Chapter Text
It isn't as if they take shifts watching the scrying eyes. They mostly govern themselves; they have Gortash's own improvements to thank for that. They act autonomously, alerting others when they witness anything harmful. Sure, there are sometimes false alarms, but the sheer manpower it saves more than makes up for it. Gortash tunes in himself occasionally, and tonight he has further improvements on his mind. Perhaps by watching how they operate in the field, he can fine tune the system.
He's almost tuned out the sound of Minthara threatening some goblin, scratching ideas into a book on his desk, when he hears a voice that makes his heart twist in his chest.
"I’m on a hunt of my own."
The man's face is covered by a hood made of leather strips like tree bark, much like the ones that adorn Minthara's own armor. Drow make, then – and though his face is shrouded in darkness, Enver is sure he would see ruby red peeking out from the cowl if he could look closer. Enver's heart skips a beat. Could it truly be him? Back from whatever disgrace Orin beset upon him? He longs for Minthara to shut up and let him reply.
"Kill her. I know the location of the grove." Even across such distance, Enver's heart cries out for him. There is no doubt in his mind now, from the voice to the order it gave, that somehow, Danil has returned. His mind races to reason how he might be there, alive, after Orin reported his death – but it does not matter. He is within the Absolute's clutches, and he will make his way back to Baldur's Gate. Back to him.
He continues to watch as Minthara orders the goblin thrown to her spiders, and he longs to see Danil's face. He would not mistake his mannerisms for anyone else – Enver has mapped his body inside and out. He knows how he moves. The goblin is dragged away, and Minthara leaves to rally her troops, and Danil is left alone in the small, dank room.
"How many of these wretches do you think the tieflings will take out with them?" Someone else, a companion of Danil's, speaks up.
"Not enough."
"Ever the ray of sunshine, you are."
Danil has two people with him, a silver haired man and a woman with armor and a severe looking braid. They don't matter – merely vagabonds he's picked up and hasn't killed yet. He always did know how to show remarkable restraint. They all have splatters of blood on their clothes, and as Gortash watches his masked lover, he recalls that he's developed a specific, instinctual reaction to the sight of the man covered in blood.
His cock stiffens in his trousers, half hard. Danil isn't even doing anything; he's just walking through the abandoned temple, bickering with his companions, and strategizing. Gortash pays little attention to the slaughter he's planning, his hand palming himself through his pants. Gods, even through the armor and blood, he's gorgeous, and Enver's blood sings with anticipation. He will direct him to Moonrise Towers, then to Baldur's Gate. They will be reunited. He groans, unlacing his smallclothes and freeing his cock.
Danil stalks the halls, stopping in an open doorway at the sight of a man... whipping a goblin. Gortash had grown used to the presence of the priest, having seen him through the eye before – though he doesn't know why he spends all his time there. The eye keeps its distance, peering from behind the group to the open door.
"What's going on in here?" Danil crosses his arms.
"Ah, another disciple?" Abdirak coils his whip tightly in one hand, the studs of metal lining it making his own palm bleed. "Come, kneel before the altar of Loviatar."
"You want me to worship?" he says incredulously. The goblin scurries away, forgotten in favor of fresh blood.
"The goddess of pain accepts all offerings. I can show you." The priest's voice is all too eager. "Wouldn't you like to sing for her?"
Danil looks at the whip, dripping blood. He cocks his head, considering for a moment. Gortash scarcely dares to hope, hand stilling, squeezing his cock. And then Danil begins to strip off his armor.
The cowl comes off first, and Enver cannot stifle a gasp at the state of his face. Jagged scars mar the right side of his face, the eye sightless and grey. He cannot look closer through the scrying eye, but his blood boils at the thought that someone has hurt his lover to this extent.
Danil takes off his armor and his undershirt, and leaves his trousers on – a pity, but reasonable. He stands bare chested, glistening with sweat, in the small room, drinking in the eyes on him. Gortash strokes his cock, thumb pressing against the head, and bites his lip. This is a dream come true.
"Do you have a name? I'd like to know what to call someone who's about to beat me bloody." Danil’s face is catlike, only mildly amused. Not too different from his resting blank expression – only Enver knows the thrill that even a slight smile from him betrays.
"Abdirak. Do not worry – Loviatar smiles upon us."
"You know, I think that eye is watching us." The woman with the braid is giving it a curious look. "Did anyone else see it follow us in here?"
"Watching us?" Danil fixes his gaze on the scrying eye. His good eye is piercing, the expression achingly familiar, and Gortash sighs with pleasure and longing. Danil flattens his palms against the wall and widens his stance, straightening his back. He knows exactly how to take a whip. "Let's give it a good show, then."
The first blow of the whip has him crying out, blood welling in beads along the welt the whip has left. Gortash groans openly, alone in his office, legs spread, cock leaking pre. Abdirak crows over him, enthusiastically praising how well he takes it. Gortash's eyes slip closed for a moment. He takes it better from me, he thinks bitterly.
Another two blows in quick succession, and the scrying eye hovers minutely closer. Close enough to see the way Danil trembles from the pain. Blood drips freely down his back in rivulets, soiling the stone floor. Gortash fists his cock, thumbing over the head beneath his desk. He aches for Danil; he longs to be the cause of his pain once more. His companions are making pleased comments, but Enver only has eyes and ears for him. His bitten back whimpers, the shifting of his feet for better stability, the hitch in his breathing that means he's aroused. Gortash hisses with pleasure and frustration.
"Is that all you've got?" Danil's voice is strong and even. "If you want to add to my scars, you're going to have to- ngh- do better than that."
"You sound delicious. Let the pain cleanse you."
The force of Abdirak's next strike shoves Danil forward onto his elbows, and his whole body trembles. His wail is high and shaky – and unmistakably a noise of pleasure. Were it him inflicting such sweet pain, Enver would not be able to resist slipping a hand between his legs to feel how wet he must be. He moans himself, grip tightening on his cock.
"Do not give in now, dear one. Let Loviatar hear you."
Let me hear you, love, Enver thinks, groaning and dragging himself toward his peak.
Danil shakes and shouts through the next two strikes, pushing himself back up against the wall with wrung out muscles. The final blow sends him to his knees, trembling all over and crying out at a pitch that Enver is intimately familiar with. He wrings his own orgasm out of himself along with Danil, spilling over his fingers with a punched out moan. Through the eye, Danil shivers on his knees and takes deep, ragged breaths. His companions share knowing, concerned looks until Danil groans and pushes himself to his feet with difficulty.
"Ah-" he hisses and grimaces as he rolls his back muscles, relishing the sting of the cuts widening and carving their rivers of blood down his back. "That was exactly what I needed." He clasps his hands around Abdirak's. "Tell Loviatar that I appreciate her blessing."
Gortash clenches his fist on top of his desk, scarcely remembering to Prestidigitate the spilled ejaculate away before it dries and stains. It should have been me, he thinks. It will be soon.
Meanwhile, he needs to make a few new toys.