[(This wasn't how it was meant to go, some faint thought whispers. The ghostly remnants of Vakares drifting through the back of his mind behind all the terror and rage and arousal: this wasn't how it was meant to go, but maybe that was always a foolish dream. Maybe they were always fated to end up like this: bitterly vicious, sinking their claws savagely into one another until one of them falls dead to the ground and the other triumphs. Power is never evenly shared, and it was stupid to think it could be. It was stupid to think they could get along. Stupid, stupid—)]
Ah!
[It's a bitten-back cry, his eyes rolling back even as his fangs sink deep into his lip, all of him such a brutal dichotomy right now. He wants so badly to hide his pleasure and deny Astarion the vicious satisfaction— but oh, little wolf, he can't, not this close. Not when his body overrules his mind, all enmity temporarily forgotten in face of molten pleasure— gods, he can't help it. He doesn't want this, he doesn't want this—
But he does.
His thigh shake as they're pinned back, saliva pooling in his mouth as he's impaled so brutally. Thick and hot and perfect, spreading him open with no regard for delicacy, and oh, he loves every roughened inch. He loves how deeply Astarion's cock pushes in, spearing him and filling him, spreading him open wide and satisfying him like nothing else ever does. Greedy and gluttonous, his eyes glazed over as heat searing as the sun rises within him, his cock drooling against his belly as his desperate squirming only sinks him down further. Helpless and thriving, and that would be bad enough. The way his thighs tremble and those muffled moans sound in his throat would be bad enough.
But then there's that insistent rubbing. The blunt crown of his cock grinding against that bundle of nerves over and over, and with every pass, it gets worse. White sparks burst in front of his vision as his cock twitches, his mouth finally dropping open as moans timed to that vicious assault slip past his lips, oh, oh—
Writhe for me, and he does. Instinctively, desperately, his body responding to commands far swifter than his mind can catch up— so that by the time he manages to grab some semblance of sanity with white knuckles, it's too late. He's all but drooling as he speaks, his eyes black and glazed with pleasure— and yet still, though his breath hitches and his toes curl, that's that spark of defiant rage.]
N-no—
[Oh, gods, no, he can't, he can't— but oh, he would. Why not? Why not parade his hated rival around, cementing his place as whore and humiliating him all at once? He sought their deaths, Fenris, and the depths of his jealousy was nothing compared to what he feels for Fenris. And as for the other vampires— oh, they'll see it as droll comeuppance and little more. A squalling brat put in his proper place, a slave kept down by his betters, oh, they'll eagerly settle in, hungry to play with the novelty of a pet leashed, his mouth forced open and his protests muffled by a thickened cock or slick cunt—
No, and the horror of it eclipses any humiliating heat that leaves his cock drooling for the thought.
And yet: what can he do? What can he offer? Astarion is older and stronger, and right now, he has the advantage. Protesting will only cement him in his line of action; pleading is out of the question, for no matter what happens, Fenris will not beg. Threats flood through his distracted mind, flickering wildly, I'll bite off anything you shove in my mouth, I'll hunt you down, I'll rip your tongue out, and he will, he will he will he will— but right now, they're impotent things, desperation woven in every word.]
A-and [nn, his tongue flushed and dripping, his eyes fluttering,] and let everyone know y-you couldn't even tame me yourself? That you n-needed a whole host of elders to do it for you?
[It isn't submission, but it's . . . something close to it. As close as he can bear. One hand darts out, wrapping around Astarion's neck; with a moan Fenris tips his head, bringing their lips together in a hungry kiss that tastes of sweat and blood and hate. Their tongues slide together, their mouths pulsing— and when he breaks away, strings of scarlet saliva bind them temporarily together, both their teeth still coated in blood.]
Such talk from a vampire lord w-who cannot even manage to tame his replacemen— ah!
no subject
Ah!
[It's a bitten-back cry, his eyes rolling back even as his fangs sink deep into his lip, all of him such a brutal dichotomy right now. He wants so badly to hide his pleasure and deny Astarion the vicious satisfaction— but oh, little wolf, he can't, not this close. Not when his body overrules his mind, all enmity temporarily forgotten in face of molten pleasure— gods, he can't help it. He doesn't want this, he doesn't want this—
But he does.
His thigh shake as they're pinned back, saliva pooling in his mouth as he's impaled so brutally. Thick and hot and perfect, spreading him open with no regard for delicacy, and oh, he loves every roughened inch. He loves how deeply Astarion's cock pushes in, spearing him and filling him, spreading him open wide and satisfying him like nothing else ever does. Greedy and gluttonous, his eyes glazed over as heat searing as the sun rises within him, his cock drooling against his belly as his desperate squirming only sinks him down further. Helpless and thriving, and that would be bad enough. The way his thighs tremble and those muffled moans sound in his throat would be bad enough.
But then there's that insistent rubbing. The blunt crown of his cock grinding against that bundle of nerves over and over, and with every pass, it gets worse. White sparks burst in front of his vision as his cock twitches, his mouth finally dropping open as moans timed to that vicious assault slip past his lips, oh, oh—
Writhe for me, and he does. Instinctively, desperately, his body responding to commands far swifter than his mind can catch up— so that by the time he manages to grab some semblance of sanity with white knuckles, it's too late. He's all but drooling as he speaks, his eyes black and glazed with pleasure— and yet still, though his breath hitches and his toes curl, that's that spark of defiant rage.]
N-no—
[Oh, gods, no, he can't, he can't— but oh, he would. Why not? Why not parade his hated rival around, cementing his place as whore and humiliating him all at once? He sought their deaths, Fenris, and the depths of his jealousy was nothing compared to what he feels for Fenris. And as for the other vampires— oh, they'll see it as droll comeuppance and little more. A squalling brat put in his proper place, a slave kept down by his betters, oh, they'll eagerly settle in, hungry to play with the novelty of a pet leashed, his mouth forced open and his protests muffled by a thickened cock or slick cunt—
No, and the horror of it eclipses any humiliating heat that leaves his cock drooling for the thought.
And yet: what can he do? What can he offer? Astarion is older and stronger, and right now, he has the advantage. Protesting will only cement him in his line of action; pleading is out of the question, for no matter what happens, Fenris will not beg. Threats flood through his distracted mind, flickering wildly, I'll bite off anything you shove in my mouth, I'll hunt you down, I'll rip your tongue out, and he will, he will he will he will— but right now, they're impotent things, desperation woven in every word.]
A-and [nn, his tongue flushed and dripping, his eyes fluttering,] and let everyone know y-you couldn't even tame me yourself? That you n-needed a whole host of elders to do it for you?
[It isn't submission, but it's . . . something close to it. As close as he can bear. One hand darts out, wrapping around Astarion's neck; with a moan Fenris tips his head, bringing their lips together in a hungry kiss that tastes of sweat and blood and hate. Their tongues slide together, their mouths pulsing— and when he breaks away, strings of scarlet saliva bind them temporarily together, both their teeth still coated in blood.]
Such talk from a vampire lord w-who cannot even manage to tame his replacemen— ah!