Imagine: hooking up with ethrand tachonis
A/n: inspired by basically all the Ethrand content found here: @candescentconfessionall
Sometimes you don't know why you keep doing this. Sometimes you think about leaving and never coming back, putting an end to these games forever. You don't love him, and he doesn't love you, but it's nice to have... whatever it is you two share.
No matter how you know Ethrand, whether you're strangers or friends or enemies- he remains himself- which is to say, he remains difficult to know, hard to befriend, and impossible to get close to. He's angry and bitter and cruel. He's emotional and fitful and prone to lashing out. He's pathetic and needy and he doesn't want to let you go.
You don't stop seeing him. You keep meeting up with him over and over again, seeking him out sometimes, other times he seeks you out. It's normally the latter- and that's the only peace of mind you have; that if you’re guilty, he’s more-so.
You know who he is- of course you do; a son of house tachonis. If his face wasn't to give him away, his demeanor would be. He's every bit the dour, arrogant, haughty sorcerer the rest of his family is. An aura of gloomy surrounds him that puts others at unease.
But not you. Maybe it did at first-the chill of death, the power of a sundered house, the cold gleam in his eyes. But by now you know who- and what- ethrand is.
This man- a son of primus tachonis, a sorcerer of shadow and death, who acts so proud and vicious- when it comes down to it, all he wants is to be hurt and teased and degraded.
He comes to you over and over, with increasing frequency. Maybe it's in the interest of keeping his secret, maybe no one else does it like you do, maybe it's a growing fondness for you. No matter; he's here now.
Ethrand is kneeling on the floor before you, desperately running his hands up and down your thighs, looking up at where you sit above him- looking down at him.
He's pathetic, truly. His eyes are watery, his lip quivers, he makes these tiny little whimpers that you can't help but adore. He mutters something under his breath, stuttering and gasping out words too quiet to hear. It’s likely some futile attempt to save his pride.
He grinds against your boot; eager, needy, in jerky little motions over and over. His head falls to rest on your thigh, pressing mindless kisses to the skin there- you're not sure if he even realizes he's doing it, or if it's subconscious. Either way, it's nice, so you won't complain.
You press your boot harder against him and he whines so prettily. His eyes roll in his head, his jaw falls open.
"Pathetic," you whisper. "Like a dog."
He humps against your boot with renewed vigor which only proves your point, nodding mindlessly. You can feel him drool against your skin.
You gather his dark hair in your fist, toying with it for a moment before pulling, tugging his head up, angled so he has to look at you. His eyes meet yours, wild and teary and dark with desire. His lips are pulled into a nearly manic smile.
You pull just hard enough that his body can't go slack, just hard enough he has to keep his back straight and his head tilted back. He's exposed like this- throat bared to you, back arched for you, completely undressed and rutting against your leather boots like a slut.
"You're such a little masochist.” You scoff. “What would everyone think if they could see you like this?”
Something flashes in his eyes, panicking for just a moment. “Y-you wouldn’t.” he stutters against the pleasure. You can see his eyes searching for some reassurance that you won’t do that- that you wouldn’t tell everyone what he really is. He doesn’t seem convinced, because he drops his eyes and practically begs. “You can’t- please- don’t-.”
You pull him in for a kiss by the hair. You don’t kiss him often, but when you do he eagerly kisses you back, chapped lips against yours as he tries to press closer into your lips.
despite everything, “Your secret is safe with me.”
