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Under normal circumstances, Elsweyr’s cave systems brought relief from the desert heat. Unfortunately, Darkpool Mine had become a den of fire and brimstone-loving Merrunz cultists.
Stone impacted heavily on steel as Zerith-var braced his shield against the iron atronach’s attacks. He growled under the strain, but did not give any ground to the towering elemental. A flash of green hit the atronach in the back, bits of molten rock falling away. Zerith-var grinned to himself, blocking and dodging, keeping the creature occupied to allow his tamiit the freedom to deal damage.
The atronach toppled over, and Zerith-var stepped aside to avoid it. The ground shook as it fell, before it began to melt into liquefied rock, returning to Oblivion.
He raised his eyes then to his tamiit. Drals breathed heavily, watching the atronach burn into the ground, the orange glow of it illuminating his features. His spell tome hovered in the space beside him, humming with energy, before he waved a hand and it vanished; whisked away to whatever domain he kept it in.
Drals exhaled, his one uncovered eye darting around for any additional threats. Finding none for the moment, he nodded to Zerith-var, but kept his sword at the ready as they continued on.
Both of them were well accustomed to hot climates, to be sure; but in the heat of the caverns and the strain of combat, even Zerith-var feared he might begin to sweat through his armour. Drals, for his part, looked miserable. More often than not, his expression seemed to default to a scowl, but as they trudged through the caverns, he seemed intensely uncomfortable.
“Would it have killed them to add some form of ventilation? A frost enchantment? B’vek, a scamp holding a fan, even!” He growled, wiping sweat from his brow.
Zerith-var sighed, understanding his tamiit’s need to simply complain – or, as he would say, have a whinge about it. He followed behind Drals as they walked through narrow passageways, keeping alert.
“A scamp holding a fan would have been rather amusing to see,” he said, trying to picture it.
“Right,” Drals replied, his attention ahead of them. “Probably wouldn’t be too friendly, though. Shame.”
Indeed, nothing in the mine seemed to be very friendly. The one engineer they had been tasked with rescuing, they had found dead. It felt as if they had been cutting through cultists for hours before they finally came upon the relic the dead engineer’s journal had described.
As the two of them made for the exit, the relic stuffed into Zerith-var’s backpack, his gaze kept wandering to Drals. His tamiit stalked with purpose, like a hunter. The way he moved was precise, measured, both with the strange mathematics of his magic and in his swordsmanship. He had a clear, focused intent that Zerith-var found himself very attracted to. He could be a little intense, certainly, but who would either of them be without their respective darkness?
And the rough state of him after the battles they had fought together – bloody, sweaty, his hair a mess – Zerith-var would be lying if he said it didn’t do something for him.
Night had fallen by the time the two of them emerged from the caverns. The danger passed, Drals sighed and slumped against the wall, leaning his head back against the cool stone. Zerith-var was sure it was a welcome relief after a long day both in the hot Elsweyr sun, and battling fire-wielding cultists.
Zerith-var leaned on the wall next to him, his eyes drawn to his tamiit's exposed throat. His black and silver hair was damp where stray strands fell against his forehead, his eye shut and lips parted as he caught his breath. Perhaps he was still feeling the rush of adrenaline from combat, but Zerith-var’s gaze raked over his body – his form-fitting armour covered in sand and blood, his warm grey skin shining with sweat – suddenly unable to stifle his desire. He didn’t have to think very long about it before he shifted, crowding Drals with his hands on the wall on either side of him. His one uncovered eye opened, looking up at Zerith-var with first confusion, then recognition.
“I feel like a bloody mess,” Drals scoffed, though his gaze was dark as he eyed Zerith-var back.
Zerith-var chuckled at his Dunmeri cadence. He raised his hand and wiped at a series of drying droplets of blood across Drals’ cheek with the palm of his glove. Drals leaned into his hand, and Zerith-var did not miss the way the tender touch caused his breath to hitch.
“I think it is safe to say we are both ‘bloody messes’ after that ordeal,” Zerith-var replied, his tone perhaps a bit huskier than he intended it to be as he shifted closer to his tamiit. He knew that he, himself, had not fared much better, longing for a warm bath whenever they might find their way back to town to fully clean the dirt and viscera from his fur. “It is always a delight to fight at your side. Your strength is a sight to behold.”
Drals rolled his eye, a tired hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“Flatterer,” he breathed, his gaze wandering downwards. “You’re, ah, not so bad yourself.” His hands found Zerith-var’s waist, drawing him closer until their bodies pressed together. There was a dull clank as the armour covering both their chests met.
Zerith-var leaned in then, burying his nose against his tamiit’s neck and breathing in the scent of him. He smelled of the mine and combat, of brimstone and iron, of sweat and the leather of his armour. Zerith-var ran his tongue over warm, damp skin, his desire building as he drank in the salty taste of him. Drals shivered, tilting his head to expose more of his skin, his hands gripping tighter at his waist. Zerith-var hummed, pushing his hand into his hair while grazing his teeth over his flesh, feeling Drals melt against him.
With their hands wandering, Zerith-var recalled the things they were capable of. He marvelled at Drals’ cold, calculating precision with a sword, his command over the arcane. There was a power behind his body, both in his physical form and something deeper and otherworldly. Those hands were capable of great and terrible violence, and now they dug into Zerith-var’s shoulders, small whimpers falling from his lips as sharp teeth nipped at his skin.
Zerith-var cupped his face, running his thumb over his gasping, parted lips. He kissed and nipped at his jaw before raising his head to meet his gaze, finding Drals’ visible eye was dark with want. Zerith-var brushed his thumb along his lower lip, and his tongue darted out to meet it. Drals then took the digit between his lips, and Zerith-var growled low, heat coiling in his gut.
Drals shifted against him. He knew then that he was not alone in his desire, feeling his arousal hard against his thigh through layers of fabric and leather. He pushed his knee between Drals’ legs, delighting in the desperate little moan it earned him. His other hand fell lower, grabbing at Drals’ deliciously soft backside, encouraging him to grind against him.
He pulled his thumb back, drinking in the dazed and aroused look on Drals’ face. Briefly, the thought of having those lips wrapped around something else crossed his mind; it was a selfish thought, but a thought that made him groan and grind his hips into Drals’ regardless. Drals lowered his hands, dragging them down Zerith-var’s armoured chest before stopping to paw at his belt. They really had been of the same mind that day, Zerith-var thought, as he watched Drals slide down the wall, sinking to his knees.
“Tamiit,” Zerith-var purred, pressing his forehead to the wall. Drals pressed open-mouthed kisses along the length of his aching cock through his pants while he worked at undoing his belt. Their eyes met as he roughly tugged his pants down just enough to free his arousal.
Drals wasted no time, and Zerith-var groaned at the feeling of his tongue pressed flat against his balls, the soft leather of his gloved hand wrapped around his shaft. He could feel hot breath as Drals breathed in deeply and exhaled, and he chuckled at the knowledge that Drals was enjoying his scent and taste just as much as Zerith-var had enjoyed his. He let out a shaky sigh as his hand slowly stroked his cock, his lips and tongue moving hungrily below.
Zerith-var combed his fingers through his damp hair, claws scraping gently along his scalp. The touch caused Drals to shudder. He licked upwards over his balls, and Zerith-var groaned as his warm, wet tongue finally found its way up the underside of his shaft. He braced a forearm against the wall, leaning his head against it and watching Drals close his lips around the head of his cock.
Drals moaned with his mouth full, his brow furrowing and his eye falling shut. His hands rested on Zerith-var’s thighs as he pushed forward, swallowing him down.
Zerith-var panted as he watched him. He basked in the feeling of his lips around him, the pressure of his tongue against him while he picked up his pace. He looked so very handsome, Zerith-var thought, on his knees and looking up at him with such a needy expression. He couldn't help how he bucked his hips, momentarily losing himself in pleasure. Drals gave a choked sound, his grip on Zerith-var’s thighs tightening. The sound caused Zerith-var to catch himself, pulling back from his mouth.
“Besha ahnz’ii, tamiit… I forget my manners,” Zerith-var rasped, stroking Drals’ hair apologetically.
Drals gazed up at him, wide-eyed as he caught his breath. He shifted where he kneeled, and Zerith-var could see the obvious bulge straining against his pants when he moved his hips.
“Do it again,” he said breathlessly.
He took the head of his cock between his lips once more, his fingers pressing into the back of Zerith-var’s thighs, urging him closer. Zerith-var cursed under his breath, his cock twitching at the idea. If it was what his tamiit wanted…
He moved his hand to the back of his head, wanting to shield him from the hard stone wall. He pressed his hips forward, slowly at first, allowing Drals adequate time to adjust. He shuddered when he bottomed out, the tip of his cock at the back of Drals’ throat. The revelation that his tamiit had such skill caused Zerith-var to curse, pulling out part way and thrusting back in. Drals could only look up at him needily, hands gripping Zerith-var’s thighs. He set a gentle pace, watching Drals’ face for any sign of discomfort as he began to fuck his mouth.
His eye flashed with arousal when Zerith-var growled low, his hand at the back of his head gripping a fistful of dark hair. It was easy for Zerith-var to lose himself, selfishly chasing his own pleasure. In the back of his mind he registered one of Drals’ hands falling away, and the desperate whine from his throat as he palmed himself through his pants. It only spurred him on, knowing his tamiit was enjoying himself just as much.
Heat coiled like a spring, pressure building as he neared the edge. He groaned, picking up his pace and chasing his release. The hand on his thigh, the desperation between them, the warm wetness of his tamiit's skillful mouth around his cock — it soon became impossible to hold back any longer. Zerith-var gasped and shuddered, his hips stilling as he came, spilling his seed over his tamiit’s tongue.
Drals shivered, his eye screwing shut. Zerith-var loosened his grip in his hair, pulling his cock from his lips. He admired the look of pleasure on his tamiit’s face, the way his hips bucked against his hand in what Zerith-var recognised as his own orgasm.
The both of them breathed heavily in the calm. Zerith-var combed his fingers through his tamiit’s hair, allowing himself to admire the handsome being on his knees before him and wondering how he got so incredibly lucky. Tucking himself back into his pants, he bent down, softly pressing their lips together.
Their kiss was slow and sweet. He kissed Drals’ abused lips, drinking in the soft, contented sigh it drew from him. He could taste himself on his tongue when he licked hungrily into his mouth.
“You’ve made a mess of your pants, haven’t you?” Zerith-var murmured as they parted, half-amused and half-concerned. He chuckled when Drals looked away, the tips of his ears becoming a shade darker.
“Oh, quiet, you,” he scoffed, shifting uncomfortably on his knees. “Fuckin’ Vehk. It’s your fault, anyway. For being so… you.”
Zerith-var gave a laugh. He straightened himself, offering Drals his arm and pulling him to his feet. As Drals stood, he hissed and made a face with his upper lip curled back. Zerith-var didn’t need him to say anything to understand the discomfort of stretching out after sitting on one’s knees too long.
“You have my sincerest apologies, tamiit,” he said, his tone playfully sarcastic. “I will endeavor to not be quite so alluring in the future.”
“Pff,” Drals huffed, meeting Zerith-var’s eyes once more. “Frankly, I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Var, var,” Zerith-var purred. “Now who’s the flatterer?”
Drals rolled his eye, shaking his head, though there was a smile on his lips.