Copper Kisses

[Nathandiel]

Breakfast had been good, hearty even. The herbal tea had been a bit bland, but he was grateful. He assumed it had medicinal properties and those teas usually tasted quite bad to Nathandiel. Baalthemar had brought him the meal in bed after Nathandiel had uncuffed him. He'd even tried to intricately fold the napkin, though it hadn't been quite on the mark, Nathandiel had appreciated the effort.

He sipped his second cup of tea, eyeing the cane that Baalthemar had made for him. When he'd had to urinate earlier in the morning he'd half-hopped, half-limped to the washroom, unaware that Baalthemar had brought him a helpful appliance. Now that it was there though, he couldn't help but fear it a little. What if he was stuck with it? What if he limped forever? What if the flexibility in his joints was lost? That last thought had prompted him to attempt to bend his knee. The swollen tissue strained and his eyes widened.

Nope. Not yet. No way.

He would try the item the next time he needed to pee, until then he intended to stay in bed, propped up on pillows with his leg elevated. Liliana's meager attempt to heal him had seemed to help a little bit, but it was curious that it hadn't help much. Perhaps she hadn't wanted it to, maybe it didn't work so well on people like him, how else did they avoid healing individuals they didn't want to? He wasn't sure.

He hadn't finished his tea, but Baalthemar had moved closer, sliding a hand up under Nathandiel's shirt while he kissed at Nathandiel's neck. The move was cheap and deliberate and he wondered if Baalthemar knew that he was a sucker for it (neck kisses, that is). When Baalthemar took Nathandiel's cup away and set it aside he let the other man guide him to lay back.

"What's dessert after breakfast called?" Baalthemar asked as he slid down further. Nathandiel shook his head and shrugged. He hadn't a clue, nor did he care, not with those pink lips so full and sweet to behold.

Awesome. That's what it's called. He thought as he let his fall back when Baalthemar took him into his mouth. He laid back and enjoyed most of it, pleased to be sated and pleasured and in no rush, but eventually his troubles rose, his eyes caught sight of the side table and he was reminded of the letter hidden inside the book in the drawer. He fisted a hand into Baalthemar's hair, holding him in place as he took over. It wasn't kind and he uttered several addresses of abuse before it was over, but once it was, he felt immensely better, so much that he insisted Baalthemar hug him and lay with him for a while, just so that he could enjoy feeling better.

[Baalthemar]

************************! Warning Adult themes! *****************

Baalthemar grinned wide as he walked into Nathandiel’s garrison, he had returned from the battle grounds covered in blood. It looked as if he had crawled through a slaughter house, and rolled in every puddle he could find. He thought on the night’s events as he made his way to the main building.
He was full Grim, he was a Reaper. ‘Reaper Dawnsorrow.’ The high inquisitor had called him. Never had he felt such pride.

He swore to wash his new colours in Alliance blood, and he had done just that. He ignored the objectives the battle leader had called. And instead he killed in the open field in the center of the battle. A few others followed him, a battle healer and other combatants. He had paid them no mind. Save for the battle healer, he kept an eye on her. Lest she fall and his killing be forced to stop.

He lost track of time, and lost count of the kills. He remembered the rush of sprinting into gunfire, and sinking his daggers into a cocky hunter that fought him alone. And the feeling as he lifted a gnome above his head and eviscerated it. Showering him in its hot blood.

He laughed as he stepped into the warmth of Nathandiel’s home. Castor and Linna came bounding to him, overwhelmed by the smell of gore. He lifted his hand allowed the blood to drip off his fingers onto the two pups little faces, the two blinked at looked up at him, licking at their chops. “Yes, I have no idea who that belongs to, but it tastes good with its fresh doesn’t it?” he spoke to the two wolf cubs.

His hair was slick with blood, it stuck to his face. Baalthemar ran his fingers through his hair in time to see Nathandiel as he emerged from the bedroom, cane in hand. “You’re a complete mess” Nathandiel said, as he looked over Baalthemar.

Baalthemar held his hand in his hair and give him a sultry look, then finished flicking his hair back. “Yeah, I’ve been busy.” He said and started to walk slowly toward Nathandiel, removing his equipment dropping it on the floor as he walked.

He stopped a few inches away from Nathandiel, blood running down his half naked body. “I want you. Here. Now.” Baalthemar said before he wrapped his hand behind Nathandiel’s head and pulled him into a kiss, Baalthemar forced his tongue into Nathandiel’s mouth.

Nathandiel seemed hesitant at first but then he kissed back eagerly, a hand going to Baalthemar's waist to pull him closer. He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to Baalthemar's, the left corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. The pups waited at their feet, interested in the elves but also the coating of delightful smells on the blond one. "Now? You got it. You'll have to help me into bed though...maybe get these clothes off of me?"

Baalthemar needed no more convincing, he immediately started to undress Nathandiel, he softly kissed him as he removed each item of clothing.

Baalthemar picked Nathandiel up and placed him gently into bed, and made sure that Nathandiel was comfortable before freeing him from his pants. He gave him a firm squeeze, and looked up as Nathandiel started to swell. “I’m going to ride you. If I hurt your leg, let me know. Otherwise let me do all the work” He said with a grin.

With that Baalthemar set to work and ensured that their coupling was easy. Nathandiel does made some lovely sounds, just like breakfast, only this time I’m in control. He thought.

Lewd sounds echoed off the walls, as the two elves preformed their duet. Before the music could reach its crescendo Baalthemar stopped. Leaving his singer gasping and out of breath. “Heh, that was close.” He teased as he slowly moved over Nathandiel’s lap.

Nathandiel looked up at Baalthemar, mouth open and eyes wide and unbelieving. "You. Have GOT. To be kidding me...." He said, punctuating with his breath.

Baalthemar looked down at him and offered a playful grin, he ran his finger over Nathandiel’s cheek, and a thin line of blood marked his skin. The soft pale white of Nathandiel’s contrasted with the sharp red of the blood. Baalthemar tilted his head looking at what he had done. An idea struck him. Slowly he impaled himself on Nathandiel.

Baalthemar’s singer found his voice again, as Nathandiel let out a soft moan. Baalthemar smiled, he was glad Nathandiel was enjoying himself. But he had a wonderful canvas to work with.

Softly Baalthemar rocked forward and started to paint Nathandiel with the wet blood on his hands, slowly at first, he rocked forward and drew meaningless runes on his face and chest, before he pushed himself down and traced the lines of Nathandiel’s abdominal muscles.

Baalthemar painted Nathandiel with blood allowing the music to rise once again. Nathandiel was covered in ‘paint’ but Baalthemar had made a space for something special, just over Nathandiel’s heart. He grabbed Nathandiel’s hand and pushed it into his wet hair. He made sure that both his and Nathandiel’s hands were covered in blood.

The crescendo approached.

Time for the final part of this little project. He thought, he pressed Nathandiels hand against his chest, and pushed his own down on the spot he had made. As the two elves shook with rapture, his work was finished. Baalthemar opened his eye and took it in.

Nathandiel was exhausted, covered in runes, and had Baalthemar’s bloody handprint over his heart. “Perfect” he sighed before collapsing on Nathandiel’s chest.

Nathandiel wrapped his arms around Baalthemar and planted a kiss softly on his forehead. “Perfect.” he agreed as he started to play with Baalthemar’s hair. The two embraced each other until long after the ’paint’ had dried to their bodies.

[Nathandiel]

Nathandiel woke when the pain crept back in. It poked at him, boring fingers into his wounds until he finally pulled himself up from the dark embrace of sleep. He groaned softly as he opened his eyes. Baalthemar had an arm across Nathandiel's chest, one reddened cheek resting on Nathandiel's shoulder. He smiled and blinked away grogginess, squinting and then batting his lashes.

We're a mess. He thought as he carefully disentangled himself from the other man. He didn't want to wake Baalthemar. He'd evidently had an arduous time in the field getting his metaphorical manhood wet. He smiled down at the filthy boy, thinking of how much of a regression this was from the grooming habits Baalthemar had adopted after they'd met and Nathandiel had badgered him enough to start combing out his luxurious blond locks. Now they were clumped and brown with scaly tissue, a strand crunched like a dried reed between his fingers.

Nathandiel sat up and shook two pills from the glass bottle at the side of the bed. He downed the tablets with the remainder of the glass of water he kept there and then simply sat for a moment, his hair in his eyes and one elbow on his good knee. His and Baalthemar's clothes were strewn about the room and he titled his head. They hadn't done that, they'd peeled them off and dropped them where they'd come together. He twisted and looked at the two dogs on the bed. "Monsters...." he murmured with a smile. Both of them had rust-coloured stains around their snouts.

He hoisted himself to his feet, shifting his weight to the cane Baalthemar had made for him. He hated the thing, but still it was helpful and it was also sweet that Baalthemar had made it for him. He gripped it tightly and hobbled to the chest where he kept his clothes. It was chilly in the garrison, they'd let the fire die, and he felt the fine hairs on his bare buttocks stand up as his nipples perked and his penis retreated.

He fumbled through getting into a pair of pants and selected a fresh shirt and bathrobe. He made his way to the hearth and set the items aside while he squatted down on one leg, keeping the bound one straight and his body balancing in a awkward sort of drop stance that took him back to his more youthful days as an aspiring gymnast. From this precarious position he reset the fire, lingering to guard the new flame until he was satisfied that it had caught. The place would be warm by the time he'd had a bath.

Better be or I'll be a girl by the time I get back into bed.

Getting up was harder than getting down, but he managed and made his way to the bathroom with minimal groans and grunts. Once he was inside he shut the door and started the bath. He went to the wash basin and his brows rose when he took in the sight of himself. He was covered in little shapes and cross-hatchings. He looked like a two-year-old with it's mother's lipstick had mistaken him for a new wall. It made him smile though as he touched his cheeks, the dried blood flaking away from the surface and leaving little dark dots where the blood had clogged his pores.

"You crazy, crazy kid." He mumbled, thinking of Baalthemar. He ran the tap and wet a cloth to give himself a preliminary wipe-down. He stank like old metal, sweat, and sex -- none of which constituted a bad stink, but it wasn't one he associated with the comfort of freshness.

As he wiped at his cheeks it occured to him that so much sex with partners that liked to bleed on him, or otherwise bring blood into the mix, was apt to get him ill eventually.

It was still worth it. That boy is a delight. That was true. Drinn was a delight too, and she was all about making him bleed when they were together. He wasn't sure if it was something new that he was into, or if it was just what his latest partners were into. Either way it was--

-- He stopped when started to wipe his chest. All of the scribbles were seemingly pointless, more tracks of a finger caressing his own curvatures than anything deliberate, but over his heart was a palm print, placed there as if the spot had been privileged for that purpose.

He smiled and reached up to trace the print lightly. He remembered Baalthemar on top of him, bucking in his lap with the fervor of a wild filly, stopping only to tease him and remind him who had been in charge of that particular romp. But then before they'd crossed over together he'd felt Baalthemar's hand on his chest and here was the print. His eyes had already been rolling into the back of his head at that point and he'd missed it.

Ferociously erotic though. It's even sweet.

He didn't wipe the print away as he cleaned himself. It was sweet, even if it had been unintentional. As he got into his bath and sunk into the water he wondered if he'd managed to leave any similar prints on Baalthemar, and if he had, if he'd done so on his own or with Baalthemar's guidance. Either way, he hoped that he'd made a mark, both literally and figuratively on that sweet, sweet boy.

[Baalthemar]

************************! Warning Adult themes! *****************

Baalthemar opened his eye slowly, his vision was blurry. He had slept through the night, no strange room, no violin, but sleep. Real dreamless and wonderfully normal sleep.
He reached out for Nathandiel. He was alone in bed, although Nathandiel’s side still held his warmth. Baalthemar moved to enjoy it but a sudden tug on his wrist reminded him of his confinement.

He groaned and rolled to look at the shackles, his matted and bloodstained hair made an audible crunching sound as he moved. The fabric from his pillow stick to him when he moved. He gave up and laid on his back.

He stretched and ran his free hand over his body, his fingers felt the rough texture of Nathandiel’s hand-print, placed over his heart. Baalthemar smiled.

Maybe that was too much, marking him. Drinn made clear that he was hers, but then… she’s not here. Not here to threaten him. Not here to hurt him. No she can manage that by leaving. He thought his smile changed into a frown.
We will see what happens. I’m not going to be a replacement, something different perhaps. Baalthemar thought to himself as the smile returned to his face.

He closed his eye and relaxed until Nathandiel was finished with whatever he was doing.

Nathandiel emerged from the washroom, naked save for an open bathrobe. He held fresh clothes under the arm that used the cane and a towel to his hair with the other. When he saw Baalthemar he grinned. "Awe." he said. "You're still trapped."

Nathandiel hobbled over and sat down on Baalthemar's side of the bed. He reached for the binding but stopped, opting to touch Baalthemar's brow instead. Then he tapped him absently on the nose, light as a landing insect. He leaned down and kissed Baalthemar. "I would say 'good morning sunshine,'" He said, "But it's not morning yet." He pulled the binding free and sat up. He looked down over Baalthemar's body and then touched the print over his heart. He smiled quietly as he touched it, his eyes a million miles away. "You need a bath...." he murmured finally.

Baalthemar woke from his light slumber as Nathandiel entered the room, he watched him walk over to him. Baalthemar looked over him as he came closer, and noted that the hand-print Baalthemar had given Nathandiel had been scrubbed off.

After being freed from his binding Baalthemar stretched and watched as Nathandiel swooned over him. “Yeah, I got a little carried away last night.” He paused for a moment before he added. “I hope you don’t think I was being too forward, marking you like that.” a slight hint of concern on his voice. “I’m not sure how… Uh” he stumbled over his words. “I don’t know how this works.” He finally said as he gave Nathandiel a sly grin.

Nathandiel favoured Baalthemar with a genuine smile and the kissed the print over his heart. "This is all that you do--just be you. I'll be me. And that will let us be a 'we.'" He said, then frowned. "I really didn't meant for the rhyme." He chuckled and got up again, hobbling away before coming back with a basin of water and a cloth. He winced as he sat back down and began to wipe at Baalthemar's face. "You weren't forward at all. I like having you around. I have affectionate feeling for you." He said, wiping at Baalthemar's cheeks. "I also greatly enjoy having sex with you." he smirked.

Baalthemar smiled and looked visibly relieved as Nathandiel explained how things worked and grinned at his unintended rhyme. He watched as Nathandiel limped away. He is still in pain, after I was up I’ll make him a strong tea. He thought as Nathandiel came back and sat next to him. The wince on his face as he sat cemented the plan. Much stronger. He noted.

The warmth of the water felt good on his face. Tender, intelligent, and wonderfully violent. Damn it Nathandiel, you are in my veins. Worse you are in the marrow of my bones. He grinned. “Before you get dressed.” He gave Nathandiel a smoldering look. “You could ‘help’ me with the bath. That is… if you’re not too sore.”

Nathandiel chuckled and set the cloth aside. "You require assistance?" His smile was large and bright. "Fine. But only if you help me wash these mutts later." He nodded to the two dogs who watched, tails wagging. "They got their noses in our clothes." Baalthemar looked over at the two wolf cubs and grinned at their little faces stained brown with dry blood. “After I make us breakfast, and you some tea. Sure.” He said.

Carefully Baalthemar peeled his dry and matted hair away from the pillow, gritting his teeth slightly as it pulled at him, he sat up as Nathandiel stood slowly. Baalthemar’s hair was wild and unkempt, it stuck out at odd angles and had twisted into balls in a few places. "You look like a morbid clown." Nathandiel said with a smile. "Good thing your ass is cute." As the two walked to the bathroom, Baalthemar couldn’t help but place his hand on Nathandiel’s rump. He grinned and gave the firm buttock a hard squeeze and closed the bathroom door behind him.

[Nathandiel]

Nathandiel had tried to sneak out from under Baalthemar’s vice-like hold after Baalthemar had fallen asleep, but the young man had clung to him with a desperation Nathandiel had only felt from a child—his child, specifically. Baalthemar was a grown man but sometimes his naiveté reminded him of his son Alexander, especially when Baalthemar was vulnerable or behaving recklessly.

Youth. He thought. It leaves you swinging on a pendulum between invincibility and a complete desire to surrender to an adult.

Invincibility had been challenged when Baalthemar had figured out Nathandiel’s secret and that had sent the poor lad into a full childish surrender. “You’re dying!” he’d cried and then hugged Nathandiel so hard he’d thought he might break a rib.

“No. Not anytime soon I’m not.” He had assured Baalthemar. “We have plenty of time.”

But it wasn’t enough time, not to Baalthemar. He’d been upset and had sworn to save Nathandiel. He’d kissed him and promised him and laid him down. They’d come together and the love-making had been urgent and immensely satisfying. It had been the kind of love-making that had been full of gentle caresses, meaningful kisses garnished with the slight taste of tears. He hadn’t minded, he’d wanted to comfort Baalthemar, to hold him and take away the pain he had seen in his pretty, clear eyes.

You can’t ever really make anyone feel better about death though.

No, not really. Death was impossible to soothe because it was just loss dressed up in all its finest evening wear—finality. Loss was, by default, only possible to soothe through restoration of the thing taken away. When it wasn’t given back, loss remained like a scar, but a scar that still hurt.

Fear of death amongst those that would remain behind was fear of that loss, of the scar on their shoulder that they could maybe work up to forgetting about, but that would always be with them, everyday, looking over them like a shadow and waiting to be caught sight of in a mirror or the reflective surface a window. That scar waited to be noticed so that it could open up and bleed all over the victim it had claimed and remind them that nothing would make it go away. Ever.

He'd had to explain death to his son. In Alexander's case it hadn’t been something that was going to happen someday far, far into the future. Alexander had been sick and dying at the time and there had been no way to avoid talking about it. Clara hadn’t wanted him to talk to their son about death, she had still wanted him spared from what she had thought was the worst of his illness.

“He’s been through the drugs, the doctors, the surgeries and the transfusions, all of which didn’t work, all of which were maybes. This, Clara, isn’t a maybe. He’s going to die. It has to be done.” He’d blurted at her in their bedroom during another of their many fights over the fate of their son.

She’d tried to slap him but he’d caught her wrist. “Enough!” He’d thrown her aside--their fights had become more and more physical as Alexander approached his finish line. He usually let her hit him, he knew it made her feel better and he wanted that for her, and if kissing his cheek with her palm instead of her lips brought her some relief he had been willing to bare the humiliation for her. Just not that day.

He’d lifted his boy out of his bed in the nursery and taken him to the rocking chair where he’d read him bedtime stories and given him his bottles when he’d still been small and pink and new, an infant wrapped in pale blue with eyes like shards of ice and a mop of jet-black hair as deep as space above. He’d loved his son and he’d come to cherish every occasion they’d had to sit together in that chair together.

He’d held his son against his chest, aware that his baby boy, who had grown from a tiny six pounds and three ounces to a lad that’s nose ended up in his Dad’s belly button when he hugged him would never get any bigger.

This is it is. He'd thought. This is all we get. He'd never know his son as a man, only as a child.

He’d spoken to his son about death in the terms of the religion that they’d both been born into. There was God and there were angels, there was a heaven and a peacefulness that came when they shed their mortal coils. Death was as natural as being born and there was nothing to fear. He hand’t lied to his son; dying hurt but being dead didn’t. The pain would stop when he died. Alexander had understood, but then he’d been struck by a realization that had been awful for him, a realization that most all children were blindsided by and forced to acknowledge. It was part of growing up; at least Alexander had gotten to grow up just that little bit more.

“But that means you and Mommy will die too.” Alexander had said, looking up at his father with those beautiful blue eye and his cheeks red from illness and tears.

Nathandiel had continued to rock the chair and he looked down at his boy and nodded. “Yes. We will. But not anytime soon.” He hadn’t known then that Clara would take her life after Alexander died.

Alexander’s eyes had welled up and he cried out, “No! That’s not fair!” He’d buried his face in his father’s chest and Nathandiel had stroked his son’s soft hair. For Alexander it hadn’t seemed to matter if he died first, only that Mommy and Daddy would die one day.

“I know, sweet boy, I know. It doesn’t seem fair, but death is the fairest thing that ever was. He doesn’t care if you’re good or bad, if you’re strong or if you’re weak. It takes you when it wishes to, and that is in no way a punishment, in no way a judgement. Death is impartial. The farmer that reaps his wheat doesn’t care what the wheat did while it was being sown, only that he collects it when it's time—whenever he deems that to be.” He’d explained.

His boy had cried and cried. Some of it had surely been that he'd come to understand that he was going to die too, and soon. When Alexander had died, his questions leading up to the end had still been about Mommy and Daddy and their dead pet cat Bibbles. Would he see Bibbles in heaven? Yes, Nathnadiel had said he would. Would Bibbles play with him until Mommy and Daddy got there? Yes, Nathnadiel thought Bibbles would. How long would it take for Mommy and Daddy to die so they could be together? Nathandiel had said he didn’t know, but that it wouldn’t be anytime soon. Alexander had been sad about that.

“I tell you what though.” He’d said to his boy, kneeling at his child’s bedside, his chin on the comforter and his hands on his baby. “You remember how I told you that there’s no pain in heaven? Well missing people you love is a kind of pain, so you won’t miss Mommy and Daddy while you’re waiting. You and Bibbles will be so busy making friends with the angels and the other people that have passed away, like Grandma and auntie Ann, that you’ll be surprised when we show up, just like when you’re having a great time at school and suddenly its time to go home, and there you were thinking the day would be oh so long.”

That had made his boy smile, which had made him want to cry. He'd wished that the words would have comforted him too. He’d have to wait to see his son again, he’d have to wait a long, long time and while he didn’t dare tell his child how much that scared him, it did.

Alexander had died on a Tuesday morning, shortly after sun-up. His last words had been nonsense, nonsense that Nathnadiel still tried to make sense of. When he’d seen the life leave his son’s eyes the mask of strength he’d worn for years had cracked and then broken and it had all come through. He hadn’t been able to comfort his wife, even if she had wanted to let him; he’d just screamed, wailing his grief and his anger and his. . . loss. Dressed up in dapper black as it was, it was still loss--and it cut him deeply.

He shifted beneath Baalthemar, the young man was nearly on top of him he clung so tightly. Nathnadiel wasn’t going to have to explain death to him, but Baalthemar had still been upset by it. He would be gentle and as understanding as he could with the young man, but he would encourage him to focus on the time that they did have.

That day had been good. Baalthemar had invited him to go for a walk in the Grizzly Hills. He was planning on building a home there and they’d passed the time spotting dear, avoiding bears, and speculating about what sorts of sexy, exotic furnitute Baalthemar could decorate his new home with. They’d eaten a meal of fruits, pie, wine and a delicious roasted meat that Baalthemar had made.

When Nathandiel had gotten pomegranate juice all over his chin Baalthemar had playfully licked away. They’d been sitting atop a short bluff above a river, laughing and stuffing their bellies when an imp with knives had attacked. They’d responded with their knives and ended up chasing the bastard gnome—all the way over the edge of the bluff and down into the cold water below.

Nathandiel had hurt himself again and Baalthemar had flown him to safety—inside a break in the great God Tree, Grizzlemaw. There, Baalthemar had reset Nathandiel’s bandages and treated his pain. They’d cuddled up together to warm up and dry out and their dogs had looked out happily over the forest down below.

It had been a good day, and they still had lots of good days left to enjoy. One day Baalthemar would feel pain like Nathandiel had, but, like Nathnadiel, he would have good days again once it was over.

He kissed the top of Baalthemar’s head and closed his eyes, following his friend into sleep, the one place the living could still visit their dear departed. At least until they were together again. He wondered as he drifted down, if Baalthemar would visit him in his dreams when Nathandiel was gone.

He hoped so.

[Baalthemar]

Baalthemar held Nathandiel close as he slowly drifted off to sleep. His heart dropped, as he thought about what was going to happen to Nathandiel. Softly in Thalassian he lamented.

“Nieninque’ Talah, ash an thera ni do'rah…”
“Fal lo ano diel, a ethala luin ar’ dur lo agar.”
“Nieninque’ lo tel' raa ar’ tel' draug.”
“Asto're lo Talah Ash Tur Dath, nei al lle ishura ni namaarie?”
“Ni do'rah a umbar, ar’ lemba lle I'anor.”
“Maranwe ni n'uma ner rana tel' emyn.”
“Lle lema sii' tela e’ huine.”
“Tel’ tincya rista. Tel’ manu rusva.”
“Tel’ tinta en’ lle coia tela kirma sina palurin.”
“Alkarinque, wanwa. A'maelamin Nieninque’ Talah.”

With a sleepy voice, Nathandiel asked. “What was that?” Baalthemar looked at him and smiled weakly. “It’s a poem, of a sort.”
Nathandiel his eyes still closed cuddled into Baalthemar’s chest, his arm wrapped around Baalthemar's chest as he hugged him. “What does it mean?”

Baalthemar thought for a moment, “It doesn’t translate very well into Orcish, or Common for that matter. And things are lost without the right context. But…” Baalthemar repeated his poem in Orcish for Nathandiel.

“Angel white, who is loved so dearly…”
“Man of two lives, a banner blue and one of red.”
“Angel of the lion and the wolf.”
“Kindest of those who are grim, why do you choose to leave?”
“To accept a fate, and leave your sun.”
“Fated to no longer wander the hills.”
“Your journey will end in darkness.”
“The bonds cut, the spirit broken.”
“The spark of your life will leave this world.”
“A great light, extinguished. My beloved Angel white.”

Baalthemar looked down at Nathandiel, he had fallen asleep again. “Sleep well. A'maelamin Nieninque’ Talah.” Baalthemar gently kissed Nathandiel on the head before he closed his eyes and fell asleep himself.

[Nathandiel]

A baked potato stacked with cheddar cheese, broccoli, sour cream and smothered in vegetable butter was one of Nathandiel's favourite meals; it had been at home, and it was still his favourite with the Grim and at the Undercity. He shoveled another forkful of the delicious muck into his eager mouth, his eyes on the patient chart he was scribbling in. He'd been starving when he'd arrived and part of his consent to stay later than he'd intended to--to do as Howard Phillip Glinn asked and sign-off on all of Sidus Tel'Inthar's charts because Mharren had fucked off--was that he be brought a steaming, delicious potato; covered in Amazing.

It's pretty damn good. He thought. He'd had the cook put so much slop on the piping tuber that he nearly needed to slurp it off his utensil. It tasted good because it tasted alive; minerals and salts and complex sugars, all of them came together on his tongue to excite a primal place of pleasure in his brain that only respond to nature's goodness. Nature makes good ground-apples.

He stopped to gulp some water--another natural favourite. Where his hearty hunger had come from he wasn't sure. It might have been Baalthemar. Pairing-off with a male lover was taxing for a man his age. Baalthemar was young and full of zest. And lust. He couldn't forget the lust.

Not even if I wanted to.

He rubbed his genitals through the fabric of his theatre greens. He wondered if the women he'd made sport of in his youth had felt that sort of...well he wasn't sure what he'd call it, was it soreness? Was it fatigue? Could one's bits be tired? Even as a physician he didn't know. He didn't want his bits to be tired if that was their business, there was a pretty boy at home with a tight rump and a delightful playfulness that pleased him. There was no time for tired tidbits. He was dreading the time when Baalthemar would go for him and he'd fail to find himself firm. It could happen at his age though, especially with such a lad around.

Age. He's so worried about it now.

Yes, Baalthemar was worried. Not so much that he now thought Nathandiel was old, at least that wasn't what Nathnadiel thought, but just that age was a factor. Age limited things. Age made endings. Baalthemar was young and didn't yet think about endings in any way that wasn't fearful. That was why Nathandiel let him talk with magicians and sorcerers, why he listened when Baalthemar spoke excitedly about "blood-magic." Nathandiel had no intentions of extending what time he had left, but the wound was still too fresh for him to fortify his stance on this; Baalthemar was still in denial. Nathandiel would let him come to acceptance on his own.

He pushed his plate away and wiggled his nose, pulling the flesh over the cartilage with his facial muscles to scratch it inside where his fingers couldn't. His hand was still in his lap. Well fed and focused on Baalthemar, he closed his eyes and ignored the junior physician's charts. He took deep breaths and let himself enjoy a fantasy, shepherding the recalled images into vivid technicolour before dipping his hand into his pants. He ran his free hand over his chest and fingered at one nipple, his finger so cold from the surroundings that it could have belonged to a lich. He liked that though; the feeling of being lich-fingered.

He thought of Baalthemar and how he looked when he was in Nathandiel's lap. He thought of Pascal and how he sounded when he was on his elbows and knees. He thought of Drinn and how she felt when she fought back, and he thought of Clara, and how she screamed when she made him hit her.

When he went he stood and signed the last of Tel'Inthar's charts in a manner that Howard Phillip Glinn had not intended when he'd agreed to provide the potato.

[Baalthemar]

********************************* WARNING ADULT CONTENT R18 ONLY! *********************************************
********************************* Explicit: Language & Sexual Content. *********************************************

(( This is a collaborative work between: Nathandiel, Shokkra and Myself. Enjoy.))

********************************* You have been warned: Adult content. R18 ****************************************

Nathandiel had suggested chains to keep the Orc woman bound, but she had boasted that she would break them. At the time Baalthemar thought she might have been playing up her strength, Orcish culture frowned on weakness and Orcish women had to fight hard to prove themselves.

But as Baalthemar looked at Shokkra he started to believe her. So he asked her flat and to the point. “What would keep you bound?” She replied “Magic probably.” Before she took a large drink of wine.

Baalthemar enjoyed Shokkra, the two had gone to a specialty store in Dalaran. The only place he knew that worked with simple yet powerful magic runes. There he had her size taken for custom shackles.

He watched her show off her body, he needed to take accurate measurements but he also enjoyed her form very much. Her body was indeed strong well build, a warrior woman. Baalthemar looked over her tattoos as she flexed her muscles for him.

As each part was completed he tested it on her, the shackles were fine quality, strong steel with soft leather lining. The binds proved to be strong enough to hold her, but they had another effect on Baalthemar. Lust fueled thoughts washed over his mind, Nathandiel had done well inviting her to stay with them, and Baalthemar would ensure that everyone had a good time.

When Shokkra was fully bound he looked over her. Her wrists were bound behind her back, her elbows held in place with a steel rod. Her ankles shackled together stopping her from fleeing. Her mouth was forced open with a round steel ring, her tongue poked through it in a wonderfully lewd display as she breathed slowly. And lastly her eyes were covered by a soft leather blindfold.

Baalthemar was breathless, this warrior woman, this stunning creature was beautiful. And bound as she was, she seemed to radiate lust, she was dangerous like a caged beast. But what struck him most was that she seemed to be enjoying her binding.

It pained him but he removed the bindings, ensuring that everything was comfortable and not too tight as to cut off the blood flow. Before they left he had fitted her with a leather choker. It held to her throat tightly, its dark color contrasted wonderfully against her green skin.

Baalthemar suggested that they show off her new equipment at Tahzani’s boat, but when the two arrived the party had died down. So instead they set off to the Wyvern’s Tail for a few drinks before heading back to Nathandiels garrison.
Some light chatter with a Goblin had allowed Baalthemar to play with Shokkra’s hair and run his fingers over her skin as they talked. This had the desired effect on her, as Shokkra slightly shivered under his touch.

The Goblin took her leave and Baalthemar pushed Shokkra gently to the floor, he was ready to take her there on the floor in front of Gravy and Herzegor. After a few minutes Shokkra suggested they should leave, by that point they were both very ready to see Nathandiel and test out the new equipment.

Baalthemar led Shokkra into Nathandiel’s home, he had set quite the mood. Candle light lit the room and the soft smell of wild flowers hinted at the air. Nathandiel grinned as the two entered, “You took your time.” He said holding a glass of wine.

“We went shopping.” Baalthemar said as he headed to his equipment chest to store his combat gear.

Shokkra handed Nathandiel the black box, and chuckled at the candles and sweet scented air. "Really went all out didn't you? Kinky bastard." She grinned and took a good look at the room, the general surroundings of typical elven romance, or at least what she thought was typical elven romance, making her smile all the wider.

Nathandiel opened the matte black box, taking out the blindfold and holding it to Shokkra. "Don't be so modest Shokkra, by the look of things you're as twisted as I thought you were." He smirked and tossed Shokkra the soft leather, setting down the box and starting to take out the other implements.

Baalthemar returned with only his eye patch and some loose pants on. He held glass of port and pointed at Shokkra. “She looks stunning in them Nath, you have got to see her.”

The orcess laughed and caught the blindfold, turning to admire Baalthemar's unclothed chest. "I better look fuckin' stunning in them, if pictures or whatever the hell get out I should at least look hot as fuck."

Nathandiel grinned as he looked over the implements intended to bind Shokkra. “Grab our guest a drink Baal, I’ll place these in the bedroom.” Baalthemar nodded and fetched a glass of wine for Shokkra, the orcess wasted no time as she finished the glass in one long drink. “All the fucking elven pomp let’s get down to it already.” She growled at Baalthemar.

Nathandiel laughed from the bedroom and returned with his own lounge wear, dapper black pants and a smile. “You’re not dressed for the elven fanfare Shokkra, come into the bedroom and we will help you get you into something more appropriate.” he said with a slight smile. She looked him over “About fuckin time.” She grunted and walked to him with a grin.

Baalthemar watched her walk toward Nathandiel, the slight sway of her hips held a surprising grace to them. He finished the last of his port and placed the glass down as he headed to the bedroom to join them.

Nathandiel was already kissing the orcess. She had her hands around him; one around his waist pulling him into her, and the other gripped his hair. It almost looked like a grapple than an embrace. Nathandiel pulled back from their fierce kissing with a gasp of air. “Let’s get these clothes off. Now.” Signs of his arousal starting to show in his lounge wear. Shokkra eyed his lap "Fuck yeah." she said as she gave him a wolfish smile.

Baalthemar stalked up behind her wrapping his arms around her waist, He gripped at her top and kissed her neck as they both removed it. Nathandiel saw his chance and moved in to add his tender attentions to Shokkra’s now exposed chest, his mouth finding her softer green flesh.

Shokkra let out a guttural sound as the two men worked at her, and her clothes. Torn between grabbing Nathandiel in front or Baalthemar behind the orcess chose to do both, she reached behind and grabbed a fist full of blonde hair, and with her other hand she pulled Nathandiel by the belt of his pants close to her. It didn’t take long for the elven men to disrobe the warrior woman.

Nathandiel looked over her naked form. They might have taken a little long to get here but whatever they had done, Shokkra was ready. He could see as much from the way she shined in the candle light. Shokkra had enough of waiting, Baalthemar had teased her in the Wyvern’s Tail and she was no longer in the mood to play games. “My turn to fuckin ‘help’ you...” The orcess reached for Baalthemar and with a strong quick movement tore his loose pants off his body.

Baalthemar looked down at his now exposed flesh. “Uh… Alright then.” Then shot a concerned look to Nathandiel, he just laughed at the look on Baalthemars face, but stopped as Shokkra turned to him. He grinned and removed his own clothes without Shokkra’s ‘help’.

Shokkra watch Nathandiel strip for her, then she nodded to the equipment set out on the bed. “Fuckin get on with it then.” She said as she put her arms behind her back and pushed out her chest for the two men to fit the bindings. Nathandiel and Baalthemar didn't wait for another invitation they both stepped toward her and started fitting Shokkra with the bindings, with each item that was attached they would plant a kiss on her skin or squeeze a handful of exposed flesh.

When she was fully bound the two men could enjoy the view, they stood at the foot of their bed and looked her over. Baalthemar wrapped his arms around Nathandiel he had slipped in behind Nathandiel, he pressed his chest against Nathandiel's back and nipped at his ear. “See. She is beautiful in leather. We should keep her.” Nathandiel moaned slightly as his ear was bitten, “We could use another pet.” He grinned.

Shokkra watched them, she felt strange bound like this. She was at their mercy, under their control. But Baalthemar had sworn to keep her safe and release her when she wanted. She stood as a predatory thought entered her mind. Let me show you how even bound like this, I’m too much for you bloody knife ears. She stood and lunged at the two.

Baalthemar hadn’t been quick enough to move Nathandiel out of the way and the two of them had been tackled onto the bed.

Nathandiel groaned as a twinge of pain shot up his leg. He was stuck between Baalthemar’s and Shokkra’s naked bodies. Shokkra had been quick, she had turned around and was already trying to mount him. Baalthemar looked over Nathandiel at Shokkra, she frantically worked to impale herself on Nathandiel, quite the task without the aid of her hands, and although she tried she just couldn’t quite reach with her elbows bound. He grinned and offered his hand to aid her.

Nathandiel gasped as Baalthemar’s hand gripped him and he helped Shokkra guide herself down. Baalthemar whispered softly into his ear “Lucky boy. How does she feel?” Nathandiel answered by letting his head fall back into Baalthemar’s shoulder and letting out a low sigh. Shokkra kept true to her promise, despite her initial attack her movements were smooth and steady as she rode Nathandiel with long and gentle strokes. Baalthemar watched the show from under Nathandiel, taking great delight from the sounds the two were making.

He ran his hands over Nathandiel gently teasing and caressing his chest and abdomen, Baalthemar dragged his fingers over Nathandiel's flesh, using his long pointed finger nails to devastating effect and the two started to reach their peaks. As the two crested the peak their voices echoed around the bedroom in a cacophony of low guttural sounds and lustful moans.

Shokkra slowly grinded her hips into Nathandiel as she was carried on a wave of bliss, her breathing was heavy but she didn’t intend to stop with just one. Oh no these elves need to know what a warrior of Sanctuary was capable off, these two would know they got fucked be the morning… if they lived that long. Baalthemar slowly slid out from underneath the two, careful not to injure Nathandiel he let him enjoy Shokkra’s slow movements.

Baalthemar walked around the bed to face the orcess, the show had gotten his blood up he had been ready to have Shokkra since he had seen her try on the bindings. Baalthemar looked her in the eye, and smiled. “Turn around.” She nodded and dismounted Nathandiel. He groaned in disappointment as she got off him. “Oh come on, that was nice.” He said looking at Baalthemar and Shokkra.

Shokkra walked on her knees toward Baalthemar giving him a defiant look as she turned around. “Nath why don’t you bring yourself closer to us, I’m sure Shokkra would like to have something to do with her mouth while I keep this end busy.” Baalthemar said with a playful grin, as he gently patted Shokkra’s rump.

“Uck oou” Shokkra managed to say around the ring gag in her mouth. Baalthemar waited until Nathandiel was in position and then gently helped Shokkra lean down, “Uck you? That’s the plan yeah.” He said with a grin. With one hand Baalthemar held hers so she wouldn’t fall onto Nathandiel, with the other he aided the joining between them. He smiled as he felt an oddly affectionate squeeze of his hand from Shokkra.

Nathandiel watched the two work, the warrior woman fought against Baalthemar as much as he fought her. The violence of their love making had steadily increased the longer it went on, he looked at Baalthemar and watched the young man labor. This was a test of wills and stamina, he knew Shokkra had a deep well of energy she could tap into that would help her, but so too did his young Baalthemar, the changes to his body had granted strength and endurance that had surprised him. No, those two can fight that battle another time this is my house, and I’m the master of it. Nathandiel grinned and held tightly onto Shokkra’s head, he took control of her speed and depth.

Shokkra pushed back hard against Baalthemar, she had promised not to hurt Nathandiel, but Baalthemar had been foolish enough to allow her to be rough with him. He will regret that. She thought.

She had been close for what seemed like an age, but he hadn’t slowed or finished. And she wouldn’t be defeated not by this one, or any for that matter. When Nathandiel took control it split her focus, she couldn’t concentrate on two things at once, it started slowly... a slip of control here, a twist a little too deep there, a slight choke here. In the end a slip turned into an avalanche and unable to control herself she crushed down on Baalthemar.

He had gotten into a rhythm, controlled his breathing and sharpened his focus, but something had changed, a slight movement had changed the tune, its note carried. Another movement and the note became a melody, then the melody a song. Shokkra had started her song, and Baalthemar couldn’t stop his own. The three of them fell into rapture together.

Nathandiel grinned down at the two, spent and defeated. That's right. I win. He thought as he enjoyed the warm feeling that came after.

Shokkra rolled over and put her feet up near Baalthemar, prompting him to undo her ankle bindings. Baalthemar was still coming down from their song and so wasn’t thinking clearly, he thumbed the rune on the shackle and she was free. She stretched her legs, both of the men watched her straighten and bend her legs in the air.

She played the harmless kitten, and slowly she slinked her way toward Nathandiel on her knees and got him to unlock her wrists and elbows. She rolled her shoulders, and removed the ring gag. “Thanks.” She placed a soft kiss on his lips. Before giving him an evil grin. “Boys are so fucking dumb after you cum.” She turned and lunged at a far too relaxed Baalthemar. Nathandiel sat up and watched the two fight.

Shokkra kicked Baalthemar into the bed and he had stumbled back onto it, she followed him and dropped herself down hard onto his chest. Baalthemar grunted in pain and his hand shot to Shokkra’s throat. “That. Fucking. Hurt” he said as his hand tightened on her throat. “Good. About fucking time you got mad.” She grinned and looked down at him. “It makes the next part, way more fun.” She grabbed him and forced their joining, Baalthemar grunted and let go of her throat.

Nathandiel had got out of the bed, he walked behind Shokkra and using the bed to lean against made himself known to Shokkra’s unsuspecting rear. “FUCK! NATHANDIEL!” she turned to him. “Fucking warn a girl if you are going to do that, you dirty bastard!” she roared at Nathandiel.

Nathandiel smiled and gently patted her rump. “Do you want me to take it out?” he asked already knowing what she would say. “No. you fucking freak, just try to keep up with me.” She turned back to Baalthemar, leaned back and head butted him hard on the forehead.

“The fuck Shokkra?!” he turned his head and exposed his shoulder to her. “Big mistake Baal.” She bit down on him hard. And started to rut wildly.

Dawn broke and Baalthemar sat on the floor his back against the foot of the bed, he held his ribs with one hand, and clutched at a sheet that covered his lap with the other. Dry blood from a shoulder wound stained his neck and chest. His hair was covered in blood, sweat and other signs of the night’s events.

Nathandiel smiled at Shokkra as she walked toward her clothes. “That was fun, we should do this more often.” He said as he picked up his glass and poured himself a drink. Shokkra wiggled into her pants, she grinned at the warmth that she still felt within her. “You know. I didn’t hate this, maybe we should do it again.” She shot Baalthemar a sly grin. “If you can handle that Baal.”

“Next time, I’m getting you a muzzle.” He grinned back trying his best not to move around much. Nathandiel laughed and sat on the bed next to Baalthemar, he put his hand gently on the twisted mess of blonde hair.

Shokkra slipped her top on, and looked at the two men. “See you around boys. Thanks for a good time.” She held the matte black box under one arm held her boots over her shoulder with the other. She left the garrison with a smile. Might have to use these things again. She thought as she looked at the box under her arm.

Baalthemar watched her walk away. “At least one rib broken, some stitches for this bite. and a concussion if I’m unlucky…” Nathandiel leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “But worth it.”

“Worth it.” He agreed.

The two men limped to the bathroom to relax and recover.

[Baalthemar]

******************WARNING: Adult themes. ********************
Baalthemar felt like he had been stabbed, a pain deep within him twisted and coiled. He is dying. He fell to his knees and clutched at his chest. It hurts so much. He gasped for air, before another wave of sorrow hit him. He wept.

Baalthemar fought to get his emotions under control. But each time he breathed in the cycle would start again, pain and sorrow. He screamed venting his sorrow and pain into the cold night air of his garrison. His lungs burned, and his face stung from the cold, but he had stopped crying.

“No. Fuck you!” he yelled to the night sky. “I won’t let you take him, I’ll snatch him from your jaws before I let you have him.” He swore to the stars. He forced himself to turn this anguish into something more useful. Anger and focus.

“I’ll save you Nathandiel. Even if I have to save you from your own foolish notion of a natural order.”
He stood, and wiped his face. Think Baal, Think. You don’t have much time. His mind raced. Running the possibilities in his head. The Dragon flights? No. Demonic energy? No. The Plague? No. Baalthemar paced while he thought.

The idea had hit him like a club to the skull. “Aderlee’s Blood-magic?” He paused thinking about all the different angles. Yes, it would work. He laughed it fit so very well. “I’ll get him to teach me, and I’ll save you.” He laughed like a madman in the snow. Hope flooded back into him, and he howled with laughter at the moon.

[Baalthemar]

******************WARNING: Adult themes. ********************

Baalthemar stumbled through the back streets of Orgrimmar, drunk and angry. He had stocked up drinks from the Wyvern’s tail, the glass bottles clinked in his pack as he walked.

He was angry at Nathandiel for choosing to die, for giving up on him. And for thinking that he had the right to take his own life when he still needed him. Baalthemar finished his bottle and threw it at the street behind him, the sharp pop of the bottle as it shattered was pleasing.

“Fuck the ‘natural order of things’.” Baalthemar pulled another bottle from his pack, He uncorked the bottle with his teeth and spat the cork to the side of the street. He drank as fast as he could, he needed to kill something in his gut, drown it in poison.

“Don’t you think you’re over reacting?” the woman with golden eyes asked. “Ugh, you again.” Baalthemar grunted at her. “Why are you so angry at him?” she asked as she walked next to him.
“He has given up, and he thinks I can’t see it.” Baalthemar took another drink.

“What makes you think he has given up?” she asked with a smile. “He doesn’t want to live, he wants to ‘see’ his family. The dead call to him stronger than the living. So what’s the point?” he growled “Did you explain how much you need him?” she tilted her head to regard him.

“Of course he knows. Why are you asking all these questions? Who the fuck are you?!” he roared back at her. She laughed softly as the two walked into a darkened ally way. “Who do you think I am?” Baalthemar shook his head. “Oh fuck off, don’t answer my question with a question you bitch.” He spat back at her.

“Oi pretty boy! Who do you think you are talking to?” a shape stepped out from the shadows. Baalthemar rolled his eye. And now this. Wonderful. “I’m not in the mood tonight, just leave me alone.” He spoke back to the shadow cloaked shape.
“Yeah? Well I’m in the mood pretty boy. You best use your head and hand over that pack you got.” The shape stepped into the light. A heavy set orc with a spiked club walked toward him.

Baalthemar looked him over, he didn’t move with the same muscle driven power as other warriors of his race did. He is slow. Just a thug, thinking he found an easy mark. “Look, Trust me. Find someone else to mug, I’m not the mark you think.” He tried one last time to convince him to walk away.

“Oh yeah pretty boy? You think you’re tough? Me and my boys will show an elf like you a good time.” He laughed, as up ahead two other shapes walked toward him. “Fine. You know what? Fuck it.” Baalthemar placed his pack on the ground careful not to break any bottles.

He finished off the bottle he held and broke it against the street.

Baalthemar sighed, one of them had fallen on his pack and smashed all his bottles. “Fucking assholes.” He stood over the leader’s body and removed his gold pouch. “Not even enough gold to cover the drinks… useless sack of shit.”

*Hurrk* one of the thugs choked on his own blood. “Right, Yeah troll… be right there, just let me search your friend here.” He spoke to the thug as he walked over to the next body. “You never answered my question. Who do you think I am?” the woman asked, she sat next to the troll.

“Does it matter? You can’t be real. Coming and going as you do.” He said as he removed another gold pouch. Hmm a little heavier, might be somethi- and it’s some musket balls. “You didn’t have a gun why do you even own these?” he questioned the second dead orc.

“You think I’m not real?” she questioned Baalthemar as she leaned over the troll, she ran her fingers through his hair. “No. you’re some demon or… ghost… or I have gone completely insane.” He said as he walked over to the injured troll. “What about a memory?” she asked as she coiled the troll’s hair around her finger.

“A memory? I would remember you.” he looked for something to finish the troll with. “Would you? What if you made me out of all the woman you have ever met?” she smiled at him. “Then I would be insane, and talking to myself… Wait. That’s exactly what I’m doing.” He frowned, standing over the troll.

She stood up and walked to his side. “Yes, I’m sure you look quite mad. But then, since when did that stop you?” she ran her hands over his chest. “What are you going to do about this one? If you let him live he could tell the guards that he was attacked by someone, in these colours.” She traced the skull symbol on his tabard with her fingers.

Baalthemar shrugged, and stamped down on the trolls throat until it collapsed. “That, I guess.” He took the trolls gold pouch, adding it to his total. Hmm, broke even. “You shouldn’t be mad at Nathandiel. He is just doing what he thinks is right.”she whispered to him. Baalthemar sighed. “What’s right, it’s not like I’m going to make I’m immortal even if this stuff works it would only extend his life by a few thousand years.”

“If it works, could he still see his family?” she asked. Baalthemar walked to get his pack, he shook out the broken glass. “If you are in my mind you should already know that.” He said.

She planted a kiss softly on the back of his neck. “Have you taken the time to explain what you want to do, in detail, like a doctor would for a patient?” Baalthemar blinked. “Oh for fuck sake. Do you think that would help?” he turned and she was gone. only one way to find out I guess. He thumbed his hearthstone and headed toward Nathandiel’s garrison.

[Baalthemar]

It was close to dusk in Grizzly Hills, Baalthemar had asked Nathandiel to join him while he started work on his cabin. The two had enjoyed some light chatter while Baalthemar cut down a tree for lumber.
The work had been hard but Baalthemar had enjoyed the simple nature of it, and the time he spent with Nathandiel was always welcome.

Nathandiel had given Baalthemar a compliment a few days earlier, he had called him. “His sun” for Baalthemar that was not a meaningless pet name or a simple term of endearment. That was a grand gesture of affection and was to be taken rather seriously.

So in turn he had called Nathandiel ‘Angel white’; a white flower that grew high in snow covered mountains and in frozen valleys. He felt it a fitting name for Nathandiel, as the little flower was resilient and there was an old elven poem about the love the sun had for these little flowers.

Nathandiel had smoked a lot of the leaf that Baalthemar had given him, he was very high. “Tell me the poem about the flower and the sun.” Nathandiel asked as he looked up at Baalthemar.

Baalthemar looked down at him, Nathandiel laid on his back with this head rested in Baalthemar’s lap. He gently reached down and ran his fingers through Nathandiel’s black hair, and softly in Orcish recited the poem.

I am visited from the heavens, and he that smiles on all
Walks in the valley and each morn over me spreads his light,
Saying: 'Rejoice, humble angel white, new-born lily flower,
Gentle maid of silent valleys and of mountains tall;
For you shalt be clothed in light, and fed with morning warmth,
Till summer's heat melts your whiten sheet beside the fountains and the springs
To flourish in eternal vales.

Nathandiel smiled. “It sounds sweet, so I’m your ‘Angel white’ this flower?” he asked. Baalthemar leaned down and put a soft kiss on Nathandiel’s lips. “Yes. And I your Sun, the light that melts your snow. And keeps you warm in the winter.”

Nathandiel sat up and turned to face Baalthemar “I like that.” He said matter-of-factly. "But you're not nearly fat enough to keep me warm in the winter." He said, pressing the tip of one finger into Baalthemar's chest. Baalthemar smiled, and pulled Nathandiel close. “It was good. Now shut up and hold me while we enjoy the sunset.” Nathandiel added.

Baalthemar held Nathandiel as the two watched the sun set on another good day.

[Nathandiel]

"Do you want to see him?" Ann asked, looking up at him with her eyes so like his own, a tiny, pink infant wrapped in blue in her arms. Her pale face was flushed and her brow beaded with sweat from the effort of labour. "Don't you want to see your nephew?" She asked.

Nathandiel stood from his place between Ann's legs, pulled off his gloves, and discarded them in the bin. He let a nurse help him out of the delivery gown and then he approached his cousin carefully, giving her, the bed, and the tiny baby she held a wide birth. He did want to see his nephew. He wanted to see him desperately.

If I see him, if I hold him, how will I ever let go of him.

"Richard won't be here for hours. It's safe." Ann prompted.

Nathandiel swallowed the lump in his throat, looking passed sweaty bangs of his own as he came to stand at the side of the bed. He looked down at the bundle and the child was so loosely-wrapped that he saw only a pink hand, tiny, sausage-like fingers curling around air, and a mop of obsidian hair.

My hair. Ann's hair.

"Go away please." He said, speaking to the nurses in the room but looking apprehensively down at the bundle. He waited for them to finish their work and skitter away, back into the corridors of the hospital and to leave him and his cousin alone.

My cousin, myself, and the child.

Ann winced as she sat up and offered the child to him. "Meet your Uncle Nathan." She said in a high-pitched voice, the feminine tone of a mother. speaking to a child no yet old enough to be spoken to as an equal. Clara had never spoken to Alexander like that, though he'd always wanted her to. "He made sure you got here okay."

Nathandiel took the bundle, as always when he held a newborn he was caught by surprise at the weight of such a small, fleshy little creature. He swallowed again and held the boy, situating him in his arms as he had his son Alexander when Alexander had been small and new.

With cautious fingers he teased back the folds of the blanket to reveal the fat, pink face of Ann's son. "Daniel Martin Richard Herrington III." She announced the small child as the fabric parted like petals of a flower. "Richard will be so pleased, don't you think? He's perfect."

Nathandiel turned slightly away from his cousin as he looked down at Daniel, astounded by his arrival but also horrified by it. He loved the boy instantly, just as he had Alexander, but he pushed that love aside, crammed it into a box it hadn't been meant for, and locked it away. He couldn't love Daniel the way he loved Alexander. That hadn't been the deal.

"He looks just like me." Nathandiel whispered and the tiny tot made a soft, high-pitch sound as air escaped it's yawning mouth. He looked at Ann, his eyes wide, his body trembling slightly as the boy became very real to him with that little yawn.

She looked back at him and she didn't look spent or frail or at all taxed. Her blue eyes were firm. "He looks like me." She corrected him sternly. "He's Richard's son, he doesn't look like Richard but he does look like me." She asserted. "Richard will be pleased."

"...of course." Nathandiel uttered and he looked back down at Daniel. Even when they'd been together, even when they'd been in the throes of sin to keep Ann's husband happy and provide him with an heir, Nathandiel had still thought that the day would come and the child would be born and it would be Richards. Everything they'd done would have been awful, but excusable perhaps because in the end it wouldn't result in a child. It would turn out that the scheme had all been for nothing and that Richard would turn out to have viable seed. That had been the point of it, of each night he'd lain with her in secret, corrupting their life-long bond as the women in the family had wished, but he'd never really thought that when the child came it would be his.

It looks like me. Daniel looks like me. It looks like Ann but it looks more like me.

And just he'd known when he'd held Alexander that the child was his, he knew that Daniel was too.

"Yes..." he said slowly, peering down at his second son. "Richard will be pleased."

The false heir to the Herrington fortune looked up at him and Nathandiel looked down at it. And that was how they'd stayed that night, waiting for Richard to arrive and for the fiction to be spun into completion; Father becoming Uncle and Son becoming Nephew. For Daniel's sake, Nathandiel swore to make himself believe it.

[Baalthemar]

****************** Warning adult themes ********************

Baalthemar couldn’t sleep, despite Nathandiel’s promise of a pleasant wake-up if he was asleep.

He was nervous, his stomach twisted in his guts. He would explain his plan to Nathandiel tonight. Lay out everything. His life extension, the possibly of talking with son in the afterlife, and if he could. Returning Nathandiel’s boy to him.

He needed time to make these plans work. The first had to be Nathandiel’s life span. A few extra years and he could achieve everything. But these were big plans. Life changing plans. If he got what he wanted would he stay here or would he leave to go home? He paced back and forth. Castor and Linna watched him, their little heads tilted as they following him looking on with confusion.

This was new and terrifying. Feelings for someone. Caring about another person beyond what they could do for you. All very overwhelming. He thought to himself.

“Ugh, look at me.” Baalthemar turned to the two wolf cubs. “I flirt with death every day. I leap head first into combat without all... this, what’s wrong with me?” the two pups just looked on in silence. “Bah, some help you two are.” He grinned at the two as they wagged their tails.

He took a shaky breath in and sighed. I need to do something to take my mind off this, I’ll go mad if I don’t. He thought to himself as he walked to the cooking area. The two pups following quickly behind him. “I’ll cook us something, and we can all wait up for him to come home.” He talked to the two pups as they waited for the chance to ply him for food with their well-practiced pleading looks and whimpers.

Baalthemar tied his hair back into a pony tail, and washed his hands. He was set to start cooking. He prepared some fresh Talbuk stakes and potatoes for them. Nathandiel enjoyed the starch filled lumps, so Baalthemar had taken the time to learn to make something called ‘fries’ or ‘chips’ or whatever. “Sliced, baked and salted - starch lumps.” He said to himself smiling at the foolish name.

When Nathandiel came home he would cook the meat and chips with some eggs and maybe a salad. Baalthemar sliced some gristle off the meat divided it into two wolf sized parts and threw it to the waiting pups. They moved with a surprising speed to devour the meat.

The time passed quickly as Baalthemar prepared the meal; the potatoes and eggs sat next to the marinated the meat, the small mound of food waited to be cooked. Baalthemar mixed up the salad. It helped to have something to do with his hands, simple tasks allowed him to separate himself from the anxiety he felt.

He had finished with the food and had set the table when it hit him again, a fresh wave of doubt. Look at you! You’re fucking pathetic! Fretting and fussing over this shit. Why did you have to get involved? Why do you cling to any kindness that comes your way? He won’t stay, the second she walks back in you’re going to be forgotten. Thrown away. Used. Baalthemar sat down on the floor and fought against the path his thoughts were taking him down.

Castor and Linna jumped on his lap, seeking comfort or sensing his pain. Either way their little bodies and affection did indeed pull him out of his downward spiral. “Should we wait for your dad near the fire?” he asked them as they looked up at him. “Come on then” He said as he stood and walked over toward the fire with the dogs.

The three of them sat and watched the fire as they waited for Nathandiel to return from work.

[Nathandiel]

When Nathandiel arrived home he snuck up on the place. He successfully entered the garrison without drawing the attention of the dogs, and as he entered the main rooms he found he had also managed not to alert Baalthemar--a small victory all of its own. The other man was seated with the pups, gazing into a fire that blazed heartily in the hearth.

Must be deep in thought; I can't usually tip-toe to the pisser without alerting him.

He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame for support. His knee was much better, healing far faster than he'd expected and he relied less on the cane. Still hurts though. Yes, but it would be good soon and he'd be able to go running again. He'd be able to walk properly, fuck righteously, and operate with a stool and a pesky nurse so far up his ass assisting that he wanted to stab her. Dear God, it can't be soon enough.

"Daddy's home." He announced, his voice just barely more than whisper. The heads of the pup perked up, ears pert, and they took off like a shot towards him, tearing across the fur rugs. Castor slipped--the less coordinated of the two dogs--and crashed into Nathandiel's leg. He groaned and pressed his lips together to suppress a cry of pain. So much for healing quickly. The mutt was sort of moron, but that was part of his charm.

"Welcome home." Baalthemar came to meet him, looking polished with his hair tied back and out of his eyes. Baalthemar helped Nathandiel out of his coat and took his bag, smiling. The smile was a bit hesitant though, Nathandiel thought. Baalthemar headed to the kitchen and Nathandiel lingered a moment with the dogs, both of whom looked torn between following their friend Baalthemar and doting on the return of their Dad. He gave their rumps a pat and they headed after Baalthemar.

Baalthemar had wanted to talk him, he'd said as much when he'd come home the night before and slipped into bed. He'd been exhausted, off dealing with Naring and his lot and some problem with darker matters that Nathandiel didn't pretend to understand. He'd asked to talk, Nathandiel had declined. He'd distracted Baalthemar with one hand under the blankets instead. Young men we're easy to persuade to their peaks and that had hushed Baalthemar.

That and cuddles. The boy really does like to be held. He's starved for affection, poor thing.

He stepped into the kitchen and went to stand behind the blond man at the stove, slipping his arms around him and giving him an adoring squeeze. "Hello sweetling. What's all this?" He asked, sneaking a kiss to Baalthemar's neck. Baalthemar smiled and tossed meat into a pan then reached for some eggs, his cheeks high with colour. As long as Nathandiel could still make the young man blush he would feel a smug sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. It was affirming to a older man to make young, pretty thing blush. Young, pretty things were sexiest when they were embarrassed.

While Baalthemar cooked, Nathandiel favoured him with butterfly kisses--soft, little, light pressings of his lips that he gave to those he cared deeply for. Drinn had permitted his butterfly kisses, so long as they had not be toe kisses. She hadnt' liked toe kisses. Nathandiel did though, he thought the toes of ladies were cute and deserved soft, little kisses. She hand't lked that, but she'd let him sometimes, groaning as if he had been toruring her while he presses his lips to her pretty, little toes. When he and his kisses got in the way of Baalthemar's cooking, Baalthemar shooed him away, still blushing. Nathandiel took to the floor to favour his pups with hearty neck scratches, and firm belly rubs while Baalthemar cooked.

"I have something I need to talk to you about. But we'll do that later." Baalthemar said. Nathandiel tilted his head. He wasn't going to be able to avoid whatever it was that was eating at Baalthemar.

"What about" He asked.

"Just something important."

"Is it bad? It's bad isn't it?" Nathandiel pushed. He didn't like waiting for a fight, or a cry, or an anything-the-could-suck-and-result-in-us-not-sleeping-in-the-same-bed. He didn't really think it could be that bad, not with Baalthemar, but he went for the thing he did fear, the thing that had happened with Drinn. "...you're leaving, aren't you?" He asked.

Baalthemar looked at him over his shoulder, his ponytail flying and his eyes big. "What? No! That's the last thing I want...." He looked a little hurt under the surprise.

"...alright." Nathandiel said easily, rubbing Linna's belly, her milkless teats crowned by soft little nubs that were notable against his palm. She didn't care what they were talking about, laying on her back with her legs open like a whore while she was rubbed and patted while Castor looked on enviously. Such a good bitch.

Baalthemar swallowed and turned back to the stove, tending to the food. He dropped sliced potatoes into oil and they made it hiss when they were engulfed. "...I...I think I've found a way to extend your life." He said.

Gotcha.

"You could even do away with the orb, you wouldn't need it anymore. No more illusions." Baalthemar smiled shyly at him, but his eyes were alight with hope. Nathandie's eyes narrowed.

Aw, my poor boy. No, no, no. "...Baalthemar. No." He said.

"But it would save you! We could be together longer, it would keep you here with with the living!" Baalthemar protested, spinning to face him, the food forgotten.

Nathandiel patted Linna's tummy and and prompted her away. He crossed his legs, assisting his injured one with his hands, then he patted his lap. "Come here a moment." He said.

Baalthemar came and slipped into his lap, his bum fitting neatly into the bowl of Nathandiel's crossed limbs. Baalthemar wrapped around him in a pantomime of the way they sometimes made love. That was how Nathandiel liked to hold his lovers when it was about closeness and tenderness and affectionate feelings. He liked to look up into their eyes, they were always just a bit above him if they were in his lap. They could move slow and he could focus more on touching them, feeling their bodies and favouring them with kisses, than on putting it to them deep. He’d held Pascal like that, Clara and Drinn too, now he held Baalthemar like that when he could. The boy he’d just liked to bend over had become one he liked to place butterfly kisses on.

The elf's ears were drooping. “No new bodies.” Nathandiel said, caressing one of Baalthemar’s cheeks with the backs of his knuckles. He wondered if Baalthemar knew that he was pouting; it made his lips look delicious. “I won’t live to see my children die, and I won’t live as anyone else but me.” He said and he could see the defeat settle into the elf’s eyes. “I’m not saying ‘no,’ just that I won’t do those things.” He amended and the blow was softened. He realized then that he really wasn’t saying ‘no,’ he was actually open to the idea of a longer life if it made Baalthemar feel better. There were other people that he loved back home, that he wanted to see again, but they weren’t there right then, they weren’t making his supper and supplying him with good company and satisfying closeness.

“Fine.” Baalthemar said, the pout deepening. “I’ll keep trying. I’ll find something else.”

Nathandiel smiled and tipped up the elf’s chin so he could kiss him. “We’ll discuss it then. I don’t want you to hurt, I love you too much now for that.” He teased and went to kiss Baalthemar--but the other man pulled back, looking at him with wide eyes.

“You….love me?” The question was barely a whisper.

Oh dear. “Yeah…of course I do.” Nathandiel chuckled, surprised at Baalthemar’s surprise. Had he really not known?

Baalthemar kissed him then, forcefully and with something innocent and gracious in the heart of the kiss. It was kiss full of youth and vitality, feuled by vulnerabilities made bare by kindness, and forceful by desperation and fear that it wasn’t real.

He’d have had Baalthemar right there on the floor of the kitchen, shown him just how many butterfly kisses he was worth, but the fries were ready.

[Baalthemar]

**************** WARNING Adult themes. ***************


“Love.” Baalthemar smiled as he said the word, he sat on the cliffs above Orgrimmar. He felt like he could run to Thunderbluff and back, like he could jump up and snatch a star from the sky. He was filled with energy and joy, he couldn’t stop himself for what seemed like the hundredth time a wide grin crept across his face.

He had told the few people that might have cared, Lilliana and Shokkra. Both had been kind in their own way. Lilliana had given him some words of wisdom, and a warning. And then surprised him with a warm genuine hug.

Shokkra the rage filled warrior woman, had cried all over him. She had smiled and hugged him and told him how happy she was for the two of them. Before she added with a tear-stained face. “If you ever hurt him, I’ll beat the ever-living shit out of you”

Baalthemar laid down on his back and looked up at the night sky, he smiled and relaxed against the warm rock as he thought. Hendrick didn’t scare you off. Pulling my eye out didn’t scare you off. You found me when I was lost. Put me back together when I was broken. All with a kind smile, and a gentle touch. How could I have been so lucky to have you come into my life? He questioned himself. And now he will let me help him, he will let me save him. Baalthemar laughed into the cool night air.

“You seem to be in a good mood.” The woman with golden eyes smiled down at him. “I am in a very good mood.” He replied with a grin. She slowly walked around him, her long black dress cling to her body. “I’m glad you have found some kindness, the two of you will work well together.” She stopped at his feet. “You should start your work again, you have a long list of names to get through.” she took a step over him her legs on either side of him.

Baalthemar looked at her. “You’re right. I have something in mind.” the woman lowered herself down and started to crawl toward his chest. She moved with an odd fluid motion like oil, she slithered her way up his body.
She stopped at his chest, her thighs tight around his hips. “Tell me.” She whispered.

“There is a woman, she can absorb life force. I want to watch her bathe naked in blood. I want her to explain what it feels like.” he said as the woman grinned. She pushed herself up his chest and looked down at him, her golden eyes blazed at him. “I can’t wait to see you two work together.” She leaned in to kiss him and he closed his eye.

He didn’t feel her lips, he opened his eye and looked back up at the night sky. She was gone. He felt her excitement, and she was right. He needed to start working again.

Working with someone he loved, and someone that loved him. He thought. “What a strange thing, I hope he likes working with me.” Baalthemar sat up and smiled, he couldn’t wait to see Nathandiel and tell him his idea. A rush of joy came back to him as he thumbed the hearthstone. What a wonderful pair we make. He couldn’t help but blush at the thought as the soft green light enveloped him.