“Likewise, lad. Now eat your breakfast and we’ll see if we can’t get you home safe and sound. I know the Consort is eager to see ya.” Garmin says nodding to the plate of breads and spreads. He leans in close then, a wolfish smile on his lips. “Unless there’s something else I can help ya with...”
The chair, legs spread. “An’ don’t let ole Gortash get to you. Whatever he said to put that look on your face, remember he says things to be cruel because it’s fun to him. Always has been. He can be a real cunt.” Garmin smiles at the tiefling, tapping his index finger against his nose with a wink.
“What since last night? Heh, yea lovey, I’m well. And you, you take as long as you need, eat, bathe if you want. I am here to escort you at your command. Your armor has been returned to the temple, but there’s one of your robes in the chest at the foot of the bed.” Garmin says, settling into
To the bedroom door. “Tah, Father Barghest. I am unfortunately sure we will see eachother around.” He quips and then he’s gone, Garmin sitting down in his abandoned chair.
Gortash chatters with the guard a bit longer, allowing Ilya some introspection before he turns back to the tiefling. “Well I suppose I can leave you in Garmin’s capable hands. He’s here to see you back to Ilmater’s temple after you’ve finished your breakfast.” Gortash explains, standing and walking
Is standing at the door, wearing both his armor & a cocky smile. “Your lordship. How fares our charge.”
Gortash grins at the man. “Ah Garmin.” He says fondly, leering when he asks his next question.“How’s your wife?”
“Wishes you’d visit more.” The guard responds, leaning to kiss Gortash’s hand.
Gortash stares at the naive priest in his bed, the bed he shares with Achaia. “You can’t change their nature, but there is no sense in denying the benefits of it. It-“
A knock on the door interrupts his thought & Gortash calls for whoever is behind the door to enter. When it opens Guardsman Garmin
Is blood money, Father Barghest.”
“Hah. What do you know about the Bhaalist tradition of Blood Reclamations? The Corpse bounty of their victims.” He asks, his patented quick and easy smile on place. “How do you think Achaia affords all those lovely things he brings you? Whether collaborating with me or otherwise, all Bhaalist money
What happens? Anarchy, questions about my ability to maintain our walls, culture, and economy. But if I craft the events that make the citizens open their own doors, spend their own money…well, that’s just good business. You played your part perfectly, and we both got what we wanted.”
Gortash’s smile turns a bit mean. “My rule and law were upheld, seen being upheld. Not even Achaia’s own beloved could escape it. And my state didn’t have to do anything to get the tiefling’s off my doorstep. You see Ilya, statecraft is delicate. If I throw open the doors an invite everyone in,
Because you were arrested doing the ‘right’ thing. A proper little martyr, wait until they see the scars on your back.”
Is the 5 to 10 new households, that just yesterday agreed to host some of your refugees, as sponsors. Or the outpouring of volunteers to run the potluck event happening, right this moment, in your temple.” Gortash leans back in his chair. “So many citizens ready to lend a hand,
Gortash lets a smug smirk slide across his lips as he stares at the tiefling, chewing quietly. “Turn the page.” He says.
On the next page, several articles outline other small happenings and local events. A Toy drive. A new soup Kitchen. A charity masquerade in the upper city. “What isn’t reported
The front page of the paper shows an artists rendition of Ilya’s arrest, he looks proud, even as he looks small next to a wicked looking Achaia. The headline reads “Trouble for Tiefling’s: Archducal Consort arrests own lover over refugee dispute.”
Gortash waves a jewel encrusted hand with a sneer. “No no, thank you. You proved instrumental in solving several of my problems. And no shortage of your own.” Gortash picks up the morning paper handing it over to Ilya. He also steals a piece of bread, sitting in a plush chair just next to the bed.
On the foot of the bed. A full spread of fresh bread and several spreads of jelly and butter. A rolled newspaper & a primrose complete the breakfast tray. “Achaia was pulled away with some such nonsense or the other. So it’s fallen to me to get you up.”
“Good morning Father Barghest!” There is the sound of a door opening, the rattling of a tray and a haughty scoff. “You know, there’s not many men I’d allow to put ME out of my own bed. But I suppose for my Bhaalspawn’s favorite concubine I can make an exception.”
Gortash sets the tray down loudly
Rivington*
Comfortably warm breeze off the Chionthar. Not a familiar home, far too posh for the lower city, or Reithwin.
Achaia’s voice accompanies Ilya into sleep, “good boy.” He says. The potion is his own design and he knows it will leave his lad refreshed, nothing to fear.
When Ilya wakes it won’t be in the dungeon, but instead a large feather bed, beneath an ornate ceiling. The tall windows open letting in a
Retrieving a rag and a bottle. “Don’t worry about Gortash.” He says, wiping the sweat from his face and body first, before tipping the bottle into the rag. “As for your sentence…” he presses the rag over Ilya’s nose and mouth. “When you wake, it’ll be all done my love.”
Achaia stands, slipping his strap from within his boy, who finds himself held in Garmin’s strong arms, one over his abdomen and one around his neck. The hold isn’t exceptionally tight, just enough to make it clear, Ilya is not to struggle.
Achaia returns to the table, slipping his harness off &
His hips continue to undulate slowly, but the frantic energy of the night seems to be waning. “My heart, you have drained one man fully and now I have had my peak. Are you not yet satisfied?”
Achaia pulls back to press several small kisses along Ilya’s brow, the straight bridge of his nose and his cheeks. His mustache tickling as it goes. “Every star in every sky will fizzle & burn out & still the love I have for you will remain. In every stone, & shard; in the very ether of this world.”
#tavqotd Achaia would be in the shadows, in the rafters or trees, somewhere unseen, but only because he expects his favorite paladins Sentry and Ilya are there. At some point if Ilya got close enough he’d throw a little dart decorated with flowers at him, aiming so it catches in his braided bun.
Achaia’s orgasm breaks over him in waves, his whole body shaking as it happens. His hips flex, though his rhythm stutters as he grinds against the base of his strap, pushing it as deep as he can, his own cunt gushing down his legs.
We..I..Ilya I’m so close darling.”
Achaia hums in his pleasure. “Have you ever watched yourself? Sat in front of a mirror and worked that wet little hole over? Just to see what we see.” He asks, thinking about how well their first time with eachother had been. How far they’d both come in their passion to be here now. “Gods we could…
Pussy. Making it wet, making it cum. Begging for me to do it to you. But I won’t, I’ll just watch you. Gods you get so wet, love when you squirt so hard.” Hes nearly there.
