[The world spins. Neon blurs and the echoes of voices from a street away fade as Fenris' mind reels. He is not so drugged he doesn't have good sense, but somehow that makes it all the worse: his conscious thoughts rise up only to be perverted, twisted, tainted with the seductive allure of that aphrodisiac. His fingers have gone tight against Astarion's wrists, his eyes locked on the lithe little figure beneath him. Home, that's what his mind whispers over and over. Home, home, I must get him home, and he will, he must, there's no choice but ruination otherwise—

And yet his attention is snagged over and over by the smallest of details. A flash of reddened tongue between parted lips slick with drool. The faintest hint of a cock swollen with arousal and flushed with heat straining at laces too paltry to keep it contained, grinding and rutting against Fenris' thigh with wanton desperation. The lines of Astarion's body moving with such vulgar fluidity, his back arching into a perfect point (oh, how Fenris could get him to arch that back, how he would force him back, the brat split open on his cock and forced backwards just so Fenris could buck up into him as he whispered in his ear)—

Breathe.

Redirect. Reroute. Fenris' eyes have long since gone black, his own lips parted as he pants in unconscious echo of his charge. Astarion's thigh grinds up against the underside of his cock, sparks of pleasure bursting behind his eyes. And Fenris—

(bite him. fuck him. spin him around and tear those flimsy pants off him while you leave purple bruises on that delicate skin. teach him what being fucked really means: not the paltry efforts of the patriar, pathetic rutting that falters after a few short minutes, but brutally. fuck him so hard and for so long that he'll end up impaled upon you, gagging on the taste of your cock as you force him against the wall; make his body learn the consequences of taunting a wolf. break him, mind and body both, til he's addicted to the steady slam of your prick against his prostate, his hole dripping with need from the mere memory of how it was forced to accommodate you. keep your fingers wrapped around his pretty prick all the while, and when you've had your fun, refuse to finish him off. have him toddle back to that party with his hand between his legs and realize that there's not a soul that can fuck him the way he wants now. make him addicted to you and watch how he mewls then, compliant and needy, soft-mouthed thing that's so used to getting his way that he can't imagine being denied—)

—shoves himself away.]

Enough.

[It's a growl, low and seething, as he staggers back. His head ducks, his teeth gritting as he tries to get a grip on himself. One hand shoves against his face, pushing through silver strands, in a vain attempt to sober himself up, as he leans back against the opposite wall. Then his head snaps up, his glare savage as he bares his teeth in a silent snarl.

More wolf than elf, aren't you? and gods, but he does not need Danarius' voice whispering in his ear right now. Inelegant thing, so needy, come here, my pet, I'll take the edge off . . .]

Stay there.

[They're both straining at their trousers right now. Two silver-haired elves flush with aphrodisiacs and desperately hungry, with only a narrow space between them, oh, what noble wouldn't thrill to see such a sight?]

I am not one of your dull-eyed noble paramours that think themselves lucky to fall in your bed. Nor am I some servant you can use only to dispose of the next day when you grow bored. Do you understand? I am not playing this game with you, boy.

Now get yourself off.

[Under his watchful eye. Put on a show, little noble, for that is the least of what Fenris is owed tonight.]

And then we are going home.