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adelaidedrubman · 2 months ago

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KINKTOBER DAY 13: ORAL + minthara baenre x kyrene multhoma (durge oc) | from prompt list by starsandskies

summary: minthara grants kyrene the chance to finally indulge herself without fear. wordcount: 4.2k notes/warnings: y’know. explicit NSFW. background mentions of grove slaughter (she did all that!). intrusive violent thoughts during sex slash internal monologue of general durge stuff (amnesia, fear of losing control, etc.). praise kink. biting with a smidge of blood kink implied. very mildly implied masochism on kyrene’s part. brief, light bondage. and pretty unavoidable lack of proper prior negotiation on all of this (unless you count tadpole brain blast). sometimes women need to think about killing each other a little during sex ok

Indulge.

The call was static sparking pulses painted in the furious hot pink of blood pounding through flesh from the moment she first saw Minthara, throbbing so heavy in her ears she felt as if her tiny brain was being squeezed down to a single fold by the force, every other thought wrung to drip out as a bead of sweat crawling down the back of her neck.

Indulge, indulge.

It had first come as a sort of permission, spoken aloud by the paladin herself.

Join my hunt.

A command, more accurately, no room for disagreement. But her voice grew so tinted warm with approval through its dark gravel as she spoke of the blood Kyrene was to spill that it felt one in the same, the gleam in the crimson pooling from black depths of her eyes making it feel equally like a promise. Such a stark contrast, from the stinging edge to Shadowheart scolding her for being carried by the fancy to pluck suddenly materialized hand from wrist those days before.

A sigh fell from Kyrene’s lips as calloused fingers stroked their swell, and she wondered if she could have ever stopped the affection that bloomed in her chest the moment she heard the words, her heart tangling in the garden that sprang to life in a single beat. Had she thought to steel it with a reminder of control yourself, it will pass, instead of allowing the constant mantra to fall away, suspended, replaced by a whisper.

Indulge, indulge.

That was the offer as Kyrene heard it, whatever terms of battle plans it had taken form as, it was a caress along the back of her ear and a whisper — ‘Indulge,’ it fell in a warm breeze against skin, ‘You may finally indulge yourself.’

It was there, before greedy fingertips already twitching with anticipation, as if she were a child turned loose in a candy store and about to spring, all the restraint shown a final glance back to the adult who’d led her through the door with wide, questioning eyes.

‘Are you joking?’ she’d asked, with the same giddy awe.

Minthara had raised her brow, raised her arms to study the thick spider silk woven around them.

‘Have I mistakenly donned my jester’s bells rather than my armor?’ she had asked dryly. ‘The Absolute demands loyal soldiers ready to serve obediently, True Soul. Not clowns.’

It was a reasoning that made perfect sense to Kyrene, despite the way her mind flailed against the influence of the very tadpole the Nightwarden pledged allegiance to.

It felt dreamlike, too perfect to be true.

A moment in time she could satiate that unending demand for blood gnawing at her insides until she felt hollowed out, fill it back with torn flesh and splintered bone and a flood of gushing crimson plentiful enough to drown anyone without the appetite to greedily gulp it downs.

And yet, for the first time — and this was the most seductive part, what truly made her swoon — safe, contained.

She could do it all without the fear prickling at the back of her neck that she would lose herself to it, lose herself before she’d ever really found herself in the first place.

No, no. All those fears were smoke dissipating in the breeze. The tight vice of the Nightwarden’s authority would contain her, offer her warm embrace rather than rejection when she returned in blood soaked rags picked from slain bodies.

She had worried, for but a moment as she walked through the threshold, that the second part wouldn’t happen, that she’d been foolish, so naïve as always, building her own world covered with a tint of rose that would never trickle past the domain of her own deluded mind.

But now Minthara’s powerful arms circled her as she kissed her deeply, made her feel so tightly held and kept in place.

It was all Kyrene had ever craved, more than she could have dreamed: to feel embraced and controlled at the same time, the promise that someone —

“I’ve got you, little alvassun,” Minthara managed to finish Kyrene’s flurry of thoughts for her just as her knees buckled, grounding her back in her body as sure as the arm wrapped at the small of her back kept her in place.

Kyrene stuttered out a pleasured gasp in excuse for gratitude, the term fluttering against her ears with a warm endearment despite her uncertainty as to its meaning.

‘Little’ was itself enough to make her cheeks flush with the weight of fancy, with her spindly limbs draped awkwardly over Minthara’s shoulders. With boots of her armor kicked aside, the inches Kyrene stretched over the Nigthwarden became all the more obvious, making her feel even more clumsy and unwieldy.

But Minthara manipulated her body with a fluid ease, guiding her back seated atop the table, long legs dangling as Minthara slotted herself between them. “In other circumstance I would find it disgraceful, possessing such frailty you’re incapable of even standing on your own two feet without wilting.”

Kyrene’s graze dropped to the floor as lithe fingers slipped beneath her chin, thumb settling just below her lips. “But I suppose I cannot fault you for being overwhelmed with excitement at the prospect of sharing a night with me,” she added before leaning in to kiss her again.

Kyrene sighed into her, melting and winding tight simultaneously — relief paired with another wave of prickling nerves, unsure exactly what to do. Unsure of much of anything other than that Minthara had her.

Minthara had her, so she could do what she wanted, couldn’t she? Wasn’t that always it?

Indulge.

Kyrene had the vague inkling of memories of other lovers, of bodies pressed against hers in ecstasy. But she couldn’t remember faces or names or whether it ended with spasming insides ripped out to be kissed by the light of the world.

And for the short stretch of her life she could remember with any clarity, Kyrene was far more familiar with desperately trying to ensure her hands were stiffly kept to themselves than she was with allowing them to go and do as they wished. She wondered where she should place them on Minthara’s body, how to let them be driven by desire to please rather than destroy the flesh they found.

Unsure as they were, they explored to find soft curves and firm muscle, ridges of bone and wisps of silvery white hair. They found skin, so much beautiful, smooth skin her mouth watered to taste in wake of the glide of her fingers.

They reached beneath the firm spidersilk of her clothing to feel more, fingertips brushing over pebbled flesh hugging pert nipple.

She whimpered, a shudder running through her and causing her own nipples to harden and her jaw to tense — her teeth clamping down into the tender flesh of the lips she kissed.

Followed by the cold rush of fear swarming her for the first time since they’d begun their embrace, the sickening threat of losing control.

She yelped and jerked back as if she’d been the one bitten, brow furrowing upward in apology as her eyes settled on the heavy throbbing of Minthara’s pulse — she felt it in her own jugular, blood leaping to the surface, pounding at the delicate layer of skin in which it came gift wrapped.

But Minthara only smirked in return, a sharp curve of freshly flushed lips, crimson bleeding through rose bleeding through violet.

Was it alright? Kyrene wondered. Could she let her body do as it pleased?

Kyrene offered a sheepish smile and dropped to her knees, bone thudding with a painful smack against the stone floor, and laid fingertips at the hem of Minthara’s trousers.

“Tell me what to do,” she whispered, raising her chin, her eyes lingering at the Nightwarden’s hips as she gripped the fabric and pulled.

“Oh, you will do quite nicely indeed,” Minthara replied, dragging a thumb along Kyrene’s lower lip, pressing just past to its slick underside. “Already in your place, so ready to please.”

She nodded eagerly, looked on with bated breath as Minthara’s thumb scraped past teeth to guide Kyrene’s jaw to drop, fingers curling around her chin to pull her closer as she widened her stance to leave no room for confusion.

“Go on and taste,” she invited, sliding her hand around to cradle the back of Kyrene’s skull. “Lap up every last drop, until we’re both satisfied.”

Just as Kyrene thought her heart couldn’t pound any harder against her ribs, it became enough she felt as if it could leap between their gaps and pour right onto the floor at the fresh promise of gorging herself — perhaps it would have, if her body weren’t so driven and held together by the need to keep going, to have her.

She opened wide on instinct to taste as much as she could of Minthara, as if the chance could disappear if she didn’t swiftly swallow it down — the feeling of smooth, plush skin against her lips and tongue only intensifying hunger.

She pulled herself back to center, closed the clumsy gaping of her lips as if in a proper kiss. She pushed her tongue past pursed lips and buried her face further between Minthara’s legs, gave a few clumsy laps of her tongue along swollen skin before allowing it to travel to her center.

The slickness she tasted felt like sparks against her tongue — sharp and sweet all at once. She curled her tongue in to savor, gulped hard. And the world seemed to grow fogged over with her.

Her head grew light and her cheeks hot, she felt as if she’d been sipping wine. She unfurled her tongue to allow it to search for more.

Her head swam, dizzied, all flashes of colors and hot cold chills, electric humming in her ears, down to her molars.

Her stomach clenched and that wanting ache surged fresh just below, that feeling of being hollow and high charged, of needing to be fucked, filled, touched — anything to relieve the pressure.

She felt a reflexive thrust forward of her hips in searching as she dragged her tongue back and forth, increasing pace until she was lapping greedily.

She dared to reach down, to drag a thumb along the seam of her bloomers to test if the slight touch would soothe her or threaten to send the frenzy building in her boiling over.

Her spine arched inward with the jolt of ecstasy that shot through every nerve from her own teasing touch, the featherlight sensation of cotton clinging to her from dampness suddenly overwhelming even as she jerked the hand away. A moan quaked from deep inside her up through the column of her throat to spill from quivering lips, the only release of tension available.

She slid her mouth upward along Minthara’s lips before parting for air, allowing hot, ragged breaths to fall against her clit.

It was but a few heaves of Kyrene’s chest before Minthara spoke.

She reached down to pull Kyrene’s arm by the wrist, guiding her hand between her legs, deep voice seeming to have gained its own subtle tremor as she instructed, “If your mouth fails you, put those hands of yours to work.”

Kyrene was all too eager to comply.

She inhaled deeply as she slipped her fingers inside of Minthara, her final effort to catch her breath before she tensed her lips into a ring and covered Minthara’s clit.

Feeling Minthara on her fingers was almost as intoxicating as tasting her, luxurious satin wrapping tight around her touch to chase. She took the signal to suckle harder on her clit, the only thing still tethering her to reality the drive to give Minthara more, give her as much as she wanted.

“Good,” Minthara gasped out in appreciation, timbre of her voice somehow as rich as ever despite her own increasingly obvious struggle for air. “Keep doing good for me, my girl.”

Kyrene felt tears cling to her lashes as she squeezed her eyes shut tight in focus, willing herself to keep going rather than crumble to pieces at the praise, to once again seek more more more as much as she could handle. To suck until her jaw ached, thrust her fingers until her arm burned from knuckles to elbow.

And even without words the telltale twitch and tighten of the Nightwarden around her fingers as she stroked a hand from the crown of Kyrene’s head down to the nape of her neck and up again was praise enough, made her heart flutter in her chest as it swelled with warmth. And when that tight grip around her fingers suddenly snapped loose and fluttered in the same rhythm, Kyrene willed her eyes to shoot open, rolling to the back of her head to glimpse Minthara tossing her head back and letting out a satisfied ‘ah.’

The brush of Minthara’s fingers slowed and settled at her neck as she rode out her finish, rocking against her mouth and hands.

“Good,” she repeated, hoarsened yet still. She stepped back, leaving Kyrene’s outstretched fingers suddenly chilled in the air. “You’ve earned something for yourself.”

Without delay Minthara reached down to slide arms beneath Kyrene, leaving her in awe of her quickly recovered strength as she lifted her up to prop her on the table.

Kyrene could feel her own heavy pulse reverberate against Minthara’s lips as she trailed kisses down her throat, her own fragile life cradled in the hands that teased at her thighs.

“P-Please —” she gasped, arching her back towards the Nightwarden, arms tangling around her neck. “Please — Give me —” She gasped, trying to make sense of what she wanted. Trying to make sense of the heavy throb that rattled through her very bones, made her feel every inch of her body with sudden awareness. “I want you, I want you to —”

“You beg so easily,” Minthara rumbled against the slope of pale pink cleavage flushed to match the deep rose nipples she then flicked her tongue against. “But as lovely as it is, it is unnecessary. I won’t deny you. Not a single whim.”

The notion ratcheted through Kyrene’s mind in a whirlwind, possibilities stoking themselves to life to one after another snatch her attention so quickly she couldn’t process one to its conclusion as a full thought, a cacophony of buried impulses shrieking in her ear.

( — warm flesh pressed hard and harder still until — teeth and nails thrashing, spikes of pain rippling to — sweet taste of her lingering on her tongue taste of salt clinging to skin taste of copper as blood pooled in her mouth taste of — tight tight tight squeezing until — full, finally full and —)

As Kyrene tried to blink away the shadows closing around her vision she realized Minthara was kneeling on a single knee between her legs, leisurely trailing fingers along her thighs before pausing to study the deep purple bruising that had bloomed to life on bony knees from their time pressed against the hard stone ground.

“A lovely color on you,” Minthara said with a devastatingly gorgeous smile. “Made all the lovelier knowing how it came to be.”

She bowed her head to press a delicate kiss to the skin before pulling down Kyrene’s ruffled shorts, parting her lips and dipping her head towards the place she ached most.

“N-No,” Kyrene gasped before she could stop herself, the look of half-shock, half-offense the Nightwarden gave her at the word more stomach churning than the spark of fear that had moved her to speak. “No, I want…”

(— want pounding blood want limbs falling limp want to keep — )

“I want you up here,” she finished, fluttering her eyelashes. “I want you to use your hands.”

Because she didn’t know what she’d do, if their bodies weren’t mirrored. If it wasn’t Minthara’s mouth against hers and rich crimson gaze staring back at her and her beautiful voice drowning out the noise of her thoughts.

“I want the sound of your voice, want you to talk to me through it. Tell me when to let go,” she said, slipping into that second meaning with a slowly fading fear attached. “I want you to look into my eyes. I want you to kiss me. I want you.”

She didn’t know what she’d do if they weren’t one in this moment, if she couldn’t feel her own body anchored by Minthara’s.

Minthara’s expression softened, and she offered a thoughtful ‘hm’ and a kiss to the opposite knee before she rose to stand.

“I promised you your every whim,” she rasped, pressing her forehead to Kyrene’s. “I’ll gladly indulge this one.”

Indulge.

Kyrene allowed her head to loll back as Minthara stroked knuckles along the length of silken folds, pinching her lower lip between her teeth as her heart raced at the idea of Minthara indulging in her, desiring her without restraint.

It was all she ever wanted.

“Take me,” Kyrene croaked out, a small squeak she was unsure could even be heard.

Minthara gave her a single hum of a laugh as she pressed a firm finger into her, kissing the length of throat Kyrene exposed. “You were already mine.”

Kyrene panted, she felt wine drunk again — a good feeling, she decided, all warm sensation that electrified her, but kept her too heavied and dazed to know what to do with it on her own.

“You will be mine still, when you lay back in bed at your camp tonight,” she continued, teasing a second finger at her entrance to wet its tip before slipping it to join the first. “You will be mine when you close your eyes and drift away.”

She bucked her hips forward as Minthara angled her hand to press its heel against Kyrene’s clit, grinding slowly. She curled her hands into fists until her nails sliced into the palm of her own hand, picturing the blood seeping half-moons that must be forming there.

“You will fall apart for me, then beg to be mine again,” she leaned forward to whisper into Kyrene’s ear, breath near to scalding as it fell against her already blood deepened and friction chapped cheeks. “You will belong to me for as long as you can stand tonight.”

Kyrene released the worried flesh of her lips from between her teeth long enough to let out a high pitched whine, then bit down harder.

But before she could suck down the blood that trickled from it, Minthara’s tongue glided to whisk it away and nudge teeth to part.

“There’s no need to be shy,” she coaxed between delicate kisses. “You may put your hands on me again.”

“I want to,” Kyrene whimpered, feeling her stomach coil tight enough to push the air from her lungs. She could feel herself drawing close to her finish, to the point of inevitability, to an end that was still too unsure, too overwhelming. “I can’t,” she forced out, sliding her hands back. “I need — I want to —”

Perhaps she should have warned Minthara, about the way she was prone to losing herself. That she was drawn to her by a trail of blood from the very beginning.

Warned her before it was too late, before it felt too good to tell her to stop before control snapped.

“I want to — I shouldn’t hold you,” she near sobbed, feeling far too raw and worn down to her very core, like bones laid bare then gnawed even further to their marrow. “I want you to hold me, I want to — I want —”

She shook her head at the sound of her own incoherent words hitting her ears, tensed in tight — then relaxed fully, stilling herself and dropping the barricade of her mind as she looked into Minthara’s eyes.

She floated in some no-man’s space, almost nauseous as Minthara stared back at her with a blank expression, stuck between terror and sheer bliss. There was knowing, in crimson eyes, but she couldn’t tell yet if that sickened or enticed her.

“I see,” Minthara said plainly, the tension in Kyrene’s stomach feeling equally uncertain.

But then Minthara smiled again, smiled that beautiful, elegant smile Kyrene thought must have brightened the whole underdark.

“I know what it is you wish,” she whispered, fingers thrusting more forcefully, as if she was no longer holding back.

Her other hand reached for Kyrene’s discarded bloomers, a flash of blinding white across Kyrene’s lust blurred vision as she caught their hem between her teeth — then jerked her arm to tear a long strip of cloth from it, left hanging from her mouth.

“And you shall have it,” Minthara murmured around fabric, just as her hand pulled away to leave the overstimulated skin suddenly meeting only cold air.

Kyrene’s desperate cry of protest was silenced by Minthara’s lips, her tongue slipping into her mouth to feed her the faint taste of blood from an unsure source as her arms circled around her.

Kyrene heard the sound of fabric brushing against fabric and felt her wrists suddenly pulled together, pulse drumming against matching pulse as she made sense of the fingers darting about to tie the torn remnants of her shorts around her wrist to bind them.

Minthara gave a final tug of the ends to fasten the makeshift restraint tight enough to cut into skin, a pleasant and reassuring sting that sent Kyrene’s blood boiling all the hotter.

“There,” Minthara said as her hands circled around the blonde’s waist and back to center.

It was a single but torturously slow rake of Minthara’s eyes down her body, settling with particular cruelty on hips desperately bucking forward in search of anything that could grant the return of friction, a stuttering plea her mouth couldn’t manage.

“If only I had thought to do this sooner, so I could properly toy with you,” Minthara sighed, mercifully resituating her hand between her legs. “If I couldn’t already see just how pretty you’re going to look, coming undone around my fingers.”

Thankfully, this time Minthara didn’t go one by one when she slipped fingers inside her — Kyrene realized she had in fact added a third as she felt the exhilarating stretch of tender flesh and muscle as they reached deeper than before while Minthara kept her free hand at the small of her back to push her to the table’s ledge, leaving her nowhere to go.

Not that she would have wanted to go anywhere — she never wanted her heart to beat any slower or her skin to feel any cooler or the pull around fingers to be any looser or the thread she hung by to be any less frayed and thin.

“I want to see it right now,” Minthara purred, her voice so dark and strong with that firm authority that had first made Kyrene swoon, made it all feel so undeniable. “Go on.”

She lifted the hand from Kyrene’s back and brought it to her front, this time pressing only a single thumb against her clit — teasingly, at first, despite the unrelenting pace of her fingers, a slow back and forth swipe along the lips that hugged it.

“It’s alright,” she reassured, eyes appearing almost soft as crimson darkened. “Let go, my sweet alvassun.”

The movement against her clit was so suddenly forceful and focused that Kyrene couldn’t have refused even if she’d wanted to, a final deep thrust of fingers inside her before they curled to press in a way that made pleasure spark brightest.

The thread she hung by snapped with such a forceful rebound it felt as if it sent Kyrene hurtling through space, as if she were being tossed about in a flurrying storm of bliss, powerless against its winds buffeting her chapped skin.

All that kept her anchored was the savoring delight flashing across Minthara’s face as she kept her gaze settled between Kyrene’s legs, thumb resuming its slow, teasing stroke over oversensitive clit as she pulsed around now resting still fingers.

And she felt the chafing of fabric against her wrists as her body writhed, what she focused on most as she rode out those final waves.

When she finally came down, those tied wrists were what Minthara reached for first as she pressed a kiss to Kyrene’s shoulder, pulling the fabric loose.

She brought a wrist to her lips, kissing the bright red ring that had formed on them from the friction just as she had her bruised knees.

“I cannot decide,” Minthara broke the silence to say as she pulled Kyrene’s head in to rest against her chest, so that she could hear the heavy drum of her heartbeat. “If it is comfort or unease it brings me — the stillness and quietness I feel when I am with you.”

Kyrene made a soft noise of agreement as awareness dawned on her how quiet her own thoughts had been, nothing but the warmth of Minthara’s body against her own filling her mind — and more incredibly, that the abrupt awareness didn’t shatter the serenity, send her back to a rush of unbidden wants.

“It doesn’t have to be one or the other,” Kyrene mused, snaking arms beneath Minthara’s to hold her and reaching up to allow hands to play absentmindedly at the silver hairs falling along the nape of her neck. “It can be both, I think.”

She had accepted that — that just as the boundaries between their minds didn’t have to exist, neither did the boundary between being at peace or at war with herself, between fear and excitement, between control and letting go, pleasure and pain, life and death.

She she still couldn’t guarantee which the night would end with as Minthara nodded in a way that nuzzled her nose against Kyrene’s neck, her breath tickling as she rested there, seemingly content to stay.

It didn’t matter, as long as it was her.

#nsft #this is largely just me taking the excuse to tinker with the canon romance content and playing around finding their voices #which i’m definitely still in the early stages of so. excuse shakiness.#kinda wanted to review and tweak more as well but i have another goal set for myself for tomorrow so alas #oh also not really worthy of a warning but maybe worthy of context for the throwaway line i probably should have cut for lack thereof:#kyrene had her feelings big hurt from shadowheart speaking meanies to her for hacking gale’s hand off (she had a crush on shadowheart</3)#otp: my tether‚ my freedom #<- also hey we have a proper ship name now finally #kyrenthara placeholder tag #<- for me going back to organize shit from when we didn’t #oc: kyrene multhoma #c: minthara baenre #kintober #StarsAndSkiesKinktober

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