Disclaimer: Wholly original work.
Characters/Pairings: Pashalk, Ethan
Summary: Pashalk can't get certain things out of his mind.
Pashalk looked one last time at where Ethan lay, finally fast asleep after several fitful hours. And Pashalk had just watched him, fearing that even one comforting touch would be his undoing and while generally he never thought of himself as being morally or ethically sound, he knew without ever being told that there was a reason Ethan always came back to the safety of Death and whatever that reason was, it involved Ethan being safe - not used as a playtoy for the bored, cursed and damned.
Now, with Ethan sleeping in his room, Pashalk lacked even a place to go for a little privacy. While the company of another did sound tempting, no one but Ethan would even begin to sate the appetite building within him. Weak little Ethan, not so much a mage or a fighter, pawn of something so much bigger...
Pashalk slid outside through one of the narrow side-doors, depositing himself deep into the thick of the dark forest before unlacing his pants and kneeling on the cool ground.
Just thinking about the things he wanted to do to Ethan had him thoroughly aroused, even without any sort of visual aide. It wasn't that he desired anything more than luscious sex anyway - Pashalk knew quite well that he could never be the sort of solid support Ethan seemed to never be able to find.
Hands around his erection, Pashalk worked himself over quickly, roughly. He wanted Ethan, wanted Ethan's mouth around his arousal, sucking and lapping at the tip with his tongue. Ethan was skilled at that, Pashalk knew from experience, and just thinking back on it was enough to cause Pashalk to need to slow down just a bit.
He wanted to come fast and get back, but he wanted to savor a few more images in his mind first. There was that first Festival that Ethan had attended, that had surely been something to watch. Ethan made a beautiful, blissful whore, the epitome of life and death, the mate to the goddess herself.
Ethan's face in ecstacy. Somehow Pashalk knew that even in another thousand dull years at the Temple that he would never get it from where it was burned in his mind. Moving one hand faster now, he slipped the other one down, lower to gently massage his scrotum.
Ethan would have let him do whatever he wanted.
Coiled pressure sprung forth, causing Pashalk to cry out as he came, blissful for just seconds before settling back into himself, looking at where his seed stained the ground.
He was almost glad he'd settled for his hands - he had all the time in the world.
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