Essek, of course, complies. His gloved hands grasp at pale skin, copper hair, rough spun linen, groping, grabbing, pulling and stroking, certain that none of this can ever be enough. Nothing can satisfy his hunger for this man, a craving he felt only hints of a year ago on meeting, but which grew steadily day by day until he felt he was starving for lack of Caleb Widogast.
And now here they are, in the freezing cold depths of Aeor, that very man kneeling before him. Overcoats and cloaks and mantles and scarves all discarded, Caleb kneels in his linen shirt, wool pants, and still in that fucking leather book holster that will be the death of Essek, he is sure of it. Essek is still wearing his long tunic, half-loosened trousers, and skin-warmed leather gloves — and Gods what an oversight that was, to have such a barrier between his hands and Caleb! He rectifies this immediately, pulling the fingertips of his gloves and peeling them off with haste, the change in temperature a sudden shock. He can feel the biting cold against his nose, can feel frost gathering in his hair, but that is no reason to stop, not with the warmth of this fire seared in front of him. Luxon’s light, he could freeze to depths in this ancient and crumbling city and never notice it.
In the back of his mind, Essek cannot help but think that he must be going mad. That can be the only explanation for this behavior.
He’s had other lovers, of course — mostly fleeting affairs with like-minded young men, a few visits with some esteemed workers of the oldest trade, one or two flights of fancy that almost came close to being an actual relationship. But his sexual exploits had always been very straightforward, passion like a problem being solved, a somewhat more involved pleasantry that was beneficial to all. Never before has passion felt this… savage. Essek feels every inch the monstrous beast the Empire doubtless believes all drow to be. His desires in this moment are better suited for the dankest slums of Asarius rather than the courts of Rosohna; he should be rutting into Caleb against an alley wall somewhere, pushing him into the dirt in the street, fucking his face in the corner of a barroom, Gods, what has come over him?
“By the Light, what are you doing to me, my Caleb?” he questions between biting kisses.
One hand, blessedly bare now, returns to the younger man’s face, fingers dragging across lips and cheeks. The other combs through that soft red hair, and gods he can feel it now, every strand, and he is caught somewhere between possessiveness and awe.
Caleb’s own hands have tugged open the laces holding the front of Essek’s trousers together, frantic and needy for all that Essek is trying so desperately to stay calm and controlled. One of them needs to. One of them must maintain some semblance offffuuuuuuck Caleb’s mouth is open and licking over the cloth of Essek’s langot and he can feel it, he can feel that wet heat on his cock, he can see the human-pink-flesh of Caleb’s tongue, he can feel Caleb’s thumbs on his bare skin in the divot where his hip meets his groin, he can feel Caleb’s mouth through the texture of fine linen and he cannot—
Essek cries aloud and falls to his knees, pulling Caleb away by the hair, tearing that delicious heat away from him because he can’t, he will lose his mind, he will go mad if he feels that for a second more.
His hands are shaking now, but they are gentle as they come back cradle the Zemnian’s face even as Caleb whines like a wounded animal and murmurs something in his native tongue. Essek peppers Caleb’s pale face with kisses — his crooked nose, his cheeks, his chin, his beautiful eyelids — wishing to comfort as much as he wishes to devour, before stopping to catch his breath. He rests his forehead against Caleb’s, brushing their noses together, sharing oxygen, hearing each other shiver.
“This,” Essek hears his own voice come out breathier than expected and he swallows, trying to regain some of his long lost composure, “This is not how I wanted this to happen.”
“Aber du hast das wollte, nicht wahr?” comes the low, rumbling response.
“In Common, dear one,” Essek chides, and the absurdity of this moment makes him laugh, a smile breaking through on his face, wide and relieving.
Caleb shakes his head as though dizzy, but he smiles as well, something tired and restless and elated.
“Ich… I… But you did want this?”
His voice has an odd quality to it now. Still breathless, still pining and wishing and wanting, still hungry, but also… afraid. It almost makes Essek laugh anew, the idea that this man has anything to worry about. The idea that Essek could ever not want Caleb.
“Caleb Widogast, there are few things I have wanted more. I imagined this so many ways, but I… I never…”
Caleb curses, something in Zemnian, the rough syllables sending a shiver down Essek’s spine though he can’t even understand them. “You never, liebchen?”
Caleb’s voice is teasing and vicious, his smile is hungry and wicked, yet every twitch of his eyes and hands is still so clearly full of nerves and anticipation. Gods, every ounce of emotion in those pale human eyes, every desire, it is all delicious despite their obvious insecurities and fears. Essek begins to wonder if either of them will ever truly believe they could be so lucky as to be wanted by the other.
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timeasmymeasure
FILL: Verbose [Caleb/Essek] 5/?
Date: 2021-07-05 06:54 am (UTC)And now here they are, in the freezing cold depths of Aeor, that very man kneeling before him. Overcoats and cloaks and mantles and scarves all discarded, Caleb kneels in his linen shirt, wool pants, and still in that fucking leather book holster that will be the death of Essek, he is sure of it. Essek is still wearing his long tunic, half-loosened trousers, and skin-warmed leather gloves — and Gods what an oversight that was, to have such a barrier between his hands and Caleb! He rectifies this immediately, pulling the fingertips of his gloves and peeling them off with haste, the change in temperature a sudden shock. He can feel the biting cold against his nose, can feel frost gathering in his hair, but that is no reason to stop, not with the warmth of this fire seared in front of him. Luxon’s light, he could freeze to depths in this ancient and crumbling city and never notice it.
In the back of his mind, Essek cannot help but think that he must be going mad. That can be the only explanation for this behavior.
He’s had other lovers, of course — mostly fleeting affairs with like-minded young men, a few visits with some esteemed workers of the oldest trade, one or two flights of fancy that almost came close to being an actual relationship. But his sexual exploits had always been very straightforward, passion like a problem being solved, a somewhat more involved pleasantry that was beneficial to all. Never before has passion felt this… savage. Essek feels every inch the monstrous beast the Empire doubtless believes all drow to be. His desires in this moment are better suited for the dankest slums of Asarius rather than the courts of Rosohna; he should be rutting into Caleb against an alley wall somewhere, pushing him into the dirt in the street, fucking his face in the corner of a barroom, Gods, what has come over him?
“By the Light, what are you doing to me, my Caleb?” he questions between biting kisses.
One hand, blessedly bare now, returns to the younger man’s face, fingers dragging across lips and cheeks. The other combs through that soft red hair, and gods he can feel it now, every strand, and he is caught somewhere between possessiveness and awe.
Caleb’s own hands have tugged open the laces holding the front of Essek’s trousers together, frantic and needy for all that Essek is trying so desperately to stay calm and controlled. One of them needs to. One of them must maintain some semblance offffuuuuuuck Caleb’s mouth is open and licking over the cloth of Essek’s langot and he can feel it, he can feel that wet heat on his cock, he can see the human-pink-flesh of Caleb’s tongue, he can feel Caleb’s thumbs on his bare skin in the divot where his hip meets his groin, he can feel Caleb’s mouth through the texture of fine linen and he cannot—
Essek cries aloud and falls to his knees, pulling Caleb away by the hair, tearing that delicious heat away from him because he can’t, he will lose his mind, he will go mad if he feels that for a second more.
His hands are shaking now, but they are gentle as they come back cradle the Zemnian’s face even as Caleb whines like a wounded animal and murmurs something in his native tongue. Essek peppers Caleb’s pale face with kisses — his crooked nose, his cheeks, his chin, his beautiful eyelids — wishing to comfort as much as he wishes to devour, before stopping to catch his breath. He rests his forehead against Caleb’s, brushing their noses together, sharing oxygen, hearing each other shiver.
“This,” Essek hears his own voice come out breathier than expected and he swallows, trying to regain some of his long lost composure, “This is not how I wanted this to happen.”
“Aber du hast das wollte, nicht wahr?” comes the low, rumbling response.
“In Common, dear one,” Essek chides, and the absurdity of this moment makes him laugh, a smile breaking through on his face, wide and relieving.
Caleb shakes his head as though dizzy, but he smiles as well, something tired and restless and elated.
“Ich… I… But you did want this?”
His voice has an odd quality to it now. Still breathless, still pining and wishing and wanting, still hungry, but also… afraid. It almost makes Essek laugh anew, the idea that this man has anything to worry about. The idea that Essek could ever not want Caleb.
“Caleb Widogast, there are few things I have wanted more. I imagined this so many ways, but I… I never…”
Caleb curses, something in Zemnian, the rough syllables sending a shiver down Essek’s spine though he can’t even understand them. “You never, liebchen?”
Caleb’s voice is teasing and vicious, his smile is hungry and wicked, yet every twitch of his eyes and hands is still so clearly full of nerves and anticipation. Gods, every ounce of emotion in those pale human eyes, every desire, it is all delicious despite their obvious insecurities and fears. Essek begins to wonder if either of them will ever truly believe they could be so lucky as to be wanted by the other.