shuddering, beneath Rui's ministrations, his seed splattering across Rui's belly in several hot pulses.
For a breathless moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Rui drew back, looking down at Léandre, his mouth set not-quite into one of his quiet smiles.
"You alright?"
Redness tinged his cheeks as Léandre looked away, and Rui bit the inside of his lip to keep his amusement in check as he sat up, automatically reaching for the corner of a blanket to clean himself.
"Sorry," Léandre said, still facing away. "I just… Been a while, y'know?"
"Léan, it's alright," Rui said, smoothing a hand over Léandre's heaving chest, his thumb brushing over the marks he'd so carefully left. "Have you ever disappointed me?"
Léandre's gaze slid back to Rui, regarding him out of the corner of one steel grey eye. "I suppose not that you've said."
"Precisely. I love knowing I've made you feel so good." Rui leaned down and pressed a kiss to Léandre's temple. "And besides," he continued, catching one of Léandre's hands and guiding it to his untended cock, "you've got the perfect opportunity to return the favour."
