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Righted Wrongs

"Where is Jameson?" Daryn asked, stepping into the bathing room to find the albino Pashalk with his feet dangling into the hot water.

"I don't know," Pashalk answered. "He's been gone almost a year. Sannal-in was once a Palace priest, you know. He's taken to teaching the priestesses their spells."

"A year?"

"He walks," Pashalk noted. "He'll be back. But if you need an attendant, I am offering myself."

"Show me to a room then," Daryn replied, looking the naked man twice over. He didn't know why such a creature was trapped at Temple, but it didn't matter. Pashalk was brilliantly attractive. Certainly it was no loss that he hadn't come across Jameson. Or Ko'al James.

Pulling his legs from the water, Pashalk walked over to a pile of dark clothes - the full 'uniform' for those who gathered souls. It was odd to see a man in such a uniform, Daryn noted - the ones called to by Daria were always women. Black was their color, after all, and their unique uniforms were not to be mistaken for anything but the clothing of death.

Despite there being no need for Pashalk to even get dressed, Daryn's curiosity got the better of him. It had been decades since he'd visited the Northland and certainly a fully uniformed male reaper would be an interesting sight.

Perfectly patched leather made up both his pants and shirt, catched with silver and trimmed the same. Black boots with bone shaped buckles followed, sitting high on Pashalk's calves. Belts, then matching knives... wrist guards over gloves. No longer was the albino a fae servant condemned to an immortality of servitude for wrongs committed in life - now he was an overwhelming warrior, white hair long over his shoulders framing him to look greater than the demigod watching him intently.

Daryn gasped. Perfect.

"Lord Daryn?"

"So Daria has taught you the ways of her women..."

"She would find use for us somehow," Pashalk answered, his demeanor unchanged as be walked by Daryn to open the door leading to the hallway. "Please, come this way."

Daryn followed, quite amused. Perhaps he would need to visit his beloved Northland a bit more often, even when it didn't have the things that kept him returning to the South and the East. Death was tempting him again.

The room Pashalk picked was neither the nicest nor the largest, but Daryn didn't mind. If memory served him, it was the closest that would suit their very temporary needs. But in all the times he had come to Temple to dwell with death, herself, Daryn hadn't ventured from his choice companion, the temple priest Jameson.

For such a foreboding warrior, Pashalk seemed almost nervous as he glanced at Daryn, red eyes trying not to stare.

"Don't worry about taking everything off," Daryn said quickly. "Just pull your pants down a bit and get on the bed."

He certainly didn't feel anything for Pashalk save for a building lust, and Pashalk certainly wasn't the sort for any complex emotion. Daryn knew more of Pashalk than he would dare let on. But he knew the albino's name quite well and thought himself capable of listing most of the grand atrocities committed by the condemned immortal.

Perhaps it was only fitting that he would have to gather souls since he was so skilled at freeing them from their bodies.

Pashalk's white skin was a rich contrast to the black of his clothing and the blue of the bedding.

Daryn loosed his pants, not dropping them but just getting them down enough to free the arousal that had formed back at seeing Pashalk in the clothing of death's maidens.

He cast a quick spell as he got onto the bed behind Pashalk, positioning himself. And he thrust, barely glad to hear a sound of pleasure and not pain. That was secondary. Daryn could remember quite clearly when the King of the East had begged for help in capturing an immortal thief who took an equal share of gold and lives.

A few hundred years always managed to change everything.

Daryn moved quickly, grabbing more at the pale of Pashalk's buttocks than anywhere useful. The tight heat of Pashalk's body pulled him beyond thinking, beyond lust and hate and instead just acting. Reaching downward to grab at Pashalk's erection, he worked it in his hands, fingers sliding across the smoothness of leather as much as Pashalk's cock.

Pashalk was moaning his name, rocking back against his body to lure him into a nearly overwhelming orgasm.

Shaking, Daryn pulled back and forced Pashalk flat to the bed and then onto his back, leather pulled tight against his thin body. The feel of Pashalk's erection hitting the back of his throat didn't calm him, even after drinking the hot sourness of Pashalk's seed.

"When did Daria order you into service?" Daryn asked, nearly breathless and not at all surprised to feel his own cock hardening again. Pashalk was panting beneath him, white hair pooling on blue.

"A few years ago, perhaps," Pashalk replied, stumbling on the words. "You..."

"You said you'd serve me," Daryn said, leaning to finally meet Pashalk's mouth in a kiss he didn't bother breaking until long after he was back inside Pashalk's body, moving slower this time to draw the encounter out.

Pashalk would be his, at least for the day, black leather and all.