Diederich/Deryaa
This is a fic that was written by Deryaa's player (who is also Ismae's player) depicting a scene that occurred between Diederich and Deryaa. Sadly Diederich is not faithful to Lainiram because he's a bad man. Also, Diederich is having an existential crisis at the moment, which has made him an even worse man lately.
This fic is NSFW (although it cuts off way too soon IMO) involving a bit of roleplaying Diederich and Deryaa did because Deryaa wanted to know what it's like to get fucked by Scourge, and Diederich decided he'd like to indulge that.
I'm trying to convince Ismae to continue this!! But she writes for a living so she doesn't have a lot of time to write this kind of thing. :'( Her professional writing blog is here: Kannan Feng, so if you like her smut you should definitely go look. ^_^
This is what Deryaa had wanted and now that they were in the Scar, roaming monsters filling the air with their monotonous, hungry moan, Diederich knew that he wanted it too.
As Diederich watched, Deryaa carefully picked his way to a sheltered stand of brush in the center of the Scar itself. It wasn't much, but it was still cover. It was a place where a fleeing boy might have taken shelter, hoping the monsters would pass him by.
We never do, Diederich thought dispassionately, jumping down into the Scar.
He remembered the battle, the futile charge, the final terrifying moments as teeth clashed close to his ear and as his flesh was seared by unending cold. He remembered it, but then other memories began to intrude as well. Dark things, fanged things, and he was among them. Monsters all around, but he was unafraid.
The emptiness sat in him like a spot of cold dead air, but it was far better than being terrified. It was far better than being a chestnut-haired little warlock, hiding in the brush and crippled with pain besides.
The boy looked up at him with eyes that were already half-glazed with pain, and that dazed look sharpened to pure terror as Diederich knelt down beside him.
Deryaa, his name is Deryaa, Diederich reminded himself, but that was less important than dragging the boy out of the brush by his ankle.
The boy's body twisted and his hands scrabbled for purchase in the loose dank soil, but soon he was laid out flat on the loam, no cover but an uncaring sky, no companion but a death knight who was coldly, clinically pushing his shirt up.
“No, Light damn you, no!”
The little fool tried to push his shirt down, as if that was any protection, and the death knight merely squeezed his wrist until he cried out with pain.
There was something broken about this one, he thought distantly. Something unsound.
He planted his fist low on the boy's chest, making him squall again but holding him still. The death knight bent his head to his victim's shoulder, pausing only a moment before biting viciously. He stopped before he tasted blood, but the warlock lay still, his breath coming in shallow wheezes.
“Not much to you, is there?” he said, and even to his own ears, he sounded dry and ragged.
The warlock started to reply, but then the death knight's hand was around the boy's throat, stilling him, and making his body arch. Dispassionately, he noted that inside his thin cloth trousers, the boy was hard and straining. He wouldn't have been the first to climax even as he drew his last breath.
The death knight crouched over him like a feeding hyena, protective of its kill, and his kisses were more than half bite.
The boy had stopped protesting, and those acid green eyes stared past the death knight into the sky. He had gone somewhere else, or at least he had ceded his body over to someone much stronger.
That's fine, the death knight thought, I have everything I want right here...
This fic is NSFW (although it cuts off way too soon IMO) involving a bit of roleplaying Diederich and Deryaa did because Deryaa wanted to know what it's like to get fucked by Scourge, and Diederich decided he'd like to indulge that.
I'm trying to convince Ismae to continue this!! But she writes for a living so she doesn't have a lot of time to write this kind of thing. :'( Her professional writing blog is here: Kannan Feng, so if you like her smut you should definitely go look. ^_^
This is what Deryaa had wanted and now that they were in the Scar, roaming monsters filling the air with their monotonous, hungry moan, Diederich knew that he wanted it too.
As Diederich watched, Deryaa carefully picked his way to a sheltered stand of brush in the center of the Scar itself. It wasn't much, but it was still cover. It was a place where a fleeing boy might have taken shelter, hoping the monsters would pass him by.
We never do, Diederich thought dispassionately, jumping down into the Scar.
He remembered the battle, the futile charge, the final terrifying moments as teeth clashed close to his ear and as his flesh was seared by unending cold. He remembered it, but then other memories began to intrude as well. Dark things, fanged things, and he was among them. Monsters all around, but he was unafraid.
The emptiness sat in him like a spot of cold dead air, but it was far better than being terrified. It was far better than being a chestnut-haired little warlock, hiding in the brush and crippled with pain besides.
The boy looked up at him with eyes that were already half-glazed with pain, and that dazed look sharpened to pure terror as Diederich knelt down beside him.
Deryaa, his name is Deryaa, Diederich reminded himself, but that was less important than dragging the boy out of the brush by his ankle.
The boy's body twisted and his hands scrabbled for purchase in the loose dank soil, but soon he was laid out flat on the loam, no cover but an uncaring sky, no companion but a death knight who was coldly, clinically pushing his shirt up.
“No, Light damn you, no!”
The little fool tried to push his shirt down, as if that was any protection, and the death knight merely squeezed his wrist until he cried out with pain.
There was something broken about this one, he thought distantly. Something unsound.
He planted his fist low on the boy's chest, making him squall again but holding him still. The death knight bent his head to his victim's shoulder, pausing only a moment before biting viciously. He stopped before he tasted blood, but the warlock lay still, his breath coming in shallow wheezes.
“Not much to you, is there?” he said, and even to his own ears, he sounded dry and ragged.
The warlock started to reply, but then the death knight's hand was around the boy's throat, stilling him, and making his body arch. Dispassionately, he noted that inside his thin cloth trousers, the boy was hard and straining. He wouldn't have been the first to climax even as he drew his last breath.
The death knight crouched over him like a feeding hyena, protective of its kill, and his kisses were more than half bite.
The boy had stopped protesting, and those acid green eyes stared past the death knight into the sky. He had gone somewhere else, or at least he had ceded his body over to someone much stronger.
That's fine, the death knight thought, I have everything I want right here...