illithidnapped

INBOX

VOICE | ACTION | TEXT

[current inbox]

Oh yes. They’re all just clamoring to catch so much as a glimpse of my misdeeds I’m sure.

[Teasing, coy— whatever laugh he’d meant to let loose suddenly lost to a heady groan as those teeth find their way to his ear.

A fair segue to how he clings to Dante in transition. How he exhales sharp in the very next beat, lips curling upwards as his companion sinks devoutly to his knees.

It is, admittedly, a shockingly pretty sight.]

Hm. [Thoughtful, that hum. Preceding the lifting of one leg that hooks nimbly around the base of Dante’s spine, offering up the faintest little tug as he pulls him closer.

His palms now splayed behind him in soft sheets, a brace. Expectant as anything.]

Then start worshiping, darling. And we’ll see just how long it takes to annoy me.

[One tepid beat before he adds:]

And don’t hold back this time.

[Because where they are now? No one’s going to catch sight of them.]

[Surging up, Dante moves to crush his mouth against Astarion's but stopping just short having to remind himself that things like kisses were treats that were earned. Instead, he bows his forehead against Atarion's the glitter of his red eyes fixing on the elven vampire for now.

He would wait on an absolute transformation for the time being, he'd never gone that far with anyone as a demon and felt that little steps were probably better than going in with it all at once. He might just startle himself if he did and the fact that someone was so keen to accept him, to want that of him, that much of him.

He wanted to be careful. He'd only ever used his trigger in moments of aggression, ripping into a lover was the last thing he wanted to do.]

I think you're the only one who's ever wanted me not to hold back.

[It was an observation, but an honest one nonetheless.]

But I do like to give the people what they want, or maybe I'm a little bit more invested in giving you what you want.

[Was the flattery part of the performance? Who knows, but Dante, still kneeling on the floor drew back just enough to dutifully remove each boot in turn until Astarion's feet were bare. Where else would someone begin to beg and worship? Shoes aside Dante took one foot in hand his movements slow and deliberate.

He didn't do it very often, but every now and then a foot massage went a long way, the pressure of his thumbs from heel to each toe, rolling his knuckles against the inner arch of his foot, massaging and kneading until each foot in turn until any tension evaporated, and Astarion felt relaxed and malleable to his touch.

When finished he didn't immediately move on, but instead laid kisses that were as reverent as they were meant to be to the instep and arch, to the well-turned ankle. There wasn't a gesture that he could think of that was more worshipful, but not in a way that felt even remotely demeaning.

Once finished he was calculated in repositioning Astarion so his newly venerated feet didn't have time to come into contact with the floor. It was the pause he needed to make sure Astarion was still okay and if he had his own demands to make.]

[He can’t stop himself from exhaling at the attention paid by rough hands, his own fingers curling in thin sheets, knuckles turning a paler shade of white for it. Head tipping back as Dante’s lips settle light across his skin, prompting his back to arch as he leans himself into it, tongue pressed against the edges of his teeth.]

Why would I ever want you to be anything less— [The word less only faintly clipped by his own settling contentment, and preceding a shift as his foot finds its way to Dante’s chest (near the edge of his well-defined shoulder) and presses, edging him back towards the floor, as if coaxing him to lie down across it— his own hands now taken to tugging away the thin layering of his own shirt.]

You’re powerful. Sharp-eyed and unrelenting. Dauntless beyond belief.

You’re so much better than those miserable creatures shambling about outside, wrapped in all their high-strung fear. [It’s a smooth process, his undress: he manages it with fluid ease, and this time— without the backdrop of a watchful city surrounding them— he doesn’t withhold an ounce of skin before sinking down to straddle his quarry, palms fit across the center of Dante’s chest.

Hips heavy when they shift.]

I’m not afraid of you, my darling.

Embrace it. [Leaning forward, lips skirting light over Dante’s own. Cool breath, soft touch.]

...or let me do it for you.

[Dante didn't stop Astarion from pressing him down onto the floor with his foot, yielding easily enough and exhaling a laugh when he found himself there underneath his taming posture. Really, taming a devil was hard work on its own, but flattery was an excellent way to keep him momentarily leashed.

He watched Astarion, hand stroking the top of the foot pinning his shoulder down, a satisfied and lazy grin stretching across his lips as he folded his unoccupied arm behind his head. Flattery on top of a strip show? Dante could feel the confines of his own leathers strain against his cock and then the weight of Astarion's perfectly transcendent body easing carefully into place caused his hips to jerk expectantly.

Flecks of red and black rippled across his eyes as he leveled Astarion's when their lips brushed together feather light. He caught that teasing mouth with the lash of his tongue swiping his companion playfully.]

Well, I can tell you something is eager for your embrace. [Dante said, humor and desire mingling together in his voice as he pitched his hips up against him to emphasize his point.]

How can I resist...[his hands wrapped around lean hips coaxing Astarion higher]...Should probably prepare you for it though. It's a different experience.

[There's enough trust between them by now (strange, isn't it, for someone like Astarion— fresh off the heels of a cyclical pattern of pain and yet still, still some part of him unknowingly clings to the idea of faith, entirely unacknowledged and ignored by his own active mind) that he allows himself to be so easily maneuvered, shifting forward into the heavy weight of Dante's hands.

His laugh is rolling. Low. The whole of him gone wolfish and serpentine in the very same breath, long fingers curling where they rest, poised.]

Oh, my dear cambion...

[Leaning down to fit his mouth to the front of his companion's throat, teasing at him with attention that's more tongue than teeth: never sharp enough to dig into vulnerable skin, no matter how those fangs slip slight in feathering arcs.

All breath. All hunger.]

I’m counting on it.

I'll do my very best to impress you. [He returned playfully tipping his head back for a moment, just to feel the whisper of breath, the hint of fangs, and the caress of his tongue against his human skin before granting Astarion's desire and switching to his demonic form in an eddy of fiery, blinding light, the dark, leathery armor creeping over his skin until he was completely transformed.

Whatever happened during the transformation made it unnecessary for Dante to bother removing his clothes. As with his human body these material things also existed on another plane. It was a body that was impervious, but one that was still capable of being aroused and excited for things other than violence.

One thing that had not been taken into account was how much space this body would take up, his wingspan alone filled much of the space spread out and apart underneath his body. At least one of his wings slapped against a wall.]

Well [came that voice that was distinctly inhuman, but somehow still sounded like Dante anyway, a humorously mystified Dante] might have to find a roomier place to play.

[Dante was obviously too big for either of their current living situations, but he'd probably take up a lot of space in most any room. Fortunately, he could fold them and there was a prehensile aspect about them, he slipped them around Astarion, he tucked his wings under his partner's arms the clawed tops curling over Astarion's shoulders. It was a part of him that had just as much freedom of movement as arms and legs.

Turning his head to the side just enough to catch Astarion's gaze he broke into a grin that was arguably toothier than the other's own.] But I'm starting to see the advantages.

[With the aid of his hands on hips and the wings hooked under Astarion's arms he carefully maneuvered Astarion's body, aware now that he had to demonstrate some caution given that this form was armor and rough in places. Once thighs were on either side of his head Dante gave himself a moment to admire the view before craning his neck up, tongue deftly seeking out the tight ring of muscle he was eager to prepare.]

[—Ah, right. Astarion hadn’t actually considered just how poorly Dante’s demonic form would manage tucked away between cluttered tangles of hoarded acquisitions, all compounded by closet-sized walls of utterly unyielding stone.

In hindsight, he really should have anticipated that.

But it’s hard to fret over it when he’s basking in the flow of blooming heat. When he’s being readjusted so damned easily that he hardly has a moment to register the shift before it’s done. That tongue catches, and— his intake of breath is swift, sharp. Slender fingers curling against Dante’s thighs, dull nails biting into skin that now seems impervious to their scrape and press. His shoulders roll forward slightly, head dropped as his hips lift, a feverish groan slithering out from between his own bared fangs.

It’s not really a thought, more an instinctive drive while the rest of his body is so preoccupied, when he slips one hand down between Dante’s legs in order to feel him out— a sort of tentative, exploratory coaxing touch compared to all his usual determination.

It isn’t apprehension, more appreciation.

Eager curiosity, held just beneath the surface of Dante’s present attention.]

...as am I. [He breathes out quickly, only barely capable of stifling yet another guttural moan held just within the base of his throat. His palm— his fingers— sliding steadily over Dante in turn.]

[Being able to guide, maneuver, and support Astarion's body with the benefit of extra moving parts made enhancing the experience easier and it wasn't an unbalanced experience. Dante was equally experimenting with territory that was new and unexplored and as long as he wasn't exerting power or applying any meaningful force he could hold onto this form for far longer than he would have been able to in a battle. So this up to the minute encounter was just as novel an experimental for him as it was for Astarion.

His body was cocooned in leathery, textured armor that responded well to a less than gentle touch, that allowed for an approach that was more reactive and less careful. Of course it also meant that Dante had to be cautious, understanding the certain limitations, but there were ways to enjoy those limitations as well. Using his fingers for anything as delicate as working Astarion's body open was out of the question, claws weren't ideal, but his tongue was invested in the foreplay. If...well it wasn't a matter of if so much as when they would need more than an enthusiastic tongue, Dante would happily sit back and watch Astarion finger himself open.

Talented fingers twisting and stretching tight muscles for Dante's admiration held quite the appeal, but it was also for practical reasons beyond the appeasement of Dante's filthy need to watch Astarion finger his own body.

He flattened his tongue against the tight ring of flesh, lapping at his partner lazily when Astarion's curious fingers sought him out. Demon anatomy was certainly different, Dante's outer shell was a protective barrier, folds of leather protection girded his cock. Tangling his fingers with Astarion's he helped those inquisitive digits feel their way through folds of too-warm leathery flesh to find the protective pocket protecting his vulnerability. It was unusual, but no more complicated than slipping a hand into someone's trousers.

Once he'd helped Astarion expose his cock beyond the protective barriers he left his partner to explore, luxurious moans vibrating from him spilling over his tongue that was alternating eagerly between stroking Astarion's perineum and tracing playful circles around the sensitive ring of flesh. There was plenty to explore, from the size and shape, amplified by his current transformation, to the texture. Black as night just as the rest of him, with veins of bright red giving it the same molten appearance that ran thematically through his body.

There was also the protective pocket that still encased his balls and all of it was open to curious appreciation.

While thoroughly enjoying, not only the view, but Astarion's attention, Dante freed up his own hands, carefully flattening his palms against his partner's skin, smoothing them up his side. It was a stark contrast against white flesh, skin that felt to him smoother than silk against his armored touch, just one more sensation that sent a wave of pleasure swelling through his body.]

If there's anything you wanna try [Dante growled softly against the curve of one impossibly perfect ass cheek] let me know.

[He punctuated that statement by carefully sinking his teeth into perfect, muscular flesh, sucking with the intent to mark Astarion. Likely one of many marks he'd leave behind, though this one would no doubt be the most amusing.]

[Astarion’s gasp is a feverish thing. Hot and curling in his chest, fingertips clawed as they rake themselves across the hardened map of his skin— purely reactive to that bite; still unused to being bitten, rather than indulging his own monstrous instincts.

But with an arched spine and a few acclimating breaths, he adjusts to the heady, intoxicating sting of it, reveling in the vulgarity. In the notion that here, right in the heart of Kirkwall, a vampire’s being marked by a demon of all things.

The Chantry would weep.

But then he sinks low, pouring his lithe contours across Dante’s own, fitting himself greedily to every inch of offered heat. With Dante now exposed (and so stunningly fascinating in his inhuman appearance), Astarion takes his time running his fingers along that warm, stiffened span, teasing and testing response— shifting between a light, roaming touch and circling the whole of his length (difficult given the sheer size of him, but not at all impossible) with constricting, dragging strokes. All of it wickedly admired.]

You do spoil me.

[And how Astarion revels in it, distracted when he fits his mouth to Dante’s tip, lips smoothing down with slickened care, meeting the shuttling movement of his fingertips.

Lurid. Obscene.

Remarkable.

And though he can’t quite fit all of his companion in without glutting himself like a vicious snake, he does, for a time, relax his throat well enough to work Dante down into the narrow span of his throat, shoulders hunched and low— hips held high, feverish and deft and—

Oh, he filthily heaves for breath when he pulls back, spit glistening as it trails from the tip of Dante’s cock to his own lips.]

I should ask [he starts, drawing himself away from where those wings had set him, edging his hips lower— nearing the slender midpoint of Dante’s hips] what it is you want.

After all, I already stole you in the streets once before.

[Dante watched Astarion's body arch and squirm in response to teeth stinging at flesh, infatuated that biting could have a similar intoxicating effect for Astarion in spite of his instincts that motivated the desire to bite and feed. Dante didn't have a taste for blood, but there was a certain lust for it and to that end the response only had an enabling effect one that he would put aside temporarily.

There were other sensations at play, Astarion's fingers doing their best to find purchase in his skin, sexual aggression he could revel in without hesitation, the oscillation between light curiosity that came with testing the strangest waters to the zealous need to dive into their depths. He lay on the floor for the time being luxuriating in Astarion's preoccupation his own hands soothing their way from the slope of Astarion's shoulders to the perfectly formed curve of his ass.]

You make it pretty easy to do.

[Dante said, laughter rumbling it's way to his throat only to be choked off by groan when Astarion's curiosity melted into action and he finally went down on him. The half-demon had to fight not to close his eyes because it was too mind-blowing not to watch Astarion wrap his lips around him, soft and generous. The impressive skill to take Dante into his throat while being careful not to bite had him fighting to behave himself.

The urge to thrust was almost overpowering, but he didn't want to choke Astarion on his cock, not today anyway. Instead, he watched him through the frame of his partner's thighs, glowing eyes fluttering, fighting not to clamp shut. There was something that was gloriously filthy about the whole scene. The most vulnerable parts of Astarion exposed to him, mouth working him over expertly, pulsing wetness around him, the slurping wet noises at every pass.

It was almost too much when that mouth withdrew from him and his entire body shuddered in response, hips flexing forward to chase the sensation of those lips, but when Astarion readjusted himself, this allowed Dante to sit up, he was tantalizingly close to where Dante wanted him and it was a battle of wills not to simply take.]

Bit of a dangerous thing asking a demon what he wants [Dante said pulling Astarion flush against his chest, lips caressing the column of his partner's pale neck] there's a lot that I want to do to you.

[He lowered his eyes following the path of Astarion's body to his own obvious arousal, freeing a hand he gently palmed the underside of Astarion's cock, the textured palm of his obsidian hand hardly substantial as. After a few passes he paused delicately running the tapered end of a clawed finger against the tiny slit, both to tease him and to apply gentle pressure pushing inside carefully, just a fraction and thrusting experimentally a few times, before withdrawing Astarion's fluids coating his fingers.

He didn't hesitate to press those fingers against the elven vampire's lips.] Right now I wanna fuck that gorgeous ass of yours.

[Clearly being a demon was not a prerequisite for having the mouth of a gentleman.]

The only question is do you want me to take you raw and have me on cleanup and aftercare detail later or do you wanna give me a show and let me watch you finger yourself? [He drew his tongue along Astarion's throat a few times, over the tiny puncture wounds left behind as scars. Without really thinking about it Dante covered those marks with his mouth and sank his teeth into the delicate skin, not hard enough to break flesh, though the temptation to taste Astarion's blood was quickly mounting from curiosity to a lust-driven desire.]

Almost as dangerous as asking a vampire what it wants—

Not that I’m against the idea.

[His moan is purely reflexive as he’s bitten, shocked at the sensation of sharper teeth (knowing they exist is one thing, but feeling them) as they sink into his skin, and he isn’t incapable of marking exactly where they fall— knowing exactly what they’re undoing by way of overriding his scars, if only briefly—

It isn’t unwelcome.]

I’ll admit, it’s tempting to run you utterly ragged without any amount of preparation... [If anyone could take the taxing nature of it with artful expertise well in hand, it's Astarion. And beneath that truth, there's a desire for it, too: the appeal of raw sensation, rough and hungry and every bit as wild as their own unmasked natures— oh yes, he absolutely could sink deep into the opportunity all too eagerly.] But I intend to drive you mad before we’re done here.

Something you won’t forget once this is all over.

[A show, then. Tongue lathing across those upheld fingers (and claws) before he draws back with deliberate purpose: a serpentine twist that puts Astarion across the edge of his mattress, hips raised for the purpose of gifting Dante the most shameless performance imaginable.

Back arched, legs splayed wide, breathing low and steady across his shoulder as he reaches back between his thighs. Every movement deliberate— matching the formless fluidity he exercises in stalking prey across the fringe edges of the battlefield or throughout shadowed side streets— the measured delve of two oil-slicked fingertips accompanied by the way he turns his wrist, fluctuating between shallow teasing and deeper, deliberate, vulgar measures.

Almost measuring just how long Dante can keep his own composure when afforded a sight like this.]

[Dante had to confess, the desire to countermand the puncture scars on Astarion's neck with his own still hovered in the forefront of his mind like a temptress beguiling him into the stormy waters. Part of it had to do with the demonic lust for blood that still hummed darkly in his veins, a desire to consume that was rooted in the whispers of his demonic heritage. Part of him just wanted to leave his own mark, to erase traces of another man's mark of ownership with something that could be associated with higher pleasure for however long it lingered.

Astarion's involuntary response to the pressure of sharp teeth bearing into skin had piqued an interest that was slowly manifesting a need.]

I'd be dead on the water before I'd forget [Dante crooned, the inhuman tone of his voice colored in equal parts by amusement and barely suppressed sexual hunger] you're so radiant it's almost painful.

[Painful in the sense that it took an enormous amount of concentrated effort not to plunge into Astarion's beautiful and yielding body and ram himself home. To fuck him relentlessly into his own bed until his lust had remitted knowing a single orgasm wouldn't be enough to extinguish the flames stoked by Astarion's enticing gifts. Raw with that spike of pain that would dissipate quickly with every merciless thrust driving him inside a raw and unyielding body until it conformed.

Instead, he had to breathe through the urges threatening to overwhelm what remained of his self-control, to truly appreciate and makes space for Astarion's electrifying performance. Like a well-heeled voyeur he rolled back onto his haunches penetrating with his gaze for the moment. Crimson eyes glowed with interest as clever fingers commanded obedience as they slowly prise open the velvety tightness that Dante was only too familiar with, giving him flirty glimpses of flushed depths his composure as instinct threatened to rudely elbow his remaining reason out of the way.

Deliberate was an excellent assessment for the provocative spread of Astarion's body and as much as he drank in the sight of his companion's performance, he devoured the arch of his back, the spread of legs tipped wide for Dante's pleasure, shapely thighs, and muscle that was exquisitely defined. Perfection hewn from alabaster, though Dante kept it to himself, too much flattery and he knew Astarion would be impossible to get through a door, besides appreciation could always be demonstrated.

After watching long enough to salivate, Dante's desires demanded some latitude, and while he'd give Astarion the space he needed to tease the half-demon, there was nothing preventing him from touching. Folding his wings back and out of the way he surged forward fisting his clawed hands into the bed on either side of Astarion's head, Dante bent over him, eclipsing the elven-vampire's body with his demonic one, lowering himself until Astarion was pinned over the edge of his bed bearing his weight down. Was he being a hindrance? Yes, but the need to feel the lean, exquisite body pressed against him was worth the inconvenience and any sass that might come his way.

His teeth find purchase in the delicate arch of an ear, biting down, but careful, even in the throes of lust, to curb his aggression. He drops his hips, applying his weight, though not enough to get in the way of Astarion's own raised hips, it's enough to give him the friction he's craving. Grinding his cock against the gentle slope of Astarion's lower back wrenched a growl from his chest, muffled by teeth still inflexibly fixed on Astarion's ear like a vise. It wasn't what his body demanded if the precum pooling in the dip of Astarion's back was evidence, but it was enough to temper his impulses.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

INBOX

network | action cont;

Dante;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject