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Durge stared down at Gortash’s dead body, a strange feeling coursing through him. It wasn’t the usual, vile and wicked urge to murder, no. It was… something else, something much worse. He shook his head, as if it helped shake the feeling inside him away.
He leaned down to the body and reached for the gauntlet that held the netherstone. Gortash’s skin was still warm under the dragonborn’s hand, though it wouldn’t be for long. Despite it, the contact sent a chill down Durge’s spine. He tossed the netherstone in the direction of the party carelessly.
“Careful with that!” Gale warned, barely catching the stone. “We don’t know what this will do, unstable as it is.”
“I need you all the head back to camp,” Durge said to his companions, ignoring Gale’s words, eyes not moving away from the tyrant’s body. “I will meet you later tonight.”
“Is everything alright?” Shadowheart tilted her head to the side in concern. “Karlach would love to hear that he’s defeated, though I’m sure she would have preferred it to be done by her own hands. Or are you still caught up about what he said to you?”
Durge shook his head again, more to himself than to Shadowheart and the rest of the party. “I’m fine. I promise. Go.”
The tone of his voice may have changed drastically for them to have left immediately without another word. Not another question from Shadowheart, no quip from Astarion, no words of concern from Gale. He may have even growled—he wasn’t sure what had conspired in the past couple seconds he was staring at the corpse.
Something inside him was screaming at him. It wasn’t to murder. The man was already dead, by his hands no less. It was to give in to a primal fury, to desecrate, to violate.
The room was silent. There was no other living being around. Only corpses and blood, ash and scorch marks of explosions and fire, and the scent of all of it was compiled into a single, beautiful aroma. That, combined with the sight of the lifeless body of the tyrant, was almost like an aphrodisiac that struck Durge like the unbridled fury that was the murderous urge in him when he’d murdered the bard at the grove, and almost his lover in the Shadowlands.
His lover never had this unique effect on him, similar it may be. Too similar. His mind flashed back to the letter he’d found back at the mind flayer colony, words written in what he recognized was his own handwriting.
Forgive me, Father, for I cannot help but admire the Chosen of your sworn foe: Enver Gortash’s genius will take us far…
Gortash’s words echoed in his mind.
“Crawling back from their bloody disgrace—it’s my favorite assassin!”
“I tolerated Orin, but I liked you.”
He was so jovial when Durge approached him. There was definitely something that happened between the two, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Perhaps he did when he still had his memories, but now… now it was a different feeling altogether. Something more intense.
Durge crouched down next to the corpse, and the scent of the man made his mind go blurry with a violent desire. He’d seen plenty of corpses before, but none have had an effect such as this on him. He hesitated for only a moment before he tore the clothes away, revealing the chest covered in blood and hair. His claws tore more of the cloth away until the corpse was completely naked.
Durge leaned back, disgusted yet aroused at the circumstances and scene. He suddenly felt hotter, blood rushing to places he hadn’t expected it to. His pants felt increasingly tighter as he stared unblinking at Gortash’s body. This felt so wrong, yet the urge in him was screaming at how right it was, to completely obliterate the body, to make it his, to violate the tyrant even after death.
There was no clear reason for this desire, Durge realized. He felt no rage at what the archduke had done in Baldur’s Gate, no need to bring the man to justice. It was only lust and the dark urge in him.
His mind was a mess as he threw his bag down and fumbled through it. He brought out a scroll, looking between it and the corpse. There’s not another thought that passes when he threw it down for later and furiously tugged his pants down, a satisfying feeling accompanying the motion when his hardened cock is released. All logical reasoning was thrown out the window at this point. It was pure, dark, vicious urge.
There was no prep needed, no foreplay, nothing to be careful of. The body was limp, able to be shifted, twisted, bent, in whichever way Durge wanted him to be. The hole was tight, but of course, it was a corpse with no will to fight back or ability to sense discomfort. The dragonborn pushed in, letting out a feral cry of pleasure.
In his previous life, before he’d lost his memories, he may have loved the man. No, love was not quite the right word. Obsessed, perhaps, not with the person himself, but with the countless ideas on how to make a mess of the man, both as a sexual partner and a corpse. To have him scream and cry, in pain and pleasure, to have his arms and legs twist how he wanted, to break his bones and hear the cracks, to taste the blood and tears as he bit him and clawed at him.
There was no sound from the tyrant’s corpse, but the metallic taste of his blood was enough to fuel the urge within even further. Durge continued to thrust, rough and fast, chasing his pleasure as his fangs and claws dug through the skin. There was no resistance, and he loved every moment of it. Somewhere inside him a voice screamed at him to stop, that this was all wrong, to end this, him, the urge, whatever it was that drove him to continue. But he continued nonetheless, and another voice brought out another desire.
The room was too silent, with just his own pants and growls and gasps and the smacking of skin on skin as he continued this horrendous act. It desired more noise. From him, Gortash. And of course, a corpse can’t make enough noise to satiate that urge.
Durge pulled out from him, breathing ragged and strained. He panted as he stared down at the dead body below him, lifeless and becoming cold. He had only one thought in his mind, and that was to continue, all sense of shame and disgust fucked out and forgotten. He grabbed the scroll, having barely enough sanity in his mind to cast it.
Revivify.
The magical aura surrounded him, then the corpse, as life filled the corpse.
Durge didn’t have the sense to think about what Gortash would be thinking or feeling as he was brought back to life, naked and bruised and bleeding. Only desire clouded his thoughts, and the words screamed out from the fallen tyrant did nothing to change that.
“What—“ was all he got out before Durge pounced on him, pushing him onto his back and grabbing his arms, pinning them to the ashen and bloody floor. His thighs were kicked apart further and the man struggled beneath him, his words replaced with a scream as he was penetrated again, this time with all the feeling.
Yes. This was what the urge wanted. The fight, the struggle, the screams. To see the helplessness of the man that was once an equal to him. It loved this as much as the absence of all of it from the corpse.
“You—you monster,” Gortash sputtered out, gasping for air. His words were cracking, strained and quiet, as if he didn’t have the strength to go above a whisper. Well, that may be true, after coming back from death only seconds ago and immediately having his voice be fucked out his body. “You absolute—fuck—beast.”
“This was what you wanted,” Durge growled, hips snapping back and forth into him, chasing the pleasure without regard to his former partner. “I remember.”
Having the man helpless and at his mercy below him awakened deep memories within him, one that triggered his arousal even more. To be in total control of a tyrant, one that denied the desire to give that control up, drove him crazy. That craze was with him now, staring down at the blood-soaked man before him, whose eyes were glazed over in both pain and pleasure, his clear arousal betraying the words he spat out.
“You’re enjoying this. Being killed by me, having your body violated, then brought back to life to feel it all, the pain, before and after and during, all at once.” Durge shifted his claws so that he pinned both of Gortash’s hands with one above his head, and the other trailed down his torso, hovering over the other’s hard length. “We’ve done this before, haven’t we?”
“No—we—I don’t—“ His words were repeatedly interrupted with each thrust of the dragonborn’s hips, hitting his prostate every time. There was a whimper, and whether it was from pain or pleasure, Durge didn’t care. As long as he heard him scream. He gripped him hard, sharp claws digging into the flesh. His screams were like music to his ears, yet the urge was not yet sated.
Durge let out a dark chuckle, roughly fucking his words and screams out more. He briefly registered the white stains that covered the man’s stomach, but it didn’t mean anything to him.
“I could kill you again and again.” It was the urge talking now, coaxing protests out of the man. “The look of defeat and death on your face is delicious. Intoxicating.”
Gortash couldn’t get any words out as Durge pounded into him, overstimulating his hole beyond comfort. His discomfort was clouded by pain, yet there was an unmistakable look of pleasure in his eyes as he managed to stare back at his killer. Indeed, something about this fucked up situation had turned him on, kept him going despite coming straight back from death, uselessly fighting back in an attempt to gain any semblance of decency that was long gone.
That stubbornness was ridiculous, and Durge let out a breathy laugh, interrupted by a moan. His orgasm came unexpectedly, his mind much too focused on the tyrant’s lack of power, and his own abundance of it. He continued thrusting in and out, riding it out. Gortash’s cries reached deaf ears.
Again, the urge was not yet sated. His dick was still hard as he pulled out from the tyrant’s body. Gortash had barely a second to recover before Durge grabbed his hair and pulled him up to his knees. The high-pitched yelp the man let out made him bark out a laugh.
Gortash’s face was red with humiliation and rage, and he opened his mouth to voice his anger, to berate the Bhaalspawn and his sick desires. He didn’t get a chance to as cock filled his mouth. His hands desperately grabbed on to his scaled thighs for balance. There was a muffled cry that reached Durge’s ears and fueled his pleasure. A vicious smile stretched across his face as he fucked his mouth, watching tears gather in the corners of his eyes when he pushed his cock too deep down his throat.
To be killed and brought back to life in this situation, Durge couldn’t imagine the shame, fear, and pain Gortash was feeling. He quite literally couldn’t, pleasure and desire clouded his mind, but with what semblance of rational thought within him he had, it only brought upon more satisfaction to him. The groans Gortash let out almost drove him to his peak.
Yet it’s only when the man reached for his own cock and had his hand kicked away and crushed beneath Durge’s boots that the muffled scream made him climax. The vibrations, the knowledge of his pain, the act of denying him his pleasure, the sound of his cries, it all hit him with overwhelming pleasure as he came into the tyrant’s mouth. He gripped his head tightly, pushing even deeper, forcing him to swallow as much of the liquid as he could. He felt him choke on it, and that only made the urge in him stronger.
Durge then threw him off roughly, drinking in the sight of him with a wicked grin.
Being killed and fucked and brought back to life and then fucked again made Enver Gortash an absolute, beautiful mess. His hair, already previously in disarray, was even more so as sweat and blood stuck it to his skin. His lips, swollen and covered in blood and the cum he’d failed to swallow that leaked out the sides of his lips. His entire body, decorated with bite marks and wounds of the fight that occurred only minutes ago. His right hand was crushed when he’d tried to touch himself and his hole was dripping with Durge’s cum from the first orgasm. His cock, hard once again, was straining and leaking. He didn’t dare try to touch himself again, his eyes half-closed as he stared up at Durge, barely even trying to hide his fear and arousal. His breaths came out in ragged gasps as he tried to catch his breath. Completely at his mercy.
It was gorgeous.
Durge stalked up to him in a single step, claws digging into his scalp to make him stare directly up at him. He pressed his boot against Gortash’s cock, bringing out a loud groan from the tyrant. He leaned in next to his ear. “Shall I kill you again? Bring you back once more? Make you scream and beg for mercy, for the true freedom of death? Or do you want to live again, with the knowledge that your body has been completely violated by me, living and dead? Would you enjoy that feeling? Having this experience?” With each question Durge put more pressure on him with his boot, moans turning into whimpers of pain.
“Stop…” Gortash weakly commanded, and he knew it was pathetic. “Stop this madness at once.”
Durge pressed even harder, awarded with another cry of agony that tickled his brain. “Not an answer, my dear tyrant.”
There was a pause as Gortash gasped for air, thinking it through as best he could through the pain. “Kill me. Do what you will with my body, but let my soul be.”
“A pity.” Durge frowned. It was quickly replaced by a cruel grin. “My urge isn’t one to fulfill wishes."