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"Are you --"
(Rough, warm hands framed his face for a moment before tracing down his neck.)
"--sure that you--"
Cool hands wrapped around his horns, delicately curving around the contours and scratching down to the spurs growing from his chin.
"--want to try this?"
"Yes, otherwise I wouldn't have suggested it. If I'm --" (he said to the dark haired man.)
"-- you're--" he said to the pale elf.
"--not into it--", he grinned,
("--I--")
"--you--"
"--can always rip--"
("--your--")
"--my--"
"--throat out."
("Oh, so romantic," Gortash laughed. The man always laughed at his death threats nowadays. They had lost their edge somewhere in the years, but he did still mean them. If he didn't...well then he wouldn't wholly be his Father's Urge. There would be some small part of his rancid flesh that was his own, and that concept was entirely foreign.)
"You overestimate my throat-ripping abilities," Astarion smiled, the glint of fangs making the dragonborn oh so deliciously aware of his own pounding heart.
Those teeth may be in his neck almost every night, but there was very little ripping involved. It was just a sweet, cold kiss of pain and pleasant shuddering against one another. No waste, no struggle, just surrender.
Sometimes that alone was enough to get the dragonborn's cock straining against his trousers. Astarion climbing on top of him to get a better angle on his throat usually finished the job. If Astarion felt generous, he'd relieve that pressure, if not, he'd drain the monster into unconsciousness. There would be an eager volunteer regardless of the outcome.
The dragonborn smiled back at the man leaning over him, exposing rows upon rows of needle-like teeth that would have most looking for an excuse to be elsewhere. He never could make a 'nice' smile, and that usually suited him just fine. (Gortash used to visibly pale at the sight of The Urge's teeth near sensitive bits of his anatomy. Thank Father he got over it.) Astarion seemed utterly unimpressed by the fangs, even when they dug into his flesh a bit too hard in the dragonborn's excitement. He'd never maimed him, after all.
The killing edge in his mind was dull, (dull from want), dull from blood loss, and all he could feel was a burning desire to please and be pleased.
Oxak--
(The Dark Urge--)
--settled his hands on his partner's waist, and scooted him up his body for a kiss (licking deep into Gortash's mouth to make him choke). Being so much larger than the other man always woke something predatory in him, and he liked to think they enjoyed it too. It wouldn't usually matter if they did or not, he reflected, but for this certain man, he needed enthusiastic participation. He left a hand on their hip, the other tickling across their stomach as he pushed them back, enjoying the contrast of textures (coarse hair and the soft give of succulent flesh), smooth skin and lean muscle, against his shining white scales.
"If you go slow, you should be able to slide right in," the dragonborn said to him, his voice a low rumble.
Naked against the blankets, vulnerable in a way that made him both excited and uneasy. This was a foolish position to be in, completely at someone else's mercy, all for a little pleasure. The screaming in the back of his mind to guard himself was utterly ignored in favor of just enjoying the touch of another person. Lust clouded his judgement, but he trusted the man settled across his hips. Trusted him in this at least, but certainly not in all things. There was still a knife under the pillow just in case, and he could feel it practically singing to be used.
The foreplay had been more than enough to get his body welcoming; long minutes spent with mouths licking and fingers stretching had his cock fully extended from its vent. It gleamed wetly in the dim light, blue-grey and ridged down its length, twitching with every beat of his heart. The dragonborn longed to bury it into the (warm) tight insides of the other man, to plunge in over and over in a delicious pantomime of stabbing with his favorite knife.
It really wasn't so different. He liked to force himself into other people's bodies, with blades or claws or teeth or cock. He wanted to feel the flesh writhe around him, feel it give and give until there was nothing left.
("Go slow? Now? When you're laid out like a feast before me? You expect far too much of me, my friend," Gortash said, leaning over him, eyes greedy, hands greedier as they fingered his vent, as they stroked his cock. Greedy mouth too, lips tracing kisses up his length before sucking far too hard on the tip.
The Dark Urge pushed up into the hot embrace, tempted to fist his hand in that dark hair and choke the life out of his human. The impulse fizzled out like a miscast spell, discarded like all the other killing thoughts. It was easier than it used to be. He didn't reject the notion entirely of course, claws scratching at the other man's scalp enough to make him bleed. Gortash pushed a few fingers into the Urge's slit in retaliation, making him hiss and buck.)
"I'll be so, so gentle, don't worry. I won't hurt you," Astarion reassured him, hands splayed across scaled belly as he straddled the dragonborn's hips. The vampire was hard too, a small drip of precum splattering down on scales, making Oxak's cock throb against him. "I would never hurt you unless you want me to. I could go for a nibble if that's on offer tonight." There was that forever-hungry spark in his eyes, the one that always, always had Oxak baring his throat.
"Only a bit, don't overdo it," Oxak murmured, letting out a gentle hiss as the vampire's fangs found a soft spot between the scales and drained some of his heat away. But just a little, just enough so the dragonborn craved comfort, craved touch and closeness. Just enough to make Astarion feel alive and alert and even hungrier.
Astarion smiled down at him. It was such a carefree expression that the dragonborn believed it, mirrored it. Something tickled in the back of his mind, old wisps of memory, something about acting to lure prey in, something about seduction as a prelude...but they faded before he could properly consider them. The naked man in his lap was a far more interesting prospect.
Every movement was precise, calculated, as Astarion's left hand traced up up up to Oxak's mouth and tapped against it. Gentle drumming until the dragonborn opened, and cool fingers found their way inside.
Oh how he loved to have flesh between his fangs.
But no sinking then in, not tonight. His bedmate would not pull a hand back short a few fingers, no matter how the thought made him twitch. It would end the fun far too soon. While that sort of entertainment was what he really wanted in the depths of his black heart, the dragonborn held himself back.
Oxak licked the fingers instead, long tongue wrapping around the digits, eyes drifting shut as the other hand slid along his dick, down to the base, then beyond, deep inside his slit, and he let out an involuntary grunt. Astarion replied with a little sound, not quite a muffled laugh but definitely a cousin of it, and pulled his fingers out to examine the wet strings of natural lubricant slicking them. He rubbed the slick together, looking at Oxak from under his lashes.
"How are you so warm here? Don't you breathe ice?" Astarion teased. He slowly, slowly licked his fingers clean, one by one, eye contact searing Oxak down to ashes. Astarion grabbed the dragonborn's cock and pinned it flat against his belly to get a good look at the scant space under it. With exaggerated slowness, the vampire gently set his fingers back to the vent and traced the outer edge of it for a few agonizing seconds before easing them inside.
The slow creeping inside of his body made Oxak want to bite and claw and fuck, but even as hazy as his memories were, he knew that waiting would make it even better. There was an explosion of bliss hovering just beyond his reach but he needed to be patient. Astarion continued to flex his fingers with a smug sort of smile, pointing his hand to fit more in and grabbing his dick with the other hand to line it up.
The dragonborn looked down at that other cock side by side with his, (shorter, surrounded by dark curls) slender and pale skinned contrasting with the blue grey of his own. It was going to feel marvelous to have that nestled deep inside. He wanted that stretch, that inherent wrongness and the perversion of the way his body should work.
Gods, he was foul.
(The thought made The Dark Urge grin widely and snicker into Gortash's face. The human rolled his eyes and added another finger into the already stuffed vent. He jerked himself with the other hand, his movements languid and lazy and unconcerned with his captive monster laughing at him. "I don't really want to know, do I?"
"Oh don't worry. I wasn't thinking of anything to do to you. But now that you mention it, you would look so lovely with your throat opened up. You know, I'm almost certain I could avoid the arteries so you could be alive long enough to feel my cock come out the wrong way. The taste would be very interesting, wouldn't it?" The Urge said, but soon lost that particular train of thought as Gortash bent and pushed his legs to his chest and leaned his full weight against them.)
Astarion gently spread the vent a little wider, blue flesh peeking out from the pearlescent scales, the contrast delightfully tantalizing. He lined up carefully and slid his cock torturously slowly along the underside of the dragonborn's. After a few teasing passes, each one drawing an impatient huff from the scaled beast beneath him, he finally set the head of his dick against the narrow entrance and started to push.
"Gods, you're wet," Astarion moaned as he guided himself in, hissing air out between his teeth as he slowly slid into the vent. Lubricant, both naturally produced by the dragonborn's body and generously applied by the other man, squelched out from the opening and slid down Oxak's thighs. Astarion settled in quickly, remaining perfectly still once hilted inside, throbbing and stretching and twitching and making Oxak's jaw clench.
"How are you feeling?" Astarion asked. He took in the tension in his partner's neck, the blankets squeezed in his hands, and a flicker of concern stole across his face. It was almost immediately replaced by a self-assured smirk, but Oxak had seen it. He saw the care, and it helped ground him in the moment.
"Full," he rasped out, claws digging into the fabric beneath him.
And too exposed.
Oxak felt his fingers spasm, overwhelmed with thoughts of pulling the vampire down to him and showing him what some real teeth could do. What would his own blood taste like when he reclaimed it from the cold thing atop him? How did an undead creature's blood pressure differ from his own? How fast would it clot, and would it gush or drip or trickle into his mouth? The thought alone made him salivate. It was getting so hard to push such fantasies away.
He gasped and tossed his head from side to side in desperate attempts to control himself. It was easily mistaken for passion. Arguably, it was passion.
"Mmmmm, you're just exquisite. Just so powerful and just so handsome and just so all for me. Pretty thing," Astarion praised, "you're doing wonderfully."
Astarion started to move carefully, gently, small rolls of his hips to test the waters. While they both knew the space would be large enough, as the dragonborn's enormous cock fit entirely inside his body without incident, the slit it extended from was narrow and the muscles within were used to pushing out, not sucking in.
Oxak shut his eyes, breathing hoarse, trying to focus on the physical sensation of mind-obliterating pleasure instead of his persistent thoughts of murdering his lover. But it would feel so, so good to kill, the ecstacy of the death and the betrayal on Astarion's face...he could savor that for decades. The elf would be shocked; there was no way he'd expect the man he was fucking to rip him open from throat to navel, to play in his organs with glee. A truly wretched demise that had Oxak's entire body roaring with approval.
"Darling, eyes on me. You're spending too much time in your own head, and I'm getting jealous," Astarion's voice was light, almost a tease, but it still managed to pull him back from the brink. Oxak opened his eyes and grabbed the other man's hips to pull him in deeper.
"Harder," he rasped out.
(Gortash shoved, trying to fuck into him in a single thrust. The vent was far too tight for that, and the Dark Urge dug claws into his back, growling his displeasure into the human's face. If anyone else would've tried such a thing, the Urge would've literally bitten their head off. Yet his little tyrant being around made life so much more fun, so he had to take the insufferable arrogance in stride.
"Wasn't all that teasing earlier supposed to loosen you up? Don't be such a child. You know you like it rough," Gortash cursed under his breath as he finally crammed himself inside in a series of short, rough snaps of his hips. He had been too eager to breach the opening, and hadn't allowed either of them adequate time nor lubricant to make the penetration painless or even mildly comfortable.
"Bane Almighty, you really make me work for it," Gortash huffed, and rocked his hips experimentally. He had a wide toothy grin as he did, looking down on his lover triumphantly.
"I will flay you, you sorry excuse for a man. Your blood will dye my scales to rubies and --" The Dark Urge cut off with a choking sound as Gortash twisted his hand tightly around his cock and started to thrust.
"As long as you let me cum first, you can do as you like. Fuck but you're tight," Gortash said, and increased his pace, "loosen up, whore."
"Call me a whore again, and I will feed you your own fingers," The Urge snarled, and snapped at Gortash's throat. Gortash leaned back just enough to avoid the teeth then pushed his conquest back into the sheets. He pressed his full body weight onto the dragonborn's folded legs, pinning him down to help keep those fangs away.
"That's the spirit. Push back, I don't want to do all the work..." Gortash's eyes darkened, his very practiced but still effective smoulder firmly in place, "Gods, you look perfect on your back."
The Dark Urge hated to admit it, but he liked the look of Gortash too. He usually had the human pinned and sweating beneath him so this little change of pace let him appreciate the other man's body in ways he hadn't noticed before.
He liked watching the muscle ripple under the skin, liked the way the hair fell into his face on his forward motions. Liked the arms shoved into the sheets by his head as the human braced himself to deliver the most punishing thrusts he could. Liked seeing the white flash of teeth, the smile lighting up his face.
And he liked how full he was, how defiled and profaned he felt and especially how Gortash was the one doing it to him.)
"Gods, you feel amazing. You grip like you never want me to leave...I don't think I'm going to be able to carry on much longer..." Astarion trailed off, and tossed his head back with a drawn out hiss, one hand held to his mouth, the other splayed across Oxak's chest.
It was certainly theatrical, but Oxak was already too lost to notice the act. The Urge simmered just under his skin, and he knew this needed to end quickly. His lust for sex and for death were far too intertwined for safety, and his claws dug into Astarion's hips, blood trickling down from the contact points. If Astarion noticed he didn't show it, both hands bracing him up on the dragonborn's scaled chest as he drove into the vent like a man possessed.
"Spill inside me, wet and dripping and filthy," the dragonborn growled, "stain my body with your cum and –" he cut off with a choked noise as Astarion latched on to his throat. The fangs dug in deep, greedy and tearing as the other man fed and fed and fed until Oxak lost the fight with consciousness.
He came to a short while later, cum splatted across his chest and leaking from his well-used slit. His cock had mostly softened, and was slowly retreating into his sloppy vent.
"I missed it," Oxak said, throat so sore he regretted saying anything. He reflexively swallowed when Astarion tipped a bottle to his mouth. Healing potion? He didn't realize that he'd lost that much blood, but Astarion's handsome face was red from the lips down, with smears reaching up to his hairline and down to his collarbone. Oh, he liked it when his lover was bloody, and Oxak felt his body try to respond to the sight as he laid back down.
"Did you? You made enough of a mess before I got too entranced with how magnificent you taste. I didn't realize you were unconscious," Astarion said, then paused for a beat, "I'm sorry?"
"No need to apologize, love," Oxak sighed, and took the offered toweling to begin cleaning up. The murderous thoughts were back in full swing, and he couldn't help but imagine rutting into the other man's chest cavity while dripping with his spend.
Foul, foul, foul.
"I'll make it up to you later. I'll fill you to bursting, darling, and then —" Astarion cut off as Oxak dragged him into an overly tight embrace. He gathered his composure with a few deep breaths, banishing the beautiful thoughts with effort. The dragonborn quickly made himself relax the hold, and tipped Astarion's chin to look into his eyes. The vampire didn't hide the flicker of fear quickly enough, confirming that the feeding had been, at least in some way, in self-defense. The raggedly healing slices across Astarion's hips made the guilt drop like a stone into Oxak's chest.
"I'm sorry. Don't ever let me hurt you," Oxak whispered, "You don't deserve to suffer."
Astarion remained silent, a hand once again scratching at the dragonborn's horns in that way he knew Oxak liked.
"Noted," he finally replied.
("Fill this wretched vessel with your seed; let us breed an army of abominations and murder the world," the Dark Urge said, tone dripping with venom, locking his legs around Gortash to pull him as close as physically possible. "We will rain ruin upon —"
Gortash shoved his fist into Urge's mouth, pressing his jaws open and making him gag around the hand as he pushed it back as far as he could. The teeth dug into his skin, dripping blood onto the Urge's tongue. He screamed in response, flailing and twisting and trying to bite down harder.
"Will you shut up and just take it?" Gortash grit out, and came with a wordless shout, pumping his load deep inside of the Urge. The pressure filling him up was almost too much to bear, the dragonborn's vision blacking out for a moment as he reached his own peak, heels digging into the mattress to push up and force Gortash as far inside as their bodies could achieve.
They collapsed into a sweaty, drooling mess, both lovers gasping for air as their heart rates slowed back to normal. The Urge rolled Gortash off of him, and propped himself up on his side. He loved looking at his little human like this, when he was absolutely wrecked and wet and all but dying for him. He ran a claw through Gortash's cum-splattered chest hair, and the man swatted his hand away with a petulant grunt.
"Don't make me even filthier, you animal," Gortash said, and let him arm fall back limply to the stained sheets.
"I just make the outside match the innards," the Dark Urge replied, and snaked his tongue into the other man's mouth until they were both choking for want of air. )