Chapter Text
At Least He Gives Good Head
Head Honcho
━ ༄࿔ ━
It slid across the dark waters, a skeletal vessel lit by blue arcane flame. Upon its black deck stood the scourge of scrutiny himself – Lord Enver Gortash, an arms-dealing upstart and self-crowned man of consequence. He had paid every step towards political prominence with coin from other men's pockets. A mere human, but a self-made marvel. For that alone, he would receive a grudging scrap of respect.
Nere made his way towards the dock, cloak billowing behind his long strides, hands clasped against the small of his back. Every line of him spoke of heritage: the tapered ears, the unyielding bearing and sharp features of his kin. The cerulean tint of his grey skin, an exclusive marker of the nobles of the Harlniar Talthalra riverlands beside the Glimmersea.
Old money, Nere thought, watching the vessel kiss the dock, had stooped to greet the nouveau riche.
What had the title of True Soul bestowed upon him? Heavy was the crown of divine purpose, and meagre were its privileges. He was bound to the mission of finding a sunken temple beneath ruins of ash and fire. Condemned to manage duergar and their slaves while the Absolute whispered grandeur into the skull it had set to menial labour. Now he was to suffer an inspection of his progress, of which there had been none for months. The slaves had been worked to the bone. Still, his efforts had produced nothing of use.
At the bow perched a massive figure, skin of pearlescent scales. Nere counted seven horns curling backwards from its skull, like unruly locks swept by a heavy draft. Its maw was impressive, adorned by spikes either coloured or bloodied red. Razor-sharp teeth glinted when a pink prehensile tongue flicked out.
The most baffling detail was not the dragonborn's size. It wore a bard's finery in dark blue, laden with gold embroidery. It was as if a siege engine had been dressed for court.
Its bulging legs dangled through the railing, the bare, clawed feet flipping like a child's. The expression on that beast's face matched the motion. It watched its own reflection float past in the backwash with something like wonder.
The duergar guard moored the ship to the berth and rigged the gangway. The giant lizard cocked its head, untangled its legs and jumped to its feet with an agility that was nothing short of an insult to its bulk. It shouldered a brimming backpack and slid to the side of Gortash, who disembarked onto the dock as if descending from a throne to greet his vassals.
Nere approached the ship, spine kept proud, refusing any such notion. Manners were not the same as submission. This parvenu prince would not be permitted that delusion.
"Well met, Lord Gortash," he said with the most minuscule bow he could stomach. "I trust your passage here has not been overly strenuous"
"It is a quaint backwater enterprise you run here, True Soul Khilnyath," Gortash mused, adjusting his preposterous collar.
The current fashion of the Upper City did him no favours. Nere eyed him beneath lowered lashes. The tall black coat flowed open, but cinched at the waist by a broad belt overladen with gold and gems. The shirt worn beneath was cut low, displaying the human oddity of body hair. With equal brazenness, the trouser's seams accentuated his groin, then cuffed into knee-high poulaines with gold ornaments at the elongated tips.
The lord's arms were encrusted with gold and jewellery to the point of fully coating his right arm. A magenta stone was fitted atop his hand, oozing sickly pink when he moved.
Gortash swept his right hand towards the dragonborn, who immediately puffed out its chest and became even more of a menace. "Ahjivi, my trusty monitor."
"I AM THE GUARDIAN OF HIS BODY." The booming voice had Nere staggering back by one step. One too many. His nostrils flared and he huffed as he corrected the fall of his fur-trimmed coat.
"Yes, yes, good," Gortash said, and patted the creature's swelling upper arm. He swept his hand towards the stairs, the ornate metal clinking as he curled and relaxed his fingers in a flourish. "Shall we proceed, then?"
"This way, if you please," Nere said behind gritted teeth.
"HE SPEAKS IN HISSES," the lizard in no way theatre-whispered giddily.
"The Underdark flavour," Gortash chuckled, walking up beside Nere. "It's an acquired taste."
━ ༄࿔ ━
The tour of the grounds had been a tenth level of the Hells invented for him alone. No stone was left unturned, whether by cutting remark or cold-blooded brute force. By the time Nere bid his guests sit at the long table in the main hall, he stood diminished. His lack of progress had been excruciatingly exposed. Shame clung to his shoulders like a second cloak. The insults would continue to pile upon his growing monument to failure, further weighing him down.
Gnomes scurried past their flanks in a constant stream of apologetic servitude. Platters, cups and folded napkins were hastily laid out at the head of the table. The table's proximity to the forge was a practical arrangement, a public space meant to secure efficiency during shift breaks. The added dressing of silverware and silk napkins painted on a ceremonial layer as thin and garish as leafed gold.
Nere shuddered where he sat, the tips of his ears darkening from a rise of blood. A glance passed between the guests. Nere caught it, but not its full potency.
The dragonborn, Ahjivi, planted its backpack on the table, unlaced it and started rummaging through the contents. It hummed while doing so. The deep vibration travelled through the stone and rattled the glasses beside a company of duergar further down. Nere could feel their gazes prickle his skin. He pressed his fingertips so hard against his temples that they became bloodless and as white as his hair.
With a triumphant AH-HAH! the lizard set a silver salver and two bottles of wine on the table. Then it swept the backpack aside and sat down across from Gortash.
Nere flicked his gaze between them from his chair at the head of the table. Then it landed on the salver. The silver lid cast back his reflection, distorted by the trembling heat. How many such platters had history used to serve cold dishes or, for that matter, hold the severed head of an enemy? A drop of sweat beaded on his nape, slipped under his robe and ran the full length of his spine.
"I fear this place has starved you of refined tastes," Gortash said, and pinched the knob of the salver's lid between jewel-encrusted fingers. "That is a travesty too great not to remedy."
He lifted the lid and Nere's eyes widened. Cool vapour spilled out and curled along the bases of the adjacent chalices. Finely ground meat encased in clear aspic lay arranged in thin cuts on the platter beneath. Each slice wore an oily sheen, refracted through a prism of cyan, magenta and gold.
"Phase spider," Gortash advertised, making no effort to temper his pride. "The Matriarch's haunch, to be specific. And I believe the occasion requires full disclosure."
"PRETTY JELLY," Ahjivi supplied. "PRETTY THINGS GO IN THE MOUTH."
"Indeed," Gortash said, his smile dimpling one cheek. "The aspic is exquisite. Rare, but I believe you are one to truly appreciate the layered quality of it, True Soul."
Nere swallowed audibly. The dish was sublime; Gortash was correct in that much. The multifaceted glaze was unfamiliar, but a quality easily explained away by the phase spider's transplanar properties. The meat and consistency followed convention to the letter. Propriety saw no refusal of such a gift.
Gortash served himself first, a cruel courtesy of feigned trust. His lizard pet got the second piece of meat. Both of them tasted the dish before the third serving landed on Nere's plate. Gortash separated a pearlescent sliver and put it into his mouth. The beast gulped down its cut whole and eyed a second portion before the first was properly swallowed. Like partners in a synchronised dance, the lord and the lizard then turned towards Nere. There was a hunger in their eyes that would see no objection.
"With compliments from my personal chef," Gortash mused as Nere's gaze swept over the plate he was handed. "He guaranteed its authenticity himself. Devil's in the details."
Nere did not care for the lizard's toothy grin at that.
The food was not poisoned. A small mercy to sit beside the slights. Nere cut through the meat with the vigilance of defusing a powder bomb. It yielded to the knife as easily as a sigh. When the first mouthful landed on his tongue, his taste buds hummed with delight. The taste left him wanting, but that in itself was a sensation he thought to have long lost.
His second bite had a sweet aftertaste the first had lacked. By the third, the world tilted. The aspic quivered on his fork. That was a facet Nere had not anticipated. He inclined his head to study the erratic shiver, and almost toppled to the side. Startled, he gripped the stone table to regain his balance.
The stone was surprisingly cool to the touch, a welcome balm against the smouldering heat from the surrounding pits of magma. Sweat trickled from his hairline and stung his eyes. It made it hard to focus.
The tremors came from his own hands. Nere realised this when he tried again to bring the food to his mouth and he shook too badly to manage the distance. He bowed to bite down on the fork, tensing as his teeth clamped too harshly around the metal.
His tongue was dry, as if he had swallowed a handful of ash. It stuck to the floor of his mouth, limp and thick. This blasted cavern was a furnace; soot would travel on the air and coat every mouthful. Yet another reason to despise this place; it would ruin every luxury brought here.
Nere set down the fork and reached for his cup. Ahjivi had filled it to the brim, and the crimson fluid sloshed when he gripped around the stem. His hand felt oddly detached from his body, and it took his full effort to bring the cup to his lips.
Something was wrong. There might be a contaminant laid over what he had been served. It was of no consequence. Wine would dilute it, flush his system. His body was made to resist an array of poisons. He would manage this.
The assurance did not have time to settle before the drink made matters worse. Heat climbed Nere’s throat, bloomed on his cheeks and tinted his ears a deep crimson.
"HE IS LEAKING," the creature to his right bellowed, with ill-concealed rapture.
"You do look a little flushed, my dear," Gortash said, mouth curling into a smirk.
It was true; Nere perspired profusely. Rivulets of sweat trickled from his temples, but did nothing to abate the heat rising from within. "What – " he rasped. "What have you done?"
There were murmurs further down the table. The ruckus had attracted the attention of the duergar, and six pairs of eyes now followed him with growing interest.
"Done?" Gortash gave an affronted gasp and let his fingertips touch his chest. "I have brought you a traditional noble delight. I'd say some gratitude is in order. Honestly, some manners would be expected."
"HE IS EATING APHRODISIAC AMBROSIA," Ahjivi added. Its grin grew impossibly wide, showing even more of its pointy teeth.
"Ah – aphrodisiac?" Nere breathed, and the first syllable came out suspiciously close to a moan. The colour of his cheeks deepened.
Nervous laughter stirred among the duergar, and the red in Nere's eyes ignited at the insult.
"The tiniest modifier," Gortash answered, casually waving his hand towards the platter. "A glaze of infernal cordial. An improvement, certainly."
He could see it then: Gortash's eyes were glassy, his lips swollen, rosy and slightly parted. That ridiculously low cut of his shirt flaunted a moist sheen over the coarse hairs and a quickened rise and fall of his chest. The lizard was affected too, its pink eyes bulging, its smile taking on a lewd curve. The forked tongue lolled out and hung from the corner of its mouth.
They had not only poisoned his dish. It was worse than that. They had participated in it, eating the doused food like a prelude to undisclosed debauchery.
"This farce ends now," Nere growled. He pushed off from the table and stood. His chair screeched against the stone. "I will not stand for this – ngh."
Blood left his head to pool lower. A visible tribute to his arousal poked from under his robe. A duergar cleared his throat. Sweat turned to trickles of ice as the colour of Nere's face washed out. His legs failed as he folded over, hands pressed to his midsection. Within an instant, Ahjivi was by his side. The lizard hooked its clawed hands under his arms and propped him up against its chest before he collapsed.
"Keep your dirty – ah – paws off – mh – me," Nere gasped, eyes flaring as he struggled feebly in the dragonborn's arms.
"HE IS FAILING," Ahjivi announced, gripping tighter as Nere's feet skidded over the floor. "HE SHOULD STOP FLAILING."
Gortash dabbed the corners of his mouth with the napkin. He rose, taking his good time to saunter over. "I believe the True Soul would best withdraw," he said with a vicious smile. "It has been a backbreaking day."
"THE COMMANDER IS TURNING INTO CONSOMMÉ," Ahjivi proclaimed, and began dragging Nere towards the stairs leading up to his quarters.
Gortash patted the dragonborn's shoulder, then put his metal-encased hand on Nere's upper arm. "Don't worry. We'll see you to bed… commander."
Nere's eyes widened. He tried to voice a protest, formulate a complaint, anything. His lips shaped nothing but a humiliating mewl when the lizard pressed its bulging muscles against his back. He could do nothing but hang from its iron grip and submit to being led towards his undoing.
He had curated the chambers to accommodate a private sphere away from home. A seat of governance fashioned by the reclusive noble heir of the riverlands. He doubted it would still stand.
━ ༄࿔ ━
The sounds from the workers on the floor below muffled as the heavy iron doors groaned shut. Nere was thankful for it. That was where mercy ended. When they had moved across the corridor and entered his bedroom, the lizard still had him propped up against its chest. Its swelling muscles sliding against Nere's back was a special torment, courtesy of his own hell.
The poison flushed through him in hot currents, swirling in the valleys between hip bones, pooling into his length until it might burst. Wet want seeped from his skin, beading every pore. Sweat ran from the line of his hair and stung the skin beneath the robe's high collar. The heavy fur-trimmed cloak clung to a body ready to combust.
"You are burning up," Gortash said. "Let me relieve you of all these layers. Wool in a place like this? Honestly, Nere…"
He walked up close to Nere, so close that his breath fogged the meagre distance between their heaving chests.
The lizard trilled at the intimacy, its forked tongue lashing Nere's right ear. A deep moan dragged out from Nere's throat when the moist whip kissed the tip and then the shell. His body tensed, muscles lost to the agency of spurious desire. The creature pushed its snout into the silky fall of hair at his nape and breathed in, a tempest to its thunderous voice. Then it hooked its clawed hands under Nere's damp underarms and held him out as an offering to its master.
Gortash tutted as he unclasped the heavy chain with the Absolute's mark. The gold encasing his right hand fingers shone in the dim light, fitted jewels catching the blue lantern glow. Nere watched the nimble fingers work in the sliver of space between bodies. The delicate hinges flexed when Gortash curled his fingers, as fluid as a bare hand. It was an obscene display of the artificer's skill: a hand reforged for strength, yet designed to supply the finest manipulation.
The cool metal slid across Nere's collarbone, and he shuddered. A drop of sweat rolled into the path of Gortash's thumb and was reduced to a smear.
Nere could feel the human's erection press against his own. It drew more sounds from him, ones he feared would etch into the inner walls of his skull. Moisture welled in his eyes. He screwed them shut, denying this leak, at least, as he had lost control over all else.
Gortash brushed his thumb over the Absolute's ornament of obedience. Then he flung the cloak off Nere's shoulders, discarding the cloth and chain in a heap on the floor. The robe was unceremoniously unclasped and followed suit. Nere was soon stripped down to his undergarments.
"D – don't," Nere tried. His voice cracked, lust dulling his tongue against a sharp retort. "Stop."
"Don't stop?" Gortash repeated, trailing his fingers over Nere's smooth, chiselled breast. "Oh, I have no intention to."
His hands continued to wander the hills and valleys of Nere's abdomen. He hooked his thumbs into the undergarment's waistband, angled the metal lamellae and cut through both side seams. With the flourish of a matador before a charging bull, Gortash tore the fabric loose. It landed with a final sigh on the discard pile.
Nere's length sprang loose, slapping wetly against his belly. The pink tip was swollen and weeping.
"Ah, Nere," Gortash cooed, raising the left hand to pat his cheek. "So excited. Do not fret. We will exceed all expectations."
His right hand encircled Nere's cock, the cool metal pressing against throbbing heat as he tightened his grip.
"I – ah –" Nere groaned, pushing the words out through gritted teeth, "I will have – ngh – your head for this."
"Feisty… You will have my head." Gortash chuckled and brushed his lips against the velvet folds of Nere's ear. "You will get the full length of me."
He let go, leaned back, and gave the naked form before him a once-over. His eyes lifted over Nere's shoulder to meet the gaze of the dragonborn. The clawed hands tensed, and Nere hissed as the sharp tips bit into his flesh.
"Ah, but first – a surprise," Gortash mused. "You are a gift, Nere. Let's wrap you properly."
"HE WILL BE A PRETTY BOX TO PRY OPEN," Ahjivi whooped. The volume of its voice so close to his ear made Nere whimper. The lizard shrugged the backpack loose, and it flopped down on the floor beside Nere's clothes.
Gortash squatted, his rings and adornments clinking as he dug into the bag and struck something metallic. He fished it out and returned to face Nere, shaking the tangle into the shape of a fine garment.
Nere paled as he took in what it was: a ceremonial robe for merfolk, made entirely from thorny hooks and light metal scales. He tried to speak, but only hoarse croaks made it past dry lips. Frantically, he shook his head, and saw it instantly overridden by Gortash's smile growing wider. The man bared almost as many teeth now as his dragon.
Nere was held up, trying and failing to object, as Gortash bunched the scaled folds and slipped the garment over his head. He corrected the fit with tugs at the shoulders and hips, humming his approval. The creature rumbled its reply from behind, looping one arm around Nere as it moved to his flank. As if it were a cavalier bidding him into a danse macabre.
The metal scales nipped his skin as he was guided towards the bed. It was like wading through a school of flesh-eating fish. When Nere’s knees touched the mattress, he felt several pounds less sovereign.
There was a push at the small of his back, and he slapped atop the bed. Then came a press between his shoulder blades, keeping him firmly against the silk while his legs were moulded into position. Tail high like a bitch in heat. His treacherous body obeyed the guidance; all the while his mind flickered and misfired one internal command after the other.
Nere's ears flicked as he heard the rustle of clothes being shed. He was jostled when something large and heavy climbed onto the bed – and then tried its give.
"DOUR ELF HAS A BOUNCY BED," came the thunderous voice. "ENVER SHOULD TRY. SHEETS ARE LIKE WATER."
This simpleton was an insult personified. He did not even possess the dignity to be solely intimidating, as his appearance suggested. No, he had the audacity to provide a continuous commentary of half-witted observations. He must have been dropped as a child. Repeatedly. On his head.
The tirade was a temporary comfort. Metal bit into metal as Gortash rucked up the scaled skirts to Nere's lower ribs. He let his hands follow the waist back, thumbs digging into the hollows beneath the jut of hip bones, angling Nere into an even more degrading slope.
"I'm perfectly fine with this rear view, my sweet," Gortash said and gave Nere's arse a lazy slap. "But do enjoy yourself."
A clawed hand descended upon Nere's head and clutched a fistful of silky hair. For one vertiginous moment, Nere thought he must have lost his senses. He had fallen and struck his head. The claws had dug in too deep. The succubus bane had finally breached whatever final chamber of dignity remained within.
He was being held before the naked crotch of a scaly lizard. He was seeing double.
"BEHOLD THE HEMIPEEN!" the creature roared proudly, pushing its hips forward. The white scales gradually receded into leathery pink shafts, tipped with ridged purple heads. Sap beaded and ran glazily along the lengths. Nere's throat bobbed. His mouth was no longer dry.
"Ahjivi, we have discussed this," Gortash scolded. The insufferable sneer was apparent in his voice.
"AT LENGTH." The dragonborn huffed and lowered Nere back to the mattress. Its hand stayed in his hair, coiling sweaty strands around its thick fingers.
"At length… Behave, now." Nere felt Gortash lean over, flushed skin pushing against the back of his thighs. He craned his neck under the grip, glancing backwards.
The man's arm hovered above him. From this angle, Nere could see hairy patches of skin in the gaps between metal. His palm was turned up, fingers curling in a beckon. "Spittle."
Nere gagged as the lizard hawked loudly and spat into Gortash's palm. He resumed his position, slavering into Nere's cleft.
Briefly quickened by disgust, Nere tried to coax his heavy limbs into a flight response. His thighs trembled, and for one bright moment he thought he felt a useful shift in posture. Then his back arched under a metal-clad caress, and he realised all was lost.
Gortash lined up behind him, and Nere's head was once again lifted by the hair. His eyes teared and he gasped in pain.
"PRETTY THINGS GO IN THE MOUTH." The dragonborn made the words reverberate like a battle cry, and shoved one pink appendage past Nere's parted lips.
The slick length glided across his tongue, the ridged tip grazing the roof of his mouth until it reached the narrowing of his throat. He convulsed, and at first the motion drew it in. His tongue rose, pushing hard, expelling the intrusion. He rasped for air in a brief respite before the next assault.
There was a blunt pressure against his rim. Inebriated want bloomed under the demand of thumbs, and Nere's body yielded. The low rumble of pleasure as Gortash pushed inside lodged like a splinter in Nere's head. Within the same breath, Ahjivi entered his mouth again.
He was a conduit, a strip of land between two world powers negotiating a treaty. They thrust into him from across ends, but his body was merely a shared distance, no longer a dominion of its own.
Whether from strain, exhaustion, or the pulled hair, he could not say, the last bastion crumbled some time into the act. The creature had taken to slapping his second rod against the side of Nere's face. It twhacked against the flesh of his cheek in tune with the sordid squelching from the first. It held an almost musical rhythm, a pendulum of depravity, composing every stroke of his downfall.
Tears began to streak Nere's cheeks and poured salt into his mouth. It mixed with the fluids streaming down his chin. He had forfeited swallowing, instead conceding the indignity of springing yet another leak.
The pumping into his entrance was worse. Or better, which inevitably circled back to worse. The metal, imprinting his heated skin under Gortash's grip, remained absurdly cool. The scales of the dress rustled with each thrust, a rush of white noise that might have been soothing in any other context. In this, every whisper lapped his ears like wyrms' tongues. Every nip of scales and hooks onto his skin a mimicry of a lover's marks.
He was lost to the rhythm between invading forces, clenching around the battering ram without willing it to stop. From his mouth spilled a riverlands onto the silk beneath his head.
The humiliation did not end there. Building from the lowest base of his being, induced embers alighted into a hungrier fire. His hips rolled, his mouth softened, embracing the throes instead of simply enduring. The waves crashing through his body broke the jetties holding him.
The mortification of release made all men small. Lords and lizards were no exception. The score rang out in a final swell. Nere spewed on the silk when his mouth overflowed and the dragonborn's dual-wielded cocks withdrew.
Contractions hollowed his stomach, arched his back, and drove Gortash's length deeper. It tore the favour from the lord's hands at last. The simpler man beneath the marvel caved and bent over Nere's back, shuddering and groaning. His sweat trickled through the garment's scales and pooled along the spine. The metal shells caught and took a good portion of chest hair as tribute. Even the conqueror was owed. Rising from Nere's back, Gortash hissed in pain.
The sound of it drove Nere over the precipice. He let out a keening cry, ending in a wet, throaty growl. The whispering folds of the merfolk's robe swallowed every hot spurt of semen. Tremors rippled across his back and shoulders. Released at last, he succumbed to the bed, collapsing onto the mess he had spilt. His white hair fell around his face, strands as glittering rivulets connecting to the network of fluids beneath him.
Clarity arrived without mercy. He tried to clench his hand, but it gave no response. It lay limp beside him, curled like a husk dried beneath the sun.
"I will… kill you," he rasped against the silk. "You and your pet. I will see you both dead."
"Now, now," Gortash murmured from the end of the bed. There was a faint clink of metal as he adjusted his jewelry. "Let's not sour the mood."
"I will –" Nere did not have time to finish his threat. The white, clawed hand gripped his hair, yanking his head backwards and up. An edge of steel bit into the tender skin of his throat.
He could not see the dragonborn from where it held him, only its master. Gortash slipped his arms into his coat, adjusted the fall of his shirt, and glanced down at Nere.
"I believe we have a choice to make, my dear twin blade," he mused.