Everything is silent for a moment. Two. Three. Caleb’s desperate whines muffled behind a gloved hand, and Essek barely able to catch his breath at the feeling of Caleb’s hand inelegantly stroking and squeezing him through his pants.
“Vith,” Essek curses. “Usstan sh’naut.” And suddenly they go from frozen and panting to a flurry of movement. Scarves, overcoats, neck gaiters are torn away, jackets pushed off of shoulders heedless of the popping of a button or tearing of a seam. And that damned book holster, Essek gives in to the thought he has had too many a night, and grabs the younger wizard by those leather straps, pulling him in to kiss him again, his hand then slipping up to grasp the back of Caleb’s neck and hold him close. Caleb’s hands have completely lost the gentle precision Essek so long admired, grasping at the drow with open need and wanton desperation. He is, however, still letting out a torrent of words, only half of them understood to Essek’s ears.
“Meine Gotter, Essek, so long, wanted for so long, need this, bitte, och, ich flehe dich an, need you, fucking give it to me, Essek, ich werde dir alles geben, alles, alles, fick mich, bitte! Godsdamnit Essek, fuck me before I scream—”
Essek stops this speech with two gloved fingers, shoved roughly inside Caleb’s mouth and pressed down on his tongue.
“I think this substance has loosened your tongue enough, young man.”
The reaction is shocking for its immediacy: Caleb moans, his eyes roll up in his head, he falls to his knees in bliss, and he begins to suck madly at the leather-covered digits, not caring that they may be covered in the dust of ages long past.
By the Luxon, the look on his face! In all his cold nights alone at Vurmas Outpost — or even long before back in Rosohna, alone in his tower with himself in hand — Essek never imagined Caleb could look this serene, so stunned with pleasure he’s nearly emptyheaded with it. His imagination has conjured Caleb in many ways. As an intent, focused lover, nearly as ambitious in bed as he is with his magic; as a supplicant, studious young man, blushing yet so eager to learn; as a friend betrayed, furious and hurt, willing to take out his frustration on an all too willing Essek. He imagined so many things, but Essek has never conjured the image of Caleb looking quite like this, gladly sucking down the fingers in his mouth, looking every inch a slut. Sweet creature of Light…
Essek has never known such a lovely sight.
“A l'Ssussun, dos ph'ssin'urn,” Essek hears himself murmuring. He had not even meant to speak, his voice husky and heavy with want, but now he finds that he does not want to stop. “Here I did not even bid you kneel, and yet you fall to your knees just for something in your mouth. Gods, I wonder what else you would take. Is this what you want then, sweet boy? For me to fuck your mouth with only my fingers? Would that be enough for you?”
It’s almost comical, watching Caleb hurriedly shake his head no while still bobbing it on Essek’s fingers, unable to bring himself to stop. Essek’s breathing hitches and he plunges his fingers even deeper into the man’s mouth, nearly grazing the back of his throat. He adds a third and watches a line of drool escape the corner of Caleb’s mouth. His eyes are locked onto Caleb’s face, eagerly drinking in the dazed expression, the slick shining lines of spit, the fluttering of eyelashes against pale cheeks. By the Light and all the Gods!
It is then that Essek also notices the redhead reaching for his own cock, and — in a moment of vicious selfishness that part of him cringes at — he uses his foot to knock the offending hand away.
“I think not,” he snarls, and hears Caleb whimper once again. Greedy though it might be, needy though the man is, Essek finds he wants Caleb’s pleasure for himself. He covets it.
He wonders if perhaps Caleb was not the only one affected by this unknown powder.
“Cha’kohkev phraktos,” Essek curses, both disliking and relishing the cruel edge he hears in his own voice. He places his booted foot back down upon the ground, between his friend’s knees, touching nothing and yet so close. “Shall I make you rub yourself against my foot to come, then, needy as you are? Let you chafe your delicate skin on the laces? Should I have you open your trousers and take yourself out, do you think… or could you come like just that while still full-clothed? Cock against cloth against my boot? I think you could, Caleb Widogast.”
—————————————— Undercommmon: Vith. Usstan sh’naut— … Fuck. I can’t— A l'Ssussun, dos ph'ssin'urn … By the Light, you are beautiful Cha’kohkev phraktos … Cursed gods!
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timeasmymeasure
FILL: Verbose [Caleb/Essek] 3/?
Date: 2021-06-22 10:58 pm (UTC)“Vith,” Essek curses. “Usstan sh’naut.” And suddenly they go from frozen and panting to a flurry of movement. Scarves, overcoats, neck gaiters are torn away, jackets pushed off of shoulders heedless of the popping of a button or tearing of a seam. And that damned book holster, Essek gives in to the thought he has had too many a night, and grabs the younger wizard by those leather straps, pulling him in to kiss him again, his hand then slipping up to grasp the back of Caleb’s neck and hold him close. Caleb’s hands have completely lost the gentle precision Essek so long admired, grasping at the drow with open need and wanton desperation. He is, however, still letting out a torrent of words, only half of them understood to Essek’s ears.
“Meine Gotter, Essek, so long, wanted for so long, need this, bitte, och, ich flehe dich an, need you, fucking give it to me, Essek, ich werde dir alles geben, alles, alles, fick mich, bitte! Godsdamnit Essek, fuck me before I scream—”
Essek stops this speech with two gloved fingers, shoved roughly inside Caleb’s mouth and pressed down on his tongue.
“I think this substance has loosened your tongue enough, young man.”
The reaction is shocking for its immediacy: Caleb moans, his eyes roll up in his head, he falls to his knees in bliss, and he begins to suck madly at the leather-covered digits, not caring that they may be covered in the dust of ages long past.
By the Luxon, the look on his face! In all his cold nights alone at Vurmas Outpost — or even long before back in Rosohna, alone in his tower with himself in hand — Essek never imagined Caleb could look this serene, so stunned with pleasure he’s nearly emptyheaded with it. His imagination has conjured Caleb in many ways. As an intent, focused lover, nearly as ambitious in bed as he is with his magic; as a supplicant, studious young man, blushing yet so eager to learn; as a friend betrayed, furious and hurt, willing to take out his frustration on an all too willing Essek. He imagined so many things, but Essek has never conjured the image of Caleb looking quite like this, gladly sucking down the fingers in his mouth, looking every inch a slut. Sweet creature of Light…
Essek has never known such a lovely sight.
“A l'Ssussun, dos ph'ssin'urn,” Essek hears himself murmuring. He had not even meant to speak, his voice husky and heavy with want, but now he finds that he does not want to stop. “Here I did not even bid you kneel, and yet you fall to your knees just for something in your mouth. Gods, I wonder what else you would take. Is this what you want then, sweet boy? For me to fuck your mouth with only my fingers? Would that be enough for you?”
It’s almost comical, watching Caleb hurriedly shake his head no while still bobbing it on Essek’s fingers, unable to bring himself to stop. Essek’s breathing hitches and he plunges his fingers even deeper into the man’s mouth, nearly grazing the back of his throat. He adds a third and watches a line of drool escape the corner of Caleb’s mouth. His eyes are locked onto Caleb’s face, eagerly drinking in the dazed expression, the slick shining lines of spit, the fluttering of eyelashes against pale cheeks. By the Light and all the Gods!
It is then that Essek also notices the redhead reaching for his own cock, and — in a moment of vicious selfishness that part of him cringes at — he uses his foot to knock the offending hand away.
“I think not,” he snarls, and hears Caleb whimper once again. Greedy though it might be, needy though the man is, Essek finds he wants Caleb’s pleasure for himself. He covets it.
He wonders if perhaps Caleb was not the only one affected by this unknown powder.
“Cha’kohkev phraktos,” Essek curses, both disliking and relishing the cruel edge he hears in his own voice. He places his booted foot back down upon the ground, between his friend’s knees, touching nothing and yet so close. “Shall I make you rub yourself against my foot to come, then, needy as you are? Let you chafe your delicate skin on the laces? Should I have you open your trousers and take yourself out, do you think… or could you come like just that while still full-clothed? Cock against cloth against my boot? I think you could, Caleb Widogast.”
——————————————
Undercommmon:
Vith. Usstan sh’naut— … Fuck. I can’t—
A l'Ssussun, dos ph'ssin'urn … By the Light, you are beautiful
Cha’kohkev phraktos … Cursed gods!