Chapter Text
The tiny, earthy green baby wails in her father’s arms. He merely rocks his little girl, soothing her, unbothered by her cries. Every sound from his princess is proof that she is alive and with him. From the moment he first saw her, Sabal was in love. Even her black sclera and irises would not dissuade him from the adoration he felt. Her mother had long since left, having no interest in a female child, and Sabal would never understand why. The woman had tricked him, pretended to be a wood elf, disguised her true nature. He still did not know what she truly was, only that she had given him a beautiful gift. He does his best to settle his little princess, swaddles her, opens his shirt so that her tiny ear is against his chest, holding her close to his heart. The beat always seemed to soothe her more than anything.
It Is a rhythm that would remain with the tiny babe forever.
The little toddling child takes shaky steps towards her beaming father. She sees his bright eyes filled with the love he has for his little girl. Her arms raise to him in a silent request, one he is quick to answer.
“Come here, sweetheart. Dada will always carry you. I love you, little one.” Sabal’s gentle voice, wide smile, reassuring to the child. Those eyes, that voice, that smile. She gurgles happily as he scoops her up, smiling proudly at the man by his side. “Isn’t she amazing, Melor? She’s learning so fast.” But the little girl is snuggling against him, her eyes slipping closed. “Aww, there you go, my treasure. Learning to walk is tiring.”
“Aye, somtin’ else she is.” Sabal misses both the look and the inflection, continuing to talk to Melor as he rocks back and forth the child who is slowly slipping into dreamland.
Melor focuses as best he can on the man before him. The wood elf is taller than Melor, lean and fit. Stronger, but without the power at Melor’s command. Why should that matter? The child in his arms is beautiful. He senses the stronger fey blood. A tickle in his head. I could easily steal her away. Such a thought... no. Sabal is a friend, he could not. Sabal has natural resistance to spells. But if he was fast…
“What are your plans for the girl?” Melor’s eyes almost burn as he watches the drowsing baby, but Sabal has eyes only for her, and answers casually.
“Whatever she wants. As soon as she’s old enough to tell me, I’m going to show her the wonder of this world. I’m going to keep her safe and be with her until she can be as incredible as I know she will be.” He starts humming softly, just a low thrum in his chest that makes the girl smile in her sleep.
The whispers come back with the humming. So odd those whispers, that voice. So often lately, when he is with Sabal and his child. Such a beautiful creature should be yours to use as you wish. A piece of kit to be used. You would have a wonder at your fingertips. The father would be easily dispatched of, why wait? Why indeed. The whispers are vague, as if from within him, but the sensation is female. She sleeps, slit his throat. Take her. She belongs to you.
“Aye, mayhap…”
“Hmm?” Sabal looks up at him again, his pleasant countenance dissolving into kind concern. “Melor? Are you alright? You look as though you are miles away.”
“It’s alright, Sabal, it’s just… I thought I saw something strange behind you.”
“Oh? What is it?” Sabal turns to look. Gullible fool. Do it. Now!
“Nothing bad, just let me…” Sabal doesn’t see the gesture. The word barely registers as he tries to gasp and chokes on blood, the ice knife already melting in his throat. He doesn’t live long enough to hear his child’s cries as she is wrenched from his grasp, blood flowed from the slit down his throat. He falls dead, eyes wide with terror, a tear creeping down his cheek. “Don’t worry, Sabal, I’ll take excellent care of her.”
Kit, now nearly to her father’s waist, stands meek with eyes lowered in the unwholesome aura of the black market magic shop, peeking around when she thinks he won’t notice. Melor currently has her wrist in a tight grip, and is speaking to the proprietor. “You have anything for a disobedient little slut? This one don’t know how to stay put when she’s told. Always poppin’ off somewhere.”
The man behind the counter has the appearance of a tiefling, and looks Kit over with a sour expression. “It takes a firm hand to properly train a slave, but if you are in need of assistance…” He turns, revealing a small but decorative letter S, glowing softly beneath the skin of his left temple.
“What does that mean?” Kit jumps as Melor releases her, only to smack her in the back of the head.
“Hold your tongue, brat!”
The frowning tiefling turns back, holding a ring of metal. “This will dampen her powers, but it won’t keep her from speaking. Perhaps a muzzle.”
“Come on you, brat! Get a move on!” Melor flips his free hand toward the head of his adopted daughter, who had stopped digging a deep hole to adjust the tight iron collar around her neck. He’s sitting in the shade of a nearby tree, bottle in his fist, but the Mage Hand is as hard as iron, and she stumbles before dragging herself erect and digging faster. “Dunno what god I pissed off to deserve this,” he grumbles. “Dunno why… the damned voice…” He’d muttered about the voice in his sleep, many times, while Kit was chained nearby. That it had something to do with her and why he hated her was all she could discern.
Melor is grumpy for many reasons, drunk, feeling overwrought. Caring for this bastard is more than he wanted. But the voice… he can’t gainsay the voice, somehow. Melor learned very quickly that the only relief he gained was from making her suffer. “You need to earn your food, now, work!”
She does not know how old she is, only that she started small and stayed that way. Melor is the only family she can remember. Her father. A cruel, sadistic man…no, creature. She would often watch other children being held gently, mothers or fathers giving them food without the child having to work. The things that Melor makes her do just for the meager scraps he gives her. Kit shudders, pushing the nightmare of her life aside, working to dig a pit for the man to hide his latest spoils. She would be the one who would have to remember where they were. The man is always too drunk to notice exactly where they are and if she forgot… it didn’t bear thinking about.
After another hour, she dares look up again. “Melor, is that deep enough?” The girl is exhausted, filthy, her voice barely a breath on the wind.
Melor, who had been dozing, bottle empty, jerks himself alert. “Did I tell ye to stop! I’ll tell ye when it’s deep enough, brat. May in I should make ye dig it deep ‘nough for none to find ye. An ye are to call me da, ye daft thing!” His inebriation killing any attempt to maintain a more cosmopolitan accent, his hollow eyes turn on her, and she cringes, knowing what’s coming. The size of the hole isn’t the point. Only her pain.
“Please, da, I meant naught by it, I…” Her words are cut off by a Mage Hand strike to her belly. Doubling over, trying to catch her breath, another blow, and another, rain onto her back. Then another, and another. She feels the ribs crack, organs bruise. The collar keeps her from escaping. He seems completely unhinged this time. Utterly out of control. She just endures it, almost welcoming, certain that this night would be the night she finally dies, that the pain and misery of her very existence would end.
“You dumb piece of kit. Ye hear that, ye be naught but a piece of kit, a tool for me to use and ye canna even do that part right! Naught but kit.” He’s slurring his words, trying to struggle to his feet. “Why I did in ye father an’ not you, I’ll never know. Stupid as ye, he was. Died holding ye, wanting to protect ye.”
The last thing Kit feels as the strikes rain down is a bright burst of confusion, elation, madness, and something snaps. She should have known he was not her father… the eyes, the voice, the smile… and now she’s dying, she knows it, and she’ll never know… doesn’t matter now. Sweet oblivion is near. Darkness. Silence. Death.
But not hers.
The beat of a heart cuts through the darkness, warm and steady in her ear. A sound she hadn’t heard in… when had she heard it? Melor had never held her like this… pain. Confusion.
Kit slowly opens her swollen lids. Eyes of deep reflective black. Perfect black, like polished obsidian. Her eyes.
“Stay still little one, you need healing.” The stranger’s voice is strange, unlike that of elves, tieflings, humans, and he sounds caring. How could that be? White face, white hair, strange black markings around his eyes, seeming to move and shift. She attempts to sit up, alarmed, but she can barely breathe, and he lifts her easily, holding her close. “Calm yourself. You never need worry after that creature again. He is done in.” She doesn’t relax, but remains still, watching him with wide eyes, head swimming, unable to process what had happened yet. He smiles a bit, sounding slightly apologetic. “I did attempt to find you sooner; the vile man had shielded you from my vision. Only in his rage did I manage to at last retrieve you.”
Kit, finally overcome by wounds and shock, slips back into unconsciousness. She doesn’t notice when he vanishes from the clearing with her tucked against him. Doesn’t wake when he gently covers her in thick furs, then glances at a white raven that sails to perch on a rock nearby, inspecting the little fairy girl with an intelligent, beady eye. “Quothe, find my grandchild something to sup on.” The raven bows, then flaps up, soaring out into the Feywilds to do as instructed.
Chapter Text
Astarion Acunin; high elf, vampire, lawyer, sits before the large desk in Raphael’s paneled office, trying not to show his apprehension. “Not to be… prejudiced, but your father is not one of my favorite people these days. I am grateful for the offer, but…”
The smiling devil spreads his hands. “Understandable, but what I am offering is not a contract. Just a mutually beneficial agreement. You could end our relationship whenever you please, with no repercussions.”
“Hm.” The pale elf thinks, shrewd red eyes regarding Raphael carefully, looking for tells. “Supposing I were to consider… what would be required of me?”
“That depends on you.” Raphael leans back in the large leather chair, seeming satisfied. In his mind, it’s already a done deal. Now they’re just haggling over terms. “There are many factions in this city, and you seem to move among most of them with ease.”
“Well, yes. Being what I am… most of the criminal underworld around here don’t exactly expect me to be on the side of the angels.”
“Yes, I have heard that you do not… discriminate, in your representation. I am in need of someone who knows the lie of the land here. Who knows all of those factions, and who’s who within them. I imagine you know exactly who to lean on if you want anything done.”
“Ah, well…” He starts to bite his lip, then catches himself and tugs on his cuffs instead. “You have good informants already, it seems. What more could I provide?”
Raphael’s smile grows. “One who can report but can not comprehend. He has been watching you for months. But I don’t need a spy, more of an… odd job man. Someone who speaks multiple languages, knows customs, alliances. And of course, a competent lawyer is useful no matter what a man is interested in.”
“You… you’ve had someone following me? Forgive me, but that is not an easy thing to do.”
“I know. You are a very impressive physical creature yourself. But… this man I speak of. He would be the second part of your job. I need you to teach him how to live in this society. How to navigate the intrigue and see the signs.”
“So…” Astarion considers again. “A consultant, of sorts, legal council… all well and good, but what of this man? Who is he and why does he need training?”
Raphael sits up straighter and claps his hands. “Ryldinn!”
Astarion and Raphael are dressed in the fashion of the times. Tasteful suits with wide lapels and flared trousers. The creature that glides into the room as Astarion turns is not. He’s wearing tight black pants of some strange material that Astarion doesn’t recognize, and nothing else. Bare feet, arms, gleaming dark chest and stomach. The vampire swallows at a shy glance from lovely, tilted crimson eyes before the man stops near Raphael, lowering his eyes and folding his hands as the devil gets to his feet.
“Here we are.” Raphael takes one of Ryldinn’s slender hands and turns him to face Astarion, beckoning the vampire to rise. “Astarion, this is Ryldinn. He is a protégé of mine, and has little knowledge of the surface world.”
“He… you’re the one who’s been following me?”
Ryldinn doesn’t answer, and Raphael chuckles. “He doesn’t speak Common very well. Or Elvish for that matter. That will be part of your task. But I am of the understanding that you speak drow.”
“I do… yes. But… I’m not a babysitter, Raphael. If this person is mentally deficient…”
His laugh is richer now, true amusement. “Ryldinn is perfectly intelligent, and he learns fast, but… there is one more thing…”
Astarion hmphs. “There always is. But before we go any further, I’d like to know what I’m getting from all of this.”
Raphael calms himself and smiles. “I have spoken to your master, and he has agreed to release you from his service. In return for a small favor from myself, of course. You would be completely independent. You could work and spend your time however you please. Have your own place. You must merely give priority and consideration to my own interests. I have few. And you must not, of course, interfere with his. You would be considered neutral. The factions and families already trust you as such.”
The pale elf manages, through long practice, to hide his surprise, merely stroking his chin and seeming to consider. “And I could end this agreement any time I wish…”
“Of course. This is a gentleman’s agreement, and may be abandoned whenever it becomes disadvantageous to either of us.”
Astarion’s gaze is drawn to the pretty drow again. The man is perhaps an inch or so shorter than the high elf, tall for a drow, but still lean and sinuous. “Lor a ussa.” Ryldinn does, meeting red eyes with red, and the vampire has to suppress a shudder. Tender. Vulnerable. Wounded. He clears his throat. “What was the last thing?”
Raphael takes a breath, hesitates. “Our Ryldinn was a pleasure slave in Menzoberranzan for a century. He works for me in a similar capacity but… in service of my interests, not of myself. He is adept in every form if seduction and lovemaking that mortals can devise… but he has never kissed anyone. He doesn’t know how. That is not a thing that is permitted in slaves in his former home, but it is very popular among members of this society, so… I imagine that you are more than skilled in this area.”
But the vampire is looking at Ryldinn, a bit incredulous. “I… wretched hells, what? He’s a… and you want me to teach him how to kiss? I mean, yes I am… but…” He sputters, then runs down. The drow’s eyes are still on his. His expression is neutral, but the sweet roundness of his face. Small soft mouth that had never known the touch of another, the apparent innocence. A drow. But a drow such as Astarion had never known. He senses no aggression in the smaller man. Just calm compliance. He addresses the man in drow again. “Have you truly never been kissed?”
A shy smile, the eyes shrouded by thick while lashes once more. “Go ahead,” Raphael nudges him. “You may answer.”
Ryldinn flashes his eyes once more before veiling them. “No, my lord. No one has ever seen fit to do so.”
A nervous giggle is jerked from Astarion at that. “My Lord, I like the sound of that. But it’s just Astarion, darling.” He hesitates. “Do you…” He glances at Raphael, but then firms. “Ryldinn? Do you want me to teach you our ways?”
The eyes meet his steadily now, and his smile is more genuine. Sweet. “Yes, Astarion. I would like you to teach me. There is much I do not know.”
“And what about… you don’t know me. Do you really want to kiss me?”
Those eyes widen a little, and he seems quite earnest. “Yes, I would like that. You are very beautiful, my… Astarion.”
He’s lying. Astarion nods slowly. Raphael is making him do this. “What did you do to him?” He’s asking Raphael, in Common, and Ryldinn doesn’t react, not seeming to mind them talking over him.
The devil smiles and rubs Ryldinn’s bare shoulder, which the drow seems to enjoy. “His own people did this to him. I merely found it expedient to keep him in this state when I acquired him. It served my purpose at the time, but now I feel differently.”
“Acquired… and you bought him for…”
“Not for sex, I assure you. I have never bedded this creature. He has other skills far more useful to me. But him gaining more independence will serve me now, and so that is what you will do. Teach him how to do what he does, here, and you will have as much freedom as I can procure for you.”
“And what does he do?”
Raphael clears his throat. “In this one matter I must swear you to secrecy.” Astarion agrees, bemused but fascinated, still subtly perusing Ryldinn’s beautiful body, and Raphael continues. “Ryldinn is the finest extraplanar assassin in the Underdark. Perhaps in all the Nine Hells, as well. He is likely the most dangerous mortal you will ever have the privilege of being near.”
Astarion looks Ryldinn over again, stunned. This small soft gentle seeming man… surely not. He swallows again, suppressing a nervous giggle. “Are you entirely certain I am safe with this man?”
Raphael responds by taking Ryldinn’s chin and gently, but firmly, turning his face so Astarion can see his left temple. Ryldinn makes no protest, but moves at the command of his patron. Something about that annoys Astarion, but he’s distracted by the softly glowing letter R embossed there. “Ryldinn does as I tell him. I can extend that to you. He would never seek to harm you, and he will protect you with his life. It is not a pet I am offering you, Astarion, but a devoted companion.”
The soft demeanor, the sweet smile when he turns back to regard the pale elf again… Ryldinn is stunningly beautiful. He’s looking at Astarion as if the vampire were fascinating. Astarion knows it is an illusion. This man is a slave. A drow slave. Brainwashed and programmed for his task, and gods know what Raphael had done to him… but that vulnerable gaze, the soft sweet voice saying his name… “Very well. I’ll do it.”
“Excellent!” Raphael clasps his hands together, looking from Ryldinn to Astarion with satisfaction. “As I have said, there is no contract. You may have him whenever you wish, and have whatever you wish from him.” He seems quite pleased, even winking at Astarion as he resumes his seat, which gives the high elf a chill, for some reason. “He’ll do whatever you want, you know.” He drums his fingers on the arm of the chair for a moment. “Just one more thing and I’ll let you boys get to it. Perhaps a demonstration?”
“I’m sorry?” Astarion is still a bit baffled, the lovely seductive smile of the dark elf and the obvious amusement of the Cambion unbalancing him.
“Kiss him. Show me I made the right choice.”
Of course. Devils always wanted just a bit more than was comfortable or appropriate… but he can’t do it just like that, so he holds his hand out to the drow. “Ryldinn?”
“Yes, Astarion?” Smooth warm fingers slip into his. The grip is gentle, but he feels the strength there, and there’s something in his eyes. A hint of calculation. A brush of anxiety.
“Do… do you want me to kiss you? I won’t do it if you don’t want. I swear, if this is something you won’t like we can forget the whole thing, I…”
Soft fingers touch his mouth, hushing him. The smile Ryldinn favors him with is not forced, but calm and accepting. “You are a kind man. My father chooses well for me, always.” He glances at Raphael, a tolerant, affectionate look. “He is subtle, yes. But he has my best at heart and he has seen in you a thing that is good for this. I will protect you and provide what you desire, if you will show me how. I am happy to do this with you.”
He's lying! Astarion’s brain screams this at him, but… this man is obviously acting in the way his patron wishes, but still. There is something there. That vulnerability. That… innocence. That Ryldinn is an effective killer Astarion has little trouble believing; the drow’s physiology is incredible, but he seems… maybe… a strange desire hits him then. Not for Ryldinn’s body, though that is definitely there but… an urge to help this man. To hold him and teach him how to be himself. And though Astarion is possibly the worst person to try to deprogram someone… “Alright. Close your eyes.”
Ryldinn does, shrouding the liquid red orbs behind thick short white lashes. He lets Astarion tilt his head up. He’ll let me do whatever I want to him. “Part your lips a little. Soft. Just allow me.” Ryldinn obeys, and Astarion’s lips touch his. He kisses softly for a minute. “Good. Open a little more. Give me your tongue.” Ryldinn’s delicate tongue hesitantly brushes, and Astarion suppresses a gasp. It’s incredible. Ryldinn obviously has no idea what he’s doing, but the feeling is amazing. He follows the pale elf like he’s leading a dance, tilting his head at the urging, allowing his hands to be circled around Astarion’s neck, pressing against him when directed by the almost unconscious flex of Astarion’s hands. It is a kiss such as the jaded vampire hadn’t known before. There is a purity, a comfort, and the simple fact that he has no reason, and would possibly be incapable, of endangering this man.
Ryldinn does what Astarion likes, seeming to anticipate his motion, but his inexperience shows and soon the vampire pulls back, feeling guilty. “Alright, Raphael. I think that’s enough for now. I work better with privacy.”
“Understandable.” The devil seems quite satisfied, however. “He’s all yours.”
Chapter Text
Sitting on the top of a fire escape, leaning over the rail, Kitalia stares down at the two men in the alley below. They're speaking too softly for her to hear at this distance, but after a minute they kiss, briefly, and head off in different directions. She decides to follow the dark one tonight. To his apartment first, and she stays a fair distance away. She'd seen him check his communicator before bidding farewell to the pale one. He'll come out again.
The drow looks different when he emerges. No longer dressed in the schoolboy outfit, he'd swapped his knee socks for a strange tight suit of black material complete with hood, mask, and gloves, which reflects so little light that even her keen eyes finds following his movements difficult on the dark rooftops above the streetlights. He is quiet, too. Not a scrape of shoe leather or a pebble disturbed, but she's moving steadily, keeping up from several roofs behind, phasing instead of jumping, when she materializes further along, then freezes. He had turned. Standing straight, a single building between them. He seems to be looking right at her.
Something about the silent, eerie, entirely black figure raises the hairs on the back of her neck. He isn’t doing anything, particularly. Just a perfectly still, man-shaped hole in the shrouded sky. He can't see me. The spell is subtle, just a bit of misdirection, but he should perceive her as part of the background. He knows I'm here. He can't see her. Can't hear her or smell her. He still knows she's there. I should go. Kit prepares to phase, as far away as she can reach, when he turns again and resumes his journey, jumping down out of her sight a few more roofs away.
Kit would not forget that it was her intention to leave him in peace, not her actual departure, that had calmed his suspicion. Or possible anxiety. She'd witnessed a strange tension and slight jitteriness in the petite drow on previous occasions, and decides to let him be for the night.
Chapter 4: Mr. Enver Gortash
Chapter Text
Ryldinn’s body had been polished with oil and dusted with gold. Tiny panties, the same shade as his skin, under a hip belt of golden ornaments that jingle as his narrow, sinuous hips roll and lock. Streamers of iridescent gold silk hang from the belt, providing tantalizing glimpses of bare feet and slim, gold cuffed ankles. He has thick gold cuffs around his wrists as well, and a wide collar around his neck. Every perfect muscle is highlighted as his body curves into an S shape, back arched and abs flexing rhythmically, bending backward in stages, lower, until one hand touches the floor and his legs appear, revealed along with a truly stunning ass and he flips himself easily over.
Ryldinn knows he's beautiful. Knows how the undulations of his scantily decorated form can drive a certain type of person insane, and the very subtle glances he's stealing at the man in the front row tells him he is succeeding.
After the performance, he tones himself down, just a touch. Leaving the gold dust but removing all ornaments except for the collar, he slips into a white silk top with one shoulder strap, and matching loose pants. He releases his mane of thick white hair from the high ponytail, touches up the gold on his eyelashes, then leaves his third floor room at the House of Hope to meet the man his father had chosen for him tonight.
Raphael is standing by his regular table near the edge of the balcony, speaking to Astarion and the newcomer, and the three turn as he approaches. Raphael smiles indulgently, and the undead attorney looks pleasant, if a bit calculating, but Enver Gortash is not yet forty, and his Adam's apple bobs as his eyes move over the graceful little man. He recovers as Raphael speaks, twitching himself into a charming smile.
"There you are, love. Thank you for joining us. The performance was arresting, as always." Ryldinn just smiles shyly and lowers his golden lashes as Raphael takes his hand. "I would like you to meet a friend of ours. This is Mr. Enver Gortash. Ryldinn, say hello, dear."
He nudges the drow forward, and Ryldinn has to look up into his dark eyes. Gortash is a big man, a head taller than Ryldinn, with broad shoulders and large hands currently hooked into his belt. "Is honor to meet you, saer." He holds out his soft small hand, palm down.
Gortash takes it, seeming to waver between kissing and shaking, settles for just pressing the smooth warm fingers, and shifts marginally closer. His voice when he speaks is rich and smooth, nearly as beautiful as Raphael’s. "And I am delighted by the opportunity to be acquainted with such a stunning artist as yourself."
Ryldinn is still smiling as Gortash releases him, but his expression is a bit blank. Raphael smirks. "You will have to forgive our little friend, Enver. I fear his Common is still quite rudimentary."
"Oh, that's no bother. I'm sure we will come to understand one another."
"Undoubtedly." Raphael looks around for a moment, then nods, still seeming pleased. "Excellent, well. Mr. Acunin and I have business elsewhere for a time... I shall leave you two to get acquainted. You are welcome for as long as you wish to stay, and Ryldinn will provide anything you require. Please, enjoy yourselves."
Astarion looks a bit dubious, glancing at Ryldinn. But the drow is working at the moment, showing nothing of his real emotions, his soft attention fixed on Gortash as he shakes Raphael’s hand again, then slips a palm across Ryldinn’s back, guiding him toward a more private alcove. So the vampire merely sighs quietly and follows Raphael. "Are you sure about this?" He questions the devil as they leave, his fingers twitching slightly. Ryldinn hears and sees, answers subtly, but the tension in the narrow shoulders doesn't ease, and he shrugs mentally and goes to do his job.
Later that night, after they'd all been freed of their obligations, Ryldinn, Kitalia, and Astarion are lounging in the condo. "I don’t see the harm in it, darling. The man is going to be mayor one day. Being close to that kind of power may be useful."
"Raphael has power." Ryldinn is curled on the sofa, wrapped in a chenille blanket.
Astarion is avoiding the obsidian eyes of the fey, oddly intent on Ryldinn’s reactions. "I mean temporal power. Political power. Raphael has to keep his true nature at least a little quiet, though I think most people know by now… But Enver Gortash, the golden boy. You could wrap him around your little finger."
“I doubt he’d want to parade around in public with me.” His smooth dark face flashes mild annoyance, the strongest emotion he can manage to display. “Besides, I don’t understand politics, you know that.”
“Yup. Well.” Kit is perched on a stool in the kitchen, looking comically vulturine with her little fingers dangling between the knees of her shiny purple pants. “That guy seems the type who’d just looooove to tell you all about it. Probably for hours on end without taking a breath. Like the sort of dude who has a manifesto, if you know what I’m saying. You could at least get some dirt on him. Then if he ends up being a super creep you can just have Raphy swat him on the nose and send him away.”
"Hm. He is quite a powerful spellcaster. I am not certain he lets on yet, but I've felt it in him. He isn’t exactly a wizard, there is something else... Father would be annoyed if I had to kill him. I will need to be cautious."
"When are you anything else?" Astarion snorts. "I don’t think he would try to harm you, dear. Bad press to start a war between two perfectly stable criminal enterprises. The Guild would try to move in on our territory, or his. Same reason they leave Cazador alone. The status quo is better than any alternative in this case. I do believe you’ll be safe with him."
“Yeah yeah, that’s all whatever." Kit hops from the stool and flops on the back of the sofa behind the drow, taking a lock of his hair to play with. "Ryl would have his eyeballs out before he could blink. What I want to know… do you really like the guy that way? Nobody’s making you date him. I know that’s mind blowing for you but you gotta think about it. Do you want to?”
Ryldinn leans his head back against her for a moment and hums. “I’m not quite sure. I suppose I could try. I’m used to seducing people for strange reasons. Just have to tone it down a bit if..."
"If?" She yanks the collection of silky hairs and he squeaks a bit before poking her.
"Well... I don't know. Maybe I like him. He is... rather attractive, and he said he wants to get to know me. Even... date, whatever that means. He has invited me to come listen to music at his home."
The fey rolls her eyes, and even Astarion snorts. "That's code, darling."
"Hmm?" He twists back around to regard Astarion. "Code for what?"
The vampire starts to answer, but Kit interrupts. "For fucking. Think about this, Ryl. If you go to his place that's gonna be what he wants."
Ryldinn thinks for a minute, then shrugs. "Can't be worse than some I've had. And it will help father. I'll at least go, see what he's like when he's not in public."
Chapter Text
Any other man, or woman, for that matter, would have bristled at the lascivious way the doorman's eyes rake Ryldinn’s body as he opens the front door of the luxurious new residential building, but the drow feels no discomfort. He’s been the subject of predatory looks, and often actions, for a century and a half, and tonight he’s dressed to catch those eyes. There is a brief flash of the horrific things he could do to the man, as he fields the lewd comment by pretending not to understand, but it fades as he rides the elevator up to the penthouse, giving himself one more brief inspection in the mirrored rear wall. Trying to “tone it down” doesn’t really work for Ryldinn, but at least he’s showing less skin than usual. The deep blue of the backless halter jumpsuit is saturated, contrasting nicely with his skin and eyes, a white leather belt highlighting his narrow waist. His snug underwear smooth the front of the flared pants, just the suggestion of a bulge visible, and he smiles a bit before stepping out into the foyer of the penthouse. Gortash is not in sight when he enters, but a tone announces his arrival and the man appears in a few seconds.
“Ah, Ryldinn. Welcome to my home.” He reaches out, is given Ryldinn’s slim hand, and this time he does kiss, just a soft press.
The drow dimples, answering shyly. “Thank you, saer. Is good to see you.”
“Yes.” He slips the light cheetah print jacket from Ryldinn’s shoulders and hangs it on a peg, then escorts Ryldinn into the sitting room. “But you must call me Enver. We decided that we are going to be friends. You remember.”
“Remember, yes. Please forgive.”
Ryldinn had detected the spicy cologne that Enver preferred, and had chosen orange blossom for himself, to compliment the aroma. He’d also polished his skin with almond cream, and the warm sweetness mixes subtly with the tang of soft citrus. He looks beautiful, he smells delicious, and Enver certainly seems to appreciate it. The man turns him and takes his chin, tilting his head up. “You need not apologize, little one. I am aware of your limitations. Please, have a seat.” He guides Ryldinn two steps down into a depressed seating area featuring a horseshoe sofa in black leather with a round glass table in the center. Ryldinn settles primly on the squeaky leather, setting his little bag by his sandaled feet and crossing his ankles.
The bigger man doesn’t join him right away. “What do you think?” He gestures around the room, and Ryldinn follows with his eyes. “I just recently acquired this place. Everything is top of the line, made exactly to my specifications.”
Ryldinn nods, not really understanding the words, but seeing the man’s pride in his surroundings. The place is fairly tacky; too much carpet, leather, brass. Trendy colors, incongruous artwork. There are an odd number of nudes, all female, but he smiles anyway. “Look very pretty I think. I not know much about making house nice.”
He chuckles. “Of course you don’t. Would you like a drink?”
He turns toward the bar on one mirrored wall, watching Ryldinn as he pours for himself. The dark elf lowers his eyes, seeming a little embarrassed. “Am sorry, sae… Enver. I drink no… alcohol.”
“That’s no problem; I will not compel you.” He pulls a glass bottle of expensive mineral water from a small icebox instead, and, carrying his own drink and a spare glass, returns to set them on the low table. “One more thing.” He seems pleased, a little excited, and sits next to Ryldinn, picking up an odd little mechanical device and tapping some buttons. Music starts emitting from somewhere, and Ryldinn looks around, a bit surprised. His date looks satisfied, and pours some of the chilled water for Ryldinn before picking up both glasses. “You said that you like music. I designed this system myself, so that I can play whatever I wish throughout the entire apartment.”
He hands Ryldinn the water, clinks the glasses, and takes a large swallow of what smells like whiskey. Ryldinn sips, seeming impressed. “You make music come from wall?” Enver nods. “Very smart you are.”
He chuckles again and almost casually lays his free hand on Ryldinn’s thigh. The drow does not react, so he squeezes lightly, rubbing the fine velvet a bit. “I am very smart, Ryldinn. I have invented many wondrous things, and I am working on something…” He pauses, then huffs ruefully. “You don’t understand any of that, do you? Anyway. I am going to be very rich and powerful, Ryldinn. Very soon, to the perspective of someone like yourself. But that’s not important.” The hand moves to Ryldinn’s forearm, then traces fingertips up his biceps to his shoulder. “The truth is, I find this life a bit… lonely. It is difficult to trust anyone. To let them close. But you would never betray me, would you?”
Ryldinn shakes his head, looking earnest, gripping Enver’s hand when it drifts back down to his. “Could not do so. Is magic protect you from me. But… I will not wish to hurt. Not betray. Will tell none if you say not.”
The dark eyes search his for a minute. Gortash is perceptive, and Ryldinn feels the power of compulsion he possesses, but the handsome young man is no match for skills honed for well over a century, so eventually he smiles, seeming to relax, and puts his arm around Ryldinn’s shoulders. “I can see that. You like me. It’s alright, my sweet; I understand why. Raphael told me what you were, you know. I know what you can do for me, and I will enjoy that, but I want you to know that your… spectacular body isn’t all I like about you.”
Ryldinn frowns inwardly, but keeps his irritation from his face and manner. “Yes. I have some skill. Just not smart like you. Not to… talk… very good. But I will try. Will like to know you, yes. Make to be happy.”
“I’m sure you will.” He leans down, and Ryldinn expects the man to kiss him, but his lips just touch Ryldinn’s soft cheek before he pulls away. “Would you like to dance?”
The drow’s smile is more seductive this time. “Yes. I will like dance for you. I see you look before. Maybe you think is pretty.”
“Mmm yes you were amazing. But I meant dance with me.” He turns up the music a little more and stands, pulling Ryldinn with him. Reaching an open space in the room, he slips a hand around Ryldinn’s lower back and pulls him close. “I am very happy that you chose to come here, Ryldinn. I find your company very pleasant.” He dances tolerably well, and Ryldinn gets a good view of a mat of chest hair through an open black silk shirt. A heavy gold medallion rests on the dark hairs, a relief of a raised fist, holding a filigree of chain. Something about that gives Ryldinn pause, despite not knowing the significance, but he decides to ignore it, daring to slide his hand up to grip Enver’s broad shoulder. The man is hard and fit, strong and warm, and the touch is not unpleasant, for the time being.
“I like to be here, Enver.” He bites his lip, crimson eyes meeting almost black. “May ask question?”
“Of course,” he answers, a deeper, more interesting rumble, as his fingers roam Ryldinn’s bare skin, occasionally dipping just barely beneath his waist band in the back, obviously enjoying himself.
He thinks, trying to find the right words. “You will like to be with me?”
“Be with you?” He hesitates, then smiles indulgently. “Of course I like being with you, little one. But… your discretion is something I like as well. I am confident that you will not share our… relationship… outside of your patron and his associates...”
Ryldinn sighs to himself. Of course. Gortash is stroking his neck now, kneading with his other hand, lower, pulling Ryldinn closer. He doesn’t let his disappointment show, however, and nods. “I tell none but who you say. Can’t talk good anyway to tell.” He hesitates. “Maybe man who open door did know why I come.”
Gortash blinks, an annoyed look brushing his features. “Did he say something?”
Ryldinn shrugs. “Say I can bring pretty ass for him when Gortash finish.”
The man looks even more irritated for a second, but resumes his pleasant demeanor, seeming to put it aside. “Don’t worry yourself. He will not bother you again. And I know that you can’t speak very well. But I think we understand each other perfectly.” He’s moving slower, his hands growing more insistent, and one slips to the back of his neck. His lips when they meet Ryldinn’s are full and soft, warm, tasting faintly of whiskey. He’s careful at first, testing, judging Ryldinn’s reactions, but the feel of the sexy little body pressed against him seems to fracture his reserve and soon he’s gripping, pushing his tongue into Ryldinn’s mouth, his breath quickening. Ryldinn mirrors him, wrapping arms around his neck and letting the man plunder his mouth until he pulls back for breath. “Gods… I can tell you don’t really know how to do that… for some reason I… come.”
He leads Ryldinn down a hallway, and the drow feels an odd chill at the sight of the big modern bed. I… don’t want to… Nonsense. What he wants doesn’t matter. Irrelevant. So when Enver seizes him for a more passionate embrace he goes with no indication of unwillingness. His top is pulled down, his body kneaded and caressed, his bottom gripped, pulling him up against the big man. Enver is handsome, strong, with large hands. He smells nice, his voice is a lovely caress, so why…
“Touch me.” Ryldinn does, smoothing his palms over Enver’s deep chest, running his fingers through the hair. Then the big hand slips down into his pants, warm on his bare ass, and he flinches. Gortash stills, but does not withdraw. “Did I startle you? I want you to enjoy this too.”
Ryldinn forces himself to relax and kiss Enver’s throat. “Forgive. I do like. Maybe yes surprise a little.”
“It’s alright, sweet one. I will not hurt you. Come, let me see your beautiful body.” He releases to let Ryldinn strip, watching with undisguised desire as he removes his own shirt. When the drow is naked, he looks for a minute, panting, then catches Ryldinn under the arms, lifting him to wrap around the larger human, taking two steps to the bed and climbing up, moving toward the head before lying himself on top of Ryldinn, between his legs, and taking his mouth again. He grips and massages Ryldinn’s muscles, his thighs and ass, groaning into his mouth, before pushing himself to his knees. “Turn over.”
Ryldinn obeys, lying on his stomach with Gortash straddling his thighs, still running his hands roughly over the silky body beneath him. “Beautiful,” he breathes, then leans over to grab a bottle from his nightstand. “Up now.” He pulls Ryldinn to his knees, hesitates. “Perfect.”
Ryldinn hears the pop of the lid, has a second to be thankful that the man had the presence of mind for lube, then braces as his hips are grabbed. Enver slips, wipes his hand on Ryldinn’s thigh, grips again. He’d neither seen nor felt Enver’s manhood, the man not having pressed them together in that way, but judging by the size of him…
The moan he’d prepared is cut almost as short as the first penetration, and evolves into a surprised little whimper instead as hands clamp and the man pushes. Odd sound, but Gortash doesn’t seem to notice as he gets going. Using short thrusts out of necessity, his hips smack Ryldinn’s ass quickly, and the drow has to concentrate to make the correct noises. Thankfully, the non-event lasts about two minutes before there’s a gasp, a grunt, and Enver pulls out to release up Ryldinn’s back. He pants for a moment, pulls his boxers back up, and then moves around to lie on the bed next to him as Ryldinn lowers himself to his stomach again. Gortash is smiling happily, eyes closed, rubbing Ryldinn’s bottom, smearing the lube and bodily fluids into his skin. “That was lovely, my dear.”
He doesn’t ask if Ryldinn had enjoyed it. Hadn’t thanked him. Hadn’t even touched him in any way that was intended to bring pleasure to the drow, despite his protestations to the contrary. What Enver Gortash does is give Ryldinn’s ass a little smack, roll over, and start snoring.
Ryldinn lays there until Gortash is truly out, then sneaks into his bathroom to wash off the drying fluids on his skin. It is a thing he has done many times, but tonight he has a little frown on his dark face. He dresses again, looking at the sleeping man. Enver doesn’t actually like Ryldinn. Doesn’t want to get to know him or spend time with him. He’d been told what Ryldinn is, and that is what he wants. Unwilling to pass back through the lobby of the building and feeling a growing desire to exercise his other skill set, he exits from the balcony and down the side of the building, to the street, and below.
Notes:
Profuse apologies if you love Gortash, I do too it's just funny. 😅
Chapter Text
Kitalia and Astarion are having a relaxing night in. Which, in their case, means annoying each other as much as possible. Kitalia is currently sprawled on his tufted white sofa, flipping through a magazine and munching jelly beans. “I trust there will be no little rainbow dots on my cushions when you’ve completed your unfortunately audible masticating.” He eyes her fingers, currently leaving just such dots on the glossy pages of the book.
Kitalia snorts. “Dunno why you want a white couch anyway. Can’t even screw on it without leaving marks.”
He raises an eyebrow. “That’s what the bed is for.”
“Ha! I’ve seen you get nailed in a public park.” She takes a red candy between her little fingers and starts hovering it, moving it closer and closer to the immaculate fabric beneath her, an expression of mischief in her reflective black eyes.
“Hmph. You would have as well, if that boy… don’t you dare!”
She giggles, moving the jelly bean up and down, then pops it in her mouth. “Nah, Hykyath isn’t my taste. Not even ninety yet.”
Astarion huffs again, then leans back, lifting his own book. “One of these days, darling, a sweet young man will sweep you off your feet and you’ll have all the decorum of a cat in heat.” He glances out the nearby window, “Oh my.” He chuckles and stands. “I never thought I’d see that man doing the walk of shame at two in the morning.”
“What man?” Kit jumps up, spilling jelly beans across to the floor, and ignores the elf’s sour look as she peers out the window. “Oh.” She giggles as well. “I guess he didn’t want to stay over.”
The coating on the windows hides them from Ryldinn’s view as the drow passes into the building a few floors below, but Astarion pushes at her. “Go on, act normal.” He looks around. “On second thought, clean up all of these sticky things before they get mashed into the rug. That will seem normal for you.”
She sticks her tongue out and starts scooping candy off the floor, teasing beans from the shag rug, popping a few into her mouth.
“Ugh. Those have been on the floor.” Astarion makes a face, and she snorts.
“You’ve had things in your mouth that…”
“Fine, fine! Just… I hope he isn’t upset about it.”
She shrugs, snags the last few candies, and plops back on the sofa as the door opens. Ryldinn doesn’t look upset. He doesn’t look… anything, really. Just says hello politely and starts toward the bedroom. The other two exchange a glance before Kit jumps up to follow him. “Hello yourself!”
Astarion stays in his chair; Kitalia is loud enough that he doesn’t have to strain to hear the conversation. Ryldinn’s soft voice is harder to make out, but he’s making no special effort to keep his voice down as he answers. “May I help you?”
“Pffft come on Ryl. How’d it go? What happened? Did you guys do it?”
“Um.” The hesitation is unusual, and Astarion sits up to hear better. “It went… fine, I suppose.”
“Fine?!” The bathroom faucet starts filling the tub. “But… look, if you don’t want to talk about it I get it. I mean, if the guy hurt you...”
“Oh, he didn’t hurt me.” An odd hint of amusement now.
“So you didn’t fuck him?” Kit is getting frustrated, Ryldinn seems mostly fine, so Astarion starts to relax again, then jerks upright again at the next words.
“Oh but I did. Sort of.”
“Sort of? I mean, you did? How was it?”
Astarion can almost see the look Ryldinn gives her; the raised chin and pouty expression. “Does it count if you can’t feel it?”
A pause, a snort, then Kitalia bursts out laughing. “Really? It’s that small? The guy’s a beast, I thought he’d be huge!” Ryldinn can barely be heard over her snickers, but he sounds aggrieved.
“It’s definitely smaller than mine.” The water stops, and there’s a little swish as he steps in. “He wouldn’t let me look at it. I’m not even sure he could keep it in; he finished up my back. Hence the bath.”
Her voice echoes as well, likely sitting on the toilet lid as he scrubs the human off of him. “Understandable. So, the sex is awful. What about the rest? Is he um… open minded?”
Astarion finally rises, joining them and leaning against the bathroom door frame. “That interests me as well. Do you think this man would let you in on his secrets? Introduce you to his business associates?”
Ryldinn, massaging shampoo into his long hair, shrugs. “I doubt it. He wants to keep our ‘relationship’ secret. I’m not sure whether that is because I am drow or a man, but there were several images of… paler females in his home.”
“Hmmmm so he’s on the downlow.” Kit looks at Astarion, and they trade a shrug as Ryldinn ducks down to rinse his hair.
Astarion clears his throat. “That is not unusual, and it’s a good thing to keep in your collection for future blackmail. Are you going to see him again?”
Ryldinn huffs and stands, neither of the others showing any reaction to the beautiful naked body. He grabs a towel. “I snuck out in the middle of the night. I doubt he’ll appreciate that.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve seen how just a taste can make these men lose their minds. We could think of a good reason if you want to.”
Kit looks between them for a second, then scampers after Ryldinn into the bedroom. “Yeah probably but… do you want to? I mean, what’s he actually like?”
Ryldinn pulls on some short silk pajamas, then sits to dry and brush his hair. “He… seems nice, actually. I’m not sure how he feels about me, but… he doesn’t know me yet, does he? Maybe…”
Kit narrows her eyes. “Maybe… yeah and maybe you can teach him how to fuck better. Gimme.” She snags the brush and starts working it through the silky locks as Astarion settles on a pillow behind them.
The vampire shrugs. “I suppose he is quite young. Perhaps he merely does not know how to please a man. If his house is decorated with naked women he’s at least pretending to be straight, for most invited guests, anyway.”
Ryldinn’s hair finished, the three of them shuffle around until the drow is between them, a pillow shielding his body from the cold of Astarion’s flesh, Kit’s head on his shoulder. “None of that is important, really, and not the reason I’m doing this.” A soft kiss on the vampire’s lips, the fey’s soft green hair. “I’ll just ask Raphael what I should do.”
Chapter Text
A few nights later, Ryldinn is stepping out of the elevator into Enver Gortash's penthouse again. He's dressed more casually this time to avoid attention; jeans, sweater, ponytail, but the new doorman had barely glanced at him. The man had seemed afraid of Ryldinn, for some reason, and had entered the elevator code quickly before scuttling back to his station.
Enver himself seems in a good mood tonight, and grins, coming to Ryldinn as soon as the tone sounds and grabbing him beneath the arms to lift him for a kiss. Ryldinn giggles, curling around the bigger man and letting him carry Ryldinn to the sofa, where he sits, the drow straddling his lap. Gortash pets him, boldly pulling his hair from the tie to play with it. Ryldinn displays pleasure, massaging his strong shoulders. "Enver happy today," he smiles, accepting another rather sweet little kiss. "Maybe you like to see me again?"
"Yes, of course I like to see you. But that's not the only reason I'm happy." He squeezes Ryldinn’s bottom with both hands and a cheeky grin. "I've reached a breakthrough in my work, and I feel like celebrating."
The dark elf looks surprised. "Nice thing happen and you want share with me?"
Another grope. Another kiss, his tone growing softer, but still pleased. "You’re the only one I trust, little one. Many others would want to stop me or steal my work. I know you wouldn't want that."
"I will not want no. I say before not betray. I am honored that you tell anything to me."
"Mmmm yes, of course you are." He slips Ryldinn from his lap and picks up the odd device that had made music the last time, cuddling the little elf against his side. Ryldinn’s hand on his arm tightens with a soft gasp as the press of a button causes the central table to drop down and slide away, revealing a hole in the floor. Enver chuckles. "Do not be alarmed, my sweet. It will not harm you." He watches with wide eyes as a figure rises from the space. The thing looks like a suit of armor, but it's whirring, some parts twinkling with various lights, and as he eyes it up and down, the construct rattles, twitches, then fists one metal gauntlet and strikes its hollow chest.
"What is?" There is no person visible inside the suit, just a jumble of wires and gears.
"I'm calling it a Steel Watcher. It is mostly titanium alloy, with some other metals for the more sensitive bits, but I thought that name was more impactful." Ryldinn nods, still glancing nervously at the thing, and Enver smirks. "It is entirely under my control, Ryldinn. Go on, go say hello."
Ryldinn stands and approaches the construct, a bit tense and wary but obedient. "Hello mister steel watcher. Is nice to meet you."
"Where am I?" Ryldinn frowns at the young-sounding female voice, then looks back at Gortash, who huffs.
"Still don't have all the bugs worked out..." He pokes the buttons on the remote again.
Ryldinn regards the metal monster again as it whirrs, clanks a bit. The voice when it sounds again is Enver’s voice, only a bit deeper and with no tone or emotion. "Ryldinn. You are known. You are welcome." It holds out its gauntlet.
"Go on, dear. Shake hands."
"You want I give hand to thing?" Enver nods encouragingly, and he gingerly stretches his hand out. The creature takes hold with surprising delicacy, lifting it and bowing to touch his knuckles to where a mouth would be if it had one. It releases, and the drow giggles with relief. "Not know what him is, but you make very smart thing."
"Hmmmm well it isn't smart. It's programmed. Much like yourself, and it's purpose is similar. This is going to replace my human staff, when it's perfected. No more disrespectful doormen, yes?" He beckons the drow to return.
Ryldinn smiles as he's pulled back into the bigger man's lap. "I am used to people disrespect me. Does not hurt. But who the first voice it make? Sound like lady."
"Ah, yes." He looks saucy, a bit contemptuous. "That was the breakthrough. I needed human brains to power the machinery and provide basic balance and bodily awareness."
"You put human in there?" He's eyeing the quiescent machine dubiously again.
"Only her brain. Any who try to thwart my plans will end up the same, and serve me whether they want to or not." He squeezes flesh, nuzzles Ryldinn’s neck. "I know I'll never have to do that with you." He kisses again, more tenderly. "I like you, Ryldinn. And I know you like me too. These machines are useful, but the beauty and talent you possess... I could make you mine, you know."
"Hm... don't know. I do belong to Raphael."
"Everyone has a price. I could buy your contract from him. I know Raphael has been trying to get a foothold in Baldur’s Gate for his own reasons. I could help him do that."
"You would... buy me?"
"Mmmm yes I would. And then you would be mine, and not his. I think you might like that." He's kissing Ryldinn’s neck, pulling at his sweater, and leans back to push it off over his head before continuing. "He has that incubus, after all. You could merely give the creature your body, then Raphael could retain your beauty. He'd lose nothing. Would you like that?"
Ryldinn frowns slightly, but makes no other sign as the big hands roam up into his undershirt. "Maybe will like. Is a thing... I am not smart. Must think much about."
"Of course." He pets Ryldinn more, smiling gently. "You asked before if I would like to be with you, and I've had time to think. My answer is yes, dear one. We can be together. I will buy you a nice little apartment of your own and you wouldn't have to see anyone but me."
"Not live here?"
He chuckles, scooping Ryldinn up to stand and dancing around with him a bit. "You wouldn't like it here. People coming and going at all hours. I have to rearrange things to bring you here without anyone important seeing you. I disrupt my schedule and lose sleep to be with you; that’s why I have you come so late at night." When he shifts Ryldinn so he's wrapped around the man, his forearms supporting Ryldinn’s bottom, his expression is softer, and even perhaps a little apprehensive. "Think about it, sweet boy. I would treat you well. You can have anything you want, if only you agree to be mine."
Ryldinn dares to run his fingers through Enver’s thick black hair, then initiates the next kiss, which seems to please the man. "I will think." He smiles. "Most of my life, nobody want to trust. Nobody like me. Maybe some do now. Must make right choice."
Enver nods. "I understand. But your friends could come visit you, as long as they are discreet. Perhaps in time I could even acquire them as well. Mr. Acunin is appropriately feared in the legal community, and the fairy is... entertaining. But we can sort all of that out later. I have your promise to consider, yes?"
Ryldinn agrees, and Enver Gortash seems to have ticked off the items he'd wanted to discuss at that point. Having shown off his hair-raising abomination, and offering to buy his already rented lover and said lover's friends, he pulls Ryldinn against him to kiss him in earnest. The drow clings to him, matching his passion, thighs tightening around his waist as Enver kneads his ass and back muscles, runs fingers through his hair. Expecting to be carried to the bedroom, he's a little surprised when Gortash disengages and lets him slip back to his feet. He slides a finger down Ryldinn’s cheek with a satisfied smile. "I do enjoy you quite a lot, Ryldinn. But I would like a drink, and then perhaps you can dance for me, this time."
Ryldinn looks down at his singlet and sneakers, then giggles. "Not dress very fancy tonight. But will like to dance for you, yes."
The big man grins. "No problem; I think it's cute. Besides, you won't be wearing that for long." He crosses to the bar and turns back with a frosty dark bottle. Ryldinn flinches as the cork pops out, but then giggles as Gortash pours himself a foamy glass. "A pity you don't drink. But I have some nice sparkling water here; we can just pretend." He pours the fizzy water into a matching champagne glass, and starts down the hall, looking mischievous. He stops, not in front of his own bedroom, but another door, on the other side of the hallway. "Come in here."
Ryldinn follows, and a white eyebrow climbs when he sees what is inside. Most of the floor is bare, a few chests and small tables against the walls. But the back of the room is dominated by what looks like an actual throne on a low dais. He hands Ryldinn his water, then gestures around. "I am going to have a throne one day, Ryldinn. Perhaps when my power has grown sufficiently, I will be able to quell any talk about our relationship. Until then..." He clinks their glasses, then moves to settle himself on the throne, pulling the remote from his pocket. Music starts playing; a sort of smooth funky sound, and he tosses the device aside to rest his elbow on the arm and lean back, sipping his champagne. "Take your clothes off. Slowly."
Ryldinn smiles sweetly, sets his glass aside, toes his shoes off, then comes to stand before the man. He takes a breath, letting the rhythm of the music find him, then begins to move. He dances like he had when Gortash had first seen him; flexing, torso rippling as he slides the undershirt up his chest and off. He flips his head, letting his hair flow around him as his narrow hips roll. Turning his back, letting his pants drift lower, revealing his lovely ass in the tight thong gradually. Hearing the breathing behind him speed, grow more heavy. "Come back here."
He steps from his jeans and turns, seeing the black eyes burning with desire, and goes to climb in his lap again. He moves here too, sliding silky skin under big warm hands that grip, pulling him tight against the man. Gortash moans against his throat, kissing, nipping, pushing him down to grind in his lap. Ryldinn obeys, rocking his hips, stimulating Enver until the big human is trembling and panting. "Yes... yes Ryldinn. You like this. That's it... feels good. You like me touching you."
Ryldinn doesn’t know which of them the man is trying to convince, but Ryldinn can be very convincing. "Yes I do like. Strong you are. Handsome."
"Do you want me?" He pulls back a little to stroke Ryldinn’s face. It's the closest he's come to displaying any concern about the drow’s desires, and he looks even more uncharacteristically apprehensive.
No. No I don't. I don’t want this. But he smiles and kisses softly. "I do want. Anything you like I will be happy to give you."
Gortash blows out a breath. "You know... I do believe you mean that. Very well." He kisses more, kneading Ryldinn’s ass. "Take your underpants off and turn around."
Enver eases his way with spit this time, pulling down his trousers just enough when Ryldinn’s back is to him, then pulls him back down. It is a bit of a challenge at this angle, but he doesn't allow the drow to help, merely lines up and shoves him down hard. Ryldinn is prepared this time, and moans with apparent pleasure.
"Yes..." Enver rasps into his ear. "That's it. Put your knees here... there we go... just stay still, I'll do it." Straddling in reverse, Ryldinn lets Gortash move his body. Gripping his waist, shifting him slightly back and forth, flexing his own hips. It takes him no longer than last time, and he doesn’t pull out, but grunts against Ryldinn’s neck before stuttering his release into the little man in his lap. He takes a few more deep breaths, but, not having exerted himself to any extent, recovers quickly. "Perfect," he mutters, kisses Ryldinn’s ear, then eases him forward to refasten his pants before pulling Ryldinn around to cradle in his lap, rocking the naked drow a bit and smiling happily. "This is perfect. And just a taste of what's to come." He sighs in contentment. "You don't know how long I've wanted this. A pretty little slave of my own, who will obey my commands with pleasure. You are intoxicating my dear."
"Happy to please you." Ryldinn nuzzles, but inwardly, he's conflicted. Have to talk to someone.
"I know you are." He kisses, briefly but firmly. "But as lovely as this was, I would like to get back to work. Can't have the Watchers talking in the voice of someone's relative, can we?" He gives Ryldinn a little spank again, and slides him from his lap. "You can get dressed and go now, but be ready when I call again."
"I will do so, Enver. Thank you for share with me." He snags his underwear, watches the man leave the room, then sighs silently and pulls his clothes back on.
Blad3Zer0 on Chapter 2 Mon 07 Apr 2025 02:07AM UTC
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