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"Isn't this fun?" Heavy breath, a small gasp of delight. A hiss of pain. Blood slowly pools on the wound, small crimson droplets coming together and sliding down the skin, so slowly, too slowly. "Playing with your mortality. It's so fun, Enver ."
"You won't kill me." Gortash says with conviction, but breathlessly. How is he so sure? There's a twinkle in his eye, one that's so warm and full of emotion . They want to pluck those eyes out. Those pretty, too bright, staring too much, too long, eyes, leaving a deep bloody path where they're supposed to be. And those eyes, nestled right in their hands. To squish, to watch the juices drip down their palms. What a sight.
"But I could." In all their glory, the child of Bhaal sits in his lap. Tav is smiling, a dangerous, crooked smile. Their eyes can't seem to focus on one thing, moving from Gortash's neck, covered with bites and bruises, to his chest, in a similar state, to his stomach where they've just slid their dagger to open him up. But just slightly. Enough to leave a scar, maybe. Not deep enough to really hurt him. They were growing soft, too soft. But it was Enver.
Gortash offers a small chuckle. He's reclining in his bed, not bothered by the blood staining his sheets. If anything, he likes the mess. Tav likes the mess, so it is automatic that he does too.
"Are you laughing, my Lord ?" They growl, eyes suddenly narrowing. He's so annoying. He makes their blood boil, heart pound so hard against the ribcage. It is the same feeling they get after a great kill, when the knife twists just right, when the victim finally stops their cries and the eyes lose that annoying light, becoming so blissfully empty. He somehow so very skillfully drowns out the voices of the Urge. "Laughing in the face of your end?"
"But what a sweet end it would be to die by your hand." Gortash is quick to reply, as if it had been practiced before. He's such a politician. Charismatic until the very end, trying to woo everyone around him. His hand comes up to caress Tav's cheek (did they not tie him up this time? How careless.); a soft touch they're not used to from anyone else but him. It screams Enver. The softness, the tenderness. It makes them waver for the shortest of moments, it makes them remember they're someone apart from being the Urge.
But Tav chases that thought away the very same moment it dares to appear. What about Father's will?
Forgive me , their thoughts are immediately filled with vigorous prayer. The same prayer they force themselves to repeat every night. Forgive me, Father. Just this once… forgive me. I shall give you a thousand more souls.. Just not this one. Father, I shall make you proud once more, to make up for this one weakness. And Tav does make him proud, of course they do. Not when they're with Gortash, though…
They suddenly feel lips against their own. Ah, the Lord must have caught on. Gortash's kiss is as sweet as his words, yet much more sloppy. It distracts Tav from the thoughts, bringing them back to the moment, to return all the kisses. They're hungry, they don't care if their teeth clash. They tangle their tongues, they bite. Hard enough to draw blood. As they taste the familiar metallic delicacy, a moan escapes their throat.
It reminds them that there is a certain truth that Tav will refuse to change: Enver Gortash belongs to them. Whatever the decision is, wherever it comes from, it's their last word. They will decide when to end him and how to end him. Nobody else can hold this much power over him. Only the Chosen of Bhaal can have him, and just them alone.
When they picture it: Enver's body, underneath them, just like now, but the cuts are deeper, larger; he's lying in the pool of his own blood, mutilated beyond recognition, it excites them. So, so much. They feel a different kind of urge as warmth pools in their abdomen, making them shiver just a little. And they're not the only ones aroused, if the pressure against the back of their thigh is a sign enough.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Tav’s the one to laugh now. Gortash's blood is smeared across their lips, some of it is on their chin. They look so positively crazy that Gortash feels breathless yet again. He can only nod as he feels hands going down his body, nails digging into his skin, leaving marks. But it's not enough. The dagger is back against his side, and he feels the sharp pain of being cut. It stings for a short while; then he's filled with warmth and-
" Dearest!" He gasps, suddenly rising onto his forearms to look down at the only person who'd lick over his wounds so sensually, so hungrily. Tav lifts their head, tongue lolled out, blood dripping back onto his body. "Gods. You're driving me insane."
"Oh, I know." Tav’s grinning as they make yet another cut. And another. They know how to make him bleed just enough to make a mess, but not really put his life in danger. A trained hand. "And you like it. You like being underneath me like this. Baldur's Gate's soon-to-be first Archduke letting the Chosen of Bhaal play with him, the blood-stained, filthy Chosen, so unlike the Lord’s high standing. What would the people say, hm?" They're lifting the dagger up and pressing it against the side of his face, the dull part touching his skin. They're showing so much restraint that they should get a reward for it. "You know, it is such a shame I can't ruin your face." Tav clicks their tongue. "I can imagine how pretty it would look, so red, bleeding everywhere, all scarred. A sign I touched you, for everyone to see and know." Marked by the Chosen of Bhaal. How wonderful.
In this situation, any person of their right mind would curse Tav out, push them away. Scream to get away and run off. But was Gortash of the right mind? No. He wanted this. He wanted the attention, he happily drowned in it, held onto it like a prisoner held onto a ray of light spilling through a crack in their cell. He took in the pain, he bled, he played with death ever so enthusiastically.
"There's enough sign of you on me." Gortash grabs their wrist, makes Tav let go of their dagger. Surprise appears in their eyes at first. Then, it quickly changes to a burning kind of desire. Understanding gleams in their eyes. "But not enough of me.. On you." It doesn't take much for Gortash to throw them onto the bed; their positions are switched. And he knows it's only because they're allowing him to do this. They're letting him rip off the tunic they're wearing, exposing flesh, full of scars and proof of their hard work for Bhaal. They lay there, arching their back, wrapping one leg around his waist to pull him closer.
"Then mark me, too."
It's all a game between them, always has been. To attack one another. To mark each other up. With scars no one else would get to see. To leave lingering kisses only the gods would know about. To share each other's bodies in such a sacred yet filthy ritual. Because it's not about sex alone, it's not about chasing pleasure. It's about being with one another and testing, pushing the boundaries further and further.
Gortash is quite boring with his markings; he tries so hard to be romantic, to be human with his affections. He kisses at first, down their neck, onto the collarbone. Only then, he finally bites . The pain makes them moan, but it's not enough. He doesn't draw blood, and they want him to— no, they need it. "You can do better." They huff in frustration.
"Pace yourself." Gortash smirks down at them as he leans back to slide his undergarments off. They watch in quiet awe as he's finally as bare as them.
"I don't want to." They move their hips, their leg wraps tighter around his waist, pushing him right against their crotch. He deliciously twitches, already aroused beyond belief. "Give me that cock, my Lord." They slowly sit up, trying to get closer.
It's clear the words affect Gortash like no other, because he knows he's won. He's got them begging already, when he's just told them to slow down. What could it be that's making them this desperate? He doesn't dwell on it much, though. He instead takes in the feeling of being wanted. Desired.
“Hurry up.” They huff. Gortash smirks, his hand moving up Tav's body slowly, too slowly, caressing the skin until he stops on their neck. His hand closes around their throat, eyes focused on how well they fit there. It's as if it was meant to be. “Aha, you're getting there.” Tav grabs onto his wrist, tugs, bringing more weight onto their throat. Their breath escapes them, and just at that moment, they feel Gortash push inside. No preparation, no warning. Fuck , yes. Their eyes roll back, the pain only so good because it's Enver.
“What, can't speak now?” Gortash huffs out; he doesn't wait for an answer, he doesn't wait for Tav to get used to it. He continues on, focusing on his own pleasure. He knows that's how Tav likes it anyway, that they're going to love the pain and make it a divine experience. “Seemed like you had a lot to say just a moment ago.” He releases their neck just for a brief moment, just to watch them gasp for air. Once he's sure Tav took in a breath, he squeezes again.
“Shut up.” It annoys Tav. It annoys them how much Enver treats them like a person. They're not a person, they're Bhaal's flesh and blood, they can take a little pain. Hells, they can take a stab, a whole lot of them in fact, cuts, torture . They won't pull away because it hurts a little. No, it has to hurt. They have to truly feel him, share the suffering, the pleasures involved in it, everything. They have to cut, taste the blood, they need it.
Gortash's powerful, selfish thrusts shake the bed as well as their body, but it's still not enough, even with his hand clasped so tightly around their throat. It's never enough; they wish to truly become one with Gortash, to join with him in more than just a physical experience. Their body, their soul.. their heart. Oh, Gortash would love to hear that he has their heart. He's so naive in his human ways. He wants love, that stupid, useless emotion that weakens the strongest soldiers, the most faithful…
Tav's hand moves automatically, to distract themselves from those thoughts, to focus more on the moment. It finds the discarded dagger on the sheets. They grab it, their hand shaking as they raise it to press against Enver's throat. He smirks at the motion, letting them breathe for a while once more. He lets them regain their strength just enough to feel the dagger slip over onto his shoulder and stab . It slices his flesh so cleanly, blood slowly pouring onto his chest. His pace quickens; he was awaiting such a thing to happen. He was hoping for it.
It's Enver's turn to feel dizzy. The warm blood drips onto Tav's chest as he leans forward, face distorted in pain and yet… They feel him finish, buried deep inside. Ha. The Lord needs to get stabbed to come. That enough gets them to a high, they moan and move their hips to ride it out, to see the pleasure and pain mix in Enver's expression. It's amazing. He grips them so tightly, his nails digging into their skin. They briefly wish he was wearing his gauntlet… Those sharp ends would puncture their body so nicely.
But alas, Tav takes away the dagger and watches in amusement as Gortash hurries to take out the healing scroll from his nightstand. He pulls away from them, his eyes briefly glow light blue. All the wounds immediately close, the blood on Tav's body the only reminder that he was cut open at all.
“Aw.. You didn't even let me enjoy the moment properly.” Tav huffs, reaching down to spread more blood on their body. Further down onto their stomach, then up onto their neck… They lick their fingers, breathing in the sweet metallic scent. Gortash observes with dark eyes. They know how tempting they are. But he, very sadly, listens to reason.
“I have a meeting soon.” Gortash stands up, starts to pick up his undergarments. Tav frowns. “I've told you I can't indulge you for too long.” As he says that, he does something Tav never expects. He leans over them, looks into their eyes with such.. emotion. It’s that damned admiration, affection… It's too human, too raw. As their lips meet, just briefly, nothing more than a peck… He leaves them staring after him.
Tav feels both empty and full. They gather themselves slowly from the bed, look around at the bloody sheets, at the blood on their own body. They growl. Their hands slowly itch.
This is not enough. They need to hunt. To satisfy the dark urge… To show Father they're not weak.