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It was one of those nights.
Sleep never came easily to the spawn of Bhaal. Xaran knew as much from their very first memories. It was how the Slayer came to present itself to Bhaal’s chosen, the spawns that could handle the visions of gore and viscera in the night without losing their mind would be favored. Somehow they were strong enough to handle *that*— until the nights it got away from them, as if their body was possessed by the need to release the violence they hadn’t quite expressed— for the name of control, or restraint? They never felt like much of anything on nights like this, when their body was too exhausted from lack of restful sleep, moving on its own, acting on base, carnal desires.
It did make a mess of things, that urge.
The drow, in their half aware state, had found themselves at Enver’s feet. Somehow. It had never been like this— before their alliance, these nights were usually spent in the bowels of the temple, scratching at their skin until it bled, tearing apart any sacrifices they had captured. This was different. It was new. And not entirely unwelcome. His voice was a pleasant buzz in the back of their mind as they leaned into the touch, mismatched eyes blown wide and dark. It was clear their mind was not at all present tonight as they looked into his dark, unwavering gaze.
“What a sight you are, my assassin.” He almost crooned at them— as if they were a pet being especially endearing. His calloused hands brushed against their cheeks as their body shook— vision unfocused, rage simmering underneath their skin. The urge to rip him down to the bones competed with the memory of expensive liquor on his tongue— that very first time the alliance evolved into a grey mush of blurred lines and hurried, hidden touches in dark corridors.
The crack of a bone in their clenched jaw brought his gaze to it— something unreadable and knowing in a way they didn’t have to vocalize. Instead, he pulled them closer, up onto the bed, and the drow’s lithe form sunk into his as easily as the feather soft mattress under them.
“One of those nights?” He murmured, clearly not expecting a coherent answer at the moment. His dark gaze still searched theirs, hands sliding around their wrists like cuffs, easily flipping Xaran’s body under his own. Each touch was deliberate and worshipful as quick fingers worked to undo the tie to their shirt, brushing up against their scarred chest, intentional. Grounding.
”Enver.” They hissed— the first word they’d spoken tonight. It was all they could get out— their tone conveying the urgency of the shakes of rage their body gave, the near physical yearning of some kind of release—
“Xaran.” He spoke their name slowly, unbothered. As if they weren’t completely capable of flaying his flesh from his bone. The thought had their heart hammering against his palm, his expression a touch too openly appreciative to quell the odd new blossom in their chest at this… newer aspect of their relationship.
It was…
Xaran’s eyes were half lidded as he made short work of their slacks, the buckles on their underwear, not directly touching them despite the urgency. No. He gathered them up in his arms and kissed them like they had stolen his oxygen and he needed it back.
It was enough to light them up, their sharpened nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, ripping into the thin fabric of his sleep shirt— chasing the taste of the shot whiskey he took on nights the insomnia was particularly bothersome.
It was something to be revered— a human matching the stamina of a Bhaalspawn nearly effortlessly, not shying away from their bite on his tongue, the taste of his blood sliding into the dripping heat of their embrace. Xaran had to remind themselves not to go further than that— always in perpetual awe of his physical fragility compared to theirs.
When calloused fingers found their clit, the kiss devolved into a shuddering gasp into his mouth, his answering rumble clearly pleased with the reaction he’d drawn from them. The firm touch was incessant— not giving them a moment of reprieve as the simmering rage under their skin battled with growing arousal.
“There we are.” He whispered, the self satisfaction dripping off of his lips. His gaze took in the flush on the drow’s face, lips curled in a smug smile as he pulled them close by strong arms wrapped around their legs, pulling them flush against him as his head rested in between spread, trembling thighs.
Xaran’s eyes closed for a moment— not quite strong enough to look at him directly just yet. Not when that feeling, as heady and persistent as their urge, lingered in their chest.
Father, forgive me.
His tongue, flat and warm against the swell of their clit drew a hushed whine from them, their fingers flexing and tugging in his hair, pulling, aching to sink into his flesh. He answered their noises with a groan of his own, his blunt nails digging into their flesh, the wet *slurping* of his eager mouth sucking them off hot and fast— driving them absolutely mad.
“Enver…” They managed another soft gasp, using the hand on the back of his neck as leverage to grind their folds against his tongue, their clit grinding against the bridge of his nose. All while he took it without complaint— with a reverence, even. It was maddening— the delicate balance of giving and taking with someone they could almost consider an equal. Someone… they’d rather leave alive. For now.
As the heat of his tongue pressed inside their trembling entrance, their thighs squeezed almost too tight around his head, his hands forcing them back open as he lavished them like a feline would a bowl of cream. It made the very pit of their stomach burn with want, and the Bhaalspawn let out a growl of pure unadulterated need, nails breaking skin on the back of his neck, holding him so close as their hips rode his tongue desperately.
The building inferno in their core stole their breath— muted the rage they felt under the fine layer of flesh, their teeth bared, chest heaving, heart pounding a frantic war drum in their ears, so close—
Of course he would pull away at that moment, the smug expression on his face enough to draw a growl of frustration from them as their body collapsed back against the mattress, covered in sweat and rage as the thought of flaying him alive once again crossed their mind— silenced only by a strong hand resting against the column of their throat.
“Now, now.” He gently chided— as if he could see the fantasy of murder dance in their gaze. His thumb brushed against the artery in the throat, a purposeful move as they contemplated biting into his flesh. “You do trust me. Do you not?”
Xaran’s hands were smeared with the blood they’d drawn out of his neck, of his shoulders, hot and sticky as they slid down his back, contemplating his words in their half aware state. They must have trusted him in some capacity to keep him alive this long, but they did not like the smile he was wearing.
Squishing his cheeks with their bloodied hand, their voice was a soft, precise whisper, “Tease me any further and I will take what I desire from your corpse, Banite.”
This close, they could see the dark of his pupils widen at the threat, and his smile only grew to something far more obnoxious as his hand slid to intertwine with theirs in a move that was far too intimate for their mind to swallow.
And he knew it. The bastard.
“I had no idea it was so dire.” He murmured, lips dragging against their jaw, a promise of more to come. It wasn’t lost on them, how his hands slid in between their bodies, undoing the tie to his sleep drawers, freeing himself from cloth confines.
It was that moment the Bhaalspawn decided they didn’t particularly fancy being under him, hooking their strong legs against his for leverage to slam his body down against the sickly soft mattress he kept for himself. The moment the breath was knocked out of his lungs was music to their ears as they leaned down, chest to chest, the points of their sharpened nails digging in the soft flesh of his cheeks.
The smile Xaran gave him was diabolical and all too toothy in response. They lavished the shiver that rolled through him, the shudder in his breath, as if he were blatantly aware he was positioned under a predator.
“Your predicament is far more dire than mine.” Their hands flattened against his chest, relishing in the thud of his heartbeat against their palm as their fingers wrapped around his length, hard and throbbing, stroking slowly and purposefully.
His darkened gaze swept over them, heavy and contemplative. Xaran didn’t give him much of a chance for a complaint before they were propping his legs up in a move that even surprised themselves— giving them leverage to sink onto his cock and control the pace all their own, like they were the one fucking him.
His eyes widened at the surprising position, his words crumbling into a half groan as they used his legs for leverage, hips rolling down in a way that took him fully to the base, filling them up completely and drawing shivers of satisfaction out of their trembling form.
Leaning forward, a thumb pressed against his lips, openly admiring the flush on his face, the look of… embarrassment? Hesitance? It would make sense— a tyrant in the making enjoying such a vulnerable position? Truly scandalous.
“Xaran—“ He started, surely to save face. They were quick to cut him off.
“Don’t worry.” Xaran murmured, the point of their nail pressed against his lower lip, drawing the smallest bead of blood, “You can enjoy it. I’ll keep it between us.”
The pace they set was brutal, not giving much room for protest or complaint, their nails digging into the flesh of his propped up thighs, lavishing the tight squeeze of their own dripping heat around him, his flushed cheeks, sweat-glistened skin. They were sure they were a mess over him, their hands possessively digging into his flesh, bending him back in an attempt to capture his lips in a kiss, sloppy, wet, and wanting.
“Xaran—“ It was his turn to gasp out their name, and they felt the hot throb of his want deep inside. The urge to rip him into viscera paired with a deep, intense admiration swept over them staring into those dark eyes, and they sucked his bottom lip between their teeth, biting the blood out of his flesh, savoring the iron tang mixed with the salt of his sweat— their eyes stared right into his as they thrust down on him twice more and released, throwing their head back in a triumphant and hushed growl as the relief washed over them like a sanguine baptism.
In their own relief, their body sank back onto the bed, temporarily boneless and scantly aware of their surroundings— until a hot splash of release on their cheeks and chest brought them back to reality, his hand guiding their face up to take it as he stroked himself hard and fast, his voice an amused whisper.
“Selfish little beast, aren’t you?” He chided them, his hand squeezing their cheeks together, the bhaalspawn’s face a mess of blood, spit, sweat, and his seed. “There we are.”
In their half aware daze and covered in substances, all Xaran could think about was how quiet their mind was when they looked at him. The thought in and of itself was terrifying, but not as terrifying as how easy it was to pull him close and fall asleep (after unceremoniously wiping their face off on his expensive silk sheets).