The second time Essek banishes the hand, Caleb is left glassy-eyed and desperate, a thin whine escaping his throat.
Three times, and Caleb cries out in frustration, his hips hitching into air helplessly. He is flushed pink, his hair curling around his face and stuck to his forehead, and his eyes are clenched shut and he is lovely.
Four times, and between one breath and the next, Essek finds himself free to move, slumping back in the chair in time for Caleb to spill into his lap, clutching at him, urgent and wanting. He is garnet-red and copper-pink and ivory-pale, a rough-hewn stone detached from an unfitting setting, and he is a wellspring of magical power and potential, and he is in Essek’s lap demanding his touch. It makes Essek feel undone.
He pulls Caleb to him, fumbling through his clothing and stroking his cock quick and tight—no teasing, not anymore. Caleb bucks up into his touch, clutching at his shoulders, his hips grinding into Essek’s fine robes and almost knocking his grip free.
Essek feels Caleb’s fingers on his shoulder, an instinctive movement of re-casting and maintaining a spell. It’s a little undignified how much that movement makes him shudder.
He thinks of Caleb’s steady hold on him, of the idea of Caleb taking his pleasure from his mouth while he is immobilized.
He thinks of Caleb laid out underneath him, his senses cast into his fey familiar, blind to everything but sensation.
He thinks of urging Caleb to cast the hand once more, of spectral fingers easing inside him with slow, deliberate control, of being filled to the brim by a creation of Caleb's strange, blasphemous Empire magic.
He thinks of all the things that he does not know about this human, of his quick, deliberate way with magic, and knows that it is dangerous to want, and knows that he wants.
When Caleb comes, Essek presses a gesture and a word into his skin, and time slows, dilating in a long ripple. The moment catches and stretches endlessly, catching Caleb in its throes. Essek, too, is caught in its radius, riding the intense, painful edge of being so, so close. Caleb shudders and shudders against him as he weathers this endless cresting wave, his back a perfect bow, his clever red mouth open and his eyes wide and awed.
A moment, an eternity, and the spell drops, and Caleb is left gasping against his chest, sated and trembling. A moment, and Caleb meets his eyes, his eyes burning and blue with magic.
Caleb reaches a shaking hand out for the wine goblet still weightless at his side.
He drinks it in a few long swallows, and drops the cup to the floor, still holding Essek’s gaze.
Essek scrabbles at his robes, trying to get a hand on himself, and comes in his clothes in a way that he hasn’t for many, many years.
He's still panting when Caleb reaches for him, his face concentrated, as though Essek's layers of robes are an arcane problem to be solved.
Caleb raises his eyebrows. "Oh. Well. That is good."
Caleb spills out of his lap and onto the other side of the couch, looking even more disheveled than usual, his mouth wine-red. They sit, side by side, catching their breath.
“That was, um. Very deftly done,” Essek says, after a long moment.
Caleb quirks an eyebrow at him. “Thank you for your tutelage,” he says, seriously enough that Essek can’t read whether he is joking or not.
Essek attempts to put his robes in reasonable order, and wonders how he might be able to report back some of his progress information to the appropriate echelons. Because that is what he is doing, yes? Assessing, prodding and keeping an eye on these people for the sake of the dynasty. It is relevant, even if the context is—well. A little more awkward to explain.
Caleb scrubs a hand over his face, looking sheepish. “I am hoping that my friends have not seen fit to find some trouble, because it may be, ah, difficult to explain why I am a little more tapped than I should be.”
“You can tell them you had a long, hard lesson,” Essek says, before his brain catches up to his mouth. “I mean—”
“Ah, I didn’t, though, did I,” Caleb responds mildly. “Perhaps next time.”
Essek lets out a laugh, surprised and a little delighted.
It’s a dangerous feeling, all the more so because it sits so well in his chest.
Re: components: v, s, m, Caleb/Essek, E (2/2)
Three times, and Caleb cries out in frustration, his hips hitching into air helplessly. He is flushed pink, his hair curling around his face and stuck to his forehead, and his eyes are clenched shut and he is lovely.
Four times, and between one breath and the next, Essek finds himself free to move, slumping back in the chair in time for Caleb to spill into his lap, clutching at him, urgent and wanting. He is garnet-red and copper-pink and ivory-pale, a rough-hewn stone detached from an unfitting setting, and he is a wellspring of magical power and potential, and he is in Essek’s lap demanding his touch. It makes Essek feel undone.
He pulls Caleb to him, fumbling through his clothing and stroking his cock quick and tight—no teasing, not anymore. Caleb bucks up into his touch, clutching at his shoulders, his hips grinding into Essek’s fine robes and almost knocking his grip free.
Essek feels Caleb’s fingers on his shoulder, an instinctive movement of re-casting and maintaining a spell. It’s a little undignified how much that movement makes him shudder.
He thinks of Caleb’s steady hold on him, of the idea of Caleb taking his pleasure from his mouth while he is immobilized.
He thinks of Caleb laid out underneath him, his senses cast into his fey familiar, blind to everything but sensation.
He thinks of urging Caleb to cast the hand once more, of spectral fingers easing inside him with slow, deliberate control, of being filled to the brim by a creation of Caleb's strange, blasphemous Empire magic.
He thinks of all the things that he does not know about this human, of his quick, deliberate way with magic, and knows that it is dangerous to want, and knows that he wants.
When Caleb comes, Essek presses a gesture and a word into his skin, and time slows, dilating in a long ripple. The moment catches and stretches endlessly, catching Caleb in its throes. Essek, too, is caught in its radius, riding the intense, painful edge of being so, so close. Caleb shudders and shudders against him as he weathers this endless cresting wave, his back a perfect bow, his clever red mouth open and his eyes wide and awed.
A moment, an eternity, and the spell drops, and Caleb is left gasping against his chest, sated and trembling. A moment, and Caleb meets his eyes, his eyes burning and blue with magic.
Caleb reaches a shaking hand out for the wine goblet still weightless at his side.
He drinks it in a few long swallows, and drops the cup to the floor, still holding Essek’s gaze.
Essek scrabbles at his robes, trying to get a hand on himself, and comes in his clothes in a way that he hasn’t for many, many years.
He's still panting when Caleb reaches for him, his face concentrated, as though Essek's layers of robes are an arcane problem to be solved.
"I, ah, well," Essek fumbles out, deflecting his hands. "I'm satisfied."
Caleb raises his eyebrows. "Oh. Well. That is good."
Caleb spills out of his lap and onto the other side of the couch, looking even more disheveled than usual, his mouth wine-red. They sit, side by side, catching their breath.
“That was, um. Very deftly done,” Essek says, after a long moment.
Caleb quirks an eyebrow at him. “Thank you for your tutelage,” he says, seriously enough that Essek can’t read whether he is joking or not.
Essek attempts to put his robes in reasonable order, and wonders how he might be able to report back some of his progress information to the appropriate echelons. Because that is what he is doing, yes? Assessing, prodding and keeping an eye on these people for the sake of the dynasty. It is relevant, even if the context is—well. A little more awkward to explain.
Caleb scrubs a hand over his face, looking sheepish. “I am hoping that my friends have not seen fit to find some trouble, because it may be, ah, difficult to explain why I am a little more tapped than I should be.”
“You can tell them you had a long, hard lesson,” Essek says, before his brain catches up to his mouth. “I mean—”
“Ah, I didn’t, though, did I,” Caleb responds mildly. “Perhaps next time.”
Essek lets out a laugh, surprised and a little delighted.
It’s a dangerous feeling, all the more so because it sits so well in his chest.