At Least He Gives Good Head

by Anonymous

Chapter 3: Head On

Head On

━ ༄࿔ ━

"Please," Nere rasped.

Gortash swung around and took one step closer to the bed. Nere lay slack, skirts still rucked up to his hips. The dragonborn wrenched his head up to meet Gortash's gaze, claws drawing hot furrows across his scalp.

"Pardon me, I didn't quite catch that," Gortash said, tilting his shoulders in mock apology. He held up his right hand, the magenta stone spilling sickly light down his arm and illuminating him from below. His dark eyes caught flecks of pink, like burnt flesh cracking open.

"Please," Nere pressed out. "I forgot my place. My lord."

The steel slid against his throat as he swallowed, a bead of blood trailing down the blade. The metallic scent cut through the heady musk and sour sweat lingering in the room.

"That you did," Gortash agreed, looking at his hand, flexing his fingers slowly. He glanced over Nere’s head to the dragonborn. "You are lucky we are in a good mood."

He made a dismissive gesture; dark pink light slashed the wall. "Come, my monitor. Let’s leave this dreary place."

The grip in Nere's hair released, and he fell back into his own filth. The bed shook as the creature climbed off and moved to flank its partner. Nere's vision fogged, but he could see the shapes of them passing through the doorway. He did not yet have the strength to move.

They left, but what they had done to him would stay.

━ ༄࿔ ━

Notes:

Ahjivi's name is built from draconic wordplay around "the Urge". The poetic, or bardic, meaning is something like "the breath of compulsion." He is all impulse, ALL CAPS, and very little restraint. Plus, he carries some extra equipment. This is why Gortash's pet name for him, my twin blade, matters. They are not very subtle people.

Gortash's horror here is rooted in his backstory. He was sold once and used as a devil's plaything. Instead of growing mercy from that knowledge, he makes the world his playground, so that he is never reduced to a toy again.

And you can't write a story with True Soul Nere without a few (ok, a lot of) head puns. Every one is a crime and I stand by the platter.

Or should I say salver.