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Bhaal and Myrkul had always been friends.
During their mortal lives, the two of them had discussed the nature of life and death in lurid details. Bhaal did not remember the exact number of people he had killed and brought back to the necromancer, how many times he had watched him raise the dead, and how many times he had marveled at the wizard's magical skill.
“Do you have a problem with necromancy?” Myrkul had once asked him over a shared bottle of wine.
“Yes,” he had answered. “It's a waste of a perfectly good kill. You're undoing my work.” The old wizard had laughed.
“A waste of hard work, hm? I just pick up where you left off.”
“Oh, you are not taking me seriously!” The assassin had called out.
Thinking back to this, the rogue laughed.
“You're lazy.” Bhaal ignored Bane. “Come on. Get up.” He did not, choosing to fling another dagger at the taller man.
Myrkul's room was dark, green fires barely blazing in the chandelier placed within the middle of the ceiling, directly above the bed.
But the wizard's room had a strange layout to begin with: It was a large, round room built from greyish stone.
The walls were inscribed with glowing runes and letters, shifting across the paneling without destination, while the floor was carved from cadmium-green marble. The bed, made of ancient wood, stood in the middle of the room, silks in emerald shades placed above it, and surrounded by an array of dark candles whose fire never extinguished. There was a fountain as well, just beneath the stained glass window on the opposite wall of the door, that gave not water but molten glass. Neither Bhaal nor Bane knew why.
“Does Myrkul know you're here?” The tyrant asked, tilting his head to the side while inspecting the bloodstains on Myrkul's floor. Bhaal had spilled the red liquid when he had stumbled into the wizard's room with mirthful laughter. The silver goblet still lay on the floor.
“Of course he does! I would never be so rude as to barge into his home uninvited.” Neither mentioned that the assassin was always welcome in the wizard's domain.
Bane almost sneered at the thought. Bhaal and Myrkul's bond was strong, crafted from mutual understanding and respect, strengthened by their symbiotic domains: The process of dying and death itself.
Although Bane had never given voice to it, he was well aware of the fact that his allies knew of his envy regarding their relationship. He himself was only allowed in here because the smaller man, who was lying in Myrkul's bed, had managed to convince their friend to allow him in. And even then, it had taken many murders for the wizard to be satisfied.
“You're too loud.” The necromancer had once told him. “Too rash, impulsive and impatient.” To Bane, this sounded like a sorry excuse. Clearly, he just didn't want to admit that he was superior! He shook his head and banished the thought.
“And the bed? Does Myrkul know that you have chosen to occupy it? Hm?” Amusement flickered over Bhaal's face, barely hidden, before he grinned, sharp teeth painted red, and said: “Myrkul never sleeps. This bed is just decoration. He does not care about whether or not I am within it.”
“So he doesn't.”
“Correct,” answered the smaller god. His crooked smile vanished when Bane grunted in response. “Hush, he needs not know.” At this, the tyrant turned to face the other man, putting one of the necromancer's books back into the shelf, and cast his eyes over his ally.
Bhaal's hair was jet-black, disheveled for he scarcely took care of it, and proved quite the harsh contrast against the pale skin, adorned with a few faded scars. Bane had never understood why Bhaal had chosen to wear them. As a god, he could make them disappear with a single thought.
“You would lie to your closest friend?” The words tasted bitter on Bane's tongue.
“It's not a lie. I am merely... withholding information. He doesn't mind.”
“He doesn't because he can't.” A single chuckle was the only response he got.
A few moments of silence passed.
Bane said nothing more, daring to glance at his ally once again, while the smaller man took one of Myrkul's pillows and looked for something the tyrant couldn't name.
“Will you tell him?” Would he?
He could do that. But to his displeasure, Bane couldn't predict how Myrkul would react. Perhaps he would throw Bhaal out, or perhaps, which seemed more likely, he would scold Bane and claim that he tried to plant the seeds of strife between them.
“Maybe. I will have to think about it.”
“Think?” The assassin's high-pitched laughter made him flinch. “You don't think; you never did. All you do is talk and talk and do and betray and-”
“I get it.” The smaller man grinned, far too gleefully, Bane thought, when he noticed the other man's scowl.
“Don't be like that. You could be worse.” That this statement bordered on an insult seemed to go over the assassin's head.
“I don't talk that much.” It was a lie, he knew. But still, Bhaal would not be allowed to speak such things so brazenly.
“Of course not. Because you're so adept at busying your mouth with other things.” Another delighted snicker slipped from the rogue's lips. Bane narrowed his eyes and turned to look at him completely.
The smaller man held his stare with ease, something that was as exciting as it was infuriating.
The red eyes, glimmering like bloody obsidian, hid all kinds of thoughts: Pictures of torments, pleasures, and excruciating joy. Or perhaps not joy, but anticipation.
When Bhaal leaned back, exposing his neck, the taller man allowed himself a moment of weakness in order to admire his ally: Small, lean, strong.
Those words fit him quite well. But the fighter was no fool. Bhaal could be alluring if he managed to bring himself to care, but it was a venomous guile. He was in the habit of killing those he lay with, sooner or later, and although Bane had yet to be bled dry by the sharp daggers, he remembered the sting of cold metal upon his flesh quite vividly.
“How about this,” the pale man began. “You won't tell Myrkul anything at all about what I do and don't do, and I will... well. You decide.” The taller man raised an eyebrow when he eyed his companion.
“You're not in the habit of obeying.”
“Not if it doesn't benefit me. True.” Bane allowed the ghost of a smile to cross his face. “Now, the question is, what do you want?” When Bane took a step towards the bed, he pondered how to answer. There were many things he yearned for: Power, acknowledgment, admiration, control. And more beyond all this.
“I don't know. You tell me.” Another step closer.
The crooked smile returned to the rogue's face, an almost silent challenge written all over it. “Hm. I believe you always wanted to assert your dominance over what you have never controlled.”
“I control all. There is nothing beyond my grasp.”
“Loviatar would beg to differ.”
“She serves me.”
“No. She is your consort, but she obeys me.” Bane halted for a moment at the assassin's daring correction. It was the truth, yet he only sneered at it.
When he leaned down, Bhaal did not relent, staying where he was. “You better apologize,” Bane warned. “I do not take kindly to being questioned.” The smaller man tilted his head to the side.
“I know." He leaned closer. "But I don't care." When the rogue's bloody lips grazed his own, Bane paused. Bhaal always played his games. Even he had never truly been the exception.
A twinge of amusement settled within his chest as he thought back to how distraught Myrkul had been when Bhaal had licked the necromancer's face for the very first time. Of course, he had claimed that it had served the sole purpose of making the wizard stop talking about... Bane didn't remember. Yet before he was able to think about this in more detail, a hot tongue was dragged over his lips.
He managed to jolt back only slightly before slim fingers closed around his arm and pulled him back down. When Bhaal bit down, drawing blood from his lips, Bane hissed and pushed him back.
He heard the smaller man chuckle. The rogue did not draw back, clawing at the blonde hair, when Bane gripped his slender waist, kneading the flesh beneath the tightly bound leather, and bit back.
A flare of heat passed through the fighter's abdomen, setting his blood aflame. The assassin's right hand wandered beneath Bane's loose shirt, dancing across the skin with tender care. The taller man shoved his ally down completely, removing the black garments upon his torso, and placed a series of hungry kisses across his chest. He felt Bhaal tense up, a delighted hum trapped within the lungs, as sharp nails worked on slicing apart the fighter's shirt.
When Bane's hands wandered down Bhaal's thighs, forcing legs apart and gliding ever so gently upwards, his hips gave a slight jolt. Claw-like nails were digging into the taller man's shoulders, seeking something to hold onto.
Bhaal had never been a god of many fabrics, and Bane found himself glad for it. The moment the last piece of attire had been removed, Bane halted in order to take the view in front of him in.
He had always marveled at the way his ally's lips curved with amusement or the way his flesh flushed under his heated palm. Bhaal's body was quite different from his own, Bane noted.
The elongated, toned muscles lacked the excessive bulk the fighter himself possessed. As a mortal, Bhaal had trained in pursuit of increasing his agility and speed; Bane, on the other hand, had always focused on raw strength. Their physique reflected this.
Bane's hand wandered over Bhaal's chest, gliding feather-light over the skin in a dance that was set to follow the faded scars scattered across the pallid flesh. Only two slim body-chains, iron-made, still adorned the rogue, woven across his ribcage from one shoulder to another.
The assassin allowed it without complaint, his own fingers drifting from Bane's arms down to his stomach, marveling at the domineering muscles, before letting them wander upwards again.
Bane leaned down, teeth teasing neck, while the hand within his hair pulled him closer. Bhaal allowed a single, nearly silent, moan to escape his mouth, tugging at the taller man's hair, before his legs closed around Bane's waist, who quickly discarded the last of his clothes in the process.
Pressing the smaller man down with his body, a tingle of electricity settling within his crotch, he left a trail of kisses upon the neck, relishing in the sensation of warm fingers upon his back, before nipping at the soft flesh.
The rogue groaned when he felt Bane's left hand squeeze his thigh, his right hand firmly holding onto the black hair, and rolled his hips against him.
The man above him stiffened, tongue soothing the stings his teeth had left behind, and pulled with growing ferocity at the smaller man's hair, before pressing himself against his body more firmly.
Continuing to revel in the fighter's rapt attention, Bhaal pushed his pelvis up and brushed against the other god's growing erection. Bane breathed in sharply, halting for a mere moment to enjoy the sensation of the assassin's heated skin. He exhaled, breath shuddering, as he felt claws piercing the skin on his back, placed another kiss on the ever-bloody lips, and pushed himself up.
When the assassin rolled his hips against him once more, he scarcely managed to keep quiet, instead mimicking Bhaal's movements and daring to look into the red eyes.
Then his cock grazed Bhaal's own, and he closed his eyes in response, rubbing against him with barely contained excitement. The other god seemed to exult in the pleasure, letting go of the fighter's blonde hair, seeking balance by leaning unto his forearms, and stared, mouth half open, at the man above him.
A soft huff slipped past Bane's lips as he began to rut against his ally. Bhaal said naught, simply placing his right hand upon the taller man's shoulder, and closed his eyes. When the speed increased, he allowed his left leg to move to the side, Bane wasting no second to hold it in place, before rocking his own pelvis up and down.
The touch of their lengths made Bane dig his nails into the assassin's flesh, bending down, lips grazing, he felt a hot tongue seeking entrance into his mouth.
He allowed it.
Their shared kiss was neither brutal nor gentle. Bane groaned, spurring both their erections on with practiced motions, clinging to the sheets while Bhaal's breath hitched, caught in his throat, before a soft, breathless whimper escaped his fanged mouth.
A pleasant tingle passed through him. Bhaal hissed, grabbing the taller man more firmly, his left hand wandering down to caress his ally's member, while Bane opened his mouth, eyes opening only slightly, and answered with a mellow kiss on the rogue's collarbone.
He stopped.
Dexterous fingers were gliding up and down his shaft, thumb stroking over his head with gentle care. Stifling a cry, squeezing his eyes shut, he nuzzled into his companion's neck. His hips continued to be thrust into Bhaal's grip, and with each second that passed, the heat in his abdomen grew in intensity. Increasing the speed of his movements he bit into the assassin's shoulder, muffling whatever sound sought to escape him.
It displeased Bhaal.
Suddenly, a painful force wrapped around Bane's cock, squeezing tight, nails almost piercing the sensitive skin, and made him gasp out loud, pelvis snapping backwards, before a mirthful chuckle filled his ears. The fighter tensed up when the pressure did not relent. Instead, the rogue gripped his shaft and pulled his hand up, massaging the cock between his fingers. It was painful, and although the taller man wished to retaliate, he did not dare do so.
He did, however, allow a moan to grace his ally's ears then.
“Good.” Bhaal whispered, lips close to the ear, before his tongue flicked out to wet his earlobe. “Continue like this.” Bane opened his mouth, seeking to chide the smaller man for his daring action, yet was silenced by a demanding kiss.
When he was released, he looked down at himself, admiring the skill with which Bhaal was treating his length. His free hand groped Bane's member, sliding up and down the erection, nails making him shudder every time they applied pressure upon his head, threatening to burrow into the far too thin skin, he grinned.
The taller man groaned and cared no longer about keeping himself from reveling in the flairs of an almost soothing agony that shot through his body. He rested his forehead upon the assassin's shoulder, left hand holding unto the defined pelvis, breath quickening in rhythm to the motions of Bhaal's fingers, as a churning, yet warm and invigorating energy, throbbed within every fiber of his being.
His back arched, hips bucking up in a spasm, when the roaring heat within his stomach and loins flared up, searing through his hot flesh in waves of riveting fire, before he cried out, almost silently, and pushed Bhaal back down upon his back.
His legs twitched, body quivering under pleasurable cracks of electricity, while the last pangs of burning arousal subsided, ebbing away into the form of embers waiting to be stoked anew.
Bane's head rested upon Bhaal's chest, his ally's heart pounding unusually fast, while slim fingers played with his hair. A kiss, feather-light and far too affectionate, was placed upon his brow when the smaller man pulled him closer.
“Exquisite," the rogue breathed out, hands wandering over the taller man's back. "Alluring, magnificent, charming.” He pecked him on the cheek. Bane didn't stir. “Elegant.” He felt the assassin draw a single drop of blood. He was drowsy, his vision partly blurred. “Hush,” Bhaal mumbled. “We are not yet done.” The demand that lay in his voice almost made Bane recoil.
Yet when the other god draped his arm around his waist, peppering tender kisses upon his lips, he did not. He knew that his companion would be angry if he did.
I do not owe him, he thought. After all, they had a deal, no? Bane would made no mention to... Myrkul. He paused. The wizard would be most displeased if he found out what they had done in his bed.
The taller man gazed up.
“You tricked me.” The words were bitter on his tongue.
Bhaal's eyes wandered down, lips coiling into a wicked smirk. “Did I?” The question was followed by a gleeful snicker.
“Do not gloat.”
“I am not. Ao knows, I am not.”
“You are.”
“Shall we ask Myrkul? I am sure he-” Bane cut him off by summoning red fire and pressing his fingertips into the other god's rips.
Bhaal yelped, seeking to jolt upwards, but was silenced when Bane pressed his hand upon his mouth and forced him back down. “No,” he said, and, to his surprise, the assassin fell still, eyeing him with a hunger that made his hair stand on edge.
A presence reached out to him then, brushing against the psionic walls of his mind, seeking entry. It was metallic, sticky, and sweet, tasting of living flesh. Bane opened his mind to it, feeling the hot-blooded consciousness of the man below him seep in, mingling with his own.
Bhaal laid his desires bare, needing not speak a single word: Visions of red meat filled the taller god's head, pictures of innocents writhing under the rogue's pale hands in agony and pleasure alike, images of a thousand different desires, each more depraved than the next one.
Bane steered his thoughts deeper into Bhaal's psyche. The taste of iron filled his lungs, the edges of his vision red, when he felt a deep, primal, and exotic lust within his ally's body: a deep and unsettling yearning for both slaughter and sex, most dominantly centered around Bane. The fighter didn't know whether to be frightened or pleased.
In response, Bane flooded Bhaal's mind with his own, cold and unyielding, and revealed the secrets that lay within him: Desires of strength proven, power taken, of kings overthrown and gods killed. And of treasures shared.
But Bhaal dug past those wishes, slithering into the darkest chambers of his mind and sniffing out the most hidden crevices within the most guarded corners: The longing for affection. Admiration freely given and gladly received.
Bane almost shut the other one out of his psyche in response, yet when no mockery came, he hesitated. The assassin lingered on those cravings, tasting the ice in which they had been encased, and circled them.
Surprisingly enough, Bhaal's attention seemed devoid of any ridicule; no taunt ever came. He didn't observe him like a wolf would a wounded rabbit. No. More like a healer would a wounded cat.
It made the taller god uncomfortable. He had no idea how to react, nor was he given a chance.
A gentle psionic hand pushed against his mind, bidding him to leave the thoughts of the smaller god. He obeyed.
His vision was still blurry, and Bane had to blink a few times before it cleared. The taste of iron, the sensation of being pierced by needles over and over again, vanished when the rogue withdrew from his mind completely.
A moment of silence passed before he felt Bhaal caressing his face, wiping away something Bane didn't dare name. He didn't react, attention fixed at the sensation of warm hands offering what comfort they could.
All of this was strange. Neither of them was kind. They were brutal, ruthless, efficient in enforcing their wishes. But something stirred within Bane's heart at the thought, remnants, perhaps, of a mortal life that he had almost forgotten.
He couldn't quite name it. It was a painful feeling, lodged in his chest and writhing like rotten maggots beneath the flesh. Yet, at the same time, it made him forget his fear of the possible scorn he could receive for such weakness.
Bhaal's hand wandered over his nude frame. “It was never meant to be soft and gentle,” he whispered, lips gracing ear. “Those butterflies eat through one's own stomach and devour every organ and every bit of flesh you have. They nestle deep within the heart and build a colony there, spreading everywhere, deeper and deeper. In their wake, even breathing becomes impossible.” Another kiss. “Like vines that grow between the ribs, filling up every crevice of one's own being, until there is nothing left to give and lose.” Bane mustered his courage and looked up. “In the end, we are all left as bare skeletons, picked clean by fraud and failure alike. Yet the very thing you fear is what makes us immortal, burying our naked sins deep beneath the embrace of what we long for.” The smaller man smiled sorrowfully. “How tragic and beautiful a thing, that we all kill what we love most, in time.” Bane swallowed heavily.
This, he knew, was wrong. This was wrong because it was painful.
Bhaal's eyes found his own, and Bane shuddered at what he saw. He couldn't endure the torment of knowing that he was understood, his pain and scars not just seen but known. The smaller god placed another kiss upon the fighter's cheek, not in hunger or pursuit, but in admiration and appreciation.
Bane pushed him away, rising from where he lay. This was a dreadful thing.
Sex wasn't meant to feel like this; it was supposed to be a show of force, another tool to be used in his plans for domination.
When the smaller god tried to rise as well, a somewhat pitiful look on his face, Bane's hand closed around his neck and forced him back down. Despite the violent gesture, it was performed remarkably gentle. The taller man discarded the thought quickly, and the one below him made no comment.
“You're right.” Bane hissed not out of anger, but out of confusion. “We aren't done yet.” He had slipped. And this would need to be fixed.
Bhaal didn't seem to care about the sudden change, embracing Bane's brutal kisses with a mere smile. He pulled the taller man closer, refusing to surrender completely, and allowed the taller god's tongue to slip into his mouth, coiling his arms around him while one of Bane's hands reached lower and the other gripped the thin iron chain around his chest, tearing at it with vicious ferocity.
Bhaal reached out and traced the ridges of his torso in the same fashion he had done before, allowing the softest huffs to pass his lips as the fighter kneaded the flesh of his inner thighs, knuckles scarcely touching the length, before he forced his legs apart and dragged him closer.
Bane did not yet enter, choosing to grind his cock against Bhaal's abdomen instead, who, in response, pressed it down upon his stomach with one of his free hands. Bane's breath hitched, speed increasing, while the rogue softly applied pressure.
Heat settled between the assassin's own legs, and he found himself wanting more, yearning for release in much the same fashion he had granted the god above him earlier.
He gazed up, the grey eyes that were imbued with cerulean flames holding his stare, and winced when nails dug into his skin. Bane leaned down, tongue being dragged over his neck, and groaned when Bhaal pressed his erection more firmly upon his stomach, thrusts picking up pace once more.
Yet before he allowed himself to give in, he withdrew, pulling Bhaal's hand away from his member. A second passed before Bane adjusted.
He grabbed the smaller man's legs and dragged him closer, hot breath heating his pallid flesh, before granting one last kiss.
He was almost careful when he slipped inside, neither rough nor fast, and moaned, breathlessly, into the assassin's ear. Bhaal tensed up the moment his companion began to move back and forth, grabbing his waist, still lean and strong, Bane thought, with one hand, and pulled it up. Bhaal's legs closed around his waist, helping Bane to keep his lower body tilted upwards to the best of his ability.
He couldn't help but stare at the taller man as those muscles twitched, eyes almost closed, lips quivering under the strain of emotion and bodily exhaustion alike.
Bane's free hand kept his torso down, placed upon his chest, fingers remaining around the iron chain.
The thrusts were well-practiced, Bhaal noted as he clenched his jaw to stop himself from saying this out loud. Closing his eyes and reveling in the sensation of the cock buried within him, seemingly pushing deeper each time, he arched his back and clawed at the sheets to have something to hold onto.
He tried, at first, to keep silent, fighting against the heat that whipped his body with fervent devotion, but caught louder moans escaping his mouth more than once.
But this should be shared, shouldn't it?
His mind, blazing with fire, reached out once more. Yet where he had previously asked permission to enter Bane's thoughts, he was now pushing against the psionic walls with a desperation that almost shamed him.
The god above him cast a glance at him, lips ghosting over flesh before retreating.
He was hesitating.
Bhaal did not relent, each wave of pleasure that ravaged his body only increasing the ferocity with which he scraped at the mental defenses, nearly begging to be allowed in one last time.
Bane's mind did open then, one more time, cautiously, and without a second wasted Bhaal flooded his allies body with every sensation he was experiencing at once: Pleasure and torment alike, the feeling of being pierced by daggers that was ever-present, Bane's length gliding in and out, cold iron-chains that conflicted with heated flesh, a hand upon his waist, holding him up and open, and the other on his chest, pushing him down upon a soft mattress and its silks.
Bane opened his mouth, a silent cry, when his body buckled at the overwhelming input.
He felt Bhaal's mind close around his own, barely contained madness within, lavishing itself upon the feelings Bane gifted him in return: His cock buried within hot flesh, pale skin burning heated palms, one part soothed by cold metal, legs around his waist that spurred him on to be rougher.
A whine, desperate, slipped past Bane's lips, and the sound made Bhaal ravenous.
His left hand shot up, gripping his companion's hair, and pulled him down. Breath hitching, he fought against the desire to pierce the fighter's skin, split it open with loving care, as he tightened around Bane.
Their awareness melted together, each set on subduing the other, while they gorged themselves upon their desires.
For a moment, Bhaal saw himself through Bane's eyes - jaw tense, claws scraping with the fury of a slighted animal - before, suddenly, he felt pangs of violent electricity, making his stomach churn with excitement, shoot through his back. The fighter's breath hitched, mind filled with images of his own flushed flesh and the sensation of being held down, pushed into, buried into his crotch.
Whatever pleasures he lit in Bhaal, he himself received, and vice versa.
A tremor passed through his body, the rogue beneath him feeling it as well, and he kissed the assassin in response, breath shared, before the smaller man's tongue slipped into his mouth.
The breathless longing within intensified, causing his thrusts to become harsher, though not yet reckless.
Another vision dug into him, hands dancing over bloody skin, as soft flesh was cut apart. A hundred different flavors filled his mouth when Bhaal shared past and present alike with him: Blood, sweat, salt, and more.
He answered with joy, images of foes thrown down, the exciting tingle that had ever made him twitch with anticipation in the face of victory.
The fangs of his ally burrowed into his shoulder, scarcely managing to hold on, a pleasant prickle settling within his chest, as the thrill of feeling the other god's growing arousal flooded his consciousness.
He shivered for a second, biting back, and squeezed the smaller man's pelvis harder. The rogue whimpered, hips roiling to the best of his ability, before attempting to push him closer. The legs around Bane's waist tightened and forced another moan out of him.
It was almost too much to simultaneously receive and give such sensation.
His muscles burned under the strain, and he knew that to keep going would mean to end this. He relented then, stopping, and exhaled.
The assassin twitched, groaned, gazing up at him. Confusion and disappointment, perhaps even anger, flickered through those red eyes. Bane cleared his throat, tongue unusually heavy, and released the rogue from his grasp, guiding his pelvis back down before sitting upright on his knees.
A twinge of amusement, glee, flared up when he noticed the disheveled silks, blanket almost lying on the floor, and thought about how furious Myrkul would be.
Bhaal's consciousness throbbed within his own, nearly painfully, slithering into whatever it could find. Bane felt his heated flesh, the longing for another touch. He blinked and focused, vision clearing, while their minds intertwined.
Blood was dripping from Bhaal's eyes, sticky, flowing in a billion different shades, and painted his own pallid skin red. When the crimson-water dripped upon the silks, they sizzled, turning into red vapors. The smell was intoxicating, their touch agonizing, and for a moment Bane relished in the pleasurable torment they inflicted upon him.
He regarded his ally, heart pounding with this strange, bittersweet and feather-light feeling, before he leaned down once more.
His cock stirred when it brushed against Bhaal's. The scarlet mists coiled around him, commanded to do so by the man beneath him, soothing whatever stings they could find.
When their lips met, he felt a gentle warmth coursing through his abdomen. A moan was shared, and their hands groped each other's bodies.
But Bane had his own plans.
He grabbed the assassin, catching the claret tears with practiced motion, before flipping him over, forcing him down upon his stomach.
A jolt of anticipation rushed through him, the rogue's blinding excitement surging into his awareness, and set his senses aflame.
Bhaal reached out and pulled one of Myrkul's cushions down, placing it beneath his stomach in preparation for what was to come. The taller man's psyche dug deeper, icy as ever, sending a shiver down his spine, as its freezing touch mixed with his.
Kisses, short, soft, and affectionate, were strewn across his back and shoulders. He closed his eyes, humming, and waited.
Bane tugged at one of the iron chains, testing their strength, while his left hand swiped up a few more bloody tears that rolled down his face before wandering lower.
His hips were tipped up, two fingers, slick with blood, gliding over his entrance.
For a moment, Bhaal wonders why they had not used blood to ease the way in sooner. Yet he did not complain; pain and pleasure often walked hand in hand.
The moment the first digit made its way in the rogue forced his body to relax, gripping the sheets, and groaned.
He felt Bane's amusement filling his psyche, waves of mirth clawing at his nerves, as the taller man worked him open.
We really should have used blood sooner, Bhaal thought.
The fighter chuckled, having caught the thought, and dug deeper, moving his finger in circular motions before adding a second one, impatient as ever.
The smaller god gritted his teeth, wincing. “Yes,” he breathed, exulting in the touch. “Yes.” Pushing his pelvis back upon them, inviting the taller man in, his fingers clawed at the sheets. “Continue.”
Bane lowered himself over the rogue, pecking his neck, before he picked up pace, nails almost scraping at the flesh within. His eyes fluttered upwards when the assassin shared the sensation with him, his awareness quivering at the hot-blooded intrusion.
With arched back, Bhaal moaned after another digit worked its way inside, closing his eyes, he grabbed the fabrics of the bed and muffled the cries that sought to escape him.
A frigid cold rushed through his body, Bane's mind pulling at him, trying to force him to make such sounds loudly and willingly. He refused, huffed, and snapped his hips backwards.
Bane muttered something he didn't quite catch, a curse, perhaps, before he withdrew. Bhaal snarled in response, deprived of pleasure, and glared over his shoulder.
The taller god didn't look at his face, focusing on his pale flesh instead, as his hands grabbed his hips and pulled him closer to his own. The assassin adjusted, knees shifting over silk, and shivered when the other man's cock grazed his own from below. Whining, his own hand reached backwards, holding himself open, while Bane grunted in response, hand reaching out to wipe more blood from his ally's eyes, before applying it to his entrance once more. The sweet wetness sent a tickle of primal cravings through his muscles, making them stiffen in the process.
Slipping inside once more with remarkable ease, Bane gripped his companion's defined pelvis. Bhaal bit down on his tongue and ignored the commands that echoed in his mind.
The stage was set with what could be described as tender care, the thrusts not slow but gentle, seeking the spot that Bane knew would make the rogue discard his defiance.
The fighter allowed his right hand to wander over the other god's back, muscles dominant and hard, as the lean hips pushed backwards and forth, willingly aiding in intensifying the friction.
Bane admired how the assassin's body moved for him, seeing his skin flush beneath heated palms.
He bent down, one hand gripping the black hair, while the other closed around the iron chains.
Bhaal flinched when jolts of electricity began to savage his skin through the chains around his ribcage. His breath hitched, heartbeat quickening, before Bane pulled back his head by the hair and picked up pace.
Moans, unwillingly given, erupted from his mouth, tension building within his groin, as Bane's consciousness enveloped his own. Implications of his fears, confessions of this horrific thing, this feeling that gnawed away at the tyrant's every breath, filled his psyche.
The smaller god huffed, hips bucking, and answered: Care, deep and painful and devouring. His own heart beating in accord with the taller god's breath, a revelation the other man had never dared acknowledge, gifted to him freely.
The cold mind that has ever been unyielding quailed, afraid and wanting at the same time, before the scorching psyche of the other god rose above it, not threatening but inspiring, and sent a wave of flaming desire through him. A hum resonated within Bane's head when he thrust deeper into his ally, sensing silks beneath claws that were not his own. The melody engulfed him, subtle affections woven into it, while he didn't deign to respond.
Bane found what he had sought.
Bhaal cried out, scraping the mattress, when the sensitive spot within him was penetrated. His mind burned hot, the frigid cold of Bane's own almost melting away at the touch, and he pressed his eyes shut, jaw clenched, as his hips snapped backwards.
Bane pushed his torso down, something akin to a whimper passing his lips, and voice shaking.
“Show me,” he commanded, being unable to sift through the assassin's head on his own. He tensed up when his cock twitched, pressure applied, and gazed up at the ceiling, teeth gritting.
“Yes.” The agreement was followed by a sudden shift, the searing inferno of the rogue's mind, drifting away, turning into smoldering coals as Bane was pulled into the vortex of the other god's heart.
His eyes widened, shock and pleasure whipping his body, when he regarded himself through the eyeless feelings that were not his own: Beauty that had no equal, strength summoned by broad shoulders and a wide frame, power commanded as if he were born to do that.
When Bhaal dragged him deeper - moaning as the fighter's length burrowed deeper, pushing against the same spot over and over again - Bane sought to flee.
He wasn't allowed to.
Ethereal teeth sank into his psyche and made him groan, a flair of affection sending his mind tumbling, before yanking at him.
The desire for his spilled blood, a lifeless body prepped for a play that no one aside from him would ever witness, and longing for his every touch seemed suffocating, yet beyond that lay the truth, and the moment Bane glimpsed it, his mind reeled back, shutting his companion out, and rebuilt his mental defenses within seconds. The warm presence brushed against his psionic walls again, but he denied it, pushing back with frigid bulwarks.
His vision cleared, fingers tugging at the rogue's hair.
Bhaal wasn't allowed to cast a glance at him, pushed down completely by firm hands, he bit open his own lips, blood spilling from them, and buried his head into the mattress.
With Bane's hand on his spine, pushing his abdomen against the pillow, and the cock still within, gliding back and forth, he could do nothing aside from clutching the sheets of the bed.
The assassin writhed beneath the taller man's touches, the free hand of his companion gripping his cock, and massaging it with fervent devotion, thumb stroking the head in circular motions, when the heat within his stomach churned, boiled, and then poured over.
He gasped out loud, Bane shivering, causing his own length to shudder and twitch within him, before a hot pang ghosted through him, muscles tensing up in the process. He moaned once more when his release came, silks tearing under his claw-like nails. The god above him whimpered, barely hiding his desires, before he followed.
A few moments passed, both their breaths shaking, chests rising heavily. Bane murmured something the rogue was unable to make out before he lay down upon him, member still buried within, and rested his head upon the other one's back.
His arms wandered beneath the rogue's torso, embracing him from behind, while he allowed his length to slip out. Bhaal huffed in response, pelvis giving a slight jolt, before his eyes flickered towards Bane, trying to catch his eye.
The man above him placed a kiss upon his shoulder, deprived of teeth and tongue. Once more, the warm consciousness of his ally graced his mind, retreating when no answer was given.
“You are a fool.” Bhaal murmured barely audible. “A poor one, true, but a fool nonetheless.” Bane stirred.
“Nothing good comes of such things.” He answered.
“I'd beg to differ.” Bane's lips ghosted over the pale skin.
“Why?”
“What good lies in ruling, in all your power, if you have no one to return to? To share it with?” The fighter chuckled
“Says the man who would gladly slaughter every living being in all the realms.”
“I would keep your body.”
“Whatever does-” He never got the chance to finish his sentence as the large doors of Myrkul's room creaked open.
Ah, Bane thought. I forgot about this.
The wizard in question dropped all his books, papyrus floating to the ground, when he was greeted with the sight in front of him.
“What manner of ungodly absurdity is this?” He screeched in a tone that was unusual for him. Bhaal pushed Bane off him, scrambling to hide the blood-soaked sheets and wiping his teary eyes, before he turned to look at his friend.
“It was Bane's idea!” He blurted out hastily.
The taller man's eyes widened at the lie, yet he didn't get the chance to react.
Myrkul vented a thousand guttural curses in a single second.
The heavy book, flung at him with unexpected speed, hit Bane right in the face.
Bhaal snickered.