unspooling: (Default)
𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐋 | ǝɓÉčn ʞÉčɐp ǝɄʇ ([personal profile] unspooling) wrote in [community profile] blueprints_bloodstains2024-08-11 10:06 am
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Trouble never sleeps [ insomnia ]

Though this entire version of the plan hinges on retrieving the Crown of Karsus, he feels as though they have nothing to lose by pursuing it. Nothing, of course, except their lives at best and their relative freedom at worst. It isn't until afterwards that the bhaalspawn lets a lick of 'what if' touch him, and even then it's muted, stuck beneath the elation of his plan proceeding the way he had intended it to. Satisfaction exists just beneath his sudden and all-consuming need for blood.

When he had taken the idea to Enver, he hadn't been sure yet of the details. He knew the location of the crown and what he planned to do with it, but assaulting an archdevil's vault had always come with the snag of how to get there.

His Banite ally had been more than connected enough to have answers, the diabolist he had in pocket arranging the portal. The remaining work had been to firm up all details and then execute, and he'd been steadfast in refusing to allow a shred of fear invade.

The agreement had been that he wouldn't slaughter and leave behind traces of their crime unless absolutely necessary. Risk to their own limb or life would have been all the permission he'd need to deviate from that agreement, and yet their journey had been remarkably smooth.

It isn't until after they have returned, Mephistopheles' vault lighter by the extraordinarily powerful artefact, and he has long left Enver in order to sate his dark urges that something strikes him as odd. As though he's run his finger over a smooth piece of wood only to find the tears in the grain. He had escorted Enver from the shadows his entire walk back from the diabolist, ensuring his safety. But once he was back within range of a mounting defence, should there be retribution, he peels away to worship Bhaal.

It's in the clarity of freshly spilled blood that he abandons his plan to leave for Moonrise Towers and instead doubles back on himself. The usual path to Enver's chamber is a well trodden one, but he purposely takes a different route as he works his way back.

He isn't stopped once, and for a moment he wonders if Enver has gone so far as to give him automatically easy access whenever he needs it. The traps aren't quite so discerning. He spots them immediately, used to them being deactivated when he's visiting with Enver, now poised to make him sorry for paying a visit at all. It all feeds into a sense of tension, one that he hadn't been able to pay enough attention to ahead of sacrificing lives to his father.

It isn't until he permits himself entry to the man's space that he's greeted with light. Enough of it to betray a very distinct lack of sleep, or attempt at it. Given the energy it had taken to find and steal the crown, he finds his concerns validated. His own semi rejuvenation, gleaned from intense worship, hasn't completely freed him from fatigue, and he can only imagine how Enver must feel

It keeps him momentarily quiet rather than allowing the name that lives on his tongue more often than not these days to slip loose, just in case, against all odds, the man has found reprieve from consciousness momentarily. He stands well out of range of the vicious traps, on the precipice of Enver's primary dominion, vision flicking around in search of the man himself.
closeyourfist: (affirming)

[personal profile] closeyourfist 2024-08-13 03:10 pm (UTC)(link)
Gortash accepts the answer with no real awareness of any deep wells standing just beneath it. For the moment, he just settles against the Dark Urge's side, lets the rumble of his voice fill his ears, and for just a moment the stillness and the silence that follows is just that: with nothing lying in wait, not the calm before a storm of motion.

"As you wish, but should you ever change your mind, the offer stands."

He has very little experience himself, save for maybe the odd patchwork and stitches on other fabrics, the sorts of things you just learn to do from a young age to keep your belongings maintained.

He'll write that down later, he thinks. It might or might not be important. But to just put it someplace, just in case. Maybe it's not worth revisiting. That's only maybe, though.

He closes his eyes, and they feel too heavy to immediately open again.
closeyourfist: (questioning)

[personal profile] closeyourfist 2024-08-13 03:45 pm (UTC)(link)
"I would be lying if I said it was expected." Given he had his own opinions about Bhaalists, but he isn't one to question when Bane has a specific direction. So when the alliance was proposed and then began, he was ready to perform however was needed.

And then all of this. It seems silly to say, even to himself, that he's grateful. One gives praise to their god, of course, but some things you accept without such open enthusiasm, lest it betray something else.

You could also be speaking too soon.

He feels a little smaller, with the arm around him, the breath in his hair, and "...Damnation, why must I be tired right now?"
closeyourfist: (listening)

[personal profile] closeyourfist 2024-08-13 04:42 pm (UTC)(link)
There is nothing in the way of argument, though the act of being put to bed is...just barely short of foreign to him. He's certain at some point it must have been something he experienced as a child, but he cannot place it. It's knowledge of a thing but no clear connection to an actual experience. But it touches something oddly welcoming, even if it has been at odds with his entire existence for a very long time.

Being taken care of. Assured of safety. Those are all things you handle for yourself after a certain age, and perhaps he learned or did without much sooner than most. To the point that the body has an instinct to reject someone who tries to do it for you, perhaps even violently.

Unless they are the correct person, should that exist.

That Enver Gortash doesn't resist any step of this process, that it is the Dark Urge's hands that guide every movement, could be written off as merely tiredness. But that would be selling a number of things short. His hand still catches one of them, letting his fingertips memorize the lines and shape even as his mind slips.

He's not awake enough to listen for him once he leaves his bedside, and he's dead to the world well after sunrise. It's near to highsun when he stirs again, stretches (room enough at least for him to do that), a long breath coming in through his nose.

Then, memory. He sits up, another stretch as he levers himself to the bedside. Thinking he was left to sleep once he was finally out and stopping short on seeing that he is not, in fact, alone.

Did he remain the whole time? Leave and return? "...How long?"

The chime of the waterclock tower in the lower city catches his ears just then, and he winces.
closeyourfist: (glow)

[personal profile] closeyourfist 2024-08-13 07:54 pm (UTC)(link)
"Were you here the whole time?"

From Moondark to now? He almost asks if he slept at all, but remembers before it escapes that he has no actual need for that kind of rest, the way humans do. It places him at a rather unique disadvantage between the pair of them.

He still feels the lazy need to stretch and awaken his limbs fully, but he's well-rested. Far more than he would have been otherwise -- even if he had managed to drop off the very second that the Dark Urge had arrived, he still expected to be awake at drawn and ready to get back to work.

His clothing unfurls around him as he uncovers himself, no reason to be dirty but they feel soiled just by virtue of sleeping in them, and he has already set to unlacing, considering running a bath.

Before business gets him too far ahead in his endeavors or thoughts, it catches his attention that he's being watched, and the beginnings of a smile appear. "Rather gallant, I'd argue."
closeyourfist: (affirming)

[personal profile] closeyourfist 2024-08-13 08:31 pm (UTC)(link)
"Pardon?"

He never broke eye contact, and clearly knows what he was saying. There's something coy in the question. All the same he shrugs out of his shirt and starts to carefully unfasten the metal pieces on his arms, sans the finger splints, giving the skin underneath some time to breathe, and already he feels far better.

His glance becomes appraising, for a moment lamenting the number of layers between the Dark Urge's body and open air, but pleased nonetheless with the opportunity to imagine.

Rather early to be thinking that way. Or it would be, if a tighter schedule had been kept to.

"Seems rather unfair, if you ask me."
closeyourfist: (amusement)

[personal profile] closeyourfist 2024-08-13 09:10 pm (UTC)(link)
The playful tone, the slight shift in how he is sitting: it all sends a message. The words itself were already a common signal to pursue, one Enver is more likely to employ himself, but he hears the message loud and clear. Rising from the bedside, he saunters into the main room to approach his waiting partner. Immediately, the more open space kisses him with slightly cooler, freer-flowing air.

His feet going from the silent rug to padding against the cool stone floor creates a distinct sound that immediately catches his ears. Mentally he is cataloguing where he remembers his boots are, the work of an instant he's not going to allow to become a distraction.

Apparently he's stopping at bare chest, but the way his eyes flicker, from the Dark Urge's face, to body, to hands, he might not object to an even playing field.

But the fact that he doesn't immediately speak, does not extend a hand even when in reach? Is a challenge in itself.

Now that his mind and body seem to be accepting that the danger is passed, why not celebrate?
closeyourfist: (certain)

[personal profile] closeyourfist 2024-08-13 09:54 pm (UTC)(link)
The Dark Urge initiates contact, in really such a small way, but it really is the response that Gortash was hoping for. He's drawn a few steps nearer, enough that they are not quite fully in contact with each other but enough that he's within the aura the man gives off.

There is a certain thrill, of course, that even being only half-undressed there is this contrast between the two of them. Another way in which he feels exposed, but safe, and he wouldn't feel this way for anyone else.

That it's just one finger, but it could the fullness of his hands altogether, anywhere they wished to be. Everywhere. The soft fullness of his lips pulled in a gentle smile, that he wanted to taste. A voice he ached to hear. And there is so much more, but those are the parts that aren't hidden right now.

"That and likely a good deal more."
closeyourfist: (glow)

[personal profile] closeyourfist 2024-08-14 11:47 am (UTC)(link)
As much as that little touch leaves his senses dancing with an intoxicating mixture of cautious want, Enver's eyes rake over the shape of the Dark Urge, every unbroken line of his chest, every scar that calls to his fingers like lines on a map, before disappearing under the hem of his trousers -- he can already see the beginnings of strain here, and it's like a siren. He feels himself wetting his lips.

"You have done me a favor."

Before this, before them, it had been a few years since anything like it. But it was never like this -- pleasant, but a tool to use when necessary. This pulls at him like gravity. It's not thinking someone attractive and the eventual climb to bliss that strikes him only well after the act is under way.

Here it is constant. Facets of it always.

He's cognizant of the fact that he can be wanted and sought; he would be a fool not to be. At least they play well at that. Here he hungers and clings to the idea that someone feels that for him, as well.

He ventures closer, near enough to kiss but just shy of it, not quite touching until just one hand ghosts against his shoulder, over his chest.

"I do mean to reward you."
Edited 2024-08-14 12:33 (UTC)
closeyourfist: (that's cute)

[personal profile] closeyourfist 2024-08-14 01:14 pm (UTC)(link)
He realizes he's shaped this like a transaction, and it had not been his full intention. Coming in still nearer, but past his lips, the softest threat of a brush near his ear.

"A gift, then."

A hint of a smile in that whisper.

"Appreciation but still yours just the same. More pleasure without pain."

His lips find a spot just where his jaw overtakes his throat. The slightest touch of a warm tongue. Following a trail to his clavicle.

Further down his fingers are still light, sweeping and teasing more than exploring, until the tip of one circles a nipple, the soft pad, the harder blade of a well-manicured nail but also the foreign, cool, smooth metal of his ring splint. A mixture of strange, intermingling sensations all centered in one place.

It's not a threat, he's already promised as much, but he watches and listens carefully. Drinking in and noting each reaction. His.
closeyourfist: (listening)

[personal profile] closeyourfist 2024-08-14 02:23 pm (UTC)(link)
Minding his own balance but allowing for how much height he needs for access, even with the Dark Urge sitting, Enver continues to move downward, eventually his lips and tongue taking the place that his hand was beginning to carve out. Creating wet circles that leave the air around it cool and unrelenting while he makes similar work of its twin, teasing each bud to hardness with light flicks and careful with his teeth but not so careful to hide their presence entirely.

The point isn't to bite. No pain, he said. And maybe anything leaning in that direction is for another day.

But not everyone is equally sensitive here, so as ever he remains mindful of what he is hearing, what he feels beneath him.

Meanwhile he maintains his balance with a hand stroking the Dark Urge's outer thigh, another brazenly feeling the shape of him through the front of his trousers. All with pressure, intent, calling attention to everything he is doing and all but announcing his trajectory.

Be ready for me.
closeyourfist: (that's cute)

[personal profile] closeyourfist 2024-08-14 09:30 pm (UTC)(link)
Enver sinks fully onto his knees between the larger man's legs, kisses over the lace of muscles over his stomach, soft touches just along the waist line. That pressure from his hand vanishes, shifts to his hip. He widens his stance for greater comfort (for his knees, not necessarily his own awakening arousal; it pulls the cloth taut, doesn't allow him to ignore it; in its own way frustrating but it eggs him on).

He glances up as his fingers to work at laces, buttons, catches, anything keeping him from his prize, and he releases his hip to gently part folds of cloth. He's near enough that the heat of his breath can be felt on the Dark Urge's freed manhood.

His eyes trail upward, and he's tempted to call for him to watch. To see him entranced.

But he wants to see what will induce him to without words. As his lips touch his stomach, just below where he was last, just touching the beginnings of the flesh his work revealed, and his hands are already exploring, smoothing over the shape of his balls, caressing the length of his awakened shaft and so, so close to what he's only been able to admire in other ways.

And he wants that, too. All of it at the same time. He contains that thought, and at last his tongue lashes out, first tracing the head before guiding it reverently past his lips.

He closes his eyes at the moan that ripples up his throat, and when they open again, they are inviting and stiflingly focused.
closeyourfist: (affirming)

[personal profile] closeyourfist 2024-08-14 10:21 pm (UTC)(link)
His gaze, only interrupted by the occasional slow and assuring blink, remains lidded and mostly transfixed. He rolls his lips to protect from his teeth, wetting more with his mouth and heavy, practiced strokes against the flat of his tongue, letting his hands work and warm him, where he otherwise would have strained to reach. There is firm pressure but in its own way gentle. The ministrations of a man who had likely done this before, understood careful limits, and the sound that shakes hotly around the man all signal that he is savoring perhaps something he has been waiting to do.

And Enver has. Just as he imagined it every time he could feel his heat and his kisses became more desperate and wanton, he was thinking of the opposite now, not missing one for the other but relishing the thought of both. Completely consumed in want of him.

And for a moment he slips his lips away with a wet sound to breathe, let's the shock of cool air hit him, lets the touch of his cheek and lips soothe. There is something like a silent plea in his eyes, full communication of the state it all leaves him in, and he returns to it diligently.

Look at me. Want me as much as I want you.

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