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@tzess
Independent rp blog for a Yuan-ti oc based in the Forgotton Realms.
Canon divergent since there isn't a lot of Yuan-ti lore past 3e and 4e did some stuff that kinda just... didn't sit right.
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Graphics by: anahilation
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Affiliated with @sssseth's Sseth
Blogroll: @murderreign @fellbless @deathratled @mindsreprieve @bloodlesson
Rules under cut
//Doing that thing where I imagine my bg3/dnd characters in a party together
The comedic potential of Lyrthindor and Tzess in a party together
Never would he have thought of his own hands as something capable of being delicate, when so often had they were used for maiming and gripping and tearing—and yet this is precisely what Tzess' makes them feel like when he envelops one within his own, blanking its unearthly cold in a comfortable, blanking warmth. The serpent god bats its long, black lashes with a curious tilt of his head, observing the way its own clawed hands feel suddenly so dainty in contrast: long, thin fingers befitting of a lord's, smooth where there should be callous, nails sharp as daggers, fined to a jagged tip.
It makes no attempt to retrieve it, allowing instead for it to be guided at whim, delicately maneuvered by those deft fingers.
Such insolence... And yet.
He could not stop but giving into such base pleasures; a weakness of the mortal flesh, he could only assume, while watching with those molten eyes, intently, as his own hand was gently wrapped around around the base of his hardened member—up and down, the sound it makes is obscene, and undignified... and he is utterly fascinated by it, that—and the cute expression on the vrael's face; it seems to glide so effortlessly, as though its size and shape had been made to curl around it. Sseth peeks over the bump of his shoulder, black rivulets trickling down his shoulder, wet and heavy, as he perches his chin upon bump, tiptoeing to observe the idle movement, the rhythmic back and forth; the doughy softness of his palm adds very little pressure at first, insecure and uncertain, happy to just observe and allow himself be guided through the process—then, on his own, the god carefully mimics the movements at first, gradually adding some pressure of his own—squeezing the appendage just enough be confident in its grip.
Mm. Such a curious thing between his legs...
He pushes his thumb up, and again the head, inspecting its shape and format thoroughly before moving to the base; small bumps where spikes should have sprouted, half formed. Was this what he had been so ashamed about? Was this the reason he refused to disrobe next to him? Or perhaps... it was that the very sight of this body stripped bare caused his body to heat? Well... he'd allow no more of that. If he must endure this heat—so will his loyal companion. "I will not allow you to leave me in such a state alone..." it shudders, pressing its nose against his throat. The hand resumes its movements, testing out different speeds—faster, slower, faster... as its own impatient member seems to twitch against the back of his thighs the sight.
He half expects some snippy remark at the literal handholding, but it seems like the god is far too distracted for that at the moment. He should feel self concious, about the way Sseth peers over his shoulder, watches its own hand move across his dick. He expects some sort of comment on it, but it never comes.
So he lets the insecurity slip away, and focuses on the pleasure coursing through him. Even with the uncertain and inexperienced motions, it's still probably the best feeling he's ever experienced. Far better than his own hand, though maybe it was just that someone else was touching him, someone he was apparently genuinely attracted to and not just touching out of obligation.
He feels like this is going to be over embarrassingly fast.
His chest heaves as the vrael pants, head swimming with every motion of Sseths hand. Finally the god speaks again, and his words only add to the fire he felt was consuming him.
"I-I want to touch you too." It's meant as a reassurance, that he wouldn't dare take what Sseth had offered without giving back in return, but it comes out more like an especially pathetic whine, more like he was pleading than anything. It certainly doesn't help when he can feel the god twitch against the back of his thigh, making Tzess press back into him further.
It doesn't take much longer before he's spilling into the others hand, feeling like his entire soul had just been wrung out from his dick.
Most agreeable, indeed.
A faint curve of a smile forms against the skin of his neck, not hiding how pleased it makes him to hear him say so, even if the words only serve to stir up the heat it had abated; a shudder rattles through those frail bones, heat traveling underneath its scales and spreading all throughout like rust, leeching off warmth from the furnace his chosen had deemed fit to call a body. It nips him again as punishment, or reward, he wasn't too certain, but the gesture feels playful and stripped of hostility as the god nuzzles once more into the sun-kissed throat.
"Vrael," it almost feels like a whine; the god drags his other arm underneath his, tangling himself completely within the other and tugging him backwards with unrelenting demand, pressing the hard planes of his chest firmly and decisively against the pillar of his back, demanding more, but of what, he was not sure. He licks the blood of the tiny puncture wound his fangs had left behind like he was trying to soothe it, and rubs his nose just under the arch of his ear before nipping at the fleshy lobe hanging so tantalizingly next to his teeth. It occurs to him, just then, he has no much of a clue of what to do from here.
"Is this what you desire?" he asks, curious, and as he remembers the warmth of those hands as they lathered his body earlier that day, he moves his own, an unhurried descent, lower and lower still down the length of his chest, contouring the muscle, and the scar where a belly button should be down, gliding smoothly down the guiding lines of his navel. "I'm mimicking as well as I can by sight..." he tells him with an edge of uncertainty as his hands reach into the vrael's inner thighs.
Tzess truly doesn't think they can be more intertwined in this position if they tried, not that he's currently complaining about that. He gladly allows the god to tug him closer, remove every shred of space between them. He just wishes he were facing them, maybe then he could touch him too. Though, maybe the positioning is intentional, the god not wanting the vulnerability of being at the vraels mercy. Which... was understandable to a degree.
His breath catches at the feeling of fangs, and that forked tongue lapping at the wounds they left. It's merely a teasing of what he wants. He could handle the fangs, and they both know the venom would have no affect.
Another nip at his ear has the amusing thought of Sseth accidentally giving him another piercing coming to mind (and honestly he wouldn't be too mad about it). Though that thought is quickly dismissed as the serpent god speaks, hand slowly caressing down his front, lower, and lower...
"Y-Yessss, my liege..." He sounds wrecked already, and he hasn't touched him anywhere truly damning yet. Though it seemed like that was about to change. He well and truly didn't expect it to go this far, for Sseth to actually touch him there, but gods was it more than welcome at this point. "J-Just... just wrap your hand around, want me to...?" He trails off, his own hand moving down to rest atop the others, gently guiding it to wrap around his very much aching cock.
"And then..." He mumbles, moving the hand up and down the length before letting go of Sseths hand to allow him to try without guidance. "L-Like that..." He lets out a breathy sigh, head falling back against the gods shoulder. He wonders if Sseth would let him do the same to them, would let him touch, be the first to make the god feel pleasure like this.
The gasp seems to fuel his unspoken curiosity to explore; that uncomfortable heat simmering in the pit of its empty stomach once more. His own fault, perhaps, for indulging so shamelessly in stimuli—but he blamed his chosen above else for stoking the flames of this cursed vessel, and being so impossible to resist in the process. His thin, spindly fingers loosen their grip immediately once the head has been strategically positioned in a way as to offer him sufficient leverage; this tragically small body was incredibly hard to navigate, requiring aid at every turn. Insufferable thing...
Yet aid Tzess' had provided over and over, without attempting to betray him, at least for now. Many, he knows, would have been all too eager to eat him whole without thinking of consequence, blinded by greed—but this vrael's demeanor is... most agreeable.
"Mmm..." a soft hum vibrates against the hollow of his throat as the god's gilded eyes flutter shut, allowing himself a moment of respite—holding himself sealed beneath the shadow of his eyelids in a way that made his delicate face look almost serene against the gauzy sunlight. He drags his fingers through the soaked mane, scraping the scalp gently now, letting his nails drag in a rhythmic, soothing motion that could be described as nothing else but a caress.
The arms tighten, pulling the other into himself as the urge to wrap himself around him with every limb grows; the wetness of its tongue flicks against the length of his throat, dragging languidly to taste the salt in the flesh and catch droplets of cool water in its forked edge. "...What?" it drawls in a low, sultry whisper, thin slivers of molten gold peek beneath the dollop of black lashes curtaining his lids, dragging the edge of his fangs down to graze the skin without breaking it. It nips, then nuzzles there, the tip of his nose rubbing against his warm skin of his throat. "...Shall I to stop?"
He thinks under different circumstances, the feeling of the others fingers running through his hair might have been a more relaxing feeling, but right now it was just another stimulus to add to all the other overwhelming things he was feeling.
Yet, despite himself, he couldn't help but press into the others hold, wanting more of the sensation, any sensation. He feels like he's burning up, aches for Sseth or his own hand to slip beneath the water and put him out of his misery. He won't though, because that would be failing if this were a test, which he's still not unconvinced it isn't.
He bites back a pathetic whine as he feels it's tongue flick against his throat, fangs scrapping but not sinking in. He debates agreeing, asking to stop, so he can go somewhere out of sight to finish himself off, but that wouldn't be much different than just doing it here, would it? Still a loss, in more ways than one, but so would asking him to touch. Enduring was the only option.
"N-No, no, don't stop--" He breathes out, lashes fluttering shut, hips shifting his weight uncomfortably. He wants to ask what the end goal here is, what the purpose is, but he doesn't want to risk it stopping.
The increasing distress of his chosen evades him in his effort to mimic his movements with precision; he senses the shudder, and pays no mind, senses the twitches of muscles and tension coiling back into his tendons, and entirely dismisses it as an afterthought. The serpent's focus does not waver from the task at hand, the feeling of skin gliding smoothly against his gaunt but ever so gentle hands invokes a possessive, pleasant sensation within himself he has no intention of giving up just yet.
It closes its eyes to be swallowed by darkness, and his ear is filled with the sounds of nature—rippling water, and rustling trees, and small birds chirping in a distance as a breeze whispers through their hair. It hears other things too, the erratic rhythm reverberating throughout his ribs, echoing a thunderous beat beneath its fingertips; so singular is his attention all else fails to capture it, and he hones in on that with undivided focus, leaning closer, pressing tighter, and humming a pleased sound that stretches thin on the tip of its forked tongue. Perhaps it was the way his hands dipped to his neck, arm curled taut around his chest, holding it captive within its serpentine embrace, a thumb gliding against the rhythm of his fluttering pulse.
"No." demanding thing it was, the serpentine god tightens its coil, dragging its nose against the crook of his neck as though it was catching a scent to hunt after, and it feels impossibly intimate; the way air parts from those ripe, blackened lips with incomparable softness, and how it seeks warmth to contrast its always gelid skin, long fingers tracing against him to capture the vibrations trapped beneath the surface. The fragmented god languidly drapes itself against the shape of him, turning itself into a wearable second skin. "I'll do it." it wants to it, and so it barks demands like a spoiled child as it does when the mood strikes; fingers getting lost in his mane only to grip those locks tight, bringing the head back an inch so his mouth could open and close around the juncture of skin between neck and shoulder, tasting the heated flesh on its tongue and the sweetness that brews in him against his mouth.
Scratch that, he was so very not fine. His god was torturing him, there was no other explanation that made sense. He needed something to hold onto, something to ground him, but there was nothing. He felt like a starved animal being teased with a meal it couldn't reach.
Somehow knowing what was wrong with him didn't make it any easier to deal with. It just makes his fingers twitch with the desire to touch back. Makes him want to pin the other to a tree and nuzzle his face into their neck and sink his fangs into them.
None of which, of course, was an option.
He can feel the other inhale against his neck, and he's sure his scent is bleeding desperation and want.
Sseth had to know what he was doing to him, they had only just spoken about it after all. So why should he care about hiding how it's affecting him at this point? He can feel the thread of self control pulling taunt as it threatens to snap under the grazing touch of those fingers.
Not that he thinks he could have stopped the sharp gasp that escaped his lips when those fingers grip his hair and tug. That sends a sharp spike of pleasure through him that he's not even given a chance to recover from before Sseths mouth is on his throat.
"My liege..." His voice sounds totally punched out, like he's biting back the urge to beg. He wants them to press up against him and bite.
The languid drag of his claws felt lazy and ritualistic in the how it wiped the frothy lather from the planes of his body, only to pour more water, and watch it descend in glittering rivulets as it caught the wisps of gauzy sunlight cutting through the high clouds and rustling trees. He pushes himself up to the tips of his toes, heels floating against the cool water at the bottom while the serpent leverages itself against the wall of his back, breath fogging against his nape, chest pressing against him to reach further, to curl those long fingers into the dense mane on top of his scalp, watching the tall specimen keenly to inspect if the mimicry of its touch was well accepted—and content with the response, it allows himself the small indulgence.
It presses against the relaxed muscles connecting shoulder to neck, and travels down his arms unhurriedly, feeling tendons and joints there before sliding underneath, hooking into the curve of his waist to place a curious hand against his rib, to feel the steady beat of his heart resonating throughout his very bones and back into him; everything seemed to fall into such a silence—only the shallow sound of breathing slicing it so tenderly.
"Where else?" it asked without haste, gaunt hand still and unmoving, making no effort to untangle himself from the other, like a large serpent coiled around its treasure, eyes fiercely yellow—glittering like fine gems. "...this is as far as I could gather, from earlier." it explains, expecting instruction.
He was fine, truly. He wouldn't get worked up again just from the other smoothing the suds from his skin, not when he didn't have any view to accompany the touch. He was fine.
Or he was fine, up until he could feel the others chest press against his back, breath hot against the back of his neck. An involuntary shudder runs down his spine, the warmth seeping back into him as though it had never truly left.
He's given no semblance of mercy, in fact, part of him is convinced that Sseth is trying to torture him right now. Maybe this wasn't a reward so much as a test of his mental and physical willpower using his newfound revelation against him.
Humanoid canine teeth sink into his bottom lip as he struggles to keep his composure while Sseth quite literally seems to feel him up. Hands roaming his upper half languidly, as the vrael aches in silence. Oh, his god was truly evil.
Then the hand stops against his chest, and he's certain the other can feel his heart pounding under their fingertips. It takes him a moment to register that he's being spoken to.
Where else? Oh, oh no he was not letting him touch anywhere else. He doesn't think he can handle that without falling to pieces. He knows his limits.
"I-I can take care of the rest. It would be easier to move to shallower water to um, finish the other half." He mentally curses for how breathless he sounds, despite just standing here.
The silence feels like an entity of its own between them; it was no mindless word thrown carelessly in the heat of the moment, his tongue cuts it does so with intent—but it was true he had been heated. The amount of emotions he must constantly suppress in this vessel are a quiet form of torture for one so used to their abyssal indifference.
For a long few second that silence was all there was as he took his time observing the insolent creature as he'd observed so many others in the past, before swallowing their bones whole. And yet as the clawed hand extends to touch him it does so with no lingering vestiges of the hostility once frothing at its mouth.
The god stretches his long fingers and against the other's sleek back, then cups his other hand into the shape of a bowl, scooping a puddle of water and tipping it on top of his naked shoulder. He does so repeatedly, letting the water sluice off his arms, and back, and eventually, his head.
He takes the soap, carelessly dropped in the turmoil, and gently begins to lather their skin, and into his scalp, mimicking the movements he'd witnessed earlier to best replicate the gesture.
He waits, silently, feeling eyes boring into his back long before he feels the touch of fingers, spread against his back. His focus is there, so it almost takes him off guard when the water spills onto his shoulder. He blinks. Oh. Some part of him wants to protest, that he could do this on his own. He disliked the general idea of anyone doing anything for him, but... he wasn't a fool to think the god would do anything he didn't wish to do, and he also wasn't a fool to deny the god anything he wished for.
So green eyes slip shut, and lets the god rotate between lathering and rinsing, knowing most of that hard work will be ruined by the end of the day.
It's a strange thing, that it almost feels like a reward. For what? He's not quite sure, and frankly isn't willing to try delve into right now. It feels nice though, relaxing.
Especially if he doesn't think about the amount of touching that is currently happening, even if the soap is mostly in the way--
It suddenly occurs to it that perhaps, the reason for so much staring wasn't the oddity of his figure, after all; of course, his body had been far more similar to others prior to his corruptible influence; but the mass yielded where it could to accommodate this fragment of the serpent. If nothing else, it was advantageous knowledge to possess, this predisposition of his—should things prove... difficult in the future; though he'd much rather instill fear rather than bargain with desire.
An almost condescending pat to his cheek conveys his agreeableness. "Presscissely." the tongue flicks into this air, a pleased hiss catching against its teeth this time; the vrael would remain on his, for as long as there was use for him. And longer still, if he saw fit. No more would he have a chosen tainted by the poisonous whispers of another—the betrayal, still fresh, felt like salt on his scales.
The hand slides down to the contour of his neck, gliding smoothly across the patches of scales extending along the bump of his shoulder. Then, a nudge—
"Turn around, now..." he doesn't elaborate, but expects his command to be heeded all the same.
Tzess... feels better, somehow, than he had before. Lighter, easier to fall back down to his baseline of neutrality. The arousal had faded during the panic, now just a dull ache, something reasonable to ignore. He's certain it'll go away on it's own, no addressing needed.
Part of him hopes it's all the same for Sseth, so they can quickly move past this and focus on their true mission. Tracking down the next fragment of divinity.
He blinks, at the feeling of the gods fingers against his neck, instinctively tilting his head to allow him access, but watching the others face with interest, until he's nudged to turn around. Wordlessly, he obeys, fairly confident that if the god was going to skewer him for his 'shamelessness' that he would have done so already. He does still resent the comparison to a dog of all things.
The bluntness catches him off guard—he wasn't entirely sure what he had expected; a confession was not even within the realm of consideration. "Oh..." That would explain plenty... though it hardly solved his current predicament. And It did not explain why this body insisted on reacting to him, and him alone, and no other; regardless of gender.
He will keep that to himself, for now.
The conflict is visible in the young vrael's face, shame, how adorable he looked hissing and baring its fangs at him. Like being threatened by the world's smallest little serpent. Sometimes he's thankful the other is painfully unaware of how just how endearing he finds these antics of his.
"I suppose I didn't expect males to go into heat cycles..." he muses, mostly to himself—only vaguely recognizing his own condition as it becomes evident that is evident what this body had been going through similar turmoil, and such was the source of his fever. He was, however, the Great Serpent, and The Sibilant Death, regardless of this skin he wore, or how fragmented the shards of his essence had become in its rupture... surely he could endure something as insignificant as a fever without succumbing, no? It was terribly and increasingly uncomfortable, though. He'd admit as much.
"Child," it coos as it does when luring prey into its maw. "Do not look so sullen, now... it makes me hungry to see your face looking so grim," most certainly endearing; Sseth silently concluded, an amused smile coiling into the corner of his mouth as a hand nonchalantly reaches for the vrael's jaw, letting its claw graze the bone with casual intimacy. "You've performed your duties as you should, have you not? So long as the act of mating is still advantageous and serving a purpose, I don't see why it should qualify as a concern." either way... he'd been relieved of his duties; the thought of Tzess mating with another was not a pleasant one to him, and he refused to be reasonable on this matter.
Tzess knows exactly what kind of response he expects from his little confession. Knows exactly what he would have said if another vrael had said it to him, prior to today. That he's an ill-suited, unnatural thing. Unfit to breed, unfit to be at the gods side--
He can feel himself spiraling, before he hears their voice, a clawed hand cupping his jaw. Without thinking, his eyes flick back up to meet the gods.
He's met with... amusement, rather than disgust or dismissal and almost immediately he feels whatever was coiling inside start to unravel itself. Sseth was right, it didn't truly matter did it? He'd done his duties as asked of him, even despite the difficulty and his feelings toward it. He'd done what needed to be done. This little quirk didn't need to be a problem unless he made it one.
And well, if his god didn't seem to be concerned about it then... it did seem like a silly thing to get so hung up on.
Tzess takes a deep breath, then exhales. That was enough self analyzing for the next decade at least.
"...I suppose it doesn't matter much now, given my new orders." Since it seemed he wasn't going to be involved in the breeding rotations any longer anyway. Even if... he probably would be a bit more needed now that they lost so many due to the backfiring of the ritual. He wasn't overly concerned about that right now though, the rest could figure that out.
Silence stretches thin as the tension boils in the thickening air of what goes unspoken, the sulking intensifying into a deep, angry frown, his brow twitches with mild irritation, and then—
Thwack!
The god angrily slaps his open hand against the vrael's wrist with a sharp, derisive sneer. "Shamelesssss dog that you are," he scolds, black tongue flicking into the air with a sharp, involuntary hiss that doesn't feel nearly as hostile as it should have been, rather, it feels like an owner scolding its puppy after finding muddy footprints all over the house and a torn bag of food. "A chore, unless you are pressed against the very body you claim to loathe, mm?"
It seemed plenty hateful when it abused this flesh before, and yet that does not seem to deter it when it comes to finding stimuli even against its better judgement.
"I do not see how my own can possibly be in decline, if this how easily their bodies they arouse..." and his frustrating isn't necessarily entirely aimed at the one he's speaking to. He turns then, a sharp, abrupt turn, chest pressing up defiantly against his subject's, a finger pointed their way as blood and grime wash off into the water, wounds healed—replaced instead by a glossy sheen, a frothy lather as white rivulets of suds tickle down the length of his body.
"Well, you best figure out—quickly," the god huffs. "And put an end to this infernal heat lest we are both rendered too ill to travel."
Tzess is stunned for a moment at the sharp smack, but the reaction to his words is almost immediate. Anger flares, the vrael hissing and pulling away, putting that much needed distance between the two of them. Normally he could tolerate it with little more than gritted teeth, but emotions were high at the moment, he was unfocused.
Yet something about Sseths next words have him pausing. The missing puzzle piece seems to slide into place. He forces himself to think back to the thought he'd shoved aside earlier. Of the way his eyes lingered on the other males during breeding, of the way his eyes lingered on Sseth now.
He feels ill as the realization fully sets in. It didn't feel like a chore because he disliked the act, it felt like a chore because he disliked the gender of the partner he had to preform it with.
"I... want men." He sounds almost afraid when he says it outloud. "That's why it's a chore, because I don't want to breed with the female." He hates how much sense it makes when he puts it into context.
"There's something wrong with me-- Sszekiel too, apparently." Because it sounds like from what Sseth has described, that he had a similar problem with a focus on Tzess himself. His fingers twitch with the urge to grab him, hold him underwater, scream.
He does none of those things.
At the others final words, his gaze flicks down, remembering... exactly what Sseth was working with. He knows, obviously, what would get the feeling to stop but he doesn't know what to do with... that nor was he sure that Sseth would want him touching him after what he'd just realized and promptly confessed. He now knew Tzess was some kind of freak, after all.
Almost begrudgingly so, the god tilts his long, delicate neck in a way as to make room for the intrusive little creature whose hand he adamantly refused to let go of, black scales catching on a wisp of light. He was just teaching him how to clean him properly—yes, that was it. Those hands were not to be trusted, after all... so smooth, and warm. So humanoid... The sight alone should fill him with disgust, and yet he could not bring himself to pull away. Treacherous things, making him feel so warm inside his scales; he stares down at them, brushing his claws along the nerves and tendons, the hard bump of its knuckles, almost as if searching for some kind of mechanism within, a secret hidden with the pads of his fingers.
Alas... he finds none.
"...Huh?" he can feel the hard planes against his chest, the muscle, the taut skin, but as he arches slightly into the sensation, he bumps into something entirely unexpected, recoiling slightly in surprise, his molten eyes flicker up, finally finding him—tilting his head back in a way to peer up at the other through wet lashes. Though he doesn't ask immediately, the silence is deafening all the same, a question stretching in the unspoken, the god's restless felt even when it could not be seen, like a living entity looming above them.
"You—" the accusation sounds almost innocent in its outrage, the way his dark brows pull together to scold him for such a shameless lie. "You told me you were not prone to reactiveness." filthy liar he was; the god was openly sulking, now, but made no effort to pull himself free from the source of his misery.
It was... distracting, the way the god insisted on keeping hold of his hand, fingers tracing every bit of skin and scale on them, but he kept doing as he was told regardless.
He's almost lost in the rhythm of it again, when he feels the other arch into him again, but with their much closer proximity...
Tzess feels it when Sseth pushes into it, the vrael inhaling sharply, entire body tensing as the gods peers up and over at him. He feels the urge to jerk his hand away, to put space between the two of them in general and he tries, if Sseth lets him.
"I wasn't, when you asked." Up until about 30 minutes ago, this had never been an issue for him. "Th-This... thisss is new." His face burns to an almost scalding degree, humiliation churning in his guts as he wishes he could just... dissolve entirely into the water. Cease to exist.
He doesn't quite grasp what's different about this situation compared to breeding, why it was so easy for him to get like this here, but it was an uphill battle when it truly counted. He's confused by it, but it's a useless endeavor to try and ask Sseth, who's admitted to not knowing much at all about these matters.
But he also knows well enough that Sseth likely isn't in much of a better position at the moment, which is the only thing that keeps him from wanting to stab himself with his own shortsword to end this conversation.
"I-I don't know why this is happening, before you ask--"
An labored exhale tumbles from his blackened mouth as his fingers unlatch, one by one, from the vrael's wrist---releasing its hold entirely, the fragmented god allows for the tension on his shoulders to drop, sinking into the safe confinements of his dutiful guard.
Sseth. It feels so terribly intimate; he'd had half a mind to scold him if he wasn't feeling so lightheaded and... distracted. When he'd tried to pull away, the body vehemently denied its attempt---and now that insufferable heat was back, licking up his body and making him all flushed. "That damned fever again... this body seems intent on derailing me," he grouched, intent on ignoring it rather than dwelling on why it was said fever seemed to follow the trail of Tzess' fingertips as they roamed through his body.
He could stop here---demand him to carry him back to his chambers; he's certain the young vrael would not hesitate to follow instruction. And yet... that is not what urges to leave his mouth next.
"Never you mind about that..." he dismisses the concern, a clawed hand wrapping around the other's, pressing it to his slippery stomach with underlying possessiveness. "I didn't say stop." he demands more, arching into his touch with a relinquishing sigh. Not that he'd ever care to admit out loud---but this had been the best he'd felt in a long time since his imprisonment.
Of course, he shouldn't expect a true answer. He'd of been just as dismissive of concern from another vrael, let alone something lesser like a human. Still, it was rather frustrating.
Though, the comment about the fever was... something at least. Though, he didn't feel overly hot... though maybe that was because Tzess was also feeling a bit too warm, so it... canceled out or something. Was... was Sseth feeling the same thing? He couldn't dare ask that, but... the flush, the way he leaned into his touch, the shudder--
He wasn't blind, it wasn't unlike the reactions during...
He's brought out of his thoughts by that hand wrapping around his wrist again, bringing his hand around to Sseths stomach. In order to see what he's doing, he has to lean over the others shoulder a little, free hand moving from Sseths back to the opposite shoulder to keep himself steady.
It's not quite the same view from this angle, but gods does the new position bring a whole new level of problems. Mainly the much greater amount of skin contact, which makes his blood burn. He's hyperaware of every point of contact, from his hands, to his chest pressed to the others back.
He guides the soap across the plane of his stomach, then pointedly upward to the chest. He doesn't need to even think about slipping lower, trying would be stupid anyway and hard to justify with the water up past their hips.
Tzess' hands feel familiar and yet strangely enough stir the most confounding of feelings within; pleasure, ire, dread, humiliation. They had latched to his body before, carried him wrapped in sheets back into his bed more times than he'd cared to member while he mumbled feverishly and scolded him for existing. Then why now... why did it suddenly feel so different to be touched by them? He feels a rush of goosebumps cover his naked flesh, and watches bristle against the very touch he'd invited. A collection of blurred, hazy pictures flashing through his brain. That very hand, wrapped tight around his neck, slamming against his cheek—Why, the insolent...!
But wait... his eyes widen, staring at his own reflection with a horrifying realization. Those weren't his memories, were they? How could they be...
Lingering glances stolen when his head were turned, meaningless brushes of shoulders, carved into the walls of his memory. Impossible yearning, unknown depths of resentment.
A hand clawed reaches behind his back, snatching the vrael's wrist, with the intent of stopping it dead in its tracks.
Why must he indulge in this folly? This is a whore's work not a god's—
Thud, thud, thud. The treacherous echo of a borrowed heart resonates through his ribs. The effort he makes to step away breaks into a shudder instead; violent and unexpected, the body trembles, twitches, and Sseth arches backwards, exhaling heavily as it relaxes back into the others touch, pleading for more as the hand around his wrist inadvertently loosens its forceful grip.
"T-This vessel..." he mutters more to himself than anyone else, befuddled by the sudden need to for contact that threatened to undo him. It suddenly won't move an inch... the realization echoes in his mind; it would not allow him to pull away.
He's almost lost in the motions, careful sweeps leaving soft suds against skin and scale, eyes hungrily consuming every inch of flesh given.
He's genuinely startled by the hand roughly grabbing his wrist, eyes widening as the immediate thought of 'he caught me' blares alarms in his mind. "My god...?" When there isn't any words from the other, his brows knit together is something adjacent to concern.
He can feel the other shudder against the other hand still on him, then Sseth is leaning back into him, the exact thing he had wanted to avoid.
"Wh...what are you doing?" His voice sounds somewhat strangled, though the puzzlement rings through above all, much to his relief. He doesn't know what Sseth wants from him, what he's supposed to do with this. He just expects the god to tell him, and that's why he still doesn't pull away even as the grip loosens. Even if he should move away. He really, really should.
"Sseth... what isss it?" It wasn't often he used the gods name, rather than some variation of 'my god' or 'my liege' or sometimes a cheeky 'my lord' when they're in a human city. Never his name, but he intends to convey the seriousness of the inquiry. His entire job is to keep him safe, so he can be rewarded. He needs to know what's wrong to do that, and clearly something is wrong.
Halfway submerged into the water, Sseth allows himself a brief moment of relaxation, sighing quietly as the temperature of his body self-regulates, the warmth bathing his scales while the water cools him down, leaving a pleasant, tingling sensation of satisfaction all over him. A hand moves to massage the joint between his neck and shoulder, lavishing himself with attention that had been denied for too long; this body is quite responsive to touch, that much was true. Even its own touch seemed to give it some sort of pleasure.
He wonders...
Though he doesn't turn immediately, he can sense the ripples licking at his pale navel as the other obediently joins him, disturbing the still surface with that feel like rushed, abrupt movements.
So eager... but he could not fault him. Time was of the essence, after all.
There was a nagging part of his brain which begged him to turn and gorge himself on the sight of that body it had ached to see stripped bare for too long—he vehemently refuses to cave. He would not give into such base urges... no matter how much this unruly body which he now resided in yearned for it.
A compromise, instead; if it would settle this restless within, lest he was up all night feeling ill from this insufferable... fluttering in its stomach.
The serpent pulls its wet, soaked hair all over the bump of its scaled shoulder, baring the delicate curve of his back entirely to the vrael; the shoulder rolls forth, inviting touch as he clears his throat, standing there completely still, demanding without words to be washed thoroughly and pampered as though he was entitled to it.
For a few minutes, he expects to hear a voice. To hear any sort of acknowledgement about the predicament, but the only sound is that of the water. He almost begins to relax, movements becoming less hurried as time went on. He tries not to think about any of it, hoping that his stupid body will calm down before he has to get out of the water. He focuses on clearing his mind, listens to the sounds of the trees and the water and anything else.
He almost doesn't catch the sound Sseth makes. Almost. He feels himself tense up, tentatively peering at the other, only to see him facing away from Tzess.
The invitation is clear enough and Tzess knows he's been sentenced to his own doom. Any hope of calming down enough to leave the water crashed, burned and then drowned. He takes a deep breath and then exhales before approaching the god.
There's a second of hesitation, before he rests his hand on the others back, right on a patch of smooth scales. The other holds the soap he'd been using, smelling distinctly of pine forest. His mind is swimming with thoughts, the desire to touch, to look. It terrifies him more than a little, how once he'd let this bubble up, how much harder it was to shove it back down.
As he gently applies the soap, the movements linger, finger tips brushing against skin and scale as subtly as possible. while the free hand stayed in place, just there to keep himself steady while he worked. Gods know he needs it, with how dizzy this situation was making him.
He makes sure to keep from pressing up against the other, keeping enough distance to prevent the inevitable for as long as he can. Maybe he should have drowned himself already, maybe there was still time--
A thick, pensive "Hm..." smooths itself on the creature's tongue as a passive, vague response to the new information solidifying itself on his hand; that surely re-contextualized a lot of what he'd wrongly assumed to be just echoes of pent-up aggression and dread from the vessel; he's sure those elements were still burning just as fervently, but layered under much less... manageable cluster of emotions.
Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised by these masochistic tendencies, they surely weren't uncommon within his society, but... most would rather deal the blow than to receive it. Of all bodies, why did he ought to get stuck on this one?
A sigh.
He supposed it couldn't be helped now, no sense in dwelling.
"Hunting, and touching yourself..." it repeats, as if exhuming the words, carefully extracting the meaning in each syllable. "I see... that is your... personal preference, then?" the term feels foreign on its tongue; but the meaning is not completely lost on the god. He himself had his own preferences when it came to sacrifices.
A chore doesn't sound too pleasant; the joy of devouring a ripe, mortal soul was hardly comparable to the chore of answering a prayer, for example. In that way, perhaps he could understand. Although now he quite longs for those easier times where his feet did not touch the soil, and his wings could carry him through the heavens. He feels so... small, looking at himself now—bleeding from the pressure of a single nail against his once impenetrable flesh. Pathetic. Small. Pitiful creature... it flinches involuntarily at the sight of those fangs, the hand inevitably tightening its grip as if anticipating a bite—such a disagreeable vessel, this one.
He will not address the rebellion of this insignificant body; it is far beneath him to do so.
"Nonsense... you said there is purebloods are not lacking. Surely another one can take up your mantle," it was phrased as a proposition, but as his grip loosens, and he allows his hand to slid down their throat instead, it becomes evident this was a demand. "You are my personal guard. The same shall remain true when I ascend. I will not have you answering to another, or exhausting yourself with dull tasks a far lesser one could perform with excellence... you are not to do anything you find unpleasant unless that order comes directly from me, do you understand?"
With that, the god brushes its thumb across the vrael's bottom lip, wiping the moisture that had gathered and contemplating with a hum before dropping its hand entirely. "Enough dawdling now, we have wasted enough time," he steps back, rolling his shoulders languidly to relax as he walks into the water. "Come and join me, we will back on the road sooner that way."
His face only burns more as the other repeats back the apparent interpretation of his words. Gods, it sounded... well embarrassing when they said it like that. "I... I sssuppose so." His eyes flick to the side, apparently not wanting to make eye contact while agreeing on that specific thing. Those two things were really hardly comparable, considering how little he did of the latter compared to the former.
He misses the flinch, but his gaze shifts back as he feels the grip on his jaw tighten. The next words are... surprising. He expects to the god to care a little more about the repopulation and betterment of the species, he half wonders if this is some kind of test.
At least, until the hand drifts down, curling around his throat in an almost ironically familiar way. He can feel a drop of venom drip from one of his fangs, tasting bitter in his own mouth.
This isn't a test, it's a threat and he's certain what he's feeling right now isn't fear.
"I-I underssstand." It's such a vague command, something that could be so easily abused if he'd wanted to. Somehow, he doesn't think he wants to though. Somehow, his brain keeps catching on 'my bodyguard'. something about the way it's said.
And then, just like that it's over. The hand drops and they walk back towards the river.
But not before dealing him one final, mental blow.
Of course. Of course now would be the time where he orders him to get in the water with them. The time where his body is quite literally betraying him in ways he still hasn't fully wrapped his mind around. But he recognizes the command in it, so he grits his teeth and starts to undo his robe only once he gets to the edge of the river. He slides it off his arms quickly, and drops it within easy reach.
Quickly, he makes his way into the water, absolutely refusing to look at Sseth in fear of seeing the look on his face when he notices. His body burns, but now more in embarrassment and shame than arousal. Nope, not looking. Instead he's occupying himself with washing as quickly as possible.
