Trouble never sleeps [ insomnia ]

[unspooling]

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.

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[unspooling]

For a moment his focus shifts intensely to Enver, almost to the point he lets slip the tight fist of control he has around his own urges. Watching the man come undone so completely is addictive, something he wants to fixate on to drink in every last detail. The desire to know this man in a way he knows no other is all-consuming, and dangerous.

Earning his desire like this has never been something that contributes to the ongoing health of his pursuers. Whether they know at the time or not. Enver knows what he is and chooses to do this regardless, and though one day soon that could come back to punish him in the most terrible of ways, in this moment it brings their experience to all the more an intimate place.

He strokes the smaller man through his climax, this time careful not to continue beyond the point of pleasure. There is a time and a place for continuing to fondle oversensitive genitals, and this isn't it.

The squeezing and pulsing around his cock doesn't set him to boil over quite yet, the angle is good but not quite what he needs. The seed spilled on Enver's stomach and chest is his next port of call, his tongue drawing through the sticky mess splashed up to his sternum to taste. Of course he intends to share and find the finish line of his own imminently.

His bulk weighs down as he drops it onto the other man, flattening him to the table top completely as he bears down for a long, deep kiss. His hips are still for only a moment as he plunges his tongue into his lover's mouth, sharing the taste of him on his lips.

Eventually, and only when they break for air, does he stand back up and grip at Enver's hips. There will be bruises there, of that he knows there isn't a way to escape. It provides enough leverage for him to thrust far harder than before, anchoring the man in a way that makes every slam of his hips all the more forceful. Like this, he won't outlast his climax long.

[closeyourfist]

Enver Gortash should keep the danger at the forefront of his mind. Remember that having the attention of the Chosen of Bhaal should be the last thing anyone wants. It is a dangerous mistake to the highest degree. But unless it throws off the plan and endangers the alliance, thereby drawing the ire of their gods? He is both in search of and at the same time constantly taken by surprise that he has that awareness turned on him.

He's quickly grown obsessed with that with that feeling. He's infatuated with being the object of this man's infatuation. It would mean less if it were just him, if it was the business as usual and him simply keeping his thoughts and desires in check while the Dark Urge remained unaware or uninterested.

So to be tended to at all. To be desired at every turn, but especially at his most undone. He chases after it like he'd die without it. And gods, that is dangerous, and he does not care.

He could be very wrong to think that the Dark Urge learned a good deal very quickly when it came to equal give and take in moments like this, listening to every cue, knowing when to press on and when to pause or withdraw. He didn't think he was mistaken, however, and that effort is warming.

The feel of the man's broad tongue on his chest, and then suddenly the hips are no longer moving, the weight of him engulfs him and lips find his. The realization of what he is tasting, a mirror image of their earlier exchange, is a bizarre mixture of sweet and just -- delightfully filthy, and Enver follows the Dark Urge's lead with reckless abandon, savoring one moment into the next.

The half drow seizes hold of his hips and drives in anew at the angle he wants, and his human lover for the moment is helpless to do anything but allow the current to carry him. Hands fall somewhere on the table above his head as he tries to lift into those thrusts, though it takes a moment to catch up, each full drive leaving something like stars behind his eyes.

He can hardly complain. Ensnared and mindless, no thought but more able to penetrate deeper than he does.

[unspooling]

Spurred on by his lover, the slam of his hips match the heat of his desire. What started out as an intention to not leave the man bruised starts to slip into wanting to plough him with every scrap of strength he has available to him. And of that there is a considerable amount. It means his fingers dig in harder in order to keep his body stationary, anchored to the table even as he feels Enver try to lift his hips to meet him. A need to keep him steady and still as he wreaks the kind of punishing rhythm that this slightly new angle provides.

In the end the way he fucks Enver catapults him to the very doorstep of his climax in less than a few moments, the tight heat of the man's body drawing that to the very cusp of his conscious mind. Just as mindless as his lover, there are no thoughts in this moment, just the feeling of existing so intimately connected like this. Connected in a way he could almost liken to worshipping his Father.

He spills almost instantaneously at that, a grunt yanked from his throat as his hips slap hard against Enver and stay there. Everything pours forth, his seed flooding the human in ways that he's grown to enjoy as much - if not more - as his usual preferences. The preferences that are expected of him.

As his orgasm starts to fade, he leans forward until his chest is touching the smaller man's, still buried inside him but using his arms to keep him from crushing Enver completely. His breath is skip-hopping with his previous exertion, but it's not long before it starts to return to something more normal.

[closeyourfist]

Small tendrils of pain interweave with heady ripples of pleasure into something elevated and perfect. The weight that comes down on him is not all out; he could easily be crushed, and there is appreciation that he is not, that they both have room to watch their breath and climb back out of that moment of perfect fullness and emptiness.

Thought begins to return, and Enver plants a gentle, shaking kiss on the Dark Urge's brow. Appreciation. Commendation. Just affection, pure and simple.

He likes to think he could stand to start more days this way, but in all honesty that sounds immediately exhausting. A pretty thing to think about, however. Perhaps more realistically when there is less work to be done.

It is just gratifying to know that between duties there is time still to bask, to regroup and celebrate a hard-won victory.

And speaking of duties: His lips find a temple. "You remained here all night."

[unspooling]

The acknowledgment is more than just commentary on where he chose to spend his night, and he knows that simply because only another Chosen could understand that. The very specific choice he made to stay, guard Enver, and sacrifice worship and ending human life. He's still coming back down from the high of his orgasm as the words are shared in this most intimate space, and so it takes him a few moments longer to pull himself back to a place of common sense.

With his mind working again in a way that allows for vaguely intelligent conversation, he finally lifts his eyes to catch his favourite umber gaze. Warmth now in place of heat, slightly sticky in places he ought to take care of before leaving. And that moment draws ever closer, where pleasure recedes something else starts to creep into the spaces left behind.

"I did."

A confirmation, no denial, and no reaching for excuses that might pull him into hot water. Hotter water. A 'where else would I be' is held tight between his teeth, well aware of what a slippery slope that would be. He's already tumbled further than will go without notice, and so he holds tooth and nail onto expressing a sentiment that is likely to be punished.

He equally doesn't insist it was for the sake of the plan, either, even if that would be more palatable. A better excuse. It isn't what is in his heart and so he doesn't say it. Doesn't bother trying to lie. Just soaks up the warmth of Enver beneath him for the last few moments he'll allow himself to enjoy here.

"Though it is likely time I should move on. Time is growing short."

[closeyourfist]

There is apart of him that wants to say it is just part of the alliance. It is to some extent, if only because Enver Gortash is just very familiar with organizing his priorities. Part of keeping their gods happy is showing that none of this is getting in the way of their own obligations. Why shouldn't supporting their individual ambitions be part of that?

That's the pragmatic side talking, but it's getting much harder to keep telling himself that is the only reason, or is quickly becoming the answer he is prepared to give if anyone important tries to have words about it.

He also knows there is more than the watchful eye of a god that propels the Dark Urge. That he chooses to suppress any of that in Enver's presence is shocking, yes, but it is also a process he can help by remaining mindful and knowing how to encourage its direction. Which is precisely what he is doing here.

"So kind of you to give the world the morning off," he offers with a smile.

[unspooling]

Already starting to extricate himself, he pauses momentarily as Enver quips and smiles. Had he run along like a good little bhaalspawn, perhaps he would have found space for humour. As it stands, he grimaces slightly, knowing for a fact he hasn't been keeping up with his worship and as such the comment hits too close when said aloud.

It has nothing and everything to do with Enver, though he places none of the blame at the human's doorstep. It was entirely his own choosing and as such entirely his own consequences. And that just makes a hasty exit all the more important.

"Too long," he returns and offers out a hand to help the smaller man up off the table, the last shred of gentle care he's got left in him before he absolutely must leave. He can feel his blood grow heavier and all the more sticky with the shadow of violence. His pulse hammers harder at the side of his neck, skin starting to feel warmer again despite having cooled off slightly from their shared exertion.

Only once he's helped his lover from the table does he belatedly decide he doesn't have time to clean up. Not without an ill-advised delay, and when he thinks about the mess that would be, he can feel the thrill of that idea work its way through him like a current.

"You will... be alright?" He asks as he steps away to snatch his clothes up from where they have been discard. The sense of urgency now palpable, and he seems immediately far more rigid than he had been moments ago. As if it is taking every fibre of his self control to keep his muscles very neatly contained to safe movements.

[closeyourfist]

Enver accepts the aid in getting off the table and has to stop himself from stumbling the second he's on his feet. There's something to be said for needing perhaps to find your equilibrium after a good hard fucking, but he's not complaining.

"Never better."

He can see the wheels turning, and by now he understands when he's seeing the threads of something other than a simple schedule calling Bhaal's Chosen. Enough that he understands that he probably needs not to touch him once he's set to collecting his clothes.

For now, he leaves what he himself has discarded on the ground and instead fetches his robe and pulls it on.

"...Thank you."

[unspooling]

The thanks doesn't go unheard but, for a moment, he is completely still, the overwhelming urge to destroy present in every strand of muscle fibre in his body. All he can do is hold himself in place, trying his best to hang on to Enver's voice in a way that doesn't pull him into the inappropriate role of prey. In the end he has to blot even that out as he feels his body start to turn almost of its own volition, a different kind of desire molten in his veins.

But he is nothing if not his incredible self-control. The reason his Father trusts him to see through this part of the plan with the Chosen of another god. His fists are tight enough to leave pink crescents grooved into his palms, and though he had started to twist, he is still mostly turned away from Enver. All the better for the both of them.

There are no more words forthcoming as he battles to focus the urge ahead of him, somewhere out the door. Somewhere out of both earshot and far enough away for plausible deniability for Lord Gortash. And so rather than share a goodbye - he is too far gone for that now - he stalks to the door and disappears beyond it. His thoughts are of only blood and meat now.

[closeyourfist]

Enver knows. And maybe that's why he can feel as safe as he does: he feels it coming. He knows the signs when they appear. There are no questions about shifting attentions when the Dark Urge has to make himself scarce.

He's not being abandoned. Because what he also knows is that his lover resists. And he has always known he could control himself, but more than once it has been made apparent when the Dark Urge is clearly doing it for him.

When he is alone again and makes his way to start running a bath, it hits him: How close at hand everything is. It's all finally beginning.

And he is taking these first steps with the Chosen of Bhaal and he would select no other.