illithidnapped | INBOX II

Oh, damn it . . .

[He mutters it aloud, his ears flushed darkly as he glances away. The hollyphant is not as much of a deterrent as he would like it to be— frankly, as he needs it to be right now. He stares at it a few seconds longer, just in case, but ugh, no, that only makes it worse, for then he's disgusted and has a hard-on.

But ah . . . fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, and he taps his quill against the book a few times before he dares reply.]

You're so determined to make it a punishment?

[He isn't subtle and he doesn't care.]

[Tap tap tap. He loves you, little pup. Really, he does.

Which is why, in the spirit of mischief where it meets Leto's own prior teasing:]

If one enjoys submission....

Is it a punishment, or a reward?

Knowing you?

Both.

Much like this. I am in public, you realize?

[Of course he does.]

Fine. But I may change my answer before the end. I do enjoy submitting to you— but what use is your newfound strength and endurance if we don't put it to the test? I have yet to see you tied to the rutting machine we bought.

Edited 2023-12-17 05:02 (UTC)

[Oh he knows. Which is why he's got his reply already poised for a goading strike. The punchline for his winding setup, to which he's masterfully brought them this far: pen nib perched, grin fixed, wrist— ]

[The paper suddenly looks like this.]

[It is your fault.]

[Hot.

Hot and infuriating all at once, and Leto has to glance away, biting at his lip as he tries not to squirm in his seat. He's hard beneath the table, his cock straining at his laces— and yet though he knows damn well he has to calm down, the fantasy of Astarion in their bed plays out anyway. Sprawled with spread legs, his ass raised in the air and his fingers wrapped around his cock, moaning as he scrawls out word after word—

Mmh. But be realistic. It's a pretty fantasy, but not an accurate one. Not at all. Not when he knows just how this little retort was meant to be taken; not when he knows how spitefully (delightfully) petty his amatus can be. In all likelihood he's grinning right now, Leto thinks: smirking for a job well done, so very pleased with himself for how much trouble he's caused. A vampire in need of correction later on, to be sure, but as for now . . . oh, that can't be allowed to stand.

And yet: what can he reply with? Anything he can think of is only going to make it worse, and he can't, not right now. There's such a long pause, and then, finally:]

you are a damned menace

be ready for me when i return home

keep the pups in the bathroom

i am not submitting to you tonight

[He should have a hollyphant around all the time if this is where it leads.]

Fight me.

[His handwriting's a little shaky. A little unrefined, though the usual embellished scrawlwork's still there. If Leto is grinning, then they're both grinning, and it's not a draw so much as a prelude.

Foreplay with teeth.]

If you win, I'll ride that machine with as much pretty submission as you want.

[How's that for real incentive, love?]

when I win, I want you to be blindfolded too. gagged. utterly helpless for me, so that each time i touch you, you thrash within your bindings, hoping for more and unable to even beg me for it. driven out of your mind until we reach the end of your stamina once and for all.

[A pause. He's riding high on the wings of audacity, thrilled by the fantasy they're both painting and too far gone to care about propriety.]

and if you win tonight, i'll let you shove that potion we bought down my throat while you pin me to that wall.

[No need to elaborate on which one, for he's damn sure Astarion knows. It's been sitting half-forgotten in their trunk for the past few weeks.]

INBOX II

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