Ta'av The Dark Urge - Tumblr Posts

A House, A Home (The Dark Urge x Enver Gortash)

After returning from the House of Hope, Ta'av, the Dark Urge, seeks out Enver Gortash to tell him what she learned and lets him draw her back into the mystery of their shared past.

series: Part 5 of sex and violence, one is just the other (Chronologically following I Knew You When and Bad Idea)

Rating: Explicit Relationship Tags: Enver Gortash/The Dark Urge; Enver Gortash/Original Female Character Content Tags: Smut / Explicit Sexual Content; Romance; Angst and Feels; Yearning; Spoilers for Quest: The Dark Urge; Spoilers for Act 3; The Dark Urge Resists the Urge; Unhealthy Relationship; Emotional Manipulation; Emotional Rollercoaster; Rough sex; P in V sex; Vaginal Fingering

Click to read on AO3 (Part 2 of 3; Word count: 6.7k)

Ta’av glanced around. The bookshelf carried books, scrolls, and trinkets of all kinds; stacks of papers and writing materials sat on the desk; and the vanity table held a small, gilded chest and containers of what looked to be cosmetics. Clothes, she had to presume, would be in the wardrobe.

An entire room full of personal possessions, none of which appeared to belong to Enver.

She looked back at him warily. “And? Which things are mine?”

He folded his arms and leaned against the doorway. “Oh, you’re a clever girl,” he said, his voice low and resonant. “I’m certain you can figure it out.”

Ta’av stood in the upstairs hallway of Enver Gortash’s townhouse, her arms folded, and waited for him to catch up to her. The dimly lit hall was unremarkable, little more than a series of doors that she was itching to open. She wondered which one would offer her a glimpse of her past life. When another moment passed without the thud of footsteps on the stairs, the tiefling decided that she didn’t need to wait. After all, Enver had promised that he had her belongings, which meant that she was more than entitled to reclaim them.

The first door she tried was locked, as was the second. She silently chided herself for hurrying out of the Elfsong with little more than the clothes on her back; she could have made short work of the lock with the right tools. She hadn’t been thinking. The third door also remained locked no matter how hard she pushed or pulled on the doorknob. After a moment of struggle, Ta’av scowled and kicked it.

“The proud and mighty Bhaalspawn, bested by a door,” Enver drawled from the landing.

She whirled to face him. “Don’t,” she snarled.

But he maintained that irritating gleam in his eye and half-smile that told her he liked seeing her this way. He liked playing his little mind games.

A small, traitorous part of her mind whispered that she could still surrender to the calling of her blood, take her revenge by tearing into his flesh, and end his games once and for all.

Ta’av exhaled in a huff and closed her eyes until she was certain the urge would not overpower her. She settled for glaring sullenly at him.

“Would you prefer to continue attacking the doors, or would you like me to show you?” he said mildly.

She gritted her teeth. “Just show me.”

Enver strode towards a door she hadn’t tried, facing towards the back of the house, and withdrew a set of keys from a pocket. As he placed his hand on the doorknob and turned the key, the air shimmered, and a net woven of light revealed itself on the door before fading into nothing.

Ta’av scowled and shifted her weight. She should have known that Enver would have some kind of arcane protection; perhaps she would have noticed if she hadn’t let her temper get the best of her. It was just as well she didn’t make a fool of herself picking the lock.

Enver opened the door and turned towards her expectantly. He remained in the doorway as she approached, forcing her to choose between flattening herself against the doorframe or brushing against him as she passed. She sighed audibly and let her shoulder graze against his. When his hand closed around her arm, she glared at him, unsurprised.

He lightly ran one metal-tipped finger down the side of her face and along her jaw. “I hope this experience is… illuminating for you.”

Ta’av shivered, and she hated herself for it. She did her best to ignore his smirk while stepping around him into the room beyond.

A canopied bed was the first thing she saw, its linens crisp and unblemished. Windows looked out on what she presumed to be a garden, and a writing desk was positioned to take advantage of the view. On the far side of the room, a wardrobe stood next to a smaller table set underneath a gilded mirror, while a bookshelf was placed on the opposite side, nearest to the door. Each piece of furniture was made of a rich, polished wood and in pristine condition.

Ta’av glanced around. The bookshelf carried books, scrolls, and trinkets of all kinds; stacks of papers and writing materials sat on the desk; and the vanity table held a small, gilded chest and containers of what looked to be cosmetics. Clothes, she had to presume, would be in the wardrobe.

An entire room full of personal possessions, none of which appeared to belong to Enver.

She looked back at him warily. “And? Which things are mine?”

He folded his arms and leaned against the doorway. “Oh, you’re a clever girl,” he said, his voice low and resonant. “I’m certain you can figure it out.”

She glared at the mockery in his voice even as the deep pitch made her stomach somersault. He merely raised his eyebrows in response, so she turned towards the bookshelf and ran her finger over the spines on the books.

Most titles referred to the history of the Sword Coast or Baldur’s Gate specifically, though a few mentioned poetry or anatomy or the arcane arts. The other items crowding the shelf were just as varied: Ta’av touched an intricately crafted golden mask, shaped to resemble a dragon; a small wooden music box; an empty crystal bottle; a detailed map of the city; and a rolled leather case that unfurled to reveal several small, flat knives.

She glanced at Enver once more, but he stared back with a neutral expression, watching and waiting. Reluctantly, she stepped towards the desk.

From the moment she saw the desk, she somehow knew with complete certainty that she would find papers written in her own handwriting. Even so, it was still jarring to see a stack of notes written in the familiar swoops and curls. A few appeared to be written in some kind of code; others contained lists of names, books, tasks, and purchases.

Biting her lip, Ta’av recalled the first note in her handwriting that she had found a few tendays ago: Forgive me, Father, for I cannot help but admire the Chosen of your sworn foe…

The notes here made no mention of gods or Chosen or the end of the world. She yanked open the center drawer to banish the thought from her mind.

Inside, she found a dagger with a jeweled hilt, quills, and folded letters. Each paper she unfolded revealed the same clear script, matching the letter she had received today: Enver’s handwriting. She skimmed over a series of invitations to a patriar’s ball, a public debate, and an appointment at a tailor’s atelier, and then read notes presenting gifts: a silver stiletto dagger, a necklace of sapphire and pearls, fine leather gloves.

Enver hadn’t moved from the doorway, and she could feel his stare digging into her back. She knew without a doubt that he was studying her for any hint of a reaction.

Ta’av reached for the thickest bundle of papers and unfolded it.

A charcoal drawing of her own face stared back at her – a good likeness that depicted her hair as loose and flowing. Her horns arched upwards from her forehead in in precise, clean strokes, and the inlaid metal that decorated her horns was marked in bold lines. Next to them was a note in Enver’s handwriting: Gold, to match your eyes.

And underneath it, in her own handwriting: This one.

Ta’av stared at the drawing and flipped through the next few pages: all were similar sketches with different patterns drawn on her horns. She returned to the first drawing and then turned her head, searching for a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror on the left-hand wall.

Her pale face stared back at her, framed by crimson hair and crowned by horns. The curved lines of gold that wrapped around her horns looked exactly like the sketch she clutched in her hand. She had not considered their origin before; they simply had been a part of her. She hadn’t considered that someone had carved into her horns, someone had poured and shaped the precious metal. Someone had designed it.

And she had agreed, surely, to be adorned in this way, forever.

Black pinpricks crept into the edge of her vision, and she swayed on her feet.

“Careful,” Enver said, suddenly standing behind her and gripping her arms.

It was just a moment of weakness, but he had moved quickly. “I’m fine,” she snapped, dropping the sketches on the desk as if they burned. When he didn’t release her arms, she twisted out of his grasp, spinning to face him.

“It was you who designed and placed the gold on my horns,” Ta’av said, her words teetering between accusation and question.

He remained unfazed. “Yes. At your request, of course.” He reached out to trace the golden inlay with his thumb.

“Why, because we wanted to match?” Her voice caught as she jerked her head back, away from the touch of his gold-adorned hand. “And you said – you told me you had ‘some of’ my things!”

She recalled how casually he had told her, a few days ago: I still have some of your things there… Impractical things, mostly. Gowns that would surely rot away in the Temple of Bhaal…

He gestured around the room and spoke with the air of someone demonstrating great patience. “And I do, clearly.”

“Some of–” Her voice broke off into a short, high-pitched laugh as she glanced around the room. “This is not just some of my things, is it? I practically lived here, didn’t I? You’re a fucking liar.”

The venom in her tone made his expression grow colder. “You wouldn’t have believed me, had I told you more than that.”

“You mean that you wouldn’t have gotten what you wanted,” she scoffed. “If I had left. If you had scared me away.”

He clenched his jaw. “And you, my dear, wouldn’t have learned about your past.”

“Don’t pretend that you’re trying to do what’s best for me!”

Enver closed the distance between them and grabbed her arm again, and this time his gauntleted hand closed around it like a vice. His voice dipped so low that it was almost a growl. “Don’t pretend that you don’t want to be here when you have sought me out every time.”

“Let go of me,” Ta’av hissed, even as conflicting desires warred inside of her. They were so close that she could feel the rise and fall of his chest.

Neither of them moved. The silence lingered.

She took a deep breath, trying to smother the flames of her temper, and tried again.

“Let go of me,” she said evenly, “and leave me alone. For now.” His stare bore into her, and she made herself inhale and exhale slowly to keep herself calm. “Give me some time to… look through my things. Or…” She raised her chin and strengthened her stance. “Or I’ll leave, and I won’t come back.”

He remained silent, assessing what she said and whether she was bluffing.

Ta’av was reasonably sure that she could get away from him if she had to, with blades and magic at her disposal. She also knew, without a doubt, that the Chosen of Bane could do more than grab her arm if he truly wanted to keep her here against her will.

She was betting that was not what he wanted. He wanted her to want to stay.

She wanted him to want her to stay, too.

“Why?” he said curtly.

She huffed a laugh and saw his eyes flicker to her mouth. “Because I can’t think like this, Enver.”

They stared at each other, both irritated and yet unwilling to pull away.

“Very well,” he said after a long pause. “If you insist–”

“And I do,” Ta’av interrupted, and his jaw clenched.

“–then I will allow you some time alone, and afterwards you will join me for dinner.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. And you will answer my questions while we eat.”

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

Yet he still didn’t move.

“Is it difficult to let go of me?” she taunted, shoving his shoulder for emphasis.

A flash of emotion passed over his face before he shifted, bringing both of his hands up to cradle her head and neck and tilt her face up towards him. “More than you could possibly know,” he said, his voice rumbling like thunder.

Ta’av felt like her heart stopped, and for a moment the world fell away until there was only the two of them, their faces only a breath apart.

And then he abruptly dropped his hands and stormed out of the room.

She had to lean against the corner post of the bed, momentarily stunned. Her mind could barely process the surge of emotions she felt. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to untangle them.

With a quiet sigh, she nudged the door shut and looked around the room once more.

She eyed the desk warily. If anything was likely to contain more heart-wrenching discoveries, it was that; perhaps it was better to save it for last. She walked towards the vanity table instead.

The small chest was locked, but the table’s center drawer was littered with hair pins, and it only took a few moments to twist open the lock. A small fortune in jewels greeted her: jewelry of all kinds, decorative combs and pins, and a few loose gems. Most surely came from Enver, but Ta’av wondered if some were stolen, lifted from bodies dead or alive. The memories remained stubbornly out of reach.

The other side of the table held small pots of cosmetics and brushes. A faceted glass bottle contained perfume; she applied a drop to her wrist and breathed deeply. She was greeted by the fragrance of orange blossoms and some kind of spice that she couldn’t name.

The scent reminded her of laughter, and drinking wine in a rooftop garden, and…

Ta’av set the bottle down with a sigh. Something else that was lost.

The person who kept her things here – who lived here? – didn’t appear to be a Bhaalspawn, favored child of the Lord of Murder. She appeared to be just a woman, a woman who was doted on and kept occupied with life’s little frivolities.

She opened the doors of the wardrobe. No bloody cultist robes or decomposing bodies jumped out at her; there were only beautiful things. Gowns, indeed. Enver hadn’t lied. Her pale hand glided over plum-colored lace, golden silk, and black velvet. In the drawers, she found the most expensive-looking undergarments she had ever seen.

Pulling open more drawers, Ta’av found yet another set of knives and a roll of silken rope. The next one contained manacles, the cuffs made of a thick leather, along with a collar, a length of black silk, a few small bottles, gold-plated chains–

She quickly shut the drawer. She could think of multiple uses for those items, and if she let her thoughts travel in that direction, she feared she would never get them back.

Slowly, she turned her head back towards the desk.

This time, she lowered herself into the chair and ran her hands along the edges of the polished wood.

“Who were you, Ta’avrathim?” she whispered.

Her hands searched for the answer, pulling on metal knobs and rifling through stacks of papers. She found more invitations, rough sketches, and a few folded broadsheets of the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette, but little else of note.

There had to be something more.

She started tapping, pushing, prying, and twisting, searching for anything hidden. Nothing moved or revealed itself, no matter how hard she tried. She had nearly given up when her fingers brushed against a small disk of stone embedded on the underside of the desk. But even that remained stubbornly still. Ta’av groaned and leaned her forehead on the desk, hoping but not quite believing that the scent of the wood would unleash some memory.

All it did was remind her that despite months of apparent emptiness, this entire room was spotless. Not a mote of dust could be found.

She wondered if Enver visited this room after her disappearance. Or had it remained dark and dusty, sealed away like a tomb? Did he have it cleaned only when he learned of her survival? Perhaps when he invited her here tonight?

Was a Bhaalspawn’s room difficult to keep clean? How much blood had she smeared on the carpet, on the bedlinens, on the doorknob?

Something unexpectedly clicked into place at the back of her mind.

That is what she had forgotten: her blood. Even though it was filled with little reminders of extravagance, this wasn’t the desk of a patriar or well-to-do merchant. It belonged to a child of Bhaal, even if his name was nowhere to be found.

Without thinking, Ta’av brought her thumb to her mouth and pressed the flesh of it into her sharp canine until the skin broke. She pressed her bloody thumb against the stone circle on the underside of the desk.

Soundlessly, a small compartment slid open. She reached in and withdrew a thin, leather-bound journal.

Ta’av pulled her knees up to her chest, licked her thumb clean, and began to rifle pages filled with her own handwriting.

I have no expectation that my thoughts will remain my own forever, the first line said. But for now, here, these are mine alone.

Some entries consumed several pages; others consisted of just one or two sentences. Ta’av skimmed over the first several pages and then paused.

Enver delights in gifting me pretty things; he always has. Sometimes I still think he forgets that while I may indulge him, he will never make me into his pet. There is no taming the Urge. There is only containment. Someday it will burst free. He doesn’t believe me. He is a fool. But he is my fool. Mine.

The next page read: I could drown the world in a sea of blood and it still would not be enough.

Near the middle of the journal, she found a passage where the loops of her handwriting morphed into a hurried scrawl.

He told me today of the cause of his time in the Hells, the truth of it. Knowing that those vile worms still live, that they dare to call themselves parents, fills me with unbearable fury. My blood sings for their deaths. They are unworthy of my best work, swift and beautiful. They deserve endless agony. But Enver has forbidden me. He insists they deserve a harsher punishment than death. He underestimates the misery I can inflict, the pain I can design, the number of digits and organs I can remove and still leave them alive and screaming. If he had tried to give me an order as my ally, as the Chosen of Bane, I would have brought back every piece of their corpses except for their hands in order to spite his precious Lord. I am still tempted. But he did not. He asks. I should not listen to his honeyed words, his honeyed tongue. I will need to claim others to appease my Father. Even that may not be enough. It will not be enough to appease me. I would expect him to understand. They hurt what is mine.

Her mind reeled. She read the entry a second time.

The idea that Enver’s parents could still be alive had not crossed her mind. And the likelihood that her past self, Chosen of Bhaal, had let them live…?

After a long pause, Ta’av turned the page. This entry was written in a calmer hand.

We reached an understanding, after much strife. Enver submitted to my blade, accepting my mark on his flesh. Enver’s mark on me will be much more expensive, of course.

She stared at the words, letting their meaning slowly sink into her mind.

Her mark on his flesh. His mark on her.

Eventually, Ta’av reached up to touch her horns. She gently traced the pattern of gold as if she needed reassurance that it existed. She needed something tangible to prove the words and broken memories were real, not a mere fever dream.

She didn’t know how long she had sat there before finally closing the journal and slipping it back inside its compartment. A tap of her fingers sealed it again. She stood, feeling dazed, and let instinct guide her out of the room.

A door was ajar further down the hallway. Her feet carried her towards it without hesitation. When she reached the doorway, she leaned against the frame and looked into the room beyond.

The office, or library, somehow soothed her on sight. The small portion of the walls not covered by bookshelves or the large fireplace were painted a dark green, complementing the dark wood of the furniture. The shelves were stuffed to the brim with books and scrolls and odd mechanical or arcane mechanisms, but the desk at the end of the room was nearly bare. Behind the desk, looking out at the garden, was Enver. She watched him lift a thin cigar to his mouth and take a drag. He exhaled, the smoke dancing around him before twisting away through the open window, and he walked to the other side of the room with an agitated energy.

He had just lifted the cigar to his lips for another drag when he noticed her. The tension in his stance remained the same, but he stopped his pacing. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, returning her stare. He cut a striking figure, with his raven-colored hair and black attire.

Ta’av didn’t care for the smell of the tobacco, but she couldn’t deny that the smoke suited him. Its tendrils seemed to caress his face before dissipating.

“Well?” he said brusquely.

Many emotions and questions tangled together in her mind, but there was one that burned most urgently.

“Are your parents still alive?”

He didn’t flinch; his guard was already raised, his expression shuttered. “Yes.”

Bhaal’s former Chosen slowly sucked in a breath as the strangest mix of relief and heartache swelled in her chest. “You asked me not to kill them, and I didn’t?”

He raised an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Yes, the fact that they remain alive usually does mean you did not kill them.”

She widened her eyes slightly. “I’ve seen what clerics can do. You can never be too sure.”

Enver hummed in amusement as he took another drag of his cigar then leaned over to extinguish it in a small dish. His eyes returned to her, taking in the way she pressed her body against the door frame.

“A curious question. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“For now,” she said warily.

That drew a laugh from him. He walked towards her slowly. “I’m not revoking your access.” He stopped just on the other side of the doorway. “But for now, you promised to join me for dinner.”

Ta’av nodded, trying to appear aloof, even as the nearness of him set her heart racing yet again. She had thought, foolishly, that their tryst in the dining room would have weakened the force that pulled her towards him. But her earlier rage had faded, and her hands had run across gifts of silk and lace and leather, and her mind kept returning to what she had read about making her mark on his skin.

She wanted to know where it was.

Enver reached forward to brush his thumb across her cheek, and her breath caught.

There was the slightest lift of his eyebrows as he noticed, and a new spark lit his dark eyes. His hand immediately cupped her face and then slid further to tangle in her crimson hair.

“Whatever could be on your mind, my dear?” he drawled. The low baritone of his voice sent a rush of heat to her belly, and the palm of his hand was warm against her neck.

This wasn’t why she had come here, she told herself. But what did it matter? She was here. She could die tomorrow, or later this tenday, and depriving herself would make not a whit of difference.

Ta’av leaned into his touch.

“Mm, I’m thinking of what I’ve learned, that’s all,” she said lightly.

“Do share.” He stepped fully into the doorway while curling his fingers to lightly rake his metal claws against her scalp. She shivered, and his lips curled in smug satisfaction. It was yet another irritating yet appealing reminder of how well he knew her body.

And she had once known his.

“I learned many things,” she mused. She let her gaze drift down his neck and chest before returning to his face. She wanted to watch his reaction closely. “I learned about your many gifts… and I learned that you let me mark your skin.”

His eyes narrowed with interest, a smirk lingering around his mouth. “My, my. You have been busy. And how, exactly, did you learn this important information?”

She shifted to lean into him, pressing her body against his at a leisurely pace and bringing her mouth to his ear. His response was immediate, combing his fingers through her hair while bringing his other hand to the small of her back. She grinned and lifted her hand to drag her nails down from his ear to his neck and chest.

“I would tell you,” she murmured, brushing her lips against his ear, “but we’re very late for dinner.”

He exhaled in indignation and grabbed at her, but not quickly enough. Ta’av ducked out of the way, laughing.

“How funny you are,” he said dryly. He lunged for her again, but she jerked backwards into the hallway.

“Yes, I know, I’m quite charming. But you promised me dinner.” She flashed him a wicked grin.

Enver sighed in a way that said he was being very indulgent and stepped into the hallway after her. “Very well. Dinner, and answers to your questions, as you made me promise earlier.” He stepped towards her. “And you will answer my questions, as well.”

Ta’av took a step backwards and immediately realized she had turned the wrong way; Enver stood between her and the stairs. “I didn’t agree to answer your questions.”

“It is considered standard practice in polite conversation, my dear,” he said silkily, “but very well. Make me a proposition. What do you want in exchange?”

Her eyes narrowed when he advanced again. Without realizing it, she sank into a defensive stance as she slid backwards in response. She pursed her lips.

“Take off your coat,” she said finally.

Enver’s eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re going to take off your coat while we eat dinner,” she declared. “I came here to have dinner with you, Enver, not the Archduke of Baldur’s Gate. This is…” She waved her hand dismissively at his ornate ensemble. “Too much.”

He laughed, genuinely amused, and stepped up to her. His smile sharpened as he grabbed her chin.

“Gods, you really are a brat sometimes,” he said in a low voice. She glared, and his grin only widened. “But very well, I accept. We have a deal.”

Ta’av felt like her insides had been replaced by molten metal. She didn’t know – truly, she didn’t know – whether she wanted to cut off his hand for his insolence or move it lower to curl around her throat or her hair, and the insufferable arrogance on his face told her that he knew all of it.

She pushed his arm away, but he simply grabbed her wrist instead. “Come along now,” he taunted, tugging on her arm as he led her down the hallway.

She followed, grasping his wrist in turn and sinking her nails into the section of skin left unprotected by his gods-forsaken gauntlet. He only smirked over his shoulder.

When they returned to the dining room, everything had been straightened and cleaned. Enver released her with a magnanimous proclamation of, “Please, be seated,” which prompted her to cross her arms and scowl while he stepped into the other room.  

The heat within her stuttered as she looked at the precisely aligned silverware. She hardly had spared a thought for the staff he employed. More strangers who knew her, almost certainly, who had seen and heard and cleaned and cooked. Were they Banites – or worse, tadpoled?

Gods, what was she doing?

Enver returned to find her still lost in thought, staring at the engraving on the gilded candlesticks. He stepped behind her and slid his hands up her bare arms.

“Tell me, dearest, are you still standing because I told you to sit down?” he murmured in her ear.

“No,” she lied, too vehemently.

He laughed softly and pulled her back to rest against his chest. His lips brushed against her neck, and she told herself to breathe.

“I’m standing because we made a deal, and you haven’t taken your coat off,” she added.

He responded by kissing her neck, and Ta’av bit her lip to keep from moaning. It was unnerving how quickly he found those certain spots that made her mind blissfully blank, as if he had studied them – no, he definitely had studied them, hadn’t he–

The door opened, and she jumped. The manservant who had greeted her earlier this evening entered carrying a tray of silver-covered dishes. Surprised and self-conscious, she ducked away from Enver, but the man kept his eyes steadily downcast. Enver pulled her back against him. His mouth found her neck again while the manservant swiftly and smoothly placed the dishes on the table. Without once raising his gaze to look at them, he bowed deeply in their direction before leaving the room.

Enver bit down on the side of her neck, scattering her thoughts again, and she gasped and squirmed against him.

“Sit down,” he commanded in her ear.

Ta’av shrugged him off and watched him circle around the table. Only when he had his coat and folded it over the chair beside him did she sink into her seat.

In the shadows and candlelight, his eyes appeared impossibly dark and deep. She watched him sit, her eyes lingering the outline of his shoulders and the planes of his chest before fixating on the elaborate gold sheaths covering his forearms. Perhaps she should have negotiated for the removal of more clothing.

She sighed, and finally looked at the food in front of her.

For months, Ta’av and her traveling companions had camped in the wilderness, and meals were cobbled together using whatever food they could scavenge or purchase and Gale’s culinary skills. They were simple meals in the best of times. Only in the past tenday, when they had reached the city, did they regain the luxury of eating meals prepared in a proper kitchen. Ta’av was still growing accustomed to it.

The dishes laid out before her now were a veritable feast. She recognized oysters and scallops served with risotto, an overwhelming variety of roasted vegetables, a dish of braised pork, soft white bread, a selection of cheeses and cured meats and fruits, some kind of baked fish…

Enver uncorked a bottle of wine with a small pop and poured them each a full glass.

“Eat,” he said, watching her with amusement in his eyes.

Ta’av pressed her lips together, biting back the urge to say no. Enver leaned back in his chair and grinned. He took a long sip of his wine, and Ta’av followed him before remembering that she was ravenously hungry.

They ate, at first in silence. Every new dish was the best thing she had tasted, rich and sinfully delicious, so much that she briefly wondered whether there was some enchantment at work. But, no, she concluded that the only magic used was the power of wealth, of decadence, of indulgence.

Enver watched her the entire time.

She looked at him in turn, of course. But he closely tracked the movement of her throat, the way her lips closed around her fork, and the way her eyelids fluttered when she groaned.

Finally, she leaned back and licked her lips.

“How often did I stay here?” she asked.

He shrugged, lazily swirling his wine glass in one hand.

“You started as an infrequent visitor, who then became a frequent visitor, who then demanded that I safeguard certain belongings that you were loath to bring back to your temple where they could be ruined, or worse, stolen by some covetous cultist. How could I say no?” The corner of his mouth curled into a wry half-smile while his eyes remained fixed on her. “You became quite creative with the many excuses you found to stay here. Eventually I was just as likely as not to find you here when I arrived home.”

Ta’av chewed on her lip, thinking, and couldn’t resist teasing him. “So I just really liked the house, then,” she said solemnly.

He cocked an eyebrow. “If you say so. My turn to ask a question, then–”

“Wait.” She sighed. “Tell me more. Please,” she added.

It should have been impossible for his eyes to grow even darker, but they seemed to as soon as please fell from her lips. She wasn’t surprised. He lifted his glass to his mouth before speaking, the gold on his hands and arms glinting in the candlelight.

“What else? Hm. It was only natural to give you a room to claim as your own, a place to put all your pretty things, though I can’t say you spent much time there. All together we stayed here less often in recent years, as we spent more time in the Upper City, or the Foundry, or Moonrise.”

The Foundry. Moonrise. The illithid tadpoles, the monstrous Steel Watch, the entire plot that she had helped orchestrate. She shifted uneasily in her seat, frowning.

“I have a question for you, now. Tell me, my dear: how long were you sleeping with the vampire spawn?”

His words immediately and abruptly pulled her out of her thoughts.

“I – what?” she sputtered, her cheeks growing hot. “How – that’s none of your business!”

He let out a low chuckle. “Isn’t it? Don’t be bashful. The night you returned, you bore healed-over puncture marks on your neck, but they’ve faded now. You’ve given him up, haven’t you?”

“Is that really your question?” she exclaimed, certain that she was blushing furiously.

“Of course,” Enver said, smiling darkly. “If you’ve well and truly given him up, I suppose I won’t need to have him killed.”

Ta’av jumped to her feet. “That’s not funny–”

“It’s a simple question.” The wolfish grin remained on his face as he poured them more wine.

She glowered at him, her tail lashing back and forth behind her. “Fine. If you must know, it’s done, and it has been since before we set out for Baldur’s Gate. Are you satisfied?”

“Quite.”

“Well, are you still fucking Lady Jannath?” she snapped before he could say another word.

Enver blinked at her and then threw his head back with laughter.

“Jannath?” he mused. “Please, do share where you picked up that delightful bit of gossip.”

She folded her arms. “I… read about it. In her own words.”

He pushed his chair back and stood.

“Hmm. Then I am forced to conclude that you must have been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Terribly naughty of you.” He circled around the table towards her at a leisurely pace.

“You do know, darling, that the Lady Jannath to which you refer is Wisteria Jannath, who retired to her country estate three years ago – not the young and newly-wed Firelia Jannath?” He approached her slowly, cautiously, though his eyes still glittered with amusement. “And our relationship, such as it was, occurred several years past?”

“Fine,” she muttered.

“What was that? I’m afraid I couldn’t hear you.” When he reached her side, he ran a metal-clad hand down her arm.

Ta’av glared at him once more, trying to force her thoughts into some semblance of order before he wrecked them again. She had wanted to ask him other questions, serious questions, before his teasing had raised her hackles, and–

Enver had distracted her intentionally.

The realization shouldn’t have been a shock, she told herself. This was the same man who engineered the cult of the Absolute, who cajoled and threatened his way into becoming a lord and an Archduke, who built the Steel Watch and told the people it was for their protection, even if he didn’t want her to think about any of it.

Manipulation came to him as easily as breathing. The small hoard of jewels and silks upstairs provided ample evidence of that.

She couldn’t believe that was all there was to him, to this. But the question gnawed at her insides, and she, too, could provoke a reaction when needed.

“I seem to have lost your attention.” His smooth voice and his hand pressing into her cheek pulled her back to the present.

“Were there any other affairs I should be aware of?” she said lightly, fixing her eyes on his.

He made a small, dismissive gesture with his free hand. “Nothing that should concern you.”

She took a moment to study his face, and she lifted one hand to smooth her thumb over the small scar on his chin and the stubble on his cheek. Her eyes widened with earnestness to lure him in and lower his guard.

She waited until his expression had softened, just slightly, before she asked her question.

“And what about when you thought I was dead?”

A flurry of emotions passed over his face, each one blurring into the next. Bewilderment morphed into anger, which revealed a glimpse of anguish, then bitterness, before finally settling into the stony, shuttered expression he had donned in his office. With her hand still touching his face, she could feel his jaw and temples tense.

“You are asking me if I took lovers when I believed you had died?” he said, every syllable articulated despite the way he gritted his teeth.

Ta’av resisted the urge to shrug and instead kept herself still and focused on his face. “Yes.”

“Is that what you think–” He broke off, exhaling in a huff. His hand withdrew from her cheek and curled into a fist at his side.

She kept her voice carefully neutral. “You asked me.”

The incredulity in his voice gave way to an almost-frightening intensity. “I wasn’t gallivanting around the countryside without a care. I thought you were dead, that your mad kinswoman had returned you to your accursed Father, possibly for an eternity of brutish torment. And yet I had to continue working alongside Orin towards the goals we had set years ago. Shockingly, I had little time for dalliance.”

Ta’av breathed in slowly, taking in the sting of his words, the rigidness in his stance, and underneath layers of pride and artifice, the deep-seated grief in his eyes.

It might be cruel to push further. But she had no other way to summarize, and no way to recall, the significance of an entanglement spanning ten years.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you had. Perhaps it would have been better if you had,” she said quietly.

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from his face. “What is that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

Her brow furrowed.

“Under Moonrise,” she began slowly, “we found brains… minds, in jars, that spoke of experiments. Experiments in which they were the subjects. A serving girl, convinced she would become a singer. Among others. Those experiments happened after I disappeared, didn’t they?”

She thought that if she had been more fragile, an ordinary mortal and not the child of a god, his grip might have crushed her wrist.

“I did what was needed to fulfill our duties to our gods. I did what was needed to achieve our goals. Alone,” he snarled.

He would never fully admit the agony, or the touch of madness, written in every line of his face: the anguish of a wounded beast, lashing out at anything around which it could close its jaws, not seeking to eat but only to inflict pain. But Ta’av saw it, and whatever resistance she was holding fell away.

“I know, Enver,” she breathed. She lifted her free hand to touch his shoulder. “I know.” Then she lay her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat while he remained frozen in place.

When he finally released her wrist, she looked up and pulled him into a kiss.

A House, A Home (The Dark Urge x Enver Gortash)

Part 3 (of 3) is now up on AO3! (Rating: Explicit. Word count: 8.9k)

series: sex and violence, one is just the other

The memory surfaced unexpectedly. She was laughing in a sunlit room. This room, and this bed, with the sheets rumpled and well-used. Enver was stretched out across them, naked. Beautiful. He was lounging on pillows, ever the spoiled lord, but his arms stretched above his head, bound by a length of black silk that was tied somewhere near the headboard. His jaw was clenched, but he looked at her with a haze of lust and longing in his eyes. Her pale hand held a dagger, one of his many gifts, too delicate to be much use in most of her work. But it was perfect for today. She slowly licked the blade and tasted the salt and iron of his blood while he watched every movement of her mouth. “Darling Enver,” she mocked. “Is this worth it, to be able to call me yours? Do you have the pet Bhaalspawn you’ve always desired?”

I am absolutely delighted to share this wonderful art I commissioned from Walker (also on twitter)! Walker made the process incredibly easy, gave me lots of progress updates, and completed it so quickly.

Look at my semi-feral Durge and her twisted tyrant! LOOK AT THEM. I'm obsessed.

You can read about Ta'av and Gortash in their series on AO3. 🥰

@elinorbard I decided to help put a stop to those brain weasels the best way I know how, with presents, so. Have a Ta'avrathim and a hug 💜

A House, A Home (f!Dark Urge x Gortash)

After returning from the House of Hope, Ta'av, the Dark Urge, seeks out Enver Gortash to tell him what she learned and lets him draw her back into the mystery of their shared past. (Rating: Explicit. Chapters: 3/3; Total word count: 21k.)

series: Part 5 of sex and violence, one is just the other | art by Walker

She wondered how many times she had walked there, wherever it was. A house, most likely, and she had thought an important Lord would reside in the Upper City, but her instincts steered her away from those gates. When she entered the Bloomridge neighborhood, she felt the same kind of familiarity that she experienced throughout the city: she knew all of Baldur’s Gate, but only in the way one knows something in a dream. She felt in her heart that the city was home, even while the specifics of streets and buildings and parks always looked different than she expected. But when she finally stood in front of the townhouse, its address matching the note in her hand, she felt it with complete clarity. Home.

Sunday Snippet!

Thank you to the lovely people who have tagged me in snippets/WIPs lately: @verbenaa, @xxnashiraxx, and @ladyduellist. Apologies if anyone else has tagged me and I missed it! I just got back from vacation and may have missed a bunch of things.

So... Bhaal-induced sex pollen/breeding kink, anyone? This concept sunk its claws into me, even though this was not at all what I planned to write next. So here's some Ta'av/Enver (AO3 series here), pre-tadpole (!), circa 1490 DR, Bhaal-induced sex pollen/breeding kink.

She focused on him and inhaled deeply, straightening her spine. His own gaze darkened as he looked at her. She was his ally, his partner, his lover. His fellow Chosen, his Bhaalspawn. His. Still, Enver watched warily as she moved towards him. He took one look at her eyes and clicked his tongue in a scolding manner. Her golden irises were nearly eclipsed by the dark expanse of her pupils. "Ta'av, darling," he began with an edge to his voice, "what could possibly be so urgent as to interrupt my work? If you need to kill, the entire city is at your feet." “I don’t need to kill.” The tiefling stepped up to him, her attention falling to his lips, then his neck, then his chest, and she seized the lapel of his shirt. Finally, her eyes swept upwards to meet his. “I need you.” “As delighted as I am to hear it, I am busy,” he said flatly. He folded the edges of her cloak back and over her shoulders, intent on preventing his clothes from getting wet. She wore a dark purple robe over her typical black leather armor, and he frowned momentarily; she rarely wore her clergy robes outside of the temple. “Now, be a dear, and go kill something,” he added. "No,” Ta’av said vehemently. "I need you, now." She pressed herself against him and rolled her hips into his for emphasis. One of her hands flattened against his chest, and her touch was hot against his skin. Her other hand drifted down to tug impatiently at the top of his trousers. Enver raised his eyebrows, regarding her coolly even as heat rushed to his groin. The way she licked her lips and bucked against him made the prospect tempting. Still, the essential tasks and moving pieces of their great plan were ever multiplying. He needed to maintain an iron grip on each and every variable. No variable was as unpredictable or vexing as the enchanting creature currently writhing against him. "You'll have to wait your turn, my dear. I'm afraid your desires cannot take precedence today." He felt her nimble fingers beginning to undo the laces of his trousers, and he caught her wrist. With a sardonic smile, he maneuvered her hand to rest against the apex of her legs, his larger hand pressing hers into her leather leggings. "I have the utmost faith in your ability to entertain yourself." Ta’av was shaking her head before he finished speaking. "No. No. That's not enough; it has to be you," she insisted. She managed to slip her hand out of his grasp, and Enver inhaled sharply as she grinded down against his hand. 

Throwing it back to @verbenaa, @xxnashiraxx, and @ladyduellist because it's been a while since I was tagged, and also @defira85, @bakuliwrites, and @aliasknives if you want to play! xoxo