bakerstreet | The Gagged Meme

[Could be either here.]

Edited 2025-05-29 17:05 (UTC)

[Probably the one gagging you.]

[Enforced quiet time?]

[Cassie is always happy to keep her favorite pet's mouth shut.]

((Okay! I've had a scenario that's been in my head for a while, if you're interested. Flynn is helping Jacqui out on her latest project which is super-duper classified. So much so that she actually needs to put a gag order on anyone working on it, including Flynn. Cassie hears this and decides to take it literally?

Or if you have another idea, I'm always open!))

[Ooh, that sounds fun - let's do that! Would you like to do the honors?]

Flynn heaved a sigh as he returned to his shared quarters with Cassie (not a regular circumstance on this base, but when your girlfriend was also your commander and military royalty, you got all kinds of perks). It had been a long hard day assisting Jacqui on her latest project. A project so classified that he had been placed under a strict gag order by Jacqui. Of course, Jacqui had made it clear that it wasn't personal, and that the order applied to everyone, including her. Flynn knew that and didn't begrudge Jacqui in the slightest, but he still didn't like the fact that he couldn't even talk to Cassie about it. Every question she had for him, even one as harmless as "how did it go" had to be answered with some variation of "that's classified."

That would be tough, but he knew Cassie was an adult and had been in the military as long as he had. She knew how it worked. So, Flynn came home after a long day of being a guinea pig (he was just glad the project didn't require him to remain in isolation), looking forward to falling into the arms of his amazing girlfriend.

"Cassie," he called out as he kicked off his shoes. "I'm home! Are you here?"

Cassie had managed to beat him back to quarters - no mean feat, given how quick and fastidious her boyfriend is. He's never late for his commanding officer and goddess. But she'd overheard part of his conversation with Jacqui today - the one where she reminded him of the strict silence their current project was operating under.

Naturally, her specific choice of words had given her an idea. One she knew he'd love.

She clicks her tongue loudly, audible from outside the room in these spacious shared officers' quarters. Flynn will be able to hear which room - the bedroom.

"My, my, Lieutenant Scifo. Not thirty seconds home and you're already violating orders."

"Huh?" Flynn asked, confused. The only thing keeping him from flying into a panic was the playful lilt to her voice. "What do you mean? Are you talking about the gag order? Because that only-"

He trailed off as the words 'gag order' finally sunk in and he gave a full-body eyeroll as realization hit. He had made his way towards the bedroom as he talked, and his hand paused on the doorknob when he realized what his girlfriend was up to.

"You're going to jump me the second I open this door, aren't you?"

"Not exactly."

Instead, Cassie opens the door herself and jumps him, pulling him in and turning him around to hold him from behind as his momentum carries him inside. Her right hand clamps over his mouth.

"I've decided that gag order isn't being followed quite strictly enough for my liking."

Edited 2025-05-30 15:32 (UTC)

"Wha- Mmph!" Flynn exclaims as he's pulled into the room and quickly silenced. While the suddenness of the act surprised him, the act itself did not and he gave an annoyed huff into her hand.

It should also be noted that he was also making no effort to escape. In fact he rolled his body into her as she held him. Being kidnapped and held by a beautiful woman was a well known fantasy of Flynn's (his file actually advised benching him on missions that involved Sindel) and being gagged was one of his all time favorite kinks. So his annoyance was as much of an act as any 'struggling' was.

Cassie pulls him in close, leaning her head over his shoulder to whisper in his ear.

"So here's how it's going to work, Lieutenant. Every night, and I do mean every night, for as long as this gag order is in place, you will immediately report to your goddess. And the only choice you'll have is which method I'll be using to make sure you follow orders."

She shuffles around, holding him to turn and face the implements lying on the bed.

"Now, be a good boy and answer. Hum once for the cloth, twice for the tape, and three times for the ball."

Flynn couldn't help an out of character chuckle. Of course Cassie heard he was under gag order and found a way to turn it into his favorite kind of kink play. God she was so much better than he deserved.

He brought a hand up to grab at the arm gagging him, but instead of trying to break free, he gave her arm a loving, grateful squeeze. He loved her so much.

Falling back into character, Flynn pretended to be shocked at the options laid before him and twisted in every way except the ways which would actually break Cassie's grip.

"MMMPH!!! GMMMPH!" Flynn shouted uselessly against Cassie's hand twice, indicating the tape.

Cassie smiles. "Just what I thought you'd pick."

Because yes, she knows damn well what he likes. And he knows just how much to play up his helplessness, and exactly how often to work in little displays of affection in between his adorable little "struggles." It's like he has an extra sense that tells him exactly what to do to turn her on. He's perfect and hers, the one and only one meant for her.

She loves him so goddamn much.

She taps her finger on his lips as she lets go of him (briefly) to reach for the tape.

"Not a word from you, pet."

Edited 2025-05-30 18:03 (UTC)

Flynn pressed his lips further together as she removed her hand. As much as he loved her smushing his lips and keeping him quiet with just her hand, he was looking forward to the tight, sticky sensation of tape smoothed over his lips. He was getting a tent in his pants just thinking about it.

For a brief moment, he considered acting up and speaking against orders, just to earn an extra sexy punishment. But he decided against it. At least for tonight. This would be a long project and there would be plenty of time to push boundaries and experiment. But this was the first night of a new game, and he wanted to start things off right.

So he remained quiet, aside from an odd grunt as he continued to pretend to struggle.

Cassie begins to peel off a strip of tape even as she pulls it back toward them.

"I know you'll be a good, quiet boy tonight, Lieutenant. Our secrets are gonna be extra safe."

She holds one hand on each side of his face and applies it to his lips straight off the roll. Once his mouth is snugly covered, she rips the strip off the roll. Then she presses on the tape to make sure she's secured it.

"You know what the best part is, though? I'll be able to tell you how pretty and adorable you are and you won't be able to interrupt me. Not a word of 'oh, not as beautiful as you, Goddess.' Not a word of anything. You can't say a thing right now, can you, my pretty widdle pet?"

She begins stroking his hair, reinforcing what a good boy he is.

Edited 2025-05-31 01:49 (UTC)

Flynn resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn't an arrogant man, but he did not consider it an opinion that he was good at following orders; he considered it a fact. He had been told, by a superior officer, to not breathe a word of his work with Jacqui to anyone, including his direct CO. Not even the cruelest Outworld torture could break his silence. The tape was just for fun.

And boy was he looking forward to said fun. Even the sound of it unpeeling from the roll was turning him on. Duct tape embodied everything Flynn loved about being dominated. It was tight, oppressive, restrictive, and even the painful parts were pleasurable. It also looked beautiful in Flynn's humble opinion.

He closes his eyes as she presses the tape to his lips, giving a slight "Mmh" as it fully compresses them. He moves his head as she smooths the tape with her hands, loving the feel of her thumbs through the sticky material. God, he could do this all day.

He lowers his eyes in embarassment as she then proceeds to describe exactly what he would do if he could talk. He had thought he was being romantic. He didn't realize she found that annoying.

Still, he knew better than to dwell on it, since Cassie would find that even more annoying. Instead he leans into her hand and enjoys being pampered. He even answers her question with an "Mmmmphgmmmmnnn!"

Cassie continues to caress and pet him.

"Awww, such a sweetie! You just want to be a good boy and let your goddess know how pretty she is...but you can't. You've subbed so hard you can't even be as subby as you wanna be anymore."

She leans in and gives him a kiss on the cheek. She'd sensed his embarrassment, cute as it was, and wanted to reassure him that she finds it adorable when he talks like that to her (even if she thinks he is MORE than hot enough for her). She just likes it even more when he can't talk at all...not even to say the cute little things he wants to say.

In the meantime, Cassie decides that NOW is the time to sweep Flynn off his feet and into a bridal carry.

Edited 2025-05-31 13:04 (UTC)

Flynn blushed as she found a way to both taunt and reassure him at the same time. God she was the most perfect woman to ever exist. And then she went and proved it by literally sweeping him off his feet.

"Mmmph!" He exclaimed into his gag, loving the feeling of being lifted and carted around. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and nuzzled into her. A little naughty, but she never ordered him not to. Nor did she tie him up either.

It isn't strictly within the parameters of his orders, but Cassie will allow it, especially in light of what's happening next. She nuzzles him back and plants a kiss on his forehead before setting him down to where he's been carried: right onto the bed, with his head snugly against the headboard.

"Now, I'm sure you know, Lieutenant, that this gag order, just like every other order you're given...is binding."

He certainly won't be surprised that the straps are about to come out. But she likes to think she's made him squirm a little with that pun.

Edited (typo) 2025-06-01 02:43 (UTC)

His orders were to be a good and quiet boy. Good boys make their mistresses feel loved, and he hadn't made a damn sound while doing so.

He chuckled as he was kissed and then laid on the bed. He wasted little time in making stretching out his body as appealingly as he could. He made extra sure to spread out his legs so his goddess could see just how turned on she made her pet.

When she delivered that pun, he couldn't help but roll his eyes and give a pained "Hmmmpf."

Edited (I like this icon better) 2025-06-01 06:29 (UTC)

Flynn is being dommed by a Cage, and this Cage will never let him forget it. She chuckles at his reaction as she begins to prepare him for the next stage of these games. The restraints come out, set atop the bed for now. There's one more thing she needs to do first.

Her hand brushes against the top of the tent he's pitching before she sets it free, unbuttoning his fly. The look on her face makes it clear that he's not to help with this - she's the one who undresses her toys.

He won't have to wait long, anyway. His pants are off in a matter of seconds, and soon she turns to unbuttoning his shirt, caressing his taut stomach as she does.

"Such a pretty boy...holding oh so very still. You'll find it even harder to move in a second..."

Edited 2025-06-03 22:53 (UTC)

Flynn instantly forgive her for the pun as she fondles him, closing his eyes and relaxing his body as she reminds him whose dick that really is. Not that he would ever forget. He almost moved to help her, but that look she shot him had him deciding it was better to relax. The only moves he made were to gyrate hist toned body into every touch and to lift his body to make it easier for her to pull his clothes free by herself.

"Mmmm..." he moans appreciatively as she rubs his six-pack, loving the way her hands feel on his body. He gives her a look of pure anticipation over his gag, raising his eyebrows playfully as she promises to restrain him. She knows being rendered helpless by her is one of his most favorite things in the world.

There isn't a sight in all the realms that Cassie loves better than the sight of Flynn looking up at her. Just seeing those gorgeous, bright blue eyes, filled with awe and warmth, makes her truly feel like the goddess he says she is. He doesn't need his lips to smile at her right now. She knows exactly how happy she's making him.

Of course, now that she's gotten those pesky clothes out of the way, she has more than just his face to ogle right now. And she makes sure to brush her fingers, her stomach, and even her tits against the more enticing parts as she secures his wrists to the headboard and his ankles to the post.

"My, my, aren't YOU the strapping young soldier...?"

If Flynn thought he had already endured all the puns he was going to hear tonight, he was mistaken.

[[Come at me. Can go either way, with particular interest with it being magical and/or aesthetic. D/s play good too.]]

[Open to smut and non-smut scenarios alike! M/M pref for smut, but if your muse doesn't fit that and you're looking for smut, we can talk. Any gag, any reason, but damn do I have an inexplicable kink for guys in muzzles... 🤷‍♂️]

[Here for all iterations of this. Especially fond of shenanigans where everyone is gagged and that's a problem they have to solve via charades and effort.]

[Down for shenanigans with another space faring girl? Maybe the both of them are captured and have to find a way to escape together?]

[I haven't seen the show but, from the wiki I think these two have an uncomfortable amount in common. Which is to say: heck yeah, let's do it.]

[That's what I was feeling when I read a little about Soji. Sometimes you just need to put two disasters in the same room. Do you have any preferences on what kind of trouble they've gotten themselves into?]

[Wrong place wrong time, maybe? Stole a ship or in the process of stealing a ship? Innocent bystanders getting arrested and framed for smuggling? Actually smuggling but pretending they're innocent bystanders being falsely accused? Drunk and disorderly conduct?]

[Oh. Dig these ideas. Maybe were traveling together and their ship was hit by smugglers?]

(( Open to smut and non-smut scenarios! As a bard, gagging him is an effective way to render him powerless ))

[ The one being gagged. Can play him as either the Winter Soldier or voicetest him as post-WS Bucky. Not sure if it'll come up, but I've seen Thunderbolts so I'm good on spoilers.

Assumed cr preferred to start in the middle. Prose preferred.

Smut okay as well as gen. ]

[ most likely to be the one gagged. m/m ]

[Am down for AUs too just LMK. Prefs are also listed there.

Previous CR preferred for this Meme.]

Jim's lips are one of his most beautiful features. Full and perfectly formed, perhaps just a little too big for Jim's face, they catch Illario's attention almost as often as those intensely blue eyes. Between those, it seems unfair that the rest of Jim's assets down get as much attention from Illario.

Today isn't going to be much different.

Illario's thumb gently carrsses Jim's lower lip, the other hand holding onto the gag- not yet ready to put it in place. But oh, he aches to, desperate to touch and caress and tease his gorgeous Marcher for all he's worth. But first:

"Remember, we stop if you feel we need to, for any reason. If it hurts or you can't breathe well enough, or you aren't enjoying what we're doing. Because of the gag, you can't just tell me red, amber or green. So you're going to have to get my attention by touch. Three taps in quick succession to stop. Even if its just for a moment, or you want to stop completely."

It's become something of a routine when Jim shows up at the Dellamorte estate after hours. Coming to Illario for any distraction that will wear him out enough that the Warden can actually sleep. He'd be lying if he said it was the only reason, though. The Crow has some truly interesting games to teach his Warden lover.

Just now, Jim's glancing aside at the length of silk in Illario's hand. His eyebrow raises. This is a new game for them. A way for the man with the weight of Thedas on his shoulders to give up some of that control for just a little while. Even if only behind closed doors.

"I remember. It'll be fine, Illario." He cocks his head to one side and smiles up to the Crow. "When you said you had something you wanted to show me, I didn't figure it was just going to be silk, is all."

Illario looks forwards to Jim's visits with great enthusiasm- they write but Jim is busy saving the world and Illario is still under what amounts to house arrest, so these visits even if they are fleeting in the grand scheme of things, have become almost a focus of Illario's existence. It means he has time to plan, to come up with something Jim will enjoy and, importantly, give him a good solid few hours of peaceful sleep afterwards.

He's been planning this for a little while too, and its not just the one piece of silk. This is simply the first one.

"This silk isn't what I'm showing you, bello mio. What I'm going to show you is how nice it can be when you let someone else look after you, completely and utterly."

He steps forward, letting the silk kiss against Jim's bare chest, the tail of fabric soft as a feather over skin, and his hungry blue eyes follow it, oh he wants to lather all of that skin with his tongue.

"Relax bello. Enjoy this." He says, and then the silk is wrapped carefully around him, covering his mouth, making sure his nose is free.

Jim comes to visit as often as he can get away. More often than he'd indulge if he was Only going for himself. Illario has him very well pegged for how much the Warden puts his duties and his Friends above himself. This goes for his...well. His lover just as much if not moreso. Illario has but to mention how he misses Jim and the man bends over backwards to try to Make time to come visit the Dellamorte estate.

"Compeltely and utterly, huh." Jim thinks he knows what he's in for here. Silk over his mouth, maybe being tied up a bit. He's not worried about being at Illario's mercy. If anything, he's worried about being boring. If he can't talk, can't move, can't do for the Crow...won't Illario grow tired of him?

His gaze follows the silk, then lifts to catch Illario all but drooling over him. At least he has no disillusion of whether or not Illario wants him. The man makes it obvious.

"If you're sure that's what you want. I can only promise to Try to be good." He says with a wink. When the silk covers up his mouth, Jim tests the feel of it. Smiles, opens his mouth a little to feel how it moves around him. Soon Illario has him fully gagged and Jim breathes out slow and deep through his nose.

Tips his head to the side in a bit of a nonverbal question. Does Illario like what he sees, so far?

Jim really has to stop worrying about what he has to do to serve Illario, how he needs to entertain him, and keep his interest. This is a partnership. They look after each other. Not that they take it in turns- but they both have an equal responsibility to each other, and as Jim is yet to learn, themselves.

But Illario thinks it's going to be a long road, if Jim ever gets to that point. He's not built to be selfish. Perhaps that is why that balance so well - Illario only knows how to put himself first. Taking care of Jim, taking some of the weight from his shoulders? It's helping him unlearn that.

"You'll be good. You don't know how to be anything else for me, bello." Illario murmurs, and once the gag is tied, spends a few seconds admiring how gorgeous Jim is like this, naked and unashamed, those blue eyes looking up at him, wanting to please. He has no idea how deep Illario's feelings go. He leans in, kissing Jim's cheek and strokes through his hair. "You're perfect."

He can't resist a moment more, idly petting, admiring, before he pulls away to get the other silk. Not, this time, a thin length of fabric, jet in colour, but a bundle of actual rope. It is silk, unbelievably strong, and incredibly soft, gentle, on the skin.

"Just listen to my voice, and relax. What we're going to do is something a little like dar-saam, Qunari knot-work. It helps ease tension, it gives support, and it feels good. We're going to start simple, to see if you like it. If you don't like it, or it's too tight, or you need a moment, immediately let me know."

He gives Jim a moment, and because at the moment he's unbound, he can touch the rope if he wants, feel it, get used to it.

"I'm going to start with a chest piece, around your torso, around your shoulders, around your arms. It's like an embrace. Are you happy with that?"

Jim's eyes slip half shut, a little shiver coursing up his spine for the praise and fingers through his hair both. Yes, he quite likes This bit. And when the rope comes out, Jim's first thought does drift to Taash and the corded knots she wears each and every day.

He nods to the instruction. Even lifts up his wrists toward Illario in a show of permission given. It's just rope, and to be honest it looks pretty soft. How bad could it be?? The struggle, Jim thinks, is going to be when Illario decides it's time to work him up and take him apart and THEN not being able to move.

"Mmh~"

"Good boy." Illario murmurs, the words soft, gentle, and he leans in again, brushing his lips over Jim's cheekbone and then as Jim holds out his wrists. "Such a good boy."

He trusts so openly and easily, so beautifully, and Illario knows that he doesn't deserve someone to trust him so much. Someone to allow him this much faith. He won't waste it, he won't ever betray Jim in such a way. He wants to prove himself, on top of making this good for Jim. So carefully, he begins to tie the knots, ensuring they aren't too tight, won't pinch or rub. He's skilled in this, but this is more special than when he's done it before, with someone he genuinely cares for.

The knots are intricate and beautiful, closely wrapping from the wrist and almost to his elbow, pressing Jim's forearms together, spending the time it takes to make a mental note of every little scar, every mark, brushing his thumb or fingers over them as he works.

"What people don't realise," He says, voice soft, "Is that this is a way to connect with your lover. Intimate and tender, to learn every inch of their skin. To love every inch of them."

Perhaps he's a fool to trust Illario or Any Crow so fully. Make himself so vulnerable to a people who could take such advantage of him. But he has slept here, before. Has been bare and vulnerable with no way to defend himself. This is not so different from those times. It would just make it more difficult for Jim to get away should something happen.

It's just. He doesn't think anything will. Doesn't believe Illario wants anything bad to happen to him anymore. If Illario won't trust himself, Jim will trust enough for the two of them. But it Is a choice. Not an oversight.

Jim tips his head so he can watch Illario's fingers work the knots. His gaze follows Illario's hands, head tipping this way and that to get a good view over what the man is doing. He's never seen anything like this so close up before, and certainly not in the process of being knotted. Though, as Jim imagines, Qunari aren't doing this for sex reasons day in and day out. Still. It's pretty.

He didn't think he could be pretty anymore, with his scars and after how much he's changed since his days as a pretty lordling sequestered safely away in an estate. At first his brows clearly furrow when Illario brushes over an old sword scar at his upper arm. He doesn't lean away from the touch, but his gaze flits up...Only to see Illario still looking at him as though he were the most beautiful thing. They widen then. Just a little.

"...Mm?" Interest. And a little bit of awe.

"When we have sex, I like to look at you. Touch you. Kiss you. But I'm so eager to have you that I don't make time to let you know how much I admire everything you are. The man that is Jim Kirk."

Jim doesn't understand how Illario sees him. There are scars, yes, but they tell a story. A man who was pampered but caged, who broke free and then has dedicated himself to others every day, every week, every year. First to the Inquisition and the people of southern Thedas. Then, when he was Blighted, he took himself to the Wardens and kept fighting. He took control of his destiny, and every mark earned on that journey is part of him. Part of his loyalty and bravery and his kindness. Part of the man Illario has fallen for.

The design is coming together: fairly simple rows of rope linked by square knots. It has a little give but feels strangely supportive and cradling. Illario pauses when it's done, sliding his hands down the design to the back of Jim's hands and cupping them with his own.

"It means a lot to me, that you trust me. I want to prove you can. I want to be by your side."

"Hm..?" He'd been halfway to giving a muffled chuckle, eyes half lidded while he basked in the praise. But the genuine compliments to things other than his looks have him tipping his head again. He truly doesn't understand how Illario sees him. He's not really ever considered himself much more than a spare son or a scout his entire life.

Even now...

It's Varric's team. Varric's job. JIm's just keeping things together in his stead while the dwarf convalesces. And doing not a great job of it by his own estimation given how things just keep seeming to get worse.

But the job is later. It's outside these walls where Jim finds his arms bound together peering up into Illario's eyes when the man's hand covers his own bound together as they are. He nods when Illario speaks about trust. Even though it's not a question.

Because he does.

"You're being so good again, bello moi," Illario says, knowing full well he's just talking again, talking and talking because Jim will listen to him, unlike the guards or the servants who have been warned about lingering too long in case he tries to charm them. His little visits to the cafe or the night markets of Treviso really don't scratch the itch either. Still, he can at least laugh at himself: "While you're the very definition of captive audience, you're not here for my company-deprived conversation, si?"

Better instead to get on with making Jim feel good, to move on to the slightly more complex knotwork. He picks up another length of rope, still the same soft, flexible silk, just thinner, and shifts to set it down on the edge of the bed.

"This is where I need you on your knees for me. Like that very first time hm? After we sparred. I think about that far too much." He says, helping Jim into that position- it's harder, with your hands tied. But for as bad at jumping as he can be, balance doesn't seem to be his problem. And once he's there? Illario makes a low noise of pleasure, leans in, and kisses Jim despite the gag- stroking his hands up the man's naked inner thigh, and towards his cock.

"These knots are going to be a little more intimate, amore. Like a hand around you, keeping you hard, making you feel so good. I think you'll like it."

Better for Illario to talk and fill the air. Jim also loves to run his mouth but he can't right now and that's already starting to get to him a little. He's blushing for all the praise, watching the Antivan work and only once gesturing for Illario to stop.

Not because of any problems, but--with a bit of muffled noises and turning Illario will eventually figure out--so he can itch Jim's back for him where a bit of the rope tickled him too much.

"Mn?" A tilt of his head. Up. Up and on his knees. Jim can do that. He's moving before Illario gets up to help him with determination. Planting his bound fists into the bedding to anchor him as he leverages himself up. Then Illario is there, helping to steady and brace Jim so he can shuffle upright. He makes a soft huffing noise. A triumphant little 'ha!' that comes out just as "hhh!" for the gag once he's gotten himself there.

All the better to enjoy how Illario seems to react to seeing him like this. His brows lift eagerly, so pleased to be wrapped up in tanned arms and showered with kisses. And then he makes a startled noise of pleasure himself to feel Illario's other hand stroke up his inner thigh.

"Nn~ mnh~!!" His cock gives a lazy twitch but ultimately gets passed up for the time being. He groans when Illario pulls his hand away in clear complaint. But then hushes. The other is still explaining the next bit. He glances down toward his own cock, then back to Illario. "..mm?"

You're gonna tie him up there???

Illario doesn't need to be a mind reader; he just needs to look at those lovely eyes, and he knows what Jim means.

"Yes, bello, I mean your cock. I want you to be hard and aching and enjoying this. That is the point, after all." He murmurs and then presses another kiss to Jim's mouth beneath the silk and then to his throat, finding the pulse point and nuzzling in.

"You know what I love? When you're so turned on, so hard and aching, and that beautiful cock weeps for me." He murmurs into Jim's skin, then lets his hand curl around the length to stroke, slow and satisfying.

"Once your cock is bound, I'll do your legs. And then your chest, where it feels like an embrace. Are you ready for that?"

Well, Jim Is trying to make it clearly obvious what he means, too. So there is that. Illario understanding means he's doing a half decent job of communicating, even like this. He shudders a little as Illario zones in on his throat. At the first graze of teeth so gentle against his pulse point.

He groans long and low and deep. For both the touch and the image Illario paints. Especially because hot on its heels Illario begins to stroke him hard. The Crow's fingers are wicked and Jim cannot ever get enough of them. He lifts up on his thighs into the strokes before long, rocking into Illario's hand as much as he's allowed.

But soon even this will be taken from him. And that brings another flush of color to his face. He shudders once more and then like before he nods. He's not backing down now.

"Good boy." Illario purrs again, letting Jim rock into his touch, letting him enjoy that bliss. "You have no idea how much I want to give myself to you when you're like this."

His fingers uncurl, murmuring a soft apology that he's stopped, and gently begins with the neck series of knots. A loop around the root of his cock, another around his balls, and then a series of carefully spaced knots that apply just the perfect amount of pressure to still feel like a hand, encircling, holding firm but not tight.

"See what I mean, bello? Doesn't it feel nice, to be held, hm?" He asks, finishing the knot and looking back over his handiwork, and unable to stop from stroking his thumb over the crown of Jim's cock.

This is the part Jim's been less than eager to get to. Because it's once he's proudly erect, flushed and pert in Illario's grip, that everything stops. Jim can't help the low whine that escapes him when Illario pulls away. He twitches now and then as the silk brushes against his hypersensitive skin. Every part of him is tingling with his arousal. He'd wondered how the more intimate knots would feel. As Illario finishes Jim squirms a little for the other to watch.

He shudders bodily. Arches his hips up to try and get the rope to rub against him. Then Illario strokes the head of his cock and leaves Jim helplessly twitching against the touch. A bead of fluid oozes from the tip and coats his thumb.

He's gorgeous. Utterly and incredibly hard, dripping into Illario's fingers and he can't help but bring that pearl to his lips and lick it up. There was, after all, very good reason he didn't blindfold Jim- he wants him to see just how much Illario is affected by this too. How much seeing Jim like this makes his own cock harden and throb.

But he can also see there's a thread of worry in Jim's eye, a fear. He doesn't want to be left like this. And this whole experience is about communication and trust- he has to know that Illario is there for him, won't let him suffer, even if Jim can't physically tell him what he needs.

"I was going to do some more across your chest bello moi, but I think you're wound up enough aren't you? Or do you think you can manage for another ten minutes for me? Hold out that long and then we'll come together?"

Maker but Illario looks like sin itself dragging his hand up to his lips to lick Jim's pre from his fingertips. His pupils blow wide watching Illario in the act. Chasing the blue from them until they're so very dark. His hips twitch against nothing.

And there is a worry of just how long he's expected to stay like this. Of what Illario's going to Do with him once he's all bound up. Pitch him forward so Jim has to brace himself on bound hands while Illario fucks him? Eats him out? His hole clenches with every thought.

He shakes his head quickly at the offer of an Out. He wants to see where this is going, doesn't want to miss out (wants to be good for his love--). He can wait he won't lose it, enduring is what he's made for or something to that effect.

He smirks, knowing he's being watched, and he makes a noise of pleasure, shifting his own legs to part his thighs - he's not as stiff and aching as Jim, but he's beginning to feel that desire grow hard and distracting.

Which means he needs to really focus now, moving to take up another length of rope and starting what is actually the trickier set of knots—needing to be carefully placed and tightened just enough around Jim's chest, over and below pectoral muscles, and then winding carefully around his ribs. It shouldn't restrict but feel like a lover's embrace, holding him close and careful.

It had been one of Illario's favourites, the embrace he didn't always necessarily receive. It can be grounding when nothing else is.

"It should feel good, amore. Safe. Like the arms of someone who loves you." He explains as he continues with the careful series of knots and bindings, before he shifts back and puts his hands on Jim's thighs.

"You are utterly perfect, my love. You're being so good. Would you like me to take the gag off? Then you can tell me what reward you want."

Edited 2025-06-04 15:42 (UTC)

Jim's gaze is locked on between Illario's thighs. He squirms with his desire, his eyes dark and hungry. When he's not looking down at himself it is almsot like someone is still gripping his cock. Jim makes a helpless noise and bucks again against the knots. His hands flex where they're bound but he really can't move.

But Illario is There at every turn. Gentle and present. Chasing away even the hint of a panic in Jim with the purr of his voice and his soothing touch. One by one the knots get tied and Jim does his absolute best to keep still for it.

He wants to hold out, but he's really starting to feel needy the longer they drag this out. At the last his gaze flits up, watching Illario's expression. He nods.

Panting a little when the gag comes free.

"I...hhhh. I w-want you to get to enjoy the effort this took t-to do. But Maker I need...You tied me up in front, so. Please. Please take me."

"I am enjoying it," Illario assures- because Jim seems once more to be far too concerned with Illario's own desires, rather than how they both feel. But Jim is that way, selfless to a fault, so asking for some relief must mean he is in a maddening state of arousal.

"Of course," Illario says, lea ing in to catch Jim's lips in a sweet kiss, appreciative and slow, one hand stroking through Jim's hair to calm him, ease some of that tension.

"You have to choose for me. I can help ease you forward, onto your arms. Face down, ass up. Or you can be on your back so I can see every pretty look on your face." He says words soft, gentle, the petting continuing. "You tell me what you want."

Is crouching really so important to sneaking? Gale isn't sure, but the others always do it, so he does as well, even though the cracking of his knees may end up giving him away.

Trying to clear the goblin camp had not quite gone to plan. It had started so well, with the group easily infiltrating the place as True Souls revered by the goblins. Gale isn't exactly sure where it all went wrong, but their intrepid leader being taken captive certainly wasn't part of the plan.

This part should probably be Astarion's job, but he's busy slinking through the shadows slitting throats. Besides, Gale needed to be the one to get Jim, to make sure he was okay, for reasons he wasn't keen on interrogating at the moment.

Jim must have heard him creeping into the room, because he starts making muffled noises. See? Gale is bad at sneaking. "Sshhh! It's me. This isn't my forte, but it'll be much easier if you don't make noise."

At least Jim hasn't been put on the rack the poor mercenary recruit was on. Jim got caught after he cut the man down and freed him. Thankfully, a quick wit and a sharp tongue have gotten him thrown in a cell 'for now' as Vollo's apprentice. This probably has a lot to do with why Jim's been gagged in the first place. Seems not everyone is as keen on the bard as his jailer is.

"Mmmf--" They've taken his bow, probably stashed it Somewhere. Jim really hopes it's not gone far because if he's left to try to defend himself with just his one dagger he's going to be in a really shit situation.

His noises are more trying to warn Gale about the guards than any panic. As he's shushed Jim falls obediently quiet. Save for a black eye he seems to be not that much worse for the wear. Aside form the imprisonment.

"Alright, I'm just going to cut your bindings," Gale whispers. Then he immediately realizes he has nothing to cut them with -- he's a wizard, if someone has gotten that close to him, he's going to opt for shocking grasp over a dagger. "Do you still have your dagger? If not, I'll have to burn through the robes, but I'd rather not risk it." He doesn't wait for an answer before he starts patting Jim down, searching the most likely places for a hidden blade.

A nod, thankfully no more attempts at nonsensical noises for communication.

Any other time he'd flush up to the tips of his ears to feel Gale's hands all over him like this without preamble but right now? High on adrenaline and nerves for someone coming in before Jim's free to provide backup? He shifts on his knees to angle one side more toward Gale's view. Tucked up underneath the back of his leathers is a small sheath for a dagger. More of a hunter's knife than something Astarion would use on people but decidedly better than Nothing.

And in the immediate the right tool for the job of cutting Jim free.

"Sorry, sorry," Gale whispers as he has to go digging for the blade. Maybe he should start carrying one of his own, just in case. "Alright, let me just--"

Footfalls. There's just enough time for Gale to cast an invisibility spell, but he's still pressed into Jim's space. If anyone approaches the prisoner, they'll run right into Gale.

[I mean. Look. (warning: nsfw/suggestive content). Preference for assertive/consensual scenarios. Can give or receive. I like shippy/smutty.]

Edited 2025-05-30 00:58 (UTC)

[open to smut and non-smut scenarios.]

[Shut him up. Smut is very much welcome. Kinks on journal.]

[info on journal. literally can’t shut up so probably being the one gagged. assumed cr/crosscanon/au’s all welcome!]

[Oh noooo~ he's all tied up and gagged ~ ! Is it from some more adventurous play, or was he just poking his nose somewhere he shouldn't and someone cottoned on that he's kind of suspicious af...?]

[ Ooh, fun !! Totally pulling the gag on himself. :> ]

[Like this, she almost seems convincing as a capable intel agent.

F/F for anything of a shippy or sexy nature, OTA for other nonsense.]

[ walks in to see this

starts turning on her heel to walk out. ]

Mmmmm!

[YOU CAN'T JUST LEAVE HER HERE!

~~aaaaand her credibility is zeroed out once again~~]

[It is so tempting to basically fuck right the hell off but now that Tojo's doing that, she supposes she can't ignore it...

Just going to walk right back and just rip the tape off her mouth.]

What the hell happened?

[Does she even want to know??]

Owwwww!

[HER POOR LIPS! Give her a second to recover.]

It was Karrie. [Because of course it was.] I'm glad she didn't kill me, but...

What'd ya do ta piss her off that she wanted to shut you up?

[And not kill her, for that matter. She knows the gag here.]

I was with Karen and she just suddenly came out!

[The complete lack of details here is probably a red flag.]

. . . And?

And she just left me like that!

[Look- Ash might not exactly be the kind of alien usually fought here. But she was the adopted daughter of a con artist, so the occasional kidnapping wasn't beyond her.

Which is why she's holding up a cloth to Tsukasa's mouth.]

Okay. Open up so the spaceship can dock~!

(He's not likely to gag someone for mean or kind purposes, and if he's gagged it's likely to protect whoever did it, and it's likely not the only thing bound. Because if he can't throw hands he will hurt your feelings if allowed.)

The smart thing to do would be to kill him.

Illario knew that as he surveyed the bound and gagged man across from him, the one that had been actively ruining everything ever since he had arrived in Treviso with Teia. He could kill him. It would be much easier to kill him than kill Caterina or Lucanis- although he had no idea where either were presently- and once more, that was the fault of the Warden in front of him.

Illario pushed himself up from the plush chair, moving towards the older man and trying to settle his swirling thoughts. Killing him was the best choice.

But that would bring Lucanis here, baying for his blood and the rest of the mismatched group of would-be god-killers. He didn't know if he could deal with all of them. Lucanis would be prepared now he didn't miss a trick.

But Rook was here, helpless, those amber eyes watching him, watching.

He pushed it down and pulled his gaze away, finding it easier to speak when he didn't look the man in the face.

"This is not personal, Rook." He says, "I find your company refreshing. But I can not risk everything I have been working on. Not when I have come so far."

Grier had to accept a lot of things about his situation very quickly, when he woke up on that couch in the Meditation room, alone, and not the bed he shared in the music room -- which did not exist anymore. Or rather, did not yet exist. Or quickly learning that many things he knew to be true had not yet happened.

That the gods were still alive -- not even the eclipse had come yet.

That Varric was...nowhere to be found. Not the shade of him in the infirmary, no trace of his presence that Grier could feel. Which also meant that Grier Thorne would sound strange to everyone.

Even Solas. Maybe especially Solas.

The death of Zara Renata had been recent. Lucanis was wrestling with the reality that Illario knew he was a demon, may have used blood magic on him, and was possibly involved in his capture.

Illario, who was not yet an almost Grey Warden trying to better himself. Illario who was not here. And if things had already changed, what was to say he would still be saved if things were allowed to play out as before?

It all felt too grounded, moved too slowly to be a dream. But still, he acted quickly. Left word with the Caretaker to give himself some time. To wait for someone coming before him. Just in case something happened. In case he failed. Then he went through the Eluvian to head alone to Treviso. First: go to Caterina and speak to her. He knew where she was. It would help if someone knew what he was planning to do, and that things would still be put to rights if he failed.

Being captured in the most suspicious of places had not necessarily been the plan, but if this was the only way he could get Illario to talk to him, then so be it.

If he would even let him talk.

As it is, his head is swimming. His limbs, bound, feel heavy. It's a spell he doesn't know, but tendrils of some manner of magic is, or was, present.

And yet part of him is still relieved to see the other man. Until now, just remembering how history would play out had not been enough to even assure him Illario was all right. But he calls him Rook. He won't look at him, either because of what he is about to do (and doesn't want to?) or, can Grier hope that maybe the spark of those later affections grew much earlier than he guessed.

He tries for a moment to see if he can dislodge the gag over his mouth, but everything feels slower. Instead a muffled attempt at a word, and he waits.

Just kill him Illario urges himself, fingers still refusing to draw the blade from its sheath. How many people had he killed, bound and gagged like this? Countless marks. Countless assassins were sent after him or Lucanis, even Caterina. He questioned them and then dispatched them, and that was it.

Perhaps that was why he hesitated. Because Rook knew things. Those deep amber eyes saw so many places and so many people, and took in the details. Behind them, the man formed plans. There were things he could learn, valuable things. Things about the Lighthouse and its inhabitants. What the Grey Wardens or Shadow Dragons were doing. Perhaps about the Antaam who needed to be driven out of his city.

He steels himself because he knows what undoing the gag means. That voice, lilted and unique to his ear, was almost mesmerising—just like those eyes.

"I have questions, " he says, although none have yet formed in his mind. He tries not to show that. Never let them know you aren't prepared, Caterina would say. You will answer them. Understood?"

He waits for the nod and then tugs the silk down from the other man's mouth.

"How did you know where to find Caterina?" Oh, that's a good one. That will be useful.

Edited 2025-05-30 17:52 (UTC)

Something in Grier's blood quickens a little at the stern prompting. Again just the familiarity of a voice he knows and often would hear in less dire circumstances. But he masters himself, nods his consent.

Even knowing he was about to sound strange, and it might lead to more questions. And he could make up a reason for that, but leaning on half-truths in most situations was going to be his better bet here.

"I took a chance thinking that you would not let her die and followed the hunch from there." His accent is a thick, Starkhaven brogue, which it certainly was not when he came to the Crows initially, or since.

The voice isn't right—he frowns at Rook as he speaks, uncertain if the man in front of him is truly what he appears, unable to keep his concern from his expression. His fingers find the blade at his hip—not the Venatori sickle but his Crow blade—and he holds it close to the man's throat.

He was in two minds about killing him. But if this is some imposter? A Venatori blood mage disguised to look like Rook? Then, he will kill them without a second thought.

"Who are you? You do not sound like the Rook I know." He says, voice all the harder for his determination. "What did you drink with Lucanis and I at Cafe Pietra?"

Because Grier feels weak from the spell, even if Varric is no longer healing in him, having his throat slit is probably still going to be more of a problem than usual, even if it is not the dagger. It might not kill him, but he is probably going to take a lot longer to heal, look ghastly doing it, and probably hurt the entire time.

And then Illario Dellamorte would have far more questions. And ties to people who do not need to know he can do that.

"Chocolate." He is not going to try the proper name, he only heard it the one time. "I was in the mood for something sweet, not bitter."

Answer the more definitive, identifying question first.

"The Free Marches accent is easier to understand in some places," he says with a wince. "It's just a little difficult for me to do right now, thanks to whatever you've done."

Edited 2025-05-30 19:27 (UTC)

Illario knows nothing of this ability, because no one can do that, save the ancient elven gods before their archdemons. If this man proves not to be Rook and he does not die from a knife to the throat, it might so Illario some mental damage.

But the answer seems to both satisfy and settle him. He assumes a Venatori would never bother to learn such a menial detail, that no one but the three of them that were there wpuld know. So the razor-sharp edge of the blade drops away from Rook's throat, and is tucked back into it's sheath.

"I had to restrain you. My apologies, I appreciate the after-effects are not pleasant. As I said, this is not personal." He pauses, just for a moment, looking down at the other man. He can't kill him. He knows he should. He shoukd have killed Caterina at the Cantori Diamond instead of beinging her back here. He should have killed Lucanis after he had killed Zara. But he couldn't bring himself to do either.

"You shouldn't have come here, Rook." Illario breathes. "This was not your fight."

Illario's looking at him. It's overwhelming for a moment in a way he's not expecting. Some confirmation that this madness is real because this feels the most real. But he's so tired. This was so long before they had a chance to connect and the weight of everything on his shoulders is so clear.

"It involves the Venatori and therefore the gods," Grier says, trying to present it plainly to keep his diction slow enough to remain clear in spite of his accent, but there is a softness there. A tone that suggests understanding and open hears. "So with respect, I'm afraid it very much is my fight. And I am not looking to make the Dellamorte family a casualty of that."

He tries to lean forward but his bindings don't really allow that.

His magic is hesitating to answer him. More of that spell. Some manner of sedation, perhaps. It's there, but it doesn't feel quite right.

"Let me help you."

For a moment, as eyes meet, Illario feels something starkly unpleasant. Like old snake skin, layers fall away; not just the few surface ones that are just surface decoration, but the deeper ones that hide so close to the bone that they are almost part of him now, so close to being true that only on his best days can he differentiate them from what is real. He breaks the gaze, only to snap back towards Rook when the man he says that he does not want the family to be a casualty.

Illario can see him move, can see Rook lean against the ropes, testing them, trying them. The man is a capable enemy, but not physically powerful. Shorter, slender, older, and there's the limp that Illario noticed on their first meeting. But no matter how Rook moves, there is no give. Illario was always better at knots than Lucanis, always better at making them hold fast even against the strongest of prisoners and, it has to be said, lovers.

"Help me?" Illario laughs, both in surprise and in bitterness. "Should I untie you and give you a knife, and you can slit my throat instead? What do you think you can do to help me at this point?"

He can lose everything, or lose everything. There are no other ways forward. He can push on, take the seat of First Talon until Lucanis kills him, or he can kill his cousin himself this time, and forever be alone. He's tried to think of how else this could go: if he could melt away and leave Antiva. Maybe run to Tevinter and try to cover up what he had done to Zara Renata. Or he could just run the blade across his own throat, although the idea fills him with cold dread.

I would never is nearly on Grier's lips, but some self-control and another, more pressing question stops him short. Maybe some of that answer finds its way into his face, though, that says the notion of killing him is not just detestable to him, but possibly horrifying. The Illario that knows him knows he couldn't bring himself to do such a thing. Surely.

"I am a Grey Warden," he says after a beat. "Do you think I have not offered grace to people in worse positions than you?"

And he shakes his head.

"And this is not me invoking Conscription on you. Just pointing out that I am no stranger to the idea of second chances. But I do think you need to step away from the Crows. Especially now that it is clear that the Venatori are involved."

There's something there, something Illario doesn't understand. What passes across Rook's face isn't just a distaste for a particularly messy death or a desire to bring Illario to justice in front of the Talons. It's something that actually cuts Rook to the quick as a person, as a man.

He moves a little closer, as if closing the distance might give him some clue to what Rook is thinking. Illario meets his eyes and holds that gaze, trying to see what's being kept from him.

"I do not think there are many people worse than me." He says quietly. "You know what I did, don't you? I used blood magic on you. On my kin. Do you think the Wardens would welcome me?"

"They welcomed me."

It's a reflex response. Not that the Wardens ever knew what he was. Some of them came to, understood that the Joining did not work on him, but that he chose to live as a Warden just the same. That made him Warden enough for them.

"You hate being here." It is not a question. It almost was. It surprises him in the moment that he never asked it before. "You were angry to be here before Lucanis was even mentioned."

He remembers their first meeting. Illario knew how to be charming, but there was always something boiling. He always found a way to make himself scarce when it started to break the surface.

"Being in control of it would just put more weight on you."

"They welcomed you until you disobeyed the leadership one too many times. You showed no respect for their authority so they sent you to Varric." Illario knows all this. Teia might now suspecting Illario of many things but at the beginning she trusted him to tell him all she knew about Grier Thorne.

But not enough. There's more here. He can almost feel it. Almost taste it. But it's as intangible to him as clouds.

"I do hate it. But if I can control it, I can make us safe." Apart from there would have been no "us" withput Lucanis.

Grier does a very good job of not looking offended.

"I was released on my own recognizance after a trial to determine whether I acted out of turn in disobeying direct orders -- that was not a conviction. I was invited to join Varric who happened to be an eye witness." He was not immediately reassigned, but then Varric moved them around so much, it would have been difficult to find him even if they had tried to. "...For the record."

He is quiet when Illario explains his state, his admission, giving it the full momentum that it deserves, time to consider before he says anything in response.

"You can't control it. The Venatori are involved because the elven gods intend to pull the strings in the end, and then no one will be safe. And being able to control it will not stop you from hating it."

Edited 2025-05-30 21:45 (UTC)

Illario presses his lips together firmly to try and push back the grin that wants to appear. He doesn't know why; he doesn't feel like smiling, and he knows how dire the situation is, but Rook's correction tugs at something in him. It's amusing, but the offended expression on Rook's face...

Illario brings a hand to his forehead, rubbing at the tension in his temples. Between the blood loss needed for the spell to immobilise Rook and the general stress, he knows he isn't being rational. But he has no time. There's no time at all anymore.

"The gods-" he begins. Zara had talked about them not as creatures to worship but as tools. As people they could manipulate and keep at bay. He could manage that. He could keep Treviso and Lucanis safe if he played along with Elgar'nan's plans. It would be no different to managing the different factions at play like Caterina had always done.

But the whole thing seems so exhausting. They're gods, or at least, more powerful mages than Thedas has known since.

"Ilario, in cosa ti sei cacciato adesso?" He murrers under his breath, and looks to Grier.

"Are you sure the Wardens would take me?"

Grier tells himself that incorrect information about him circulating is not necessarily a bad thing. It also means the Venatori has incorrect information, more than likely. But when Varric called him a man who "prefers to work in straight lines" it can be a touch literal. He just does what he wants and people get tired of arguing eventually.

But if Illario is listening? If he's getting through? Maybe things can be even better, even if changed. He can still help Lucanis and Spite without the total breakdown of his family being the catalyst. "It can be a good place to begin again, and not even the only one."

But how do you not press too hard when things are dire? When the wrong word said might seem insincere, and then what? Does he die right here?

Illario's mind churns through it all. The Venatori. The Gods. Caterina. Lucanis. The hurt, the pain, the frustration, the satisfaction of a plan, the anxiety of the plan gone wrong. Sleepless nights and terrifying days, hungry and nauseous and frightened and holding on by his fingernails. It bubbles and turns inside him and becomes the familiar throbbing pain behind his eyes.

"Rook, please, be quiet." He says, the other man's words pounding on the door to his skull. There's too much, and he wants to scream or push over the table, but never once do his thoughts turn to hurting the man tied in the chair in front of him.

It takes a moment, several, truly, wasting more and more of the time he doesn't have. The Wardens. The Joining. The Calling. He knows very little about it, apart from the definitive end. He would be far from Treviso. Far from Antiva. Would Caterina or Lucanis bother following him to the ends of Thedas? Would they just let the dark roads do that work for them? But Lucanis has the ELuvians, he could get anywhere, a knife in the dark, the demon inside him would push and push-

But here? What chance does he have here? Caterina is loose somewhere, she could be anywhere-

"No where is safe for me, Grier. My family are my enemies, and if I spare them, then I have the Venatori to face." He sucks in a breath, not even realising he's used the man's real name. "The Venatori are here. In the Opera house. Killing them will give me more time."

He allows Illario that moment, wrestling with a pressure he has not seen on him in so long as far as his memory is concerned. If bindings were not already involved he would be fighting much harder against the urge to just get him to be still. To hold him.

He promised Caterina, before he woke up in his own past, that he would take care of him. He promised himself.

"Your grandmother trusted me when I said I was going to talk to you." And Lucanis would, eventually, if he had told him up front that he was coming here. "...And unfortunately, it is not the only place the Venatori are in Treviso, if my information is correct. You also have an advantage where you stand now, because they do not know that we are talking."

Illario had no idea what it might be like to be held by this man. He hasn't even thought to imagine it. He hasn't thought about anything beyond surviving and getting to the next day since Lucanis showed up alive, whole, and changed. His heart soared joyfully at that moment, and his stomach crashed through the floor.

"The two of us can't clear out the whole city. But we can clear out those who are here, and that gives my grandmother more chances to get out. She might be First Talon, but she is still my grandmother." Illario replies and moves, untying the ropes that bind Grier's hands and his torso to the chair.

"You and your friends will have to deal with the rest of Treviso. Once my betrayal is known, I doubt I will be of any use but kindling."

The nearest Eluvian is going to be in the Cantori Diamond, not the only one but the other might be prohibitively hard to get to. Once Caterina gets that far, she will be among friends, and Teia and Viago would be quick to hide her until the smoke clears. But it also means that no matter what, he is going to have to get Illario there to take him anywhere else.

The Wardens are the immediate thought. Possibly even the Lords, given their friendly terms with the Crows and direct opposition to the Antaam. There is not a single corner of Thedas that is not a danger of some kind.

But Antiva is not safe for Illario until it is clear to all that it matters to that Grier has indeed been successful in turning things around.

And all that requires getting him out of a hotbed of Venatori first. The second Grier walks out of this room, they are going to know Illario is compromised. And continuing to play that he is fully captured, even subdued or turned, could be dangerous. What if they summon Elgarnan or Ghilanain?

"Considering we are going to have to make it back to the Diamond, that is going to be a tall order all around."

The tendrils of that foreign magic are starting to wear off. But that inward part of himself that makes a side of his face numb and his chest constrict reminds him that he could have an edge.

Illario hasn't given much thought to the Lords of Fortune. They're pirates basically, treasure hunters who rob graves and ruins, shipwrecks and ancient places better left undisturbed. They don't even factor into his head as an option for him- the Wardens at least have work, a cause, he can work toward that. He is used to an organisation like that.

But he finishes untying the ropes, lets them drop down and then he steps back, away, letting the other man stand and get used to freedom again. He wasn't bound long, wasn't harmed by the blood magic that Illario had used on him. No lasting harm anyway, there's always a lingering unpleasantness to being controlled. But Rook? He seems to be able to bounce back from almost anything.

"What do you suggest? I can get us out of the villa unseen, if you want to leave a nest of Venatori here." He says, "If you trust me. I would not blame you if you did not."

Oh he's sure Caterina and Lucanis would love that. But maybe that can be used later.

Getting out quietly may be the better plan at this point in time.

Grier brings his hands around in front of them, flexing his fingers. It is still affecting him. "First question: Where is my spellblade and orb?"

He takes a moment, watching Rook recover himself, wrists and fingers still moving stiffly, and he steps a little closer, before pausing. He knows better than to try to get too close, not when Rook still has no reason to trust him. So instead of reaching out to try and help blood flow back easily, he steps back to give the man room.

"Rub circles into your wrists and then the centre of your palm. Then fingers. It gets the blood moving. I'll get your weapons." He says, and moves carefully towards a chest by the wall, opening it and getting out both spellblade and orb, offering them back out.

"I'm in your hands. If leaving quietly is what you think is best, we should leave sooner rather than later."

Grier didn't bring the lyrium dagger with him for good reason. On the off chance that things went south, that did not need to fall into the Venatori's hands. The orb slips into his bag -- more a prop than anything, they both are. Things to make it look like the magic he was doing was normal to this world. The dagger, a jagged silver thing with strange writing on the blade, in a language unknown to anyone here. He turns it over in his hands before attaching it to his hip.

"Do you know about how many are here?" he asks.

Because they could slip out undetected if he trusted enough to use the secret entrance under the villa. Likely the same one Caterina would have used to escape. But that Lucanis was sure Illario did not know about. The trouble was that the Venatori could translocate. As soon as the jig was up, anyone left would immediately raise the alarm.

The other immediate option was to kill them and try to do it without any of them noticing until it was too late. It would buy them time until whatever kind of rotation they had arranged.

"...And how much can you do with that brooch?"

Illario watches, studying the way the man handles his weaponry- you can always learn a lot about someone from the care of the things that might save their life. Rook moves... differently with the orb and spellblade than he's used to seeing, snd it makes him wonder if before now he was more used to a staff. If so why change?

He'll think about it later, because it doesn't sit right with him.

Instead he addresses the question, raising a dark, sculptured eyebrow into an arch. Of course he lnows how many are in his house.

"There's a dozen or so in the Opera House. Two patrolling the family apartments, two around the library, two near Caterina's study. Two in the gardens." He pauses, a little grin pulling at his features. "Not a difficult number for a Crow. But you know that."

Of course it seems that Rook has another idea, based on his next question and Illario shifts his weoght on his feet, uncomfortable in drawing attention to the broach and what it does.

"A fair amount. I am no mage but as long as I feed it, I could control perhaps... five of them at once. Or harm them. But I need to be in sight of them to do so. Why?"

He hates this. He hates the idea that he is about to ask him to consider using it. Part of him wants him to do something else that he would be equally resistant to, and given the fickle forms his magic could take, would likely end in him still using blood magic anyway.

"Caterina said that everyone was fooled, because they used blood magic to disguise another body as Lucanis," he says with a raised eyebrow.

If they think that Grier, or even both of them, are dead, they have nothing to raise another alarm about. As it is a bulk of them are likely already looking for Caterina. They might pull back if they think Illario is dead, expecting enemies to converge.

Illario frowns, fingers moving up towards the broach, feeling the whispering start in his ears, the hunger for his blood, the promise of power in exchange. He's careful enough not to cut himself on it yet, not before they're ready, but caressijg the thing makes it easier to work out how he needs to do it.

"If we find two about the right builds and heights, I can do it. Are you prepared to leave your clothes on the corpse?"

He has to ask the question, because leaving the bodies in Venatori clothing will make the others suspicious. At least, here in Illario's own home, he has a change of clothes.

"I think there are clothes that will fit you in the next room over. They won't be very fashionable, but needs must."

"Someone will notice two strangers in plainclothes leaving. It will take longer to be suspicious of two agents changing shifts, and evil cults and criminal cells do love wearing masks."

He doesn't quite move to stand yet. It will be easier to lure two people in if he does not look like he's free. That would be the simpler way to do this. Get a couple lackies in under the guise of assisting Illario.

"Are you prepared to leave your clothes? I might be able to glamor those with little effort. But not that." He nods toward the brooch. "Even if I could, I am not putting it past them being able to test for the real thing."

"I have other clothes here. But-" the possibility of leaving the broach is a hard one. It is so useful, it's served him very well in the last few months. The very idea of taking it off almost hurts, a sharp pain through from the broach into his chest.

"They might not think to look for it." He says, throwing it out more in hope than with any absolute certainty. But the reat of the plan? That he agrees with.

"I'll fetch two. You stay here, on the chair. They won't realise you're untied." He hopes they don't. For the forst time in a long time he feels something a little like hope. Maybe its still fear. Maybe its still terror. But it means someone else is shouldering some of the thinking and that helps. That feels like a weight off his shoulders.

And then he's stepping outside, finding the two guards and luring them back. Rook's captured he needs them to help interrogate the prisoner. They're almost tripping over themselves to do it, and when they steo into the room and Illario closes the door behind them, its the work of a moment to press a knife soundlessly into one's kidney and twist.

Illario doesn't give him time to argue but that hesitation is visible and deliberate. It's a holdout, a last sliver that might still make things go wrong, and for the moment there is no room to argue.

But they are working almost immediately; he shifts his wrists behind his back and bows his head. The image of a tired, maybe a little ruffled prisoner, but still with some bite left. In fact the sight of him is arresting enough, that defiant gaze that takes in each of them singularly. He is known. They are not, but he is seeing them.

There's a level of bigness that comes of that, even from an enemy. At least they get to save that in their final moments.

A mildly dramatic "Oh must we?" does much to cover the dying sounds of one, that the other is a touch delayed in realizing the scene has changed.

Because Venatori are trained to prefer death over failure.

He needs the broach on for the moment. He'll need it for the blood magic, and maybe he can take it off after that. But there's something nasty wriggling and twisting in him that tells him not to, to keep it on. It's his last resort, it's what makes him strong enough to escape Caterina and Lucanis.

There's no time to dwell on that, though. One Venatori lies dying on the floor, blood soaking the tiles; the second seems too surprised by the betrayal to react too quickly but still manages to dart away from Illario’s blade and then start summoning some sort of spell to throw back at Illario.

Illario is no mage killer, not like his cousin, but he's quick on his feet and darts away, hopefully fast enough.

Edited 2025-06-01 16:32 (UTC)

The cultist is murmuring something under his breath, and the feel of the hairs on the back of Grier's neck rising tells him it's something with a verbal component. He moves quickly, taking advantage of the fact that he is being ignored, but he is not thinking about what will kill him quickest. The man needs to be neutralized without drawing attention from outside, but the first thought is to stop the spell.

So when the punch lands it is squarely in the throat. As is windpipe buckles under the sudden trauma and sound is choked down -- no words, and more importantly no screaming -- the magic crackling in the air dissipates, its focus lost.

Illario expects some counterspell when Grier moves, something magic to combat magic. Not a punch to the throat, which damages the windpipe so thoroughly that the Venatori collapses without even finishing casting whatever it was they'd been intending to unleash.

He bends to one knee, cleaning the blade of his knife on the robes of the fallen.

"That was highly impressive." He says, no word of it a lie, and he seems to be looking at Rook with a new found respect. "I didn't think that was something I'd ever see any of your team do. Well, perhaps the other Warden."

Then, carefully, he pulls his glove from his right hand and slides his fingers across the razor-sharp edge of the broach. Blossoming blood fills the air with a red mist, and then Illario directs it into the face of the Venatori.

The face seems to melt hot wax and then begins to reform, a very passage mimic of Illario's own features. It takes time, Illario's blood slipping free as he works, feeding the magic and when he's done, he's breathing a little harder than before, and he doesn't try to stand immediately.

"You will be harder. I'm not that familiar with your face." He says, after a few more steadying breaths. "I'll need to get a better look at you."

Illario would have no reason to know how many times Rook has walked into a dangerous situation unarmed in previous months. The Venatori of late never know what to expect of him, because he could unleash spellwork but he has also downed entire groups of them with nothing but bar furniture. But throwing a chair (on top of just dispatching him) was going to be a bit louder, too.

At Illario's suggestion, he stops short. First at the idea that there is an Illario that doesn't know his face well. But then that familiar...uncertainty. At being perceived.

Grier's face falls briefly before he looks at him, determined not to delay things with his own strange misgivings.

There's that blackness in him, that he can almost feel pulsing against his cheek, seeming to clench on his torso, that says he could do it.

"If you overtax yourself, it will slow things down."

Illario has no reason to know for sure, but from that confident display, he might hazard a guess- you do not punch like that unless you are certain you can land it well, and there was no hesitation in Rook's movements. Even well-trained Crows might think twice before trying such a thing.

"I doubt we have time to waste. I'll be fine." He replies to Rook's concern, and then he shifts, getting up and moving closer, and then pausing, going still, and making an apologetic noise.

"Can I touch you?" Rook would be well within his rights to say no to that, so Illario adds, "It might help."

After all, he's so familiar with the shape and look of his own face that it's easy to replicate, but Rook is still a stranger, in truth.

If Rook allows him to do as he asks, Illario's unblooded hand reaches out, tucking Rook's hair out of the way and brushing his fingertips over that sharp jaw and the prominent shape of his brow.

He swallows a little more visibly than he'd like and tries not to think about how handsome the man who has ruined all his plans is.

"I...Yes. I understand."

Now is not the time to let that take the breath out of him. Some nearer contact that is not part of them yet, not anymore. The charm in being asked. Careful hesitation that he knows he is probably reading wrong, but something like hope blooms in him.

There's a part of him that still blanches when the marks on his face are touched, even if they at least obscure marks of age.

But he catches sight of something like conflict. It overrides even the temptation to answer the magic in him. "It's going to be all right. I promise."

Illario is grateful for the man's agreement- that at least shows more freely in his face before his blue eyes open a little wider and he starts to try and learn Rook's face. It's strangely intimate, for two men who by rights might want to harm each other. Strangely trusting and while enjoyable is the wrong word, there's a strange feeling that settles into Illario's stomach that feels... if not good than at least reassuring.

He sees and feels the flinch, and for a momwnt he thinks he's brushed a sensitive bruise or barely healed wound, but there'd none of that. Instead he realises it's because of the dark shapes beneath the man's skin.

"You have such a very handsome jaw." He says, the first thing that comes into his head, unfiltered- he'll blame the blood loss and stress, but it should distract Rook well enough.

It's going to be all right. I promise. Rook says and Illario should be able to come up with so many witty replies to that. But as things stand? He turns hopeful eyes on the other man and gives a small nod.

"I hope so." He murmurs, and then takes a breath to try and refocus. "Let's see if I can manage a passable replica of you, shall we?"

This is hardly the first time this man, in particular, has been this close to him. Not by Grier's recollection, anyhow. Perhaps the danger of the moment, the vanishing of context< all of it? Makes it feel as uncertain as before. Waiting for the ugliness to be taken in full and acknowledged.

A small burst of pink finds his features. "You're being kind."

Illario continues to take in his features, and even when he's avoiding a full gaze, Grier is reading body language, looking for telltale signs the man might be going too far in his bloodletting.

"Here." He kneels down and fishes a vial out of the leg of his boot. Where one would expect him to have poison or even another weapon on his person however, it's an elfroot potion. An emergency portion when the bottles usually at his hip are either not present (like now) or drained.

Anyone who has seen him during a mission might have noticed he tends to sip from one fairly regularly. A little more than regularly. Always careful to take more when he happens upon some.

"The kind one of us is Lucanis." Illario replies, but even so, the fact that such a silly slip of the young can make Rook blush is... well. He'd assumed the man was straight. Maybe that was foolish, he should know better, but with everything? He might have noticed how attractive Rook is, but he knows better than to have entertained anything more.

Now is not the time to start wondering either. They have work to do and Rook is moving, shifting, making ready pull a knife-

-A vial. A potion, from the colour and viscosity. It could be poison, elfroot potions can be augmented and tampered with but he doesn't think a Warden is the sort. That's something a Crow would do.

"If I drink it now, I'll only need another one after. Give me a moment." He takes the vial, and offers Rook what he hopes is a thankful smile.

Then he's dropping to his knees by the other body and considering the blood from his right hand is only oozing slowly now, he runs the fingers of the left hand across the broach's blade. Again, the red mist forms, but a little slower this time and Illario breathes harder from the get go as he pours himself into trying to match Grier's features. The strong brow, the amber eyes, the distinctive nose and jaw. He spends too long on the lips, trying to get it right, and the the particular colour of the man's hair, many shades as it catches the light. Once he's done he sits back on his heels and reaches for the potion, swallowing it down as his fingers still bleed.

"I... I wouldn't normally ask for you to look at your own corpse but... will it do?"

A hand falls to the man's shoulder to steady him when he finishes. Grier does as asked and...well there is a reason one shouldn't make a habit of this. It's rather grisly. And wouldn't be if he were not well-copied. "Unsettlingly perfect. ...I think changing the clothes is all we really need to worry about."

And that in itself is a careful process. He even notably makes sure that both his spellblade and orb are left in the room, perhaps a struggle to reclaim them. Though notably he squeezes the handle of the blade and it...changes. Or rather reverts. Still a spellblade but decidedly less alien looking. He was already disguising it?

"You're going to want to leave the broach on him," he finally puts in gently. "...That kind of magic gets more of a hold on you the more you use it. There's more of a price than just your blood. I'm willing to wager you're still thinking about using it even now."

"I'll accept perfect." He says, still exhausted. Ilalrio doesn't mean to lean into Rook's steadying hold, but he does even as the potion begins to help wounds close. It doesn't replace the blood lost, but at least Illario isn't losing any more. That is a good thing, whatever way you look at it.

He stays like that until Rook lets him go. He needs to focus on his own magic, and really, he shouldn't feel the loss of that hand so badly. Apart from this man, who else has touched him recently? Willingly? Lucanis he thinks, when he tried to kill him at the bloodied bath-house beneath the Chantry.

When Rook prompts him about the broach, a fresh wave of unpleasant pain goes through him, starting at his chest and radiating out.

"It will prove useful-" he begins, which eases the hurt, but there's something in Rook's eyes something knowing, and it makes Illario want to squirm away.

"That's the magic you are feeling right now."

His voice is gentle, understanding, but yes -- knowing. And there is some temptation to touch him again, but he knows it will be a little too forward. It will look like manipulation, and that is not what he is trying to do.

"There is a reason that people who get into using blood magic never keep it small forever. Please do not leave that way open for yourself. You are worth more than that."

He feels ever so tired again, rung out and delaying getting to his feet for as long as possible. Its so much easier to simply stay on the floor rather than fight how tired he is, how sore. Trying to move anywhere seems too much effort, even lifting his hands to his chest to remove the broach.

But he's also too tired to hide it, to stop himself looking up at Rook and bother to hide the expression on his face- fear of the future, of his fanily, rhw unknown. The broach offer protection, even if it comes at a cost. And behind all of that, the hope that those words might be true. That he might really be worth more.

"Do you truly think that?"

"I do."

He can't hold him. He can't reassure that uncertainty and fear he has seen in some form before. Even tell him that Illario Dellamorte would have eventually come to this conclusion even without him here right now.

But he can offer a hand to help him up.

"Do you believe me?"

"I'm trying to." Illario replies, abd he hopes his voice conveys that it isn't Rook that makes him doubt it. It's himself, the still churning fear. But he takes the hand thats held out to him, getting to his feet with Rook's help. The Warden's grip is strong and solid, reassuringly certain and unwavering, despire the sins of the man he helps up.

Maybe if Rook believes in him, a man who has done what so many think is impossible, Illario can believe in it too.

He takes a steadying breath, fingers trembling as they try to fight him but when he releases Rook's hand, he reaches for the broach and unpins it from his chest.

Rook gives his hand a reassuring squeeze just before he fully lets go. Reminds himself that Illario did a lot of this without much from him. If this is how things are going to change, he will find a way to make it work.

When the brooch is at last affixed to his doppelganger, there is a moment where he doesn't immediately make physical contact again. Once more it would read, whether intended or not, as manipulative. He takes a breath.

"I won't pretend nothing will be difficult from here on," he offers carefully. "But nothing I could mention right now will be harder than what you've already been going through."

"I hope that's true," Illario murmurs, moving bodies and staging the scene a little more realistically, something he is very familiar with. Once done, he's a little more himself, less woozy, less exhausted, and actually... feeling hopeful. Maybe it's the removal of the broach or the possibility of escape from an escalating situation. Maybe it's trusting someone again after forgetting what that could be like.

"I think the Joining might be a problem, hm? But we will deal with that when we get to it." He says, and moves toward the door, the family apartments quiet and still, there's no crackle in the air of hidden Venatori.

"We should go. The sooner the better." And while Illario doesn't know the secret way via the basement, he knows plenty of other quiet and shadowy routes, some of them just as dusty with long disuse. They might spy a couple of guards but no one spots them as Illario leads them out of the villa complex.

When they reach the boundary he stills a little, looks back at the sprawling buildings and gardens, buries all the feelings and turns back towards his companion.

"The Diamond?"

[ open to smut or gen, can be in either role... though it's probably safer for everyone if he's gagged. or muzzled. ]

[Wanna terrorize an innkeeper? Or possibly get owned by underestimating an innkeeper? If you'll forgive that I might get something wrong cause I only know bits and pieces about the dark urge lol]

[He'd be the one gagged because he's just a Mundane...]

The Gagged Meme

till | alien stage

Ash Graven | Final Space

Cinder Fall | RWBY

Gwen Stacy | Marvel 65

Cassie Cage | Mortal Kombat | OTA

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Sure! Let me know if this doesn't work!

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Sorry for the wait! Life kept piling on.

No worries!

Konoka Konoe | Mahou Sensei Negima | OTA

Gale Dekarios // BG3

Soji Asha | Star Trek: Picard | OTA

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Dorian Storm | Critical Role | OTA

Kara Zor-El | My Adventures With Superman

Bucky Barnes | MCU

kaveh | genshin impact

James T. Kirk | Star Trek AOS | OTA

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*waves hand vaguely* Some pre-Ferelden fun time before Illario is infected and fully on the team

yeap! otherwise Illario is never going back to the villa AGAIN

Gotta take advantage of the amenities while they're there~

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sprinkles a little suspense

Sylus | Love & Deepspace | OTA

vex'ahlia | critical role | ota

lumine | genshin impact

Flynn Scifo || Tales of Vesperia || OTA

Sophie Hallow *OC*

Ri!Kusuriuri | Mononoke (2007) | OTA

stolas goetia | helluva boss

Tsukasa Tojo | Heaven Burns Red

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autocorrect turned her response into "mommy" and now you have to live with that knowledge too

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waves hand vaguely Some pre-Ferelden fun time before Illario is infected and fully on the team

Sophie Hallow OC