#telurin

"I, I want..." The priest flushes periwinkle blue. The Death Knight is making him /say/ something like this. Pallas eyes Telurin almost shyly, "I want to suck your cock... And I want you to order me to do it, Telurin. I want you to take control." Pallas could hardly believe Telurin has gone and made him say something so dirty. It's all the Death Knight's fault.

Telurin chuckles, his eye half lidded in pleasure. Oh, how fun this one will be, when he barely can say what it is he wants. Really, how could he refuse such a request? He removes his hand from the other man almost reluctantly and sits up, grabbing him roughly by the chin and looking into his eyes, seeking consent as well as the intensity of his desire.

"Do you really want to be under my control, little Anchorite? Do you think your title will somehow save you from the worst of my desire? That I will not hesitate to hold your head down on my cock until you choke if you do not please me fast enough? On your knees, Pallas." Telurin's voice goes low and dangerous as he speaks, and he punctuates it by letting go of Pallas's chin and sliding out from under him, not quite toppling him over. He stands, and looms over Pallas, his erection full, curving slightly back towards him at the head, only a small dusting of hair curled tightly at its base, neatly trimmed.

Whether intentionally or no, Telurin's growling, dangerous voice only seems to make Pallas grow hotter in the cheeks and his pupils dilate. It would seem the priest had been completely honest in his wish. He wanted to see what was on the other side of Telurin's carefulness. He knew there was a side the other man was hiding, possibly a dark side. The Anchorite wanted a taste of it, the same he wanted all of this frightening, dark man.

Telurin stands, and Pallas whimpers faintly, slipping down to his knees to be at face level with the Death Knight's nethers. Pallas had, in fact, wondered if Telurin's genitals worked any more. Clearly, some Death Knights were more than capable of getting a raging hard-on, despite no longer possessing a heartbeat. However, Pallas knew they could also control the blood in their bodies to great effect.

It was a mystery that would have to wait another time. Blushing, Pallas reached out with his slender little fingers, lightly stroking Telurin's huge thighs before moving on to his shaft. He gives it a few little strokes, then shyly leans forward to administer kitten-licks to the tip.

Telurin's tail sways idly and he gives Pallas what he considers to be ample time to right himself and become better acquainted with said raging hard-on. That sway turns to lashing as Pallas's first touches are hesitant, his lips not even meeting his skin. He grabs him by the crest and tilts his head up so that Pallas is forced to look at his eyes, and how serious he is when he says,

"Are you trying to test me? This is what you wanted, is it not? To suck my cock? Yet you are as nervous as a virgin. Do it properly, Pallas, or you will not enjoy the outcome." Telurin's thumb brushes against Pallas's temple, and then he releases the man, tail still lashing behind him.

Pallas had been mentally preparing himself for whether or not he could actually fit his mouth around Telurin's engorged manhood. When he had made his request, he had failed to take that detail into consideration. Telurin is larger than Boros was, but not by too much, Pallas thinks to himself, when Telurin grows impatient and seizes Pallas by a horn.

Pallas blushes at the Death Knight's scolding. "Y-yes, Sir." He is released, and uncertainly faces down Telurin's cock once again. The Death Knight sounds terribly impatient, he'd better at least try to get his mouth around that thing. Nervously Pallas leaned forward, kissing the sides of Telurin's shaft once or twice before parting his lips and tentatively trying to take the other man into his mouth.

How can Telurin have a boner when he's dead. The logistics of it still dogged the priest.

It's no wonder Telurin's as hard as he is, Pallas has been teasing him all evening, and the Light-play only inflamed his desire. Telurin makes a small, pleased sound at the 'Sir,' and his tail stops its frustrated lashing, curling around his leg. His cock bobs at the kisses, smacking against Pallas's face. Telurin has not considered that Pallas is /intimidated/ by his size, but he does place his hand on the Anchorite's head in encouragement as he makes the attempt.

The priest heard that happy little purr at being called 'Sir'. He tried to think back to when they had first met. He seemed to recall he had called Telurin 'Sir' upon their first meeting, but the Death Knight hadn't enjoyed it and requested that he be called by his name alone, which Pallas had done ever since.

This duality was fascinating to Pallas. 'Are you unable to be yourself?' the priest wondered. 'Did being changed make controlling that part of you that much more difficult? Is that why you are always so careful, and you try to keep someone connected to the Light at your side? It must be a hard way to live.'

Pallas closes his eyes and tries to relax his throat, moving himself in increments down Telurin's cock. He was unable to fit the entire length. The priest placed a hand at the base, starting to draw him back the other way slowly. It's a pretty sight, watching this Anchorite trying to manage his dick between his wet lips. His face looks more placid now, because he felt sympathetic.

Telurin himself never thinks of such things, but Pallas may notice that he's in a completely different headspace than his usual icy-gripped control. Is he playing a role he enjoys, or is this the only time he allows his true personality to shine through in Pallas's presence?

He watches as Pallas finally begins to wrap his lips around his cock with a groan. The sight of the slender Anchorite kneeling at his hooves, trying valiantly to swallow him down is a powerful one, no matter if he cannot manage to take him in completely.

"There, that's it, my little kitten." He croons, "Do you know how beautiful you look on your knees before me? How warm your lips are...?" He continues in this vein, keeping up a running litany of increasingly dirty thoughts and praise.

Telurin starts to talk dirty. Pallas thinks it's just about the most sexy thing he's heard in any recent time he can remember. He shivers, his eyes shut and his face flushing another shade of pale blue while he tries to manage his mouthful of Death Knight flesh.

The priest wonders where Telurin picked up such language. Was he always so lascivious, even as a Vindicator? Did becoming a Death Knight change something within him? He might have to ask that in the future.

For now, he gives himself over entirely to the task of pleasuring Telurin's cock. The priest bobs his head slowly, drawing the tight seal of his lips over the Death Knight's length and flicking the underside with his tongue. The act is arousing to himself as well. This was something he was familiar with, and enjoyed.

Pallas is certainly skilled, and Telurin's words momentarily trail into moans as he feels the little Anchorite’s tongue work. His fingers curl into Pallas's hair, holding his head in place. Definitely skilled.

"Mmmm....So you have done this before. Light, it's a wonder you don't have anyone you wish at your beck and call already...." Telurin lets go of Pallas's hair to trail his fingers down his face, over those hollowed out cheeks and down the lines of his throat.

Pallas's brows drew together in faint disagreement. Was Telurin implying that he went about giving other big, muscly guardian draenei sexual favors? Unfortunately having the Death Knight's cock in his mouth effectively shuts him up, at least this time. He could attempt to form a mental connection, but this did not feel like the right time. It might freak Telurin out and destroy the mood. Different people reacted to having their minds touched differently.

The priest makes a faint little moan, struggling to take more of Telurin into his mouth and cause the Death Knight to make more shockingly indecent sounds. He really is trying to work up the Death Knight, which may or may not be a wise course of action.

"You have no idea how badly I want you in this moment..." Pallas is certainly working up the death knight, and his words once again trail off as an even greater amount of his length comes in contact with the warm heat of the little priest’s mouth. It's good enough that he gives into the sensation, letting his desire get away with him until he realizes he's too close the edge, that he simply cannot take much more and still function, so he says, with some reluctance as he resumes his grip on Pallas's crest, "Pallas, stop, that is enough...."

Pallas slides back and off of Telurin's saliva-coated erection. It's still interesting to him that the Death Knight's cock is so swollen, but lacking in the usual warmth it would have if it were living.

The priest nods faintly. He does, in fact, have some idea of how badly Telurin may want him, for he has come to crave the Death Knight as well. Pallas rises to his hoofs and steps over to his discarded robe. He fishes around in a pocket for a moment before withdrawing a little vial of oil. He returns to Telurin and hands it to the Death Knight. "Use this, please." he murmurs.

Pallas stands up on the tips of his hoofs to kiss Telurin. Watching the other man, he then started to walk a small distance away. There was a decently-sized boulder by the water's edge. That would have to do.

"Prepared for everything, are you?" Telurin says into the kiss, returning it hungrily. He had been resigned to the fact that regardless of what else happened, penetration would have to wait until later, or possibly never, if the Anchorite had come to his senses between now and the next time they reached civilization. He hadn't expected Pallas to be prepared for just this scenario, going so far as to keep a vial of oil in his pockets. Cheeky bastard, he thinks with more than a little affection. He's lost in his thoughts, in this carnal paradigm shift that Pallas gets a few paces away from him before Telurin realizes that he's done so. With a growl, he closes the distance and catches the smaller man by the shoulder, spinning him around.

Pallas makes a high-and-mighty body gesture, throwing his chest out and raising his chin. "I suppose the souls of helpless children and babies are the most delectable to you."

Telurin laughs, his emotionless facade cracking slightly though the sound is still more than slightly unsettling. "I prefer the terror of the righteous." 

Death Knight laughter was... Well, it was frightening. It sounded echoey and menacing. Regardless, Pallas enjoys Telurin's laughter. He did stop to consider what exactly that meant about himself. Was he attracted to the dark, and to the dark part of himself and other things? And so it was reflected in the choice of company he made? He dismissed those thoughts for the moment. Telurin needed to be teased. "And who have you terrorized lately, hm? Do you enjoy getting Anchorites' and Vindicators'  knickers in a knot?"

"Who indeed?" Telurin replies, emotion creeping back into his voice as a dark humor. "You do not truly know me, perhaps the taste of betrayal is particularly sweet." Telurin gives Sugarfoot an unspoken command and the horse lunges forward and to the side allowing Telurin to grab the reins of Pallas's talbuk just under its chin before it bolts, forcing it to walk along with the undead charger. "You should remember with what you speak, Anchorite." 

Telurin has suddenly grabbed the reins of Pallas's talbuk. The animal made frightened noises, and foamed at the mouth in its fear. "What are you doing?" Pallas yelped in surprise. He glanced over at Telurin's face. "I've heard the 'don't trust me, I'm a Death Knight!' lecture before, I'll have you know. I think that a living person can be just as dangerous and untrustworthy. What makes you so different?"

"The living are not required to kill." Telurin hisses lowly. While he's dropped his own reins in favor of Pallas's and is quite close to the other man, he makes no move to physically loom over him. After a moment he snorts and lets the poor talbuk go.

Pallas's talbuk jerks its head away with a loud bleat. Pallas reins the poor creature back under control. When it seems calm again, he studies Telurin. There is a message the Knight is clearly conveying. I'm dangerous, and you should get far away. Yet, Telurin had not refused Pallas's request, and he remained here at his side now. The desire to protect must have conflicted greatly with the knowledge of what he was.

"There is a flaw in your argument," Pallas pointed out after a while. "The living must kill, as well, to sustain ourselves. Even if I were to become completely vegan, I would still need to eat the plants." Pallas went a little cyan in the cheeks. "I know it must seem abominable. If I think about needing to do what you do to sustain yourself... I feel as if I should go mad. I don't... in truth know, how Death Knights can cope with what they're put through. But... at the core of it, you are simply consuming something else. Does a lion feel grief for its prey?"

Telurin picks up his own reins and mutters "A lion does not eat other lions." He's given his word he'd protect this man he hardly knows on the basis of his profession alone, and that includes from himself, and others like him. "I am hardly comparable to a vegetarian." he says more clearly.

Pallas studies the Death Knight's face and manner. "May I ask you something?" he inquires. "The suffering that Death Knights must inflict... Must it be towards... sentient creatures? Would you be able to be sustained feasting your blade on wild animals, or other creatures not sentient?" It was a gruesome question, but something Pallas had often wondered.

The tension that Telurin has shown since this darker turn of their conversation tightens another notch, but he had encouraged these questions with his own behavior. "The raven whose feathers you now carry as a trophy, you could argue that beast was more intelligent than most, could you not? Yet its death pales in comparison to something that is truly self aware. I could wipe out entire species before I would truly be satisfied by their deaths."

Pallas's mouth tightened when he heard the response to his question. That truly was grim. It was little wonder that Death Knights, especially those who were of a noble bearing in life, which draenei often were, truly despised themselves. He fell quiet for a time.

Silence is a good strategy, if Pallas had wanted to coax further explanation from the death knight. Telurin mulls over the decision to continue in the silence, and in the end convinces himself that Pallas would be better served knowing the truth, that what he's said in jest is more true than not. "The power of a sentient being's death is great, but the suffering of that same being? To be the cause of that pain? It is intoxicating, moreso than any drink or drug you may have experienced. You would do well to remember even the tamest of us also, to some degree, wish you ill, because that is the very thing upon which we survive."

Pallas had not known this. His head comes up and he looks over at Telurin when the Death Knight volunteers information, something he generally did not seem wont to do. "...Intoxication?" The gears are turning in his head now. "To hurt someone gives you a high? It is ecstatic?"

"Yes." The death knight, having given his warning, seems to go sullen and taciturn once more.

Pallas looks crestfallen. All this time, and he hadn't known that. No one else had told him. He looks frustrated at himself. "I've been a fool."

That statement pulls a smirk from Telurin, but when he looks across at the Anchorite he curbs his tongue and merely says, "In what way?"

Pallas's brows were drawn together, "I've been coming so close to Death Knights and fraternizing with them, all this time unaware that they had such a temptation. I thought they tried to push me away simply out of self-loathing." His expression became earnest and he looked up at Telurin's face again as the other man rode. "Telurin, I am sorry. I have done you wrong in my naivete, to have thought that way."

Telurin's jaw works at the unnecessary apology. "Do not concern yourself over it, other than to be more careful. Many will still give you the respect that is due your station, but those that cannot, or will not, control their baser urges have not yet died out."

Pallas nods. It's true, the best thing he can do is to be more careful. They travel on in silence for a while. Pallas them remembers what Telurin had mentioned earlier... about the suffering of the righteous being the most delectable for him. Had Telurin been serious, or had he still just been joking? Did this Death Knight like hurting Anchorites? Was that what he had been trying to imply? And the reason his manner around Pallas always seemed simultaneously strained, and drawn to him, all the time? Pallas thought about the possibility worriedly, but he couldn't think of any way to breach such a sensitive issue to Telurin. It was a terrible question to ask. And Telurin seemed so noble. "...What about alcohol?" he asks, finally.

Telurin sighs. "A pale reminder of its former self."

"But you can still experience its effects?" Pallas inquires. He guesses that this must be so, considering Telurin had bought a drink for himself as well as for Pallas, when they had first met. He had no idea how to breach the subject of the suffering of the righteous. Talking about booze was a welcome change in subject.

"Why Pallas..." Telurin practically purrs, turning his head to look at the Anchorite. "Even after I all but admitted I would enjoy torturing you, you still want to see me drunk?" The death knight exhales sharply, his grin feral. "You have spirit, I will give you that much."

Pallas had not actually been thinking of getting Telurin completely smashed like that! Telurin's tone of voice makes him jump. Not surprisingly, the faint blue blush returns, creeping over his face and the tips of his ears. "What! Just because I ask if you can enjoy a stiff drink, doesn't mean I have some hidden agenda to get you drunk! Besides, you're huge. You'd probably require at least an entire keg! When’s the last time you've been drunk, anyway?"

Telurin pauses to consider. "A month?" He ventures a guess, "Perhaps two."

Pallas looks surprised, maybe even a little outraged. "That recent? How much do you drink! ...You are not going to get smashed in my presence. We will enjoy this bounty, but we will do so responsibly."

It was, perhaps, longer than that, now that he thinks on it, but he sees no reason to correct it. He does get drunk more than he ought, if only to dull his senses on the days the endless hunger is not satisfied with death alone. Outwardly, he eases back into the more personable role of 'amused protector' and says, "Of course, Anchorite." His inflection making it sound peculiar, almost ritualized.

Pallas shoots Telurin a look. "You don't need to be drunk to torture me, clearly. You are torturing me right now! Traveling with you is complete torture. You must feel very satisfied right now with what you put me through."

Telurin smirks at the diatribe, the last of his tension leaking away. "I am," he admits, pointedly looking at the Anchorite, "-Extremely- satisfied right now."

Pallas raises his chin imperiously. When he becomes a little older, maybe another 50 or so years down the line, he might actually look grandly imposing with those icy looks. Right now, he's really too young and it doesn't work so well. "Well, clearly I must continue to sacrifice myself for the greater good of all." But what they're saying is so silly, the end of his mouth twitches.

"Somehow I do not think she was aiming for me." He sounds strained. The bullet’s entry is small and just past where the death knight's pauldrons attach. If it had been a centimeter higher, it would have hit where the metal overlapped. He looks around, reassuring himself that there is nothing else coming up upon them, and takes the one step on his injured leg that he needs to reach the cliff face, spinning on his good hoof and sinking down on it with something like relief on his features.

Pallas at first gasps when the Death Knight makes a motion to walk, at first wondering if he desired to limp away. To Pallas's relief, Telurin does not try to move further on his injured leg. The Anchorite crouches next to the much larger Death Knight. "Is your leg broken?" Pallas asks, quietly. The Death Knight was still covered in his frost. It was in Pallas's nature to want to see to the injury, but he knew better than to even attempt to touch this man without his consent. He was a quick learner.

Telurin closes his eyes and rests his head against the stone, trying to focus past the steadily increasing agony of his shoulder. He tries to move each 'toe' of the hoof on his right leg and is rewarded with the sensation of muscles and tendons pulling against jagged bone, grinding them together. "Yes." he hisses in reply.

Pallas bites his lip, sizing up the wounded Death Knight. "Please let me see to you?" he offers gently. He was unsure of what the result might be. It felt like trying to pull a thorn out of the paw of a lion.

The ice encasing the death knight's form is melting slowly, sliding off in chunks tinged with the green of demon blood as well as something darker. Telurin focuses on Pallas with narrowed eyes and chuckles mirthlessly. "I do not think I have a choice."

"You do have a choice," Pallas replies. His voice is serious. "Consent is important." He stood up quickly. "I am getting some things I need. Don't go anywhere." As if Telurin could go somewhere. Pallas scurried away to pick up some branches of a size he could make a splint out of. He quickly returned, dumping the branches on the ground and shuffling himself over to Telurin's wounded leg. "I am going to unbuckle your sabatons," Pallas announced, then he reached down to attempt to begin doing so.

Telurin’s eyes had slid shut when Pallas had stood, opening only at the sound of the branches hitting the ground. He looks at Pallas with something approaching disdain. "Right pauldron first." His tone making the words into an admission as he reaches up to strike the clasps. "Too much pressure on the *Light-blessed* bullet." he bites out as if he were saying a curse, and in spite of just telling Pallas to help a second ago, tilts just enough to reach the other set of clasps to allow it to come off his chestplate and roll down his arm, the spikes embedding themselves into the earth solidly.

Pallas looks up at Telurin's voice. He is surprised, at first, that the Death Knight requests attention to the bullet first. This was due to his experience watching Rasuron, who shrugged off being stabbed with knives as if they were insect bites. There was also the fact that tending to this wound required Pallas to be close, very close, to Telurin's body. Not only was Telurin massive in comparison to himself, he had the aura of a Death Knight. Then Pallas looks shocked. "It's Light-blessed?! Velen's tits." Telurin shrugs his pauldron off. Swiftly, warm little Anchorite hands are inspecting the bullet wound. Telurin's body was dead... No... No, now wasn't the time to think about that. It would be like treating a marble statue. That was alive.

Telurin snorts at the suddenly frantic motions of the little Anchorite. The bullet had not passed through the pauldron but the chestguard itself. There was only a neat, round hole in his chest piece to mark its entrance. Telurin allows Pallas to flutter about for a moment before waving him off. "The leg is more critical, I can bear the bullet for a while longer now." Telurin has been extremely still this entire time, only moving when he absolutely had to. He has not moved his left arm--the side the bullet entered, since he sunk to the ground. His voice is measured as he continues, "Just set it and get it started knitting back together, I can do the rest after..." He trails off, looking pointedly at the body of the last wrathguard, which was beginning to twitch. He laughs, once, twice, the sound dark and incongruous with his pleased expression. "Ah. Finally some good fortune."

Pallas sat back on his hoofs, a look of consternation upon his features. He had no idea how Telurin planned to take a holy bullet out of his own body. He didn't say anything for a few moments, then looked up at Telurin's eyes. "Please allow me take it out," Pallas asked gently. "I promise I will not hurt you."

Telurin’s glare is sharp as he bends to work on undoing the greaves on his injured leg. It comes away easily, and he sets to work on opening the warped plate on his lower leg where the wrathguard had connected. One handed, he struggled with it.  "I cannot *stand,* Pallas." He growls angrily, but underneath that is something else, something sharper and more insistent.

Pallas looks uncertain, but he recognizes Telurin's desire to be on his legs again to stand. Pallas himself wasn't defenseless, but he hasn't shown much ability to defend himself at all. He quickly moves back next to Telurin's ankle. With the armor now removed, Telurin's leg looked more like that of a living draenei. Taking out a roll of bandages, Pallas splinted it up. His work is skillful. "This is as much as I can do," he replied to Telurin. Or at least, as much as could be done without use of the Light. Pallas knew that even if he used it, it would only burn.

Telurin interrupts the Anchorite as Pallas begins to pull out supplies for a splint. "You are an Anchorite, are you not? Set. It. Properly." Telurin's tone leaves little room for misinterpretation. "I can use the death energy from *that*--”  Here he gestures to the still twitching demon, “--thing’s death, but I cannot align the bones myself."

Pallas blinks, but then nods, a look of firm resolve lighting in his eyes. So, that was the way this was going to be. Telurin had a plan to heal his leg more quickly, but it necessitated the Light. "As you wish." Pallas put his hands around Telurin's lower leg bone, and concentrated, his brows forming a little groove in-between them. The Anchorite’s hands felt warm... and then hot, the Light channeling from his palms to bring the shattered bones together.

Telurin does not flinch at the touch of the Light, but his jaw clenches, as does nearly every muscle not attached to the broken bones themselves. Pallas will have found the break to be clean, straight across both the small bones of Telurin's lower leg, though his insistence on using it afterward had caused the ends to separate and slide atop one another.

The fact that Telurin could be healed by the Light (even if painfully) is interesting to Pallas. In his interactions with Rasuron, he had not thought it would have been a possibility. In this case, however, it is clearly working. Pallas scowls when he detects the rough edges of the mending bones, and doggedly puts more effort into it. It might feel like tiny burning spiderwebs are forming inside Telurin's leg.

Telurin privately thinks it’s more akin to molten lead being poured over the ragged ends of his bones. Outwardly, he clenches his right hand into a fist and simply endures as the bones snap into place.

Pallas is aware of the tightly-wound tension in Telurin's body. How disciplined he must be, he thought, when he felt the bones realign themselves properly. Pallas removed his hands, then smiled a little at Telurin. "Try now?"

Telurin moves his right hoof first, then flexes his pastern. The freshly set break holds, and he's able to complete both smoothly before slumping back against the rock. "Very good." He says, his voice showing the true amount of strain the prolonged contact with the Light had put him though. He puts his left hand on the hilt of his runeblade, the first time he's moved his arm on that side for some time, and makes a sharp gesture with his right hand. The demon's body, which had been twitching sporadically for some time, convulses and lays still at last.

Pallas watches Telurin's strange Death Knight magic, and its relationship to his sword. The Anchorite's eyes were shining. He could use the Light to heal a Death Knight... He had not known this to be possible. "How do you feel now, Telurin?" Pallas asked, watching the remains of the felguard smolder. Maybe that was as much as Telurin needed to take care of himself.

Immediately his movements sharpen and his eyes flare as he takes in the energy of the demon's death. He looks considerably more alert than before, and he smirks at Pallas. "I don't think you want the answer to that."

Pallas frowned faintly, "Why would I not want the answer? The only time I wouldn't want the answer to that question was if you were annoyed at me, and going to punt me off a ledge or something." Pallas apparently felt well enough to give sass now. "And  I certainly hope that is not your mood! -I- think I did a pretty good job on your leg, if I say so myself."

"Noted." Telurin says dryly. He eyes the Anchorite as he continues on. "Don't let it get to your head."

Pallas put his hands on his hips. "You know I won't... Or not really, anyway. Can you stand?"

Reaching up with an arm that's still stiff, Telurin begins the process of shrugging off the other pauldron, in anticipation of having to at least partially remove his chestplate to get at the bullet still lodged inside his chest. He uses his runeblade again as a sort of crutch, and stands, putting weight tentatively on his left leg at first.

Pallas sees Telurin slowly getting to his hoofs. Automatically, he steps forward to assist the other man in standing, then catches himself. "You can lean on me, if you need to."

Telurin’s expression tells the other man clearly how well he thinks that will go. Nevertheless, he sheaths his runeblade and puts a single gauntleted hand on Pallas's shoulder.

Pallas had not actually expected Telurin might accept help. The other man had a kind of guarded stubbornness about him. Pallas plants his feet and stands firmly, helping Telurin stay up with his hands.