Work Text:
“Well? What on Toril are you waiting for darthiir? Get out of here!”
The drow had asked for their help, believing them to be fellow followers of the Absolute due to their tadpoles. Now he wanted the strange adventurers to go, report to his superiors and take the blame for the cave-in.
The githyanki woman made eye contact with The Urge, she wanted to kill him. He shook his head. She frowned slightly.
Duergar and deep gnomes alike lay dead at their feet, the entire lot of them- massacred. Blood pooled on the darkened stone floor, and the scent of the newly spilled blood intermixed with the fiery smell of the forge. It was a vile combination. The environment was far too hot and humid, the murky water from outside mixing with the heated inside- making the smells almost like a physical shroud laid upon the group. The Urge inhaled deeply, before glancing at his angered party.
The vampire and the half-elf bristled at the insult, and rightfully so. They’d helped the creature, saved him from a cave-in and then from his own rebellious slaves and former allies. He’d quite literally been a damsel in distress, now he was disparaging the three for being surface elves.
The Urge did not react to the insult. In truth he was not really an elf. He was something else entirely.
He watched carefully how the drow wiped his brow. He was making a face. The creature was sweating, uncomfortable- and uneasy. Some subconscious instinct telling him the group was dangerous. The Urge could see it in the way he shifted, rocking slightly away from the four on the balls of his feet- and how his body language was still defensive. He felt that familiar dull ache. He wanted to debase the uppity creature, destroy him.
It was such fun the drow’s ego would not let him listen to his gut, how his pride made him stay in place with a sneering expression, arm’s crossed. If he was smart he would run- Of course he would not make it far, but at least he would not be a rabbit, so willingly laying down in the jaws of a wolf.
The Urge did not serve the Absolute. He did not take orders from anyone but his most beloved Father- and with Father finally speaking to him again after his humiliation- The Urge would do anything to be his Chosen once more. He would prove to Father he should be his favored child. His venerated son once again.
Father wanted souls, bodies, any and all kinds. The bhaalspawn offered anything and everything he could to Him. The drow would be a fine offering. Coincidentally, a myconid sovereign had also asked for this specific drow’s head. Though the brute did intend to send the sovereign and his colony to Father as well- getting an additional reward for his head seemed nice, and many of the now offered up duergar as well as all of deep gnomes had also desired the death of the drow.
It felt like a divine sign so many creatures wanted this now completely isolated drow male dead, and who was The Urge to disagree with omens from his beloved Father? The man was alone, isolated- scared. Scared of punishment from his cult, scared of them- scared of everything. The brute could not wait to make him scream.
The Urge stepped forward so he’s leaning over the smaller creature. He was fit, but no where near the size of the bhaalspawn, and he had to tilt his head upward slightly to maintain eye contact.
“It’s late.” The Urge announced coolly. “We will make camp by the bodies of the duergar masons. Camping by the water will offset the heat of the forge. Then, once my party has rested- We will set off in the morning.”
The True Soul sputters with anger, but he doesn’t protest his plan. He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Fine.”
The little drow audibly swallows as the four make their way down the dark and now lifeless halls, their footfalls echoing. The Urge wants to turn, watch his adam’s apple bob, but he doesn’t. There would be time later.
It, in truth was a bit premature to set their camp, early evening, though a bit difficult to tell in the Underdark. If anyone in his party did not want to stay, they didn’t let him know. He believed they all were well aware of what kind of creature he was at this point. Idly the bhaalspawn wondered why they did not run, particularly the vampire- who had seen the depths of his depravity in the woods above. Perhaps he felt being allied with a mad man was better than being against one. He was wrong, they would all go to Father eventually- but it was convenient to have the caravan around for now. The Urge smiled, watching as they all began to throw their packs down. Sending them all to Father would be a beautiful ending to this journey, a delicious betrayal- but he had to send someone else- imminently.
Hours passed and notably the drow had not come to where they’d pitched their tents. The Urge had been right to pin the little haughty creature as a coward. He’d have to pass them to try and get to the elevator, or the boats on the water. Though the drow had made it clear the elevator was certain death without the right equipment, The Urge had wondered if he’d chance either route of escape. He hadn’t even left the depths of the forge, apparently preferring to sleep in the heat then with the band of misfits.
The bhaalspawn’s eyes slid over the now pitched tents. The githyanki woman was the first asleep, as usual. She seemed the most at ease with him of the three companions traveling with him. Once they’d bedded and he’d thrown her to floor- dominated her- She held a respect for him the other two did not have, though he had bedded the vampire as well.
The vampire and the half-elf were awake, talking amongst themselves by the dark water. Her legs were swinging, and she had a glass of wine. The girl was leaning against the vampire’s shoulder who was rolling his eyes, but he was smiling. The Sharran was laughing at her own joke. Both creatures faces fell at The Urge standing up. Neither asked where he was going as he stalked off, still in his armor. The vampire at least likely knew.
The beast lumbered deep into the Grymforge again, not bothering to quiet his footfalls. Once he reached the central room, he looked around. The bodies of both the duergar and deep gnomes were gone, though dried blood still stuck to the floor. Perhaps the drow had thrown them into the lava. Disappointing, the smell of blood and rot was a favorite to The Urge, it got him in the mood.
His eyes slide to biggest dark tent, filled with trunks and various travel-worn furniture. The drow was within, and he was looking at The Urge. He had been bent over the table, peering at something else it seems, but now he shifted to stand.
He too, had not taken off his robes, despite the pools of sweat dripping down his forehead, his entire face wetted. Duergar seemed to thrive in this superheated environment, not drow.
“Qu’lith quarthen. You’ve come.”
The elf had not heard this drow term before. He smiled anyway. “Yes.”
The slighter man immediately pulls out his sword, twisting it in his hand- fidgeting. Perhaps the little one was not a complete coward- He would fight for his life.
This excited The Urge immensely, and his cock pulsed. What fun! He grins madly, rushing the creature in a frenzy.
The drow cast dissonant whispers, a spell to meant to frighten, stop the approaching elf in his tracks- but the animal does not frighten, a gift from Father. The beast brings his mace down, with both hands, laughing manically.
It’s really over before it starts.
The bhaalspawn is careful, very careful to not kill. He would have the drow’s body either way- but he preferred him alive, at least at first. He wanted to hear the man scream, cry, moan. Hear those delicious little sounds before he silenced the drow forever.
The sorcerer was downed flat on his back, struggling to sit upright. The elf had hit the drow multiple times with his mace of gnoll bone- but he’d aimed for non-fatal places, mostly his stomach, his chest. His neck- his head- were for later. Dark bruises were forming underneath those battle-worn robes, The Urge was sure, and he wanted- needed- ached to see them.
The drow was hissing to himself “B-bastard. Fairy.” -but he could barely shift on his own.
He indifferently kicks the creature’s blade into the lava. Then, the bhaalspawn listened for any sounds besides the drow struggling on the ground and the normal bubbling sounds of the forge.
No, it seemed the vampire had learned his lesson about peeping on The Urge at night.
The Urge kneeled, undoing his fancy furred cape unceremoniously and throwing it in the lava as well, before tilting over him.
“I- Elf- You want me- fine. H-have me. Have me. Just- d-don’t kill me.” The man pleads quickly, his red eyes downcast in shame. The bhaalspawn isn’t listening, he’s admiring his handy-work. The Urge wonders if he broke a rib or two. His chest- the way it was fluttering seemed off and strange, like a butterfly with a damaged wing. The way he sounded too, was as if he was struggling to breathe. Very pretty.
The bhaalspawn cradles the man’s head, smiling gently down at him. He takes in his wide and fear-filled eyes, how they searched his own for meaning. The brute then slams the drow’s head back- once, twice, three times. Each blow creates a sickening, echoing crack onto the stone beneath them. He doesn’t want the lithe creature fighting back anymore, or pulling any little drow tricks. The Urge watches how his long lashes flutter, the way his red eyes struggle to focus after blood begins seeping from the back of his cracked skull- his white hair matting with blood. The man lets out a disoriented, raspy groan of pain. The Urge’s loins stir for the injured creature.
He begins pulling at his robes, tearing them apart. He would not need them again. The Urge throws a hidden dagger off to the side, chuckling. Oh how he loved drow.
The drow male is taking shallow, wheeze filled breaths. He doesn’t say anything- besides making small grunts and groans of pain when The Urge presses too hard on his chest, which The Urge keeps purposely doing. His little sounds are too delicious not to. The bhaalspawn drags the undressing out, slowing.
He’s leaning against the helpless drow man- nuzzling his pretty pale skin as the drow continues to moan from the pressure of the elf’s weight against him. He smells of sweat, dirt and rune powder, but it’s been overlayed with some kind of Underdark flower. It’s a bad mix of scents. How sweet though, like he’d been subconsciously preparing for their time together The Urge thinks to himself- The lovely smell of his own blood would cover that unpleasant scent shortly.
The Urge licked the side of his face and the drow cringed slightly at this. His eyes flashed; He was confused- scared- disgusted. Finally The Urge sits up, and tears in earnest, leaving the pathetic sorcerer shivering in his underclothes.
“D-don’t kill me…” The drow hoarsely begs again, barely a whisper. One of his hands go up slightly, palm wide. His eyes are closed and his face is twisted in a shame-filled grimace. He’s pulling at the side of his underwear, as if trying to get out of them, but his injuries and lying on his back not allowing him that ability. The Urge realizes he is trying to bargain with him. “Rape me all you want- but don’t kill me.” Drow really were quite incredible creatures, it was a shame they served the wrong god.
The Urge chuckles, shaking his head while helping the sorcerer out of them. He feels the familiar aching as the drow arches his back off the ground, making them slide off easier, getting the clothing down around one of his ankles- but then he groans, his face contorting in sharp pain. His back spasms and he falls back flat. He hisses, clutching his chest, which was purpling. A beautiful tapestry of dark bruises danced across his chest and stomach. No doubt about it from the patterning, a rib or two was broken- or at least cracked.
He would not enjoy the feeling of this then. The drow lets out a bloodcurdling scream as The Urge abruptly bends his knees up into his chest, much further than necessary to see his pretty hole. He’s twisting away, but that’s hurting too. The creature’s face is frozen into agonized pain, tensing this way and that as his fists clench and unclench. Really no way he moved would bring him comfort- but the bhaalspawn purposely put the weight on him. The Urge held him there for a while, admiring his body, and then pressing those legs down for another pretty scream.
This went on for some time.
When The Urge finally shifted to pull himself out the drow wasn’t even shrieking anymore, just taking rapid sharp little breaths through his gritted teeth, his tear-filled red eyes twisted with animalistic pain and hate.
“Such pretty sounds you make for me.”
The beast purred, trying to force himself in. The trembling creature was dry, and this hurt both of them, but The Urge loved pain- for himself and others- It all honored Father. He shoved in with some struggle, forcing inch after inch inside as the thin walls began to stretch and bleed in protest. It was far too tight, but the blood would sort that out soon. The drow beneath him was all screamed out it seemed, making low raspy groans with each movement, moaning and crying weakly.
The Urge started to move. He was brutal, starting at a mercilessly deep pace, driving into the hilt over and over. The bhaalspawn leaned all the way forward, pressing his full weight on the miserable drow as he moved. The lithe creature’s tortured groans and sobs urged the brute on. The Urge groaned in pleasure, his head falling onto the drow as his hips snapped in and out of the drow’s bleeding entrance. The sound of their coupling, the squelch of blood and the slapping of their bodies was loud, wet. A beautiful sound to the beast on top of the drow. Another groan of pleasure ripped from him as a sharp pain bloomed from his shoulder. The little creature was biting him, with all his might, his nails digging into the brute’s arms. The drow might take a chunk out of his shoulder with the way he was clamping down, so The Urge, with some regret, adjusted.
He dug his hand into the sorcerer’s matted bloody hair as he continued to pound into him harder and harder. The drow let out a particularly loud yelp of pain as The Urge dug his fingers into his bleeding head wound, releasing the beast’s shoulder. Blood trickled down from the bite onto the bhaalspawn’s broad chest and he moaned. That would leave a bite mark, worse than even the vampire. He wanted to praise the angry little thing.
The Urge tilted down and kissed his face passionately, though the drow cringed with disgust against him, keeping his lips firmly shut.
The Urge chuckled against the injured wretch, his lips still pressed upon the drows. He licked his face again, and the man beneath him shivered, making another sound of revulsion. The brute smiled as he met his hateful red eyes, and he hoped that the drow could see Father reflected in his cool blue ones.
The drow could keep his mouth closed, for now. Soon those lips would be pliant and welcoming for The Urge. He picked up speed, drilling into the unwilling creature with bruising precision, the drow’s legs bouncing helplessly against the muscular elf.
Groans rip from The Urge as his rhythm becomes erratic, pumping with a savageness that made the drow beneath him break into another round of stuttering sobs of pain. They were muffled beneath the beast’s body, and he growled low in his throat as he released deep inside the weeping creature.
The Urge collapsed into the smaller man, and another muffled groan of pain vibrates against the bhaalspawn, his hands helplessly shoving against the much bigger male. The way the little creature has fought almost made The Urge want to keep the drow for a while. Break him over and over. Make the others watch, join in- or end up like him.
This was just a fantasy the elf knew. He would not make the same mistake ever again. He would send the offering to Father joyfully. He would not ask to keep things- All things belonged to Father. Slowly he sat up, and with this shift the broken sobbing of the smaller man beneath him became louder, clearer.
The drow’s eyes were glassy, overwhelmed with the onslaught of pain he’d just endured. He swallowed, trying to choke back more tears. He turned his head ashamedly away from the elf as he wept, still having time for the feeling of humiliation after being utterly brutalized. It was almost impressive, drow’s self-importance. The Urge watched his adam’s apple bob and felt another dull pulse of want yet again. The drow had precious few times he would swallow left.
He strode over to the drow’s dagger, and picked it up. It was sharp. Small blessings for the drow he kept it that way.
The bhaalspawn looked over at the miserable wretch. He was shifting, clutching his ribs, and painstakingly slowly- trying to sit up, still with little success.
The Urge would help him. With a deft move he grabbed the creature by his long wet, blood-soaked hair, and tilted his head back, exposing the delicate column of his throat.
The drow looked up at him and his face contorted with fear and understanding. His hands went up to protect his neck, but then fell to hugging himself. He cried bitterly, his body shaking with the force of his anguish.
The Urge brushed the blade through his hair, down his face- before firmly placing it at his throat. The smaller man’s breath hitched- and that adam’s apple pulsed again. For the last time.
With a single swift motion, the elf brought the blade across, severing the drow's head from his body. A spray of hot blood splattered against The Urge's skin, staining his clothes and body. The bhaalspawn groaned loudly. That might’ve been better than the sex, it was a shame beheading was such a short affair. The head remained firmly in his grasp, while the body slumped to the ground, lifeless.
He brought the head to him, kissing those slack lips feverishly. He was so welcoming to The Urge now, so sweet for him. He tasted and smelled of only blood. It was too perfect, too delicious.
The elf was glad he had not redressed, bringing the head down to his already hardening cock. It was still slick with the drow’s own blood and fluids. He slipped into those pretty blood splattered lips and a primal moan ripped from him. The bhaalspawn’s body shuddered with pleasure as he continued to thrust into the head. His hips pumped furiously, driving himself deeper into the gaping mouth with each thrust. Teeth scraped against him, but that wet inviting tongue slid languidly along as well- a perfect mixture of pain and pleasure. The dull sound of the skull slapping against him echoed through the dim forge, but the loudest sound was his own ragged breaths.
The Urge's fingers dug deeper into the drow's hair, holding the head in place as he took his pleasure. He looked down at the headless body beside him, and another groan erupted from his trembling lips. How could he hold back when the drow was so beautiful, so perfect in this moment?
Overstimulated from his last orgasm, and overwhelmed by the utter perfectness of the dripping wetness swallowing him The Urge let out a primal roar. His body tensed as he erupted inside the dead drow's mouth. The mouth, slack- caused most of it to dribble out- overflowing onto the headless corpse’s chest and stomach below. Some dripped out of his nose though, and even more spilled from the severed neck as The Urge brought it up to his face again. His kissed it, just a peck this time. Smiling wide as he tasted him own cursed seed.
He could not give the head to the myconid sovereign, he thought- cradling the head lovingly. This trophy was priceless, he would use it over and over as it rotted away. Besides, he could feel how much Father loved it, and he saw it- when the slack face twisted into a knowing smile, for a few precious moments.
Quickly he redressed, gently putting the head down with a pat- but his eyes never left the skull. He snatched it possessively back up into his arms as soon as he had clothes back on.
He slowly retreated back to their camp, cuddling the drow head. When he arrived at the camp the githyanki woman was still asleep, in the same position he’d left her. She was seemingly undisturbed or uncaring of the drow’s screams that were certainly within earshot, albeit dimmed. Actually, she was slightly smiling in her sleep- good dreams perhaps.
He noted the half-elf and the vampire were now both in the half-elf’s tent. The vampire lay with a pillow over his head, his back to the outside- While the half-elf sat up at the entrance, watching. Her eyes widened taking in his blood drenched form, and the object cradled in his arms.
The Urge held out the head to her, smiling proudly as it hung by its hair, slack-jawed and sightless.
“Mmmm!” She said, her eyes swimming with revulsion, but a smile plastered on her face. The Urge watched as one hand creeped back to the sleeping figure behind her, as if she was going to wake him, but she hesitated.
“I assume that’s for Spaw then?”
“No.” He brought it back close to his chest, beaming.
“It’s for me.”
He grinned at her once more, his heart brimming with joy as he looked down at her. He didn’t care if she was scared, he could offer her up too if she tried to harm him. The bhaalspawn could offer them all up and then lay amongst their bloodied corpses, bathing in their blood.
No, The Urge couldn’t let his mind wander to such pretty places. It wasn’t time for that yet. What mattered right now was that Father was happy, he could feel it in the air. It saturated everything. He would certainly come to him soon. Tell the boy how well he did. Have him. Maybe he would even take The Urge to his realm and ravish him amongst His pools of blood and viscera. He hadn’t done that since the bhaalspawn had been disgraced.
His eyes flicked back up. The half-elf’s hand was now firmly on the vampire, but she hadn’t shaken him.
“Goodnight.” He said quietly, lumbering towards his own tent, a small smile still tugging at his lips as clutched the head like a doll, tight to his chest.
“Goodnight!” She said cheerily, her hand not on the vampire going up in a wave.
The Urge lumbered to his bedroll. He kept the skull close, kissing it, whispering it sweet nothings, before falling asleep with it cradled in his arms- and he was happy.
The drow had found purpose in Father’s love. He was no longer afraid. No longer haughty or rude. He was sweet, welcoming- at ease. The beast nodded contentedly, snuggling the head tighter as he drifted into that formless darkness.
They would all find purpose in Father’s love soon enough. Be transformed by it.
He smiled.