S C I O N

V A E L A N T H O R N E [ w a r l o c k ] i can be gentle if you desire me to be so. All that you need to do is ask with kindness. Trust me, I am not that bad. maybe...

[rydelelderwood-deactivated20200]

“The water might be too hot for a while.” The dragon announced once he climbed off the pool. Reaching for his robes. Shoulders rolling Daeron pulled the fabric over his head. “I’m afraid if you don’t like it scalding you’ll have to wait.”

[vaelanthorne-blog]

Blame fate. Blame luck. Blame Vaelan’s need to feel anything else but the cloy of his own home that he had decided to take the grip of his ardors to the luxury of the bathhouse—that he wasn’t even lost in what pleasures that he could find and yet there it was already, right in front of his eyes: if it wasn’t the majestic vision that is the Lord Adrahil. Surely what sullen and discerning displeasure that he always wore, he made up for the view that he offered; strong form proud and almost adorned with what jewels he deserved thanks to the scales that glistened along the might that he had honed and had been hewn on in by sunlight and water. All of which had made it way easier to offer a smile in greeting.

“------I pray that it wasn’t because you peed in it?” the tease rolled out softly, though it still held that 

[vaelanthorne-blog]

calebfulton:

“Blue is nice. Blue is calming and soft. It is regal. It makes me think of control. Is that odd? Someone in control wears blue.” he smiled back at the master as he deposited a few pebbles into the glove he held. The other was in his hand but unused. “You should be showy. You’re so handsome. You could declare yourself a king and I am sure everyone would just…go along with it. You have that aura about you. That presence you know? It’s nice. It’s calming. Like blue. Like you just have a command on what is going on around you.” he said with a bright happy smile. “It kind of puts me at ease. I take a shine to people quickly so please forgive me if I say something wrong.” 

“Well, I’ve spent far too much time in your company—that should be enough time for us to know if you had wrestled through my patience…yet here I am…” Vaelan nodded on as they walked along into the less secluded area of the basilica’s grounds that led out back into the city. “…not unless some assassin jumps on me and let its dagger find home in my tender flesh—truly, that’s how kings usually meet their fate,” Vaelan added on for tease and regarded onto the other with a sigh. “Children are fed on tales—might and glory… if anything, you’re one to exemplify royalty. Silk and fur would have been an easy finery on you. Though I’d still say that look you have on is quite enough, just the same…” he hummed on and let his eyes graze on along the other’s form in a once over. Those who looked onto them had admiration however great or how little—those who didn’t most probably have jealously.

[vaelanthorne-blog]

lord-hans-branwell:

It was a kiss like fire, burning, searing. It Even in an astral form it set Hans’ mind ablaze with something he only held for the other warlock. A inkling of respect he could hardly muster for others of their kind. Hands explored the other’s body, as Vaelan’s hands explored Hans’. Lithe lean muscles, under smooth perfect skin, his hands found purchase on Vaelan’s ass grabbing handfuls of it and giving it a hard squeeze to show his appreciation for the other man’s form. A slow moan falling from between their meshed lips as hands explored the thick robust chest of the necromancer, teasing the sensitive skin there. Vaelan did know just how to play him it seemed and he was alright with that. 

“Oh is that something you want to bet on?” Hans breathed against the soft skin of Vaelan’s neck before moving into kiss and suck all along it. Knowing no marks they left here would come back with them. It made it so much easier to kiss and suckle on his neck with the abandon he wanted. Wanting to mark the beautiful warlock he held in such esteem. Strong hands still kneading the other man’s ass, a finger slipping between the cheeks and teasing at the tight pucker. 

From how Hans so easily fell into the cloy of his own unravelling from teases well-aimed and delivered, to see how matters were suddenly within the demand of how his grasps came firm and collecting was a welcome feeling that Vaelan found himself in a revel—to feel his soft lips and the graze of his tongue alone the tender sinews of his neck was more than enough for him to have a moan spill out of his lips, thick with need and laced in pleasure passed onto the other as his fingers dug in more into the fleshy slab of the other’s heaving pec, feeling its supple weight and sensuous warmth that he coaxed at it into a jostle—though Hans had tricks of his own; that where his lips staked their claim, so did his fingers that pried at him and teased Vaelan’s heat into an eager clench that had him gasp.

“Th—ough with the way that y’re pushing your luck—I’d say that you m’ght b-be bound to—win—” the words where a chuckle, hoarse and breathy, as it turned into a gasp once more from how Hans continued on to his tease enough to have Vaelan’s cock throb against their bellies

[vaelanthorne-blog]

strxhd:

the beat of his heart was a rhythm he soon would not forget. a symphony of carnal desire in time with well angled thrust. there could be no end to fathom, lysander could continue the twist of lustful need for hours but all that came to a crash. vaelan was a tempest of ice and fire against his flesh. the way he moaned and moved against his body with such eagerness. his hips could not deny him after he laid the needful body of the witch down upon the sheets. sharp thrust and quickened pace brought taut flesh together in a frantic applause.

lysander is unable to hold the bloodlust at bay as the familiar pull at his core descended on him. his fangs once more plunge into the plump mound of flesh at the column of the witch’s throat and draw in the metallic elixir of his lovers blood. each gulp a treasured wine to his tongue. his groan is loud around the mouth full as he pushed one final thrust into the man below him and holds. his body convulsed and he is unable to hold back as he spilled himself in the velvet heat.

Lysander’s coldness knows no mercy, and so does the fire that he had wrought within him in errant demand to consume the warlock body and soul. That with every firm roll of his hips, the claiming that further forced Vaelan to open himself unto him, the warlock was beside himself within the woos of lust; that in a thrust came a moan—shaky and never one solemn than the rustle of fall. The sound spilled from his lips heavy with plea of one drowning in such carnal sea that it was almost a cry; broken and harsh as ecstasy caroused through him like a fiery river—further feeding on that swirling pleasure, of his body seemingly nothing but molten and roiling closer into his peak. Lysander was taking him like a breedmare, the squelch ever vulgar and their sweat was a wet slap that stoked on that beating drum. Higher and higher. Harder. Deeper. The warlock was grasping onto dear life, desperate at those last threads of composure, that at the pierce at his skin from fangs that demanded their due, what blood that spilled was same as pleasure.

In a flash of white, Vaelan tensed, his head lost in the wave of lust and heat and Lysander’s feed. His body was almost numb. And then altogether, he was feeling. Some vulgar rush from some unholy communion; that what Lysander took in blood, he had given back in seed, filling Vaelan warmly as his sobbing moan ushered his own. Thick. Sticky. Rope after rope of generous cum, the warlock had himself unravel fully in his surrender and smeared their bellies in white. And through that release that took him wholly, there was nothing but sounds of wanton desire—of lustful surrender—that it was almost unrecognizable. And what simmered into the fall, the warlock then truly felt heavy and numb. Slick. Sweaty. Spent.  

[vaelanthorne-blog]

tyrantiiisms:

The dragon was certainly satisfied as he watched the other strip himself of that loose tunic. Just as the warlock had, Leoddyr stared shamelessly, eyes raking slowly over the man’s lean muscled form. He could easily imagine that skin flushed with desire, laden with sweat from a night of rough….activity. He licked his lips slowly, savoring the mental image of Vaelan pinned beneath him, lips parted in the midst of pleasurable moans. It certainly didn’t help the growing problem in his leather trousers, though in his current state of undress, there wasn’t much he could do to hide the monstrous bulge. 

“—–Well if we’re being fair, I have the slightest idea that you might outmatch me in brain, so I suppose it all evens out,” he chuckled deeply, a hand coming to brush over his chest, rubbing over the thick pectoral as fingertips just barely grazed over a dark nipple. “But I wouldn’t say no to watching you getting on your knees and begging, just saying.”

How the dragon absent-mindedly moved to touch himself as if on cue just as the shameless heft of his cock twitched eevr so slightly against his trousers—almost in reflex, almost in instinct—was enough to draw Vaelan onto the detail albeit discreetly with how the other was sitting across from him. So light a tease, so little a brush, and yet the reaction was obvious. The mere thought of the arrogant dragon having such sweet weak-spot was the warlock’s own sweet fruit, some perverse thrill that crept alone his spine and into his core as he finally offered a smile and felt that it was time to find out for himself whatever else was there to discover. And in some little hum, Vaelan leaned back against the wall, his form nestled into a corner thanks to the massive bookcase beside him.

“But are we being fair?” it was a taunt more than an actual question—some dare onto the dragon and the domineering nature that he had never been ashamed to show. The warlock licked his lips, almost too slow as it slipped back and left his lips parted and in crimson gleam. In the back of his mind, Vaelan was already bracing himself in case the other jumps on him and sheathes is fat cock into his mouth—as it was more of a question on when instead of would.

     “------wouldn’t you want to take your prize? Right here? Right now?”

[lifes2short2giveashyt]

[vaelanthorne-blog]

lord-hans-branwell:

Hans had known this was possible but for some it was cheating. To him it as cheating. He would have rather had Vaelan stretched out in his bed than in this other plane. Though the actual thought of having him to touch now was nice. He reached forward and cupped the warlock’s face thumbs moving over bearded cheek gently. A warm fond smile touched his face as he drank in the vision that was the other. He didn’t often find solace in his own kind. Vaelan however was welcomed always. He was gloriously handsome but more so- he understood Hans. Understood his loyalty to their leader, and his way of life. Leaning in he captured Vaelan’s lips in his own. The clothes actually melting from his body so he was bare for the other man in this form. “I missed you.” he said simply pulling back just enough so they could meet eyes. “I just. I needed you to know that. I missed you. You are important to me. I don’t often value others of our kind beyond her. But I value you.” 

It was a kiss easily reciprocated—that though be they lips were carnal moans had spilled like warm honey, though be they lips that begged and pleaded, it was tender and sweet just the same. That within its cloy that laced through the slither of their tongues and the gentle moans that they could only muster through what rush had commanded their bodies, what Vaelan’s touch yearned, his fingers followed; sliding on and caressing, pads and palm moving onto the strong curves and supple bulges that Hans’ mighty form had come to possess. Might. Magnificence. Hans body was a thrall that Vaelan easily had himself bespelled and welcome what fires had come ablaze between them that even his words were almost lost within what Hans tenderness offered.

“Y-ou say that to anyone—I’d—w-ager—” Vaelan had his words weave through moans and a breathless chuckle as he urged the other to ravish the soft flesh of his neck, pulling him closer where with fingernails easily raked through scalp and silken locks of raven.

[vaelanthorne-blog]

tyrantiiisms:

The dragon truly had no shame when it came to exposing his body. He knew that he was built like a modern adonis, sculpted from the finest of clay in their creators hands. So when Vaelan offered him the freedom to strip off the confines of his clothing, he almost instantly obliged. Setting his mug aside, he shifted up in his seat, hands gripping the hem of his shirt and slowly pulling it over his head. Muscles tensed, chest flexing as he pulled his tunic off and set it over the arm of the chair. As he returned to his lax position, those deliciously muscled slabs fell into place, giving just the slightest bounce as he did so. “—–All this means is that you must do the same,” he mused, taking another long gulp from his tankard of mead. 

“If I’m going to strip, then it only makes sense that you do to, hospitality and all that, right?” The dragon’s lips curled into a devious smirk as he eyed the other, hoping that Vaelan would indulge his requests. 

Of course the dragon was keen; straightforward especially to the most paramount of his needs that a second more wasn’t spared to have his body move into it. That within that sliver of a moment where the dragon had distracted himself with his shedding, the warlock let himself gaze on in hunger; how his taut abdomen stretched into that ripple and where his arms swelled almost to the size of his head—hard muscles from his forearms and onto his biceps and shoulders and even to the cords of muscle that led into the dip of his hairy pits. It was almost art that his chest was last to exhibit itself; to jostle into place with their sensuous fullness that even heaved on with the pride that the dragon had in his form. Round. Thick. Heavy.

“Anything to keep the dragon satisfied…” the warlock finally hummed as his eyes remained onto the other. He was just too enticing that Vaelan even offered a gentle tease—nothing more than a caress easily mistaken for the wind right at the peak of his pert nub before he started to follow on through. His shirt was loose enough after all; it easily slid of his lean form from something as easy as a tug and set it aside onto a chair. “------though I’m afraid that you far outmatch me in brawn...perhaps this is the part where I plea mercies...” he added in teasing.

[shorecliff-blog]

Bobby was naked and pacing his cell as he waited for their outdoor break so he could go find a wall to sit behind in the garden and get in his two smokes for the day. He knew not to smoke in the cells because there was always that one uptight guard who would take away his tobacco and then he’d have to steal or fuck his way into another stash. Even if it was an addiction, smoking was his one chance at bliss each day, and if he saw one more Elite’s enormous dick, he was going to bite it off from sheer agitation at being expected to be someone’s bitch. “You need something, darling?” Bobby called out as he approached the cell door when there was a shadow in the way. “You look like you could use my dick up your ass. Most people need a fuck and you’re no different.”

[vaelanthorne-blog]

Let those words fall on wrong ears, and Vaelan knew that he’d find himself looking over the courtyard with a slave flogged and shamed. Well, Vaelan is a wrong ear—it just so happened that he had the right kind of patience. Rage. Rush. Revel. They were offenses easily forgiven, more so from slaves that had been honed for the kind that sought blood and bruise—and the fact that the warlock was in a mood enough to have himself a tad bit higher than typical leniency. 

“—I’m not the one taking edge off with smoke and soot. Had you been keen on someone to fuck you could’ve made do with your hands...” the warlock offered a gentle smile though nonetheless laced with his brand of slyness while his eyes darted at the vice between his fingers. “...not unless fingers don’t reach deep enough and now you’re better off pretending that someone needs you than you need them...”

[vaelanthorne-blog]

tyrantiiisms:

The dragon slowly licked the froth from his lips, chuckling at the other’s comment. “Of course.” Again, legs spread lewdly, revealing the dragon’s unashamed arousal hidden between trunk-like thighs. He stretched out, not even caring as he reached a hand between his legs to adjust the growing hardness into a more comfortable spot in his trousers. “I’m not the only one who’s getting pleasure, mind you. Many of them find it extremely pleasurable.” Looking down to his empty mug, the dragon chuckled as he watched it refill on it’s own accord. He easily took another gulp, mead once again spilling over his chest as he drank eagerly. “If I had half a mind to believe it, I’d think you were trying to get me drunk.”

Thoughts were a spill that it had become Vaelan’s own mead—such depravity coaxed on and taunted at by such chance encounter with a dragon whose beauty and brawn just simply exquisite. Slaves. Pets. Most are taught to be obedient just as they meant to play the roles that the laws of the land had dictated. Even half dragons. Free men—free dragons—are different altogether. Their pride as high as the skies that their wings could reach. And just like what everyone says about the highest fruits… they are the sweetest. “------I was just making up to you like you so demanded of me, remember? Well… that and seeing where things would go with a little fine mead in the system…” Vaelan mused, looking down where the dragon was squeezing himself as he took a sip from his own tankard. 

“And I’d say it’s already working wonders—no need to be ashamed really,” Vealan’s words were a careful taunt. “You’re free to feel at home. Shed off…relax…”

[vaelanthorne-blog]

[50shades]

[vaelanthorne-blog]

strxhd:

utter submission. it was an addictive elixir made more potent when extracted from one not marked as a pet. the memories of he and vaelan came back to him. all those years ago when his father had still been alive and he was younger. the stolen moments in darkened hallways. the breath of life the witch had breathed into him. the way he had been the first the vampire let inside of him, staring up into the deep pools of his eyes. sweat drenched and eager. rush of memory dripped downward into the abyss and fueled his need.

“vaelan,” lysander groaned while his tongue licked away the sweat and his nose buried itself into the witch’s armpit. the thick scent of musk breathed in as his nose ran up the length only to be traced with his tongue. fingers sprawl across slick skin on the back of the witch. possessively and in memory. he doesn’t halt his hips as they move and his free hand pushed vaelan down to meet each powerful jolt. angled upward, he pressed against the bundle of nerve that would make his old lover fall apart. intent on making him cum without a single touch.

The rush. The thrill. The sound of his own heart—the sound of his own labored breath—was enough to drown the weight on his own name; there was only the hiss that roughly engulfed it though like honey on a morsel. Whatever else was hindsight. Whatever there is was the moment; that as the vampire lord pressed onto him in errant strength, licked that the dip of his pit where he was close enough to bury his face against Lysander’s damp locks, as if the burn was a grasp trying to reacquaint itself in memories of things that have consumed in fire and in full in times past.

Though what his body yearned, his body remembered in a thrust that was firm and deep into him—right at the seat of his pleasure where Lysander had him surrender to the might of his claim; of thrusts repeated in errant jabs, forcing the warlock to have his moan spill out over and over. His fingers clawed in deeper, his body arched and tense. His core felt like a knot that soon enough will snap unraveled------and there was nothing else but the rush from his body that was at the mercy of his plows.

[vaelanthorne-blog]

fcurtxen:

his fingers worked the thickened length in his hand as he watched the master’s face. how his jaw clenched and the hum that reverberated from his chest. oh, he enjoyed how vaelan reacted to his hand wrapped around his cock. the heave of his chest and the way he had to hold steady to the bars behind him. fourteen stroked faster. “i don’t know, master. you feel powerful enough that you may need help,” fourteen grinned and softly kissed the witch’s throat.

his gaze flickered up and he nodded to the wicked words of the witch. “as you wish, master.” fourteen sank to a crouch in front of vaelan and drew his trousers down to settle under his balls. the master’s cock exposed, the pet spat against the shaft. his eyes focused hungrily on the rigid cock in front of him. slowly, he ran his tongue across it and drew in the taste of salt and the thick, heavy scent of musk. a groan escaped him as he pressed his cheek against coarse hairs to greedily lap at the master’s balls. his eyes cut up he drew back to press a kiss on the witch’s bulbous cockhead. “let me pray to you now, master.” he murmured. his mouth opened and slowly he took the witch in. his cheeks hollowing as he eagerly sucked and bobbed his head against vaelan’s cock.

She’s far too dry and probably way too numb—but if the slave got through to her enough to rent him out over and over, is surely good enough for him. That with how his tongue coaxed a throb from his already rigid arousal, Vaelen felt his jaw clench, his chest swelling at a hitch that continued on as a shudder that was very much welcomed as his fingers twisted their grip, more so at the prickling tease of his rugged scruff along the heft of his length as the slave continued on with perverse eagerness that just sparked onto this equally perverse of a thrill as to where their little play so shamelessly transpired. 

That once sealed in kiss where the other’s lips were quickly smeared with the precum that wept on, Vaelan sighed into another hum through his parted lips, eyes in a downcast flutter as he looked down onto the other. “Y-yes—go on...” he urged, fire burning within. “You’d find that I’m a benevolent god…” he hissed and let his hip rut against the railing to fuck his cock deeper into that willing mouth that was so eager to please.

[vaelanthorne-blog]

lord-hans-branwell:

“It seems our people are the only taking it seriously Vaelan. I fear for the others in their folly. They will bring ruin to themselves and the city for not taking this more seriously.” As the ghost of his friend touched his jaw Hans closed his eyes. A pang running through him. Wishing that it was Vaelan’s real hand. The weaver of shadows had a touch that would surely soothe him in this time of unrest. “Well what do you expect from the roguish Black Sheep. I am practically Robin Hood here.” he said with a soft laugh reaching out even knowing he could not touch the image. 

“Yes I will be glad for when it is over. This blasted storm. This looming threat. I want to freely be able to come and see you in flesh.” Hans snorted a little laugh when Vaelan suggested that his contact made them all look bad. “Not people. Just you. There are plenty of others I left by the wayside. I just. I really wanted to hear your voice. See you. I wish I could actually touch you.” he said with a little laugh. 

It’d be a lie to not feel a bit of flattery at the very least—to have Hans find a fondness onto him to warrant such special notice. At least it was something worth thinking about as the current storms had only offered nothing but dread. And what better way to have the Branwell scion forget his woes that some little comfort—one that which Vaelan pulled a smile for as he saw that the man was still clothed. “…who says that it’s not possible?” the warlock spoke as if in a gentle hum where he had once more faded out, only to coalesce once more on Hans’ back where his phantasm crept along from underneath him and cupped both slabs of his heavy chest. “------you are a witch after all,” he cooed, and without warning took advantage of Hans’ surrender into his touch and gave a pull—one that had no force but the one that had yanked the other’s astral form into the Plane with him. And within the same rift of reality, now it was possible for them to feel just as much as they are capable of just as it was in the True Plane.

[vaelanthorne-blog]

calebfulton:

Caleb drank in the sun and the way the other looked at him a he stretched and flexed. It was how he thrived, under the scrutiny of others over his looks. How he longed for when judges fawned over his every inch. How the glided combs through his precious hair and complimented it’s color and health. When he stood at parties, his body gilded in golden dust and masters would whisper to each other of his beauty. Being in the cells did little for him though he did enjoy the ability to interact with other pets more. 

As the second glove was given to him he smiled at Vaelan again. A true and bright smile. “Sir. You are so kind. I am grateful for these. I will treasure them.” he said kissing the glove and tucking it in the bag of his briefs. “What colors do you like sir? I like red. Blue has also grown on me as of late.” 

Of course he liked red. Red suits him. With skin sun-kissed and warm and with gold spilling onto his shoulders like the most ardent spring, it was only proper that he be matched with crimson. Bold and fiery. Radiant. "Well, there’s blue...?” the reply came easy as Vaelan knew what he wanted, though still laced in wonder as to why it was suddenly a question worth asking. But once again, it was something that he didn’t mind. For all he knew, Caleb was probably thinking about what flowers or stones to give him. “...cooler hues usually...they’re less showy but still very much vibrant...” 

[hotmal3celebrities]