Essek reaches for a spell at the mention of graviturgy, almost completes the movement to push Caleb back with a burst of force energy, but faster than he can think Caleb’s clever hand — fuck, those clever, clever hands — has moved to counterspell it, and with that one hand removed now their bodies are pressed against each other entirely. He can feel the evidence of Caleb’s desperation pressed against his stomach. He can feel his own hardness pushing into Caleb’s thigh. Caleb’s mouth is pressed against his ear, each whisper making Essek’s heart melt and his cock weep. He whines. He should not want this.
“I have wanted you for as long as I have known you,” murmurs the Empire mage in his ear, the hot breath followed by the flick of a tongue against the shell of Essek’s ear. Another pathetic noise escapes his throat and he can feel his cheeks burning as Caleb continues to speak. “I cannot fathom a world where I would not. Scheiße, in a world where we were enemies I would still want you, would still find myself driven to distraction by your face, your intellect, your hands, your body, your brilliance. But we are not in that world, Essek Thelyss.”
“Caleb Widogast,” he whispers, trying to gather his thoughts, trying to find words for a last attempt to salvage his morality, to not take advantage of a friend in need.
“Essek, we are in a world where I love you. Where I know you, know your failures and your weaknesses, and have loved you for months without cease. Where I have struggled this whole gottverdammt trip to give you time, time to heal, time to just become friends once more. So do me a kindness and ease my suffering, please, bitte liebchen, just fuck me. Because it has taken everything I have in me for days not to just push you up against a wall and kiss you until we neither of us can fucking breathe.“
Essek hears this. He hears all of this. His breath shudders and his lips quiver and he hears this like a benediction, like a writ of divine forgiveness.
Essek cannot breathe.
So he kisses him.
His tongue invades Caleb’s mouth with the same proficiency and certainty Essek once brought to battle plans. He kisses like this is a war and he means to win. Essek is so uselessly, stupidly in love with this creature, and the bastard has made the foolish mistake of loving him back. And now this.
This is a tragicomedy, and Essek is so in love that it makes him furious.
When he finally lets up, Essek sees blue eyes gone glassy and half-lidded, feels those scarred hands loosely twined in his hair, knows he will give this man what he wants. Anything he wants.
“You and your fucking monologues, Widogast,” Essek swears, and this time the spell he casts is not countered.
The blast of the spell pushes Caleb back perhaps five feet, stumbling just enough for Essek to regain control of the situation. Before the transmuter can even refocus his vision, the drow is on him, slender hands with long nails buried in soft red hair. Lips and teeth and tongue, their kiss is vicious and almost vengeful.
Through the kiss Caleb cries out Essek’s name.
Essek only whispers “Shut up,” and bites Caleb’s lower lip, teeth dragging just this side of painful and sucking on the flesh of it as though he can devour the other man piece by piece. The redhead’s answering groan is a thing of blasphemy, so sinful that Essek feels it could burn a cathedral to its very foundation with the sound alone. It sounds like Caleb is still trying to talk, his rough fingers pulling painfully at Essek’s white curls as the man sucks possessive marks into Caleb’s neck. The words are starting to lose coherence, straying from sloppy Common tongue into slurred Zemnian as though months of bottled up thoughts have been released by whatever nightmarish, delightful chemical extract has infected Caleb’s being.
Essek cannot stand it, feels the words burning him inside like a sickness that will surely kill him if he listens too long. He claps a hand roughly over the taller man’s mouth, hears him whimper, and feels him shaking underneath his hands. Caleb’s arm is still braced around Essek’s neck while the other hand rushes down to palm hurriedly at the front of the drow’s trousers. The graviturgist gasps, choking on air.
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timeasmymeasure
FILL: Verbose [Caleb/Essek] 2/?
Date: 2021-06-21 06:43 am (UTC)“I have wanted you for as long as I have known you,” murmurs the Empire mage in his ear, the hot breath followed by the flick of a tongue against the shell of Essek’s ear. Another pathetic noise escapes his throat and he can feel his cheeks burning as Caleb continues to speak. “I cannot fathom a world where I would not. Scheiße, in a world where we were enemies I would still want you, would still find myself driven to distraction by your face, your intellect, your hands, your body, your brilliance. But we are not in that world, Essek Thelyss.”
“Caleb Widogast,” he whispers, trying to gather his thoughts, trying to find words for a last attempt to salvage his morality, to not take advantage of a friend in need.
“Essek, we are in a world where I love you. Where I know you, know your failures and your weaknesses, and have loved you for months without cease. Where I have struggled this whole gottverdammt trip to give you time, time to heal, time to just become friends once more. So do me a kindness and ease my suffering, please, bitte liebchen, just fuck me. Because it has taken everything I have in me for days not to just push you up against a wall and kiss you until we neither of us can fucking breathe.“
Essek hears this. He hears all of this. His breath shudders and his lips quiver and he hears this like a benediction, like a writ of divine forgiveness.
Essek cannot breathe.
So he kisses him.
His tongue invades Caleb’s mouth with the same proficiency and certainty Essek once brought to battle plans. He kisses like this is a war and he means to win. Essek is so uselessly, stupidly in love with this creature, and the bastard has made the foolish mistake of loving him back. And now this.
This is a tragicomedy, and Essek is so in love that it makes him furious.
When he finally lets up, Essek sees blue eyes gone glassy and half-lidded, feels those scarred hands loosely twined in his hair, knows he will give this man what he wants. Anything he wants.
“You and your fucking monologues, Widogast,” Essek swears, and this time the spell he casts is not countered.
The blast of the spell pushes Caleb back perhaps five feet, stumbling just enough for Essek to regain control of the situation. Before the transmuter can even refocus his vision, the drow is on him, slender hands with long nails buried in soft red hair. Lips and teeth and tongue, their kiss is vicious and almost vengeful.
Through the kiss Caleb cries out Essek’s name.
Essek only whispers “Shut up,” and bites Caleb’s lower lip, teeth dragging just this side of painful and sucking on the flesh of it as though he can devour the other man piece by piece. The redhead’s answering groan is a thing of blasphemy, so sinful that Essek feels it could burn a cathedral to its very foundation with the sound alone. It sounds like Caleb is still trying to talk, his rough fingers pulling painfully at Essek’s white curls as the man sucks possessive marks into Caleb’s neck. The words are starting to lose coherence, straying from sloppy Common tongue into slurred Zemnian as though months of bottled up thoughts have been released by whatever nightmarish, delightful chemical extract has infected Caleb’s being.
Essek cannot stand it, feels the words burning him inside like a sickness that will surely kill him if he listens too long. He claps a hand roughly over the taller man’s mouth, hears him whimper, and feels him shaking underneath his hands. Caleb’s arm is still braced around Essek’s neck while the other hand rushes down to palm hurriedly at the front of the drow’s trousers. The graviturgist gasps, choking on air.